Meanwhile, at the Iceberg Lounge…
"The plan is hatched!" the stout little man declares. "I trust you all know what is required of you?"
Around the table, the gruesome gang of goons murmur in agreement. Their lofty leader nods in satisfaction and adjusts his monocle. His name is Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, but our heroes know him better as the black market merchant, the Penguin.
Once wealthy and well-respected, Penguin is now one of Gotham's most feared criminals, trading in every illegal item known to man. Working out of his restaurant cum nightclub, he maintains a thin veil of legitimacy to mask his dirty dealings.
Around the walls of his stuffy office, museum blueprints and newspaper clippings cling to tacks while the room reverberates from the music beyond. It sounds as if the club is in full swing tonight.
"This undertaking must be unerring," he declares. "My extravagant taste in fripperies has left my finances somewhat depleted. I have had to refrain from wetting my beak too long."
He eyes the near empty bottle of champagne on his desk and grimaces. Settling in to the Louis Cans, he sighs and reaches for his pipe. He has gone to great efforts to conserve his tobacco. All of life's little luxuries will be lost to him if this latest deal is undone.
"And keep a beady eye out, my fearless flock. That bothersome Bat is never far away. I won't have him spoil my machinations again! For once this bird will get his worm."