there.
“Hmm—not even in office yet,” she mused, “and already an enemies list.”
How dare she! The Penguin scurried over to his special project, thrusting his gloves forward to protect his list from unauthorized observation.
“These names are not for prying eyes!” He frowned up at this intruder. What did he know about this woman, anyway? “Hey, why should I trust some Catbroad? Maybe you’re just a screwed-up sorority chick who’s getting back at Daddy for not buying her that pony when she turned sweet sixteen—”
Or maybe, he thought but didn’t say aloud, she was some sort of spy for the other side. Maybe even a spy for Batman.
She looked at him, nervous. He’d got under her fur with that last remark. Now what was he going to do with this Catwoman in his lair?
Before he could come to any conclusions, she reached into the birdcage and grabbed his pet canary. The Penguin bristled. If anything happened to his bird—
He grabbed one of the many umbrellas stacked by the side of the bed and pressed a button on the handle. A knife blade popped out of the top, a blade he used to pin Catwoman’s little kitty cat against the bed.
He looked up at his adversary. The minute she swallowed the canary, her cat was history.
Catwoman spit Jerry from her mouth. The canary, somewhat damp but very much alive, flew up into the rafters.
Very well. A deal is a deal. The Penguin pulled his blade away from the kitty cat’s throat. Catwoman protectively scooped up the cat in her arms. They stared at each other for a long moment.
What next? The Penguin thought. She freed one of her hands and leaned forward to gently stroke her claws against The Penguin’s cheek. Petting from a Catwoman? It was one response he decided he could deal with.
“Look,” she said, nodding at a scar below her wrist, “Batman napalmed my arm. He knocked me off a building just as I was starting to feel good about myself. I want to play an integral part in his degradation.”
The Penguin regarded her for a moment. She certainly sounded sincere. And angry; that was important. The Penguin was big on anger.
“Well,” he remarked slowly, “a plan is forming.” He rubbed his chin with one of his gloves. “A vicious one, involving the loss of innocent life.”
“I want in,” Catwoman insisted. She shivered. “The thought of busting Batman makes me feel all—dirty. Maybe I’ll give myself a bath right here.”
She slowly ran her tongue along her upper arm. The Penguin licked his lips.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, puss,” he replied huskily.
And with any luck, The Penguin had himself some action.
The Penguin was on TV. These days, it seemed like The Penguin was always on TV.
“I challenge the mayor,” The Penguin declared with a melodramatic swoop of his umbrella, “to relight the Christmas tree in Gotham Plaza tomorrow night!”
Bruce Wayne looked up for an instant as Alfred placed his dinner before him.
The Penguin droned on through his media forum. “He must prove that under his administration, we can carry on our proud traditions without any fear. Not that I have any faith in the mayor,” he squawked self-importantly, “but I pray, at least, the Batman will be there to preserve the peace.”
“Sir,” Alfred remarked, disturbing his concentration. “Shall we change the channel to a program with some dignity and class? The Love Connection, perhaps?”
Alfred was right. Bruce couldn’t become obsessed with this Penguin’s preening. But this crook had just offered a challenge to Batman, and Batman couldn’t help but accept. Bruce wondered exactly what The Penguin planned to do at the tree lighting. Whatever it was, Batman had to be ready for it.
Maybe, he considered, there might be a way that Batman could be there without The Penguin’s knowledge.
He looked one more time at The Penguin, talking away on the TV screen.
“Subtle,” he remarked.
As a flying mallet, he thought to himself.
He reached for the
“Hmm—not even in office yet,” she mused, “and already an enemies list.”
How dare she! The Penguin scurried over to his special project, thrusting his gloves forward to protect his list from unauthorized observation.
“These names are not for prying eyes!” He frowned up at this intruder. What did he know about this woman, anyway? “Hey, why should I trust some Catbroad? Maybe you’re just a screwed-up sorority chick who’s getting back at Daddy for not buying her that pony when she turned sweet sixteen—”
Or maybe, he thought but didn’t say aloud, she was some sort of spy for the other side. Maybe even a spy for Batman.
She looked at him, nervous. He’d got under her fur with that last remark. Now what was he going to do with this Catwoman in his lair?
Before he could come to any conclusions, she reached into the birdcage and grabbed his pet canary. The Penguin bristled. If anything happened to his bird—
He grabbed one of the many umbrellas stacked by the side of the bed and pressed a button on the handle. A knife blade popped out of the top, a blade he used to pin Catwoman’s little kitty cat against the bed.
He looked up at his adversary. The minute she swallowed the canary, her cat was history.
Catwoman spit Jerry from her mouth. The canary, somewhat damp but very much alive, flew up into the rafters.
Very well. A deal is a deal. The Penguin pulled his blade away from the kitty cat’s throat. Catwoman protectively scooped up the cat in her arms. They stared at each other for a long moment.
What next? The Penguin thought. She freed one of her hands and leaned forward to gently stroke her claws against The Penguin’s cheek. Petting from a Catwoman? It was one response he decided he could deal with.
“Look,” she said, nodding at a scar below her wrist, “Batman napalmed my arm. He knocked me off a building just as I was starting to feel good about myself. I want to play an integral part in his degradation.”
The Penguin regarded her for a moment. She certainly sounded sincere. And angry; that was important. The Penguin was big on anger.
“Well,” he remarked slowly, “a plan is forming.” He rubbed his chin with one of his gloves. “A vicious one, involving the loss of innocent life.”
“I want in,” Catwoman insisted. She shivered. “The thought of busting Batman makes me feel all—dirty. Maybe I’ll give myself a bath right here.”
She slowly ran her tongue along her upper arm. The Penguin licked his lips.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, puss,” he replied huskily.
And with any luck, The Penguin had himself some action.
The Penguin was on TV. These days, it seemed like The Penguin was always on TV.
“I challenge the mayor,” The Penguin declared with a melodramatic swoop of his umbrella, “to relight the Christmas tree in Gotham Plaza tomorrow night!”
Bruce Wayne looked up for an instant as Alfred placed his dinner before him.
The Penguin droned on through his media forum. “He must prove that under his administration, we can carry on our proud traditions without any fear. Not that I have any faith in the mayor,” he squawked self-importantly, “but I pray, at least, the Batman will be there to preserve the peace.”
“Sir,” Alfred remarked, disturbing his concentration. “Shall we change the channel to a program with some dignity and class? The Love Connection, perhaps?”
Alfred was right. Bruce couldn’t become obsessed with this Penguin’s preening. But this crook had just offered a challenge to Batman, and Batman couldn’t help but accept. Bruce wondered exactly what The Penguin planned to do at the tree lighting. Whatever it was, Batman had to be ready for it.
Maybe, he considered, there might be a way that Batman could be there without The Penguin’s knowledge.
He looked one more time at The Penguin, talking away on the TV screen.
“Subtle,” he remarked.
As a flying mallet, he thought to himself.
He reached for the
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