Notes: Track 35 added to soundtrack (located on profile, for those of you who do not know).

Chapter 36: The Birdman of Gotham City

Oswald C. Cobblepot was a...unique sort of criminal. His short, portly stature, long, beaky nose, and odd laugh – which sounded like the squawking of some sort of bird – had made him a subject of ridicule for many years, ever since he was a boy. His father had died of pneumonia after getting caught in the rain, and so Cobblpot's overbearing mother forced him to bring an umbrella with him no matter where he went. (A trait that lead him to carrying an assortment of deadly trick umbrellas wherever he went as an adult.)

Dubbed "Penguin" by classmates and neighbors, Cobblepot's family had been immeasurably wealthy...but, after his father's death, they had squandered their fortune into bankruptcy. From high class to running a simple aviary, they had dropped horribly on the social ladder. Traumas from his childhood had bent his psyche, but not broken it; taking to his old name of ridicule like a duck takes to water, Penguin had become a master thief, his high intellect and even higher ambitions making him highly successfully...even if his stature remained stunted.

But time had apparently caught up with Penguin...the sly old bird had seemingly retired: he was now one of Gotham's most successful businessmen, his nightclub/casino/restaurant called The Iceberg Lounge" one of the city's hotspots for interaction...legal and illegal.

For "seemingly" did not equal "completely;" Penguin continued his life of crime...this time through subtler ways of villainy, such as extortion, smuggling, racketeering, and – his personal favorite – the fencing of stolen goods. Having finally achieved his goal of rebuilding his family fortune, rather than truly going straight, Cobblepot had decided that if he was so good at the crime-game, why stop?

While the police – and Batman – had tried time and time again to convict Penguin for his many wicked deeds, Gothams' infamous "Bird of Prey" usually managed to keep his pointed nose clean...and, when he did find himself in a cell, his personal vanguard of lawyers were always able to clear him at trial, and bail, obviously, was never a problem. Penguin's reaches even went to the press, so that the trials he DID find himself in were always underplayed if/when put into the news, so that very, very few people in Gotham City truly knew the extent of his dastardly work.

All these connections made him, perhaps ironically, a valuable "stool-pigeon" for the police, and Batman; even as a young boy, he had been a constant tattle-tale. When the Bat wasn't battling him, he was giving him a grilling.

Penguin sighed as he entered his office. He removed his purple top hat, which had a white silk ribbon hatband, along with his thick black coat, which was lined with brown bear fur, and hung them up on a rack before shutting the door. Without these garments, he wore a black-&-white tuxedo, including a tie and white gloves, and his black hair was combed neatly. It had been a tiring day; between dealing with troublesome customers, feeding the seals at the "iceberg" centerpiece of the Lounge, dealing with money-haggling performers, and picking up "merchandise" from the Terrible Trio, it had been a tiring day for Oswald Cobblepot...and now he was expecting a phone call. He placed a black umbrella into the umbrella case beside his desk. He sat down wearily. He removed the monocle he wore over his right eye and rubbed it.

He smiled tiredly at the birdcage to his left, and reached in to stroke the head of its occupant: a hunting falcon.

"Hello, Oliver," Penguin said. "Did I wake you?"

The bird just hissed in reply. Penguin laughed – "Waugh, Waugh!" – and reached for his desk. Removing one glove, he took a small, dead mouse from the drawer, and held out his ungloved hand to the falcon, which quickly snatched up the little corpse and began to eat. Penguin grinned and put on some sanitizer, before replacing his glove onto his hand and shutting the drawer. He took a cigarette from his pocket, set it into a cigarette holder, lit it with a match, and began to smoke, blowing rings up at the ceiling as he waited patiently.

It wasn't much longer before the phone rang, and the Vile Vulture of the Underworld quickly picked it up.

"Hello? Iceberg Lounge. This is Mr. Cobblepot," he said fast, as he had rehearsed so many times before, although he was fairly sure he already knew who was on the line.

"Hello, Oswald."

"Ah. It's you," said Penguin, flicking his pinky against the cigarette holder and knocking some ashes from his cigarette to the floor. "Have your grisly, grotesque golems gathered more treasures for this scavenging bird, sir?"

"They have, and our...er..."friends" have also been assisting us to that end."

"Waugh, Waugh! Excellent! So, how much have you gathered?"

"Well...I haven't counted yet..."

Penguin scowled.

"What?" he said flatly.

"I believe you heard me, Oswald."

Penguin growled.

"Don't you call me that. You know I really hate that name."

"I know, but that's what my job is: to find all the little things that annoy you, so that the big things don't matter. Like, say...Batman?"

Penguin sat upright now.

"Batman? Is he on your trail?"

The voice on the other end chuckled darkly.

"I wouldn't worry, Oswald. You see, I'm calling not to offer you more of the spoils between the efforts of myself and the efforts of Jervis and Jonathan...I'm here to offer you a far more valuable bit of birdseed."

These words were enough to whet the Penguin's greed to the point of nearly drooling.

"What feed would this be?"

There was a short pause on the other end.

"How much would you pay to know the identity of the Dark Knight?"

Penguin's eyes widened. He gulped.

"Wh-what?"

"Meet me at Station 17 of the Gotham Metro; it's closed for repairs, but the trains still go by. The time for the meeting is 3:00 a.m."

Penguin glanced at the clock on his office wall.

"That's not very far away..."

"No, it isn't. You, the Wonderland Gang, and Mr. Crane will all be participating. Do not be late."

CLUNK. The person on the other end hung up.

Penguin stared at the phone, puzzled, and then placed it back into place, gazing off thoughtfully.

Then his frown went from confused to irritated as he felt the familiar breeze from one end of the room, signaling the opening of the rarely-locked window.

"Do you not believe in knocking?"

"Would you answer?"

Penguin looked up, one eyebrow raised curiously as he viewed the tall, feminine, cat-eared silhouette.

"No, I wouldn't, Selina," he said simply, folding his hands and placing his chin on them, cigarette once more clenched between his teeth. "Were you looking for something? I assure you, you'll find no emeralds or baubles here of value...all I have are birds and fishes."

"I'm a cat, remember? Those are just as valuable as any kitten."

Penguin blinked doubtfully.

"Are you here to settle business, or shall I summon my guards?" he asked dryly.

"I'm here to ask you a few questions."

Penguin scoffed.

"Waugh! Catwoman asking a bird for answers? I'll pass on this one."

"I heard that phone call, Ozzy. All of it. Who were you talking to, and what did they have to offer this time?"

Penguin smirked.

"I haven't accepted yet, so I'd say that is no more your business than the business of the police."

Penguin gasped as, without warning, Catwoman jumped at him, grabbing his collar with one hand, holding the other up threateningly, diamond-sharp claws extended, as she crouched on his desk. Penguin sneered, reaching stealthily downward with one hand...

"Calling your pals won't help you, Pengy," hissed Catwoman. "Now, who were you talking to? A certain professor, perhaps? One with a strange attitude about him?"

"Curious kitten, aren't you, my crazy, crafty Catwoman?" growled Penguin. "But you've made one minor mistake..."

Instead of pressing the security button under his desk, the Penguin's gloved hand clasped around a red umbrella inside his case.

"I don't REALLY need outside protection."

Catwoman somersaulted back as the metal tip of the umbrella retracted, and, in its place, out popped a switchblade-like blade. Penguin tried to stab the Feline Femme Fatale, but her timely jump managed to let her avoid the damage. With a snarl, the vicious birdman swung his umbrella-blade again...and missed again, instead getting the weapon caught in the wall. Oliver screeched from within his cage as his master was hoisted up by the lithe Catwoman...

And held out the open window, seven stories above the pavement. The neon lights of the Iceberg Lounge's sign, located directly over the office window, burned his eyes. He panted, his cigarette, holder and all, falling down to the Earth from his mouth, his monocle dangling on its chain.

"I can land on my feet...but you're clumsy on solid ground," Catwoman hissed. "I'll ask you very clearly, Penguin: Do. You. Know. Hugo. Strange?"

"Y-yes, I do...owns the Wayne Home for W-W-Wayward Youth, d-doesn't he?"

"Was he the one on the phone?"

"Er...well, I, uh..."

"Tell me!" growled Catwoman, and gave the dwarfish man a little shake, causing him to yelp in fear.

"D-don't do that! Yes! Yes, I was on the phone with him!"

"What did he want?"

Penguin's fear dissipated slightly.

"I may be a rat-fink of a bird, but, e-even in this precarious perch, I shan't divulge that savory bit of knowledge. You could drop me from a higher place, but I won't tell you."

Catwoman glared even deeper. Penguin gulped.

"O-of course," he said hastily, "th-that's n-no reason t-to try..."

Selina Kyle studied him for a moment and then sighed.

"Fine...I know you were expecting that call. And from the sound of it, you've been busy with him for awhile now."

Penguin nodded quickly.

"I'm going to put you down on your sweet little office floor now, Ozzy," Catwoman said. "Tell me what I want, and I MIGHT leave here without feeding your precious birdy over there..."

Here Catwoman nodded towards Oliver's cage.

"To my tiger."

Penguin cocked his head slightly.

"Y-you don't own a tiger..."

"No, but I do own the Gotham City Zoo."

Penguin would have shuddered, would it not have proved detrimental to his health.

"V-very well..."

Catwoman nodded, and swung around, throwing Penguin back onto the floor. Penguin grunted in pain, and then stood slowly, replacing his monocle and pulling out a new cigarette, this time without a holder – he grumbled mentally at the realization that he would need to go buy a new one – and lit it with another match, which he shook till it went out and flung out the window.

"When I was just a hatchling," Penguin said, "Hugo Strange got away clean with what is still regarded as one of the most malevolent and mysterious murders in this rat-hole of a city's history."

"The Murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne," Catwoman said, nodding. "We found that out already."

"We?" Penguin asked, then, after a moment, smiled wryly up at her. "Why, Selina...igniting that old flame with the Dynamic Dunderhead again, are we?"

"What is Strange to you now?" Catwoman said, ignoring this and putting her hands on her hips.

"I told him I knew of his real role in said crime, and the nefarious no-good-nick now owes me a favor. He is repaying it, little by little. He also arranged for the Mad Hatter and the Scarecrow to escape from Arkham..."

"So that they could help him."

"Indeed. What you heard on the phone was..."

Penguin paused, and Selina realized whatever he said could not be trusted within the first second of that pause.

"Well...let's just say it was a full repayment."

"I see," Catwoman said slowly. "And would you mind telling me where all those pretty things went?"

Penguin laughed.

"Waugh Waugh Waugh! Why, so you can go get them for your own? You can't possibly be thinking of turning in those plundered pots of jeweled potpourri to the police, after all, my pussycat pilferer..."

"The alliteration is quaint, Pengy, but I'm not going to laugh. The Hargreaves job was MY idea, whether the Hatter and his gang know it or not. That's one of many reasons why I'm helping him out."

"Hmm...yes, and I'm supposing your little...er...past relationship is just another reason, right?"

"Shut up, you bird-brain. Is that all you have for me?"

"It's all I'm going to give..."

Penguin now eyed her with an uncomfortable stare.

"Without payment, anyway."

Catwoman sniffed.

"Go peck yourself, Penguin," she hissed and without another word, went back to the window. She crouched on the ledge, slipped her goggles on, and turned back.

"So that you know...even if I don't rat on you to the cops, our "old friend" will," she hissed, and, wrapping her bullwhip around a nearby lightpost, she swung away.

If we can find him, that is...