- Room 609, voice mailbox.
- Wednesday, March 3rd. - Good evening, Mr. Sawfield.
This is the concierge at the front desk.
May I again say as great fans of the sport of baseball
how proud we are to be hosting the Central City Demons here
at the Gotham Grand Hotel.
While we can't go as far as to wish you luck
against our hometown Gaslamps, we nevertheless do hope
you enjoy your stay to its fullest.
Please hold for a private message.
- Bonsoir, Mr. Sawfield, and welcome to Gotham!
This is Oswald Cobblepot,
a humble admirer of your remarkable athleticism.
Oh, every baseball team has a star pitcher,
but "Lucky Bucky" Sawfield
truly belongs in the firmament.
If you have no other engagements this evening,
perhaps you and your teammates would join me at my casino
for a night of good sportsmanship
before the game tomorrow.
I'm correct you enjoy games of skill and chance, yes?
I'll send the cars around 7:00.
- Thursday, March 4th.
- Good morning, Mr. Sawfield. Congratulations.
I understand your namesake luck was plentiful
at the Iceberg last night.
I've received your maintenance request.
So sorry to hear you're having difficulties
accessing your in-room lockbox safe.
You no doubt wish to secure your winnings.
I will send someone to investigate right away.
Please hold for one new message.
- Well, Mr. Sawfield,
we know now for certain that they don't call you
"Lucky Bucky" for naught, eh?
Oswald Cobblepot here.
May I say it was an authentic honor
to have you as my guest last night
and I trust you enjoyed the champagne I sent over.
Both cases of it.
And don't worry at all about the bit of--
fisticuffs you found yourself in.
We here in Gotham understand what "painting the town red"
sometimes means.
Though it's a shame you suffered such a physical
and public altercation
with one of our opinionated local sports fans.
Let me apologize on his behalf.
That fellow was an obstreperous lout.
I want you to know, your antagonist
will never again enjoy my hospitality
because A, I prize civility above all else.
And B, by tragic coincidence,
he was followed home last night
by an unknown assailant and beaten to death with a rock.
Have a good game today!
- Mr. Sawfield, hello again.
I do regret to inform you that maintenance was unable
to open your in-room safe,
but we will contact the manufacturer
and retrieve the contents just as soon as we are able.
Hold for a private message please.
- Sawfield, old smoke.
Cobblepot again. It occurs to me,
my last message may have left you with some questions.
I know. A crime like this is shocking.
A man is murdered in a fit of rage.
Who would do such a thing?
Well, besides a notoriously intemperate
hothead baseball player from out of town,
swaggering into the local saloon
with a chip on his shoulder, mouthing off
while he swills free bubbly like a gulper eel.
I mean, that will be everyone's first thought,
of course. The police, the press,
the victim's associates in the Seventh Street Syndicate.
Oh, yes, you see, that loudmouth was a made man.
And those Syndicate boys
process grief
with a set of jumper cables
and an alkaline car battery, don't you know?
Good thing you have an alibi, isn't it?
Yes, no worries. At the time of the murder,
you were gambling in the salon privet
at my invitation, alone.
You were there for hours. I can attest to that.
Or can I?
I am prone to the most disturbing
sudden mental lacunae. Perhaps it's the water here
because my entire staff has the same affliction.
On the other hand, with dozens of eyewitnesses
eager to attest they saw "Lucky Bucky" Sawfield
in a vicious altercation with the deceased,
lo and behold, a convincing theory of the case
begins to emerge.
Burning with the man's snide insults,
you followed him out of the casino.
When he paused to gain his bearings
in some lonely and obscure spot,
your fury erupted like Krakatoa.
You took a loose paving stone
and pounded him into aspic jelly.
When the adrenaline subsided, naturally, you panicked.
Stripped the corpse of its valuables
and dumped it in the harbor...
Before wandering back to your hotel in a daze.
Such was the confusion of your mingled bloodlust
and inebriation that when you returned
to your room--
You found your hands still clutched
to the blood-smirched belongings of your victim.
Oh, I know it didn't happen that way.
You know it didn't happen that way,
but it's a theory that will be given
a great deal of credibility
once hotel management gets that pesky safe of yours open.
And surprise, they find the dead man's bloody wallet
and wristwatch are inside.
How's that for a curveball, Lucky?
You probably want that combination and soon.
I'll give you a hint. The first digit is two,
as in the number of homeruns you need
to see our hometown hero Swat Fleischacker hit today.
Am I making myself clear?
We have a way of speaking in Gotham City.
Two diggers for our hometown boy.
You had better see to it.
All right, now, let's play ball!
flash-frozen in grimacing stonework.
Join us now for another tale of life and death
in Gotham City.
March 7th finds the Penguin desperate
for a show of strength to counter rumors of turmoil
within his crime empire. But he is only desperate
because the rumors are true.
The Penguin's wall of crime may encircle the city,
but its bricks are mortared
with the legal genius of Harvey Dent.
And thanks to the Batman,
Harvey is no longer with the organization.
Safely spirited away in the dead of night to Wayne Manor,
Two-Face is finally free of the Penguin's predations.
But the sudden appearance of the Scarecrow
suggests that his fortunes have not necessarily improved.
- Get some, get some!
The noble homestead,
defiled and debauched by deviants.
Stately Wayne Manor is utterly besieged
as is the central nervous system
of its namesake occupant, Bruce Wayne.
Caught unawares, he succumbs to a gas attack
from the nefarious Dr. Jonathan Crane,
now revealed to be the pharaoh of panic himself,
- the Scarecrow.
- Breathe deeply, little Brucie.
It's such a short trip from the breath to the blood,
- from the blood to the brain. - I--I--
- Oh, I've got such things in store for you.
You two, take him to his resting place.
The rest of you, Eyeball, Scud, search the house.
Roust the staff.
I think it's just one butler somehow.
As for Dent,
he's dangerous and I'm bored with him.
When you find that conjoined monstrosity,
put it out of its misery.
the crank-addled delinquents fan out
amidst the fine furnishings
and a shambling miasma of profanity.
Where are you, Harvey?
Ollie, ollie, oxen free!
Well, what have we here?
Of course this house has its own pipe organ.
Oh, now, that's just an invitation, isn't it?
Upstairs, faithful Alfred realizes
the time is now if he and Two-Face wish to escape
a rapidly approaching tide of recreational sadists.
- Mr. Dent, I realize you are somewhat poorly,
but if you could perhaps find the strength, I recommend
we escape whatever these hooligans have in mind.
No problem.
- Where do you keep the heaters? - Heaters?
Bruce doesn't keep firearms
in the house, you clod.
He detests them for obvious reasons.
- Oh, right. The parents got plugged.
Oh, have some tact,
- you thoughtless ignoramus. - Hey!
Don't talk to me like that around the help.
- Oh, I don't care. - The butler is
several times your mental superior and--
- Please, sirs,
do exclude me from the squabble.
Alfred projects preternatural calm,
but a squabble
the effects of the JoyCure are wearing off.
And the peace and harmony inside Two-Face along with it.
How dare you?
Oh, don't faint, precious.
With waxing dread, Alfred realizes
the window to avoid catastrophe
has nearly slammed shut on his fingers.
- Gentlemen, please. - Huh?
- The situation has become quite urgent.
There is a ruffian arriving imminently
and he is going to find the two of us unarmed.
- Counselor, come out, come out wherever you are.
We can take 'em.
- You're going to have to. Listen carefully.
There are twin suits of armor
at the end of the hall fully dressed for battle.
- If it's twins, we like the plan already.
- I'll engage the ruffian in a wrestling hold.
- You? - Well, I was rather a grappler
in my youth, but yes, I'll only manage to hold him for moment.
So you need to rush down the hall to the armor,
procure a weapon, and come to my rescue.
- Got it.
- Come out, come out--
- Now, Mr. Dent.
- Uh, Alfredo, we're at the armor.
- Very good, sir. If you would kindly...
Only grab a mace.
Now, Mr. Dent.
Okay, but there's two.
Yes, just grab one.
Okay, but which one?
- I assure you, it doesn't matter.
I assure you it does.
- Just flip a coin-- oh, ah, of course.
The right one.
His right or right--
- His right. - Thank you.
Two-Face labors through a fog
of drug-induced confusion, but seizing the iron cudgel,
he is suddenly invigorated by the promise of violence.
A promise
soon fulfilled to his exacting standards.
Good plan, Alfredo.
- We knew we liked you. - Yes, very good, sir.
Now, if you please, run toward the bottom of the stairs.
Master Bruce's study locks securely from the inside.
I'll be right behind you.
The two make haste for sanctuary,
but the remainder of the hunting party
catches a scent of their quarry.
- There they are. After 'em.
- Give me the shotgun, Scud.
- Mr. Dent! - Just buckshot.
We're... Fine.
Keep moving. We're almost--
There.
Two-Face slumps to the floor of the study,
heaving and bloody.
All else is eerily silent, undisturbed,
save for the patient serenity
of the great grandfather clock.
Awful quiet out there.
Do you think they--
- Come out, come out, come out, come out, little lambchops.
It's time to get cleaned and dressed and seared and eaten.
- The door's reinforced, boss. I mean, heavy duty.
- Then we do this with chemicals.
- Oh, dear. - Put on your masks.
Flood the entire mansion with the cheap stuff.
30 parts per million.
No, 80. And cut it with CX nerve gas.
We want these nightmares to hurt.
Oh, dear!
to devise an escape.
- The windows--
Are no option for Two-Face,
who at present should be occupying a stretcher.
Let it rip, boys!
They cannot remain where they are.
The door is sturdy, but it is not airtight.
In point of fact, the only airtight
and hermetically sealed environment
- on the estate grounds is-- - The Batcave.
Come again, Alfredo?
- Mr. Dent, we're going downstairs.
- Huh?
if he doesn't understand
exactly what he's witnessing.
A megadose of JoyCure mingled with blood loss
and a whiff of the Scarecrow's gas
is a stiff cocktail for the ruddiest sot.
But Two-Face could swear
the butler just walked him into the clock
and down, down. How far down?
- What is this?
Some kind of safe room?
The safest in the city, sir.
Authorization, Alfred one.
The mismatched eyes of Two-Face blink and strain
through a heavy veil of drugs, distress, and disbelief.
I can't believe it.
It's not possible.
Bruce Wayne is--
- Yes, Mr. Dent, Bruce Wayne is--
Bruce Wayne
- is a filthy liar. - What? No.
He said he was there for us.
- He always said he wanted to help us.
Sure, but all this time, he had an angle.
Bruce Wayne is Batman.
And I thought I was the two-faced bastard.
- Mr. Dent, I assure you--
The old double life gimmick
and we fell for it.
- Please, Mr. Dent, you need medical attention.
- We don't like to be played, Alfredo.
It's a guarantee.
When we get played,
someone...gets...hurt.
Mr. Dent, don't!
The betrayal he long suspected, seemingly realized.
The wrath of Two-Face scorned
is a two mega-ton bomb in free fall.
See it detonate in a future tale of life and death
in Gotham City.
- My fellow Americans, Honest Abe Fetterman here.
Four score and seven years ago,
I brought forth in Gotham City
insane savings!
But now, everything must go!
I'm talking blenders! I'm talking toasters!
Washers, dryers! That's right,
Honest Abe's Hardware and Household Appliances
is shutting its doors for good.
But we're passing the savings on to you.
Just look at these deals.
- An electric waffle iron. - $900.
- Energy Star rated air conditioning unit.
$600,000.
- And right here is a 19-inch color television set
for the incredible price of--
oh, my God, this can't be right.
499...
734,850,000.52!
$499,734,850,000.52!
That's right, Gotham City.
With prices like these, I must be insane!
- And of course, he was. Hi, I'm Abraham Fetterman Jr.
and I want to thank the community
for their support for my father,
Honest Abe Fetterman,
during his recent struggle with mental illness.
It wasn't easy for him to close
his beloved hardware and household appliance store
and agree to be committed to Arkham Asylum,
but we all agree it was for the best
and he's happier there.
And I understand they're letting him wear
his Abe Lincoln costume on the inside,
which probably means they found out the same way I did
that if you try to take it off him, he will bite you.
Kindness gets you nowhere with that man.
Anyhow, from all of us at the Honest Abe family,
minus Honest Abe,
who will be making no further public statements,
thanks for the memories, Gotham City.
Gotham, a cat's cradle
strung from high-tension wires.
Join us now, for another tale of life and death
in Gotham City.
Robin to Batman.
Come on.
over a heavily modified WayneTech Mark 7
crystal-fiber satellite linkup supported by a network
of ideally located private relay towers around Gotham.
- Robin to Batcave. Computer, do you copy?
You gotta be kidding me.
It's possible for any system to fail,
even one designed by the Batman,
or so Robin tells himself.
What's the alternative?
Batman and the Batcave are both somehow offline?
Preposterous.
And so the Boy Wonder puts it from his mind
to focus more keenly on the task at hand.
- Come in, Commissioner Gordon. - Gordon here.
- Is this Robin? - Yes, sir.
My communications with the Batman are non-functional.
- Do you have comms? - Negative. Is that normal?
Not normal, no.
I was just about to end my patrol early and investigate
when I saw suspicious activity at the old
Honest Abe's Hardware and Household Appliances store.
- That's on the edge of Burma Shave Boys territory.
Probably a gang of those urchins scrounging
for abandoned valuables, isn't it?
- That could be, but I had a hunch.
Joker has been bouncing around town
from one makeshift safehouse to the next
- since Penguin put the hit out. - Yeah?
- Batman always says there's a method to his madness.
I think he's set up shop in Honest Abe's.
- The Joker? Of all the places in Gotham,
what in the world makes you think
he's in an abandoned hardware store?
- It's the initials, Commissioner.
Probably pretty irresistible to the Joker.
- Initials? - Honest Abe's--
- H-A--
- Hardware and Household Appliances.
- H-A, H-A.
"Ha, ha, ha."
- They say the best jokes are the ones you have to explain.
- Yeah, well, if it is the Joker--
- Sorry to interrupt, Commissioner,
but we're no longer dealing in hypotheticals.
A long purple sedan with darkened headlamps
slithers down the alley like a viper.
It's the Joker all right.
I've never been this close to him, you know?
- Not without Batman. - Okay, now, now, fall back.
I'll send a unit. I'll send two.
He's unloading crates.
Batman would plant surveillance.
- Batman would tell you to get out of there
and report to him.
- Can't test that theory, Commissioner.
Batman isn't answering my calls.
He went inside.
I can slip in the basement window
and plant an eavesdropper in the storefront.
- Robin, I know I don't give you orders,
but I hope I've earned enough of your respect
that you'll listen to me when I beg you.
Don't do it.
You thinking it over? What I said?
Thinking about not doing it?
Robin?
Hello? Too late.
Robin is already inside.
It's pitch dark. Should it be this cold?
Night vision reveals... no sign of the Joker.
But the Boy Wonder can still count on his keen hearing.
- He's in the back office.
Robin could leave the surveillance device
anywhere in the shop,
but the Joker could be gone in hours.
Less. What is it that Batman says
about opportunity?
Knock first and knock hard.
The real coup would be planting it
on the clown himself.
The whistling seems to beckon him.
I can do this.
As Robin creeps between the empty shelves
of the abandoned storefront,
the vacancy of the place seems to howl.
If he can just get a line of sight on the Joker,
he can shoot the eavesdropper from a distance undetected.
The floor is sticky.
What are those fumes?
Something was burned beyond recognition in the trashcan.
What is it? What was it?
And why is it so cold in here?
At last, he gets to the door.
And peering into the light of a single, bare bulb,
the Boy Wonder sees--
Oh, no.
That he should've listened to the Commissioner.
- Now then, try practicing that tune a few times.
When you're ready, flip to side B of
"How to Whistle like a Nightingale--"
nightingale--nightingale--
A phonograph needle in an empty room skips.
Robin realizes his mistake too late
as he feels a cold hand on his shoulder.
- You must know how to whistle, little birdy.
Got any pointers?
- These records are a real rip-off.
Robin is felled.
To find out why the caged bird stings,
tune in to future tales of life and death in Gotham City.
- Good evening, Gotham movie buffs.
I'm Jack Ryder.
Tune in this Saturday at midnight when I'm hosting--
Oh, no.
The transformation
is happening again!
Hark! Strikes the midnight hour
and so the Creeper emerges from his ancient tomb to--
"Tomb"? Am I a vampire?
I thought this was, like, a Jekyll-Hyde thing.
Yeah, no, it does. It makes a difference to me.
We just did a whole transformat--fine.
Join me, the Midnight Creeper,
on Gotham City One this Saturday as I seize control
of your planetary airways for a screening of
the Argus Studios horror classic, "Dread Castle."
Do not resist, puny Earthlings. You will--
"Earthlings"? Earthlings, okay.
You're just messing with me now.
Did anyone settle on a backstory
for this character? No?
Just a little creative free-for-all to make
Jack look like he has no judgement whatsoever?
Whatever.
The midnight movie
on Gotham City One.
I regret-- I just hate this.
I hate every part of this.
Gotham, a dark room
where memories drown in a chemical bath.
Join us once again for a tale of life and death
in Gotham City.
The silence of the tomb.
- Where am I?
It was a somewhat rhetorical question.
Bruce is restrained, confined, and so heavily drugged
any further elaboration would be lost on him.
It was a waste of breath to even ask,
unless someone can hear him.
You're in the family plot.
Yes, I know it's cramped, but you'll soon disassociate
and we'll wander the wilds of your mind together,
little Brucie.
Through one of your...
- manufactured nightmares. - Nonsense.
I'm here to give you your fondest wish,
little orphan boy. Just like magic.
In fact, abracadabra.
What did you just do?
- I've given you a chance at happiness.
- Bruce. - Mother?
- Bruce. - Father?
What is this?
It's therapy, dear boy.
In here, you're no longer an orphan.
Bruce, come along now.
What are you saying?
That night, the Monarch theater,
the alley, my parents weren't killed?
Oh, not yet.
- Hurry, Bruce. The picture's about to start.
- But it is that night, Bruce. - No.
- And I'm afraid the night is young.
- If you don't step lively, young man,
you'll miss the cartoon short.
- Mother, don't go into the theater.
- You love the cartoon short, don't you, son?
- Father, please. Please take us home.
What has gotten into you?
- And now, Argus Pictures presents
the ham-fisted predicaments of the Dim Knight,
the world's greatest defective, Bat-Mite.
- This is your chance at happiness, Bruce.
A chance you've always wanted.
A chance to save them.
- Can you save your parents this time, Bruce?
Life and death in Gotham City.
To be continued.
written and directed by Dennis McNicholas.
Batman created by Bob Kane with Bill Finger.
Based on characters from DC.
With performances by Jeffrey Wright,
Aristotle Athari, Ike Barinholtz,
Rosario Dawson, Steve Higgins,
Toby Huss, Gillian Jacobs,
John Leguizamo, Dennis McNicholas.
Tim Meadows, Seth Meyers,
Bobby Moynihan, Chris Parnell,
Katie Rich, Ben Rodgers,
Paul Scheer, Pete Schultz,
Brooke Shields, Brent Spiner,
Kenan Thompson, Alan Tudyk,
Bradley Whitford, Melissa Villaseñor,
Eli Brueggemann, Doug Bossi,
Ronjini Brown, Chris Gibney,
Julie Larson, Erica Phillips,
Rosie Phillips, Tony Phillips,
Zoey Phillips, Deirdre Quinn,
Robbie Wyckoff.
Executive producers, John Berg, Angela Petrella.
Produced by Dennis McNicholas.
Executives in charge of production,
Shaleen Desai, Peter Girardi.
Producer, Tyler Dorson.
Production services by Cast Media.
Producer, Colin Thompson.
Coordinating producer, DJ Lubel.
Music by Doug Bossi.
Sound recording, design, and mixing
by Big Yellow Duck.
Sound design, mixing, dialogue editing,
and rerecording mixing by Chris Gibney.
Dialogue editing and additional post-production
by Julie Larson.
Original songs by Doug Bossi and Tony Phillips.
The characters and events depicted
in this podcast are fictional.
Any similarity to any actual person
living or dead or to any actual events,
firms, places, and institutions or other entities
is coincidental and unintentional.
This podcast is protected under the laws
of the United States and other countries,
and its unauthorized duplication,
distribution, or exhibition
may result in civil liability and criminal prosecution.
Country of first publication, United States of America.
"Batman the Audio Adventures," copyright 2022
Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
Batman and all related characters and elements
are trademark and copyright DC.
All rights reserved.