TODAY, WE FIND GOTHAM CITY IN CRISIS!    LIBRARIAN BARBARA GORDON HAS JUST SELECTED THE EXONERATED PENGUIN FOR A POSITION AT THE LIBRARY. FILMAKER OTOLD SHIVEL, THE FORMER MISTER FREEZE, IS IN TOWN TO PROMOTE HIS NEW FILM - CONTAINING AN UNFLATTERING PORTRAYAL OF GOTHAM CITY LAW ENFORCEMENT. A VISIT FROM GOVERNOR HATAKI ATTRACTS LOIS LANE AND JIMMY OLSEN FROM METROPOLIS, WITH THEIR COLLEAGUE CLARK KENT SOON TO FOLLOW. SHIVEL'S PRESS CONFERENCE IS INTERRUPTED BY NEWS THAT THE GOVERNOR HAS JUST BEEN SHOT.  SHIVEL HELPS BATMAN APPREHEND THE MAIN SUSPECT – THE PENGUIN - BUT THE ARREST COMES TOO LATE.   NOW, IT’S UP TO THE NATION’S TWO GREATEST HEROES, WORKING TOGETHER FOR THE FIRST TIME, TO UNRAVEL THIS TERRIBLE MYSTERY!  THEIR PATHS ARE DESTINED TO CROSS IN AN ENCOUNTER SO HISTORIC IT WILL BE FOREVER REMEMBERED AS…     WORLD’S FLIMSIEST   By HONK Stone   “Dead.  I can’t believe it,” Robin said to no one in particular.  His shoulders slumped as he hung his head.   Batman was too choked up to try consoling his junior partner.  “We’d better go.”   He shook the young man to get his attention, and the two headed for the exit.  The theater had fallen so quiet that their footsteps echoed throughout the hall.   Outside in the daylight, they were greeted by cries and wailing from the direction of Weekly Square.  The dozen or more policemen milling around the area made it clear that the emergency had passed and they were left with the depressing task investigating their failure.   “I hate to say it, Batman,” Robin said, “but if we’d decided to accompany the Governor on his drive-through…”   “…rather than attend a news conference…largely to console my ego about my portrayal in Shivel’s film,” Batman said bitterly,  “we could have saved Governor Hataki.”   “Heck, I was dying to see Shivel’s movie as much as you were.  We really let Gotham City down.”   “We can never repay Governor Hataki for our blind disregard . . . but we can at least help make it up to this city in some small way by investigating this tragedy and ensuring it never repeats.”   Robin pointed.  “Look at all the people trying to get into the library.  Let’s see what’s up.”   It took several minutes for the Caped Crusaders to work their way past the crowd and the police cordon outside the library.  Inside, police investigators were pouring over a crime scene.  Librarian Barbara Gordon, the first to return to the premises following the shots, had let her friends Lois and Jimmy in before the area was blocked off.   Cobblepot was also present, handcuffed and in the grasp of two policemen.  By now, he had revived and was energetically denying his involvement.   Commissioner Gordon greeted the Dynamic Duo and pointed to several stacks of books of varying heights sitting next to one book shelf. “There, Batman.  The Penguin created a stack of books high enough to enable him to climb on top of this book shelf.  It’s the one spot in the library that allows a clear view of Weekly Square through the window.”   District Attorney Harvey Dent nodded.  “The library provided him with the perfect cover.  He had a legitimate reason for being near the Governor’s route and an ideal view.”   “Do you have the murder weapon?” Batman asked.   Dent held up an umbrella.  “Found it stuck up in the ceiling tiles.  It’s still warm from being fired.”   Barbara stepped forward.  “I’m Mister Cobblepot’s supervisor.  I noticed yesterday he’d brought a package to work.  It was the approximate dimensions of an umbrella.  I should have known he would have an ulterior motive for seeking employment with us.”   Gordon handed Batman a neatly-typed page.  “Here’s our preliminary findings.”   Batman paced in a circle, his hand unconsciously pointing to various spots as he worked through the sequence of events in his mind.    “That umbrella is loaded with ammo exactly matching the rounds fired at the Governor,” Gordon announced as the Darknight Detective passed.   Batman came to a stop.  “How many shots were fired?”   “Three,” said Gordon.   Dent blinked.  “Three shots?  I heard two.”   “I heard three,” said Lois.   “I heard four,” said Barbara Gordon, shrugging her shoulders apologetically.   “I heard nine,” said Jimmy.   Batman suddenly turned to Cobblepot.  “Why’d you do it, Penguin?”   The bird man’s eyes widened in outrage.  “Fap, how many times must I tell you?  The Penguin was…an ephemeral force of nature, an amalgation of attributes, a specific assortment of accessories.  Without them, the Penguin cannot exist.  Can’t you see?  I have been reduced to the level of common citizenry.”

“How terrible for you,” remarked an attractive blonde woman.   “Just a minute,” O’Hara said, pointing at her.  “Who might you be?”   It was the woman Lois had seen the previous day dancing at the disco.   “Shoot, she’s okay,” exclaimed Jim Olsen.  “She helped us out on a story once.  You remember Ruby Jones, don’t you, Miss Lane?”   Lois smacked her forehead.  “Of course.  She turned state’s evidence against her hypnotist husband.  I wish we were meeting again under happier circumstances, Ms. Jones.”   “So do I, Lois,” said Jones.

Gordon turned to his prisoner.  “Well, then, Mister Cobblepot.  Can you account for your whereabouts immediately following your release from prison?”   Searching for an answer, Cobblepot’s eyes glanced back and forth, then widened as he came to a realization.  He unexpectedly swung his fist at the air.    “Hoodwinked!” he exclaimed.  “He set me up, the charlatan!”   The Commissioner raised his eyebrows.  “Who set you up?”   “Two weeks ago, I met a large, mysterious fellow, who introduced himself as ‘Raoul.’  He implied that healthy remuneration awaited if I would accompany him and assist in some business affairs, which I did for the next twelve days.”   “Business affairs, me eye!” yelled O’Hara.  “He was payin’ you to reveal your bag o’ dorty tricks.”   “Poppycock - nothing of the sort.”   “What kind of ‘affair’ was he planning?” Barbara asked.   “I did not ask.”   “What services did you perform during those twelve days?” asked Batman   “I accompanied him in his vehicle to various districts of Gotham City and consumed meals with him.”   Batman followed up. “How were you paid?”   “With said consumed meals.  He also advised me of employment opportunities with Let’s Play Ball with Nimpah and the Gotham City Library.”   Barbara raised an eyebrow. “You must have had many topics to discuss over twelve days.”   “Movies.  Also, the weather” “Holy Gullibility!” Robin barked.  “You expect us to believe that?”   Cobblepot sneered.  “I can assure you, my dear boy, my expectations of you are quite low.”   “Why did you part ways with this Raoul?” asked Harvey Dent.   “He dropped me off at Let’s Play Ball headquarters and never returned to pick me up.  As you can see, I was carefully maneuvered into my current predicament.  Trusting souls such as myself present a tempting target for con men of the underworld.”   Gordon motioned for the police to take Cobblepot out, but his protests suddenly became more animated.   “Have you people taken leave of your senses?  When have you ever know the Penguin to commit murder?”   Robin jabbed a finger at him.  “You tried to kill us plenty of times, you cagey bird!”   Cobblepot gave a dismissive swat.  “Faw!  Parries between combatants…immersed in the heat of battle.”   Batman tapped Robin on the shoulder and pointed toward the blonde. "Observe: this Ruby woman won’t stop glaring at Oswald," he whispered.   “Who can blame her, Batman?" Robin whispered back. "By now, everyone’s heard that Oswald fired at the motorcade from cover of the book stacks.”   Batman rubbed his jaw. “Why does this case sound familiar?”   He snapped his glove-covered fingers.  “Of course!  Oswald, although you deny any murderous history, I recall a time when you locked Chief O’Hara in a box and suspended it over a swimming pool.  You then had your man Cordy Bleu stationed at a machine gun nest and lying in wait to pick us off when we came to the rescue."   Robin nodded.  “The old Penguin’s Nest caper.”   “Which only proves my point!” said Cobblepot.  “Even that widely-misinterpreted event was nothing like the set of circumstances we have here!   You must admit, on that occasion, a judge agreed you had blatantly violated the Penguin’s civil rights!  Clearly, eradicating you was his only recourse.  But this…shooting a sitting governor in the back while in hiding . . . and with no profit involved!  Why, the very notion is obscene!”   “Are you saying ‘Raoul’ put you up to it?” Dent said.  “Were you his hired gun?”   Cobblepot scowled.  “The Penguin hired others to do the dirty work.  Plotting, directing, manipulating – those were his talents…Wyaaghh!” he erupted irritably.  “This is like explaining chess to a group of pre-schoolers.”   “Oh, you had underlings,” said Commissioner Gordon.  “Shortly before the shots rang out, a man on the street rapidly opened and closed an umbrella - just as the car containing Governor Hataki passed by.”   Lois pointed at Cobblepot.  “You wouldn’t have been able to make out faces in moving cars from here, so you had your man signaling you when to open fire.”   The District Attorney continued to piece together the puzzle.  “Obviously, Cobblepot would need all the assistance he could get in carrying out the assassination.  That would have been a difficult shot to make for someone of his proportions propped up on a narrow ledge.”   “One thing I don’t understand is: why the Governor’s limousine slowed noticeably just prior to the shots,” said Barbara.   Commisoner Gordon hung up the black phone on a desk.  “Your story doesn’t hold water, Cobblepot.  We checked the entire state directory.  Raoul, the French flimflam artist, is currently locked up in Metropolis Penitentiary.”   “Obviously, a different Raoul,” said Cobblepot.   “What kind of city do you think this is?” Gordon said.  “That Frenchman is the only Raoul in Metropolis . . . and there are none in Gotham City.”   “Well, I’ve heard enough of this ridiculous story,” Dent announced.  “Oswald Cobblepot, I hereby charge you with first-degree murder and I am going to recommend you be denied bail.”   Jimmy approached Chief O’Hara.  “Could you tell me what happened to those vagrants, Chief?”   “Vagrants?”   “That trio that was being arrested and led off by an officer.”   “We’ve made no arrests, save the Penguin’s,” said the Commissioner.  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”   The agitated crowd outside tailed along behind Cobblepot as he was escorted to a patrol car and driven off to his temporary cell.  Lois and Jimmy stepped out of the library’s suddenly-deserted entry way.   Jimmy rubbed the back of his head. “I’m sure I saw trio of vagrants with a policeman."   “Were they near the library?”   “No.  They came out from behind that leafy thicket over there.”   “You got some pictures of them?”   “I wanted to, but I’d run out of film.  I guess I should have brought more along, huh?” Lois sighed, and squinted at the outline of the thicket.  “It’s getting dark.  Let’s come back tomorrow morning, dressed for some grubby work.”   *******   The sun rose at 7:04 the next morning.  By seven, Lois and Jimmy were poking around in the extensive growth of the thicket.  Lois was wearing some thick jeans and a heavy shirt.  Jimmy was clad in his flannel pajamas and loafers.  Lois couldn’t believe it.   “I didn’t bring any extra clothes along,” Jimmy was explaining.  “Besides, I don’t think they’re too noticeable.”   “I don’t know about you,” Lois said, shaking her head.  “I sure hope no one sees us together.”   “Hey, what’s that sound?”  Jimmy said.   They could hear a faint voice coming from the other end of the thicket.  They pressed on, blindly working their way through the dense brush.  The shrubbery was difficult to navigate and didn’t seem to have any end in sight.  The pair was surprised, then, to suddenly stumble out into a clearing which contained a large utility shed.   “Good thing it has a window.  Wouldn’t want to waste a view like that,” Lois gestured at the pine trees crammed up against each other.   Jimmy put a finger to his lips.  “Shhh.  Listen.”  Voices were coming from inside the shed.   “Gosh, I wonder who’s in there,” Jimmy said, starting to back up.   Lois seized his arm and pulled him by her side.  “So do I.”   Steeling herself, she peered in the window.   “Vicki Vale?!”   Fearing they’d been scooped, Lois and Jimmy rushed to the door and entered the shed.    Their journalist competitor, also dressed for outdoors activity, was standing inside.  With her were an elderly man, a black dog, and a hedgehog.   “Hey, what are you doing here, Miss Vale?” Jimmy asked.   “Shortly before the assassination yesterday,” she said, “I spotted three men hanging around this thicket.  I came down here and snapped a picture of them through the window without being seen.  An officer showed up and marched them off, but I figured they might have left some clues behind.  So, I’m back.”   “I saw ‘em, too, but the police say no one was taken into custody except the Penguin,” Jimmy said.   The old man spoke up.  “I was just telling your pretty friend that I got in late last night from Metropolis on the railway car.  I bring my posse back here to bunk down when I’m in Gotham.”    “Did you see this trio?” Lois asked.

“No, ma’am, sure didn’t.  Doggy would have run ‘em off if they tried to horn in on his campsite.”  He indicated the animals with a wave of his hand.  “Go ahead, you can pet ‘em; they’re both friendly.”   Vicki stroked the dog's fur and Lois picked up the hedgehog in her arms.

“Vicki, do you have this photo with you?” she asked.  “I want to see if your three were the same men Jimmy saw.”   “It’s back in my car.”   “Are you kidding?  That picture points to the existence of a conspiracy.  It could be the key to solving this whole case.  You can’t let it out of your sight!”   Bidding the friendly codger farewell, the three journalists fought their way back through the bushes to Vicki’s car.  They were relieved to find the photo still sitting on the front seat.  Jimmy verified that the three individuals were the men he’d seen.   Within the hour, they and the photograph were at Police Headquarters.    “I took the liberty of notifying Batgirl of your find,” Commissioner Gordon said, gesturing at his costumed, cowled daughter.    “Where’s Batman and Robin?” asked Jimmy.   “They’ll be along.  I…have a more direct line to Batgirl.  Now then, let’s see this picture of yours, Ms. Vale.”   Unable to contain her impatience, Batgirl looked over her father’s shoulder.  The black and white image was slightly blurry, but the features of the three men were distinct enough.   “I don’t recognize any of them.  Do you, Commissioner?”   “Ehh, I believe so,” replied the elder Gordon.  “Let’s check some mug shots.”   He selected several large binders from a shelf, and handed out one each to Lois, Jimmy, Vicki and Batgirl.  After less than a minute of page-turning, Vicki hit paydirt.   “Bingo!  Here’s the vagrant in the middle of the shot:  Moe – from Catwoman’s gang.”   Batgirl suddenly stopped flipping pages.  “Aha!  Just as I thought: vagrant number one is none other than Cordy Bleu – last criminally employed by the Penguin!  Anyone having any luck on vagrant number three?”   “Nope,” said Jimmy, reaching the end of his photo album.   “None here,” said Lois, slamming hers shut.

The Commissioner consulted a card catalog file in a separate cabinet.  “I find no contact information for Cordy Bleu since his release from the State Pen five years ago.  There’s nothing current for Moe, either, but some interesting information.  Seems his criminal roots go back to your neck of the woods, Ms. Lane – Metropolis.  He was hired to kidnap a jet ace by one Steve Martin.”   “Excuse me?” said Jimmy.   “Steven Martin.  Martin now lives here in Gotham City.  I know because I’ve seen him brought in on drunk and disorderly charges more than once.  Kind of a slim lead, but Martin might be worth questioning.  His address is….”   1506 Irony Lane #16B was in a neighborhood consistently described by everyone, to the exclusion of any other term, as “shady.”  Batgirl might have allowed Lois to accompany her to interview Moe’s former employer, but she had no intention of playing chaperone for Jimmy and Vicki, too.  So, alone she climbed the rickety staircase of the Happy Cockroach Apartments building.  She kicked aside some stray beer cans littering the hallway and knocked on the door to 16B.   “WHAT?!” a voice shouted irately.   “Mister Martin, I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”   “Who is it?”   “Batgirl.”   There was no reply.  Batgirl waited twenty seconds for some response before she kicked in the door.  A dark-haired, scruffy-looking man was inside, unsuccessfully tugging on a closed window.  Batgirl marched into the room and placed her hands on her hips.   “I don’t want to take up too much of your…”   She leaned sharply to her left to avoid a bottle that Martin had pulled from a six pack and flung in her direction.  Martin backpedaled across the room, hurling beer bottles like throwing stars.  Batgirl caught bottles two and three with her hands and redirected bottle number four with a well-timed kick.   “If you throw one more bottle at me…”   Bottle number five missed the top of her cowl by mere inches and shattered against the wall behind her.   Martin had more success on the second window he tried to open.  He was sliding out of it headfirst when Batgirl slammed it on his ankles, trapping him upside down on the fire escape.   “I have to admit, you are one wild and crazy guy,” she said, wrapping her arm around his ankles.    He tried to kick her as she opened the window, so she yanked him back none too gently, spun and flung him skyward.  Martin collided with the wall and landed on his couch.   She stuck the photo in front of his nose. “Now then, I’d like some information please.  These men worked for you.”   “Hey, that was a long time ago,” said Martin.  “I’ve cleaned up my act since then.”   “Who’s the man on the right side of the photograph?”   “Who?  Frenchy?  At least, that’s what he went by when I knew him.”   “Where can I find him?  Or Moe or Cordy Bleu?”   “I don’t have any idea what they’ve doing since we were busted; I haven’t seen ‘em in years.”   Batgirl planted a knee in his chest.   Martin held up his hands.  “Okay, okay, don’t get upset, I’m a good citizen, I want to help.”   “Cordy Bleu was hired by the Penguin after you moved to Gotham City.  What’s your connection to that waddling fiend?”   “The Penguin, sure.  It so happens that I used to see the Penguin from time to time.  My boss, Everett Banister, used to have him over for parties at his office on Tungincheek.  See, the boss is really determined to do everything he can to get the regime in Nimpah thrown out, whatever it takes!  I’m pretty sure the Penguin’s presence was related to that.”   “Did they discuss the Governor?”   “Beats me.  I’m just the guy that refills the coin machines for Mister Banister.  If he even thinks I’m listening in on a conversation, he’ll come roarin’ out of his office.  He’s old, but he boxes, see, so he packs a pretty mean punch.  Last night, he got it in his head I was listening to his phone conversation and he went ballistic.  He unloaded on me good - right in the ribs.  So, I’d really appreciate it if you’d get off my chest.”   Batgirl stood up.  “The Penguin’s connection to Cordy Blue I know all about, but what’s his connection to Moe?  Or this Frenchy character?”   “I swear to you, I don’t know.”   “I’ll try to verify your information.  If it turns out you’re lying, pray your beer-throwing aim improves, because I’m not going to be happy if I have to come here again.  Good day.”   *******   Batgirl’s access to Police Headquarters had improved dramatically in the last few months.  So much so, she had her run of the Commissioner’s office anytime after 9 p.m..  Shutting the oak doors behind her, she crossed the room and removed the lid on the Hotline.  Upon her lifting the red receiver, the phone automatically dialed Batman’s unknown headquarters.   “I just located a man who not only once hired one of the Penguin’s men for a kidnapping, but, in the last few weeks, also saw the Penguin at a party thrown by an Everett Banister.”   In the Batcave, Batman welcomed Batgirl’s news.  “Excellent work.  This came from a reliable source?”   “More or less….Martin, the town drunk.”   Batman nodded.  “Mmm.  Someone all-too familiar with the seamier aspects of Gotham City’s underbelly.  Fortunately, I suppose he was sober when he attended the party involving Cobblepot.”   “No, he was especially drunk then.”   There was a pause before Batman’s optimistic voice boomed, “Well, of course.  It was a party.  The fact that he was drinking lends his claim additional credibility.”   “Can you verify that Martin’s currently employed by Mister Banister, and has had no connections to Cordy Bleu or Moe the henchman in the last five years?”   She heard buzzes and bells for several seconds, then Batman’s voice returned to the line.  “Yes, that all checks out.”   “With Cordy Bleu involved, I think that pretty much seals the case against Cobblepot.”   “Not necessarily.  Assuming the ‘arresting policeman’ was actually in league with this trio of vagrants, that makes Cobblepot just one of five hooligans, none of whom had a clear motive to kill Hataki.”   “Batman, the Penguin tried to rig the election to get himself elected mayor only a few years ago.  I think most juries would consider that sufficient motive.  What kind of information do you have on a henchman named ‘Frenchy?'”   Batman turned to gaze at Robin, who was already typing the data request into a huge computer hard drive.  Robin examined his results, and shook his head.   “Nothing under that name,” relayed Batman.  “I’ll also check for current addresses for Moe and Cordy.”   “I can’t help thinking,” Robin said, continuing to type,  “between Frenchy and Cordy Bleu, plus the one known ‘Raoul’ being a jailbird from France, it kind of makes the whole operation look like a hit by the French underworld.”   “On the other hand,” said Batman,  “Vicki Vale told us about narrowly escaping an attack by two radicals from Nimpah. Anything new on this Eladinga or Hermindra?”   Checking a computer card that emerged from a metal slot, Robin shook his head again.  “Negative – on all counts.”   Batman slapped his armrest.  “Blazes!  Seven different suspects and not a shred of information on where to find a single one.  The only individuals whose whereabouts are even marginally known are Clark Kent and ‘the Old Otter.'”   “Coincidentally, those two are supposed to face each other in a boxing exhibition,” said Robin.   “Clark Kent?” asked Batgirl.  “Why is he of interest?”   “Vicki overheard a phone call made to a ‘Kent’ by one of her assailants.  Clark should be boarding a plane to Gotham City, so we’ll be seeing him any time now.”   “Everett’s office is at 544 Tungincheek Boulevard,” reported Robin.   “544 Tungincheek!” Batgirl exclaimed.  “That’s the address printed at the bottom of the handbills Cobblepot was handing out.”   “Interesting.  Let’s review,” Batman said, tenting his fingers at the tip of his chin.  “We have Mister Martin observing meetings between Oswald and Banister.  We have Oswald handing out literature containing Banister’s address.  We have those three tramps from the grassy thicket.  There’s…something familiar about all this.”   “I’ve got it!” said Robin.  “You’re thinking of one of our encounters with the Archer.  The Archer’s gang robbed Banister at arrow-point.  That incident transformed Banister into a security fanatic.  From then on, he spent four hours a day in the gym, honing his self-defense skills, and gradually became a world-class boxer.  Through his trainer, he also became a player in the anti-Maharaja movement in the local Nimpan community.”   “Uhh, Robin,” Batgirl said,  “I think we’ll have to strike Everett Banister as a potential suspect.  He was killed in a car accident.”   “What?!” Robin said, frantically typing in more queries.  “I don’t see anything about that.”   “That’s because I’m looking at the police report of the incident, which just came in twenty minutes ago.”   “So much for that boxing exhibition…” observed Batman,  “…very convenient for Mister Kent.”   ********   Police Headquarters was buzzing with activity the following afternoon.  A phalanx of officers occupied the perimeter of the first floor.  A small number of reporters had been granted access, and many more were stationed outside to cover the Penguin’s transfer to the county jail.   Lois was surprised to see Ruby Jones had somehow gained entrance.  “Ms. Jones!  Becoming an expert on this case, or are you getting into my line of work?”   Jones smiled sadly.  “Emotions are running high this week, Ms. Lane.  My feelings are just stronger than most.”   Jimmy checked his camera.  “Gee, I wish they’d dress Cobblepot up in his old Penguin gear.  The Chief’ll be mad if he can’t recognize him in these shots.  The Penguin really must have gone off the deep end after he fell in with this Play Nice with Nimpah crowd.”   “Let’s Play Ball with Nimpah,” Jones corrected him.   Batman, on hand to ensure Cobblepot’s orderly transition to a new cell, saw Chief O’Hara approaching with a white-haired gentleman in tow.   “You remember Mister Marc Andrews, the wealthy collector?” the Chief said.  “I think you might be interested in this.”    “I thought I should promptly bring it to your attention, Batman.  About two months ago, I received inquiries on a pair of items in my possession – twin Penguin statues containing some manner of map diagrams on their backs.  Several fellows from Nimpah discovered they were in my collection and made overtures about purchasing them.  I told them I was leery of accepting a check payable in Nimpan funds.   “The day after turning down their check, I received a phone call.  The caller only identified himself as a Mister Kent, and said he would make good on the payment for the statues…which he subsequently did.”   Commissioner Gordon glanced at the clock.  “3:57. Better bring out the Penguin, Chief.”   “Bring out the Penguin!” O’Hara barked into a back room.  “All right, now.  Everyone back up!”  He shooed the onlookers back with his palms.   Andrews pressed on with his tale.  “I didn’t think of the statue’s sale again, but then yesterday I received another phone call from Mister Kent, from some location with considerable noise.  He asked if the Penguin had inquired about the availability of my World War I bi-plane, The Vulture.  I said he had not, and from what I’d heard, Cobblepot could no longer afford a rental car, let alone a rare airplane.  Kent gave a rather unpleasant laugh and said he didn’t think the price would be an issue.  He terminated the call rather abruptly.”   “This took place after the Governor’s murder?” Batman asked.   “Very soon after as it turned out, but several hours before I heard about it on the news.”    “Could you tell by the background noise from where Kent was calling?”   “Not really; just that it sounded like some loud party.  There was one other name I heard; one voice called for a ‘Mercury’ to have another drink.”   A hush fell over the room as Ted the Guard hauled out a shackled Oswald Cobblepot.  Cobblepot looked around suspiciously.  Seeing reporters, he immediately started to speak.   “Ladies and gentemen of the press, I urge each of you to relay to your audience the dire injustice being perpetrated today…"   Ted the Guard yanked Cobblepot’s chains.  “Not another word,” he said, shaking his fist.   As the clock hit 4:00 p.m., a loud motor announced the arrival of a paddywagon outside Police Headquarters.    Ted the Guard pulled his prisoner toward the door.  Ruby Jones unexpectedly stepped past Jimmy and - in a truly ironic development - pulled a small rifle from where it had been hidden in an umbrella stand.  Brandishing the firearm, she blocked the path to the door.   Cobblepot desperately tried to flee in the opposite direction, but Ted the Guard held him rooted to the spot.   “Mother McCree!” exclaimed Chief O’Hara.  “You can’t kill him!”   “No turning back now,” she said, cocking the rifle   “No, I mean you can’t kill him with that gun you’ve got there.  The only thing it will kill is birds.”   “I’ve got a nice fat one in my sights!” Ruby said, refusing to back down.  “This is for my husband, Penguin!”   “Lassie, you’ll just embarrass yourself!” O’Hara shouted.  “You’ve no business bein’ here if you can’t be bothered to do it roight!"   >Blam!<   The blast didn’t knock Cobblepot off his feet, but the spray of birdshot snapped his head back.   “Nwyaauggh!” he squealed.   Before Ruby could get off a second shot, she was knocked off balance as the door behind her swung open into her back.  She spun 180 degrees before regaining her balance. As she brought the rifle up again, a shapely purple leg kicked it from her grasp.  Ruby reached up for it, only to have Batgirl shove her halfway across the room into the grasp of District Attorney Harvey Dent.   Chief O’Hara shook his head in disbelief.  “They’re tryin’ to kill each other with bird pellets now.  ‘Tis a sad day in the annals of attempted murder.”    The former Penguin stood in pained silence as photos flashed.  Jimmy Olsen and Vicki Vale seemed to be in competition to see who could take the most pictures of the scene.  Cobblepot slowly opened his eyes.  His mouth soon followed suit.   “This is your fault!” he shouted, pointing at Batman.  “First, I have my good name tarnished with absurd accusations.  Then, I am subjected to this dank rat hole of a jail cell . . . and now, you have the audacity to sit by as I am cut down in cold blood.  A plastic spoon would offer more protection than you blocks of wood!"    He was turning increasingly red.  “Your willful negligence allowed the common rabble, easily riled to a frenzy by what they see on television, to roam the halls of Police Headquarters in search of scapegoats.  I ask you, members of the press, how can we rely on costumed vigilantes to provide anything but encouragement to a lynch mob?”   Cobblepot suddenly leaned far over to the right and keeled over.  He landed with a thud, and showed no indication of getting back up.   Everyone stood frozen in place, their jaws hanging open.  Batman was the first to spring to action.  He leapt forward and fell to his knees next to the fallen suspect.  His fingers located a spot on the right side of Oswald’s chest and he began vigorously administering heart massage.   “It’s a heart attack!” he yelled to Dent.   “You’re kidding!” said the District Attorney.  “What are the odds?  She uses the completely wrong gun, loaded with completely wrong ammunition – and the Penguin has a heart attack?!”   “That was the plan all along,” said Batman, his eyes narrowing as he worked on the Penguin.  “Wasn’t it, Ms. Jones?”   “I can’t help it if I’m not a gun expert,” Ruby Jones said as she was being handcuffed.   “Bird-shot, when inadvertently discharged near the heart, is a surefire method of triggering a heart attack,” Batman said, “and a telltale sign of either espionage or mob involvement.  You very seldom see it; it’s generally confined to cases so high profile that only the appearance of total incompetence by the shooter is enough to deflect suspicion from the person actually ordering the hit.”   He was encouraged by signs of life from Cobblepot.  “You didn’t teach yourself this technique, Ms. Jones.  Who instructed you?  Who stashed the gun for you?”   Ruby’s face hardened.  “I’ve got nothing to say, Batman.”   Cobblepot’s eyes finally fluttered open and, after a moment, were able to focus.   “You did it, Batman!” said the Commissioner.  He turned to a beat cop.  “Contact Gotham City Hospital – tell them to have their cardiac unit standing by.”   ********   Two hours later, the sun was starting to set over Gotham City.  Jimmy Olsen glanced around at the hubbub and revealing dress that seemed the norm for the What a Way to Go-Go.  Across from he and Lois sat a thin man in a business suit.   Jimmy had to raise his voice to be heard at the table.  “Gosh, it sure is loud in here!”   “Thank you for agreeing to meet in a location that satisfies both my privacy and aesthetic concerns, Ms. Lane,” said the man.   “My pleasure, Mister Threedy,” Lois replied, glancing at the chaos around her.  “I’m pretty sure there’s no chance of us being overheard here.  Now, you said you have some information about the Governor’s death?”   “I’m afraid I do.  I’ve been seeing Ruby Jones socially since shortly after the passing of her husband last year.”   “Let me get this straight.  You were Ruby’s boyfriend?”   “We were never constant companions, but I saw her on-and-off for approximately seven months.”   “Did she ever introduce you to anyone named Frenchy?  Or Raoul?”   “I can’t say that she did, however, on one occasion midway through the relationship, we stopped at a filling station to get gas.  Ruby saw someone she knew and went to sit in his car for several minutes.”   “What’d he look like?” Jimmy asked.   “Elderly gentleman, with a mustache and glasses.  When she returned to my car, I inquired who he was, but she laughed and said pay no attention to the old man.  Some months later, I was attending a speech by Governor Hataki at the International Quickie Mart and noticed the man again.  He stood out because he wasn’t really paying attention to the speech…he seemed more interested in the security detail.  That evening, I paid a visit to Ms. Jones and discovered she had company.  In her living room sat this same fellow, and alongside him sat the Penguin.”   Jimmy involuntarily spit out the water he was drinking.  “Jeepers!  The Penguin!”  He looked at Lois, who was testily wiping up the spilled water that had narrowly missed her soup.   Threedy continued.  “She didn’t introduce them, but in the Penguin’s case, it certainly wasn’t needed.  They were discussing the Governor’s speech over drinks.  The Penguin seemed to get worked up over statements the Governor had made against the nation of Nimpah.  The elderly gentleman and the Penguin agreed that Governor Hataki deserved a harsh penalty for his impertinence, and began speculating how such punishment might be meted out.  The Penguin said that ‘triangulation of fire’ was the key.    “He opened his umbrella part way, so it was shaped in a perfect triangle, and then demonstrated how, from that stance, he could just peer over the top of the umbrella as he fired, while the metallic fabric shielded him from return fire and concealed his identity.”   Lois gave an amused snort.  “I can see the headline: Mystery Man Unleashes Umbrella Barrage.  Even you could figure out that culprit, couldn’t you, Jim?”   “Sure could!” Jimmy said.   “When the Penguin’s description of the Governor’s downfall became increasingly graphic, Ruby told the two of them to leave.  I seldom saw her after that evening: once, for a musical, and then one final time last month.  We were on the way home from dinner, when she asked me to park at the yacht club.  She exited the vehicle and walked several hundred feet to the pier where she met someone.   “Although it was dark, their proximity to the water made their voices carry.  I could hear them clearly, and the second voice was unmistakably that of her spectacled friend.   He told her to instruct the Penguin, in the event of trouble during the Governor’s visit, to make his way without delay to the movie theater showing Chilled Scientist, where a car would be dispatched to pick him up.    “I heard the jangling of keys, and the man’s voice telling her the keys would gain her entrance to Police Headquarters when the time had come.  After that night, I didn’t see Ms. Jones again until yesterday, when I saw her on the evening news blasting away at the Penguin.    "Last night, I was lying in bed, when it suddenly struck me where else I’d heard the elderly gentleman’s voice.  I got up and drew as exact a likeness of him as possible, then drew a second picture of the same face, minus the glasses and mustache.”   “One thing I don’t get,” said Jimmy.  “Why would this guy and the Penguin talk about murdering the Governor in front of a complete stranger?”   “Jimmy!” Lois said, motioning him to zip it.  “Please go on, Mister Threedy.”   “Actually, someone who knows me quite well has just entered the club.  I really can’t afford to have him see me talking to you.  We’ll have to resume our discussion later.”  Threedy slid from his seat.  “I’ll call you tomorrow to arrange another meeting.”   Lois grabbed his arm.  “Wait!  You said you figured out the old man’s identity.  Who was it?”   “Police Commissioner Gordon.”   Pulling from her grasp, Todd Threedy left behind the shocked reporters and hastily threaded his way between patrons. He skipped out the exit so quickly he almost collided with the grim-faced doorman   Recovering her voice, Lois turned to Olsen.  “Quick, let’s see the photos you took during the Governor’s drive-by.”   “Okay.”  Jimmy pulled a stack of photos from his pack and spread them out over the table.    “Where’s Commissioner Gordon during all this?”   “Here: standing at the entrance of the library.” Jimmy pointed to a wide angle shot.   “So if he’d wanted to, he could control entrances and exits from the library . . . and this is right before Cobblepot supposedly fired the fatal shots from inside.”   “I guess . . . and he could order his men where to be stationed, so he could make sure they were out of position!”   “Or, if he wanted, he could have one ready to escort the vagrants to safety.”   “Not many people would have the keys to Police Headquarters to hand out!”    Lois ran her hand through her hair.  “Do you have any shots of the Governor?”   “No.  I ran out of film before his car came by.  Here’s my last shot.”    Examining the indicated picture, Lois could make out Barbara Gordon, waving excitedly along with everyone else in the crowd at something approaching down the street.   Lois put her elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands for a moment.    “Let’s not tell Barbara about any of this yet.  If Threedy turned out to be right about her dad, the news would crush her.”   “Okay.  Mum’s the word.”   *******   Robin and Alfred stood at attention in the Batcave.  Batman was pacing back and forth.   “Ms. Jones’ attempt to finish off Cobblepot, along with the sophisticated manner she chose to carry it out, suggests only one conclusion:  the Governor’s murder was part of a conspiracy.  Jones refused to discuss her motive beyond a vague correlation to her husband.”   Robin held up a computer card.  “I checked on Rutherford Jones.  He died last year while incarcerated.  Cause of death was reported as food poisoning.  Even though his wife testified against him in court, she visited him frequently during his stay in prison."    “I daresay that suggests revenge as the young lady’s motive,” said Alfred   “Then why did she refuse to give any information upon being arrested?  She knows that she’ll be found guilty, and thus has nothing to hide, particularly if she thought she was righting some injustice.”   Batman pulled off his cowl to reveal Bruce Wayne’s rugged features.  He pulled several circular tins from a filing cabinet, lay them out on a table, and opened each one.   “The make-up kit?” asked Robin.  “What’s your plan, Batman?”   “Lois said that Clark Kent is due to arrive on the 9:20 plane from Metropolis tonight.  After Marc Andrews’ information, I’ll be very interested to hear what Clark has to say about the Penguin.”    “You may want to consider Mister Kent’s recent auto accident,” Alfred said.  “How might a harsh interrogation affect his condition?”   “Never fear, Alfred.  As you recall, I’ve previously traveled to Metropolis several times incognito to investigate reports of alien sightings there.”   Robin’s mouth dropped open.  “You’re resurrecting the ‘Gary Allen’ identity?”   “Correct, chum.  Both Clark and Lois have met ‘Gary Allen’ several times.  They’ll be much less guarded in conversation than they would be with Batman.”   Robin pulled down his mask, revealing the twenty-something face of Dick Grayson. “Kent’s delayed arrival may just be a ploy to give him a head start on his escape, or, what if it’s a different ‘Kent’ altogether for which we should be looking?"   “Then we’re left with the second name overheard by Marc Andrews on the phone.”   "Mercury." Dick snapped his fingers. "I don’t need the Bat-computer to recall that name!  He worked for the Joker!”   Bruce held up a finger. “. . . and - due to the Joker’s choice for a partner at that time - the Penguin as well.”   “You must admit, however,” Alfred said, “that fact is just one more piece of evidence linking the Penguin to the assassination, making a conspiracy even less likely.”   “The Joker wasn’t the only criminal under which Mercury served,” Bruce said.  “Oddly, Ruby Jones’ declaration of vengeance reminded me of my first meeting with Mercury.  It took place during my college years, well before I had taken up the mantle of crime-fighting.”   “Holy Revelation!” said Dick, clapping his hands to the side of his head.  “I haven’t heard this story before!”   “No, and when you hear it, you’ll understand why,” Bruce said, allowing his mind to wander from its usual ultra-alert state.   “It was twenty-one years ago. I was attending my senior year of college.  Captain Gordon sent word that a miscreant briefly suspected as the culprit in my parents’ murder a decade earlier had just been arrested on an entirely unrelated charge.  I rushed back to Gotham City, determined to have words with this suspect.    “When I arrived, however, the man had already met his demise in jail.  Patrolman O’Hara confided to me that the hold-up man had been ready to testify against Gotham’s leading gangster, and paid for it with his life.  Denied my opportunity to learn the truth, I decided to pay a visit to this gangster  – Mister Lou Cranek.”     Twenty-year old Bruce Wayne strode with purpose towards the entrance of the swanky club.    “That’s as far as you go.”  A large man blocked Bruce’s way.  Although he wore a suit, the man looked like he’d spent more time in a gym than an office.   “I’d like to speak with Mister Cranek,” Bruce said, keeping his voice calm.   “And you are…?”   “My name’s Bruce Wayne . . . and yours?”   “Ah, ‘Little Orphan Affluent.’  But my name won’t do you no good – if you’re not on the guest list here and I wind up talking to you more than once, your legs are about to be broken.”

“Well, if you’re squeamish about my knowing your name, I can understand.”  Bruce flashed a friendly smile, although he felt ready to exchange blows with the thug.   Mercury smirked.  “Yeah, I’m real nervous that I might upset you.  Name’s Mercury.  M-E-R-cury.”

Actual FBI surveillance photo showing "Mercury" and Bruce Wayne outside Lou Cranek’s club

“Mercury, I'll bet you if you go tell Mister Cranek I’m here to see him – which I gather is sort of your job – he’ll tell you to invite me inside.”   “You better hope so.”  Keeping an eye on Bruce, Mercury turned and headed into the club.   Minutes later, Bruce was standing in front of Gotham’s reigning crime czar.

Lou Cranek sneered at the young man.  “You could've just sent flowers, Wayne.” "I didn't come here to cheer you up, Mister Cranek," Bruce said.  "I came here to show you're not the boss of everyone in this town." "Oh, yeah?  Look around."  Cranek's pointer finger made a slow circle around the room.  "There’s an up-and-coming city councilman.…magician/hit man Jack Napier….Benny the Butcher....Deputy Mayor Stonefellow…and a couple of Gotham’s finest, still in uniform.” Bruce’s eyes narrowed, verifying that the guest list was indeed as described.

“Watch this.”  Cranek crumpled up a cigarette package and tossed it on the floor.   “That’s littering.  That’s twenty-five days in jail,” Cranek jutted his chin defiantly,  “but I ain’t afraid . . . and I ain’t picking it up, neither.”   “I’m picking it up.”  Bruce slowly retrieved the wrapper from the floor.  “Neatness is every citizen’s responsibility.”   “Sure, when you’ve got a butler to clean your dorm room for you.  Don’t you lecture me, pretty boy.  You think you’ve had it rough just because you lost your mommy and daddy?  Well, let me tell you something.  You’re a spoiled little brat.  Have you ever climbed the eastern slope of the Heralaya mountains?  Well, I have.  So don’t waltz in here acting all indignant with me.”  He waved dismissively with his hand.  Bruce was grabbed from behind and lifted off the floor by the collar of his jacket.   “It was nice meeting you,” the mobster chuckled, as Bruce was hauled swiftly across the room.   The exit door was knocked open by the force of the young millionaire’s face and he was thrown headfirst into a garbage can.  Behind him, Mercury slammed the exit door shut.   Young Bruce pulled himself slowly up from the ground and brushed himself off.  Squaring his shoulders, he knelt to pick up stray scraps of garbage and returned them to their proper receptacle.     “Two weeks later…,” Bruce said to Dick, “and 1,300 miles away, I stood alone at the top of the Heralaya mountain range.”   “Wow!” Dick responded.  “Then it wasn’t just your parents’ murder that drove you to become Batman!  An even bigger motivation was, you couldn’t take this mobster making fun of you.”   Bruce stiffened.  “Well, you see, chum,” he harrumphed, “one must always impress himself before he can impress others.  How could I face an endless parade of knife-wielding ne’er-do-wells if I harbored doubts about my own abilities?”   Alfred tapped his chin. “Yes, I recall the period of which you speak quite well, Master Bruce.  You simply seemed to drop out of sight for an entire month.”   “I realized that reaching the Heralaya Mountains could be very difficult.  Fearing that Mercury might follow me home, I decided to obtain a disguise at the earliest opportunity.  Fortune was kind, for I passed a poor soul down on his luck: the latest drop in the market had depleted his portfolio by almost a third and he'd been reduced to wearing off-the-rack attire.  I prevailed upon him to trade coats with me.  I smiled and bid him good fortune, shuddering inwardly as I donned his JC Penney overcoat.    ”As the days passed and I made my way to the mountain range, I found the inferior jacket even more inadequate for the purpose of blocking out subzero temperatures.  I purchased several bolts of dark material to provide further warmth from some monks in a monastery.  I then set about scaling the highest peak of the Heralayas.    “On the evening of the fifth day, I reached the top of that peak.  I pitched a small tent and collapsed in it, feeling exhausted, but elated.  As I lay there, alone in the barren wilderness, I began to mentally analyze this beast we call crime.    "'Criminals are a cowardly, superstitious lot,' I thought.  'They don’t appreciate me as a person.  I must have a disguise that will fill them with awe and respect.  I must blend into the night.'   “I looked at the dark bolts of cloth covering me.  The material was unconventional, to be sure, but hadn’t I just conquered my fear of being seen in substandard fabrics?  I picked up my bear knife and began cutting up the cloth like a man possessed.  My hands seemed to be guided by a higher power as I cut one odd-shaped pattern after another, then sewed them all together.   “One hour later, I had my disguise completed.  Donning the cape and its matching cowl, I left my tent and walked to the edge of the precipice, to gaze out at the dark vastness below.    “I felt completely in my element: a primordial hunter; moving with stealth and determination, camouflaged; unseen to my enemies.    “Within five minutes, the sun came up, and I found I had become a conspicuous black creature against an otherwise white landscape.  Still, though, I looked impressive…darned impressive.”   “And that’s the costume you wear today!” said Dick with awe.   “Well, no.  By the time I returned home to Wayne Manor, the outfit was soaked with sweat and infested with lice.”   “I wouldn’t even allow him to bring it into the mansion,” Alfred cheerily confirmed.  “Without giving it a second look, I took it out back and burned it on the spot.”   “What a story!” said Dick, shaking his head.  “They should make a movie out of that.  They could call it The Beginning of Batman.”   “I would suggest, Batman: the First Year,” said Alfred.   By this point, Bruce was in the final stages of applying his makeup.  He no longer looked like Bruce Wayne, but someone heavier, with a less angular face.

“This face is always easy to reconstruct – I patterned it after my Uncle Phillip.”  He patted the dark wig in place.    “Now then, Clark Kent is going to have an extra visitor waiting to greet him at the airport…and shortly afterwards, ‘Gary Allen’ will pay a visit to Lou Cranek’s address.  A trace on the license plate his lieutenant was driving shows that he’s back at his old hideout.”

“Pretty suspicious that Cranek returns to Gotham City right before the Governor’s assassination,” said Dick.   “But, sir,” began Alfred, “does this Mercury person’s decades-old employment with Mister Cranek really warrant a visit?   Surely this case is too important to be sidetracked by personal animosities?”   “Oh, I have very good reason to believe Lou Cranek is linked to this case,” Bruce said, adding some final dabs to his makeup.  “Cranek is the half-brother of none other than the Maharaja of Nimpah!"    “Holy Geneology!” said Dick.  “How can that be?”   “Cranek’s father was the Maharaja of his time.  He already had one son through his Nimpan bride, but on one of his trips stateside, indulged himself with a woman of loose morals.  Although it was widely suspected the child was his, he refused to ever see or support this American child.  You’ll recall the Penguin was handling out literature concerning the nation of Nimpah only hours before the assassination.”   ”Master Bruce, hasn’t it been some years since the Gary Allen identity appeared in Metropolis?  You may want to try aging him a bit from your last visit.”   “Good thinking, Alfred.  A few streaks of grey in the hairpiece and….I’m ready.  While I’m out, Dick, see if Robin can track down any leads on the vagrant trio.”    ********   A nervous Mister Threedy entered a laundromat and glanced around.  Finding it deserted for the moment, he made straight for the pay phone on the wall.  He had to wait for several rings before getting an answer.   “Daily Plan…I mean, Lois Lane speaking.”   “Ms. Lane, Todd Threedy here.  I promised I’d get back to you.”   “Mister Threedy, we need to meet!  There were some photos we needed you to see last night.   Ruby Jones has turned down requests for interviews from myself, Barry Brown and Vicki Vale.  So far, you’re the only person who has information on her recent activities.”   Threedy put his hand to his ear to block out the noise from a washer hitting the spin cycle.  “Well, I don’t know what to do.  I don’t feel safe.  I think I’m being watched.”   “All the more reason to get your story out in print!  Once you’re on the record, you’ll cease to be of importance to anyone.  No, wait, that didn’t come out right.”   “Never mind, I couldn’t hear half of it, anyway.  Let’s get this over with.”   “Where are you right now?”   Threedy pressed the phone receiver to his ear.  The washing machine was overloaded on one side, which was making the machine jolt back and forth.  “In the laundromat next to my building, but this won’t work.  I’m too exposed here…they could find me.  Where can we meet tonight?”   “I need to pick someone up at the airport at 9:20.  Can we meet there?”   “Fine . . . and if I find myself being followed, I expect The Daily Planet to immediately provide me with a plane ticket out of town!”   “Deal.  Don’t worry.  Meet us at the security checkpoint leading to Gate N in an hour.”   I’ll be there!” Threedy shouted over the din.   Hanging up, he saw that not only was one washing machine twitching, but every other machine in the laundromat was doing so as well.  The rattling and clanging was deafening.  Within a span of ten seconds, the washer next to the phone actually shook itself forward three inches to touch his shoe.  He watched, mystified.  Half of the washers seemed about to shake themselves to pieces.   Threedy let out a yelp as the washer at his side suddenly jumped and jolted itself on top of his foot.  He reached over and changed the cycle setting, which had no effect.   “Stupid thing!”   Now he was struggling just to stay upright as the washer continued its bizarre dance on his foot.  Looking up, he saw the washers to either side banging into one another.  Now, they were inching out of their place against the wall.  The two nearest rumbled forward from their proper alignment.  He trembled as they converged erratically upon him.   ********   “Gosh, I don’t see Mister Threedy anywhere.”  Jimmy Olsen gazed down the long hallway of the Gotham International Airport.   “I told him where to meet us,” Lois said, scanning faces in the crowd.   “How long before Mister Kent’s plane is due?”   “In about ten minutes.  I’ll stay here and wait for Threedy.  Why don’t you head over to Concourse L to meet Clark?”   Jimmy nodded and headed down the long causeway.  Lois was contemplating having Threedy paged on the intercom, when a hand tapped her on the shoulder.   Facing her was a mustached man in a suit.  “Excuse me, but I believe you’re Ms. Lane of The Daily Planet?  I was sent here to deliver a message.”   “From Mister Threedy?”   “No. Word has reached me that you’ve been looking for a man known as Raoul.  I offer my services to help facilitate a meeting.”   Lois sized the man up.  “What’s your relationship to Raoul?”   “I’ve been retained to look out for his interests.”   “And you are?”   “We can get to those kinds of details in good time.  Raoul might be prepared, with a little display of good will, to discuss who hired him. Do you have any message you wish me to deliver to him?”   Lois tried to keep her tone neutral.  “You can tell him that if he’s innocent, he should go public – The Daily Planet would certainly be interested in presenting his side of the story.  If he’s connected to Governor Hataki’s murder, things will go easier on him if he comes forward voluntarily.”   “That may not be much of an incentive for him to talk to you.”   “I can’t offer him money, if that what you’re looking for, however, I can promise to hear him out and keep an open mind.”    “We will be in touch.”  The man gave a short bow and walked away.   *******   Jimmy had almost reached Concourse L when a voice called out.   "Well, if it isn't James Olsen!"   Jimmy saw an old acquaintance of his sitting on a nearby bench.

“Mister Allen!  What are you doing here?” asked Jimmy.   Batman smiled broadly through the makeup.  “I just flew in for work.  I’m going to be in Gotham City for a few days.”    “Mister Kent’s due to arrive on a flight any minute now!  He’ll sure be glad to see you again!”   “How are you these days, Jimmy?”   “Real good!  One of my photos is up for an award . . . and Mister White doesn’t get quite so mad when I call him ‘Chief’ these days.”

“That’s swell.  How is Clark?” Batman asked.  “I heard from friends that he’s changed lately.”

“Not really.  Although, I guess he’s not as happy around the office, now that you mention it.”

 

“Why do you suppose that is?”

 

Jimmy looked at his feet as he searched for the right words.  “Well... you know how sometimes someone can be so powerful and beloved by a city that his friends become well known by association?  See, Mister Kent’s kind of in that situation . . . and he doesn’t really care for it.”

 

“Getting tired of being used as a go-between?”

 

“Not so much that, as he just doesn’t like the attention.  This cereal company hired a bunch of us to pose for ads for their product.  Mister Kent wasn’t too enthusiastic, but the Chief gave him a speech about team spirit – The Daily Planet gets mentioned in every ad – so he agreed to do it.”

 

“That’s great, Jim, but I was wondering if there was something in Clark’s private life that was bothering him.”

 

“Gosh, I don’t know if Mister Kent even has a private life . . . but ever since the deal with Kellogg's, he’s been getting assigned goofy, lighthearted stories: lambs being raised by cows, or this boxing stunt with that elderly guy.  Mister Kent likes covering stories about important topics that are threats to the city, but now that he’s on cereal boxes, Mister White won’t assign him to anything controversial.  Kellogg's is one of the biggest advertisers in The Planet, y’know.”

 

Batman nodded sympathetically.  He’d heard more than enough to conclude that the lad was clueless about whatever Kent was mixed up in.  He kept an eye on the exit from the secured area for the first of the disembarking passengers off the jet from Metropolis. 

 

The two were joined by Lois just as the first passengers were just starting to emerge.

 

“Why, Gary Allen, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said in greeting.  Batman was so intent on scrutinizing each exiting passenger that his only response was a quick nod at Lois.

 

“No sign of Mister Threedy, huh?” asked Jimmy. 

 

“Not a trace.  Do you suppose he actually has knowledge that would make him a target?”

 

Batman could feel his frustration building.  Unable to spot a trace of Clark Kent, he resisted an impulse to go charging through the security checkpoint after his quarry. 

 

By now, the bulk of the Metroplis flight’s passengers had dispersed. 

 

“Oh, great!  Now where’s Clark?!” said Lois.

 

“Are you looking for Clark Kent?” asked a nearby passenger.  She was slim and sultry, with curly, dark hair.  “You won’t find him on this flight.”

 

“How do you know?” Lois inquired.

 

“Well, I should.  After all, I’m his fiancée.”

 

“Fiancée?!” blurted Jimmy.

 

“You're Lois Lane, and this handsome lad is . . . Jimmy Olsen.  Clark’s told me so much about you.”

 

Lois and Olsen just stared at the woman, who extended her hand.

 

"It's me, Laura Lime, remember? The magician's assistant? Tried to have you thrown off a rooftop?"

"You?!" Lois exclaimed.

"Yes, Lime's my surname. I know, funny name. Go ahead, make jokes. Everyone does. Clark always tells me, 'Lovebug, you say the sourest things!'"

Jimmy could hardly believe his ears. “Mister Kent says that?”

 

“Sure.  When it’s just the two of us together, he really lets his hair down.”

Hey, what's the idea?" Jimmy said angrily. "Mister Kent wouldn't fall in love with a convict!"

"Oh, I've served my sentence."

"But you were a scam artist and a thief!"

"Yes. People do change, you know." She took a moment to study Jimmy's wardrobe. "Most people, at any rate," she sniffed.

“Wh-when did you two get engaged?” asked Lois.

 

“Just yesterday,” she said, holding up her engagement ring.  “Clark said the only thing going through his mind during his car crash was that we might never be together again.  After his narrow escape from death, he decided he was going to get the most out of life; no drawn-out courtships.  He actually proposed to me on the hospital grounds.”

 

“Where’s Mister Kent now?” ‘Gary Allen’ asked, forgoing an introduction.

 

“Probably back at his hotel,” said Laura.  “He arrived this morning and told me to take his seat on this flight. Let me tell you, that took some doing these days.”

 

Batman was already headed for the exit.  He doubted he would find Kent at the hotel, but he had a pretty good idea of where else to look.

 

He stalked past a pair of men who were relaxing casually against the wall.

“Who was that?”  Frenchy muttered to the mustached man at his side.

 

“Nobody.”

 

Something about the departing man bothered Frenchy – maybe the way he carried himself.  “Think I should follow him?”

 

The mustached man grinned and shook his head.  “Oh, no, you just lay low.  We’ve got The Daily Planet chomping at the bit for an interview with you, ‘Raoul.'  You’re our ace in the hole.”

It had started raining by the time Batman reached Lou Cranek’s old club.  It looked more run-down than on his last visit several decades before. Thanks to some missing street lights, the entire area was draped in shadows, save for brief flashes of lightning from the storm. Snugging down the brim of his hat to keep the rain off his makeup, Batman marched resolutely through puddles to the front steps.  Expecting they would creak, he gingerly climbed the short flight of stairs.  Bypassing the main door, he padded thirty yards down the landing to a side door.  He knelt and pulled a skeleton key from his pocket.  The key’s handle was shaped like a bat.

******

 

With no sign of Todd Threedy at the airport, Lois and Jimmy had invited Laura to join their cab ride over to meet Clark.  The rain was just letting up as the three walked into the lobby of the Gotham Hotel. 

 

“Why did Mister Kent come to town early?” asked Jimmy.

 

Laura steered them towards the elevator.  “It turns out the Penguin’s assailant – that Ruby Jones woman – said she was only willing to tell her story directly to Clark.  She knew him from her previous brush with the law, and he was the only reporter she felt comfortable talking to.  Naturally, my man was willing to move his flight up to accommodate meeting her.”

 

At the very moment Laura stepped into the elevator, five stories above, the object of her affections was stepping into another elevator.  The two cars glided silently by each other, headed in opposite directions.  The trio had no idea they had passed within six feet of Clark Kent.

 

“Wait a minute,” Lois said as they exited the elevator on the fifth floor.  “On that case you’re speaking of, Ruby barely had any contact at all with Clark.  Me, she not only dealt with, but left lying bound and gagged on the floor for an hour.  Why didn’t I get a shot at this interview? How can that floozy pick Clark to confide in?”

 

 “I don’t know what to say,” Laura shrugged.  “Well, this is the room: 579.”  She knocked on the door.

 

When the knock went unanswered, Lois took charge.

 

“Don’t think you’re going to see Ruby Jones without me, Clark!” she said loudly, pounding insistently on the door.  The last knock was of sufficient force to make the door swing open. 

 

The room was dark and vacated, but a suitcase sat next to a closet that contained several identical business suits.

 

“This is the room, for sure,” Jimmy said.  He and Laura entered to look around.

 

“Say, look at this,” Lois said, pointing to the door lock.  “This thing is broken.  It looks like someone was putting on a new handle, and just ran off and left it half-assembled.  I sure wouldn’t let them give me this room.”

 

“Oh, I’m not worried,” said Laura.  “Clark can protect me.”

 

Lois choked down her laughter, producing a noise that sounded like she was blowing her nose inside her skull.  "Um, must have something in my throat.  Safety aside, I think you'd want a properly locking door due to all these traveler's checks Clark has laying around in plain sight."

 

Standing at the window, Jimmy began, gesturing at the street.  “There he is!” 

 

Laura and Lois rushed to Jimmy's side.  Sure enough, they could see the distant, broad-shouldered figure of their Daily Planet colleague ambling across the large hotel parking lot towards an alley. 

 

Lois pounded on the window, with only slightly less force than she’d used on the door.

 

“Clark!  Wait for us!”  Unfortunately, Clark had already ducked into the alley and disappeared from sight.

 

“Come on, Jim,” Lois said, grabbing his arm.  “Ruby Jones is the interview of the year.  She may know enough to solve this whole case.  If we can grab a cab, maybe we can still get to Police Headquarters in time to sit in!”

 

********

 

“Gary Allen” cautiously slid his way down a dark corridor.  Lou Cranek’s joint was mostly deserted, but there were voices and some light shining through a door crack at the end of the hall.  He discovered that the door led to the back of what had been the club’s showroom. 

 

Voices from a television set helped conceal his approach from the dozen hooligans lounging around the tables.  Batman eased his way over into an empty booth.  Fifteen feet in front of him, crime boss Lou Cranek and his right hand man Curley were absorbed in a game of cards.

 

Cranek slapped down a card.  “Blackjack!  What do you think of that, Foo Young?”

 

His aide hung his head.  “Aw, Lou, that ain’t my name no more.  I went back to ‘Curley’ a long time ago.  You know that.”

 

“Hah!  Curley isn’t the best nickname in the world, but ‘Foo Young?!'  You got to be kidding me!  How much was Egghead paying you?!  He had you looking like some foofoo waiter.”

 

“No more working with Egghead for me ever again.  I don’t care how long they got you locked up next time.”

 

Now it was Cranek’s turn to look disgruntled.

 

Over at the bar, the burly sentry Mercury was half-listening to the exchange.  He looked over and was surprised to see a newcomer seated in a booth at the back.  Looking offended, the towering thug rose from his stool.  Batman pretended to give all his attention to the news program playing on the TV set.

 

“Lieutenant Governor Condellee is still in critical condition with numerous bullet wounds sustained during the attack.  Doctors are doubtful she will survive,” a handsome television host intoned. “Next on Reeves & West, they will discuss the controversy surrounding the Governor’s state funeral with local Funeral Director Angie Jolly, but first we have this live report from Barry Brown.  Barry?”

 

“It is a somber scene here at Gotham City Hall, where Governor Hideo Hataki’s body will lie in state.  Starting Sunday at 9 a.m., over a million Gothamites are expected to walk by his open casket and pay last respects to a man who devoted his life to helping this state. The shock of his death has interrupted most, though not all, business in the state. Only moments ago, the Silsby Injuns football team announced their game this weekend will proceed on schedule.

"Famed attorney Lucky Pierre has announced that he will represent the Penguin at the upcoming murder trial. Coincidentally, Lucky Pierre also recently came into ownership of the Silsby Injuns."

Mercury’s thick torso eclipsed Batman’s view of the television.  Telling himself to play it cool, Batman leaned back and gave a casual wave.

 

“Who are you?” demanded Mercury.

 

“I’m Gary Allen, from Benny the Butcher’s gang,” Batman replied.  'No sense creating more than one name for this face,' he thought.  'Besides, Gary Allen’s good standing with Clark Kent may come in handy tonight.'

The gangster eyed him uncertainly.  He knew that the real Benny the Butcher and his men were all locked up.  Unlike Lou Cranek, poor Benny was not well-connected enough to avoid doing serious time in prison. 

“How come you ain’t in stir with the rest of his bunch?” Mercury asked. 

 

Batman was expecting the question.  “The Butcher mainly used me as his enforcer, but for that raid on Police Headquarters, I was merely driving the getaway car.”

“Enforcer, huh?” Mercury said.  He looked doubtful.  Several of Cranek’s other stooges stood and approached the table

 

“It’s okay, Mercury.  Any man approved by ‘the Butcher’ is fine by me.”  Lou Cranek had also come over to inspect the newcomer.  “Forgive my men, Mister Allen.  I pay them to be suspicious.”

 

“Why is that, Mister Cranek?”

 

“For one thing, there’s a lifetime bounty on my head.  My rat fink half-brother in Nimpah considers me a threat to his throne, so every year he sends out a new team of zealot assassins to get me.” 

 

Cranek pointed at a picture on the wall.  It featured a turbaned ruler, and seemed to be the type of mass-produced portrait intended for public offices.  The copy on Cranek’s wall had been supplemented with pen-and-ink devil’s horns and several extra chins penciled on the subject’s ample neck. 

 

“That fat ninny spends his days playing around with the millions he inherited at my expense, but he can’t be happy with just cutting me out of daddy’s fortune; he’s got to have me dead, too.”

 

Cranek turned to address the rest of the room.  “But the days of watching over my shoulder for him are about to end.  In case you haven’t heard yet, Curley and I have been testing a new device.  Actually, it's a new model of an old device we once had great success with.”

 

He walked over to a large locked box and patted it.  “I lost the prototype when I got sent up the river, however, with the right help, we managed to gradually reassemble it.  So as of now, you are all members of the only organization in the underworld to possess...an actual, will-bending…thought-controlling…Mind Machine!”

 

The hooligans erupted in cheers and backslaps.

 

“We’ll smash ‘em all!” yelled Mercury.

 

“Cranek’s mob rules!  Watch out, world!” hollered Curley.

 

Gary Allen joined in. "We will use it for our nefarious ends! Advantage: evil!"

 

The newcomer’s choice of words caused the the volume in the room to instantly diminish.

 

“In case you don’t remember,” Cranek continued, “the Mind Machine allowed us to control anyone we could get a camera on…no matter how far away.  Whatever order I gave into my microphone, the person on the screen would obey completely.”

 

“You’re going to rule the world, boss,” said Curley.  “It’s in yer blood.  You’re destined for royalty.”

 

Batman nodded in appreciation. “Any device allowing us to hide from the forces of good while we ply our vile trade will be of benefit.”

 

This comment also drew raised eyebrows.  Seeing an opportunity to pry for information, Batman turned to Mercury.

 

“Oh, say, Kent sends his regards.”

 

Mercury’s frown only deepened.  “Who?”

 

“Kent,” Batman prompted.

 

Getting no signs of recognition, he added, “You know, the Kent who uses that pair from Nimpah; the Kent who bought the Penguin statues from Andrews.”

 

Mercury snorted.  “I don’t know anyone like that.”

 

“He’s talkin’ about Dent,” Cranek piped up.  “Harvey Dent.”

 

Batman’s eyes widened.  “’Kent’ is Harvey Dent?!”

 

“Sure.  Lots of us know that.  Why don’t you?  I thought you said you knew him?”

 

“Not…in the Biblical sense.”

 

Batman’s clever ad-lib had the thugs befuddled.  Cranek and Curley exchanged confused glances.

 

Batman threw up his arms.  “It’s a joke!  Don’t you get it?  Boy, you guys need another drink.”

 

“Right,” Cranek agreed.  “More drinks all around.  Gary, you have to hear about the time I climbed Mount Heralaya.  Any of you boys who haven’t heard this, need to gather round!”

 

Batman and several henchmen leaned in close to the mob boss.

 

“Okay, what most people don’t realize about Mount Heralaya is…now!”

 

Three thugs unexpectedly grabbed hold of Batman’s table and jammed it into his ribs, pinning him in the booth.  His wind momentarily knocked out, he gasped for breath.  Mercury slowly circled around behind Batman while Cranek nodded with pleasure.

 

“As I was saying, what most people don’t realize – until it’s too late – is that I’ve never been to Mount Heralaya.  That’s just a code word I use whenever I want the boys to escort someone out who shouldn’t be here.”

 

Mercury cracked his knuckles and slowly placed his large hands around Batman’s throat.

 

“Only you aren’t going to be leaving just yet, Mister Allen…or whatever your real name is . . . and when you do, it’s going to be in a pine box.”

 

Mercury’s hands began to dig into Batman’s windpipe, crushing his already depleted air supply.  The pressure of the table on his ribs was unrelenting. 

 

Batman’s hands scrabbled inside his waistband for his utility belt, only to find it was not there.  'I let myself get so drawn into retelling my last encounter with Cranek that I forgot to wear it!!  Curse my daydreams!'

 

Cranek continued to calmly speak to the squirming, bucking infiltrator.  “On the face of it, you’d think anyone would know I never climbed Mount Heralaya . . . but if you make a lie outrageous enough, people seem to believe it.  I once heard a rumor that some idiot even went out and climbed all the way up Mount Heralaya himself just to show me up.  Can you believe it?!” 

 

Curley erupted in laughter, smacking the bar repeatedly.

 

Indignation and rage coursed through Batman, but his renewed struggles did nothing to dislodge Mercury’s grip.

 

“I see we’ll need to notch it up a bit, fellas,” Mercury muttered to the thugs in front of him.  “This snoop just demands full strength.”

 

Veins bulged in his arms as he squeezed harder than ever on the stranger’s throat.  He saw Gary Allen’s face getting increasingly purple.  Sweat dripped from Mercury’s brow.  He forced the circumference of the throat even smaller.

 

Batman’s last thoughts before everything went black were of his parents.

 

********

 

“Ohhh, what time is it?” Lois muttered as she was awakened by the phone in her hotel room.  2:30 a.m., proclaimed the clock on the bedside table.

 

Clearing her throat so she’d sound coherent, she picked up the receiver.  “This is Lois.”

 

“Lois, this is Rosemarie Shivel.  This is terrible! You know I had some differences of opinion with Clark, but I never wanted anything like this to happen!”

 

“Ms. Shivel, what are you talking about?  Is this about Clark’s interview?”

 

“You mean you haven’t heard?”

 

“I know that Clark went to City Hall last night to interview someone.  I was planning to go over to his hotel right after breakfast to see how it went.”

 

 “I think you should go over there right now!”

 

“Why?  What’s happened?”

 

“I heard that he…he…”  Rosemarie Shivel’s words deteriorated into sobs as she broke down in mid-sentence. 

 

“Rosemarie!  Tell me what happened to Clark!”

 

A dog barked excitedly on Rosemarie’s lap. “It’s alright, Scruffy, calm down,” she whispered, fighting back the tears.  “It’s so sad. I have to go.” 

 

Lois was abruptly left listening to a dead line.  She lay there only a second before throwing off the covers and springing out of bed.  She set the receiver down, but immediately lifted it again and began dialing Jimmy’s room.

 

*********

 

The first thing Lois and Jimmy saw upon pulling up to the Gotham Hotel was a police squad car and an ambulance.  They rushed to the elevator, then down the hall to Clark’s room.  Officer Pelzman was standing at the entrance.

 

“Sorry, ma’am,” the blue-eyed policeman said to Lois.  “No one allowed in.  Who are you?”

 

“We’re reporters for The Daily Planet and we’re working with Clark on a story.  Is he okay?”

 

Instead of answering, the policeman opened the door to the room slightly and whispered to another person inside.  Within seconds, they were ushered into the suite’s main room by Commissioner Gordon.

 

“Were either of you with Mister Kent in the past twenty-four hours?” Gordon asked.

 

“Unh-unh,” Jimmy said, shaking his head.  “We tried to catch up to him last night because he was going to interview Ruby Jones, but we got there after he’d already arrived.  The authorities wouldn’t let us in to see him because Ms. Jones would only talk to one person.”

 

“Did Mister Kent say anything about what he learned from Ruby Jones?”

 

 “No, sir,” said Jimmy.  “We waited around for him there a little bit, then gave up and went back to our hotel.”

 

“Now could you tell us what’s going on, Commissioner?” Lois asked.

 

Gordon was unable to meet her gaze as he considered how to reply.

 

The door to the bedroom opened and two men in white medical uniforms emerged bearing a figure on a stretcher.  The figure was covered by a white sheet.

 

“Oh my…!”  Lois put her hand to her mouth.  “Is that…Clark?”

 

Gordon nodded solemnly.  “I’m afraid so.  He ingested some poison.  We haven’t ruled out foul play, but that’s not the conclusion to which the evidence is pointing.”

 

“You mean….suicide?!” Jimmy asked in disbelief.  “That’s…that’s just nuts!”

 

“The poison wasn’t mixed with his food and couldn’t have been mistaken for an everyday beverage.  He had the odd concoction sitting in a test tube beside his bed.” 

 

The Commissioner pointed behind him to a police lab technician, who appeared to be running a test on a vial she clutched in rubber-gloved hands.  The fluid inside the vial was a strange green color that seemed to almost glow.

 

Lois glanced over to get another look at the figure on the stretcher, but the ambulance men had already departed. 

 

“Wait a minute!  How can you identify Clark Kent if you don’t even know him?” She raced from the room.  Jimmy followed hot on her heels.

 

They caught up with the stretcher-bearers just as they were about to board the elevator.  Lois grabbed one by the shoulder to get them to stop and placed her other hand on the cold wrist protruding from the sheet.  Without asking permission, she ripped the sheet from the head of the figure.

 

“Is it…?”  Jimmy asked, looking over her shoulder.

 

The two journalists gazed down in shock.

 

“It’s him, Jimmy.  Clark’s really dead.”

 

CLARK KENT – DEAD!

 

CONDEMNED TO THE SAME PREMATURE FATE AS GOVERNOR HATAKI!

 

THE GRIM REAPER CLAIMS ANOTHER INNOCENT SOUL!

 

SADLY, THE PROMISED MEETING BETWEEN OUR NATION’S GREATEST HEROES
DID NOT TAKE PLACE! 

 

SURELY YOU UNDERSTAND, YOUR DEAR NARRATOR CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS UNFORTUNATE TURN OF EVENTS! 

 

WHILE, IN RETROSPECT, WE CAN ALL IMAGINE A MORE CROWD-PLEASING OUTCOME,
WE HAVE TO ADMIT THAT LIFE ISN’T ALWAYS FAIR!

AND WHAT OF BATMAN?

WILL HE SURVIVE???

 

BE WITH US NEXT TIME,
AS BATGIRL, ROBIN AND THE VISITING DAILY PLANET REPORTERS ATTEMPT TO FIND
THOSE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MOST DESPICABLE DEEDS OF THE DECADE!