01x10 - A Death Worse Than Fate

[bunniefuu]

We have already seen a
quiet Gotham City Bank.

A sneaky operation.

Apprehended?

Not quite.

A load of lead.

Good night, sweet guard.

A call to Batman.

He's on his way.

Hey, hey, hey.

The brass was stumped.

But Batman wasn't.

He'd plant a story.

A pair of crooks
and one's a doll.

Batman sets a doll trap.

And the doll was tempted.

The trap looked tasty.

But the doll turned the tables
and snatched Aunt Harriet.

Holy backfire.

One hundred thousand dollars'
ransom or a hot tub for Aunt Harriet...

in exactly one hour.

Sizzled or saved?

But wait, the worst
is yet to come.

Where can he be? Where
can Bruce Wayne be?

I keep telling you,
commissioner, stop worrying.

Batman will find him.

Twenty minutes gone,
40 minutes remaining...

for Bruce Wayne to appear
and contact the criminal or else.

Oh, that poor,
unfortunate Mrs. Cooper.

It's always the pawns who
get the worst of these games.

- Any luck, Chief O'Hara?
- Thank you, thank you just the same.

Yeah, goodbye.

Well, that's the last of them.

I've called every rich man's club
and eating place in Gotham City.

- He's in none of them.
- These millionaires.

It's hard for us to comprehend
the sort of lives they lead.

Yeah, it's true, commissioner.

I'll bet Mr. Wayne is out on some yacht
eating sherbet and changing his clothes.

- That's not true.
- Why do you jump at me so, Boy Wonder?

- Gosh, chief, I'm sorry.
- There, now.

There, we understand. The lad's
under great strain, Chief O'Hara.

No doubt he can't have imagined
himself in the position of d*ck Grayson...

the nephew of the kidnap victim.

- Right, lad?
- Uh, so right, commissioner.

Console yourself, my boy.

We haven't been able to locate
young d*ck Grayson either.

He's fortunately ignorant
of this whole tragic situation.

Twenty-five minutes.

Why the devil can't
Batman find Bruce Wayne?

- Am I in time?
- Thank heavens, Mr. Wayne. I hope so.

- Our little team, Chief O'Hara.
- My pleasure.

And Robin, The Boy Wonder.

I'm sure glad Batman
found you, Mr. Wayne.

Me too, Robin. He located me on the
outskirts of my estate, Wayne Manor.

- He asked me to give you a message.
- Yes?

Batman said, "Tell
Robin to carry on."

He himself had to
dash in search of a clue.

- What was it?
- He didn't stop to stay.

- What's the situation?
- Tight, Mr. Wayne. Ugly.

- I'll explain on the way.
- On the way?

- Chief O'Hara, alert my driver.
- Yes, sir.

The criminal has asked us to make
contact in a strange but clever manner.

Over television, Mr. Wayne.

Yes, I have every Gotham City channel
waiting on standby. Let's go, come on.

Ladies and gentlemen, we
apologize for the interruption...

of our regularly
scheduled programs.

This is a special announcement
from Commissioner Gordon's Office.

Switch it, Joe, Studio Nine.

You're on the air, commissioner.

Hello, criminals, wherever you are
out there. Do you hear me, criminals?

This is Police
Commissioner Gordon.

- I'm Bruce Wayne.
- And I'm Robin, Batman's aide.

I speak for him officially.

Our phone number is 555-2345.

I give you my solemn of word of
honor, this line is not being traced.

That's right, no trace.

Our only interest is the safe
return of Mrs. Harriet Cooper.

We give crooks no quarter, but
we always deal with them fairly too.

Uh, correct, criminals, we don't wish to
undermine what little remaining faith...

you might have in
organized society.

Yes?

This line better not
be traced, my friends...

- or it'll be very sad for Mrs. Harriet Cooper.
- How is she?

Oh, quite well, Boy Wonder.

At least, as well
as one can be...

in a straitjacket over a
fatal pool of flaming oil.

You devil.

How could a woman
stoop to such a trick?

Talk of tricks? What about that
phony Star of Samarkand this morning?

It was a perfectly fair w*apon
in the fight against crime.

- You know that as well as I do.
- Enough of this prattle.

Mr. Wayne, listen to my
instructions about the ransom.

- Wait.
- Why are you trying to give me orders?

Wait, the Boy Wonder is about
to make a dramatic confession.

That story in the paper, about
the bank money being counterfeit...

- it was false.
- What?

It was a ruse. It was a trick of
Batman's to make you try again.

That money you
stole last night is real.

A statement from the editor
of the Gotham City Times.

"This morning's headline
was entirely untrue."

Look.

It's signed and notarized.

Let me add my assurance.

As the director of the First
National Bank of Gotham City...

let me tell you that the
money in your possession...

is 100 percent bona fide.

You got to believe Mr. Wayne.

As a bank director, if he
made a false statement...

- he would be liable to prosecution.
- Yes.

Don't you see out there? This
reckless crime of yours isn't necessary.

You already have
your filthy lucre.

For your own sake, release
Mrs. Cooper immediately.

Oh, come on, you crook.
You can't be all bad.

Let the poor lady go, huh?

Yes, thank you.

I believe you.

It was only desperation
that drove me to this.

- You'll release your victim?
- At once, with pleasure.

- Where?
- Don't worry. You'll find her.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Uh, thank you, ladies and
gentlemen. Thank you very much.

And now we'll return you to our
regular scheduled program in progress.

- Holy hallelujah, we've done it.
- Thanks to you, Robin.

- It was your warm appeal that turned the tide.
- I'll call Chief O'Hara.

I'll put the entire force on the
alert. Get me Chief O' Hara.

Chief O' Hara. Yes, thank you.

- Are you all right? Can I help you, madam?
- I'm Mrs. Harriet Cooper.

The kidnap victim?

Yes. Would someone
please call a policeman?

- My relatives must be terribly worried.
- Yes, ma'am.

Scarcely minutes later,
back at stately Wayne Manor.

Is she all right, doctor?

Amazing woman, Mr. Wayne.

- It was a real fight to make her accept sedation.
- Well, that's Aunt Harriet all over.

You're sure she had no clues
to divulge about the crooks?

Not one, alas.

It seems that the minute
she was lured into the taxi...

she was subjected to a
potent but harmless drug.

- Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go.
- Yes, of course. Thank you, doctor.

I suppose you'll be
wanting to find Batman now?

That's right, Mr. Wayne, I will.

- What's the matter, Alfred?
- Excuse me, sir...

but I can't help feeling that this
whole somber episode is my fault.

- Your fault?
- Indeed, sir.

Had I not been down dusting the Batcave
when that false phone call arrived...

Good heavens. Perish the thought, Alfred.
You were performing your proper duty.

Begging your
pardon, sir. Not true.

Ordinarily, I tend to the
Batcave on Wednesday evenings.

I failed to do so because of my
addiction to a certain television program.

- Alfred, rid yourself of guilt.
- That's right, Alfred.

- Aunt Harriet is fine now.
- She's more than fine.

If it hadn't been for her mishap, I wouldn't
have deduced the criminal's identity.

- What? You know?
- Dear me.

And I thought, uh... I thought I
had discovered the decisive clue.

This, uh, book of matches, sir.

"The Gnome Bookstore."

- Where did you find this, Alfred?
- Just now, sir, on the staircase.

They must have fallen out of Mrs. Cooper's
pocket when we helped her upstairs.

I had hoped that, uh, they might indicate
the whereabouts of the, um, felon's lair.

Nice thinking, Alfred.
Darn nice thinking.

To the Batpoles.

Atomic batteries to
power. Turbines to speed.

Gosh, Batman, I'm stumped.

- Who the heck is the crook?
- Think over the clues.

- A female magician.
- So, what use is that?

Like we found in the files, there are 27 female
magicians licensed to practice in Gotham City.

Think harder. Remember what
she told us about Aunt Harriet's plight.

Suspended in a straitjacket
over a... Holy birthday cake.

- Right.
- My last birthday, you took me to see her.

- We even met her backstage.
- Zelda the Great.

Sure, I remember.

That straight jacket
escape was her big gimmick.

As usual.

Vain boasting has been
this criminal's undoing.

Gosh, though, where does
this Gnome Bookstore come in?

Where indeed? For back
behind the phony book store...

Eivol is ready with his
inescapable doom trap.

Ha, ha. Well, well,
legal tender after all.

Isn't life surprising? Hmm?

You have your money,
Eivol. Now tell me the secret.

How do I escape
from the doom trap?

You mean you haven't guessed,
Zelda? Even after the hint I gave you?

- There is no way to escape.
- True.

Even I, Eivol Ekdol, with all
my twisted Albanian genius...

even I cannot devise the answer.

That is where Batman comes in.

Oh, we lure him into the trap,
then he shows us the way out.

Exactly. We use him as our pawn.

- You mad Albanian.
- Ha, ha.

Even if Batman does work out the trick, how
can I use it on stage when Batman knows?

We have an obscure
peasant saying in my country:

"Dead men tell no tales."

- Dead men?
- But of course, dear Zelda.

After Batman escapes from the doom
trap, he walks into instant liquidation.

Wait, I'll show you. Ah.

Gentlemen. Welcome, gentlemen.

- All set up for the rubout?
- Yes, yes.

Show me the money.

- One hundred grand.
- Don't bother to count.

It might make us mad.

A slight fringe benefit,
another hundred thousand.

I get for, um...
What is the word?

Fingering the Batman.

I signed a contract
with the syndicate.

Kidnapping. m*rder.
Where will it end?

- You know I abhor v*olence.
- You wretched weakling.

You should've thought of that
before you robbed your first bank.

Now stop the stupid questions and think
of a way to lure Batman into our trap.

- Done.
- What done?

As I told you, Eivol, I had guessed
your scheme. I've cleverly left a clue.

I stuck a book of your matches
in Mrs. Cooper's pocket.

- No doubt he's on his way already.
- Heh, heh. Not a moment to lose.

Gentlemen, into the
sarcophagi. Quickly.

You see they have peep holes.

What's the sh**ting schedule?

The instant Batman escapes
from the doom trap, sh**t.

Why not sh**t him
before he gets in?

Because we need Batman to show us how
to escape from the doom trap, you fools.

Ha, ha. Gentlemen, dear friends.

Remember, contract calls for
bumping Batman after he escapes.

- It's in writing.
- Okay, if it's in writing.

Please, gentlemen. Heh.

There it is.

- Closed. Back in one hour.
- Could be a deception.

Right you are. It's
not even locked.

The electric eye.

Someone's coming into the shop.

- Quickly, Zelda, quickly.
- Where?

Into my secret control
booth in the wings.

Quickly. We will
look in this periscope.

Look, Batman, a
note on the counter.

"To whom it may concern.

Try interesting volume on top
shelf. Last book of back row."

- Gosh, could it concern us?
- It certainly could. Look at that title.

The Truth About Bats. Wow.

That book worked
a concealed switch.

Let's see how the
plot goes, huh?

Bizarre.

- A play without actors.
- The script could be for us.

One way to find out.

Let's get in the limelight.

Look, in this booth.

It's a bat.

I bet it means something.

Holy fish bowl.

- We're shut in.
- Got them.

A trick magnetic padlock.

Oh, it seems such a waste.

- They are such handsome creatures.
- Shut up.

- Eivol, Eivol, can I help being a woman?
- Shut up, I said.

Now I turn on the secret
speakers hidden in the doom trap.

Gosh, Batman, what
kind of trap is this?

It is a doom trap, Boy Wonder.

Welcome to my greatest
achievement, the inescapable doom trap.

Poor, twisted mind.

You stupid fools, I am a genius.

Yeah, that's what they all say.

Pipe down, Robin.
We have to humor him.

What's the big idea, genius?

Very simple, Batman. Ha, ha.

Try to escape.

Let's just do that.

Our utility belts.

Ha, ha. Useless.

My jet age plastics are
impervious to your tools.

Eivol, what if even Batman
cannot escape the trap?

That would be very sad.

Then I would have to
give back your money.

Or I could go back
to the drawing board.

Gosh, I'm afraid it's
true. This stuff is tough.

You are wasting time,
and you have so little left.

Now...

Look down at your feet.

A deadly colored gas is issuing.

Quick, let's get that grill off.

Electrified.

Holy graveyard, Batman.

- This could be curtains.
- Don't quit, Robin.

Let's get our heads down.

This gas is rising.

Lighter than air. We'll have a
few more life-saving seconds.

Oh, what a noble struggle.

Hey, a gas lighter than air?

Must have hydrogen in it.

- If we could electrify it...
- We can.

High voltage grill, metal
buckles of our belts.

Give me your utility belt
and step back, Robin.

All right, here it goes.

Sensational. He has done it.

Batman, watch out.
Those mummies.

- Aah.
- Look, Batman.

Holy crossfire.

Hoist on their own
murderous petards.

A couple of mummies.

Let's taketh them to the morgue.

But, uh, where's Zelda?

Look at her. Glycerin tears.

No, Robin. Real.

Some other lifetime, Batman.

Perhaps.

Some other lifetime.

Sometime later at Gotham State
Penitentiary, Female Division.

- Hello, Zelda.
- Hello, Mr. Wayne.

I'll come right to the point. While I
can't pretend that your conduct...

has earned you any
medals, on the other hand...

you did save Batman's life
and the Boy Wonder's too.

- It was the least I could do, Mr. Wayne.
- True, true.

But not many criminals
would see it that way.

- I think you've earned a new chance.
- A new chance?

The Wayne Foundation, of which I'm the head,
maintains a number of children's hospitals.

Now, here's my offer.
When you get out of here...

I'll see that you get a position in one of
those hospitals as resident lady magician.

Oh, how wonderful.

What a joy to
entertain small children.

I'm glad you feel that way.

- Consider it settled then. Goodbye.
- Oh, wait. Please.

Yeah?

Good heavens.

If you ever see him,
give this to Batman.

Please. Will you, Mr. Wayne?

Next week, Batman
versus The Joker.