“In Elseworlds, heroes are taken from their usual settings and put into strange times and places — some that have existed, and others that can’t, couldn’t, or shouldn’t exist. This is one of those stories.”

I’m sure most of you have at least heard of Batman: the World’s Greatest Detective, The Dark Knight… the biggest pain in the ass the criminal underworld has ever known. His likeness has been on everything from comic books to cereal, TV to movies, action figures to artistic statues. He has a villain named The Penguin (who has a following of his own), usually portrayed as male. However, if The Penguin were female, she’d probably be me.

The name’s Penelope Halwind (it’s not my birth name). I was raised in a trailer park. That should give you some good stereotypical images; all of them true, in my case anyway.

For example, my father fancied himself a mechanic, so the carport was always full of everything, but cars (not to mention the “I’m working on it” appliances on the porch). My mother was one of those pathetic, nagging women who wanted everything from someone who had nothing to give.

Father would go hunting every year, but never came home with anything, but a hangover. Mother confronted him about this and got a black eye for her trouble.

Then there was the time I was caught taking money to let boys touch my chest. I was asking $1. Father offered $5 and Mother never looked at me the same again.

When Mother and Father weren’t arguing, they usually ignored me. They were the type of parents who were glad to get the kids out of the house for most of the day, be it to school or just “outside.” The rest of the time, I would end up in front of the TV watching whatever they were watching.

The first time I watched Jerry Springer, I couldn’t believe people would act that way on TV. After a while the guests started reminding me of my parents! I began to watch the more popular kids for ways to act and what to like. Soon I developed a real taste for Class, with a capital C. This brought up a concern: finances. I was not about to get one of the fast food, minimum wage jobs that were available. I saw how everyone talked about and treated “those people.” College was looking to be out of the question, too, and since I wasn’t ‘to the manor born’ I had to find another way to make the money. So I just took it.

At first I just tried to hone skills as a pick-pocket, but alas, I am not the svelte cat burglar one of my, I mean The Penguin’s, biggest adversaries is. I am 4′11″ (in thick-soled shoes) and, since it is none of your business how much I weigh, let’s just say I am ponderous. This did not make getting away easy, Then, as I matured, I discovered a way to… convince people to help me. You may not be surprised how many trailer park rednecks will jump at the chance to bed anyone, and at the cost of everything of value they own. Including their lives if they doublecross me. Many of them became my ‘henchmen.’

All I had to do was listen, at places like the local bar, for stories of who was doing what. Then I would play on the sap’s loneliness, desperation, or just blackmail them into doing what I wanted. From punks who just wanted a thrill to nasty old men; they did what I wanted or they disappeared. The ones who behaved were paid extremely well; anything they wanted. Money, girls, anything. For you see, I was after my own version of the brass ring. When I turned 18 and met someone who could forge documents, I was on my way. I made a new identity and got my freedom.

At first I had to forge party invitations and take advantage of tabloid stories about drunken binges, but eventually I was moving smoothly through Society, with a capital S. I got into tapings of the most popular TV shows, movie sets, art galleries, etc. Then I met my Batman.

Out of all the phony Hollywood types I met, I did not expect a simple “gold-plated bachelor” to knock me for a loop. At first we just met at the parties of mutual acquaintances, but I soon noticed he was watching me. What was his deal? Did he know about my past? I eventually got so angry, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I followed him out of a party, pulled myself up to my full height, and said “I would like a moment of your time, sir. Privately.” He actually smiled, and said I could name the time and place. He did have a nice smile…

“My penthouse. This Friday night.”

“A date, Penelope?” he smirked. The girls standing next to him started laughing. This ruffled my feathers. I replied with a curt ‘No. Sir.’

Friday came and I awaited his presence. When he showed up, well dressed as usual even though informal, he held a rose.

“I have noticed you watching me,” I started, as I accepted the rose. “Why? You haven’t made it known that you are interested in me… just what are your intentions?”

He looked around my place and right into my eyes. It was like he could see right through me. I was shocked by this, and broke the contact, but not before noticing a sadness in his eyes. How much did he bloody know?

“May I sit down?”

Where were my manners?

“Well, yes, of course. I do pride myself on my civility. Would you care for a drink?”

We talked until dawn. About frivolities! Celebrity gossip, favorite movies, comedians, and favorite faux pas of people at the parties we had attended… I hadn’t laughed that much in years, maybe ever. He asked to meet again. I said yes.

We met several times after that. The meetings became the highlight of my week; lunches at quiet bistros, movies, walks in the park after dark. Neither of us seemed to want to be very public about our friendship. For a while, I just enjoyed the company of a “decent” man for a change. He even started calling me a cute nickname: Pigeon.

I became more and more worried that he would find out about my secret life. I had even begun picking bird themed objects to steal. I started to notice that he never wanted to talk about anything personal. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t either, but before I could puzzle it all out, he showed up one night outside a place I was robbing. I was waiting just inside an alley, looking across the street at the apartment building my henchmen were breaking into. I had my umbrella open because it was raining, and therefore lost some peripheral vision. The next thing I know he comes out of the restraint next door. I ducked back into the alley, but not before I was sure he had seen me. The proof came when he stopped coming over.

The fairy tale wasn’t going to happen, and honestly I didn’t care. I had changed however. I could not go on as deeply involved as I was in the underworld. A shrink might say that I was feeling guilty, but things on the street were just getting too risky for my taste. So I bought myself a little cafe. After hours, I still deal in stolen merchandise, for a nice profit. I even call it Pigeon’s Place. Come in sometime for the house special: “The Bird of Paradise.”