OUR NEXT COURSE WILL BE UP IN MERE MOMENTS!

The Joker’s Doll Collection

Batgirl looked over the edge of the slowly descending platform to watch the white Persian tigers milling beneath her. She knew some time would pass before their sharp teeth and claws would sink into her flesh, but her fate grew nearer with each passing second. She could see no obvious way to delay it.

As she considered her crimefighting career’s uncomfortable conclusion, horror seized her in a fresh grip. Batgirl realized the liquid cement restraining her would not only hold her in place, but would render her utterly immobile, because it saturated her costum!

The situation was similar to the immobility Chris Thomson, King Tut’s well-appointed former Chief Torturer, had arranged for her by soaking Batgirl’s costume in a chemical that made it shrink against her body like a sinister second skin. The procedure had provided deadly definition to her every comely curve as it held her fast and threatened asphyxiation.

This time, if Batgirl were to escape, she had to hurry. She needed a plan.

Batgirl took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If she were to panic, she knew she was finished.

Analyzing her predicament again, Batgirl realized her captors had made a single concession to her comfort. They had limited the amount of liquid cement sprayed near her face. Grimly, she decided this concession must have been inadvertent, or perhaps allowed so that she would still be breathing when the tigers tore her to pieces.

Batgirl scowled and refocused her thoughts. Having less cement sprayed around her face could prove to be the oversight on the criminals’ part that enabled her to escape, if she could discover a way to exploit it. Experimentally, she shrugged and smiled as her shoulders moved. This fact was a point in her favor. To capitalize on it, she would have to proceed quickly.

She tried to spread her fingers and discovered she could. “Good,” she muttered. Then she pressed her fingertips against the surface upon which she lay, knowing the liquid cement would hold her gloves in place. “Now,” Batgirl murmured, drawing her arms backward and feeling her wrists slide against the cement-moistened fabric of her gloves. A smile spread across her face as her hands came completely free from her gloves seconds later. 'Excellent! I was afraid I’d waited too long to get my gloves off.'

Batgirl’s next task would be to deal with the cement. She was sure her Universal Bat Solvent spray would dissolve it harmlessly and release her. Alternatively, she could cut herself free with the Bat-Laser.

Batgirl reached for her Universal Bat Solvent spray with her right hand. A rude shock awaited the captive crimefighter. The second her fingers touched the compartment of her belt holding the precious canister, they stuck firmly in place and were instantly rendered immobile!

Batgirl glanced at the three tigers below and inhaled. It had taken longer to free her hands than she had imagined it would. Then, in seconds, she had given away half of her new, hard-won advantage. She exhaled and frowned.

Liquid cement was certainly one of the more unusual restraints Batgirl had encountered. Frequently, she was bound with rope or shackled with chains. She had made reference earlier to Catwoman’s wire-thin Cat’s Whiskers, which could be induced to contract and strangle victims by movement or body heat, depending upon which variety the Feline Felon employed. Similarly, the Bookworm had bound Batgirl with wire when he tried to crush her in a gigantic book. Other victims had been used as bindings in Nora Clavicle’s Siamese Human Knots and the Joker had once ordered the common ropes his henchmen had used to bind her replaced by silk scarves, so that her body would be unmarked after his gigantic jack-in-the-box tore her asunder. Less corporeal threats had once kept Batgirl circling the face of an enormous clock in time with the passing seconds, after the Clock King had told her a bomb would devastate the nearby Gotham City neighborhood if she fell behind. Playgirl had not restrained her at all when she had engulfed Batgirl in a gigantic bubble intended to shrink against her and devour every molecule of oxygen in her body.

The Delectable Daredevil still had a free hand and knew it represented her best, and perhaps only, chance of escape. She also now knew it would be impossible to take anything from her utility belt with her bare hand, because her left hand would stick to her belt if she touched it, just as had her right.

She snuck another peak at the tigers and hardened her muscles, feeling adrenaline course through her veins. Her mind was now focused on escaping and she became aware of a vague memory trying to surface. The recollection was of a tiny, insignificant impression. She had not consciously been aware of it at the time. Carefully, she searched her memory, replaying the events having transpired since her capture in her mind. A muffled clunk sounded softly just after her hands came free from her gloves. The sound, she realized with a flash of insight, had been caused by her backup tools inside her gloves hitting the platform!

She carried these tiny implements inside her gloves and boots for occasions when she was deprived of her utility belt. On this occasion, of course, she still had her belt, but it was useless since it was covered with liquid cement. Unless–

The fingers of her free hand tentatively reached toward one of her gloves, then stopped suddenly. Would the flanges of her gloves be coated with liquid cement like her belt? If so, both of her hands would become stuck and any chance she had to escape would evaporate.

Batgirl’s memory of her imprisonment replayed again in her mind and a spark of hope flickered. The flanges of her gloves had been turned away from Eenie and Vixen’s aerosol cans as they administered the sinister restraint. She might be able to safely extract one of her tiny tools, but if she were wrong, the consequences would literally be catastrophic.

She inhaled and brushed one fingertip lightly against the middle flange of her left glove. If she had to tear her hand away, she wanted the maximum chance of success.

Her hand came away from her glove and the precious, hidden contents of its flange. Batgirl exhaled with relief and glanced at the tigers, toward which she was still slowly descending.

‘Of course!’ she thought. ‘The crooks wouldn’t have needed to heavily spray my extremities to keep me glued to the platform. My torso and waist, with their greater surface area, were given the most attention.’

Slowly, with infinite care, Batgirl pulled a tiny lock pick away from its place in the middle flange of her left glove. Concentrating to keep the tool from slipping from her grasp; sticking to the platform beside her; and thus becoming forever useless, Batgirl gently prodded a compartment on her belt, slowly opening its cover.

Sealed in their compartments, the Bat-Laser and Universal Bat Solvent would be free of the liquid cement. All she had to do was reach them without getting her free hand stuck to her belt.

Carefully, Batgirl pulled her Bat-Laser from its place at her hip and turned the setting down. She aimed at her fettered hand and fired. Soon, both of Batgirl’s hands were free. Next, Batgirl turned the Bat-Laser to her arms and freed them. She looked once again at the tigers beneath her, to which she grew ever closer. “Got to hurry!” she told herself.

The Bat-Laser soon gave the Dark Angel of Gotham full access to her utility belt. She quickly took her Universal Bat Solvent in hand and liberally coated her costume. Would it work?

She touched her fingers to her abdomen, with the Bat-Laser poised in case the Universal Bat Solvent failed. Batgirl smiled at the result, but was prevented from celebrating further by a low growl.

Batgirl rolled aside instinctively as movement came into her peripheral vision. One tiger landed on the platform on which she had been descending and found its paws affixed to the surface. The white tiger furiously roared. The sound echoed loudly in the tiny chamber. Later, she realized her Universal Bat Solvent had protected her as she moved from the adhesive-smeared platform.

She sensed another great cat leaping toward her as she hit the floor of the chamber. Without thinking, the Curved Crusader somersaulted, intercepting the great cat in midair and sending it flying hard into the wall ahead of her before its claws could rake her legs. She reached her feet as the enraged tiger reoriented itself toward its now-mobile prey. Another angry growl made Batgirl dodge to one side as she saw the third tiger stalk forward. She felt her hand slam into something and gripped it reflexively.

As the stalking tiger charged, Batgirl pulled at the thing she gripped and leaped aside. A portcullis noisily fell between Batgirl and the tiger. The cat’s momentum had carried it into one of the tiny cells adjoining the central chamber, from whence it had come. The tiger turned around and clawed ineffectually at Batgirl with its paws extending through the bars that imprisoned it.

The heroine’s chest heaved. She knew her luck could not last. Batgirl HAD to think - and think fast!

By now, the enraged great cat stuck to the platform upon which Batgirl had descended had torn its paws from the liquid cement, leaving its claws behind. The resulting pain had done nothing to improve the beast’s disposition. Batgirl’s fingers pulled another aerosol can from her belt. Two tigers stalked her and she didn’t have much room to maneuver.

Backing into a corner, Batgirl crouched, waiting. The enraged tiger leaped for her and was met by a hissing jet from Batgirl’s aerosol can. The great cat hit the wall above her as Batgirl ducked away from the yawning jaws. Then, it fell to the floor and remained still, asleep. “Good night, kitty,” the Dominoed Dare Doll said, moving toward the cement-treated platform.

The remaining tiger padded toward her. It sniffed at the liquid cement and moved around it. Batgirl moved across the platform, keeping it between her and the feline predator. When the short sides of the rectangular platform comprised the distance between them, Batgirl tried the Bat-Sleep on her remaining hunter. The pressure from inside the canister died away.

As Batgirl retreated, her chest heaving, the tiger gathered itself and leaped for her. Batgirl dove beneath the leaping cat and rolled to a stop as the tiger prepared once again to pounce on its pretty prey.

Locking eyes with the majestic hunter, Batgirl straightened and put her can of Bat-Sleep away. Balanced on the balls of her feet, she pulled out her Batarang. She could not hope to subdue the great cat with the weapon, but knew it might prove invaluable to her escape.

Then, the cat freed itself from Batgirl’s transfixing gaze and sprang toward her. She backed away diagonally and the tiger landed squarely in the center of the cement-coated platform.

“Time to get out of here and find Catwoman,” Batgirl muttered and threw a Batrope weighted with her Batarang to the bars of the cage above. After a short climb, Batgirl was free. Only her gloves remained behind in the tiger pit. She didn’t mind that at all.

Elsewhere, Harleen Quinzel left the exhausted Joker asleep beneath a single sheet and dressed quickly. She smiled at the sleeping villain as she sat at a desk across the room, regarding him as she wrote a note promising to return to him later. She pressed her red lips against the paper, in place of a signature, and laid it on her pillow beside him. She lingered over him, her mouth hovering, and sighed contentedly. She straightened before rummaging through the Joker’s coat pockets and making her way to the garage.

She had several errands to run and decided the Jokermobile would be too conspicuous to use for most of them. The truck was still loaded with the stolen chemicals. Traveling with them might not be safe and the Joker would need them eventually. A motorcycle was the only other vehicle in the One-Armed Bandit Novelty Company motor pool. It would have to do.

Her first stop was a costume shop. She began trying to model her outfit after the Joker’s. She did not like the shade or fit of any of the available purple suits. Modeling her outfit after famous comedians was also not the right approach. None of their outfits did her figure justice.

“Why don’t we try something medieval?” the clerk suggested.

“I don’t even know your name,” the blonde customer complained.

The clerk cleared his throat and then laughed. “Good one, miss. What I meant was, you might like to try a medieval clown costume, if the idea is to make people laugh. I’d be happy to show you. What’s your name?”

Before she returned to regard him, Dr. Quinzel, for no particular reason, had been looking out the window at the motorcycle she had ridden to the store. The thought of it might have been the reason for her fateful Freudian slip. “Harley,” she said. “Ya’ know, the jester idea might work. Show me what you’ve got, big boy.”

“Right this way, Harley,” the clerk said, smiling and leading towards the back of the shop. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet ya’.”

Within an hour, Harley had chosen a clownish outfit that fit her like a second skin. The right leg was red with black diamonds on the thigh, while the left leg used the same pattern with the opposite colors. The color of each leg continued two thirds of the way up her abdomen to form a line bisecting her body from her groin to her neck. The right shoulder was black like her left leg. Red diamonds adorned her forearm and the glove on her right hand matched them. Her cap hid all her hair and was bisected by the same dividing line as her body. The red and black of the pied headpiece matched the color scheme of her gloves and legs. The ensemble included a frilly white collar and matching cuffs. White balls dangled from her cap and the triangular frills extended from her collar. Harley added white clown makeup, a black domino mask, and garish red lipstick.

“How do I look?” she asked, rotating before the clerk for inspection after emerging from the dressing room.

“Well, Harley, you look like a harlequin - a very good looking harlequin, I might add.” Jack said.

“Harlequin,” she repeated meditatively. “That’s it! Thank you, Jack. I’ll take it.”

“I’m glad you like it. I’ll just ring you up,” Jack said.

“Don’t bother.”

“What do you mean? I have to ring you up.”

Harley smiled. “You don’t understand,” she explained. “When I say I’ll take it, I mean I’ll take it!” As Harley spoke, she tossed a single pellet she had taken from the Joker behind the counter. Jack was soon laughing uproariously and powerless to stop her from driving away with her new outfit, along with every dollar and piece of spare change a hasty search of the store had yielded. “So long, sucker!” she cried delightedly.

Back at the One-Armed Bandit Novelty Company, the morning sportscast awakened the Clown Prince of Crime. “The Gotham City Gladiators of the new professional spring football league will practice this afternoon for their contest Sunday against the Metropolis Meteors. They’ll have to hurry though, there is a storm brewing that will hit us hard tonight.” A pale hand turned off the radio. The Joker rolled toward the center of the bed, found the note, and frowned.

“These modern relationships are so complicated,” he said philosophically. “Well, looks like I’m on my own.” After an hour he was ready to face the day. “The planning stage of a criminal campaign is the most challenging . . . and the most lonely.” He paced the floor pondering his plans. “It’s almost as if the thing to do is look for honest work.” Suddenly, he stopped as inspiration struck. “I’ve got it!” Peals of laughter echoes throughout the building.

Later, the receptionist at the Gotham City Gladiators front office was surprised to see a green-haired, smiling figure materialize before her. She swallowed, cleared her throat, and addressed him. “Um. Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”

“Good morning, madam. I am the Joker, and I’m here to apply for a broadcasting position with the Gladiators.”

“Do we have a broadcasting position available?” the receptionist asked. Then, she checked herself. “Pardon me, Mr. Joker. Hiring decisions are made by our Human Resource Department. Do you have an interview scheduled?”

“Of course not! I only decided to take the job this morning!” The receptionist could not help allowing her mouth to fall open as the Joker broke into laughter. Eventually, he composed himself. “All right. Which way do I go?” the Joker demanded. The speechless receptionist closed her mouth and pointed. “Thank you.”

She reached for the phone as more merry laughter echoed in the corridor the Joker had followed.

He swept into the Human Resources office. “Good morning, friends. I’m the Joker. You may have heard of me. I’m here to be a broadcaster for the Gladiators. So, just give me the stack of pesky forms I need to fill out before I start.”

“I’m not certain we have a broadcasting position open just now. Um. Here. Fill this application out, and I’ll see if I can find someone who is free to talk to you.”

Less than five minutes later, the Joker handed the completed application to the clerk with a wide smile. “I have good news, Mr. Joker. In spite of our office being busy helping the marketing department finalize plans for today’s charity lunch with Coach Griggs, Mr. Chandler will see you.”

“Splendid!” The Joker laughed uproariously. “I’d love to meet Mr. Chandler!”

“He’s waiting for you in there,” the clerk said, pointing.

“Mr. Chandler!” the Joker enthused, extending his hand the second he stepped through the door. “I am delighted to meet you! I cannot tell you how excited I am to be up for this job. So, when do I start?”

Mr. Chandler shook the Joker’s hand and gestured toward a woman seated at a table. “This is Miss Phelps, Joker. She is from our marketing department and has agreed to help me look into the opportunity you represent.”

“My pleasure, Miss Phelps,” the Joker said, taking her tentatively offered hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

“Joker,“ Chandler said, “please sit down so Miss Phelps and I can ask you a few questions.” They sat. “Now, Joker, I understand you want to help broadcast our games. That’s great. Do you have any broadcast experience?”

“Absolutely! I’ve interrupted dozens of newscasts to alert Batman and the public to my plans. To do this, I handled everything on the technical side, wrote my script, and performed it. I had some help from assistants, but can enthusiastically say none of the media events of which I speak would ever have happened without me. You might say I was responsible for all of them, as well as the various events they publicized.”

“So,” Mr. Chandler said, “you’ve handled publicity. With what kind of events were you involved?”

“The broadcasts for which I was responsible publicized charity events. At most of them, I personally supervised donations the public generously made.”

“They must have been something,” Miss Phelps said. “You seem like a fun guy, Joker.”

“You better believe it, Miss Phelps.” The Joker winked at her.

She smiled. “Would you say you’ve developed a public persona?”

“Without question. Everybody knows the Joker. You should see my Rolodex.”

“You mentioned Batman,” Mr. Chandler said. “Could we consider him a reference?”

“Batman,” Joker repeated. He and Harleen Quinzel had left the Dynamic Duo to be dunked into a bubbling acid bath. Using the Dead Duo as references would be impossible, as well as ridiculous. He scowled and let his face transform into a jovial mask with seeming spontaneity. “That might not be such a good idea. He’s very busy fighting crime, you know.”

“Speaking of crime,” Miss Phelps said, trying to make her smile disarming, “how do you think the public perceives you, Joker? How would they describe you?”

“Well, I’ve been called all sorts of things.”

“Such as?” she prompted.

“I am the Clown Prince of Crime, the Harlequin of Hate, the Mad Mountebank of Mockery, the Jesting Jackanapes, among other things.”

“I’m not certain,” Miss Phelps said slowly, “that your image is entirely positive.”

“I understand you have a criminal record,” Chandler said. “That could be a problem.”

“Nonsense!” the Joker disagreed. Then, he went on conversationally, “I escaped prison to be an announcer for the Gotham Gladiators. If that comedian did it on Monday nights, I can do it, too.”

“They fired him,” Mr. Chandler pointed out.

“I think the Joker brings more to the table,” Miss Phelps said. “He has broad television experience and marched in here to set up this interview on the spur of the moment. I find that fact quite telling.”

“Anyone marching in here and thinking they’ll get a job just because they woke up and decided to be a broadcaster is pretty funny,” Mr. Chandler said.

“Precisely!” the Joker enthused.

“Remember that radio personality who thought he could do football games because he was a fan, had been successfully broadcasting on the radio for awhile, and played golf with a few of the team owners?”

“Now that you mention it, I do. He was never interviewed.”

“Right--”

“Listen to me,” the Joker interjected, “I’m going to start at the charity lunch today, whether you like it or not. Be seeing you!”

Chandler and Miss Phelps starred at the Riotous Rascal as he took his leave, laughing all the way. Then they turned to one another.

It was a long moment before either spoke. When they started, the words came quickly, as though a floodgate had suddenly burst.

“I think he is incredible!” Miss Phelps said. “Our numbers will grow exponentially!”

“Hiring the Joker is out of the question,” Chandler told her. “We should call Commissioner Gordon.”

“Don’t be so hasty. We don’t need to pay him to make news for us. I’ll call the media. They can tell the police where he is and warn the public about him at the same time.”

“Smart,” Mr. Chandler said, smiling at Miss Phelps conspiratorially. “I don’t know, though. I’m at least going to call the legal department.”

Warden Crichton returned to his office from a meeting and found a curvaceous, clownish woman thumbing through his filing cabinet, which had been locked. “Who are you and what do you think you’re doing?” the official demanded.

“Hi 'ya, Warden,” Harley Quinn said conversationally.

“Wait a minute. I know you. You’re Doctor Quinzel. I see you’re continuing your research on the Joker,” the Warden said, indicating the thick file she had extracted with the criminal’s picture on the cover. “But you should be aware of the protocols for accessing official files, as well as the dress code here.”

“I don’t have time to bother with all of your bureaucratic procedures. I thought steppin’ in here and just takin’ what I need would be a lot quicker.”

“Now, you listen to me, Doctor Quinzel! If you think you can ‘just take’ prison files and keep your job–”

“Warden,” she said, ignoring him, “From now on my name is Harley Quinn, and there is nothing you or anyone else can do to keep me and my Puddin’ apart!”

Warden Crichton’s lower jaw dropped as he stared at her. His mind began to connect the dots and he hesitantly voiced the suspicion forming therein. “You and the Joker–”

“Mr. J has some unfinished business with which I want to help him, but it’s going to be a surprise, so I have to research the details.” Harley pulled another file from the cabinet and glanced over the stack she had made. Three much thinner files were in the pile with the Joker’s.

“What are you talking about?” the Warden demanded, sitting behind his desk. He leaned across the desktop to activate his intercom. “Guards–”

The cloud of gas that exploded from the intercom started him laughing and prevented him from completing his orders. “I thought you might try that,” Harley said, chuckling to herself. Then she heard the running footsteps approaching the door. “You shouldn’t have. It’s lucky for you I already got what I need.” She moved swiftly to a window and had just opened it when two guards burst into the office.

They found their boss slumped helplessly over his desk as his shoulders quivered with uncontrolled laughter. A comely comedian was just slipping away through the window. “Back off John and Jane Law, or the Warden gets it!” Harley threatened, raising one hand as if to throw something.

“All right,” the male guard said, raising his hands. “What do you want?”

“I want to get out of here without any trouble.”

“That’s not going to happen,” the female guard said. “Call for backup. I’ll get her.”

The male guard went for the intercom and tapped the button. He was overcome by laughing gas almost instantly and slumped over the Warden.

“Good thing I rigged an extra dose of nitrous oxide in that intercom!” Harley Quinn remarked. Then she turned to the female guard. “As for you,” she continued, twirling and throwing a sticky string bomb that entwined the female guard, rendering her helpless.

“Who are you?” the entwined guard demanded as she struggled to free herself.

“Harley Quinn, at your service.” The colorful criminal gave an exaggerated bow. “Gotta go. Bye.” Seconds later, the ravishing robber was gone.

Batgirl found Catwoman’s lair to be comprised of expansive catacombs. Wandering through them, she made her way slowly upward, level by level, reasoning the roof would be a better route to freedom than the labyrinthine corridors inside. She found no sign of the Feline Felon or her hench-kittens, but presently came upon three motionless figures, one male and two females.

She held her breath and remained motionless. The figures also remained motionless. Batgirl exhaled and considered how envious the guards at Chuckingham Palace would be of their immobility. No one moved for several more seconds. A full minute passed. Batgirl considered retreating and seeking a path around the rigid trio, but dismissed the idea immediately. Their stillness exhibited an inhuman quality that demanded explanation. They did not even seem to be breathing.

Soundlessly, Batgirl crept forward, sneaking behind the male figure. A once again purple-gloved hand clapped suddenly over his mouth and pulled him backwards. Neither of the female figures reacted as the Dark Angel of Gotham lowered the male to the floor, nor did he make an effort to maintain his balance.

‘What have I discovered, hidden away in Catwoman’s catacombs? They’re so lifelike! Could these be the robots about which Batman and Robin were talking?’

A sound like static on a radio or white noise heralded the answer to Batgirl’s unvocalized questions. She decided this strange threesome had to be externally controlled. The Joker’s voice suddenly confirmed her suspicions.

“Ms. Glee; Madam Titter; and Chuckles – reprogram!” the Joker said. “Ignore all previous instructions. Report to the Gotham Gladiators charity luncheon at the Quarterdeck Club overlooking the Gotham Amusement Pier. I’ll have new commands for you there.”

Chuckles stood and Batgirl followed “him” and the other robots through the catacombs and outside to the street. They still did not encounter Catwoman, Eenie, or Vixen. The trio of robots began to run and Batgirl realized it would be impossible to follow them without her Batgirlcycle. Unlike her, they would not tire as they made their way to the Quarterdeck Club.

Knowing where they were going was her advantage. She found the Batgirlcycle where Catwoman had left it, started approaching her next confrontation with the Joker, and activated her hands-free cell phone.

Meanwhile, at Police Headquarters, Gotham City’s legal luminaries found themselves confronting another clever clue. “Yes, Bonnie,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“This small box with holes in it has just arrived for you, sir,” his secretary said, leaning into the room.

“Let’s have a look,” the Commissioner said. With a yowl a tiny creature leaped from the box as it opened. “It’s a kitten.”

“What’s this, under its collar?” Chief O’Hara asked, reaching to pet the kitten’s head and retrieve a folded scrap of paper. “A newspaper clipping.” The Chief began to unfold his discovery.

“Shall I take the kitten, sir?” Bonnie asked.

“Not just yet, Bonnie. I’m sure this is a portent of the cruel crime wave Catwoman is about to unleash on our fair city. I must alert Batman immediately.” Just then, his phone rang.

As his secretary answered the phone, Gordon addressed O’Hara, “Chief, contact Batman on the Hot Line about that clipping.”

“It’s Batgirl, sir,” Bonnie said.

“I’ll take it.” The Commissioner took the receiver from his secretary. ”Yes, Batgirl.” As the Commissioner spoke to the Dynamic Damsel, the kitten padded to his shoulder, along his arm, and into his lap. As he petted the kitten with one hand, he clamped the phone between his shoulder and chin.

“Catwoman stole the Gotham City Zoo’s Persian tigers. Tell the zookeepers they can find them at . . .” The heroine gave the location of the Catlair. “Her hideout is honeycombed with catacombs, so you’ll need a team to map it. I don’t know if she is there right now.”

“Thank you, Batgirl. I may have just been given a clue to her plans. I’ve sent for Batman.”

“Good. I may have just gotten a lead on the Joker. I’ll keep in touch.” Batgirl turned off her hands-free phone and murmured, “It’s a good thing I have the day off.”

“Did Batgirl find Catwoman?” Bonnie asked.

Commissioner Gordon nodded and handed his secretary an address. “Get a warrant and have a squad search the Catlair at this address. Contact the zoo and let them know what’s happened to their Persian tigers.” Bonnie took the paper and pulled out her cell phone.

As the Commissioner hung up, Chief O’Hara was just replacing the red phone‘s cover. “Batman is coming. He said the clipping is more important than the kitten. It’s an advertisement for an exhibit at the Gotham City Art Museum. The ‘Treasures of Darius‘ are on display with Jack O’Shea as a celebrity tour guide today.”

“Who is this Darius?” Bonnie asked.

”He was a Persian king,” Chief O’Hara responded, referring to the article.

“Jack O’Shea,” Commissioner Gordon repeated.

“Catwoman’s former associate, turned powerful gossip columnist,” Chief O’Hara said.

“I know who he is. He was a gossip columnist before he worked for Catwoman. He used her notoriety to become nationally syndicated. Justice was truly blind in his case.”

“He came out smelling like a rose. Begorra.”

“I’m glad we called in Batman. Jack O’Shea leading tours of a Persian king’s treasures seems an occasion ripe for a Catwoman appearance.”

Just then, Batman marched through the Commissioner’s double doors.

“It’s good to see you, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon said warmly.

“Here’s the article Catwoman sent us in this here kitten’s collar,” Chief O’Hara said, handing it to Batman.

The Caped Crusader read the article quickly and said. “Jack O’Shea leading tours of a Persian king’s treasures seems an occasion ripe for a Catwoman appearance.”

“My thoughts exactly, Batman.” Commissioner Gordon said. “Why do you suppose Catwoman would tell us what she has planned?”

“One of the weaknesses our foes frequently display is overconfidence,” Batman explained. “Catwoman is daring us to stop her when she knows we know that she knows we know what she is planning.”

“Does it matter we know she knows that we know she knows we know what she is planning?”

“That’s hard to know, Chief–”

“Batman,” Commissioner Gordon said, interrupting the line of thought Batman and Chief O’Hara were pondering. “Could she just be trying to lure you and Robin into a trap?”

“That is another possibility,” Batman admitted.

“Where is Robin?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“He’ll meet me at the museum. As you know, he is a college student, engrossed in his ongoing studies of criminology and others arts of crime fighting; law; and, of course, American government. I’d better be going. There may not be a second to lose.”

“He’s invaluable!” Commissioner Gordon said after he was gone. “There is nothing he wouldn’t do for Gotham City.”

“Sure and there isn’t,” Chief O’Hara agreed, nodding.

Later, the man selling tickets greeted the Dynamic Duo excitedly at the Gotham City Art Museum. “Good morning, Batman and Robin. Mr. O’Shea said you might be coming in about the Treasures of Darius. He has extended an invitation for a complimentary private tour to both of you.”

“One moment,” Batman said, “while Robin and I consider Mr. O’Shea’s generous offer.” They stepped aside to allow the museum employee to deal with other patrons.

“I don’t trust Jack O’Shea, Batman. This could be a trap. That man gives gossip columnists a bad name!”

“Perhaps, Robin, but taking the tour might be the best way to draw Catwoman into the open.”

“O’Shea met Eenie when he served as the photographer at Legs Parkers’s wedding. He’s the one who funded her appeal.”

“Robin, everything you’ve said is true. I do believe, though, that we both read O’Shea’s column.”

“I only read it to keep track of a shady character,” Robin said defensively, “to see if any of the people he interviews are robbed.”

“Good thinking. That shows real initiative. As far as Eenie is concerned, O’Shea may simply be fond of her. She is quite attractive and while I find O’Shea’s writing a bit too theatrical, there is no accounting for taste.”

“I had noticed that Eenie is pretty, Batman, and I know I’m biased. The first time I met O’Shea, he tried to have Catwoman’s men turn me into a street pizza.”

“I understand your reasons for caution. Nevertheless, his association with Catwoman may have merely been to advance his career. We have no proof he is a criminal.”

“I don’t think the man has proven himself worthy of our trust. Do you think we’ll get the proof he’s a crook if we go on this tour?”

“Possibly, but I’m more interested in Catwoman than O’Shea.”

“That’s understandable, Batman,” his young partner said diplomatically. “Okay. Let’s do it. You can watch out for her while I keep a wary eye on him.”

“Sound strategy, old chum.” They returned to the ticket booth. “We accept Mr. O’Shea’s offer,” Batman announced. “Please convey our thanks.”

“Fantastic!” the ticketseller enthused. He handed them a pair of collars. “Please put these on, gentlemen. Batman special.”

“This is most unusual,” Batman observed.

“The tour is interactive. Mr. O’Shea said the collars would enhance some of the audio/visual effects for you.”

“I see,” Batman said warily.

Robin shot Batman a questioning glance. “I don’t know about this.”

“If we’re to do our jobs, we must play along,” the Caped Crusader explained. He put the collar around his neck. “Fortunately, it is not too tight and seems to open easily.”

Robin remained unconvinced. He turned to the man behind the counter and held out the collar, “I think I’ll go without this.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. O’Shea was quite insistent. If you want to take the tour with Batman, you must wear the collar.”

“I suspected as much,” Batman revealed. “Remember, Robin, without danger, the game goes cold.”

“Gosh, Batman,” Robin said with a shrug, “when you put it like that, how can I refuse to enjoy the full effect of the tour?” Robin fastened the collar around his throat.

“Right this way,” the man said He ushered them to an elevator and waited for them to step inside. After the doors closed, he rushed back to the desk, where he picked up the phone; tapped a key; and said, “They’re coming.”

“We’ve got them!” Jack O’Shea reported, putting away his cell phone.

“Purr-fect. You’re all right, Jack. Now, purr-form the first step of their incapacitation.”

“You got it, Cat Baby,” the perfidious printsman said, pressing a button on a control in his pocket. “They’re all yours.”

“Cat Baby?” Eenie said, slapping his arm playfully. “What about me?”

O’Shea drew the hench-kitten closer to him. “Why don’t you and I share a saucer of milk after we finish this job?”

“I have a better idea,” the brunette bad girl declared. She put her lips close to his ear and began to elaborate. As she spoke, O’Shea smiled and his face grew progressively redder.

“Jack, you’re supposed to be my silent partner,” Catwoman said. “Get out of sight!”

Jack O’Shea began to gently draw Eenie away. “I’m staying,” the hench-kitten said. “I don’t want to miss Batman’s capture.”

“What about your idea?”

Eenie grinned at him and licked her lips. “Later,” she said. Then she cautioned him with a wicked laugh and smile. “Don’t wait too long, though.” She raised her mouth to his and kissed him. He drew her further out of sight before the elevator doors opened.

Meanwhile, in the descending elevator, the criminals’ collars suddenly jerked Batman and Robin backward against the metal walls.

“Ow!” Robin exclaimed, bumping his head and moving his hands to his collar. “I was afraid of something like this!”

Batman glanced at his partner in crimefighting. “We’ve been immobilized by tricky magnets concealed in these collars,” he said, reaching for his own collar.

“Holy Fatal Attraction! We’re helpless in this monstrous invisible grip!” Robin exclaimed. “Do you think the magnet has locked the collars around our necks as well?”

“You’re purr-fectly correct, Boy Blunder,” Catwoman said as the elevator opened to admit her. “Now, you two are all mine!” Catwoman laughed and reached toward Robin, holding a funnel from which a puff of powder suddenly burst. “Good night.”

Robin’s head slumped forward.

“Abandon your evil ways while you still can, Catwoman,” Batman advised. “Mark my words: You will not profit from our murders.”

“Who said anything about murder, Batman?” Catwoman asked rhetorically as a second puff of powder emanated from he funnel. She laughed for a long moment and purred, “When my plans for you are complete, part of you will wish you were dead. Of course, the rest will be delighted you were finally allowed to act on your more animalistic impulses . . . .”

Batman’s head fell forward. “Yeah!” O’Shea enthused as he peered into the elevator, Eenie at his side. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

Eenie jabbed an elbow into O’Shea’s ribs and disengaged herself from his arms. “Come on. Business before pleasure,” she said. As he watched her walk toward the waiting loot, he smiled. The view was quite inspiring.

“He thinks I won’t profit from crime.” Catwoman returned her attention to her minions with a brief glance. “Jack, get the stuff while I see to them.” The fetching, feline fiend was laughing as the elevator doors closed. As she descended, Catwoman raised Batman’s chin. “You and Robin are finally all mine, and that makes everything I’ve ever attempted worthwhile. Before I’m finished with you, I can categorically promise you’ll both either be dead or very thoroughly exercised.”

Vixen was waiting when the elevator doors opened again. “You got them, boss. Nice work.”

“Of course I did!” Catwoman removed her hand form Batman’s chin and turned to her other hench-kitten. Her voice softened. There would be ample time to toy with the Dynamic Duo later. ”Thank you, anyway, Vixen,” Catwoman said. “Now, pack them quickly. The others will be along with Darius’s treasures in just a moment. I’ll be driving the Batcycle back to the Catlair. It’s too good a prize to pass up.”

“They didn’t arrive in the Batmobile?”

“No. Robin arrived on foot. I forgot you were paying off the ticket-taker when we originally spotted them.” Catwoman tapped a button on a control and her prisoners fell to the floor of the elevator, since the magnets in the collars had been turned off.

“It doesn’t matter what they were driving. They won’t be going anywhere, ever again,” Vixen said, shrugging with a wicked smile. She bent and slid her fingers inside the Dynamic Duo’s debilitating collars. She straightened and dragged them unceremoniously toward the truck they had brought to transport their boodle.

Shortly after the villains finished unpacking their truck, a rose colored light told Catwoman her lair was being invaded.

“Kittens, come with me,” the Princess of Plunder commanded and led the way to her throne room. “Eenie, switch on the external cameras. We have company and I want to see who else has come to play.”

“Batman and Robin are sleeping off the effects of the knockout gas in the gym and Batgirl is dead,” Eenie said. “It can’t be any of them.”

“Indeed,” Catwoman agreed.

“Isn’t it too early for Batwoman and Flamebird to have tracked us?” Vixen asked.

“Probably,” Jack O’Shea said, watching appreciatively as the brunette bad girl crossed the room.

Once Eenie had activated them, the cameras revealed a squad of police entering the building. ‘The cops,” Eenie announced, “How did they find us?”

“There are only two possibilities,” Catwoman said. “Show me the tigers!”

“It doesn’t look like those cats had Batgirl for breakfast,” O’Shea said after the Persian tigers came into view on the monitor. “I don’t see any blood.”

“Drat! I knew it wasn’t luck,” Catwoman fumed. Then she noticed who was leading the squad and her fury increased by several degrees. ”Oh, look at this! Policewoman Mooney, my traitorous ex-hench-kitten, is leading the cops!” The Feline Fiend spun toward her curly-haired cohort. “Vixen! Activate the security grid.”

“Diana Mooney has been promoted to lieutenant, boss,” Jack O’Shea said.

“Shut up, Jack!” The gossip columnist hung his head until Eenie crossed the room to sit down closely beside him. He put an arm around her, turned to face her, and smiled.

Blips corresponding with each police officer began to move on a grid depicting a maze. Catwoman watched and began to laugh. “Seal the catacombs, Vixen!”

Vixen obediently threw a series of switches. “Now, our sensors can track them by their body heat for the rest of their natural lives. That is, assuming we aren’t letting them out.”

“Purr-fect! Lieutenant Mooney, my former Cat-Servant Catarina, and the rest of her squad will find their tomb quite amazing,” Catwoman purred. “Let’s have some fun with our new mice and their head rat.” She threw another switch and threw her head back to laugh. “I’ve just arranged to periodically change the layout of the maze. Walls will slide back and forth; rise and fall; or rotate one hundred eighty degrees. If we had the time, I would dearly love to isolate each of those cops in their own private prison cell-“

"I like the sound of your revenge, boss,” Eenie said.

Catwoman smiled at her with genuine pleasure. “The cops' imprisonment is only the beginning. Our Persian tigers’ breakfast seems to have escaped. Unfortunately . . . however, right now we have Batman and Robin with whom to toy. So, we’ll leave our mice and their queen rat to wander aimlessly through those catacombs . . . purr-haps forever . . . or maybe, when we return, I’ll take purr-ticular pleasure in dispatching them . . . one by one."

“Very scientific, boss.”

“Thank you, Vixen. The security grid will block their portable radios and cell phones. Now, before we deal with the Dynamic Do-Gooders, let's fix it so if Gordon or O’Hara send back-up, there’ll be no sign they were ever here. We’ll disperse the police cars outside to places around town, like Derwin Alley. Is everything set for the rest of our chores?”

“You bet, Catwoman,” Jack O’Shea said, releasing Eenie and returning his attention to the fiendish feline. The brunette henchwoman let her head fall onto her boyfriend’s shoulder and smiled. “Once you’ve set your plans for Batman and Robin in motion, we have Darius’s treasures to catalog.”

“You’re purr-fectly correct, my purr-fidious printsman. I look forward to learning precisely what we’ve purr-loined. Meanwhile, the cops are safely entombed and we’ll be free to toy with Batman and Robin to our hearts’ content.” The four fiends laughed. “Let’s go!” Catwoman urged, licking her lips in anticipation and leading them from her audience chamber. As they took their leave, each cast a gleeful glance at the blips moving around the maze in which the officers they represented were hopelessly trapped, as yet unaware of their situation.

Some time later, Robin revived to find he was lying on his back with his arms bound behind him and his legs spread to shoulder width. The surface upon which he lay was both rubberized and sloped. Blood had rushed to his head, since his feet rested at the top of the slope. “Oh, my head!” the Boy Wonder said as he looked around. His initial impressions told them he was in a gym or weight room. He thrashed his head around and spotted the Caped Crusader in a mirror.

“Batman!” he called. Batman lay in the same position as Robin, except that his feet faced his partner and some kind of athletic apparatus separated the heroes.

Batman moaned and began to revive. “Robin, can you hear me?”

“I’m here, Batman. It looks like Catwoman got us.”

“Yes,” the Dark Knight agreed, “and it appears we’re still wearing these infernal collars.”

Catwoman led Vixen into the gym. “Time to wake up, boys,” she said huskily.

“I think they’ve started waking up a little already,” Vixen observed. “What happened to Eenie?”

The brunette hench-kitten lay her hand on Jack O’Shea’s shoulder as he moved to follow his beautiful black-clad boss into the room. “Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

“We’re going to take care of Batman and Robin, right?” O’Shea answered.

“You’re not! If you gloat over them and they escape, you will have sacrificed your plausible deniability. I’m not willing to lose you over them.”

“What are you talking about? When Catwoman is finished with them, they’ll be dead.”

Eenie sighed. “I sincerely hope you’re right, but . . . Now, listen, Jack. Seven years ago I was to get Robin to play with after Catwoman finished mashing his mind to mush in her gigantic echo chamber. As you well know, I could have come up with several entertaining uses for a virile young zombie.” Eenie smiled at Jack. “Anyway, while we were out stealing Chad and Jeremy’s voices, our boy toys tried to catch us red-handed at the robbery. Somehow, they had escaped. I know Batman has done the impossible before, and Catwoman will tell you he is the world’s greatest escape artist, among his many other attributes.”

“So why not just shoot them and be done with it?” O’Shea complained.

“Catwoman would never go for that!” Eenie explained. “Super-criminals like her – and, for that matter, like me – want to enjoy the moment; assert our supremacy; dispatch the costumed vigilantes with style. The method chosen to eliminate our enemies will serve as a sort of signature when the deed is done, enhancing, or in some cases, establishing, one’s reputation.”

“Is that why you and Vixen tried to kill Batgirl?”

“Very good, Jack,” Eenie complimented, kissing him. “It’s good to see you thinking . . . with your brain. I should be going.”

“So, what do you want me to do while you and the others gloat?”

“You’re more familiar than the rest of us with Darius’s treasures. Start cataloging them.”

“Are you kidding? That’s a lot of work!”

“We’ll have to do it before we sell the stuff, anyway,” Eenie pointed out. “Besides, the sooner we get finished, the sooner you and I can get away.” Eenie grinned at him like a Cheshire cat. “What I have planned for us you could never put in your column.”

“What?”

“I told you at the museum. If you tell me you forgot–”

“Oh,” O’Shea said, smiling down at her. “So, you think I’ll enjoy that?”

“I’m going to be certain you do before we’ve finished . . . long before we’ve finished.”

“Promise?”

“You’re impossible!”

“I can’t wait.”

“Good,” she purred over her shoulder as she stepped toward the doors. “Now, get to work.” Her impish laughter echoed in the hall after she vanished through the door. To Jack O’Shea, the corridor seemed to grow darker.

“Don’t you boys like the idea of being my pets?” Catwoman asked her prisoners as Eenie padded into the room. The hench-kitten had arrived in time to see Catwoman settle comfortably on an extremely thick mat draped with a leopard spotted blanket. Vixen sank onto a thinner, similarly decorated mat. As the newcomer curled up on a second similar mat at Catwomna’s feet, Vixen and her mistress stretched luxuriously.

“Catwoman,” Batman began, lifting his head. A whir sounded above him, drawing the Caped Crusader’s attention to a leather leash attached to his collar. He tried to let his head settle back on the rubberized surface upon which he lay, but felt the collar pulled against his throat and changed his mind. Batman whipped his legs to one side and raised himself to his knees. The whirring sounded above him again and the slack in the leash was taken up again.

Robin began to rise at the same moment. “What do you mean by calling us your pets, Catwoman?” Robin demanded. The whirring above him that took up the slack in his leash became quickly apparent to the Twenty-one-year-old Titan.

“Pet is a role to which you and Batman will become quickly accustomed, Boy Blunder.”

“Holy Chokehold!” Robin exclaimed, whipping his legs beneath him and rising to his knees. The whirring sounded as Robin’s neck moved upward.

“I knew my leashes would get you boys up and on your feet,” Catwoman said. “You’ve realized, of course, that the reels from which the leashes extend will retract any slack you allow in them.”

“You’re going to allow these collars to become nooses?” Batman asked.

“Purr-haps.”

“Holy High Noon! You won’t get away with this. We’ll escape your ghoulish gallows.”

“Purr-haps this encounter can be moved in another direction. You’ve already discovered the alternative to becoming my creatures voluntarily. No doubt you’d agree that it is quite unpleasant,” Catwoman purred.

“I have no intention of becoming your slave!” Batman said.

“Remember how you increased my word power and expanded my vocabulary, Batman? The word I’ve chosen for your role is pet. You will be mine, and I’m sure Robin will find Vixen’s company just as stimulating.”

The villainous women laughed, as Batman and Robin climbed to their feet as the slack in their leashes was taken up again. They each stood at the foot of the slope on which they had lain.

“I’ll never play that role, Catwoman!” Batman said. “Your refusal to use your beauty and intelligence to help mankind compels us to be adversaries. Why must you insist on harming your fellow man rather than helping him?”

“It’s that I‘ve been told I’m good when I’m bad so many times. Let me show you exactly what I mean by that statement, Batman. I can be very convincing,” the Feline Fiend offered.

“You know I can resist you, Catwoman,” Batman mercilessly reminded her.

“I’m not interested in you either, Vixen!” Robin said.

“You have no idea, little boy, what I can do for you, or what I’m willing to do to you!” Vixen said. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve never had a single complaint – ever!”

“There’s a first time for almost everything,” Robin said philosophically. “Get over it!”

“Boss,” Vixen began. “Are we going to take rejection lying down?”

“Of course not!” Catwoman answered. She sat up, folded her legs in front of her body, leaned forward and beamed at her prisoners. “All right, kittens. Exercise the captives.” Catwoman grinned as Eenie and Vixen each stood, walked slowly toward the collared captives, and reached for the controls. “Wait!” Catwoman suddenly commanded, gesturing as though she had thought of something.

The hench-kittens darted a questioning glance at their mistress.

“What is it, boss?” Eenie asked.

“Remove their belts!”

“Good sense offers its own rewards,” Vixen said, obeying. “Just think, Robin. This is only the beginning.” Robin’s belt fell to the floor as the call girl’s fingers danced playfully across his abdomen and lingered against his hip.

“Leave me alone, Vixen,” Robin demanded. He noticed Eenie had removed Batman’s belt.

“Each of you will have the other to keep you company once this process starts,” Catwoman said. “That is, until you agree that other forms of companionship would be more worthwhile.” She came to retrieve Batman’s belt from Eenie and Robin’s from the floor where Vixen had let it fall. She grinned wickedly at her captives. “In the meantime, I’ll keep these little trophies, by which I’ll remember you. All right, men, move it!” The Feline Fiend draped the belts over her shoulders and reached for the controls to activate them.

“Now,” Catwoman purred, “let’s exercise them!” Her fingers moved and the surfaces upon which the Dynamic Duo stood began to move, drawing the Dynamic Duo’s throats against their collars. To relieve this pressure, Batman and Robin began to jog up the slope. The downward moment of the rubberized surface, however, kept them from advancing. The caped captives’ plight began to entrance Catwoman and her hench-kittens.

“It’s a treadmill!” Batman said.

“Gosh, Batman,” Robin said. “How long do you think we can keep up this pace?”

“You could always take advantage of the alternative,” Catwoman pointed out. Then she shrugged. “Of course, if my company is a fate worse than death . . . .”

“That isn’t going to happen, Catwoman!” Batman said, keeping pace with the moving surface. “You should know that by now.”

Batman was aware the Princess of Plunder offered him pleasant opportunities. In the past, there had always been Robin to consider where Catwoman was concerned. Now that he was an adult, those concerns had faded. Still, being blackmailed into a relationship and forced into a life of crime was intolerable.

“You’ve offered us the alternatives of death or servitude before,” the Caped Crusader continued.

“Indeed I have, Batman. The difference is, this time each of you must consider the fate of the other. One hundred percent capitulation is required.”

Catwoman’s alternative to death, while tempting, was impossible, Batman knew.

“No deal, Catwoman,” Batman softly said. “If you’d reform, there’s a chance I would consider your advances . . . but under these circumstances, there’s no way.”

“Well, I thought you’d want to think about if for awhile,” Catwoman said reflectively. “We’ll return later to see if you change your minds. Meanwhile, you’ll run until well after you feel the burn – tiring all the while. Any slack you gain in the leashes will be instantly taken up, requiring shorter steps. Oh, and I’d be careful not to stumble. You see, if too much resistance is applied to the leashes, they’ll retract completely and leave you dancing in the air until you’re quite dead. Hang in there. Ta, ta for now.”

The black-clad blonde turned in the door and touched her fingers to her lips, blowing her victims a parting kiss.

“Be seeing you,” Eenie said, following her mistress without looking back.

“When the time comes, Robin,” Vixen teased, “you’ll be all mine! Until then.” Her laughter echoed in the room as she left and locked the door behind her.

Alone; with their hands bound behind their backs; and without their utility belts, Batman and Robin jogged along their treadmills, breathing heavily.

As the Dynamic Duo paced toward their dire destiny, Harley Quinn loaded a truck with a forklift at the One-Armed Bandit Novelty Company. In the front of the truck, Harley, back in street clothes, consulted one of the thin files she had taken form Warden Crichton before driving to the Gotham State University Student Union.

“Hey! Could I get a hand with this?” she called after backing to the loading dock. Help arrived as the vending machine she unloaded hovered on a hydraulic lift just above the ground.

The worker who had responded to her request put casters under the machine’s corners and began to move it. “I’ll have to check with Susie to see where she wants this.”

“Susie?” Harley asked.

“The student manager.”

“You do that,” the comely clown encouraged. As the worker left, she bent and plugged in the machine.

The worker reappeared, trailed by a short brunette wearing a long plaid skirt, red turtleneck sweater, and a gold necklace. “Do you have some paperwork on this delivery?” the girl asked pleasantly. “I don’t remember being told to expect you.”

“Sure. I’ll have to get if from the truck. Help yourselves to a drink while I get if for you. It’s set to give out a couple of freebies.”

“Thank you,” the worker said, glancing at Susie as Harley disappeared around a corner. Susie shrugged. The worker examined the selections and made his choice.

Suddenly, a jet of colored gas issued from the vending machine. Susie and the worker were quickly overcome and collapsed to the pavement, helpless. Harley had waited once she was out of sight. She reappeared seconds after her machine stopped spewing gas, unplugged it, and moved it to an area not saturated with gas.

Harley returned to her victims, dragged Susie from the gas cloud by her underarms, and propped her against the machine when she reached it. A key from the top of the machine opened it to reveal the dark interior. Harley lifted Susie inside and locked the machine. Returning to the truck and loading the machine back in place was childishly simple. The worker, having been deprived of his wallet, was still out cold when Harley drove away.

Batgirl arrived at the Gotham Amusement Pier and started looking for the Joker’s robots. She did not see them, but spotted the Jokermobile turning into the Quarterdeck Club’s parking garage and moved to follow. She coasted to a halt and watched as the Clown Prince of Crime crossed the parking garage and stepped through a door. Batgirl dismounted and hurried after him.

In the foyer, she found a doorman sitting against one wall with his head bowed over his knees. “Are you okay?” she asked, bending over him.

The doorman moaned. “Wow!” he said a moment later and began to try standing. “Whatever that was, it packed quite a wallop.”

"Take it easy,” Batgirl said, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“The Joker came to the door and I told him I was not allowed to let him in. He laughed, said that was fine, and reached to shake my hand. Shaking hands is so natural, even though I don’t do it very often in this job, I didn’t give it a second thought. As I shook his hand, I felt a shock. I must have blacked out, because I don’t remember anything between then and talking to you now, Batgirl.”

“You’re lucky he wasn’t using one of his lethal Joker buzzers.” The image of Batman and Robin shocked senseless and left breathless on the floor of Little Louie Groovy’s apartment flashed through Batgirl’s mind. Thank heaven she had prevented that nightmare from reaching its deadly, intended conclusion.

“Do you mean he could have killed me?”

“Possibly. Don’t worry. He won’t hurt anyone while I’m around.”

“You’re going after him?”

“Yes. Call the police. They’ll want him.”

“Right.” The doorman went to dutifully inform the police of the Joker’s presence, while Batgirl crept after him.

Inside at the charity luncheon, the Joker was in the middle of an argument when she found him. Over to one side, he and a woman were surrounded by a crowd of curious on-lookers. “What do you mean you didn’t hire me?!” the Green-haired Gargoyle demanded.

“Our legal department advised against it,” Miss Phelps explained.

“What do they know?! I’ve been in court dozens of times–”

“They know how to keep us out of court,” she told him.

“Well, that’s worthwhile,” the Joker conceded, and then he sighed. “All right. Listen. I’ve decided to profit from this luncheon one way or another. If I didn’t get the job, we’ll just have to move on to my alternate plan.”

“You didn’t get the job, Joker,” Miss Phelps reiterated. “Tell me about your alternate plan.”

The Joker activated his robot control microphone. “Robots: Seize this woman!” Ms. Glee, Madam Titter, and Chuckles entered the room and approached their master. “You see, my dear, I have a number in mind. It’s a big number, and I’m going to get it in a salary, or as a combination of robbery proceeds and ransom for you.” The Joker laughed uproariously. Each of the robots gripped Miss Phelps, holding her in place and rendering her immobile.

“You’re very brave, Joker,” Batgirl said, “threatening and hiding behind a woman.”

“Don’t be sexist, Batgirl. I’ve already done away with Batman and Robin. Only you, Flamebird, and Batwoman are left. So, now it’s your turn! Robots: Attack Batgirl!”

Ms. Glee, Chuckles, and Madam Titter advanced on the Curved Crusader as all of the citizens except Miss Phelps, whom the Joker continued to restrain, scattered.

Batgirl slid to her right and launched a showgirl high kick at Madame Titter, knocking the robot off “her” feet. Chuckles stepped close to Batgirl and reached for her extended ankle. Batgirl pulled her leg back, leaned to the right and shot the leg out sideways, connecting with Chuckles’ chest. Instead of toppling, the robot took her knee in a crushing grip and spun. Batgirl winced as the robot’s fingers closed and she exhaled gratefully as she was released and propelled through the air. She lowered her shoulder to bowl Ms. Glee over, as she flew toward the second “female” robot. Once her target was down, Batgirl glanced quickly over her shoulder to check Chuckles and Madam Titter’s positions. Deciding she had time, Batgirl swung a chair into the head of the fallen robot. The chair shattered.

The Curved Crusader was horrified as one of the hardest psychological blows she had ever been compelled to endure hit her just as she delivered the physical blow to Ms. Glee. Had Batgirl smashed the legs of that chair across the back of a man’s head, he would have collapsed into unconsciousness. While the Purple Clad Paragon regarded the metal monster, Ms. Glee looked up at Batgirl, as the wreckage to which the chair had been reduced hit the floor. Desperately, Batgirl kicked the robot’s chest. The blows had no effect whatsoever.

The Joker had begun to laugh as he watched the fight. As the Funny Fiend realized Batgirl had learned she was helpless against her attackers, his merriment reached a cacophonic crescendo.

Batgirl was vaguely aware of the Joker as she watched Ms. Glee rise unscathed to her robotic feet. “Look out, Batgirl!” Miss Phelps shouted.

“No kibitzing!” the Joker said, savagely twisting Miss Phelps arm behind her back and eliciting a painful yelp. “Chuckles and Madam Titter, seize her!”

Batgirl whirled to face Chuckles and Madam Titter, but felt them clasp her arms in an iron grip. The Dark Angel of Gotham tried to writhe free, but the steel fingers held her motionless, helpless.

“Ms. Glee, hold this one,” the Joker ordered, turning Miss Phelps into the other robot’s care. He walked over to take in the vision of his pretty, purple prisoner. “You have so much to do, Batgirl,” the Joker observed conversationally. “To save yourself and protect my other prisoner. You must be feeling a little stretched.” Then he laughed.

“What do you want from me?” Miss Phelps asked timidly.

“You’re going to help me achieve my big number,” he explained with a laugh. “To do this, you will wiggle your way over to the main microphone and order everyone to return to their tables and pile their valuables at their places for collection.”

“Are you serious?” Miss Phelps questioned.

“I am deadly serious,” the Joker said. The mirth in his voice had transformed into a sinister undercurrent. “Robots, force Batgirl to her knees.” Chuckles and Madam Titter began to press forward and down on Batgirl’s shoulders. Miss Phelps stood transfixed as the robots exerted pressure on Batgirl. The helpless heroine locked her knees and tried to resist the inexorable pressure. Eventually, pain forced her to unlock them and she felt her body lurch forward. She collapsed with a painful cry. Batgirl exhaled as her butt settled between her ankles.

“Whatever you do to me, Joker,” Batgirl said, staring at him with an arctic chill in her eyes, “you will not get away with it. In fact, you have no idea how dearly you will pay.”

“Oh, come on, Batgirl,” the Joker said, laughing. “You know you don’t scare me, especially not in your current position.”

More laughter masked the effect Batgirl’s words were having. He well knew how capable she was of handling herself and that she had gotten in the habit of cataloging offenses against her and repaying them with vindictive delight when the opportunity presented itself.

Of course, now she was in his power. The idea of giving up the advantage he had over her was unthinkable, and would, to the Joker’s way of thinking, be criminally suicidal for his career.

“Ms. Glee,” the Joker said. “Approach Batgirl from behind and see that she remains on her knees.” The robot obeyed. “Chuckles and Madam Titter, pull slowly on Batgirl’s arms.” Batgirl inhaled and gritted her teeth as the robots obeyed. “Once her arms have detached, Miss Phelps, I’ll have her legs plucked out as well.”

Miss Phelps felt anger surge through her as she marched to the microphone. “You fiend!” she accused.

“Yes,” the Joker agreed, nodding as he regarded Gotham City’s tortured guardian. “Batgirl is holding together very well – for the moment.” The Joker returned his gaze to the horrified Miss Phelps and smiled at her with genuine pleasure. He laughed.

“Um,” Miss Phelps said into the microphone hesitantly. “Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and prepare to turn all of your valuables over to the Joker. Um. Batgirl’s life depends upon our obedience.”

On the floor, in the horrific grip of the Joker’s robots, Batgirl shook her head violently. Pain prevented her from protesting verbally.

“You did that quite nicely, Miss Phelps. Thank you. I’ll release Batgirl as soon as you present me with the goodies.”

“What?”

Joker turned toward his robotic minions and their comely captive. “Ms. Glee, lean your knee into Batgirl’s shoulder blades.” Batgirl’s anguished cry got Miss Phelps to hurriedly begin collecting the loot from the cooperative crowd. Apparently, the robots’ rough treatment of Batgirl had convinced them to obey as well.

“Okay, here is your money, jewelry, and other stuff. Now let her go!” Miss Phelps said, presenting a bundle to the Clown Prince of Crime.

“You have a backbone, Miss Phelps,” the Joker said, reaching around her and tracing her spine with a fingertip. She shuddered. “I think I could grow to really like you.”

“I said let her go!” Miss Phelps said, “and leave me alone.”

“You are so cruel, Miss Phelps, to make me choose between you.” The Joker favored the woman in his arms with a lecherous grin. “Robots, release Batgirl.“ Batgirl fell to the floor and exhaled. The pain disappeared from her face.

“Thank you,” Miss Phelps whispered.

The Joker turned to look at Batgirl over Miss Phelps’ shoulder. As the Dark Knight Damsel got to her feet, the Joker laughed and issued further orders. “Chuckles, seize Batgirl and take her away. Madam Titter and Ms. Glee, take Miss Phelps, but be gentle with her. Let’s go.” He picked up his loot bundle before leading his robotic minions and their prisoners from the room.

Sirens sounded from far away as the Joker and his entourage reached the parking garage. “Hurry!” the Joker ordered. They reached the Jokermobile and the villain leaned close to Batgirl. “Good night,” he said. A puff of powder shot from the artificial flower on his jacket and burst in her face. The heroine’s head fell forward. The Joker laughed and put Miss Phelps to sleep as well. “Put them in the car and climb onto the back.” Soon, the Jokermobile roared into traffic and the police proceeded in hot pursuit.

Chief O’Hara was in the lead as he and his force sped after the Jokermobile. Suddenly, a man leapt from the back of the criminal’s car and charged toward him. The Chief swerved and clipped the man, knocking him to the ground.

“Mother McKree!” O’Hara said, skidding his car to a stop and racing to the man’s aid. The victim took hold of Chief O’Hara’s ankle with bone-crushing force. “What are you doing?! Your grip is inhuman!” The Chief drew his gun and aimed at the fallen man’s head. “Let go!” he ordered.

The man did not let go. Chief O’Hara thumbed back the hammer of his revolver and shouted at him again, “I said, let go! Now!!” He did not.

O’Hara could tell his ankle would be reduced to pulp in seconds. Being permanently crippled his only other choice, the policeman fired into the arm of the hand smashing his ankle. A black hole appeared in the limb.

“Begorra! No blood! He is inhuman!” Chief O’Hara emptied his weapon into the robot’s face. The grip on his ankle slackened to nothing as sparks began to pop from the wires behind what had been a face seconds earlier.

Chief O’Hara raced to his car and contacted the remaining officers, who had roared past him in pursuit of the Joker. “Listen! Joker sent some kind of metal man after me. You are authorized to use lethal force against anyone he sends to intercept you. It may be your only chance!”

Chief O’Hara’s order was too late. Ms. Glee was already standing in front of an oncoming police car with arms extended in front of her and her palms flattened perpendicular to the street. The car struck her with brakes screaming and the horn blaring. Ms. Glee bent forward at the waist, enabling the palms of her hands to shatter the car’s windshield. The robot’s pelvis was punctured, exposing metal and wires, as Ms. Glee was sent flying. The car continued forward and hit a lamppost.

Madam Titter was holding a police car up by the front bumper when O’Hara’s order reached the trapped officers. They rolled down their car windows and leaned out to fire at the robot, which was quickly destroyed.

The remaining cars roared after the Joker as he began to zigzag through streets and alleys while smoking a cigar. The Clown Prince of Crime approached a long, low bridge and reached for a control on his tricky dashboard panel. A mixture of oil and gasoline quickly coated the surface of the bridge. The first pursuing car entered the mess before the Joker tossed his cigar high into the air and backward.

The oil hampered the police as they tried to swerve to safety when the gas caught fire. It swept along the length of the bridge. The police quickly pulled their cars to a stop. All of the officers leaped from the bridge to safety as the police cars chasing the Joker erupted loudly into plumes of flame.

The Joker’s laughter echoed on the wind as he sped away.

Harley Quinn, back in her red and black clown outfit, was also laughing as she spotted Venus on the security monitors, walking to her car in the Wayne Foundation Building parking garage. “It’s about time,” she muttered. She had waited for what seemed to her an eternity for her victim, with only the bound and gagged parking garage attendant for company.

Harley flipped the switch that deactivated the black and white striped barrier across the garage exit and stood out of sight to wait for the blonde girl to drive into her trap. Venus’s car approached and stopped.

The driver’s side window lowered and Harley smiled as the blonde girl’s head, shoulders, and arm emerged from the car. Venus swiped her key card through the reader and frowned as the gate refused to budge. She tried a second time with no effect. “Come on!” Venus said. Then she noticed the shadow approaching from the attendant’s booth. “Excuse me, there seems to be a problem with this card reader.”

The glimpse Venus got of the approaching figure coincided with an explosive pain that overwhelmed her. Suddenly, the pain ebbed away and blackness washed over the reformed moll.

One hand unlocked the car door and opened it while the other popped the trunk. The curvy clown dragged Venus to the back of the car and dumped her in the trunk. ‘This rope knotted around her wrists will bind her adequately and this scarf wadded in her mouth will keep her quiet!’ Harley slammed the trunk shut. The kidnapper then returned to the cashier’s booth, put the heavy flashlight with which she had hit Venus back into place, picked up the briefcase into which she had packed the days’s proceeds as well as the attendant’s valuables, raised the barrier, slipped behind the wheel of the idling car, and drove off.

”That was easy,” Harley remarked. The attack had taken less than a minute.

“Boy, this will be quite a bombshell for Mr. J – or should I say, two bombshells!” she said happily as she drove to the One-Armed Bandit Novelty Company.

The Jokermobile pulled in behind her as she parked. “Hi, Puddin’!” Harley cried, leaping from the truck and throwing herself into the Joker’s arms.

“Look at you!” the Joker said delightedly, spinning her around and giving her a kiss. “Nice outfit! It looks like we’ve both had a busy morning!”

“I have a big surprise for you, Mr. J,” Harley said coyly.

“I can’t wait,” the Joker said, crushing his gorgeous groupie. “But we have business to attend to first. I’m afraid I lost the robots, so for now, it’s just you and me, kid.”

“So, you retrieved the robots back from Catwoman – and then turned right around and lost ‘em again?”

“That’s crime business, baby.”

“That’s Harley, Harley Quinn.”

“Harlequin? Harley Quinn? Delicious!”

The perfidious pair laughed delightedly for a long while before Harley noticed the remaining occupants of the Jokermobile. “Hey! You got Batgirl! Way to go!! Who’s the other one?”

“I applied for a job this morning as a broadcaster for the Gotham Gladiators and they had the temerity to turn me down! I decided they owe me a salary! What I didn’t get at their charity luncheon, they‘ll give me in exchange for her!” The Joker laughed. “Tell you what, kid--”

“Harley.”

“Right. Take her to one of the guest rooms, make her 'comfortable,' and lock her in. I’ll take Batgirl to the special shower I told you about last night. Join me there once Miss Phelps has been tucked away.”

“Okay Mr. J. But what about my surprise for you?”

“You can show it to me when we’ve finished with Batgirl. Now, scoot!” He waited, watching her as she carried the still-unconscious Miss Phelps over her shoulder. He realized his amorous admirer was turning out to be a strong – as well as splendidly shapely – assistant.

When Batgirl revived, she found she had been leaned in the corner of a tiled chamber with a clear door on one side. She crossed the chamber with a single stride and tried the door. It was locked. Above her, she found a showerhead, but the knobs controlling the water flow were nowhere to be found. Batgirl’s hands encountered only smooth tile.

Her freedom of movement was significant because it indicated she had not been bound. She reached for a device in her belt and found it had been removed. “Figures,” she muttered and began to look for a lock on the clear door.

A door outside the shower opened and the Joker stepped into view. Batgirl threw herself against her prison door. The only obvious result was a dull thud. Her shoulder now hurt, but she flung herself against it again, anyway.

The Joker laughed. “That glass is shatterproof, Batgirl. You’re not going anywhere.”

Batgirl glared at the Clown Prince of Crime as she beat savagely on the glass door with just her fists. The Joker continued watching her and laughing.

“Oh, Batgirl, I am so looking forward to the little procedure I have planned for you! In fact, I‘m enjoying the suspense so much, I can almost justify delaying its commencement to watch you struggle!” The Joker paused and his ongoing, chilling laughter echoed in the chamber as his healthy, helpless hostage slid her hands against the smooth walls of her prison, pressing frantically. Vainly. When the echo of his laughter died, Joker’s voice dropped to imbue his next word with ominous foreboding. “Almost.”

The pretty, purple-clad prisoner ceased her exploration of her prison and locked eyes with her captor. She held his gaze as all the warmth drained from her face. What remained was cold and terrible. The Joker stiffened and brought a thin smile to Batgirl’s lips. The Clown Prince of Crime had seen that look before and Batgirl was pleased it scared him.

Her anger toward the Joker had been smoldering for two years. It had sparked into something beyond the enmity she felt against all lawbreakers when the Joker allowed his henchmen to literally manhandle her as she hung suspended on one side of his gigantic jack-in-the-box, waiting to die. The brutal efficiency with which the Dark Angel had dealt with her molesters, before turning them over to the authorities, had scared the army of male goons in Gotham City’s underworld into steering well clear of the Joker ever since.

Perhaps that was why the Clown Price of Crime had made a point of putting her beautiful body on display inside his sinister spinning top, thus humiliating her before leaving her to die the next time she was in his power. After escaping, she had maneuvered herself into a one-on-one fight with the Jolly Jester and drawn out the drubbing she delivered, savoring every smack and punishing punch she delivered. Only the intervention of Batwoman had spared the Joker utter demolition and the subsequent, lengthy hospitalization Gotham’s Shapely Sentinel had premeditated.

Now, she was at the Mad Mountebank of Mockery’s mercy once again, with no illusions about the amount of that commodity he would afford her.

“The drug I’m about to immerse you in worked so well on Harley, I decided to do a beta test “

“You’re not going to kill me?” Batgirl asked.

“Kill you?!” the Joker replied with a laugh. “I’ve tried to do that so many times and had so little success.”

“True.” Batgirl let her hands settle on her shapely hips as she regarded him. “Who is Harley?”

“My newest assistant, and that brings me back to my experiment,” the Joker answered. “In addition to my curiosity – scientific and otherwise – my current actions are guided by the old adage, ‘If you can’t beat them, join them.’ You know me, though, I’m no straight man, either in the comical sense or otherwise!” The Joker paused to laugh and went on. “So, there has to be a twist. My problem, my dear, is that you would never willingly perform the little chores I’d assign to a twist!” The Joker’s intimate reference made Batgirl frown and narrow her eyes. She shrugged mentally and listened as the Joker continued. “I find the idea of going straight utterly abhorrent. Therefore, I have to change your opinion! When I’ve finished with you, you’ll have ceased to be Batgirl and become a Badgirl of my very own!”

The Clown Prince of Crime paused, treasuring the horrified look on Batgirl’s face.

“You’re mad, Joker!” Batgirl declared, once the criminal mastermind’s inevitable laughter ceased. “If you have any illusions about my being persuaded–”

“Persuaded? Persuaded!” The Joker burst out laughing uproariously. “Nothing could be further from my mind!”

The Joker’s latest delectable distraction picked that apt moment to appear.

“Your alpha subject, Joker?” Batgirl asked sweetly.

“Harley Quinn, at your service, B-girl. I guess we’ll be seein' ya'. Right, Puddin’?”

“Oh, Harley, you have no idea!” he said, slipping his arm around her waist and crushing her against him with a laugh.

The Joker paused to let his merriment subside. Then, mercilessly, he returned to taunting Batgirl, “You may have noticed the smoothness of your prison walls.”

“I had,” the prisoner admitted. Waiting.

“There are controls, of course – out here. Harley.” The Joker released his clownish companion and laughed as she spun a valve and released a fine, cold spray, from the showerhead above Batgirl. The good girl jumped, shivering, but felt the water warm considerably a moment later. “I hope that’s comfortable for you,” the Joker said kindly.

The fine spray cascading over Batgirl and streaming down her body before dripping to form a puddle around her feet was soft enough to allow conversation to continue. Batgirl glared at him until she felt water begin to lap at her ankle. She glanced down to investigate the cause. The chamber had no visible drain!

“I’m comfortable, Joker, and I see your word is worth everything it always has been. How soon will you be leaving me to drown?”

The Joker threw his head back and laughed. Once he had finished, he regarded his comely captive once again. “You misunderstand, my dear. I’ve mixed the water with the chemical I acquired from Catwoman – cataphrenic. I believe you’ve heard of it.” The Joker’s voice became sly. “I understand from her that you’re already quite familiar with its effects.”

Batgirl gritted her teeth, rage mixed with horror.

The Joker continued. “I’ve measured everything out quite carefully to prevent accidents. Despite its dilution, you’ll find it quite potent as it softens your will, making it malleable – changing your mind into something I can shape to my liking. For the drug to be effective, you’ll need to be immersed in it for some time. I’d leave you to soak now, but I don’t want to miss a second of your costume saturating and showing off your succulent shape.”

Harley cleared her throat.

“Oops! Sorry, Harley, but I’m going to need a moment alone to adjust our newest recruit’s attitude,” the Joker said. “I think it might be well to provide her with the kind of private attention of which she is so very worthy.”

“You’re disgusting, Joker!” Batgirl raged.

“You’ve forgotten last night already!” Harley said, pouting.

“Harley, you’re jealous! That is so sweet! Listen. What I mean about paying Badgirl worthy attention is that she’s going to be all wet when this process is complete. Why don’t you go find that purple outfit my old girl Cornelia wore so well? Badgirl will look so much better without that hideous bat emblazoned across her chest!”

“I’ll just bet that’s what you meant,” Batgirl said.

“Hey! Mister J is the boss around here!” Harley said.

“That’s the spirit! Now, get going, Harley. Once I’ve finished here, I want so see that surprise you have for me.”

“You’re goin' to love it!” Harley gushed. Then, she vanished through the door.

Once Harley had gone, the Joker returned his attention to the drenched living doll cataphrenic would soon give to him. “Oh, your costume is clinging to you so nicely, Batgirl! Of course, I knew it would!” The Joker interrupted his gloating to laugh. “I’ve proportioned everything perfectly. Hey! Speaking of perfect proportions, let’s talk about you. How do you feel about becoming my new girl? Be honest. I really can’t tell you how much I look forward to playing with you.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” Batgirl said when he stopped laughing. “I’m sure whatever you plan to do with me will be thoroughly disgusting. I find the idea of being in your employ nauseating.”

“Well, you’ll change your mind soon enough – once your immersion is complete.” The Joker chuckled wickedly and favored her with a lecherous grin.

“How do you know Catwoman’s chemical will work on me – a second time – and this time without the combination of the Psyche-Eggchange Machine and the Cat's Eye Jade?” Batgirl asked.

She knew the question was a desperate gamble. The Joker was too smart to try an experiment like this if he was not virtually certain it would work. Still, there would be no harm in pushing his buttons. She might goad him into letting her out of this trap and, as a result, inadvertently providing an avenue for escape.

“Just the drug alone worked quite effectively on Robin more than once!” The Joker started to laugh and stopped, suddenly dismayed. ‘At least, that’s what Catwoman told me . . . and can I be sure Catty gave me the right formula?’

“Having second thoughts, Joker?”

“As a matter of fact, Batgirl, I am. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Since every sexy centimeter of your outfit is already soaked–” He realized what he had just said and looked her up and down, drinking in every inch of the voluptuous vision. His red lips curled from their dismayed frown into another lecherous smile as he leered at her. “You know, you really are a sight to behold – and a woman to be held closely and tightly as well!”

“In your dreams!”

“Before those dreams come true, I’ll step out and attend to a few things. Harley has what I’m sure will be a delightful surprise for me and I have a hostage to ransom. I’ll be back in time to assess the effectiveness of Catwoman’s chemical. If it does the job, I’ll release you and we’ll live happily ever after. I promise.”

“You shouldn’t write checks that can’t be cashed, Joker.”

The Joker ignored her. “Of course, if Catwoman ripped me off by giving me the wrong formula, I can’t judge Miss Kitty too harshly. After all, I stole back the robots I traded to her for it!”

“No honor among thieves, eh, Joker?”

“Rarely, Batgirl, rarely. Oh, well, if the stuff doesn’t work, I can always switch to the primary water tank and leave the shower going. Your ravishing remains could then be given to Catwoman. I know a part of her really wanted you for herself.

“Charming,” Batgirl remarked witheringly.

“Well, goodbye for now, Badgirl. Soak it all in while I’m gone. I’m looking forward to our reunion, when I’ll help you out – of everything!”

The Joker’s wisecrack was rewarded by a new look of horror in Batgirl’s eyes. Once she was alone, she felt her body shiver. The Joker was not going to kill her, but make her change sides in her war on crime. The diluted drug filling the chamber in which she was trapped was licking at her abdomen. It would not be long before she was floating in it. Another tremor vibrated up Batgirl’s spine, and she realized the source of the chilling sensation might well be fear rather than cold.

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