Batman 4 - Batman & Robin
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Authors: Michael Jan Friedman
BATMAN & ROBIN
Artic fear blankets Gotham City as a shimmering figure of destruction—the treacherous Mr. Freeze—unleashes a cold front of crime. Encased in a subzero cryosuit and allied with the sultry and deadly Poison Ivy—a botanical supermenace from the steamy jungles of South America—Mr. Freeze grips the city in a terrifying reign of villainy. But his iciest wrath is reserved for the only crime-fighting force with the ability to stop him—Gotham's guardians, Batman and Robin, who have a secret new partner of their own . . . Batgirl.
WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 1997 DC Comics. All Rights Reserved.
Batman and all characters and related indicia are trademarks of DC Comics © 1997. All Rights Reserved.
Batman created by Bob Kane
Aspect is a registered trademark of Warner Books, Inc.
Cover design by Don Puckey
Warner Books, Inc.
1271 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
A Time Warner Company
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: June, 1997
ISBN: 0-446-60458-5
Contents
For Kane and Finger,
the scourge of
evildoers everywhere
Comic books have always been a big part of my life. Anyone with whom I grew up will tell you that. I was the kid with the prodigious stacks of funny books in my room, so big and so many I had little room for anything else.
That’s why it was such a kick to write about two of comics’ best-known icons, Batman and Robin. Besides, when it comes to depth of character and dramatic potential, it doesn’t get any better than these two.
For the opportunity to swing through the canyons of Gotham, and for a helping hand along the way, I owe a debt of gratitude to Betsy Mitchell and Wayne Chang at Warner Aspect, and to Charles Kochman and his associates at DC Comics. Without these people this book would not and could not have happened.
I’d also like to express my appreciation to Scott Peterson, Darren Vincenzo, and Jordan B. Gorfinkel, who toil on DC’s Batman publications, for their support and unerring insights; and to Bat-guru Dennis O’Neil, for his visionary role in redefining the Dark Knight over the years.
Kudos to Akiva Goldsman for his witty and fast-paced script, which I trust will be a witty and fast-paced film. Lastly, I thank you, the reader—without whose enthusiasm the Bat would long ago have ceased to prowl.
BATMAN & ROBIN
A
storm was coming.
Eight-year-old Bruce Wayne could feel it in the biting coldness of the air as he and his parents emerged from the movie theater. He could feel it in the way the hair prickled on the back of his neck.
And in case he still harbored some doubt, it was there in the pinkish-gray cast of the sky and the way the wind swirled in front of the theater, driving orphaned newspaper pages and brightly colored candy-bar wrappers in the ghostly blue light of the streetlamps.
The boy felt himself shiver and pulled up the collar of his coat. He wasn’t the only one doing that, either. Everyone coming out of the theater was bundling up. Even the pigeons seemed agitated, eager to get to whatever shelter they could find.
A storm was coming, and everything in the world seemed to know it.
“Did you like the movie?” his mother asked.
Bruce turned to her, forgetting the chill for a moment as he basked in the glow of her smile. In the gray of her eyes. His mother was beautiful. He was proud of her for that.
“Yes,” he said. “I liked it a
lot.”
Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder, strong but gentle—his father’s hand. The boy smiled at the sense of assurance it gave him. With a hand like that on his shoulder, he could do anything. Take any risk, no matter how great.
“Of course he liked it,” Bruce’s father observed. “How could a youngster his age
not
have liked it?” He winked at the boy above his dark moustache. “What could be more thrilling than the snap of a cape and the flash of a blade and wide-eyed terror on the face of some villain?”
Bruce nodded, wanning to the subject. “Uh-huh. And the way he marked him with a Z. That was cool, too.” He would never forget that lightning slash of Zorro’s sword point—or the sense that the bad guys had been shamed for what they’d done.
“Of course,” Bruce’s father added, “it wasn’t just his flashing blade that carried the day.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “It was what Zorro had up here.” He pointed to his chest, beneath his woolen coat. “And in here. That’s what made him a hero.”
“Such wisdom,” his wife gibed good-naturedly.
Bruce’s, father grunted. “I married
you,
my dear. If that’s not a sign of wisdom, I’d like to know what
is.”
“Flatterer,” his mother chuckled.
“Just calling them the way I see them.”
Bruce liked it when his parents talked that way in front of him. It made him feel grown up. He wanted to say something clever, too, but he couldn’t think of anything.
Suddenly, he felt a drop on his face. It was colder than it should’ve been, colder than rain had a right to be.
Sleet,
he thought.
“Great,” said his father, wincing as he came to the same conclusion. “Who expected this so early in the year? And leave it to me to park so far from the theater.”
“It’s all right,” said Bruce’s mother, though she frowned a little as she watched the sleet catch the light from the streetlamps. “Honestly, Thomas. A little weather never hurt anyone.”
They walked down the block, away from the theater and the emerging crowd, past a dirty stone building with wrought-iron bars over its first-floor windows. Looking up, Bruce saw a stone figure with the face and wings of an eagle sticking out from a third-floor cornice.
The figure seemed to leer at him, to grin like the Devil as the sleet grew heavier. Looking away, he let his parents bustle him along the sidewalk.
The boy had no idea how to get back to their car. He didn’t know the city because he very seldom got a chance to visit it. Mostly, he played on the sprawling grounds of his family’s estate.
That’s what had made this trip to a downtown theater so special. That and the fact that his dad had come along.
After all, Thomas Wayne was the best surgeon in town. He took on only the toughest cases, the kind no one else would touch. But his responsibility to his patients didn’t end in the operating room.