02x25 - Come Back, Shame

[bunniefuu]

The Gotham City 100...

racingdom's most exciting
spectacle, is half over.

Four hundred thousand people...

have jammed into the Gotham City
Speedway to witness the proceedings.

At this point, Grimaldi Smith...

dean of America's drivers...

holds a comfortable six-minute
lead over his international competition.

Make one false move...

you got another mouth
where your nose used to be.

Keep the grubby hands
towards the sky, fellas.

All right, let's burn the breeze
and hightail it out of here.

Who was that man?

I'm not quite sure, but
he left this platinum b*llet.

Platinum b*llet? Only one
man uses a platinum b*llet.

You mean...?

No doubt about it, Chief O'Hara.

Shame has come back to taunt
us with his Western wiliness. Ha.

What a frightening felony, rustling the
most expensive automobile in racing.

You heard about
the other robberies?

The hot rod and the go-cart?
Yes, I know about them.

However, they were
simple car thefts...

so handled easy enough by
our department. But this? Ha, ha.

This sheds an entirely
new light on the affair.

You think Shame stole them too?

No doubt about it.

Only one man would
have the unmitigated gall...

to pilfer an automobile and have it
witnessed by more than 800,000 eyes.

- What do we do now, commissioner?
- What do we do?

What can we do?

You know as well as I that
this can only be handled...

by one far wiser than we.

And in stately Wayne Manor...

Bruce, that's
wonderful, so exciting.

The trick is to make the cars go slow so
they don't fall off the track on the curves.

It's child's play once
you get the hang of it.

I guess I still haven't gotten it.
That's three in a row you've beaten me.

Makes no difference if you win or
lose. It's how you play the game.

It's easier to say
that when you win.

Ahem, sir? BRUCE: Yes, Alfred.

You have an appointment
with a Mr. Red Amici, sir.

- Man from the phone company?
- One and the same, Master d*ck.

- Golly.
- Can't keep him waiting, can we?

- No, sir.
- Why don't you try it, Aunt Harriet?

Now, what was it he said
about not falling off the track?

- Yes, commissioner?
- There were three auto thefts...

in Gotham City today.

That should be simple
enough for your fine force.

It would be, except that all clues
point to the redoubtable road agent.

The bloodthirsty bushwhacker.

Shame himself.

We'll be right there.

To the Batpoles.

The nerve of some of these criminals
never ceases to astound me, Batman.

Shame never was one for modesty.

All of his crimes have a
certain flair, a certain bravado.

Not unlike the Western
criminals of yesteryear.

And you say those three
stray cars were rounded up?

That's right, Caped
Crimebuster...

but there's something downright
devilish about the whole thing.

What is that, Chief O'Hara?

Well, instead of rustling the entire car,
he took just one item from each of them...

then abandoned the
rest of the automobile.

Holy jigsaw puzzles.

He purloined the 28-barrel
carburetor from Grimaldi Smith's racer.

Some custom-made alloy pistons
from the engine of the go-cart.

And some milled
heads from a hot rod.

Why would anyone just steal bits and
pieces of cars rather than one entire auto?

That is the question.

And he left this
platinum b*llet behind.

Platinum is not easy
to come by these days.

Perhaps we can trace it on our
Precious Metals Bat-Analyzer.

Let's go, Robin. We've nary
a second to lose. Vamonos.

Right, amigo.

- Feel better, O'Hara?
- Much.

Ha-ha-ha. So do I.

Meanwhile, in Westernland...

a deserted and bankrupt movie
studio on the edge of Gotham City...

Shame has another a* to grind.

Good.

When I lay my paws
on Batman and Robin...

I'm gonna crease their
skulls so hard with this...

they'll be known as
the Dynamic Foursome.

Good idea.

I'm gonna pour me three
fingers of this here tonsil varnish.

I reckon that's why they
call me Messy James, huh?

Okie Annie, quit pounding
your fingers and get over here.

Shame, how much longer you reckon before
this here truck's ready to roam in the range?

Soon enough, dumpling.

Just as soon as I get the rest of
the making for that there motor.

And when I do, this here
truck's gonna go 300 miles per...

- Day?
- Hour!

Last time I was in Gotham
City, that goldarn Batmobile...

followed me all over, finally
cut me off at a concrete pass.

Caused me to spend
quite a spell up the river.

Well, I don't aim to have
that happen no more.

Shame, honey...

it ain't so much the car,
it's the fellas what drive it.

Good.

If all goes well, them two will be
pushing up daisies pretty soon.

But just in case they ain't,
I want that there truck...

to make that there Batmobile
look like a turtle with arthritis.

When you've got plans
as big as mine, baby...

you gotta cover all the angles.

And the biggest angle of all...

is a clean, quick getaway.

Hey, someone's a-coming!

Get away.

Howdy, barkeep.

My handle's Andy Stevens.

Perhaps you've heard
of me, the Pecos Kid?

I got 12 notches on my g*n...

and they ain't there
because I like whittling.

If you get what I mean.

Let me have some of your
best red eye and leave the bottle.

Yes, sir.

Mommy!

Just as I suspected, Robin.

An ordinary lead b*llet
coated with platinum paint.

It's no help at all.

Let's try another tack.

Shame has stolen a carburetor,
pistons and milled heads.

- Now, what does that suggest to you, Robin?
- He's building an engine.

Why go to all this trouble when
it's less dangerous to buy one?

Why, indeed, Robin.

However, these are not
ordinary automotive components.

They're highly sophisticated...

not readily available
at your local garage.

- No. There's a method to his misdemeanors.
- I've got it.

He wants to enter in the Gotham
City Grand Prix next month...

for the $100,000 prize.

Good thinking, old chum.

Now, if you were building a super
engine, what else would you need?

- A special camshaft and valve lifters.
- Precisely.

I think this calls
for a clever ruse.

Such as?

Hot Rod Harry, dean of
Gotham City's disc jockeys...

the man who knows all
there is to know about cars.

Please, get me
radio station KGC.

Yes, siree, baby. We
play the pick of the pack...

the best in wax and shellac...

for all you guys and
gals out there in radioland.

Let's move right along now with a
tune that was written this morning...

and already it's number
three. Do you hear me?

On the KGC survey
here in Gotham City's ville.

It's "Desert Sands" by
Lawrence and the Arabians.

Hot Rod Harry, your
musical maestro.

- Hello, Harry, this is Bruce Wayne.
- Hi, Brucey, baby.

Hey, you're the fellow that
endowed the drag strip in the suburbs.

Keep the kids off the streets.

That's right, Harry. Could
you do me a small favor?

A radio announcement.

Cool daddy. Ha, ha. And that's
from the guy who's saying yes...

who makes the top decisions
and plays the tops and pops.

And also some of
the old-time tunes...

right here on KGC, number
one radio in Gotham City.

Say, that's right
good, Mr. Shame...

but how come you only use one g*n
while the rest of your friends have two?

A fella only needs one g*n, Andy,
if he knows how to use it proper.

Golly, you're pretty handy with
that peacemaker, mighty fast.

Well, partner, a fella had to be handy
with a six-g*n where I came from.

Boot Hill was filled with fellas who
pull the trigger before they took aim.

Many a buckaroo
took the long jump...

because he had a case of slow.

Hey, all you chicks
and chucks out there.

You all remember Brucey Wayne, the cat came
up with the scratch for the drag strip?

Well, he just had his
limousine all revamped.

That's what I said, had the man
put on a hand-made camshaft...

and some special imported new
valve lifters. Now, that's real class.

He'll be showing the car
next week at the auto show.

So all you Johns and
Janes kind of fall by, huh?

I hear it makes that car
go 298 miles an hour. Wow!

Hey, that's what we need
to finish off that there stallion.

- What now, boss?
- Okie Annie...

you gotta bushwhack
this here Wayne fellow...

- and get his cayuse.
- Do tell.

Little Shorthorn, we're
gonna have to hit the trail now.

I'm gonna borrow that radio from you because
I gotta hear that disc jockey fella...

and get some more
of them hot rod tips.

All right, amigos. Let's go.

Hey, wait a minute!
Come back, Shame!

Come back, Shame!

Shame, come back!

Boy, I sure hope
Shame bites the bait.

Bait, Master d*ck?

I'm hoping the house is being
watched this very moment.

Expect to be held
up within the hour.

My word, isn't that
rather dangerous, sir?

It's our only hope
of catching Shame.

All other clues have been
exhausted. Let's go, d*ck.

There they go.

We'll follow and then strike
while the branding iron is still hot.

You gonna k*ll them, boss?

Only if they give
me any backwash.

One millionaire more or less
ain't gonna be missed by nobody.

Gosh, Bruce, uh, I've never
been in a place like this before.

Maybe we should have checked Aunt Harriet's
shopping list closely before we volunteered.

- What do you think we should do?
- Press on.

May I help you?

Yes, we're looking
for something in, uh...

Uh, eh... Uh,
something in lingerie.

I see. Exactly what
sort of lingerie?

Well, it's, um... I... I think one
would... How would you say it, d*ck?

Well, it's like... It's...

He wants a full slip, size
38, white and washable.

Yes.

Well, thank you, Miss...?

- Okie Annie.
- Miss Annie.

Aren't you millionaire,
Bruce Wayne?

And aren't you his youthful
ward, d*ck Grayson?

How did you know?

Well, I've seen your picture in
the paper a whole passel of times.

And I could use your help.

Turnabout is fair play.
What do you need?

My car is down in the parking
lot just plumb tuckered out...

- and I'm down to my last chip.
- Mm-hm.

- Do you need some money?
- No. No, just a lift over to Pointview Street.

I mean, I couldn't ask just anyone, but I
reckon on account of you're so trustworthy...

because of the nice things I read in the
paper about what your foundation does.

We can arrange
that, can't we, d*ck?

- We sure can.
- I could kiss you for that.

Oh, here, hold this.
Come on, let's go. Ha!

Good.

So, boss. Come
on, bossy. Come on.

What's a nice cow like you
doing in a place like this?

- Unh.
- Reach.

- So this was all a trick.
- You bet your boots.

Now, you keep your hands
raised, don't fuss an inch...

you might live a
while longer, get it?

- Got it.
- Good.

All right, let's split.

Why didn't we try to stop them?

They did exactly as I'd hoped.

- But now we're stuck here.
- Watch.

I had the remote control unit
keep the Batcycle at a safe distance.

It's been following
us all the time.

Amazing, but what if someone
sees us on the Batcycle?

We're a mile away from
the entrance to the Batcave.

Allow me, sir. Thank you.

And I know a circuitous
route over a deserted path.

- There you are, Alfred, the Alf-cycle.
- Thank you, sir.

Goodbye.

I took the precaution of
coating the limousine's tires...

with an Infrared Bat Dust which
glows by day as well as by dark.

But you must look at it through the
Batmobile's specially tinted windshield.

Let's go. To the Batcave.

Good.

There. That about does it.

You still think this will haul all that
weight and still outrace the Batmobile?

This thing will be doing 100
while that thing's still in first gear.

Besides, it don't
make no difference.

Batman and Robin won't know
where we are or where to find us.

Them two is long
gone over the hill.

- Don't that b*at all?
- Look out, Batmobile!

Here comes the hay burner!

The best laid plans of mice
and men aft g*ng agley.

- Who's that?
- You'd better come quietly, Shame.

Let's drill him, boss.

Holster your hardware, fellas.

Wouldn't want no stray b*ll*ts hitting
this here truck after all this work.

And all that money facing us.

We ain't got a chance
against the Dynamic Duo.

Leastwise not without g*ns.

Talking to you is like
talking pig latin to a donkey.

We got them outnumbered.

Three and a half-to-two.

Now, let's hang up their hides.

- Mr. Shame?
- Yeah? What do you want, Andy?

- My radio.
- Well, you b*at it, b*at it.

Is that Batman and
Robin on the floor?

Yeah, what about it?

Did you hurt them?

No, I didn't hurt them. Now,
come on, Mr. Pecos Kid. We...

We're just doing a little
show here for the TV.

We're just doing a little
playacting. Now, come on.

But where are the cameras?

It's hidden, it won't be in the
way like you are. Come on, go.

- Skedaddle. Come on.
- Okay.

Could've fooled me.

Good.

Looks like we got them
by the cape, buckaroos.

Now nothing's gonna
stand in our way.

- You gonna sh**t them in cold blood, Shame?
- No, that wouldn't be sport.

- So, what you gonna do?
- Got a little plan.

I'll bet you are probably
wondering what all this is for.

That thought did cross my mind.

Pretty soon I'm gonna sh**t
this trusty six-sh**t of mine...

and when I do, a herd of cattle is
gonna come stomping this way...

in a mighty big hurry.

Holy stampede!

Now, those cows don't
stop coming for no man.

Not even you, Bat Fella.

And when they get
through stomping...

there ain't gonna be enough
of you left to put in a thimble.

Shame on you, Shame.

Watch your tongue.

Hasta la vista, partners.

I'll tell everybody you
d*ed with your Bat Boots on.