For Her It Is Too Late

The pager on the night-stand next to Barbara Gordon’s bed sounded. Groggily, Barbara reached over and pushed the button to turn off the noise. She glanced at her alarm clock. 2:13 glowed in red-hued numerals.

Barbara turned the switch on her reading lamp and picked up her bedside telephone. Rolling onto her back, she pressed *67, then punched in the number of her father’s office.

Enhancements the woman who was secretly Batgirl had programmed into her phone system came into play. The call was now completely untraceable, even by the police.

“Hello?” said a feminine voice at the other end. Barbara’s father was getting too old for regular late night duty. Commissioner Gordon would be at his post if a case involving an arch-criminal was in progress, but things on that front had been quiet lately. Barbara had an uneasy feeling that was about to change.

Barbara recognized the voice. “Lieutenant Mooney, this is Batgirl.”

“Thank you for responding so quickly, Batgirl. Thirty minutes ago, we received an anonymous tip reporting criminal activity at Pier Z. We dispatched a patrol car and the officers reported finding a large crate, standing on end, with ‘TO BATGIRL’ stenciled on it. I instructed them to cordon off the area, but not to touch the crate. The bomb squad is on its way there.”

The lieutenant had done her job efficiently, as always. “Can you meet me there in say, thirty minutes?” she asked.

“I'll be there in twenty-five," Barbara replied. "I’m on my way. Goodbye.”

Barbara set down the phone, rolled out of bed and padded over to her dressing table. She reached under and activated the secret switch, beginning her startling transformation into Batgirl.

Twenty-four and a half minutes later, the Batgirlcycle pulled onto Pier Z. It was cold and dank in Gotham Harbor. A patrolman waved Batgirl through the line formed to keep back the news crews and the curious who had been monitoring the police channel.

The bomb squad, clad in their protective gear, cautiously examined the outside of the crate. Batgirl was always impressed by the bravery of these officers. They lived with the knowledge that their padded vests and other armored clothing would likely provide insufficient protection if the devices they were called to defuse detonated.

The wooden box was some eight feet high and about half as wide and deep. The wood appeared to have just come from a lumber yard. ‘TO BATGIRL’ ran about in the middle of the side facing the city, in purple letters obviously stenciled with spray paint.

Lieutenant Diana Mooney was a short distance away, supervising operations from behind a portable shield. Batgirl dismounted the Batgirlcycle and ran to join her.

“Hello, Batgirl,” the Lieutenant greeted her. Batgirl had forged a close working relationship with the former policewoman. Naturally, Commissioner Gordon and Chief O’Hara seemed more like family to Barbara than co-workers. Batgirl enjoyed the mutual respect she shared with Diana.

“Lieutenant,” Batgirl answered professionally. “What’s the situation?”

“The bomb squad has found no wires, sounds or other signs of a bomb. The sniffers have found no trace of explosives nor chemical or biological agents. They report it appears as if it will be quite easy to pry off the front of the crate.”

“I think you should let me do that, Lieutenant.” Mooney turned and started to object. “After all,” Batgirl continued with a smile, “it is addressed to me.”

Mooney looked at Batgirl thoughtfully. She was aware Batgirl was probably as well-trained as any official member of the bomb squad. “All right, but I insist you wear something a little more substantial over that . . .” Mooney paused, “. . . outfit of yours.”

The Lieutenant had teased Batgirl about her costume before. Mooney understood the concept behind its form-fitting features, but that didn’t stop the topic from being something of a running joke between them.

“Of course,” Batgirl agreed.

Minutes later, a much different looking Batgirl approached the crate, crowbar in hand. A helmet with a clear blast shield had been fitted over her cowl. Heavily padded long sleeves and gloves would offer the Dark Angel of Gotham City at least some protection if the crate was booby trapped.

In the distance, a clock chimed quarter till the hour. Proceeding slowly, Batgirl wedged the curved edge of the crowbar underneath the front of the crate, in line with the lettering.

When nothing happened, Batgirl began to push on the crowbar. She had just began to exert herself, when, without warning, the wood panel suddenly popped off completely!

Batgirl involuntarily cringed and closed her eyes, but the only sound was that of the wood of the lid hitting the planks of the pier. Batgirl opened her eyes.

Before her was a bizarre and gruesome sight. The body of a man, well over six feet tall, was standing inside the crate. The corpse was loosely wrapped in paper from head to toe like some sort of modern mummy. His face, the only part of his body visible, displayed a look of horror and agony. Lifeless eyes stared straight ahead.

Then, as if on cue, the body pitched forward, to fall face-down at Batgirl’s feet. Lieutenant Mooney raced forward and bent over to examine the body. “What’s this stuff he’s wrapped in?”

Batgirl had instantly recognized the sinister substance. “It’s the cause of death,” she explained grimly.

“Siamese Bondage Streamers.”

Without emotion, Batgirl continued. “Nora Clavicle’s back in town.”

Lieutenant Mooney promised to inform Batgirl of the results of the forensics examination of the crate, as well as the contents of the coroner’s report. As Batgirl sped from the grisly scene, she considered the implications of the early morning events.

Batgirl was eager to get on Nora’s trail as soon as possible. She held herself at least partly responsible for that man’s death.

When Batgirl made the decision to let Clavicle and Catwoman go when they were all on La Esclavage Reine’s subway car, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she faced each of them again. Catwoman had been safely returned to prison, but now Nora had actually murdered someone.

It wasn’t for lack of trying that Clavicle hadn’t killed anyone before. When she first appeared on the local scene, the insane activist had been quite willing to wipe out Gotham City’s entire population for a mere ten million dollars. Later, she marked every male in the city under the age of 21 for death. Nora had tried to kill Batgirl more times than the Dominoed Daredoll cared to remember, along with various other innocent victims.

This time, though, the Lunatic Lesbian had been successful. She was now guilty of murder. Batgirl had to stop her before she killed again.

When Barbara returned to her apartment, going back to sleep was out of the question. She conducted an on-line search to see if any local real estate had been purchased or rented lately in the name of any famous woman. That had been Clavicle’s modus operandi on several occasions before.

The search, though, came up empty. This time, Nora was deadly serious. She was playing for keeps.

Barbara went into the Gotham City Public Library early. She counted on getting most of her day’s work done by noon. Mooney had hoped to have at least a preliminary report ready for Batgirl by lunchtime.

At twelve o’clock, Barbara retired to her inner office and locked the door behind her. The thick oaken door and the shelves of books lining the four walls made it impossible for anyone to overhear her telephone conversations from outside. She dialed her father’s private number on a secure line.

“Commissioner Gordon,” her father answered.

Barbara disguised her voice, as she was always careful to do when Batgirl was speaking to the commissioner, “This is Batgirl–”

“Batgirl, I’m so glad you called! In light of what happened last night, I’m putting Lieutenant Mooney in charge of this Nora Clavicle case. I hope you are willing to work directly with her.”

“I’d be delighted to, sir!” Then a disturbing thought ran through Barbara’s mind. ‘Maybe Daddy’s not feeling well!’ Trying to keep the concern out of her voice, Barbara asked, “May, though, I ask why?”

“Certainly,” the Commissioner replied. “I just think that the two of you working together will have more insight into what Clavicle may be planning.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” a relieved Barbara agreed. “I’ll call her right now. Thank you.”

Less than a minute later, Barbara was talking to Diana. The policewoman’s mood was somber and determined.

Diana Mooney had a personal grievance against Nora Clavicle. The mayor’s wife’s action of firing all the policemen and replacing them with mostly unqualified women had tarnished the stature of all the females serving in the department. Not only that, but Commissioner Clavicle had given Chief Linseed strict orders not to promote any of the policewomen from within the force, giving as an excuse that the women who had worked under male officers needed to be “retrained.” Mooney was determined to put Clavicle back behind bars for good.

“We were able to trace the wood of the crate to a lumber yard in the suburbs,” Mooney related. “A sales clerk remembered two women who seem to be likely suspects. One of the women was blonde, had an English accent and, in the words of the witness, quote: ‘was *ahem* extremely well-endowed.’”

“That sounds like Evelina!” Barbara as Batgirl declared. “What about the other one?”

“Beautiful, with a slim waist and auburn hair. What really caught the man’s eye, though, was her outfit. She was dressed entirely in what the witness described as ‘plastic.’”

“That’s a pretty good description of Vinyl! It seems as if Nora is getting the cream of her old gangs together,” Barbara observed. “Were you able to identify the body?”

“Bruno Swenson,” the lieutenant answered, “a body-builder who had done time for armed robbery. You were right about the cause of death. The streamers loosened after he died. Why they’re called ‘Siamese’ is beyond me.”

“That’s just Nora’s sick reference,” Batgirl explained. “I’ve discovered that even the Siamese Human Knot really originated in India.”

Diana digested this bit of trivia. Then she went on, “He died from asphyxiation.” Mooney paused, then continued hesitantly, “There’s one other thing about him, though.”

“Yes?” Batgirl prompted.

“The coroner says that about two and a half years ago, the victim had been . . .

“. . . castrated.”

The two crime-fighting females agreed to keep in touch. Barbara spent the afternoon doing tomorrow’s work, so she could devote the entire next day to being Batgirl, if necessary. The motive for Nora’s crime and other considerations, however, periodically occupied her thoughts.

‘What were the circumstances of Swenson’s surgery? Why was he killed? Had he crossed Nora in some way? Or was it just because he was a man?’ Then the most horrible idea intruded upon Barbara’s afternoon. ‘Or maybe he was murdered just to send a warning to me???’

Barbara had been home for less than fifteen minutes when her pager vibrated against her hip. She made her way to her bedroom and activated the revolving door to Batgirl’s secret room. She went inside, retrieved Batgirl’s cell phone and speed-dialed Lieutenant Mooney’s number.

“Hello?” Diana’s voice answered.

“Lieutenant, this is Batgirl.”

“Yes, Batgirl. Have you come up with a lead on Clavicle?”

“No,” said Barbara, puzzled. “I thought you were trying to get in touch with me.”

“No, Batgirl, I haven’t been . . . and all contacts from within the department with you in this case are supposed to come through me.”

Barbara apologized and said goodbye. ‘That’s strange. My pager is only supposed to react when I get a call or an e-mail from the Police Department,’ Barbara thought. ‘I’d better check Batgirl’s e-mail.’

Barbara sat down at her home computer and opened Batgirl’s e-mail account. Surprisingly, there was only one new message inside, an invitation to visit a chat-room called “For Women Only.” On a hunch, Barbara followed the link.

No one seemed to be in the chat-room. Tentatively, Barbara typed, “Hello.”

Instantly, text appeared on the screen:

AH, THERE YOU ARE, BATGIRL!

Barbara was taken aback. Self-consciously she looked around the room. Potted plants and her pet parrot Charlie were the only living things in sight.

“Batgirl?” Barbara typed.

OH, I KNOW IT’S YOU. HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS CHAT-ROOM DR. JONES SET UP, JUST FOR US? QUITE INGENIOUS, DON’T YOU THINK?

Nora

IN THE FLESH . . . WELL, NOT QUITE! ;>)

What have you done, Nora? This time you’ve gone too far!

RATHER THAN WHAT I’VE DONE, BATGIRL, YOU SHOULD BE MORE CONCERNED WITH WHAT I’M ABOUT TO DO!

What do you mean?

THERE’S A VERY PRETTY YOUNG LADY HERE NAMED LAURA. I’M JUST ABOUT READY TO INTRODUCE HER TO MY SIAMESE BONDAGE STREAMERS.

You monster!

IF YOU CAN GET HERE IN THE NEXT FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, I MIGHT CHANGE MY MIND. Nora sent Batgirl the address of her current hideout. It was located near the docks.

Alright. I’m on my way.

BTW, YOU WON’T WANT TO BE CONTACTING THE POLICE. THE OTHER DAY, I HAPPENED TO RUN ACROSS A LEFTOVER BOX OF MY EXPLODING MECHANICAL MICE. WITH DR. JONES’ HELP, I PROGRAMMED THEM TO SECRETE THEMSELVES IN THE BASEMENT OF POLICE HEADQUARTERS. IF ANY POLICE COME WITH YOU, I’LL PUSH A BUTTON AND–

I get the picture. You win. I’ll come alone.

EXCELLENT. I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AGAIN. GOODBYE, BATGIRL. Nora severed the connection.

“She must know it’s a trap,” Evelina observed. She was dressed in her usual costume, sandals and a flowing white dress that left her left shoulder bare and showcased her legs and magnificent figure. Evelina looked like a statue of a Greek goddess come to life.

“Of course she does!” Nora exclaimed, delightedly. She was seated at a computer keyboard, her minions standing around her. Clavicle’s conservative style of dress contrasted with her flamboyant personality. She took pride in wearing a mini-skirt, but otherwise her clothes were a bit drab. An ornate brooch pinned above her right breast was her only other concession to fashion.

Vinyl was dressed in a black PVC catsuit with matching gloves and five inch, stiletto-heeled ankle boots. Around her slim waist hung a loose chain belt that glimmered in the soft light. She did some calculations in the air. “But she knows we know she knows–”

“Please,” Dr. Sandahl Jones interrupted, “you’re giving me a headache.” The doctor’s long blonde hair cascaded down her back. She wore a tight, brown leather tank-top, that was short enough to give an excellent view of her rock-hard abs. Matching trunks and low boots completed her outfit.

“Oh, she knows all right, Vinyl dear,” agreed Nora, “but it won’t matter, not in the slightest. For you see, I have two strings to my bow for the capture of Batgirl. While she might evade my first attempt, she won’t anticipate the second prong of my attack, not in a million years!

“Let me tell you what I have in mind . . .” Evelina, Vinyl and Dr. Jones leaned in over their boss.

Slowed by the remnants of rush hour traffic, Batgirl made it to the outside of Nora’s lair with just ten minutes to spare. As usual, Nora had chosen an old warehouse for her headquarters. Batgirl knew there was a method to Clavicle’s madness. Such a building gave her arch-enemy plenty of room to construct elaborate death traps for Batgirl’s benefit.

Also as was customary, the structure was virtually windowless, to keep out prying eyes. Batgirl guessed there might be a skylight on the roof. She also knew Nora would have made preparations for her arrival. With time running out, Batgirl came up with an idea that just might turn the tide in her favor.

Quickly Batgirl traversed the building until she found for what she was looking: the electric meter. She hefted the heavily-insulated pair of Bat-Shears she kept stored on her Batgirlcycle and cut the cable, interrupting service to the warehouse.

‘This time, Nora,’ Batgirl thought with satisfaction, ‘you’re the one in the dark!’

The warehouse was low enough that Batgirl was able to toss her grappling hook with its attached Bat-line on top of it. After a short Bat-Climb, the Purple-Clad Avenger hoisted herself onto the heavily tarred roof and crouched low.

Sure enough, there was a skylight. Batgirl retrieved her rope and cautiously made her way to the grime-encrusted window.

Batgirl took a cloth out of her utility belt and rubbed away some of the dirt. The dwindling daylight barely illuminated the room below, but there was enough light to provide Batgirl with a glimpse of a terrible tableaux.

A figure standing below was wrapped in what Batgirl guessed were the deadly Siamese Bondage Streamers!

Batgirl had no idea who this Laura was, but there was no time to waste if Nora was going to be stopped from claiming a second victim. Years of rust had made the latch on the skylight useless. Deciding the time for subtlety was past, Batgirl secured her grappling hook, smashed through the glass and dropped into the room.

More light from above now filled the room. It appeared empty, except for the unfortunate victim. From ground level, Batgirl could see that woman’s mouth and the lower half of one side of her face were uncovered, as well as her legs from above her knees.

Batgirl sprinted forward to the woman’s aid. “Don’t worry,” Batgirl whispered as she pulled a knife out of her belt. “I’ll get you out of that.”

The Dark Knight Damsel had just made her first incision when she realized something was wrong! ‘These aren’t Bondage Streamers! They’re loose and more like cloth!’

A hand reached out of the wrapping, holding an aerosol can. “Hello, Batgirl,” said a voice with an English accent. The erstwhile victim pressed the button. “How good to see you again.”

Alerted by the texture of the bondage material, Batgirl was able to roll out of the way and avoid the spray. She then swept her right leg into Evelina.

Completely off-balance, Evelina crashed to the floor, the spray can bouncing harmlessly away. For the moment, the buxom Brit could do little more than roll around on the floor.

“King Tut once had me wrapped up something like that, Evelina,” Batgirl said with a smirk, “but I must say, his men did a much better job of it.”

Behind Evelina, three figures stepped out of the gloom. Nora was in the middle, flanked by Vinyl and Dr. Jones. “Oh dear, Batgirl, you’ve avoided my trap,” Nora lamented, “and turning off the power was a master stroke.”

Batgirl assessed the situation. Dr. Jones was an adequate fighter, but nothing Batgirl couldn’t take down in a couple of minutes. Vinyl wasn’t much, while Evelina would have been completely useless in a brawl, even if she wasn’t impersonating a mummy. Nora hadn’t ever even taken a swing at Batgirl. ‘Can it really be this easy?’ Batgirl wondered.

Nora sighed. “Well, girls, I guess we’ll just have to give ourselves up.”

“What?!” Dr. Jones complained. “This was all there was to your great plan?!”

“What about Laura?” Vinyl asked hopefully.

“I was so sure this would work, I just left her locked up,” Nora said sheepishly.

“Oh, great!” said Dr. Jones sarcastically.

Despite herself, Batgirl was drawn into the conversation. “Keep your hands where I can see them, all of you. I’m not going to let you set off those exploding mice in the basement of Police Headquarters.”

Nora laughed. “Batgirl, that’s one of the things I love about you. You’re so gullible! Did you honestly think I had an extra box of mechanical mice just lying around?”

“Well . . .” Batgirl admitted.

“Will somebody get me out of this!?!” Evelina yelled.

Suddenly, eight hands grabbed Batgirl’s limbs from behind! Distracted by the bickering villainesses, Batgirl had failed to notice the four scantily-clad men sneaking out of the darkness behind her.

Batgirl howled in outrage. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t break free. Each of the men had a grip of steel. Her arms and legs in their grasp, she was lifted just slightly off the floor, robbing her of any leverage. She was completely helpless.

Batgirl looked at her attackers. Each was wearing a Sumo wrestler’s thong. Then two more men appeared, wearing the same “outfit.” Every man was a perfect physical specimen, extremely attractive. Some had chest hair, some did not. Some had bulky, rippled muscles, while others had smooth musculature. All were white. Some were blonde, some had dark hair and one was totally bald.

“I’m surprised at you, Nora!” Batgirl declared. She tried to match the tone she had heard Nora use so many times before. “Hiring men to help you?!”

Clavicle laughed again. “Well, they aren’t exactly men, Batgirl. I consider men to be merely broken human beings. I’ve had these . . . fixed!”

Batgirl’s glance shifted from man to man, horrified. “Then Swenson was . . .”

“Bruno was an employee of mine,” Nora explained. “He had second thoughts about working for me. I put those thoughts - and Bruno - to rest.”

Vinyl and Dr. Jones began to unwrap Evelina. Nora walked up to Batgirl and put her right index finger under Batgirl’s chin, while resting her thumb on the front of Batgirl’s face. Batgirl tried to squirm away, but the four eunuchs held their captive fast. “Well, Batgirl, I’m sure you know what comes next.”

“Let me guess,” Batgirl said, trying her best to sound bored. “You’re going to put me into a ridiculous deathtrap, terribly elaborate and over-complicated, probably involving some sort of human knot.”

Nora leaned close to Batgirl, their noses almost touching. The sadist smiled thinly. “That’s another thing I love about you, Batgirl. You’re so perceptive. Bring her!”

The four men lifted Batgirl so that she was parallel to the floor, her face to the ceiling. The other two men opened a pair of double doors. The strange procession walked into the next room, with first Nora and then her three henchwomen following.

Battery operated emergency lights lit up the chamber with an eerie glow. The walls were a drab battleship grey, while the floor was pitch black. In the middle of the room was a raised square platform. Set into the platform was a multitude of sharp spikes. The cones of deadly metal generally stuck straight up. Two small, inner platforms were set on top of the larger platform, near opposite sides.

Standing next to this set-up was a completely naked, dark-haired woman with high cheekbones. Batgirl thought that the woman would have been pretty, except for her eyes. They were vacant, leaving her face devoid of expression.

“Batgirl, I’d like you to meet Laura Hall,” Nora introduced. Laura made no reaction whatsoever. Nora touched the woman on the cheek. “Laura doesn’t say much anymore, but the two of you will become extremely close . . . for a short time.

“Lock them into position!”

The men laid Batgirl on her side and then started to go to work on the Caped Crimefightress. Evelina and Vinyl maneuvered Laura so that her chin was on Batgirl’s left shoulder. Laura didn’t resist at all. Batgirl’s chin was also forced to rest on Laura’s left shoulder.

Next the men began to pull Batgirl’s left leg behind her back. Farther and farther they pushed the unfortunate limb, until finally Batgirl yelped, “Hey! It’s not designed to go that far!”

“Oh, it will, Batgirl,” Vinyl purred sweetly, “it will.”

Powerful fingers massaged and stretched Batgirl's muscles through her lurex costume. Batgirl grunted when the leg was ultimately forced all the way over Batgirl’s left shoulder, putting her in a sort of insane split. Laura’s right arm was brought back to catch Batgirl’s left foot, then Batgirl’s left hand and forearm was slid in between the two.

Laura’s left leg received the same treatment, with Batgirl’s right arm trapping Laura’s left foot.

Their torturers left them on the floor like that for a moment, their backs bent into a painful “U” shape.

“Comfy, Batgirl?” Evelina asked.

“No one can ever say you’re inflexible,” teased Dr. Jones.

At first, Batgirl couldn’t see how this was supposed to work. It would be an easy matter for Batgirl to move her right arm, which would cause this human knot to fall apart.

Then Batgirl remembered the platforms and the spikes!

“Excellent work. Now, eunuchs, put them on the platform!” Nora ordered.

The brawny men picked up the configuration of the two women and carefully carried them onto the platform. Stepping gingerly among the spikes, they set the balls of Batgirl’s and Laura’s right feet on the inner platforms. They then began to balance the victims on the fruit of Nora’s twisted imagination.

“You’d better cooperate, Batgirl,” Nora warned. “You’ll want to be balanced as perfectly as possible. Once my eunuchs let go, you’ll be in imminent peril of being impaled!”

The men let go and stepped off the platform.

Nora laughed as she and her female assistants walked around to enjoy the view from different angles. “Now that’s what I call a true work of art,” Nora enthused, “simply beautiful!”

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