SIX DEGREES OF REEVES AND WEST

Commissioner Gordon and Chief O’Hara glanced up as they heard the window open. Framed in the moonlit opening: the silhouette of America’s #1 Lycra-clad crimefighter. Batgirl hopped down, her eyes quickly taking stock of the scene.

“I came as soon as I received your call, Commissioner.”

“I apologize for the pre-sunrise summons, Batgirl. I was about to send the witnesses home for the evening, but Lane and Olsen insisted we try to resolve the whole affair tonight.”

“We’re still waitin’ for the deceased’s fiancée,” O’Hara explained. “Greta…Greta Grapefruit. Something like that.”

“Laura Lime was the name, I believe,” Gordon said.

“Well, Officer Mooney took her to get some coffee and fresh air.” The Police Chief looked at his watch. “Where are Lane and Olsen?”

The Commissioner nodded. “Yes. Did they suddenly find a more interesting story?”

Jimmy Olson sat in the lobby of the Gotham Hotel. ^[i] He was waiting for some sign of action from reporter Lois Lane, who sat cradling her face in her hands.

Jimmy looked at the elevator. “Shouldn’t we go back up?”

Lois ran a hand though her hair. “I don’t know if I can go back in there. That face under the sheet is all I’ll see in my dreams tonight.”

“I won’t sleep so good, either," said Jimmy. "Mister Kent was like a big brother to me.”

“He was like a brother to me too, Jimmy - maybe a little more.” Under her breath, Lois muttered, “Maybe he should have been a lot more.”

“There you two are.” The Daily Planet reporters looked up to see Barry Brown watching them. “The fiancée got back. Hurry up, everyone’s waiting for you. What’s the matter - guilty conscience?”

Jimmy’s mouth dropped open. “Hey! What do we have to feel guilty about?”

Brown smiled. “Well, you two were supposed to be his best friends, but I didn’t see you here last night.”

Lois shook her head, as if she hadn’t heard right. “Wait a minute, Barry. You were here with Clark last night?!”

“Sure, I always try to be there for my journalist brethren. I stopped by about 11:30 to ask about that interview with Ruby Jones. Poor guy was all out of sorts about his evening. To calm him down, I had room service bring up a couple of bottles.”

“Mister Kent doesn’t drink!” Olsen declared indignantly.

“Not very well, that’s for sure,” Brown agreed. “His fiancée can really put it away, though.”

Lois stood and motioned to Jimmy. “If you’ll excuse us, Mister Brown, Jimmy and I are late for an inquiry into our partner’s death." The pair strode past Brown as if he wasn’t there and entered the elevator.

“Now then,” Commissioner Gordon addressed the assembled group, “what we’ve established so far is that Mister Kent returned to his hotel room around 10:45 p.m.. Just over half an hour later, Barry Brown came calling, and despite the late hour, Ms. Lime let him in. Mister Kent had already gone to bed, but he came out to join the pair for drinks.”

Lois folded your arms. “Your theory is, after just getting an exclusive with someone connected to the Governor’s assassination, Clark suddenly decided he’d rather kill himself than get his story in print?”

“The guy seemed really down for someone who’d just gotten the interview of the century,” said Brown. “I got the impression the interview with Jones was a bust - that he didn’t get anything good out of her.”

“We’ll never know, now,” said Lois.

Brown continued. “He was morose about things in general - said now that he was in Kellogg’s advertisements, he was starting to regret being in the phone book. I guess kids kept calling him and hanging up when he answered.”

Jimmy nodded. “He did mention that a few times. He hadn’t been too happy with his work assignments, either.”

“I know he wasn’t happy about being told to compete in a publicity boxing exhibition,” said Lois.

Laura swallowed hard. “That’s right,” she whispered.

“Was there a suicide note?” asked Batgirl.

“Not a trace of one,” said O’Hara.

“You would think,” Batgirl began, “knowing how shocked everyone would be, he would have left behind some explanation.”

Lois shook her head. “I think the obvious conclusion is Clark learned something in that interview which got him killed – perhaps as a warning to Ruby to keep quiet. ^[ii] Come to think of it, maybe that car accident of Clark’s wasn’t an accident at all!”

“Come on,” Brown said. “That occurred well before the assassination; before Kent even left Metropolis.”

The Commissioner cut in. “The crash may have left him in considerable pain. That may have influenced his behavior.”

“The lock on his apartment door is broken," Lois said. "Anyone could have snuck in to the room at any time.”

“Who could have known that...besides you, Lois?” asked Brown.

Batgirl flipped through a stack of travelers' checks sitting on the bureau. “Of all people, why would a newly engaged man take his own life?”

“I think I may know the answer to that,” Barry said. “Last year, I was covering a presentation on meteors with Clark. To kill time, we were playing twenty questions. I said ‘Name a girl.' Clark said ‘Lana Lang.’”

Lois sighed. “Oh, please, not her again.”

“Then I asked him to name a woman off the top of his head. He said ‘Lois Lane.’ The first woman that comes to a man’s mind is always the one he’s fondest of.” Lois suddenly found herself unable to return everyone’s gaze.

Brown continued. “And now we’ve got Laura Lime. I have a theory that Kent had an irrational, compulsive desire for women with the initials ‘L.L.’. What was so tragic, what kept him eternally lonely and miserable, was the fact he could never really marry any of them. Because if he did, they would instantly become an ‘L.K.’ and then they'd no longer hold any allure.”

Batgirl leaned over to whisper in her father’s ear. “It's a good thing he never met that one moll of the Bookworm.”

“Lydia Limpet?” he replied quietly. “Yes, I see what you mean.” Gordon turned back to face Brown. “So, you suspect Clark’s realization that he couldn’t follow through with any of his romances sent him into a downward spiral of despair?”

“That’s right. As a matter of fact, as Clark was heading back to bed - for what turned out to be the last time - I told Laura that next time I’d show Clark my microphone collection, and she looked at the bedroom and said, ‘You'll probably never see him again.’ And I didn’t. I was just leaving twenty minutes later when Laura came running out in the hall and called me back to the room.”

Laura nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek. “When I went into the bedroom, I found him lying there on the floor. His cold palm lay a few inches away from the empty beaker.”

“That’s odd he wasn’t in bed. Do either of you have any idea where he obtained this mysterious poison?” Batgirl asked. Brown and Lime both shook their heads.

Lois had been like a volcano about to explode. The eruption came. “Brown, that’s the most ridiculous theory I’ve ever heard! When I get married, I assure you I’ll keep the name Lois Lane!”

“And I just don’t get it!” Jimmy exclaimed. “The Mister Kent I knew was the most easy-going guy on the face of the Earth. He was the last person who’d ever kill himself!”

“Who did he spend his time with, besides Ms. Lime?” asked the Commissioner. “Who were his friends?”

After a pause, Jimmy looked at Lois. “Mostly us, I guess.”

“You never saw him exhibit any odd behavior?”

Jimmy thought hard. “Well, occasionally Mister Kent would get light-headed around certain types of rocks.”

“Around rocks?”

“Yeah, and sometimes, he’d say something weird like, ‘I just got back from Germany.’ And since I’d just seen him in the office that morning, I’d ask how that could be, and he’d say it was just a figure of speech or something.”

Gordon turned to his aide-de-camp. “What do you make of that, Chief?”

Chief O’Hara, considered the foremost psychiatric expert on the force, twirled his finger next to his head - the universally-recognized signal for ‘nutso.’ “Sounds pretty squirrelly.”

“I daresay it suggests a history of mental instability,” Gordon agreed. “Coupled with his recent unhappiness, suicide seems to be the likeliest conclusion. While we can’t rule it out, I’m not hearing anything to make me suspect murder. All right, I thank everyone for their time. Why don’t we all try to get some sleep?”

In the hallway, Lois pulled the junior photographer aside. “This doesn’t add up, Jimmy. We’re Clark’s best friends. I don’t care how fast this Laura Lime romance happened; don’t you think he would have told us?”

“Yeah! I’m not sure I like the smell of that, either. This ex-flimflam artist comes out of nowhere and announces she’s engaged to Mister Kent.”

Lois nodded. “I think one thing’s for certain: his death and the Governor’s are connected. Solve one, maybe we solve them both.”

“Yeah, but try convincing Commissioner Gordon of that.”

“Don’t forget, he’s a suspect in Hataki’s death himself. It may be in his interest to bury this case.” Lois thought for a moment. “Did you get a good look at any of those protest signs in the crowd when Governor Hataki’s limo drove through?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you check your photographs; see if you find any images clear enough for us to read the picket signs and maybe make out some faces? And, Jimmy, do it quickly. I have the feeling evidence is vanishing quickly around here.”

In the deep recesses of Bruce Wayne’s mind, The Dream was playing out all over. He was once again nine years old, strolling home with his parents. His father, Doctor Thomas Wayne, and his mother, Martha, were clad in formal evening wear. The three had just come from a movie and were wandering around in search of a shortcut home.

The Wayne family passed through a narrow alley, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the brick walls. As they reached the mouth of the alley, a large figure stepped from the shadows. Bruce recognized the man as mobster Lou Cranek.

The gangster’s hand emerged from a pocket. Everything suddenly seemed to plunge into slow motion. Cranek’s arm extended. A finger pointed directly at young Bruce.

“You’re a spoiled sissy, Brucie,” the gravelly voice boomed, “and you’ll never climb Mount Heralaya!”

“Noooooo!!”

The voice was surprisingly strong, considering the throat uttering the word had two hands clenched around it. The limp body Mercury was busy throttling had suddenly returned to life. Legs, which only a moment before slumped lifelessly, now kicked up with such ferocity they separated the table-top from its cast-iron base. The pressure from three hoods pressing on this cracked table-top from different directions only caused the whole thing to splinter into numerous sections.

With the three men in front momentarily flummoxed, the stranger shot off his seat, springing up so quickly that Mercury took a head-butt in the face. He released the stranger’s neck and put his hands to his aching nose. ‘Who is this Gary Allen?’

The stranger suddenly reeled off three quick roundhouse punches in a row, each snapping Mercury’s head to one side, then the other.
>POW!<
>SMACK!<
>ZAPPO!<

He lifted Mercury off the floor, spun him, and heaved him like a sack of flour onto two other cronies.
>BOOM!<

As his blind fit of rage subsided, Bruce became aware of his surroundings once again. His breathing slowed, became more controlled, and he took stock of his situation. He was in disguise…not as Batman, but as Gary Allen.

He had returned here to visit crime boss Lou Cranek for a lead on the Governor’s death; Cranek, who years earlier had been a driving force in the path his life had taken. Being mocked by the mobster (and, to some extent, seeing his parents gunned down before his eyes) had driven him to devote his life to fighting crime.

Now Cranek had given him the lead he needed: that the mysterious ‘Kent’ involved in the assassination was none other than Harvey Dent. Outnumbered as he was, though, he had to find a way to get the information to the authorities . . . or to somebody else.

A punch from his blind side sent the wig flying from his head. Touching his smarting jaw, he discovered his makeup was becoming smeared.

He faked a charge into the midst of the other hoodlums, who all reflexively braced themselves. This provided all the time Bruce needed to sprint down a hallway leading to several rooms. He chose one on the right and slammed the door. He pushed a heavy desk up against it to act as a brace, and snatched a phone receiver off the desktop. Footsteps were already stopping outside the door as he dialed a phone number.

“Batcave. Robin speaking,” came his trusted sidekick’s voice.

“This is Batman. Brace yourself, Robin. Our ‘Kent’ is none other than Harvey Dent!”

“Holy Double Jeopardy! You mean the District Attorney bought those twin Penguin statues?!”

“Yes, and he tried to obtain Marc Andrew’s bi-plane as well.”

“But…but that can’t be right. Mister Dent’s helped us out a bunch of times!”

“Nevertheless, I got the information straight from Lou Cranek himself.”

“Why would Cranek know?”

“No time to ponder that question, I’m afraid. I want you to get on Harvey’s trail and find out what he’s doing – ASAP.”

“As-Soon-As-Possible,” Robin interpreted. “Should I come pick you up in the Batmobile?”

Bruce glanced up. There were cries of outrage and pounding at the door. “No. Tracking Dent is your only priority right now.”

“Yes, sir, but…”

Bruce hung up the receiver as the desk it rested on shuddered violently, yielding to the weight of the hoodlums. Four shoulders slammed against the door, knocking the desk backwards. They muscled their way inside and immediately eyed the closet in the corner of the room.

Without warning, Bruce jumped up from behind the desk. Whipping the phone around on its cord like a bolo, he clocked all four in one brutally-effective swing.

>RA-DINNG!!<

They all crouched forward, rubbing their smarting jaws. Using the desk as a springboard, Bruce timed his leap perfectly. In the single second that the four heads ducked, he sailed overhead and came to a perfect landing behind them. He raced down the hallway in the opposite direction from which he’d just come. He dove forward as he reached the end of the hall, sliding under the nearest booth before the crooks in the showroom were aware he’d returned.

The four bruised thugs were already charging back into the room, furious at having been outmaneuvered. Wayne peered through thick pairs of legs stomping around the room. He spied the large crate Cranek had bragged about minutes earlier.

‘The Mind Machine! If it’s indeed operational, I can’t leave without disabling it.’

Jumping to his feet, he heaved his table in the middle of the thugs and made his move. Dodging between several startled crooks, he made straight for the crate.

“Now this…” he said, lifting it from the floor, “…should made some lucky girl or boy very happy.”

“Stop him!” Cranek yelled. “Kill him!”

Holding the crate before him like a tackling dummy, Wayne charged across the showroom.

>Wha-bam!<

Hoods went sprawling like bowling pins. The disguised detective made a beeline for the front door. It buckled as the crate collided against it, but held on its hinges. Bruce ignored a volley of bullets which narrowly missed his head. He rammed the door with renewed passion. This time, it collapsed. He was out on the landing just ahead of a second lead fusillade.

He fell forward as he reached the flight of stairs, and rode the crate like a surf board down to the bottom. He heard a crashing sound within the box as it bounced to a stop in the concrete parking lot. He kept the crumpled receptacle between him and the mobsters as he headed for the shadows of the alley. More shots rang out. The cracking of glass indicated several bullets had done further damage to the box. As he put the place behind him, Bruce heard Cranek's angry swearing.

“I’ll get you, you dirty weasel! Don’t think you can get away! I got a good look at you!”

Silence greeted Batman as he descended to his inner sanctum via Batpole. Upon returning home and finding no sign of Robin, he had stripped off the Gary Allen disguise and headed straight to bed. After getting a sensible eight hours of sleep, he awakened and immediately went to work in the Batcave.

He was sorting through data from the Batcomputer when Alfred the butler descended with a tray containing breakfast.

“Good morning, sir. I am glad to find you unharmed this fine morning.”

“I had it in my hands, Alfred - Cranek’s insidious hypno-therapy transmitter! The weight of the contraption, though, slowed me. I was forced to choose between it and escaping my antagonists. Fortunately, it was already damaged, so recovering it will likely provide him little consolation. Still, it would have been nice to be able to rule it out as a threat.”

“One does what one can, sir. Was the evening’s investigation otherwise fruitful?”

“Very. For some reason, District Attorney Dent has been using the alias of ‘Kent.’ It wasn’t the newspaper reporter mixed up in this after all.”

Alfred lowered his head before replying. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you may wish to view the morning paper before continuing with your task.” He laid the morning edition next to Batman’s glass of orange juice.

'DAILY PLANET STAR REPORTER KILLS HIMSELF,' read the headline.

Batman snatched up the paper and absorbed all the information from the front page article. His mouth fell open as he read.

“Great…Scott! I’d been focused on tracking Kent down, hoping to arrest him, but all the while, the poor devil was watching his life crumble before his eyes.”

“It is true, sir, your initial hypothesis was incorrect. Fortunately, you certainly cannot be accused of contributing to the deceased’s state of mind, since you never actually came into contact with him.”

“I must accept responsibility for my intentions, Alfred, regardless of my failure to carry them out.”

“The morning edition is already several hours old. Perhaps the television news will contain further developments?”

Batman flipped channels several times before stopping at a close-up of Barry Brown’s face. Brown’s trademark smirk was absent as he addressed his viewing audience.

“And all of us here at WGIV hope Mister Kent has found peace, wherever he is now. While there’s little doubt this was a suicide, some pieces of the puzzle still don’t fit.

“Exhibit A: Lois Lane maintains the indignity that pushed Kent over the edge was being forced to step into the ring for an expected pummeling at the hands of ringmaster Everett Banister. ^[iii] ‘A cruel publicity stunt at Clark’s expense,’ she said. Only problem is, the story is a complete hoax! Calls to Gotham City boxing rings and Banister’s manager revealed no such planned exhibition bout.

“Why would someone make up a story like that, you ask? It turns out Lois was shut out of some nice publicity when Kellogg’s cereal company hired several male Daily Planet employees to promote their product.

“That casting decision didn’t sit well with Ms. Lane, who’s been scooped on many a story since Mister Kent arrived in Metropolis. The Kellogg’s publicity department had plans for more action-oriented ads, and had their hopes for lantern-jawed manliness pinned on Kent. But they realized that with his baggy suits, glasses, and dull haircuts, they had their work cut out for them.

“Could it be that an enterprising girl reporter promised to whip Clark into shape in return for inclusion in their ad campaign? That would help explain Lane’s presence during some test footage of the ‘new, manly Clark Kent.’ On the tape, one can hear Lane egging the clumsy Kent along as he tries to perform an acceptable judo roll for the camera. One can almost hear the wheels turning in her head, cooking up a boxing exhibition story to frighten her co-worker into getting in shape.”

The camera shot switched to an unflattering photo of Lois Lane. “She probably told herself it was for Clark’s own good. I wonder if she still feels that way?”

The screen image now changed to an old mug shot of Laura Lime. “And that’s not all. There’s one more mystery to mull over: Why isn’t there a wedding license on file for Clark Kent and his wife-to-be, Laura Lime?”

Batman clicked off the television. “Any news from Dick yet?”

“Master Robin left late last night on a mission. I have not received word from him since.”

Batman frowned and stroked his chin. “I ordered him to track our dual-identitied District Attorney. I pray I haven’t made two fatal blunders in the same night!”

In his closet-turned-darkroom, Jimmy Olsen worked industriously on his photos. This latest batch was the quickest he’d ever completed. He hoped he hadn’t messed something up.

“Come on..come onnn,” he urged the developing fluid.

He’d completed larger versions of half a dozen pictures, but this shot was the best one of the protesters in the crowd. Gradually, their faces began to take shape and the fuzzy blur on their signs gelled into letters.

Jimmy returned to the lights of the apartment dining table to inspect his find. He pulled out a magnifying glass and studied the lettering on the protesters’ signs.

“One…day….only,” he read. “Huge…mattress….sale.”

“Mattress sale!?” he cried, flinging the magnifying glass across the room. “Jeepers! This doesn’t get me anywhere!”

He pounded the table. Looking down, he noticed a detail in the picture next to where his fist had landed. “Wait a minute!”

He hurried over to the fallen magnifying glass, and took several long looks at the center of the picture. Jimmy was able to make out the faint, but unmistakable, outline of a black dog on top of a retaining wall at the edge of the leafy thicket.

“The Black Dog Man - that old fellow holed up in the shed where the vagrant trio was spotted. He told us he’d just arrived in Gotham City the night after the assassination!” ^[iv]

He compared the profile in the picture to his memory of the codger’s canine companion. “That’s about the right size! And his position there, just peeking out of the thicket, would only be twenty, twenty-five yards away from the spot Governor Hataki’s limousine reached when the shots rang out!”

The pieces were all falling into place for Jimmy. “I better get this to Lois quick! But…will she agree that this looks like a dog?” Squinting some more at the six dark pixels, he began to have doubts.

“Heck, I’ll figure this out before I show it to her. I can get to the bottom of it myself. I’m not afraid of any old man and his dog. Dogs listen to me.”

Although print reporters from numerous sources showed up for Doctor Shivel’s press conference the following day, only the Reeves and West show had exclusive broadcast privileges. While any journalist could ask questions, TV’s Barry Brown was clearly running the proceedings.

Knowing Lois Lane would be there, Batman decided to attend Shivel’s press conference. In light of previous bad blood between himself and Mister Freeze, he decided attending as Bruce Wayne would curtail any questions intended to create a confrontation between the two.

Before locating Lois, he ran into Vicki Vale.

“Hello, Vicki,” Bruce said. “I haven’t seen you since those Nimpans assaulted you. How have you been doing?”

“Well, I’m awake at least,” Vicki replied. “Since my little adventure, I’ve been having trouble sleeping – now, of all weeks. My boss offered me vacation time, but I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I ducked out during the biggest story of the century. I finally had to go see a doctor and get some sleeping pills.”

Shivel’s wife Rosemarie was dressed in a more subdued fashion than her earlier appearances. She seemed to be fighting back tears.

“She must have been an ardent admirer of the Governor’s,” Bruce observed.

Overhearing the comment, Lois Lane patted him on the shoulder in greeting. “Let me tell you, Bruce, Rosemarie Shivel is one peculiar lady. It’s just as likely that she’s crying over Clark.”

“Clark?” Bruce asked. “She became livid at the mention of him at the last press conference.”

“Boy, was she ever!” replied Lois. “I think she’d been giving him grief for weeks before.”

“The news stories said Kent was already getting pestered with children’s prank hang-up calls,” Bruce said..

“I wouldn’t be surprised if those calls all came from Rosemarie,” observed Lois.

“What would drive her to those lengths?” asked Vicki Vale.

“Back when no one in show business would give Otold Shivel the time of day, Clark wrote an article about the former Mister Freeze turning his life around and how Rosemarie was helping him deal with the loss of his first wife. That gave Doctor Shivel quite a boost; the film community started giving him some high-profile projects. Rosemarie was so grateful she started dropping by The Daily Planet to say hello to us on a regular basis. She sent Clark little showbiz mementos from time to time.

“Then Clark wrote a piece exploring charges that Doctor Shivel had political ambitions and was cutting an under-the-table deal with the state legislature to repeal the requirement that the governor be native-born. Otold wasn’t too happy about the story, but Rosemarie felt personally betrayed. Clark didn’t want to hurt her, but he had a job to do. The funny thing is, Rosemarie is still cordial with me, but it could have just as easily been me writing that piece. It was just the luck of the draw that it was assigned to Clark.”

“So she both hated and cared for Kent,” concluded Bruce. “Are you sure their relationship was only casual?”

“Yes; at one point I confirmed that with Clark.”

“Hmm. He never told you about Laura Lime, though, did he?” asked Vicki.

A sudden quiet settled on the stage as a director’s hyperactive hand signals counted down the final seconds prior to broadcast.

Barry Brown’s image flashed on TV screens across Gotham City. “We’re here today with film producer Otold Shivel, the man who apprehended the Governor’s killer.”

The camera shot switched from Barry Brown to a close-up of a weary-looking Doctor Shivel. “Yes, this is a sad week for mein wife and me, for all of Gotham.”

“Do you think by catching the Penguin, perhaps you made up for your days as Mister Freeze?” Brown asked.

“Ah, how can this city ever forgiff me?” Shivel sighed. “I cannot imagine I would have ever committed such an atrocity myself, but who knows? Perhaps there was a time I was not so different from the murderous Cobblepot.”

Lois waved her arm to be called on by Shivel.

“Yes, Ms. Lane?”

“Doctor, the League of Film Decency has been calling on you to publish a companion publication to Chilled Scientist to list all the inaccuracies from the picture. What is your response to their request?”

Clearly annoyed, Shivel shook his finger. “Zer is an agenda at work here, let us not be naïve. Now that I am finally in a position to tell my story, zer are those who would very much like to bury its allegations. My critics are ze ones who wish to avoid disclosing what is fact and what is fiction.”

Vicki stood and was promptly called upon. “The Gotham City Police Department contacted you about one scene in the film where you depict Commissioner Gordon dining on roadkill he had Chief O’Hara locate and scrape off the highway. Do you truly feel Chilled Scientist presents an unbiased view of your relationship with law enforcement?”

“Vot is ze matter? You doubt Chief O’Hara’s ability to track down roadkill?”

At Lou Cranek’s club, the line got a good belly laugh from the mob boss and his underlings. Cranek had been only half paying attention to the TV, but sat up when Vicki Vale came on-screen.

“Look at her,” Cranek said. “She acts pretty high and mighty for the way she’s been carrying on in private.”

“What do you mean, boss?” Mercury asked his employer.

Vicki continued. “Well, the Police Department claims the scene violates a city ordinance. I thought you were no longer so cavalier about breaking the law.”

Shivel smiled and rolled his eyes. “Good it is to see you again, Ms. Vicki. I see your role in the film was small enough that you have no qualms about turning and attacking a fellow cast member.” ^[v]

“You’re not being attacked, Otold,” Vicki replied. “I’m just asking a simple question.”

Cranek smirked. “She was secretly - or so she thought - seeing someone who you might say represented a conflict of interest.”

“Huh. Who?”

“Our late, revered Governor Hataki. They spent hours together - and not preparing Bible lessons, if you know what I mean.”

Onscreen, Shivel was responding. “I feel the police should see ze scene as humorous rather than disrespectful. I am confident zat any court in ze land would uphold the legality uf my film.”

“Whoa. How’d you find about out her and Hataki?” Mercury asked Cranek.

“I had Curley shadowing Hataki off an on for months. After the first month, it was pretty obvious something was up between ‘em. I verified it by having Curley trail Vale around, which turned out to be a reliable way to keep tabs on Hataki. Of course, as soon as I figured this out, I had her apartment bugged. And when she traveled for a story, I’d bribe the cleaning staff to put bugs in the hotel rooms.

Onscreen, Barry Brown held his hand up to signal the other journalists that he was taking over. “And now the big question: Doctor, are you going to run for governor in next month’s emergency election?”

Shivel paused dramatically before responding. “Many factors zer are to consider. Obviously, ve all hope and pray that Lieutenant Governor Condelee will somehow make a full recovery.”

“‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’,” Cranek sang in an exaggerated falsetto. “Yeah, he was pretty flippin’ jolly when Vicki was around. Now, obviously, Hideo wasn’t the most discriminating fellow on the planet, so he was blabbing more than he should. I salvaged one money laundering operation because he bragged about how he was going to bust it up.”

“Great challenges this state faces in ze coming days,” Shivel droned on in the background. “Unt the legislature has so far responded by fumbling, fiddling, faddling. However, out of respect for our fallen leader, I cannot seek the office of governor for myself.”

There was a smattering of disappointed “awww’s” heard from some Shivel fans in attendance.

“Doctor, I think a lot of us are surprised by your decision,” Brown said. “I can’t help but wonder what kind of political career you might have had.” Some sounds of agreement were heard from the audience.

Otold held up a finger. “Never, I did not say. Just not zis time. Don’t vorry; ow’ll be bock.”

“You heard it right here, folks,” Brown told the TV camera standing. “Film mogul Shivel will not run for governor.”

“Thank you for that exclusive, Barry,” the show’s host replied from the studio. “Coming up on Reeves & West: Cooking a turkey at six degrees. Sound crazy? Well, just you wait!”

Camera in hand, Jim Olsen paced along the edge of the leafy thicket. “There’s the spot where the black dog would have been sitting.”

The retaining wall he was scrutinizing was about three feet high - plenty of room for a grown man to kneel behind. Jimmy took pictures from several different angles, making sure to get one showing the clear view of the road to be had.

A man in a dark coat and hat watched him from a park bench. The man rose and strolled over to the young man.

“Excuse me. Haven’t I seen you in advertisements? You work for The Daily Planet?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimmy said, not wishing any distractions.

“Yes, I remember now. James Olson. We should talk.”

“Huh? Who are you?”

“I can’t tell you my real name, but you may call me…LeX. Why are you taking pictures, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Well, I don’t think I should get into….”

“Oh, please. I don’t work for a rival newspaper. I could save you quite a bit of effort. For starters, I could tell you why there were men with rifles stationed in the leafy thicket when Mister Hataki drove by.”

“Jeepers! How do you know that?”

“I have my ways. But you must have better questions than that.”

“Do you happen to know if an old man with a black dog is mixed up in all this?”

“Ah, you know about him. James…may I call you James?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“I’m impressed that you spotted that. It takes a young person to challenge what the adult world takes for granted. You know, the search for truth marches on in young spirits like yours.”

“Gee…thanks. Who do you think killed the Governor?”

“I know who killed the Governor. We all know. We just don’t want to face the truth.”

“So…who did it?”

“Most adults would find my news too unsettling to deal with. Can you keep your mind open to ideas that might challenge your ingrained perceptions?”

Jimmy’s jaw jutted defiantly. He nodded his head with certainty.

“All right, then. James, there was a conspiracy to kill Mister Hataki. And that’s because Mister Hataki was a bold leader…the kind who didn’t shrink from standing up to those who really run this state. In the end, that courage cost him his life. Walk with me.”

With Jimmy hanging on his every word, LeX calmly strolled away from the leafy thicket. “Let me ask you this: Who would have the resources and manpower to stage a full-scale coup?”

“An army, I guess.”

“That’s a good start. What about the police?” He gestured to his right, and Jimmy saw Gotham City Police Headquarters just down the street.

“Oh! So, you’re saying…both federal and local militias were involved?”

“Keep going. Who besides The Daily Planet had a business relationship with Clark Kent?”

“With Clark?!” Jimmy scratched his head. “His landlady?”

“Bigger. Much bigger. Who paid Kent - and you, for that matter - for your support?”

“Uh…Kellogg’s?”

“Bingo.”

“They’re a breakfast cereal company! Why would they plot an assassination?”

“They’re part of the Military Agricultural Complex.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened in fear. “Military Agricultural Complex? I don’t understand.”

“An unholy alliance between the heartland’s food-producing entities and the firepower of the powers that be. Think. Where is Kellogg’s’ national office? Battle Creek, Michigan."

LeX stopped at the busy corner of Oak and Bowie. “When Kellogg’s sends you that nice check, they’re not just paying for an endorsement; they’re paying for an ongoing relationship. They expect you to play ball - it could be they’ll want a certain photo on the front page; maybe they’ll want a story squashed.”

He lifted a finger at the skyscraper in front of them. “Here we are: Kellogg’s’ Gotham state headquarters. Where the recipe for delicious Frosted Flakes is kept; and where, in the middle of the night, governments are toppled. Do you know what building that is across the street?”

“The GothCyt Building; that’s the Department of…Health and Children, right?”

“Very good. That Department has a cozy relationship with Kellogg’s. Kellogg’s helped keep school lunchrooms stocked with breakfast cereal. And the Department let Kellogg’s display their advertising in kindergarten classrooms across the city. But Mister Hataki put the kibosh on that cozy arrangement. And when the state budget became overextended, Mister Hataki decided to cut funding for several departments, particularly DHC. And they didn’t take it very well.”

“So? State budgets get cut all the time.”

“Look at who we’re talking about.” He gestured upwards as they headed down Bowie Street. “These are men and woman who wield tremendous influence from their gleaming skyscrapers. And the millions in the state budget is the source of that power. Do you really think they’d relinquish all that control without a fight? They have the knowledge and the connections. The only thing they were lacking was their own private army of jungle mercenaries - which is where Kellogg’s came in.”

Jimmy rubbed his head. “Well, if they wanted the Governor dead, wouldn’t it be a lot simpler to just get an arch-criminal - like the Penguin - to shoot him?”

LeX laughed. “Oh, James, James. You’re still not seeing the big picture. The Penguin isn’t really an arch-criminal. The entirety of his ‘criminal history’ was just a ruse. Every move he made was dictated by higher-ups. It was all merely a front for his military work for Kellogg’s. Oswald Cobblepot started out as a stocker in the Kellogg’s munitions department when he was just sixteen. From there, he worked his way up the ladder - although not very far up the ladder. He was a lackey.”

Jimmy rubbed his jaw. “But he's always been one of Batman’s most unstoppable foes!”

“Of course. Kellogg’s went to great lengths to paint Cobblepot as some rogue crime lord.” He motioned for Jimmy to stop. “And what business do you see there…in the basement of the very same building?”

“Emporium of Unearthly Witchcraft?!   How is that connected to all of this?”

“The Black Arts: play toys of the Department of Health and Children for over a decade. Despite Mister Hataki’s efforts, he was unable to reform a decadent bureaucracy that fell under the influence of nocturnal witchcraft.”

“So…this witchcraft business, the state agency, and Kellogg’s were all in cahoots to get rid of any opposition. Which one was in charge?”

“All of them. None of them. These people constantly circulate amongst themselves: the cereal makers, the necromancers, the child behavior specialists. They’re all the same group.”

Jimmy gulped. “Were they…the ones responsible for Mister Kent’s death, too?”

“Absolutely. Kellogg’s didn’t want to see any Ruby Jones interviews on the front pages.”

“But gosh, why didn’t they try to kill Miss Lane and me? We’ve been interviewing witnesses left and right.”

“That would have been too obvious. They always opt for the unexpected.”

Jimmy stared blankly at a “Yield” sign, his mind spinning.

The stranger patted him on the back. “Good luck, James. I hope you’re strong enough for what you’re about to face.”

Without another word, the man calmly strolled off towards the Persimmons Overpass.

Jimmy gazed up at the huge rotating ‘K’ that perched atop the Kellogg’s Building. Since his days as a tot, Jimmy had always trusted that special K as a symbol of delicious nutrition, his best friend at the breakfast table. Since joining The Daily Planet, he had come to place even greater trust in bright red initials.

Now, he realized, K didn’t just stand for Kellogg’s. It also stood for ‘kill zone,’ as Governor Hataki had learned the hard way. The blood-colored K seemed to beam malevolently down at him.

In the Batcave, Batman paced back and forth, waiting for word from Robin. His sidekick had last checked in some twelve hours before and reported Harvey Dent was continuing his troubling pattern of doing nothing suspicious. Aunt Harriet, it seemed, led a more suspenseful life.

Suddenly, the Bat-microphone crackled to life. Batman jumped to his feet and raced across the room to grab it.

“Robin! What’s Mister Dent’s status?”

“I can’t say exactly,” responded his assistant. “I’ve been tailing him for half an hour. He takes sudden turns down alleys every few minutes.”

“He knows he’s being tailed.”

“I don’t think so. He hasn’t glanced behind himself once.”

“Where are you?” Batman asked.

“Somewhere in the south-central district. I haven’t seen a street sign in at least ten minutes. Okay, now we’re going down another alley!”

Batman rubbed his chin, considering how to advise his partner. Stymied, he punched several buttons on the Batcomputer’s keyboard. Four computer cards popped out in response.

“Harvey Dent, age thirty-four,” he read. “Moved to Gotham City at an early age with his mother. First ran into trouble at school when a bully he beat up had to go to the hospital. He escaped punishment because the boy’s ‘injury’ turned out to be appendicitis.

“Young Harvey was able to control his temper after that, but he still frequently got into trouble. School administrators were worried about Harvey. Then, a civics class on the law had a positive effect on him. Afterwards, his grades showed steady improvement.”

“Wait!” Robin’s voice exclaimed. “He’s going into a house!”

“What’s the address?”

“Uh, hold on…” Robin crept from the side entrance Dent had just disappeared through, and walked over to the front of the house. He squinted into the darkness. “245 is the house number, but I have no idea on what street. He’s had me doubling back like crazy.”

“Do you think there’s any chance this is a work-related visit?”

“I doubt it. I don’t know why he wouldn’t have just driven right up to the place.”

“Perhaps he didn’t want his license plates to be seen. What’s going on in there?”

“There’s a bunch of lights on, but nothing’s happening in any of the rooms I can see. What else does the Batcomputer have on him?”

Batman regarded the info data cards in his hand. “Dent went to law school following a stint in the Air Force. He was subsequently hired by a large Gotham City law firm. He did Mayor Linseed a favor by running a losing campaign for city assessor - purely so the party would have someone on the ballot. The Mayor didn’t forget and appointed him assistant District Attorney the following year.

“In a bold moved for higher office, he decided to oppose Lucky Pierre in the race for District Attorney. He received mixed reviews in the press for his campaign. He would do things like engineer a large arms shipment bust, but then try to choke an arrested suspect who kicked mud on him. He still wound up being elected on the strength of his self-assured performance in debates and his well-funded campaign.

“Two months into his tenure as D.A., his face was horribly scarred during a trial by a flare launched by Dean Owens while under the influence of Playgirl. Despite being permanently disfigured, he vowed to continue his war on crime. He assisted us in the Max Chessman case and several others. I always found him to be dedicated and hard-working. More recently, however, stories have emerged that paint a different picture. In some, he is a brilliant leader, a cool-headed man of refined tastes. In others, he is a brutal boss with an explosive temper.”

“Batman! Batman! Holy . . .”

“What is it?”

“It’s some kind of costume party…for weirdos!” Robin crouched in the darkness, gazing at the wild scene through the window.

Gaily colored men and women were cavorting about the room in outlandish costumes. He spotted two Nimpan men dressed up in colonial American garb, and decided they resembled the pair from Cobblepot’s library altercation. District Attorney Dent was also among the crowd. He was covered from head to toe in gold makeup so thick it somewhat concealed his scars.

“Batman, we’ve been looking all over for a ‘Mercury.’ It wasn’t Cranek’s bodyguard being referenced in that phone conversation; it was Harvey Dent dressed up as the Roman God!”

“Of course! Mercury, the God of Thieves,” observed Batman, “known for his staff of twin, intertwined snakes.”

“Ohh!” Robin said, turning away in revulsion. “He’s all dressed in gold…and he’s dancing with one of the girls from the Cha-cha Club . . . and, Batman, he’s dancing badly!”

“Steady, chum. Steady.”

“. . . and his chest is buck naked!” Robin rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could forget the bizarre sight.

Batman paused. “You’d better get out of there now.”

“No! I’m okay – I can stick it out. They can’t keep this up much longer. Mister Dent has to be in court tomorrow morning.”

The sun was already peeking over the horizon before Dent emerged from the house. By this time, there was no trace of the gold makeup on him. Gotham City’s District Attorney was again dressed in a standard business suit. Stiff from a night spent on the lawn, Robin crept from behind some large bushes. Since it was now light, he had to take greater care in trailing the D.A..

He was barely half a block from the house, when a voice called out “Hold it right there!”

Robin froze in his tracks. A police cruiser had moved up behind him as he tiptoed along on Dent’s tail. Two officers got out of the vehicle and placed their hands on their side arms.

“Well, well,” the District Attorney said, walking back towards the twentysomething crimefighter. “So it was you spying on me. Someone leaving the party spotted a silhouette and called to warn me. I have to say, I’m disappointed.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Robin said. He turned to the officers and pointed at Harvey. “This man is a degenerate!”

Dent’s expression hardened. “I don’t care who you are. It is against the law to stalk the District Attorney. You’re under arrest.”

Robin thumbed the call button wired to his utility belt. “Batman, I’ve been discovered! He’s having me arrested!”

One of the officers aimed his handgun and crouched in a shooting position.

“Slowly unbuckle your utility belt, Robin.”

Seeing the officer meant business, Robin did as he was ordered. He allowed himself to be handcuffed and put in the squad car by the policemen.

Harvey Dent took a seat beside him in the back seat; the officers resumed their places in the front. The vehicle drove down the street as surreptitiously as it had arrived.

At 9 a.m. sharp, Commissioner Gordon called to order a hastily-arranged press conference. The Daily Planet had been pressuring him for an update on developments in the Hataki and Kent cases.

Batgirl decided to attend at the advice of her father. Looking around the warm, crowded room, she spied Vicki, Jimmy and Lois, but no sign of the Dynamic Duo.

Commissioner Gordon began, “We continue to feel confident we have the man responsible for the Governor’s murder. District Attorney Dent is building a strong case against Mister Cobblepot. Despite his birdshot injury, Cobblepot has been pronounced fit to stand trial.”

The Commissioner shuffled a few papers. “In the matter of Clark Kent’s death, I’ve seen no reason to alter a finding of suicide. Barry Brown revealed some new information about both Ms. Lane and Ms. Lime on his television program. Although it was certainly interesting, it didn’t directly pertain to the cause of death.”

Hidden amidst the crowd of reporters, Laura Lime turned to the man next to her. “They’re talking about me.”

Attorney Lucky Pierre leaned over and held up a hand. “Easy, sit tight. Say, you look beautiful today.” Lime ignored the compliment.

“Whose fingerprints were on the beaker Kent drank from?” asked Barry Brown.

“We dusted it, but besides fourteen prints belonging to Chief O’Hara, found nothing.”

“Has Ruby Jones been informed of Clark’s death? And did she give any indication what she told him during their interview?” Vicki Vale asked.

“Ms. Jones did tell us this much: her reason for only granting one interview was because she had little to say. She wants it known she will feel safer if she is tried a different location than Gotham City. She maintains, besides that, Mister Kent did not receive any wealth of secrets.”

“That doesn’t help us much,” Jimmy muttered.

Lois waved her hand. “Commissioner, would you mind explaining why you didn’t order a thorough autopsy on Clark Kent? And why his remains were washed before the Coroner could determine a cause of death?”

“Ms. Lane, I wasn’t in the room during the autopsy and can’t comment on the order of every little procedure. I am fully aware of your desire that we re-examine this matter and go on re-examining it until such time as we come up with both a murder and a murderer.”

Lime tapped Lucky Pierre on the shoulder. “When are you going to get the body turned over to me?”

“It’s not that easy, gorgeous. You can tell them everything’s resolved and you want the remains or you can tell them it’s suspicious and you want an investigation. You can’t have it both ways.”

“That’s my stiff,” she grumbled.

She heard a follow-up question from Ms. Lane. “Did you get an explanation of what was meant by Laura Lime’s prediction that Barry Brown would never see Clark again?”

“I never said that!” Laura protested. “That was Mister Brown’s version, but he’s not remembering accurately what I said!”

Lois turned towards Barry Brown. “Mister Brown, your response?”

“It’s like this, Lois. Anytime two people have a number of drinks, at least one is going to have difficulty afterwards recalling what was said.”

“I must admit to wondering why you didn’t mention your employment by the Kellogg’s Company earlier, Ms. Lane,” Commissioner Gordon said.

Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “Miss Lane, you made plans with Kellogg’s?”

She shot him a glare. “Use your head, Jimmy! They’re just trying to throw blame elsewhere.”

The Commissioner didn’t appreciate the comment. “Exactly what advice did you receive from the cereal company? And what suggestions did you pass on to Mister Kent?”

The reporter returned the stern gaze. “Did you ever identify the green fluid that Clark ingested?”

“There seems to be some confusion over who is interviewing whom at the moment,” the exasperated lawman said. “I trust you agree a murder investigation takes precedence over preparing a newspaper article.”

The doors to the Commissioner’s office suddenly burst open. Robin was shoved into the room, followed by Harvey Dent and two patrol officers. All four were yelling, so engrossed in debate they paid no mind to the ongoing press conference.

“Great…Scott!” Gordon said in dismay. Before the reporters had a chance to interject, he announced, “This will conclude today’s press conference!”

Some journalists raised their hands with questions, but Chief O’Hara was already shooing them out the door. “You heard the man. If you can’t follow directions, I’ll have to ban the lot of you.”

The group reluctantly exited, snapping photos of the quarrel as they departed. They were still trying to get answers as they were escorted out onto the front steps of Police Headquarters.

“Chief O’Hara, was Robin being arrested?” Jimmy called. Before he could ask the whole question, he found himself addressing a slammed door.

The reporters slowly started to disperse and head off down the steps.

“Not so fast, ladies and gentlemen!” Lucky Pierre stood at the top of the stairs.

“I have an announcement to make. Laura Lime, the grieving fiancée of the late Clark Kent, came to see me yesterday. She is concerned there are so many suspicious details about the death. She is also understandably upset her relationship with the deceased is being questioned in some quarters…now, during her time of bereavement. I have agreed to represent her interests.”

Vicki raised her hand. “Pierre, do you really think you can adequately represent the man accused of the Governor’s murder at a time when you’re actively taking on new clients?”

“With a client whose innocence is so self-evident, one could take on an infinite number of new clients, were all as noble as Oswald Cobblepot,” Lucky Pierre replied. “Of course, Ms. Lime is not on trial for anything, which may come as a surprise to Mister Brown. The notion that her fiancé committed suicide is ridiculous, and why the police continue with their charade is beyond me. This whole case is nothing but phony angles.”

Pierre gestured for Laura to approach. “Now, Ms. Lime would like to say a few words to you herself.”

“I said a few words,” he whispered to her. “Do this right and I’ll buy you dinner.”

“I don’t want your dinner,” she said under her breath.

Jimmy dutifully took some pictures of the solemn brunette. “As you saw this morning, the Gotham City Police Department refuses to spare any resources to look into my dear Clark’s death. So, I’d like to ask – to beg – at least one of Gotham City’s costumed heroes to step forward, to help me bring the killer to justice. Thank you.”

“Laura, is it true you know Lou Cranek?” Barry Brown called before she could leave.

“I’ve met Mister Cranek, yeah. I found him to be a nice business man, a–”

“That’s all for today,” Pierre cut in, waving his arms as if directing planes for takeoff. “She’s very tired; let’s just let her rest.”

Jimmy turned to Lois Lane, who was tapping her chin with her pen.

“Golly Miss Lane, you look pretty steamed,” he observed. “You still think Commissioner Gordon is in cahoots with the murderers?”

“All I know is that the Governor is dead and the Police Commissioner isn’t getting us any closer to finding the assassin. Clark is dead and the Commissioner isn’t interested in investigating that, either. Anyone who thinks they’re going to shrug off, or worse, derail the search for my partner’s killer had better think again. He may not have to answer my questions in person, but I’ll make darn sure he keeps hearing them until he has some answers.”

Pandemonium reigned inside the Commissioner’s office. Robin was halfway through the process of being formally booked. Batman had now arrived and was insistently requesting Robin’s release. The D.A. was equally insistent that the colorfully-clad crimefighter be locked up. There was a lot of yelling. Only Batgirl appeared to keep her cool.

“All right, all right, all right!” Gordon had to shout to get the room quiet. “Now, Mister Dent, I respect your right to press charges, but locking up Robin like a common criminal? I feel we’d all be best served by letting this incident pass.”

Dent was not satisfied. “Well, if you’re not going to arrest him, at least unmask him. We’ll need to locate him if this stalking behavior persists.”

Chief O’Hara seemed to remember something. Beckoning one of the officers to follow him, he left the room.

Batgirl spoke up. “We haven’t heard from Robin yet. Perhaps we should give him the chance to explain.” Batman nodded his agreement.

Robin acted as if he was about to explode. “You bet I’ll explain! The reason Mister Dent is so riled up is because I discovered his sick, secret life.”

“What on Earth do you mean?” asked the Commissioner.

“Last night, he painted himself gold and attended a party with men from Nimpah...and dancing.”

“There’s more, isn’t there, Mister Dent?” Batman turned his accusing gaze on the District Attorney. “Do you want to tell them…or should I?”

Harvey gritted his teeth. “Don’t listen to him. Robin was probably acting on orders from Batman.”

O’Hara and the officer returned, their arms full with two large boxes. “I’ve got the Penguin evidence you asked to review, Mister Dent.”

“Chief O’Hara,” Batman said, “you were with me the day Marc Andrews described the phone calls from the Nimpans’ mysterious benefactor.”

“That’s roight,” the Chief recalled. “This ‘Kent’ fellow had the Nimpans runnin’ around doing his biddin’.”

“Earlier,” Batman explained, “Vicki Vale heard the same name – ‘Kent’ – mentioned as an associate of the Nimpans who attacked her.”

“Beggin’ me pardon, but if we’re lookin’ for those with a motive to kill the Governor, the ruling government in Nimpah seems a fine candidate to me,” said Chief O’Hara. “What if they sent over two assassins with instructions to make sure Governor Hataki met an early demoise?”

Dent shook his head. “It’s unlikely two complete strangers to the city could pull this off.”

O’Hara shrugged. “Well, who says it was just that wily pair? The Nimpan treasury wouldn’t even miss the money it’d take to hire this trio of ‘vagrants’ to assist.” He set his load down and briefly departed to get another.

“A reasonable suspicion,” Gordon agreed, “however, I’m struck by how many suspects of French extraction we have in this case: Cordy Bleau, Raoul, Frenchy…”

“Exactly what I thought!” Robin said.

Batman nodded. “I consulted the Bat computer.   Forty percent of all hits by the French underworld are attributable to a single cause.   We checked, though, and it turns out Governor Hataki never said anything derogatory about Jerry Lewis.”

“Who we know personally, by the way,” said Robin.

Batman tried to steer the conversation back on track. “For a time, we assumed this ‘Kent’ character was the late reporter, Clark Kent. In fact, it turned out to be none other than …Harvey Dent.”

Everyone stared at the District Attorney. “Yes, it’s true,” he said.

“Why go by two names?” asked Batgirl.

“Why not?” Dent said. “The difference is so minuscule…it isn’t like anyone should be surprised Harvey Dent and Harvey Kent are one and the same.”

“Hoa-What?” The returning Chief O’Hara stopped dead in his tracks and dropped his armload. Assorted evidence hit the floor with a crash.

Feeling an overwhelming urge to smoke, Dent pulled out a cigarette, placed it in a holder and lit it. Everyone knew smoking was banned in Police Headquarters, but no one called the District Attorney on it.

“My last name was always Dent, as far as I was concerned, but when my Mom first showed me my birth certificate, the name was spelled with a ‘K.’ A simple typo by the registrar, she said. I never knew my Dad and my Mom never took his name or said much about him. It was as if my name on the birth certificate was some other person - the son of this mysterious, globe-trotting father and Harvey Dent was the son raised in my mother’s world. When I entered politics, I quietly had my name legally changed.”

“Then why are you still using the name ‘Kent?’” Robin asked.

“There are advantages to being Harvey Dent - prestige, respect and so on, but there are also a lot of downsides. I have massive responsibilities and a workload to match. In addition to the pressure of my job, there are the idiots who’re always telling me how courageous I am for continuing on after my disfigurement.”

Harvey dropped onto the Commissioner’s couch. “Sometimes, it all gets to be too much. Those days, I walk out the door as Apollo Kent.   Kent has no obligations and no responsibilities.”

“Apollo?” asked Batgirl.

“I was nicknamed ‘Apollo’ before the accident. Now, with my face like this and my ‘good’ side going prematurely grey, the moniker’s my own grim little joke.”

“You didn’t think the public had a right to know their District Attorney has multiple personalities?” the Commissioner asked.

“’Multiple personalities’ implies I react differently depending on which name I’m using, which isn’t the case.   Kent is just an alias I use when I’m tired of the burdens of the criminal justice system.”

“Why were you sneaking off to that party last night?” asked Robin.

“Trying to use an alternate identity when half your face is grotesquely disfigured presents certain challenges.   So, Apollo Kent is very partial to costume parties for his social events.   Likewise, he favors costumes that conceal facial scars, such as Mercury, the Lone Ranger...”

“So, you were the one dealing with that duo from Nimpah?” Batgirl asked. “The Penguin’s big argument with the Nimpans - you knew it would happen in advance?”

The District Attorney pulled at his collar. “I may have mentioned to them it was in the public’s best interest to object to any trouble Cobblepot tried to create.”

“Was it ‘Apollo’ who wanted that altercation,” asked Batgirl, “or the District Attorney?”

“Sure, Kent’s association with the Nimpans served Harvey Dent’s ends to some extent, but Harvey Dent really didn’t have anything to do with those two.”

“On the one hand, you say it wasn’t you orchestrating this stuff, but on the other hand you say you don’t have a split personality!   That sounds like double talk to me.” said Robin.

“How do you explain the phone call inquiring about the availability of a bi-plane on the day of the assassination?” asked Batman.

The D.A.’s hand began to fiddle nervously with a coin. “I was trying to close off Cobblepot’s escape routes out of town! A plane named The Vulture seemed like a prime candidate.”

Batman began to pace. “The Penguin was expected to be easily convicted after Catwoman pled guilty, but the case seemed to completely unravel as soon as it began.   Funny how the videotape Undine made of Penguin describing his crimes just seemed to mysteriously vanish…”

“…and that no back-up copies ever managed to get made,” added Robin.

“Huh! Are you accusing me of persecuting Cobblepot? Or deliberately letting him walk free?” Dent said. “Make up your minds!”

“What we’re saying is,” said Batman, “if someone is framing Penguin, this would be an inopportune time for any secret double lives to come to light.”

“What? You’re concluding that a tiny name change makes me a suspect? That’s crazy! Doctor Shivel used the spelling ‘Shimmel’ back in Austria; does that make him a suspect, too?”

“Who else in your office can handle the State’s case against the Penguin?” Commissioner Gordon asked.

“No one else is handling his case!” Dent bellowed. “I am going to prove Cobblepot killed the Governor and I am going to see him locked up as a direct result!”

“There’s too much at stake,” said the Commissioner. “Surely you agree it would be an extreme miscarriage of justice were the Penguin to go free based upon your peculiar behavior, instead of on the merits of the case.   As it now stands, I have little confidence that your actions won’t be declared illegal sometime in the near future.”

Dent had been grinding his teeth. “I’ve done nothing illegal. If you were really so committed to upholding the law, you’d have already arrested Robin!”

Without another word, he stomped from the room. Whatever other secrets he harbored would not be shared this day.

Late that afternoon, six figures gathered near the vacant swimming pool in an apartment complex courtyard. They pulled some plastic lawn chairs into a semi-circle and seated themselves.

Batgirl looked around at the somewhat rundown complex. She saw an elderly muscleman performing curls with a dumbbell several hundred feet away. “Why are we meeting here?”

“Our guests from The Daily Planet specifically requested that we not meet in Commissioner Gordon’s office,” replied Batman.

Lois nodded. “We need to keep this discussion amongst ourselves. We have some leads tying Commissioner Gordon to the Governor’s murder.”

“What!? The Commissioner? That’s ridiculous! You’ve got to be joking!” Batgirl declared, clearly upset by the accusation.

“I appreciated your loyalty to the Commissioner, Batgirl,” Lois said, “but remember, he kept denying the existence of the vagrant trio, right up until we showed him photographic evidence.”

“No, he didn’t. He just said his Department didn’t take anyone like that into custody. Commissioner Gordon did everything humanly possible to help track them down.”

Lois paused before continuing. “We have a witness, Todd Threedy, who saw the Commissioner meet with the Penguin. They were discussing how to carry out the assassination.   Mister Threedy also observed Gordon in secret meetings with Ruby Jones, to whom he gave the keys to Police Headquarters.”

Batgirl was unimpressed. “So, you’d dismiss the Commissioner’s decades of public service – not to mention your own previous experience with him – based on what?   The word of someone we know nothing about? I have to say, I am very disappointed in you Lois. That tale is just ludicrous.”

“Well, ludicrous or not, it cost Todd Threedy his life!” Lois revealed. “He was found in a laundromat, crushed to death by the machines.”

“Holy Misadventure!” Robin exclaimed. “Death by dishwasher!”

“You mean ‘death by clothes washer,’” said Lois.

Jimmy leaned over to Robin. “Don’t feel bad. She corrects everybody.”

"Actually, we do know a little about the late Mister Threedy,” Batman said. “He was temporarily transformed into an obedient zombie by Doctor Daka and the Wizard, who were operating a mind control ring out of a department store. Criminals swap all kinds of personal information. Perhaps Threedy’s name came up when someone was looking for a surefire candidate for mind control.   Potentially, that means everything he told you was the product of hypnotic suggestion.”

“Don’t forget the Penguin has previously dabbled in mind control, too,” said Batgirl. “He once took over the mind of Bruce Wayne’s butler.”

“True, and we have another suspect with mind control capabilities,” Batman said. “Lou Cranek has resurrected his mind control machine; the same one he used years ago to try and stop Ms. Lane from testifying. I managed to put the foul device out of action for a while, but he may have been able to repair it.”

Robin shook his head. “Our main reason, though, for linking Cranek to the crime was his goon, Mercury.   Now we know he wasn’t the Mercury we needed.”

“No, Robin,” Batman explained, “we’ve got more on Mister Cranek than that. I checked for possible connections between him and the Governor and came across something interesting.   Initially, Cranek contributed heavily to Governor Hataki’s re-election campaign, purely on the basis of the Governor’s opposition to the Nimpan Maharaja’s regime.   Soon after his check was cashed, however, he learned Hataki was spotlighting organized crime as the main theme in his campaign.   As illogical as it seems, Cranek felt he’d been betrayed.”

“Well, if you’re looking for mind control capabilities, why not look for people who’ve made a career out of it,” asked Batgirl, “like a magician’s assistant.   I find it quite curious that Ruby Jones just pops up with nothing better to do than stalk the Penguin. She has a flimsy revenge story, but the obvious motive for wanting him dead is to shut him up. Then, as soon as Jones is captured, lo and behold, another evil magician’s assistant surfaces, this one with her own questionable claim – Laura Lime and her engagement to Clark Kent.”

Robin looked interested. “Clark Kent had a fiancé named Lorelei?”

“Laura Lime. She and Barry Brown convinced Clark to drink with them that night. Suppose they were playing some drinking game – maybe the old college game, ‘What’s in the beaker?’   Could she have slipped him some poison?”

“I have to admit, I didn’t believe that engagement story for a minute,” said Lois. “Too many things she attributed to Clark didn’t ring true at all.”

“I dunno,” said Robin. “I got a glimpse of her on the news, asking for help, and she looked pretty sincere.”

“I think the two ladies – Ruby Jones and Laura Lime – decided to team up and go into business for themselves,” Batgirl said.

“But, gosh,” said Jimmy, “this goes so much deeper than just ex-molls. Don’t you see? Kellogg’s cereal and their cronies in the Department of Health and Children wanted the Governor eliminated!”

“Kellogg’s?” Vicki said. “Doesn’t the company’s roots trace back to a health retreat?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, I think the so-called health retreat was really a training ground for Nimpan assassins!”

Robin looked at Batman to see if his mentor had the slightest idea about what the photographer was talking.

Jimmy was on a roll. “Then there’s this whole elaborate chain of who-knows-who that leads straight from the Department of Health and Children over to the nocturnal demonology community. As soon as Hataki made those cuts to the Department of Health and Children, he was as good as dead!”

“Young Olsen has gone mad,” Batman whispered to his sidekick.

Vicki glanced quizzically at Lois, who did her part to move things along. “You haven’t had your turn, Robin. Do you suspect anyone?”

“Heck, yes! It’s District Attorney Dent! How more obvious could it be? He’s been controlling that pair of Nimpans like marionettes. Not only did he let the Penguin go free after the most bungled case in legal history, but on the day of the Governor’s death, he’s making calls all around town asking about escape routes. That Daily Planet story about how the Governor wanted him fired sure hurt Harvey’s clout at City Hall – probably killed his chances of ever moving up.   He’d have reason to hold a grudge against both Clark Kent and the Governor for that.” He turned to Vicki. “Plus, he may have approved the attack on you, Ms. Vale.”

Batman scanned the circle of faces. “Anyone else?”

Vicki Vale spoke up. “I’m leaning towards Doctor Shivel, myself. First, because he still has a chip on his shoulder over his past brushes with the law. Even after his cure, he may not be all that committed to living life on society’s terms.   Second, he doesn’t make much of a secret of someday wanting to be governor.   Plus, his wife sure hated Kent on account of that story about the Shivels lobbying the legislature.

Robin held out a palm bearing, apparently, his great wisdom. “Regardless of how he’s treated us in his film, he is a highly respected member of the creative community. He’s been reformed for years.”

Batman considered this point. “True, but we apparently agree that Cobblepot is being framed, which used to happen to anyone standing in Mister Freeze’s way.”

“Usually, us!” Robin added. “At any rate, I should know more about Mister Kent’s mysterious fiancée later tonight.”

“Why?” asked Vicki.

“Because I’m going to offer her my help in finding the killer.”

Batman said nothing.

Batgirl sighed. “It looks like we have more theories than masks.”

“And none of them hinge on Oswald Cobblepot,” said Vicki. “I’m going to title my piece for tomorrow, Many Theories, Few Answers.”

“Funny,” said Lois. “That’s the headline I already have written down on this page in my notebook.”

“So, you’re saying I stole your headline?”

“Oh, please, Vicki. You’ve been copying me your entire career!”

Seeing the two journalists’ hands form into fists, Batgirl quickly stepped between them. “Okay, meeting adjourned!”

Late that night, an elevator carried two figures to the fifth floor of the Gotham Hotel. Laura Lime, followed by Robin, stepped out of the elevator and made their way towards room 579.

"I can't thank you enough for this. I couldn't stand going back in there alone."

Her key was barely halfway into the lock when the door swung open, introducing a shaft of light into the darkened interior. Robin followed Laura as she made her way towards Kent’s bedroom.

"Clark, why didn't you listen?" She turned to Robin. "I told him we needed to call the front desk and get that door lock taken care of right away."

They walked through the living room, not bothering to turn on the light.

"This is where he died," she said as they reached the bedroom. "Where did all the sheets from his bed go?"

Robin walked around the hotel suite. "Here in the bathtub."

"The Commissioner said they didn't want the crime scene disturbed. Why would they throw the sheets in another room?"

Robin pointed. "Look - the window's open.   Maybe someone snuck in here before us. Maybe they were worried they left something behind amongst the sheets. Anyone could have gotten past that broken door lock, so the open window means either they didn't know about the lock – or they couldn't risk being seen going through the lobby."

Lime began looking through the drawers of the bedside table while Robin looked under the bed.   He studied the short green rug covering the floor, and pushed it back. Underneath, he discovered a series of shiny green dots winking back at him. They were clearly drops of something which had dried over the course of several days.

"What did that poison look like?"

"It was a weird, fluorescent, green color."

"Did it look like this?"

Laura gasped as she saw the tiny string of spots on the floor. "How did it get splashed around like that?"

Robin rubbed his chin. "You know what I think? I think that poison didn't go down willingly."

"You mean . . . someone forced it down his throat? He was overpowered?"

"Right. Or maybe he was forced to drink it at gunpoint and his hand was shaking."

"Maybe this is what whoever broke in was looking for.”

"It wouldn’t still be here if anyone had looked for it. I think we should do some more snooping around."

Lime returned to the living room and turned on the overhead light. Her gaze landed on the bare bureau top.

"Wait a minute!" she exclaimed. "What happened to Clark's traveler’s checks? The police left them just sitting there."

"How much were they worth?" Robin called from the bedroom.

"Four thousand dollars -- enough for someone to want to come back and steal them."

"Ms. Lime, was there any drinking going on in the bedroom that night?"

"No. Clark only had one drink out there with Barry - just to be polite."

"Then why is there an open bottle of Scotch in here?"

Laura walked to the bedroom and smiled at Robin. "Feel free to have a few shots. No reason we can't have a little fun while we're up here."

Robin glared disapprovingly at the senses-dulling refreshment. "With all due respect, ma'am, I don't think so."

"Aww, you’re no fun."

Laura turned and returned to the living room. Then she spotted the phone receiver hanging off the hook on the coffee table. She slowly picked it up and held it to her ear. There was no dial tone to be heard, and no loud clanging demanding someone put the receiver back on the hook.   What she did hear was the faintest sound of someone breathing on the other end of the line, and it occurred to her she had just become part of an unfinished phone call. Robin emerged from the bedroom and noticed the concerned expression on her face.

"I think someone might still be in here!" she said softly, looking around worriedly.

Robin turned suspiciously towards an open coat closet to his right, just as a fist shot from its depths and punched him in the gut. He gasped, seizing his smarting ribs. His attacker fairly exploded out of the closet.   Laura watched as a tall figure, hidden under a hat and overcoat, body-blocked the short crimefighter out of the way and made for the door.

"Just a minute," she growled. She leaped at the figure, and her outstretched hands managed to snag a pants leg.

The figure fell flat on his or her face, but immediately yanked the leg free. Seizing the doorknob, the intruder pulled her– or him– self up and disappeared through the doorway.

Laura heard the sound of a metal door banging open against a concrete wall.

"They're taking the stairs!" Laura said. "You pursue on foot! I’ll take the elevator and try to head them off!"

Since he was still trying to catch his breath, Robin only nodded in agreement, but went sprinting for the door to the stairway. Laura was hot on his tail, but split off to the left and slapped the elevator “down” button.

Shoving open the exit door, Robin heard his attacker’s footsteps about two stories down. He took the first five steps in one leap, and took all the rest three at a time. He raised his right arm to absorb the blow at the turn in the staircase.

Through the wall, Robin could heard the elevator go past, and thought it sounded like it was moving faster and more noisily than would be usual. Then he heard Laura's scream and realized something was horribly wrong.

An ear-splitting crash from the bottom of the elevator shaft drowned out the sound of his opponent's footsteps on the staircase.

Robin burst out of the stairwell into the lobby. An alarmed crowd was rapidly heading towards the bank of elevators, but the person in the overcoat was nowhere to be seen amongst them. Dust sifted from the cracks in the elevator doors.

Cursing himself for allowing Lime to race off on her own, Robin angrily punched the door. Another person closely connected to the case was suddenly almost certainly dead. Robin wondered who would be next.

The loss of Laura Lime consumed the news shows the following morning. Barbara Gordon saw Barry Brown, Vicki Vale and Lois Lane all getting airtime, providing predictions on what this development boded for the coming trial of the Penguin.

To the surprise of many, Lucky Pierre insisted upon his client’s right to a speedy trial -- even more surprising was Harvey Dent’s announcement to the Court he was prepared to prosecute the case at the earliest opportunity. The case was set for trial in record time.

Despite the inherent dangers, trials of Gotham City’s costumed villains always drew large crowds. At 7:58 a.m., the spectator gallery was empty. By 8:03, shortly after the doors opened to the public, it was completely full.

The clamor of excited voices quieted as a bailiff announced the arrival of the judge. The judge entered without acknowledging the crowd, and everyone sensed the proceedings would be run with an iron hand.

Lucky Pierre and his client were already seated on the left side of the chamber. District Attorney Harvey Dent was on the right. Getting preliminary motions out of the way, the judge directed Dent to make his opening statement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, despite all the wild theories floating around on the airwaves, Governor Hataki’s murderer is already in custody – and that killer is Oswald Cobblepot, popularly known as the Penguin. If we put aside all these hypothetical notions and just look at the facts, what do we have? A man who previously tried to become mayor by rigging an election, a man who sought employment at a building along the motorcade route only days before the assassination, and who was then seen smuggling an umbrella into the library. Immediately following the shooting, this master of fowl play fled his workplace and attempted to conceal himself in a movie theater.

“It seems that some costumed vigilantes are ready to accept Mister Cobblepot’s claim that he is just an innocent patsy. Why an individual with such a well-documented history of telling everything but the truth would be believed now is beyond me. One wonders what manner of story this oily bird would have to concoct for it to be regarded as farfetched.”

Glaring pointedly at the Caped Crusaders, Dent took his seat.

“We will now hear the opening statement for the defense.”

Depressed his romantic aspirations toward Ms. Lime had not panned out, Lucky Pierre had, as had been his habit recently, drowned his sorrows into the wee hours the previous evening. He was set now with only his fallback response.

“Your Honor, Defense waives opening–”

He stopped in mid-sentence as his client suddenly stood.

The Penguin raised an arm as if calling a meeting to order. “In the immortal words of Henk Sneevliet - ‘Ik beschuldigt!’”

“What?” said the judge. “You accuse?!”

Sitting in the front row, Batman and Robin both slapped their hands to their heads.

The Penguin pointed at the District Attorney. Courtroom cameras dutifully zoomed in on Dent as Cobblepot continued. “Yes. Loathe though I am to point the finger of blame, I must remind you that we were here, this District Attorney and I, less than six months ago. The man simply cannot accept my innocence, though it is plainly evident to the rest of the planet. I fear our District Attorney is quite mad. With one-half of his brain he fabricates evidence, then he convinces the other half that it is true.”

The D.A. wearily raised his hand. “Your Honor, why are we listening to this? The accused already has chosen counsel to represent him.”

The Penguin waved a hand contemptuously at Dent. “I fear that this gentleman’s moral convictions have stayed in step with his rate of convictions - both are sadly lacking.”

Cobblepot's attorney didn’t care for his client’s grandstanding. “Listen to me, didn’t I get you exonerated the last time you were on trial?”

“Certainly, sir . . . and a fine job it was, although my innocence spoke for itself.”

“Exactly - and this time, you won’t have to do any speaking at all!”

“Prosecution will call its first witness,” said the judge.

Batman raised his hand. “Your Honor, if I may…?”

“The Court recognizes the Caped Crusader.”

“Robin and I have amassed a wealth of information about this case – information vital to the jury for it to be able to render a fair verdict. I respectfully ask you allow us a role in these proceedings. I must admit, I cannot in good conscience collaborate with the prosecutor in this instance.”

“Mister Cobblepot has already retained counsel. Do you wish to represent him?”

“No, your Honor, I wish to represent Truth, Justice and the American Way!”

“Objection!” Dent declared. “He can’t use that line!”

Lucky Pierre nodded. “Yeah, I’m representing Truth, Justice and the American Way!”

Dent whirled. “No, you aren’t! I’m ‘the People!’”

“Order!” The judge banged his gavel. “This is highly irregular, Batman.”

The judge rubbed his forehead, momentarily torn. The room breathlessly awaited his decision.

“Although it is questionable whether Batman has standing in this case under the Criminal Code of Gotham state, the unusual circumstances persuade me to risk having a conviction overturned on appeal. Very well. Let the record show that, henceforth, this case shall be known as The People v. Cobblepot v. Batman.

The jurors glanced uneasily at each other, sensing the trial might conclude with unusually complex judge’s instructions.

Batman walked across the courtroom and disappeared through the door from where the judge had emerged. A moment later, he re-appeared, carrying a folded card table. He carefully opened all four legs, then placed the table on a spot off to the right of the judge’s bench.

Jimmy and Lois watched with interest from the courtroom gallery. Jimmy took a photo of the precedent-setting seating configuration.

“Batman, do you have an opening statement?” asked the judge.

“I do, your Honor. Members of the jury, none of us will ever forget where we were the moment Governor Hataki was taken from us. I wish I could, because instead of protecting the leader of our state, I chose to go see a particularly wretched attempt at filmmaking. I am not convinced justice will be served by locking Mister Cobblepot up . . . for this crime, at least.

“What really happened that fateful day? We have a smattering of clues to go by: an oddly broken tree limb along the motorcade route, onlooker William Wumpington’s gash on the forehead, seven flecks of dried clay on a rooftop – clay identical to the sort found around the edge of the utility shed in the thicket.

“From these clues, I was able to surmise the following: on the day in question, five armed men rendezvoused outside Weekly Square. A man walking with a slight limp (caused by an exceptionally full bladder) moved to the edge of the leafy thicket. A second gunman, wearing a healthy application of Salty Dog cologne, snuck into the STD building through the freight entrance on Bowie Street. A man, approximately five feet, eleven inches in height, entered the GothCyt Building and took the elevator to the roof.

“Holding his umbrella high on this cloudless afternoon, another team member stood perspiring heavily near the Persimmons Overpass. A fifth man, dressed as a policeman, stationed himself in the crowd along Oak Avenue. He would later confuse eyewitnesses by passing on bad information, and also provide escort for the gunmen from the thicket.

“At 2:20 p.m., the umbrella man gave a signal for a volley of shots as the Governor passed the Persimmons Overpasss sign. One shot ricocheted off a curb and shattered a piece of concrete that struck Mister Wumpington in the face.

“Beyond these paltry observances, I can say little. It is my hope that over the course of this trial, I can help lead you to discover the true parties responsible for this crime. Thank you.”

At the prosecution table, Harvey Dent tapped his fingers impatiently. He heard Lucky Pierre address the judge.

“Your Honor, with three parties, how are we to determine the order of witnesses?”

Dent stood up. “Wait, the prosecution is supposed to go first.”

“Now, I want you to keep an open mind here, Harvey,” the judge replied. “I feel like pushing the envelope a little bit.”

“A little bit?!” Lois whispered to Jimmy.

The judge thought for a moment, then finally said, “Why don’t each of you pick a number between one and ten?”

“Two,” Pierre answered immediately.

“That’s my number!” Dent complained. “I was about to pick that!”

“Okay, you can pick next, Harvey,” the judge said.

“Two is my number. The defense didn’t wait to be called upon!”

Lucky Pierre turned in his seat. “Quit being a baby.”

“By the Code of Civil Procedure and all the rules which I’ve ever heard, the prosecution gets to call its witnesses first!” Harvey snarled. “If I don’t get the number two, I’ll drop all the charges and it will be on your head that the Governor’s assassin gets to go free!”

“Sounds good to me!” said the Penguin, as he got up and headed for the swinging doors to the gallery.

“Sit down, Mr. Cobblepot!” the judge ordered. He rubbed his forehead. “Pierre, would you mind picking another number?”

“Fine. I’ll pick six.”

“Batman?” The judge pointed to the Caped Crusader.

“Your Honor, as the side representing the reasonable middle ground, I will choose four.”

The judge smiled. “The number I was thinking of was nine, so defense, you will call your witnesses first.”

The District Attorney looked like he was going to object, but opted for fuming in silence. He sat down, leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. Batman remained impassive.

Lucky Pierre smiled triumphantly, then spoke. “You Honor, for my first witness, I would like to call to the stand…Lurch.”

The spectators in the courtroom gasped as a seven foot tall man with a pale, dead expression lumbered slowly up to the bench.

His voice was slower than molasses and several octaves lower than a foghorn. “Youuu rrannng?”

“I certainly am,” Judge Roy Rang replied, “and we are glad you could join us, Mister Lurch. Please take the stand.”

Rising from his seat, Lucky Pierre sauntered past the giant. “Now, then, Mister Lurch, several years ago, you and your employers rented a suite on the floor directly underneath Mister Cobblepot’s restaurant, the Penguin’s Nest. How would you describe that experience?”

“Uhhuhhhuhhuhh.” The giant put his hand to his face.

“As the person whose ears were closest to the ceiling, you were in a position to overhear anything transpiring on the floor above you. Did you ever hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“Uhuhhhhh.” The giant shook his head.

“Did you notice anything illegal about Mister Cobblepot’s restaurant?”

“Uhhuhhhuhh,” the giant groaned.

Although Lucky Pierre would call thirteen more witnesses to testify in Cobblepot’s defense, observers agreed Lurch’s statements went the furthest in defending the Penguin’s character. ^[vi]

Vicki Vale sat in the courtroom gallery, thinking of happier times. Her mind kept getting sidetracked by memories of Governor Hataki. She felt a tear coming on, and suddenly realized she hadn’t heard a word of Black Dog Man’s testimony. Scolding herself, she busily alternated between snapping pictures and taking copious notes for the remaining time the elderly animal lover was on the stand.

During a particularly tedious round of legal wrangling, Vicki took a long look around the spectators’ gallery. Her eyes settled on a swarthy looking figure with a long scar down his cheek.

‘Eladinga! The Nimpan who caught me eavesdropping on his call with Harvey Dent. He must have been called to testify about Cobblepot’s behavior at the library,’ she thought.

He noticed her staring at him and tugged the brim of his hat down. She waited, and a minute later, he peeked up to catch her still scrutinizing him. With that, he rose to his feet and quietly left the courtroom. Vicki stayed put for the moment.

‘He’s probably waiting to see if I’ll be right behind him,’ she thought. ’I can go up three flights to the roof and get a clear view of whatever direction he takes upon leaving the building.’

Lucky Pierre’s witnesses came and went, each stating, usually reluctantly, that they had not seen Cobblepot pull the trigger. Following the defense, Batman was allowed to call his own set of witnesses. First up was wealthy collector Marc Andrews.

“Did your mysterious phone contact ever give any clues as to his identity?”

“Not a one.”

“When he purchased the Penguin statue, how did he pay for it?”

“With a check.”

“Whose name was pre-printed on the check?”

“Harvey Dent.” A look of enlightenment crossed Andrew’s features. “Sayyy! That was a clue, wasn’t it?”

Before Dent could object, Batman said, “No further questions.”

There was a sudden buzz of mumbling from the spectators behind the District Attorney. Dent gnashed his teeth and silently cursed the judge for allowing such a farce.

“Witness is excused,” said Judge Rang. He looked at Batman. “I have to go down the hall for a moment, but this is going so well, I don’t want to hold things up. Can you sit in for me for a few minutes?”

“Certainly, your Honor.”

“What!?” Dent practically yelled as he sprang to his feet. “You made him a party to the case! He can’t be the judge, too! I object!!”

“Overruled!” the judge said angrily. “Now, sit down, Harvey, or I’ll hold you in contempt!”

Dent’s face became so contorted with rage, for the first time in years the two halves almost matched.

“I’m a big fan of yours,” the judge whispered as he allowed Batman to take his seat.

From the judge’s chair, Batman picked up where he had left off. “I now call to the stand, Lois–”

“Just a moment!”

Batman halted in mid-sentence. Everyone turned in their seats to see Batgirl walking down the aisle. Some tiny, reel-to-reel tapes were clutched in her hand.

“Batman, I’ve spent the last two days reviewing dictaphone tapes of the week before the assassination. I have one I think you’ll want to hear.”

“Objection!” said the District Attorney. “The source of this tape hasn’t been established.”

“It came from Chief O’Hara’s dictaphone belt,” Batgirl replied.

“Why doesn’t the Chief testify himself?” demanded the D.A..

“I’m not sure he was conscious during the recording.”

“He was knocked out?” asked Batman.

“Something like that. He was on a park bench near the leafy thicket. Apparently, his body pressed the record button when he fell to a horizontal position.”

“I’m going to rule the tape is admissible,” Batman said.

Batgirl produced a miniature tape recorder, placed the tape in it, set the recorder in front of a microphone and hit ‘play.’

Out of the speakers blared a deep snoring sound, which echoed around the courtroom. The audience began to titter as the noise continued. It gradually died down and a faint pair of voices could be heard, slowly becoming more distinct as the two apparently approached the spot of the recording.

“Are you sure no one can hear us?” said one voice.

“We’re all alone. It’s past Gotham City’s bedtime. Just think, fifteen hours from now, this place will be filled with people, all getting one last look at unfortunate Governor Hataki.”

“Do you really think we’ll get placed in charge of state agency budgets?”

“Sure, why not? After this job, he’ll know how dependable and conscientious we are.”

In the gallery, Lois tugged on Jimmy’s arm. “That first voice - I know where I’ve heard it before!”

“Where?”

“It’s the man at the airport who offered to arrange a meeting with Raoul for me.” She turned her attention back to the recording.

“Now, we’ve got too many people who know about our plot,” the first voice said. “This Steve Martin may go to the police about Bannister slapping him around.”

“Oh, he’ll go to the police . . . and he will tell them he was beaten up . . . but he won’t reveal any of our plan.”

“Okay, let me stop you there. If you think he’s going to the police, that suggests enough of a risk that he should be eliminated.”

Voice number two chuckled. “I can assure you, that won’t be necessary.”

“But he’s spent so much time with Banister…”

“Who will have to die.”

“Banister’s one of us!”

“Sorry. He has to go.”

“We’re killing Banister and we’re leaving Martin alive. Fine. Be Mister Unpredictable if you want.” The voice made an exasperated exhaling sound.

“Okay, let’s run through this again.

"I’ve got a man named Cordy Bleau. He grew up in a hunting family that was too poor to buy new bullets. From an early age, he had to learn to chase and retrieve bullets. I’ll have him keep an eye out for bullets shot from the leafy thicket. Since those are coming from the opposite direction from the library, it might be hard to get people to believe Cobblepot fired them. Bleau will run around and pick them up before Batman can find them.

"Once Bleau’s done picking up all the bullets, he can go rendezvous with the other two ‘vagrants’ at the utility shed. They’ll serve as back-up in case our coup d’etat goes awry and we have to take on the Gotham City police force.”

"Since they’re kind of hard to explain, we should set a limit on how many bullets get fired from the thicket. Say, no more than five shots?”

“That should be enough, even if everything goes wrong at the other snipers’ nests.”

“Hataki’ll probably wind up getting hit with enough bullets to kill him and all his ancestors, but better safe than sorry.”

“No one’s going to question even twenty-five bullet holes. Everyone knows the Penguin is just bloodthirsty enough to shoot someone that many times.”

“Now, how do we ensure Cobblepot stays out of sight during the assassination?”

“To be honest, I’ve got plenty to keep track of already.”

“Wh…what would you suggest we do if he establishes an iron-clad alibi for his whereabouts right when the shooting is going on?!”

“I have to say, you have an incredible knack for worrying about nitpicking minutia. We wouldn’t have to deal with any of this if the Governor’s plane had crashed like it was supposed to.”

“I still can’t understand why that didn’t work.”

The snoring sound suddenly resumed, sounding like a muffled chainsaw over the microphone. It drowned out whatever else the two conspirators had to say. Batgirl switched the recorder off, ending the presentation.

She turned to the jury. “So, as you heard, the killers were calculating and meticulous in executing their plot, with nothing left to chance.”

Vicki Vale tailed the mysterious Eladinga through the city. Twice Vicki saw enough of a profile to take a photo, but only one yielded decent results. As the early evening light began to fade, the photojournalist began to wonder how much longer she’d be able to distinguish him from commuters.

Eladinga entered a phone booth and closed the door. Vale pretended to study a street sign nearby, but this forced her to keep her back to the booth. She told herself that getting close enough to eavesdrop on the entire conversation would be too risky. But after a bit, it occurred to her that she should still be able to hear at least a hint of a voice, considering her proximity. She strolled in a wide circle to view the front of the phone booth. The door hung open; the booth was empty.

She stopped the first passer-by she came across. “Did you see a Nimpan man with a scar pass by here in the last few minutes?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He shook his head.

She puzzled over which direction to search for the elusive Nimpan. She stopped and slapped her forehead.

‘That bystander looked and sounded quite a bit like Eladinga!’ she thought.’Come to think of it, I wound up with brownish paint on my hands the last time I tussled with him. I thought it was paint from a truck, but maybe it was just makeup. Maybe ‘Eladinga’ isn’t Nimpan at all!’

She caught view of the uninformative bystander heading off around a corner. She trailed his white jacket from a distance. After a minute, she came upon Eladinga’s hat protruding from a trash can, and a minute later, his jacket turned up, draped over a fire hydrant. A few seconds later, she found a Luger pointed at her.

“Zat is far enough,” said a familiar voice.

Following the playing of the police dictaphone recording, Judge Rang returned to the bench. Batman then called Lois Lane to the stand.

“Todd Threedy is beyond testifying now,” he said. “victim of a bizarre accident. How would you rate your expertise on the Threedy/Ruby Jones relationship?”

“I can’t say for sure, but my impression was he went out of his way to contact us at The Daily Planet because he hadn’t told anyone else.”

“Did you investigate Mister Threedy’s history with super-villains prior to interviewing him?”

“No, but after his demise, I found he once unwillingly served as a mind-controlled zombie.”

“In your interview, did his observations point the finger of suspicion towards anyone in particular?”

“Mainly towards Commissioner Gordon. Gordon was observed with Ruby Jones several times.”

“Threedy was introduced to the Commissioner by name?”

“No, he recognized the suspect as someone who would be the Commissioner’s twin if you took away the glasses and mustache.”

Batman turned to Judge Rang. “At this time, I would like to introduce into evidence the visual image of the actor portraying Commissioner Gordon in the film Chilled Scientist, along with an image of the same actor without the mustache and glasses.”

By this time, Harvey Dent had apparently given up, his case against Cobblepot in shambles. He started to object, but thought better of it.

Lucky Pierre saw no reason to intercede. Batman was doing his job for him.

“Ms. Lane,” Batman asked, “is it possible that Mister Threedy, given his penchant for being kidnapped and brainwashed, could have actually seen this face talking to Ms. Jones?”

Lois Lane frowned. “I don’t see how. This fellow can’t be more than thirty-five, but Threedy described the individual as an old man. He quoted Ruby Jones as referring to him as an ‘old man.’”

“That’s because she was referring to him by name!” Batman turned triumphantly to the jury. “This actor’s name is Gerald Oldmunn and he lives in the same apartment building as Ruby Jones . . . on the very same floor!   Makeup and facial hair allowed him to play the part of an older Gordon for Shivel’s film.”

“Yes,” Lois conceded, “if Threedy’s statements were coerced through mind control, I guess I could buy Threedy mixing up the screen James Gordon with the actual one.”

In the spectator gallery, Batgirl patted the real Commissioner on the shoulder.

Batman continued. “Concerning the reporter who interviewed Ruby, could you share how you learned of Clark Kent’s death?”

“It was in the middle of the night – a call from Rosemarie Shivel. She hinted that something terrible had happened, but was too distraught to go into details.”

“From where was she calling?”

“I assume from her home. I heard a bottle being set down…and a dog barking.”

“What was the last story you were working on prior to being assigned to cover Governor Hataki’s state tour?”

“I was preparing to interview several women who claim Doctor Shivel groped them at a showbiz party.”

Thank you, Ms. Lane. No further questions.”

“Great job, Miss Lane!” Jimmy said as she returned to her seat.

“Thanks, Jimmy. I hope you got some nice shots of me, because Vicki Vale won’t select any good ones for her story.”

“Miss Vale isn’t even here. She left a long time ago.”

“Hmmm. I wonder what she knows that we don’t. Let’s go see what’s up – I need a breath of fresh air, anyway.”

The two strolled out into the hallway and then, finding nothing of interest, to the street in front of the courthouse.

Lois looked around. “Must’ve been something so important she couldn’t stick around.”

“Maybe she got a lead on the Vagrant Trio.”

“Hey, let me see that photo of those three again.”

Jimmy obediently fished a copy of the photo from his portfolio. By this time, however, it was too late in the evening to rely on the Gotham City sky for illumination.

Lois tried adjusting the distance from the picture to her eyeballs. “Tsk. Do you have a light with you?”

“Sure.” Jimmy helpfully lit a match and held it next to the picture. Three sets of sullen features stood out on the paper, nicely framed by the flame.

“Oh my gosh!” Lois said. “Now I know where we’ve run into Frenchy before!”

“Really? Where?”

“Come on!” she said. “I’ll explain on the way.”

Jimmy shook out the match as Lois hailed a passing cab.

In the courtroom, Batman pressed on with his case. “For my next witness, I call to the stand…Ms. Rosemarie Shivel.”

Ms. Shivel was in the process of placing a mint in her mouth, and her jaw hung open for a long moment upon hearing her name called. Despite her protests, the bailiff escorted her up to the witness stand.

“You’ve nothing about which to be uneasy, Ms. Shivel,” Batman assured her, pacing around like a cat preparing to pounce. “Would you please tell us how you first learned of Mister Kent’s death?”

“I heard it on the news. I don’t remember which station.”

“Interesting . . . but that news was not broadcast on any station until the next morning, well past the time you called Ms. Lane.”

“Maybe she got her dates mixed up.”

“She was present at the crime scene by morning, so that is unlikely. For some reason that you cannot explain, you knew of the death well before everyone else.” Batman let that thought hang in the air for a moment. “Nevertheless, we will move on. Ms. Lane said that she heard a dog barking in the background during your late-night phone call. Yet on your penultimate broadcast before leaving the Reeves & West television program, you mentioned you were allergic to all dogs.”

“Well, being allergic to dogs doesn’t make me evil.”

“Objection! Conjecture!” said Lucky Pierre.

“Sustained.” Adopting a patronizing tone, Judge Rang turned to the witness. “Please refrain from airing your personal views here, Mrs. Freeze.”

She stiffened. “My last name is…Shivel!”

“Now, let’s not get emotional,” admonished the judge.

Batman stopped pacing and leaned in towards the witness. “Isn’t it true, Ms. Shivel, that the dog with you during that call was the same dog stolen from Mister Kent’s residence a week earlier?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” she protested, squirming in her seat.

“So sad it had to come to this,” Doctor Shivel said as he motioned Vicki Vale into a cluttered room.

He and the white-jacketed man had forced her at gunpoint to climb the rear stairwell of a building and traipse down a corridor. As they entered, a large bear of a man looked up from the bed on which he was reclining.

“Allow me to introduce herr Frenchy. ^[vii] The Penguin knew him by ze name ‘Raoul,’ by the vay . . . und Mister Wizard, whom you seem to enjoy following.” Shivel gestured at the white-jacketed man who’d masqueraded as Eladinga, as well as the mustached man Lois met at the airport.

“Greetings, Ms. Vale,” the Wizard gloated. “I trust my fledging disguise efforts meet with your approval?”

“The Wizard - of course!” said Vale. “You’re the one with the remote control machine that can manipulate any device. The mysterious deaths in the elevator and laundromat were your doing!”

The Wizard said nothing.

“Everyzing you could have had,” Shivel said, shaking his head, “fame, fortune, my unconditional luffh.”

“I told you, Otold, our ‘unconditional luffh’ just wasn’t meant to be,” Vicki answered. “Anyway, what would have become of your new wife? Would she have quickly wound up in a car accident?”

“Nein, Nein, an open relationship with my wife and I have.” Shivel began absentmindedly playing with his bushy eyebrows. “You just had to go and humiliate me, enh? To degrade yourself by slinking around with that schwein Governor.”

“I wasn’t slinking. Unlike you, he wasn’t married. Also, he didn’t live for world domination.”

Frenchy turned off his TV show so he could give the ongoing melodrama his full attention.

“Come, come . . . within the month, I vill be fairly elected to public office.”

“Yes. I never did believe your refusal to run for governor. Why did you bother denying it on television?”

Shivel twirled his eyebrows. “Ach, it is all about creating a demand, my dear. If I say that I am running, some people will be very mad because of my criminal past. I will not be able to discuss anyzeng else because all the time the question will be ‘Otold, do not these people deserve to be heard? How do you answer their anger?’ Vell, vot do I say? ‘I would very much like to answer their anger - with fifty degree below zero freeze blasts!’ Bot! If I say I am not running, then all you will hear is people who wish I did run. ‘Oh, isn’t it terrible that Otold cannot run. Let us change ze election laws so he vill think about running again.’”

“We don’t have time to relive this entire relationship right now,” the Wizard said, shifting from foot to foot.

“A relationship too exquisite to be derided by you, Vizard!” Shivel said. “But you are correct – all beautiful things must come to an end.”

“Let me guess,” said Vicki. “I’m about to have a fatal blender accident.”

“Say, I like that!” the Wizard said, brightening.

“No, my dear. Poison,” Shivel informed her.

“So, you’ll make it look like all the journalists with a connection to this case suddenly decided to commit suicide. Gotham City’s police may be a little inept, but they’re not going to buy that!”

“Ah, you are quite right. Clearly, ze only way out of zis regrettable situation is if you die ‘unintentionally,’ through some personal practice so unpleasant your journalist friends vill be too unsettled to cover it in detail.”

“And, when we’re done, we’ll take your corpse back to your place,” the Wizard said, “and leave it laying in your bed.”

“Some people saw you escorting me in here,” she said. “Someone must have recognized either or both of us, Otold.”

“Of zat we have already thought. While you lay beautifully dead, we shall make several phone calls to Governor Hataki’s office on your phone. No one will be there to answer, of course, but ze phone record will establish to ze police you were still alive and distraught over your dead lover all evening, and only took the poison hours later.”

“Well, you can wave that gun around all you want, but I’m not going to open my mouth for anything you try to put in it!”

“It is not going in your mouth.”

Shivel and the Wizard both broke out in maniacal laughter. “Frenchy, why not turn the TV on, with the volume good and loud,” the Wizard suggested.

The henchman clicked on the television. Onto the screen flashed the Cobblepot trial in progress, with Shivel’s spouse on the stand.

Batman was addressing Rosemarie. “How long have you and your husband been interested in films?”

“I…think as long as we’ve known each other.”

“What was the first film to which he took you?”

She thought hard. “From Beer to Maternity.”

“Odd. That film came out while Doctor Shivel was still married to his first wife. Were you two having an affair?”

“Schmerz im ansatz!” shouted Otold.

“Oh, this is not good,” agreed the Wizard.

Batman continued. “Was Carter…AKA, the Wizard, a guest at your wedding?”

“Objection!” Harvey Dent said, holding up a hand in exasperation. He was tired of sitting, doing nothing. Besides, he had never known a trial to run so late without adjourning for the day. “Badgering the witness, immaterial line of questioning…”

Judge Rang mulled this over. “Could you explain the relevance, Batman?”

“I would be delighted, Your Honor. As Mister Freeze, Otold Shivel had a track record of becoming infatuated with any pretty face he saw. He would then refuse to let anything stand between him and the object of his desire. Such was the case on the day he met the former Rosemarie Shripsvy - he was instantly enthralled.

“Shivel first contacted the Wizard because he was in love with Rosemarie and wanted out of his strained marriage to Sarah. He knew the Wizard’s remote control machine could get her out of his way while making the car crash appear accidental.

“Following the elimination of poor Sarah, he enlisted the Wizard in an even bigger scheme: the assassination of Governor Hataki. Shivel craved political power and its accompanying opportunities for payola. Although his movie career was off to a surprisingly good start, he realized showbiz fame is fleeting and no amount of public adulation would enable him to withstand scrutiny during a long, drawn-out campaign. His only hope was to create a vacancy in the job amidst total chaos, slide by on name-recognition alone and swiftly fill the sudden vacuum of power.

“Shivel knew the Nimpan civil war controversy could be twisted to his advantage, but neither he nor the Wizard was able to recruit anyone from the local Nimpan community. The Wizard, however, remembered his old cellmate, William Johnson, who excelled at disguise. They tracked Johnson down in Metropolis, where he was still plying his unlawful trade. Voila! Thanks to Johnson’s makeup kit, they had their two Nimpans.

“They originally thought they could pin the assassination on Lou Cranek, whose hatred for Hataki was well known. Posing as Nimpan intelligence operatives sent by the Maharaja, they approached Harvey Dent, and convinced him they could help him nail Cranek.

“Once he learned the Penguin was in custody and about to go to trial, however, Shivel announced they’d found themselves the ideal patsy. Taking advantage of their access to Dent, they arranged for all evidence proving a Penguin/Catwoman plot to rule Bessarovia to mysteriously vanish from the department’s evidence room.   Since Batgirl was on a case in New Zealand and unavailable to testify, the Penguin was pronounced innocent and set free.   Acting on information purchased from former Penguin henchman Cordy Bleu, the Wizard convinced Dent to buy Marc Andrew’s Penguin statue-map. With it, he was then able to loot the unsuspecting bird bandit’s hideouts, leaving him destitute.

“By circulating rumors that Cobblepot had avoided jail time by becoming an informant for Dent, the Wizard insured that Oswald would be a pariah in the underworld, unable to receive a helping hand from any of his old friends. Through Bleau, they hired Frenchy to play the role of Penguin’s advisor/employer ‘Raoul.’ Cobblepot was carefully steered towards the clerical library job, which lay right along Hataki’s limousine route. As the critical hour approached, all suspicion would point to Cobblepot.”

Judge Rang, Lucky Pierre, Harvey Dent, the bailiff, the court reporter, the Penguin, Robin, Batgirl, Commissioner Gordon and everyone else in the courtroom sat absolutely still, overwhelmed, yet transfixed, by Batman’s lengthy dissertation . . .

. . . and he wasn’t finished.

“Seconds before the shooting commenced, the Wizard’s remote control machine forced the Governor’s limousine to slow unexpectedly.   By maneuvering the Penguin into the movie theater following the assassination, they arranged for him to be apprehended by Shivel himself in front of the press, thereby cementing the public’s trust in the movie mogul."

Vale turned from the set and cocked her eyebrow at the three men. “Still think anyone will believe this ingenious suicide story of yours?”

Otold rubbed his chin. “I must go to the courthouse. I can convince the public of my innocence. I chust need some airtime.”

“I think at this juncture,” said the Wizard, “we should be considering our escape route.”

“Nein! We must not panic. Ze lady still possesses some items we will require. She vas taking photos of you.” He pointed to the Wizard. “Also, she once confided she keeps a red diary on her person. Mention of my fascination with her this diary probably contains. Ze authorities will recover it and read about her vile velationship with the snake Hataki, but only after the offending references to myself have been removed.”

Frenchy jerked Vicki’s purse and camera down her arm. He easily blocked a wild punch from her, before yanking the two items from her grasp and throwing them on the bed.

“Restrain her,” said the Wizard.

“With pleasure,” said Frenchy, grabbing Vicki by the arm.   For his trouble, he received an elbow in the face.

“Perhaps you should just sedate her,” suggested Doctor Shivel.

Vicki ducked just before Frenchy’s meaty fist could connect with her face. Vicki tried to tug her arm free, but couldn’t break loose of the behemoth’s grip. He angrily flung her across the room. Her head hit a bedpost and she fell hard to the floor.   Doctor Shivel regarded her still form with a mixture of contempt and regret.

“Go start the car,” he instructed Frenchy. “Zis will only take a few minutes.” Frenchy obediently exited while Shivel rummaged through a bag of pills.

Jimmy and Lois were busy giving directions to a taxi driver (who already knew the way). The taxi pulled up in front of the What a Way to Go-Go, with dual burning torches that flanked the entranceway.

“That’s what reminded me,” Lois said, pointing at the flames. “Remember the doorman here?”

“Wow,” said Jimmy. “The same grim expression as the ugly puss in this photo.   I was telling Robin about this place, and he said the doorman here once made him sit out in the Batmobile on account of being underage.”

“Uh-oh. There’s a different doorman on duty tonight,” Lois said. “Driver, circle around the club, would you?”

As the taxi pulled up behind the building, they spotted a large figure backing up a car.

“That’s him. Driver, pull over here.”

“He must be leaving,” Jimmy said. “He isn’t wearing the organ grinder monkey outfit.”

Upstairs, Otold Shivel inspected the handful of colorful pills in the palm of his hand. The Wizard, reluctant to commit a felony out of costume, had donned his trademark cloak and hood.

Vicki Vale lay motionless on the floor. Although she had not been knocked out, she felt it wiser to play dead for the moment and try to come up with a plan.   Her hidden arm flopped around under the bed, looking for a weapon.

“You know, a new way of killing Ruby Jones I now must find. I vas going to use this method when I pay a visit,” she heard the former Mister Freeze tell the Wizard. “Now hold Ms. Vicki down and force her jaws open.”

Vicki’s fingers came across a metal top hat under the bed.

At the trial, Batman pressed forward with his case.

“Doctor Shivel assumed that his first wife, being a former supervillain moll, would not object to his frequent dalliances. He was displeased to find that not only did she object, but she had been receiving guidance on their relationship from none other than her former boss, the Penguin.   Incensed she would seek out an unrepentant supervillain for marital advice, Shivel vowed to ruin Cobblepot - and do so in a way that did not threaten his newfound stardom.   Before the year was out, Otold was a widower and engaged to an exotic TV broadcaster - none other than the witness currently under oath. ^[viii]

“Otold and Rosemarie were wed right after his special effects work won a Felix award. No sooner had the newlyweds become famous than Shivel’s eye began to wander again.   He became infatuated with reporter Vicki Vale, and, this time, his spouse was flirting as well.   A kind, mild-mannered reporter was seldom far from her thoughts.   Otold got his mistress and you had his blessing to pick a paramour of your own. Was that the nuptial arrangement, Ms. Shivel?”

The audience – and Batman – took a long forestalled deep breath.

“Stop! You’ve got it all wrong!” the woman protested, wishing dearly she had a stiff drink.

“Except neither one quite worked out, did it?   The girl reporter accepted a small film role from your spouse, but nothing further.   News stories started emanating from Mister Kent’s typewriter that no longer made him look so devoted.   Yet, for a time, defying all logic, you loved him…didn’t you?”

“Yes!” Rosemarie sobbed. “I couldn’t help it. He was just so danged . . . wholesome.   Oh, boo hoo, boo hoo!”

Batman walked towards the jury, leaving Rosemarie to her bitter tears.

He shook a finger at the miserably-sobbing witness. “Let this be a lesson regarding this foul fad. The next time you look with desire at someone other than your spouse, stop and ask yourself, ‘Do I really want to spend the rest of my life in prison?’

“This unholy abomination we call ‘swinging’ is ruining our nation,” he said, coming to a stop in front of the TV camera. “I can only feel outrage when I think of lawfully wedded couples taking a blasé view of their solemn vows.   I call upon all of you at home to forsake your spouse-swapping orgies - leave behind your hot tubs and do some healthy jumping jacks!”

The members of the jury looked at each other, then nodded in solemn agreement.

“Swingers and others of their spouse-swapping ilk are taking us down a dangerous path…a path that leads to the inevitable downfall of our society. It’s up to each one of us to stop this perversion of the family unit in its tracks.”

Batman stared straight into the camera. “It’s up to you.”

Leaving the viewing audience with a heavy burden to consider, Batman stalked from the courtroom.

As one, an entire nation rose to its feet and applauded.

In living rooms across America, whole families clapped and cheered.   Batman had, without a doubt, won his case – assuming there was a legal provision for offering the jury a third option beyond ‘guilty’ and ‘not guilty.’

Lucky Pierre stood. “Your Honor, I think I speak for everyone when I say there’s no need to hear anything further.”

Judge Rang stopped clapping long enough to glance at the standing ovation coming from the jury box. “Quite agreed. Case dismissed!”

Harvey Dent adopted a pose not unlike that of Lucky Pierre himself at the conclusion of the initial joint trial of the Joker and Catwoman nine years before.

Oswald Cobblepot blinked repeatedly, not quite ready to believe he wasn’t emerging from some wildly fanciful dream. Lucky Pierre engulfed him in a celebratory bear hug. ^[ix] The two wiped away tears of happiness. (Coincidentally, footage of their hug would be broadcast world-wide at the exact time Cobblepot publicly announced his resumption of the name ‘Penguin’ and his ambition to blast the moon from the sky.)

Frenchy parked the doctor’s car and exited the vehicle.   He was startled by the appearance of a yellow cab that pulled up next to him. Out of it jumped an angry young man.

“Hold on, you,” Jimmy snarled. “You promised us we could get a table without having to wait if we got here before eight. What time is it now?”

Frenchy automatically looked to check his watch, but halted in mid-motion. “Hey, pal, I didn’t talk to you. I’m not even working tonight.”

“You’ve had a lot of time off,” said Lois from the other side of the taxi. “You were off-duty the night Clark Kent died, weren’t you?”

Frenchy did a double-take. “How’d you know…?”

He glanced suspiciously back at Jimmy, who yanked on Frenchy’s outstretched arm and slammed the taxi door on his hand.

“What was that poison Mister Kent drank?” he demanded, maintaining pressure on the car door. Jimmy felt himself possessed by righteous fury.

Frenchy responded by smacking Jimmy in the face with his left hand.   The young man fell to the ground, allowing Frenchy to remove his hand from the door. He grabbed for the shoulder holster attached to his left armpit, but was forced to do so awkwardly, with his undamaged left hand.   He was just getting a grip on it when Lois winged a pocket mirror off the side of his head.   Jimmy grabbed Frenchy’s good hand and pulled it way from the holster.

Inside the building, the Wizard stood over Vicki for a moment, then reached for her face. She yanked the metal top hat from beneath the bed and drew her arm back. Seeing her aim for his teeth, the Wizard quickly moved his arms to ward off the blow. The newsgirl switched tactics, bashing him on the kneecap.

>BUNNG!<

“Gaah! Shoot her!” yelled the Wizard.

“Frenchy has ze gun. I shall return.” Shivel hurriedly left the Wizard to fend for himself.

The evil doctor arrived in the parking lot to find Frenchy with Jimmy Olsen.   At first glance, he thought they were dancing around the parking lot holding hands.   Then Lois Lane jumped on the henchman’s back and started pulling tufts of his hair out.

She saw the befuddled doctor watching the fight. “What are you doing here, Otold? Quick, Jimmy, get Doctor Shivel’s picture!”

Shivel fled for the nearest door.

“Evffryone, fall back!” he shouted as loud as he could. “Reassemble at hideout B! Hideout B!” He disappeared through a door before Olsen was able to record photographic proof of his presence.

Shivel found himself plunging through the interior of the dance club.   A woman recognized him from the day’s news and screamed.   Heads turned in his direction.   Shivel madly made his way for the entrance. He passed Barry Brown, who had just entered the club with his latest floozy in tow.

“Doctor Shivel!”

Getting no response from the fleeing genius, Brown pulled out his tape recorder and gave chase.   He caught up with the sprinting filmmaker in the parking lot.   Thrusting out a microphone, he said, “Doctor Shivel, you look busy right now, but you’ve always made time for our listeners before.”

Shivel tried to sound delighted, but kept running. “Oh, Barry! How good…to see you.” He smiled one of the most pained smiles in human history.

“Doctor,” Barry said with concern, “Batman has had your wife arrested and requested a warrant for your arrest. He maintains that you are the mastermind behind the murders of Governor Hataki and Clark Kent. How do you respond?”

“Well, you see…horrible lies ze Batman has resorted to. Effryone knows how bitter ze long underwear buffoons are over my film.” He increased his pace, but Brown had no difficulty keeping up.

“Who do you think killed Governor Hataki?”

“Actually, the more I think…about this, the more I am convinced zis may have been…a suicide.   The person Ms. Vicki Vale was really having an affair with…was Governor Hataki himself.   I believe this…dereliction of duties haunted the man until he made ze decision…to end it all.”

“Doctor, some Gothamites might be skeptical of these charges, and suspicious about their timing.”

The sound of their footsteps rapidly slapping the pavement underscored Brown’s point.

Gasping for breath, Shivel replied, “Those doubters…must…go see Chilled…Scientist for an…honest look at Gotham City Law Enforcement. It plays…daily at 1:30, 3:00…”

Brown interrupted him. “Okay, thank you for your time, doctor. Best of luck.”

Like a starving baby bird, Shivel leaned after the departing microphone. “Trust me! I’m a filmmaker!”

At the rear of the What a Way to Go-Go, Frenchy pulled Lois from his back and flung her one-handed at Jimmy. The reporting duo landed on the pavement with a thud. Frenchy was back behind the wheel of his car. His hood flapping, the Wizard came running from the back entrance and joined Frenchy in the vehicle. The reporters had to move quickly to avoid being run over. The villains’ car screeched down the alley and out of sight.

Frenchy looked back over his shoulder. “Aww, cripes! I left all of the Penguin’s weaponry hidden under my bed.”

“No kidding,” the Wizard grumbled.

Batgirl sat in the silence of Commissioner Gordon’s office, feeling terribly left out of the action. She was grateful to see the Hotline light up.

Beep . . . beep . . . beep

She lifted the clear plastic cover and yanked up the red receiver. “Batgirl here.”

“Batgirl,” came Robin’s voice above the hum of the Batmobile. “The Bat-Interview-Detector just picked up Otold Shivel headed east down Oak Avenue towards Weekly Square.”

“Lieutenant Mooney reported someone resembling Moe the henchman driving in a westerly direction towards Weekly Square,” Batgirl reported.

“They’re reassembling one final time before splitting up for good,” Batman theorized from the driver’s seat.

“Let’s go!” said Robin.

“I’ll be on Bowie Street in moments. Batgirl out.”

Leaving their vehicles at opposite ends of Weekly Square, the heroic trio rendezvoused soon thereafter.

“I don’t see anyone…suspicious or otherwise,” Batgirl said, turning in a slow circle.

“It is awful late,” said Robin, “almost 10:30.” Although he didn’t want to admit it, the complete silence (save the sound of their own voices) made him nervous.

Otold Shivel peeked over the abutment bordering the leafy thicket. Licking his lips, he raised a bullhorn to his mouth.

“Places, everyone! Unt…action!”

A gunshot shattered the peacefulness. A metal railing behind Batgirl shot off sparks as the bullet ricocheted off of it.

“There’s a sniper on the roof of the GothCyt building! Everyone down!” Batman ordered.

No sooner had the trio crouched down when another gunshot sounded from above. The brick pavement between them spat up dust as the bullet impacted.

“There are two shooters on the roof!” said Robin.

Batgirl pointed upwards. “No, the second shot came from the roof of the STD building!”

“We’re completely exposed…out here,” said Batman, another gun blast interrupting him. “Quickly, to the Batmobile!”

The three sprinted for the magnificent, sleek vehicle which sat two hundred yards away. A flash of gunfire now erupted from between the bushes of the leafy thicket. The heroes dropped flat, rolling quickly for the nearest curb.

“They’re firing from the exact same positions as in the assassination!” said Batgirl. “They know it’ll be impossible to distinguish forensics evidence from tonight’s shooting versus the Governor’s assassination.”

On the roof of the GothCyt Building, Moe took careful aim, getting a bead on Batgirl’s sprawled form.   He slowly pulled the trigger.   Batgirl heard the bullet make a sharp thud as it hit the sod.

“Split up – find cover,” ordered Batman.

They ran off just in time, a shot from the leafy thicket rocketing between them. Batman spotted a police officer emerging from an alley, no doubt coming to check on the racket.

“Officer!” Batman called out. “Sniper – in the leafy thicket!"

In response, the patrolman pulled his sidearm and aimed the weapon straight at Batman. The Caped Crusader had time to utter, “What in blazes…?” before the man in the uniform blasted away at the Dark Knight. Batman reversed course and raced back across Weekly Square, shots whizzing past from all directions.

Ahead he saw a small Salvation Army Marching Band round a corner. They were so engrossed in their performance of Bringing in the Sheaves that they couldn’t hear the shots. Batman raced ahead, waving his arms to get their attention.

Without warning, the trumpet player at the rear turned and fired at him with a small Luger. The Caped Crusader was fortunate enough to be near a metal refuse bin, which he dove behind.   Batman looked to the skies.

He cried out in great frustration. “Is anyone in Gotham City not part of this conspiracy?”

“I’m not.” A little girl waved from a fourth floor apartment window.

Regretting his sweeping condemnation, Batman waved back. “What is your name, child?”

“Becky.”

“It is in your name that I continue to fight this day, little Becky. Thank you for restoring my faith in our city.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Take cover now. We wouldn’t want a wayward bullet to shatter your ulna.”

High on the rooftop of the STD building, Frenchy watched the trio of tiny figures racing around the city square.   He waited patiently for one to hold still.

Shivel cackled. “Hear the gunshots, Batman!” he called out over the bullhorn. “They are ze chilling sound of your doom!   Cherish them!   Each one is proof you are not yet dead!”

Batgirl found herself crouching behind a gate not far from Robin. “We can’t do anything about the snipers on the roof,” she said, “but if I can reach the thicket on my cycle, we can take care of one problem.”

“Don’t try it!” Robin said worriedly. “It’s suicide!”

Not waiting around to argue, she dashed for the Batgirlcycle sitting in the middle of the square.   Robin hurled his Batarang in no specific direction to draw attention.   Batgirl reached her motorcycle and leaped onto it.   Frenchy took careful bead on the Dominoed Daredoll as she kickstarted the cycle.

Before he could get the shot off, two hands seized his ankles and sent him pitching forward.   The rifle went tumbling end-over-end as its owner fell face first over the edge of the roof.   He grabbed onto the ledge before his torso had slid into the abyss.   Frenchy yanked his ankles free and kicked back in a mule-like maneuver. He heard two grunts as his assailants went sprawling.   Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen pulled themselves up to face the assassin.

“So, my two little snoops again,” he said.

“You didn’t think you’d lose us that easy, did you? Our taxi’s just as fast as your car” said Jimmy.

Instead of replying, Frenchy reached into his jacket and pulled out his revolver.

Batgirl sped for the leafy thicket, her cycle swerving to avoid the gunfire spitting at her from the thicket. On the roof of the GothCyt, Moe also fired a shot down at the speeding vehicle.

From his position in the thicket, the Wizard decided she would try to breach the shrubbery far to one side of him or the other. Despite all the course changes, however, the suicidal daredoll was still ultimately bearing straight at him.   The Wizard blinked in disbelief, and then fired two shots straight ahead.   Anticipating the barrage, the girl veered off to the right, turf flying off her back wheel.   Then, for the briefest moment, she passed beneath his view as she hit the bottom of the embankment.   The Batgirlcycle charged up the embankment as if shot from a cannon and sailed over the Wizard.   He fumbled with his eye slits, trying to keep sight of the airborne intruder.

A hurtling, purple leg kicked the rifle from his hands, while a knee smashed into his chest, sending him reeling backwards. The Wizard grabbed desperately at tree limbs as he backpedaled.   He managed to wrap his grip around two just as he was about to land on his back.

Batgirl saw the cloaked villain using the tree growth to tug himself upright. She leaped in, her leg lashing upward.

>1!< >2!< >3!< times she snapped his head back with kicks to the chin that flashed so quickly he barely saw them. After the third, he saw only stars.

As he hit the ground, the Batgirlcycle floated slowly down on the parachutes Batgirl had activated at the apex of the cycle’s leap.

Jimmy and Lois stood out in the open space on the roof of the STD building, Frenchy’s revolver pointed at them.

“Looks like I get the honor of exterminating the entire Daily Planet newsroom,” he chuckled.

Lois didn’t bat an eye. “Why kill Laura Lime? Was she in on this?”

“Nah, that was the Wizard’s doing.   I told him I’d left something that’d identify me back at the apartment, but I really just went back to grab Kent’s traveler’s checks. Anyway, that dumb broad announced she was going to chase me by elevator while she was standing right next to the hanging phone receiver.   The Wizard was on the other end of the line, just sitting there at his remote control machine.”

“You know, the way you killed Clark made no sense. Was there some urgency to his death happening right after the Ruby interview?”

“Not really.   The Shivels had decided to kill him long before that.   The Wizard just missed finishing him earlier by remote-controlling Kent’s car crash.”

“Then why attempt murder – let alone staging a suicide – when there were potential witnesses sitting in the very next room?”

“Where’s the challenge in killing him when he’s alone?   That would have been so…pedestrian. You’re looking at the Mozart of Murderers.   I intentionally waited for visitors I’d have to sneak past.   I’m not so sure Barry Brown would have cared, either way.   He agreed to tell Shivel when he’d made contact with Kent that evening – Shivel promised some exclusive interviews on his plans.”

“No remorse at all, huh?” Jimmy said bitterly.

“What do you think? Ya know, I emptied half of that green stuff down Kent's throat before he even woke up. He put up a really feeble fight about downing the remainder - pretty disappointing. At least you two had a little guts . . . and, hey, let’s see what color they are.”

He pulled the trigger.

>BAM!<

Despite the Wizard’s downfall, Batman and Robin were still racing around in circles, trying to avoid gunfire from the trumpet player and the policeman, as well as the sniper on the GothCyt roof.

Moe, for his part, was happy to get the practice shooting at long-distance moving targets. He squeezed off another shot, misjudging Robin’s route slightly and missing by mere inches.

A swooshing noise drifted down from up in the sky.   It sounded vaguely like a jet plane, only higher pitched.

“What was that?” Robin yelled.

“It is ze chilling sound of your doom!” Otold yelled through the bullhorn.

A blue-ish flare of light streaked across the sky. A pair of round two-foot holes suddenly appeared on either side of the GothCyt’s rooftop water tower. Water sprayed out of the opposing openings.   Numerous gallons of water cascaded down on Moe, hammering him to the brick roof.   His senseless form was soon bobbing around on its back in the rapidly-created roof swimming pool.

Doctor Shivel whirled as he heard a rustling in the thicket behind him. Barry Brown popped out of the foliage, tape recorder in hand.

“Doctor, I know I ended our interview earlier, but that was before I knew there’d be shooting. I wonder if we could just pick up where we left off?”

“Ach du lieber!” Otold exclaimed. “No time I haff for you!”

Brown hit pause on his recorder. “Exclusive interviews and complete access was the deal.”

“Oh! Vhy don’t you run to police and tell them what you did to get it?” Shivel hissed.

Shivel was encouraged by the resumption of gunfire coming from the rooftops.   He looked over the abutment, but was horrified to see his trumpet player fleeing, windows shattering around him as shots sang down from above. The frantic horn player ran straight into Batman.

A right hook brought the gunman to an abrupt stop.
>WHAP!<

Batman cocked his fist, but instinctively hesitated. Concluding the Salvation Army uniform was stolen, the Caped Crusader let his fist descend like a hammer.
>POW!<

The horn player collapsed like the slimy rat he was.

Shivel swatted at the air and turned back to Brown. “Oh, fine! Come along. Here is your exclusive - show me a way out.”

The selfish pair took off running down the street.   Batgirl spotted them as she dragged the Bat-cuffed Wizard from the thicket.   Dropping her prisoner, she took off in pursuit.

The false policeman saw he was the last man standing for the bad guys.   Jamming another clip into his sidearm, he backed up and fired at Robin.

Batman tossed his sidekick the Batshield.   It assembled easily, and within seconds was providing reliable cover for Robin.   He quickly discovered he could mostly ignore the policeman’s shots and rammed the man up into a wall.

>WHACK!< >BAM!< >SLAM!<

He repeated this motion with the Batshield until his foe dropped unconscious to the ground.

Robin studied the man’s face. “Who is he?”

“His name is William Johnson,” said a voice from behind.

Lois had just strolled out of the STD building, Frenchy’s rifle in her hand. “He’s a master of disguise and hypnotism. He enjoyed a successful racket in Haiti for a number of years.”

“He looks really familiar,” said Jimmy, faintly troubled.

“He should,” said Batman. “He’s the ‘LeX’ who spun that wild tale about the cereal/bureaucracy connection.”

“You mean he just made all that stuff up out of thin air?” asked Jimmy. “Then I guess Kellogg’s doesn’t really have an army of bloodthirsty mercenaries.”

“No, you’re thinking of Nabisco” Batman said with a grin.

Robin pointed at the gun. “Ms. Lane, you were the one shooting down at the trumpet player?”

“She sure was!” said Jimmy. “There was no way we could have used his pistol.”

“Jimmy jammed his collapsible camera stand down the end of the revolver while he was struggling with Frenchy at the What a Way to Go-Go parking lot. When Frenchy tried using it on us just now, it blew up in his hand.”

“Gosh, I guess he’ll be needing an ambulance up there,” Jimmy suddenly remembered.

“This is Barry Brown, on the run with wanted fugitive, Otold Shivel. We’re currently at the Axis Chemical Factory. Otold, why exactly are we here?”

“Ve are here because some fool of a reporter suggested we take this street.”

“What do you think will happen if you’re caught?”

“I know my way around large industrial plants, zo we should be able to lose our pursuit.”

“Don’t those sound like footsteps approaching? Might that be Batgirl?”

“Quiet, dolt, she might hear you! Qvickly, in here!”

CL-LANG!

“Doctor, was that the sound of the door locking from the outside?”

Batgirl pressed the ‘stop’ button on the tape recorder.

“That’s the last discernible dialogue. After that, the steam and hydraulic noises drown out their voices.”

The victorious crimefighters were gathered in the Commissioner’s office. The police had recovered Cobblepot’s belongings from Frenchy’s apartment, and the Penguin was now insisting on hanging around Police Headquarters, also.

Batman gestured towards a man in a white medical coat. “Doctor Wow, have you been able to piece together what happened after they entered that room?”

The doctor removed his glasses to clean them. “As best I can determine, Brown pulled every last handle in there, except the one that would have opened the door. They were in a testing chamber for determining how impervious goutweed is to various chemicals.   Mister Shivel got the worst of it.   Whereas Brown would just run away, Shivel would take it upon himself to try and stop the spray at its source.”

“Is he going to survive?” Vicki Vale asked.

“After having exposed themselves to every chemical possible, they finished with Brown inadvertently triggering a scalding steam spray.   It will be a little while before his burns heal, but the chances are very good for some kind of recovery.”

“Serves him right,” said the Penguin. “After the heinous fraud he’s perpetrated, he’s getting off easy.”

“Doctor, considering his previous freezing physiology, how do you think his immune system will respond to all those chemicals?” Batman asked.

“I really can’t say. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“What about Barry Brown?” asked Robin.

“Ah,” said Doctor Wow, holding up a finger. “He came out in much better condition.   We don’t understand too much about the long-term impact for him, but he was well enough to be released from the emergency room.   He’s refused to return and allow us to run further tests on him, though.”

“My information is Brown resigned from the Reeves and West show this morning, and gave no clue as to his plans for the future,” Batman said.

“Even though we caught the killers, this is all so sad,” said Batgirl. “I’m afraid Harvey Dent may have argued his last case in a courtroom.”

“Don’t be too sure,” said the Commissioner. “Lieutenant Governor Condelee was severely wounded during the assassination, but managed to pull through and plans to run for re-election. It turns out Dent was a roommate of hers in college, and Condelee has no interest in replacing Dent as District Attorney. So you had all best be prepared to work with him again, or forget about convicting any of your foes.”

The Penguin sneered. “The stench of corruption in these halls never falters. Each one of you owes me an apology.”

Robin ignored him. “It’s too bad we can’t interview Doctor Shivel; a lot of this still doesn’t make sense.”

“Right,” said Batgirl. “For starters, since there was a conspiracy to frame Cobblepot, why trot out Threedy and LeX with conspiracy stories? What did they gain by killing Threedy?”

“I think I can answer that,” said Chief O’Hara. “As near as I can figure, they wanted to pin the whole kit ‘n caboodle on Oswald here, but they also had a back-up plan. Once we started asking around about this vagrant trio, they knew their lone Cobblepot story was out the window.   So they started offering up wilder and wilder schemes for us to sort through.   Killing Threedy got everybody thinkin’ that his story must be the real stuff.”

“Correct,” said Batman. “Also, since Threedy’s statements were influenced by Johnson’s hypnotism, they had to deal with the likelihood that Threedy’s story would revert to the truth over time.”

Commissioner Gordon nodded. “Johnson was also the one who brought Ruby Jones into the plot. Johnson and Rutherford Jones belonged to the same fraternal order of shady hypnotists. After Jones died in prison of natural causes, Johnson saw his chance to move in on Jones’ widow under the pretense of bringing sad news.”

Robin balled his fist. “Why, that no-good fink!”

“He told her that her husband had been rubbed out by the Penguin.   Over the coming days, he fed her more and more information about opportunities for extracting revenge on Mister Cobblepot.   Once Oswald was identified as the Governor’s killer, Johnson made her feel guilty for not having killed him sooner.”

“Misled or not, she’ll face the gallows for her crime, I trust,” said the Penguin, “and the name is ‘Penguin,’ if you please.   Penguin - Bold Buccaneer of Banditry!”

“So Johnson played the role of LeX, Hermindra, the fake policeman who attacked you, the second voice on the dictaphone tape, and Raoul? Busy guy,” said Vicki. ^[x]

Batman corrected her. “No, Frenchy was ‘Raoul,’ a fictitious character created so we would waste time trying to locate him.”

“It still seems like a whole lot of trouble to go through,” said Robin. “If you’ve got a remote control machine, you can just cause any number of car crashes.”

“They first tried to kill Mister Hataki by forcing his plane to crash,” explained Batman, “but, somehow, the plane pulled out of its tailspin, as if caught in mid-air by a superhuman deity, and landed gently on the ground.   After that, Shivel refused to rely on the remote control machine, except for relatively trivial exterminations.”

“Hwah, hwah, hwah,” said Cobblepot– err, the Penguin. “The nincompoops would’ve spent a fraction of the cost if they’d simply hired me.   I would have done the deed cheerfully in exchange for my old top hat and umbrella.”

“Corky the dog was recovered alive and well from the Shivels’ Metropolis condominium,” said Commissioner Gordon. “After she was confronted with the evidence of her involvement, Rosemarie Shivel confessed to everything: their warped romantic arrangement, its fatal consequences for Mister Kent…and, very nearly, for Ms. Vale.”

“The Shivels certainly let their infatuations get the better of them. Have you ever thought about asking Vicki out on a date, Batman?” Robin whispered.

Batman shielded his mouth with his glove. “A word of advice, chum. Women with repeating initials can only spell trouble.”

It was a beautiful, cloudless day, as if nature were compensating for the sadness of the occasion.   Batman stood at a lectern situated ten feet in front of a gleaming, gold-colored coffin.   He gazed at the faces of the small group that had turned out.

He shuffled his notes and cleared his throat. “I was asked to come here today to say a few words about our fallen comrade, Clark Kent.   Lois Lane wanted to be here to give the eulogy, but her editor ordered her and Jimmy Olson to cover Governor Hataki’s funeral on the other side of town.   Frankly, any editor worth his salt would have made the same decision.

“I had the pleasure of meeting Clark Kent on several occasions.   He was polite, studious, and hard-working. He was a good man, a great man.   Well, that’s not really true, but he was a good man.   Although in no way remarkable, he was a model citizen and always did as he was instructed.

“One interesting fact Ms. Lane told me is Kent had the reputation of fleeing at the first sign of danger – even if the danger was in another city.   Apparently, the joke around The Daily Planet offices was no threat was far enough away for Clark Kent’s taste.”

A murmur of gentle chuckles drifted up from the mourners.

“Look! Up in the sky!” someone yelled.

“It’s a bird!” cried another, pointing upward.

“It’s a plane!”

Everyone perked up at the thought of a plane going by, and they all paused to look upward.

Robin whispered to Batman, “Boy, whoever thought that was a bird must be pretty embarrassed.”

“Indeed,” Batman said. “The hump at the front of the fuselage plainly identifies it as a Boeing 747.”

Every head slowly craned from left to right as the plane passed and disappeared from sight.

Batman shook his head, trying to recall the topic of his speech. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, Kent!”   He gestured at the open casket. “Clark requested he be buried wearing his spectacles. They represent his tireless resolve to magnify the truth.”

“Stop the funeral!”

Batman looked up and saw Lois and Jimmy running towards the gravesite.   He wondered if Jimmy’s case of lunacy had spread to Lois.

“Clark isn’t dead!” Lois said, gasping for breath as she finally reached Batman’s side.

Confused, Batman glanced down at the coffin.

“It wasn’t Mister Kent!” said Jimmy. “It was another guy!   See, Mister Kent once ran across this fellow named Boulder, and saw the guy was the spitting image of him.”

Lois chimed in. “Lately, when he felt he was being handed useless fluff stories, Clark apparently would hire this Boulder guy to go stand in for him at the event. He always somehow seemed to find out enough about what happened to write the stories, even if he wasn’t within miles of the event.

“Once he was granted the Ruby exclusive, Clark realized how hot a story he had stumbled onto.   So he flew the look-alike out here, purely to misdirect attention, so he could move about without being mobbed.   Also, given his recent track record with story assignments, he was worried Perry White would reassign him to something frivolous any second.”

“So it was Boulder who got poisoned in the hotel room?” asked Robin.

“Right!” said Jimmy. “Laura Lime was Boulder’s fiancée.   She’d been instructed to play along with the charade.   Mister Kent didn’t even know she was in Gotham City until she’d already taken that fall down the elevator shaft.”

“How did you discover all this?” Batman asked.

The phone in the Batmobile started beeping.

“From Clark himself,” answered Lois. “That’s probably him, calling from the Commissioner’s office, right now.”

The Dynamic Duo looked questioningly at each other, then Batman moved to answer the phone.

“Hello?’ Batman said. “Yes…hello, Clark.   It’s good to hear from you.”

Jimmy sidled over next to Lois. “Gosh, that sure is a strange story.   Do you believe it, Miss Lane?”

Lois threw up her hands. “Ohhh, who knows?   The master of weird excuses has struck again.   I’m beginning to think Clark’s whole purpose in life is to intentionally miss breaking stories and come up with increasingly nonsensical tales to explain his absence.”

“He’s tough to figure sometimes, huh?”

“He’s a chicken . . . but he’s our chick– Jimmy, where are you going?”

Batman watched in puzzlement as Olson ran up and snapped several pictures of him holding the phone.

Jimmy returned to Lois, smiling as he checked his viewfinder.

“Wow! Clark talking to Batman!   And I got it on film!”

“Yes. What’s that?” Batman asked the voice at the other end.   He placed the phone against his chest. “Ms. Lane, Clark says to tell you the boxing exhibition was for real, but it was being kept secret as a favor to Governor Hataki. The Governor asked Clark to participate to help promote his youth physical education program.” ^[xi]

Jimmy patted Lois on the shoulder. “I knew you’d never cut any secret deals against Mister Kent! I wonder what Barry Brown has to say about that now?”

On the 747 that had just passed over the funeral, a form sat hidden under a shawl at the back of the plane.

A stewardess approached with a plate. “Something to eat, sir?”

“Thank you. Leave it.”

Seconds after she left, Barry Brown’s face peered out from the shawl.   Satisfied he was alone, he regarded the scrumptious meal in front of him.   Without warning, his mouth secreted a glob of thick, dark mucous.   It landed on the food and dissolved it within seconds.   Brown lapped the resulting pasty mess up like a dog.   His hunger sated, Brown glared with bitterness out the window.

“You did this to nee, Batnan!   I’ll hind a way to nake you pay!”

He would need a new name; something befitting his horrible state. He decided he liked the sound of “Acid Tongue.”   Plus, he could pronounce it.

Feeling nature call, he rose and shoved his way past the stewardess in the aisle. “Excuse nee.”

After squeezing into the lavatory, Brown locked the door. He unzipped his fly and went about dispensing his foul business.

Outside, the stewardess gasped as the smoke detectors at the back of the plane all began squealing.^[xii]

__________________________________________

^[i] The actual name of the hotel where actor George Reeves met Lenore Lemon was the Gotham Hotel.

^[ii] Journalist and What’s My Line panelist Dorothy Kilgallen was murdered following her interview with Jack Ruby, in which he revealed his part in a plot to murder President Kennedy.   Authorities passed Kilgallen’s death off as an accidental barbiturate overdose, a cause to which they would soon attribute Marilyn Monroe’s death, also.   Oddly, both womens’ journals disappeared the night of their deaths – before they could be made public.

^[iii] George Reeves was scheduled to fight boxer Archie Moore one night after what proved to be the date of his strange death.   Moore played entrepreneur Everett Banister in the Batman episode, Shoot a Crooked Arrow.

^[iv] His name comes from his mysterious silhouette in the Daley Plaza photos.   Experts are almost certain that Black Dog Man fired the shots that killed JFK

^[v] Otto Preminger directed Marilyn Monroe (the purported inspiration for Vicki Vale) in the film River of No Return.   The pairing only produced sparks of hostility.   Preminger referred to Monroe as a “vacuum with t*ts.”

^[vi] The close proximity of the Addam’s family butler, Lurch, was documented in the episode The Penguin’s Nest.   Strangely, actor Ted Cassidy was working as a reporter in Daley Plaza on November 22, 1963.   Law enforcement authorities ‘forgot’ to investigate this connection.

^[vii] Although there is some debate whether Frenchy was actually Raoul, experts are almost certain Frenchy fired the shots that killed JFK.

^[viii] Screen Mister Freezes have an established track record with exotic television personalities.   Arnold Schwarzenegger’s romance with broadcaster Maria Shriver was eerily foreshadowed by Otto Preminger’s romance with Gypsy Lee Rose (who played a broadcaster in the episode, The Sandman Cometh.)   In addition, George Sanders was married to Zsa Zsa Gabor (supervillaness Minerva) before moving on to another Gabor sister.

^[ix] Lucky Pierre was played by JFK’s Press Secretary, Pierre Salinger.   Lenore Lemon’s attorney during the George Reeves’ scandal would later insist his NFL franchise play as scheduled on the weekend following the death of JFK.

^[x] Henry Cordon (William Johnson in the 1952 Superman episode, Drums of Death) was also the voice of Fred Flintstone, but there were other Johnsons involved:
      A) President Lyndon Johnson, who in the service of his corporate overlords, covered up the assassination.   His role is shockingly revealed in the Oliver Stone film JFK;
      B) One of the three tramps from the grassy knoll.   Experts are almost certain this Johnson fired the shots that killed JFK.

^[xi] “We must show our youngsters that everyone has to keep fit!”   So said President Kennedy to Superman, in a story that was scheduled for late 1963 (Superman #168).   Right before the issue went to press, the story was pulled from publication and the original artwork mysteriously lost.

^[xii] Hataki's secretary, Kennedy, warned him not to go to Gotham City.
        Kennedy's secretary, Hataki, warned him not to go to Dallas.

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