To Present an Awesome Sight

Batgirl knew that it was only a matter of time before even her well-toned muscles betrayed her. Then, she would be left at the mercy of gruesome gravitational forces.

She gasped as she experimentally shifted her weight, sending sharp pains along her arms and legs. Debilitating agony would accompany virtually any movement, however slight, but Batgirl welcomed the pain since significant movements would involve measured, incremental shifts of position. Hopefully, her relative stillness would keep the house of cards from crashing down to Earth.

She could clearly see where her legs and left arm were bound to the walls and floor of her intended death chamber. Her neck was attached to the ceiling, but less firmly. Her right arm had been drawn behind her and she might never see the knots holding it in place. Playgirl had warned the slightest movement could trigger the cards collapse – and Batgirl’s doom. ‘Do I dare tempt fate?’ Batgirl thought. ‘Rescue seems improbable. What other choice do I have?’

Her position allowed her to examine her bindings, tempting her to attempt to free herself. A misstep would trigger events that would be horribly agonizing and immediately thereafter prove fatal. The most fiendish aspect of her predicament, Batgirl decided, was psychological. Forced motionlessness was maddening!

Batgirl had faced many variations of that particular predicament. Most frequently, Nora Clavicle had entwined her into torturous Terrific Siamese Human Knots. Two of the fiendish feminist’s former functionaries had called themselves Passion and Ecstasy when their psychic powers had transformed toy slinkies into another torturous trap, which threatened to strangle, choke, or slice Batgirl to ribbons. Twice, Catwoman had wound her within cruel, constricting Cat’s Whiskers. On another occasion, her costume had been saturated and shrunken against her body, thus sculpting her breasts into a pair of beautiful bullets, while the rest of her cute, cuddly curves had been molded into ravishing revelations of their own. Finally, Legs Parker had once incorporated loops of rope around her neck as she was hogtied so the slightest movement would seal her fate. On each of these occasions, Batgirl had exploited a flaw in the criminal design of the deathtrap, which had allowed her to free herself. Now, however, she would have to discover such a flaw before a means of escape could possibly suggest itself.

Batman was known for carrying everything he could possibly need in any situation at any given moment, and all of his crime fighting companions sported belts that equipped them nearly as well. Perceptive villains had long ago become aware of the legendary capacity of the belts and the heroes’ ingenuity for equipping themselves. Would-be murderers had therefore begun to make a habit of depriving the seemingly doomed heroes of their belts. Playgirl, naturally, had done so on this occasion. To compensate for the villains’ thoroughness, Batgirl had begun to carry a small collection of blades and lock picks in her gloves and her boots.

With her arms outstretched and tied to separate walls, the items in her boots were useless. It would be necessary to reach the tools a glove held with the hand inside the same glove. This avenue to escape would be challenging, to say the least. One of the blades concealed in her boots was contained in the toe and could be released by tapping her heel. Unfortunately, twisting her foot to allow her to slice through her ankle bindings would be utterly impossible.

In the past, she had been able to slip her hands free from candy-smeared leather straps; use the motion of a hurtling flatbed wagon, to which she had been fastened, to shred her bindings; kill the power to magnetically-controlled shackles that sprang open instantly to release her, burn her way through ropes; allow the spine of a gigantic closing book to reshape her wire bindings; temporarily dislocate her thumb to slip her hand through a metal shackle; and destroy the surface to which her shackles were fastened, when simply cutting her way to freedom seemed impossible. Now, since any movement would trigger the trap and with absolutely all of her hidden gadgetry hopelessly out of reach, she felt helpless and began to question whether escape was possible. She relaxed and sagged ever-so-slightly in her bonds. Presently, she felt the collar tug at her neck.

“Wait a minute!” Slowly she began to analyze the sensations she was feeling. The slight pressure of the collar encircling her neck was not life threatening, which was odd. The ache in her shoulders was also significant because it meant, ‘My body weight is putting pressure on the eye bolts to which I’ve been tied,’ Batgirl thought, ‘ yet this set-up hasn’t collapsed yet. Playgirl would have wanted to be well away before this rig fell. Maybe it’s not quite as sensitive as she led me to believe! ’It had to be difficult to build a structure sturdy enough she could truss me up like this, yet fragile enough to topple if I move. I wonder just how well-anchored these bolts are?’

She hardened the muscles in her arms and pulled them toward her. Nothing happened. She gritted her teeth and stretched her straight leg while straightening the other as much as she could. When the pain became intolerable, she relaxed and gasped. It took a few seconds for her to focus again once she had sagged in her bonds. She hardened the muscles in her arms and drew them toward her once again. She saw the eye bolt within her field of vision shift slightly. “Yes!” Batgirl cried, releasing a breath she had not realized she was holding.

A pang of doubt flashed through Batgirl’s mind. ‘Is this part of Playgirl’s plan? To give me the illusion of a chance at freedom, only to have it result in suicide??’ The heroine pushed such thoughts aside. This was her only chance.

She gritted her teeth, preparing to repeat her maneuver. Vigorously, Batgirl stretched and straightened her legs several times, sagging in her bonds each time the pain became unbearable. With each new attempt, she felt gratified that the bolts attached to her bonds seemed to have weakened.

“Almost got it,” she encouraged herself. As she relaxed after the next attempt, she felt one eye bolt pull free of the wall in which it had been lodged. Unfortunately, that action caused the structure beneath her to shift!

Batgirl knew she only had scant seconds to act. She twisted at the waist to allow her free hand to reached her opposite glove and withdraw a sharp blade. The keen edge freed her bound hand with a single slash. Before her hands separated, she withdrew a second blade. Now, she could reach for her elevated leg with one hand while the second blade cut through the rope connecting her collar to the ceiling.

Her anchored foot was still in place when Playgirl’s Bat-Doll House of Cards completely collapsed!

Batgirl was thrown off balance as the surface to which she was still fastened shifted. She fell backward, off balance as the card shot forward and skipped along the collapsing wreckage. Batgirl slid forward along the surface to which her foot was bound, twisting and shielding herself with her upraised arms against the sharp corners of Playgirl’s oversized playing cards and the splinters into which they were being shattered as her descent crazily continued. New pain shot along her leg and tore a gasp from her throat as the card to which her foot was fastened shattered. Her sudden freedom brought new peril, however, as her forward momentum vanished. Deadweight dragged her straight down, immediately! She crash landed onto another playing card, which broke beneath her, shattering into sharp splinters that ripped at her as her body settled. Momentarily, she lay stunned, moaning. Then, painfully, Batgirl slowly stood. As she stripped the severed bonds away from her body, she realized the blades she had been using to free herself were gone. ‘They might have impaled me,’ she thought, ‘and I’m lucky not to have a broken ankle.’

She stepped forward gingerly and heard the pile of scrap wood in front of her shift. Instinctively, she raised her arm to block the piece of lumber that suddenly shot from the mess just above her head. The impact against her arm, the still-recovering muscles of her feet, and shifting debris conspired to cut her legs from beneath her. She fell, hitting her head hard on another piece of scrap wood. Pain exploded from the point of impact, but Batgirl barely noticed it before black, velvety oblivion engulfed her.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal,” Avalon Hill said, pushing her plate back and sipping coffee meditatively. “That was great, Legs. Thank you.”

The more formally dressed gangsters around the kitchen table at the Parker family’s home on Cherry Blossom Road agreed enthusiastically. “It’s just like Ma used to make,” Mad Dog said.

“Well, it was her recipe,” the gangster’s sister reminded him. “Machine Gun, help me clear the table.”

“Okay, as long as I don’t have to help with the dishes.”

“Pretty Boy and Mad Dog can handle them,” Legs decided.

“Do them yourself, Legs,” Pretty Boy said.

“I cooked. Remember?”

“We’ll, like, take care of the domestic chores later, you know?” Playgirl announced. “Get the coffee pot over here and we’ll make sure we totally have all of the details for tonight’s job clearly in mind.”

The Gangster Gal of Games went over the details of the auction meticulously and Legs repeated them perfectly. “I think it will be a perfect day. We get the means to become filthy rich, mere hours after I put Batgirl in a position to, like, fill-in her own grave.” She began to laugh and the others joined her. After the laughter died away, Legs frowned. “What’s wrong?” Playgirl asked.

“It may be nothing, but . . . a lot of people have stories about how they almost killed Batgirl–”

“That reminds me,” Playgirl said. “Avalon, I wanted to present you with Batgirl’s utility belt as, like, a reward for capturing her.”

A look of appreciation filled the younger woman’s face. “Thanks, boss!” the henchwoman gushed, taking the belt. “Without this, what chance could Batgirl possibly have/”

“None whatsoever,” Playgirl answered, cocking her head to one side and glancing at her hostess. “Come on, Legs. How can I, like, convince you my arrangement to get rid of Gotham’s original good girl have totally succeeded?” Playgirl waited expectantly.

“I don’t know,” Legs replied coolly. “I just remember a few times when I thought I’d taken care of Batgirl myself. I took her belt and she used it to track me down.” Legs decided it was not the time nor the place to challenge her liberator further. “You know, boys, we should probably get to work.” She picked up her plate and moved to rinse it in the kitchen sink. Her brothers followed suit.

Avalon Hill sidled up to her mentor. “They’re well-behaved, all of a sudden.”

“They bicker,” Playgirl explained, “but they are, like, professionals. Talking about the job probably put them in the right frame of mind, you know?”

Avalon Hill hesitated. Then she decided to press on. “Could Legs be right about Batgirl?”

“I doubt even a well-trained ballet dancer could have held her position this long. Batgirl is nothing but a bad memory by now.”

“Wanna bet?” a female voice asked.

Avalon Hill made a startled, high-pitched noise, but relaxed when Legs Parker stepped from behind a pantry door and leaned against the wall with crossed arms. Legs had done a fairly good imitation of Batgirl’s voice. “Sure,” Avalon Hill replied a bit desperately, taking up the challenge on behalf of her boss. “I saw Batgirl just before we left. She wasn’t going anywhere, but to that great, big Batcave in the sky, believe me!”

Legs Parker grinned. “I’m glad you’re confident. The stakes of our little bet will be your lives!”

“What?” Playgirl demanded, beginning to rise.

“Easy, Playgirl,” Machine Gun warned, stepping from the pantry and aiming one of his namesakes at his rescuer while drawing back the bolt. Playgirl sank back into her chair and moved her hands into plain view.

“Thank you, Playgirl,” Pretty Boy said, taking up a position on the other side of his sister while staying out of Mad Dog’s line of fire. “I’d hate to have to perforate you, considering the good times we had in stir.”

Playgirl glared at him. “What’s this all about?” she demanded. As usual, all trace of her Valley girl accent disappeared under pressure.

“Thinning the competition,” Legs said with a smile. “One fewer supervillainess coming after me after I steal the Onyx Osprey increases my chances of flying with the bird, so to speak.”

“You’re low, Legs. After I broke you and your brothers out of prison, you’re double-crossing me? That’s a big mistake. You’ll regret it.”

“You wish,” Legs evenly replied. ”You forgot the number one rule regarding the Parkers. We take care of each other . . . and we don’t need anybody else telling us what to do! Right, boys?” All three of her brothers nodded.

“We can take ‘em, boss,” Avalon Hill said. “Everybody knows the Parker Brothers can’t shoot straight.”

“Don’t be stupid, Avalon!” Legs said. “There are many ways to be a fast woman. Fortunately, I just happen to be good at all of them.” The pistols that suddenly appeared in each of the mad mobwoman’s hands provided an effective testimonial to her skill at the quick draw. “Mad Dog and Pretty Boy, tie them to those chairs. I think they’ll be much safer once we’re less likely to have to blow them away because they try something dumb.”

“Listen, Legs,” Playgirl said, as Mad Dog wound rope tightly around her limbs, “what you’re doing is foolish.” Playgirl’s voice filled with menace. The easy-go-lucky party girl was far away. “Think of your child. The stakes in the games I play are very high.”

Legs immediately scowled. Once the prisoners were secured, she put her guns away and began speaking, “You know, I thought things were going pretty well. I invited you to this old house and cued my brothers to arm themselves from the weapons cache in the pantry. We could have left you here, attended to the job you planned and maybe only been a little mad at each other afterward. We wouldn’t have done you any real harm. I’d have left you both here and driven past after the auction to let you go, unless, of course, you’d have gotten loose on your own. I’m afraid, though, you’ve forced me to reconsider my plans. Now that you’ve threatened my child, things have become rather personal.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped, becoming low and menacing. “You shouldn’t have threatened my baby, Playgirl.”

“What are you going to do to them, Legs?” Mad Dog asked.

“I’m going to see to it that they’re both dead, well before tonight’s job is complete.”

“To make object lessons of them, like Ma used to tell us to do?” Machine Gun questioned.

“Right.”

Pretty Boy started to object, “I don’t know–”

“Shut up, Pretty Boy! Pack anything we’ll need from the house in the car. I’ll watch the prisoners.”

Pretty Boy knew better than to anger his sister. On the other hand, he wasn’t easily intimidated. “You know,” he began reasonably, “Playgirl’s right about one thing. She did bust us out of jail. We’re not being very grateful.”

Legs sighed. “What do we do to anyone who threatens this family?” she tartly demanded. “Are you too dense to understand the implications of what she said?”

“But–”

“I don’t want to hear it! She threatened my child. There’s nothing to talk about! Now, let’s get packed, get rid of them, and get out of here. Move!” Mad Dog and Machine Gun left the kitchen and Pretty Boy turned to follow them. “Wait,” the female Parker said.

“What?”

“You were with Playgirl while we were all in prison?”

“Well . . . ” he said hesitantly. “Yes. I was.”

“I see,” his sister said. “So, while you and the others wouldn't allow me to have any fun—"

“Get over it.”

“Oh, we have not even begun discussing it, mister, believe me!” She turned to Playgirl and grinned wickedly. “Before you go, brother dear, please turn off the gas, then detach the gas pipe from the stove.”

“What for?”

“It’s all part of my plan. Just do it!”

Playgirl stared at her former ‘associate’ and said, “Pretty Boy—"

“Shut up!” Legs turned back to her brother. “Come on, do it!” Pretty Boy cast a glance at the prisoners and shrugged, obeying Legs. “Thank you. Now, you may go.”

“You’re very good at this,” Playgirl said, once Pretty Boy had gone.

“They’re used to taking orders,” Legs explained, “first from Ma and now from me. Speaking of Ma, she insisted on quality when she furnished this house. You’ve noticed the chairs to which you are tied are very solid and well-made. I’ll be leaving in just a moment, but before I go, I’ll turn the gas back on. If I were you, I wouldn’t inhale too deeply.”

“You can’t!” Avalon Hill said, staring at the young criminal with undisguised horror.

“Watch closely,” Legs said, holding the henchwoman with a hard stare. Avalon Hill began to sweat and her eyes started to tear. A flicker of uncharacteristic sympathy touched Legs’ eyes. She picked up Batgirl’s utility belt. “I really don’t have a quarrel with you . . . and Playgirl, it’s true, you did set us free . . . I’ll tell you what. I think Batgirl carried an emergency transmitter and I know she has – or had – a spare belt.” She turned the belt in her hands and extracted something. “Here it is. I’ll set it to transmit a distress call on her special Bat-frequency. If you really killed Batgirl, it will be too bad for you, but you’ll have a chance if she’s alive.”

“Batgirl is dead, Legs,” Playgirl said. “Your little gesture is meaningless.” For one of the few times in her life, Playgirl was feeling genuine remorse. “I . . . I was wrong to threaten your child. I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “Now, please let us go . . . or at least set Avalon free.”

“Why, that’s uncharacteristically noble of you, Playgirl . . . but I’m sorry. She’d just rescue you . . . and I’m afraid I can’t accept your apology, either. My brothers would think I was nothing but a weak little girl. Oh, but the good news is, the distress call seems to be working.” A car horn sounded. Legs carried Batgirl’s belt to the stove and set it down. She twisted the gas valve, initiating a steady hiss. “Time for me to go, but before I do, I‘ll just activate the security system we installed in the house.” She smiled at Playgirl and Avalon. “There are so many dishonest people running around!”

Legs laughed and continued. “If an unauthorized person opens a door or window, an electrical current will pulse through the wiring to trigger an alarm. Unfortunately, the old wires in this house are very likely to spark, and if that happens, the explosive results should prove a lot louder than the alarm. It’s really too bad about the house. Ma paid off the mortgage several years ago. I’ll miss it."

“You bitch!” Avalon Hill cried.

Playgirl remained calm. “You’re better than many of my colleagues would ever admit,” Playgirl said. “I won’t underestimate you again.”

“You won’t get the chance,” Legs agreed, laughing. “Neither will Batgirl, if she escaped your trap. I’ve arranged it so any heroics she might perform would trigger an inferno in which you’ll all have a very hot time before you die. It’s beautiful! if you don’t mind my saying so. Meanwhile, happy asphyxiating, ladies! Bye, bye.” Legs Parker’s fingers brushed the controls of a panel beside the door. With a delighted, wicked grin, she stepped through the front door and blew her victims a parting kiss each. Then she closed the doors with a mocking bow and left the house, locking the door behind her. A beep sounded from the panel, indicating the security system had been engaged.

“Thanks for trying to save me, boss,” Avalon Hill said sadly.

Playgirl turned to regard her henchwoman with an artificial smile and wide, focused eyes. “You’re welcome,” the supercriminal said. While her words were sincere, the rest was a performance of which she could be justifiably proud. Her pretty face utterly masked her morbid thoughts. Nevertheless, she held Avalon Hill’s gaze until the younger woman cracked a smile. ‘Damn!’ the self-styled gangster gal thought ‘How come I keep ending up in these situations?! At least Avalon isn’t depressed.'

Playgirl turned away and followed Avalon Hill’s gaze. Both women stared at Batgirl’s belt on the stove and listened to the hissing appliance. The entire house had been turned into a giant deathtrap, and they, as bait, were now certain to perish in it, regardless of whether it was ever sprung.

Batgirl moaned and opened her eyes. She lay in darkness. A slight movement confirmed her body had been buried by debris. She tried to roll onto her back, but did not succeed until she had pulled herself sideways. Scrap wood shifted above her as she tried to sit up. Suddenly, the upward pressure Batgirl exerted was rewarded as a faint, pale light became visible. The wood on top of her slid away and fell with a crash.

Finally, Batgirl stood. She remained motionless, thinking back. Something had spurred her back to consciousness, perhaps subconsciously. What had it been? All of her senses strained to be aware of the tiny stimuli that had brought her back to consciousness, if it were repeated.

It was night and a barely audible noise drew her attention to the shadows. Batgirl stared into the deeper darkness, her senses straining. Her vigilance was rewarded when she heard a moan beneath another part of the wreckage! ‘Had there been someone in the House of Cards beneath me?!’

“I’m coming! Please stay still. I’ll get you!” Batgirl called, wading toward the barely discernable sounds, tossing wreckage to either side.

Gradually, a woman’s ebony flesh became visible in the moonlight. As Batgirl excavated the body, it became apparent she lay on her stomach and her golden pants had been stained with blood and shredded. Ropes binding her arms had chewed through the gloves that sheathed her hands and forearms, which had been drawn behind her and fastened to her ankles. Quick slashes of a knife from Batgirl’s right boot released her and revealed the angry welts that had lacerated her legs and back. Gently rolling her over, Batgirl inhaled. The woman’s sweat-stained, leopard-spotted halter top had been scorched several times and her exposed flesh was discolored by numerous burns. Batgirl inhaled as recognition dawned on her despite extensive bruises on the woman’s face.

“Dayna,” Batgirl sympathetically said, “I am so sorry.”

The recovering woman’s eyes opened. “B-Batgirl?”

“Yes, Dayna. Whatever happened to you, it’s over. I won’t let them do it any more.”

The hench-kitten harshly laughed. “I wouldn’t call Avalon ‘them.’ She strung me up like I had her and played with the whip for a time. Once blood loss threatened to knock me out, she slapped my face several times to keep me conscious and cut me down. Apparently, she had left part of me intact to damage with her taser. She took her sweet time about all of it, too.” The hench-kitten’s face hardened as she began to rise purposefully. Dayna’s voice took on an ominous edge. “When I get my hands on her–”

“Take it easy,”.Batgirl advised, catching her as the hench-kitten fell, moaning. With one hand Batgirl cleared some of the wreckage and laid the injured woman gently down onto the relatively clear spot. “Did you see Playgirl?”

“Sure. She and Avalon decided they were done ‘playing’ with me, so they shut me into a chamber on the lowest floor of the Bat-Doll House Playgirl was building in which to kill you. They said when you died, I would be squashed. I guess their plans for both of us failed.”

Batgirl gave Dayna a cold stare. “Just like Catwoman’s plans for me.”

“Okay,” Dayna said. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I deserved that.”

“You’re very lucky to be alive,” Batgirl observed.

“I’m not so sure. What will you do with me now?”

“First, I’m going to see you get the medical attention you need. Then the police will want to talk to you. If you cooperate, I imagine they’ll deal with you more gently.”

Dayna’s dark brown eyes looked into Batgirl’s. “You’re very kind.” The hench-kitten’s gaze dropped to the ground. “It’s probably more than I deserve.”

“You may be right,” Batgirl said with a smile. Then, seriously, she went on, “but you didn’t deserve what Avalon and Playgirl did to you. Did they say anything the might tell me what they’re planning?”

“Playgirl is after the Onyx Osprey. Catwoman will auction it off to the highest bidder tonight. Can you please find me something to put on before the police get here? I'm cold. I’ll go over details of everything I know with you.”

“Certainly,” Batgirl agreed. She left the injured hench-kitten to search the rubble of Playgirl's Bat-Doll House. Luck was with her, for she soon found Dayna's golden jacket with black leopard spots. In addition, the woman's cell phone was still intact inside a pocket. Batgirl helped Dayna put on the jacket, then once again carefully lowered the injured woman to the ground. Batgirl punched in a number on the phone. She turned her back on her patient and walked a few feet away as she spoke. When the phone call was over, she returned to kneel next to the hench-kitten. “Okay, Dayna. The police will be here in a few minutes with a medic. Do you know where Catwoman plans to hold that auction?”

“No, but I know Bookworm’s girl was instrumental in making the arrangements. I think Bookworm chose an academic setting of some kind.”

"Thank you for your help, Dayna. I won’t forget it.” Suddenly, both women heard a persistent beeping.

“What’s that?’ Dayna asked apprehensively. “Not a bomb?!”

“No, it’s a Bat-distress call,” Batgirl answered. “Oh, no! Playgirl must have parked my Batgirlcycle under her House of Cards!” Desperately, she began to dig through the debris, looking for her vehicle.

Dayna watched, bemused, and shrugged. In a few minutes Batgirl’s efforts were rewarded and the battered motorcycle emerged from the debris.

“It’s dented up,” Batgirl said, “and it’ll need a new paint job–”

“I think you could lose the lace frill,” Dayna observed drily.

Batgirl, too concerned to pay any attention to Dayna’s comments, mounted her chosen mode of conveyance and continued, “but I think–” She kick-started the motorbike. The Batgirlcycle roared to life.

“But what’s that beeping?” Dayna still wanted to know.

Batgirl hopped off and pulled her spare utility belt from its place beneath the seat. “It looks like Playgirl has activated my Bat-emergency Beacon. She believes I’m dead, so she’s either drawing the police away from a crime, or trying to lure the Dynamic Duo or Distaff Duo into a trap. I’m sorry I can’t stay until that medic gets here.”

“No problem. I understand.”

Batgirl buckled the spare utility belt around her waist and re-mounted her powerful bike. “Dayna, if you try to escape before the police arrive, the help I offered you will be forfeited.”

“You can Batcuff me, if you want.”

“No, Dayna. I trust you to do the right thing now. Climb out of your life of crime into the bright light of freedom good citizenship offers.”

“I plan to,” Dayna said, shrugging philosophically, as the Batgirlcycle roared away. “Like the blood loss I’ve suffered gives me a choice. Still, Batgirl may be right.”

The homing device in her primary utility belt led Batgirl to the house in which Legs Parker had left Playgirl and Avalon Hill. The purple-clad heroine approached cautiously and peered through a kitchen window. What she saw made her eyes widen with horror. The villainess and her henchwoman were bound to chairs at the table with their heads slumped forward.

There was no time to be gentle. Batgirl pulled a Batarang from her belt and swung it at the window in front of her. It shattered inward noisily. The smell suddenly emanating from the house made Batgirl step back with a shudder. “Gas!”

She slid a gas mask over her face and climbed through the shattered window. The source of the gas was obvious and three strides brought Batgirl to the stove and its detached gas line, which she turned off.

She pivoted toward another window and reached to open it and air out the room further, but froze as she noted the wires near the lock. Her eyes followed them to the luminous panel beside the stove. She examined the panel and reached for what was apparently the “off” button.

As Batgirl depressed the button, a beep sounded. Then, a more persistent beeping began at regular intervals as a numeric display began to count down from 100. “It wants a password I don’t know.”

Across the room, the cool breeze blowing through the shattered window had revived Avalon Hill. “Batgirl, this house is going to blow up,” the henchwoman said weakly.

“I know,” Batgirl said. “Do you know the password to deactivate the bomb?”

“No.”

Batgirl’s mind raced. The wire ran from the box on the wall to the tiny device on the lock of the window. She surmised detaching the wire would stop the countdown or trigger the explosion Legs Parker had arranged. The situation would have been much better had she known how the explosion was to be triggered. The countdown descended rapidly and inexorably. Immediate action was absolutely imperative!

“Batgirl!” Avalon Hill cried.

“Here goes,” Batgirl said, reaching for the wire protruding from the box. She yanked it out and held her breath.

The device beeped three more times and went silent.

Batgirl exhaled and opened the windows and doors before dragging Playgirl’s chair to the front porch. Once Avalon Hill was outside beside her boss, Batgirl called the police. Once she had hung up, she noticed the discoloration in the captive’s fingers, denoting oxygen deprivation. She slashed the prisoners’ wrist bindings and moved to work more carefully at their ankles.

“Thank you for saving us, Batgirl,” Avalon Hill said. “You could have left us and stayed safe.”

“I could never have done that, Avalon.”

“We tried to kill you.”

“I know.”

Playgirl moaned and her eyes fluttered open. “What happened?”

“Batgirl saved us,” Avalon Hill said.

“That’s impossible. Batgirl is dead.”

“No, Playgirl.”

The blonde supervillainess turned her head to regard her ravishing rescuer. After staring for a long moment, she said, “I suppose I should thank you. What will you do with us now?” As she waited for Batgirl’s response, Playgirl began to massage her wrists, hands, and fingers.

“I’ll leave you here for the police. They’re on the way. You’re both safe. You can help me nail Legs Parker by telling me where the Onyx Osprey is to be auctioned.”

Playgirl reverted to her Valley girl persona. “I won’t, like, rat on a fellow supervillainess, you know?”

“What about you, Avalon?”

“I don’t know where the auction will be,” she said thoughtfully.

Batgirl turned back to the woman who, with Nora Clavicle’s disappearance, was making a strong bid to become Batgirl’s arch-nemesis. “It’s up to you, Playgirl. You know me . . . and Legs did try to kill you.”

Playgirl folded her hands beneath her chin and pursed her lips as she regarded the Curved Crusader, recalling Batgirl’s reputation for, at times, taking what some considered petty revenge against her enemies. The Gangster Gal of Games knew from personal experience how the Dark Knight Damsel had cultivated that reputation.

“Well, now that I think about it, Ms. Parker is only the daughter of a bona fide supervillainess,” Playgirl began, rationalizing her decision to assist her foe. “I suppose, under the circumstances, it wouldn’t be viewed as ratting on an actual supervillain if I told you my would-be killer will attend an auction for the Onyx Osprey at the Eta Beta Lotka sorority house near Gotham City University. Bookworm wanted to hold the auction in an academic setting and his girl was a member. Since Catwoman used the house as a hideout when she studied criminology, the girls agreed to let her continue to, like, use the venue. That’s what I heard, anyway, you know?”

”Thank you, Playgirl,” Batgirl said gently. Then, with surprising swiftness, she gathered the supercriminal’s wrists and batcuffed them behind her back. Seconds later, the severed ropes had fastened the Batcuffs’ chain to the chair in which the prisoner sat.

“Hey! What are you doing?! We’re pretty visible out here! You never know what sort of riff-raff might drive along.”

Batgirl smiled at her handiwork, once Avalon Hill had been similarly secured. “You know, I, like, totally didn’t enjoy playing in your doll house.”

“Why you–” Playgirl began. Her description of Batgirl was lengthy, colorful, and not a bit complimentary.

“In view of your gratitude, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have an auctioneer to arrest. I know you’re smart enough not to have expected me to just let you go,” Batgirl said, just before she pulled away on the Batgirlcycle.

Even as Batgirl sped toward her destination, evil events were unfolding at the Eta Beta Lotka sorority house near Gotham City University.

“Good evening, Mr. Penguin,” a black-haired girl wearing black jeans and a tight sweatshirt with the sorority’s letters sewn into the sleeves said. “My name is Purdey. I am the sorority president and am pleased to serve as your hostess tonight.”

“Thank you, my dear,” the Penguin said, eyeing her appreciatively. “Tell me, have any of the other bidders arrived.”

“No. You are the first.”

“Wak, wak, wak! Did you hear that, Undine?” the Penguin excitedly asked. His voice lowered. “I may be able to name my own price for the pretty prize.”

“You never know,” Purdey said. “I’ve been asked to tell you that you are allowed one assistant inside the auction chamber.”

“Oh! I left the money in the car!” Undine said.

The Penguin glared at her.

“I’ll get it, Pengy,” Undine promised, hurrying away.

“Please come with me, Mr. Penguin,” his pretty hostess said, offering her arm. “I’ll have to ask you to leave your umbrella out here . . . and I’ll have to search you for other weapons before we go in.”

Meanwhile, the blonde hurried from the sorority house. Outside, the black-clad finks the Penguin had brought along approached her as she popped the trunk of the Penguin’s car. “Listen,” she quietly said, “we’re the first bidders. Penguin doesn’t want any more. See we are undisturbed.”

“We’ll take care of any other bidders,” Manta Ray assured her.

“The only problem might be the cats patrolling outside the house,” Hammerhead predicted.

“If cats pose a problem, deal with them,” Undine instructed, pulling a briefcase from the trunk and slamming it shut.

“You know,” Moray Eel began, “Penguin was sure smart having you leave the cash in the car so you could come out and tell us what to do.”

“I’d better get back inside,” Undine said. “Remember to keep quiet and stay out of sight.” She was pleased to hear no response as she returned to the house.

“Catwoman will be pleased Penguin came prepared to bid, after all,” Purdey remarked as Undine returned. “I’m afraid I’ll have to search you for weapons also.”

Undine slipped the light trench coat she had been wearing off and handed it to the girl. “If you touch me, I’ll prove to you that I am a weapon. Now, take me to Penguin.”

“Well,” Purdey mused, eying Undine’s outfit, “I guess you can’t really hid anything in that.” Undine, of course, wore the white bikini she filled out so fabulously. “Right this way.”

Catwoman was on a golden chair positioned above the Penguin on a dais. Spade sat with his legs folded at her feet holding the Onyx Osprey in his lap. The thug nodded to the newcomer and drank in the perfectly proportioned vision moving toward his employer. She acknowledged him with a wink as she lit a match and touched it to the Penguin’s cigarette. The Penguin sank into a love seat facing the Feline Felon with a tall, iced drink and an ashtray on an end table beside him. Undine sat next to him and crossed her long, lovely legs.

“You have the money?” Catwoman asked.

“Of course she does,” the Penguin said. “Now, might we get down to business?”

“Patience, Pengy, patience,” Catwoman urged. “We wouldn’t want to begin without your competitors. Letting you name your own measly price for this resplendent relic would be most purr-turbing to me. Purdey, we’ll have another round of the good stuff.”

As the criminals’ hostess went about her work, four caped figures approached the gathering from the darkness.

“Do you think we’ll have any trouble before we get inside?” Robin asked in a hushed tone.

“That depends,” Batman surmised in a whisper, “upon whether Catwoman or any of her clients are having the sorority house grounds patrolled.”

“That is likely,“ Batwoman softly opined. “I understand Catwoman feels there is no honor among thieves.”

“There!” Flamebird said, pointing out a dark figure shrouded in shadow.

Suddenly, a strange, wheezing, groaning sound distracted the dramatically-dressed duos, heralding the appearance, as if from thin air, of a dark, wooden box resembling a telephone booth. The flashing light on top illuminated white block letters spelling the words ‘POLICE BOX’ above the door.

“What in the world is that?” Flamebird asked, staring.

“I don’t really know,” Batman admitted. “The last time I saw something like it, the Clock King used it to escape.”

“Holy Preternatural Apparition!”

“If Clock King is involved, there may be nothing holy about it,” Batwoman said.

The door beneath the lettering opened. “You’d better let me go first,” someone inside said. A dark-haired, lined face peered from the door before a short man wearing a shabby coat, a collared shirt, and baggy-plaid trousers emerged warily.

“Well?” an impatient, youthful female voice demanded from inside.

“I think we’ve arrived when we wanted, but I was hoping to land a little closer to the mark.”

“There’s a surprise,” a male voice with a Scottish accent chided.

“Should we try it again?” the out-of-sight girl asked. “I’m sure if I go over the calculations we used to determine the coordinates–”

“Not if we ever want to get there,” her unseen companion answered.

“That’s enough! I’ll just ask this chap trying to sneak up on me.”

The figure Flamebird had spotted earlier and two others surrounded the little man. “What do you want here?” Hammerhead demanded.

“I’ve come to purchase the Onyx Osprey.”

“What makes you think it’s for sale?” Manta Ray asked.

“Tomorrow’s Gotham City Times talks about a number of arrests to which the auction led,” the little man explained.

“Huh?” Moray Eel said, expressing everyone’s first thought.

“Listen, bub,” Hammerhead said quietly, “the cops don’t know anything about this–”

Moray Eel stomped on the thick-headed thug’s foot.

“Batman does,” the little man said gently.

“Batman is dead,” Manta Ray said matter-of-factly. “He was dissolved in the reflecting pool at Wayne Manor.”

“If you say so,” the little man replied. “Perhaps the police report got it wrong.” He smiled nervously at the three men, clasping his hands together. “Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

“Is he the Clock King?” Batwoman asked.

“He doesn’t look like him,” Flamebird said.

“Temple Fugate didn’t look like himself the last time we saw him, either,” Robin recalled. “We still really don’t know what happened to him after our last encounter.”

“He does seem remarkably well informed,” Batman mused. “Perhaps–”

“What’s going on here?” Beaumont demanded, striding up to the gathering near the blue box from which the apparent arch-criminal had emerged.

“I’ve come for the auction,” the newcomer explained indignantly. “Why have these men been allowed to accost me?”

“Maybe we should all go inside and talk about this,” Beaumont suggested.

“I don’t think so!” Hammerhead said.

“I doubt you were hired to do much thinking,” Nick commented, stepping into view. “Now, you can come along quietly, or we can drag you!”

Hammerhead’s step toward Nick might have started the fight. The punch from Manta Ray that Nick avoided could have also been at fault. Moray Eel, though, clearly took the first punch to land as Nick’s uppercut launched him backward through the air.

The mysterious little man who had emerged from the dark-colored box retreated and stepped back inside. “I think we will try to land a little closer to the correct room in the house,” he announced.

Batman got his companions’ attention and pointed to the house as the box from which the Clock King had emerged vanished in the same manner as it came.

Meanwhile, behind the house, Batgirl slid from the Batgirlcycle and stood still as the sound of an automobile engine attracted her attention. She peered through the darkness that hid her and spotted the vehicle as its doors closed.

“All right,” a female voice said quietly, “let’s get the guns and get going.”

Batgirl watched three figures become silhouetted in the light of the open trunk as she pulled herself up into a tree. Above them she crept silently forward along a branch as the men bent over the car, opened a metal case, and began to extract machine guns. She pulled a Batarang from her hip and jumped toward the unsuspecting criminals.

The lid of the trunk slammed onto Pretty Boy, Machine Gun, and Mad Dog Parker as Batgirl landed on it and launched herself back into the air. She spotted Legs Parker pulling something from her purse and flung the Batarang. The razor sharp edge of the weapon sliced through the purse strap, severing it. Legs swore as the purse slid from her shoulder and became lost in the darkness.

“Fine!” the young villainess said. “Shooting you would have been too noisy anyway.” She stepped away from the car and sank into a fighting crouch. “Let’s go, Batgirl! It’s you and me, mono e’ mono, for all the marbles. I don’t understand, though, how you’re still alive.”

“Simple. Playgirl’s trap failed and I deactivated the trigger for the firetrap at your house.”

“That’s a shame. You could have been blown sky high when the house went up.”

“Your prisoners also survived.”

“Batgirl, you really are a pain in my–”

“I didn’t know you were a fighter, Legs.”

“My brothers wouldn’t let me get the kind of exercise I really enjoy in prison. So, I started working out.”

They were circling one another. “Fitness doesn’t mean you can fight, Legs.”

“Vixen and Undine are good teachers. Make no mistake. I’m gonna kick your butt.” Legs Parker took a swing at Batgirl. The heroine easily slapped the blow aside, making Legs’ side vulnerable. The kick Batgirl snapped there thudded into Legs, doubling her over and knocking the wind from her.

“Shall we continue?” Batgirl sweetly asked, as Legs sank to her knees. Batgirl crouched lower and rested her hands on her knees. “I’m waiting.”

“So am I,” Legs Parker said as she noticed her brothers creeping toward Batgirl from behind.

Machine Gun and Mad Dog wrapped their arms around each of her shoulders and lifted her so that Pretty Boy could wrap her ankles in one arm.

“Now, we’ll play,” Legs said, straightening with a grin. She kicked Batgirl in the midsection and followed up immediately with a kick to her victim’s side.

Batgirl gasped in pain and gritted her teeth as Legs Parker’s fists pummeled her chest with powerful, straight punches that slammed into the Dark Knight Damsel again and again with titanic force. In the grip of her attacker’s brothers, Batgirl could only grunt, gasp painfully, and writhe helplessly.

When sweat glistened on Legs’ face, her movements became much more fluid as the beating she was administering went on. The only sounds were Legs’ blows battering Batgirl and the victim’s futile resistance.

“Does that feel good, Batgirl?” Legs taunted, hitting her again. “I didn’t get my turn to torture you the last time you were in my power. I didn’t mind then. That, of course, was before you ruined my wedding!” Legs spun and clipped Batgirl’s head with her heel.

Batgirl moaned and her head lolled.

“You got her!” Mad Dog cheered.

“Way to go, Sis,” Machine Gun complimented.

“You might as well stop,” Pretty Boy advised. “She can’t feel it any more.”

Legs Parker swore. “Drop her, then tie her up. We’ll save what’s left for later. I’ll hang her up before I use her as a punching bag again. I imagine you guys can find something to do with her when I’m finished.”

“That depends on Ma,” Mad Dog said, winding a rope around Batgirl’s wrists.

“We could always take her to the house,” Machine Gun suggested, binding Batgirl’s ankles.

“If we’re going to go see Ma, let’s make sure we have something else of which she’ll approve from our efforts tonight,” Pretty Boy said, drawing all of Batgirl’s limbs together and completing the hogtie. “Besides, the cops will be watching the house by now.”

Batgirl moaned as her body landed in the trunk. Pain from the beating she had just endured began to assert itself. “This isn’t over,” she muttered, and closed her eyes to conserve her strength.

“Of course, not,” Legs Parker agreed. “I’ve only softened you up a bit. Beating you to death will take hours. I’ll stretch the process out, to be certain it does.” Batgirl heard the family of criminals laughing before the trunk slammed above her, leaving her in total darkness.

Catwoman and the Penguin had begun their intense negotiations long before the Penguin’s beaten henchmen were dragged into the criminals’ presence. Catwoman’s henchmen had been outnumbered, but had moved back to back as the finks attacked. Once their attackers had tired, the cats had counterattacked, felled a fink each, and combined their efforts mercilessly on the third man.

“So,” Catwoman said, “you’ve been undercutting your competition through intimidation. I think that sounds like a purr-fectly good reason to charge a hefty premium.”

“It’s not my fault I’m the only one who wants the dratted thing. Wak!”

“If you don’t want it, I can always take it off the market and sell it to an unscrupulous collector myself.”

“Wak! Just a minute, Catwoman,” the Penguin said. “There’s no need to be hasty. What sort of premium did you have in mind?”

The figure she named left him breathless. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Why? The price is negotiable. So is the premium. Which would you like to discuss first?”

“This is highway robbery! Wak, wak, wak!” the Penguin protested.

“The decision to buy is, of course, yours,” Catwoman replied. “No one is holding a gun to your head.”

“Wanna bet?!” a new female voice said as the sound of machine gun bolts being drawn back was clearly heard. The Parker Brothers appeared, aiming at the criminals, their employees, and their young hostess. Once their targets had raised their hands, Legs Parker appeared and moved to frisk her prisoners one by one. She gathered Catwoman’s golden pistols and a matching pair of steel-tipped kitty claws before arriving at Spade’s position and gently let her hand caress his face. “You’re welcome to join me if you want, lover,” she told her ex-boyfriend. “Bring that when you come.” Her hand slid away from where it lingered against him to indicate the Onyx Osprey.

“How soon will you be leaving?”

“Soon,” Legs Parker said, favoring him with a smile.

“What are you doing, Spade?!” Catwoman asked, enraged.

“I’m sorry, boss,” Spade said. “I’d rather go with her, than get shot to pieces when you send me after her.”

“She almost married him,” Undine said.

Spade glanced at blonde bombshell and made a face.

“So,” Catwoman chided, “you’ll be her prisoner. The treatment you can expect from your ex-girl will naturally be horrific.”

Legs put her hands on her hips and regarded Catwoman. “Just because I have more to offer–”

“No, little girl,” the Feline Fiend said. “You’ll learn it’s important not to fraternize with the help you hire – if you live long enough. Henchmen need to know who’s in charge and purr-ceptions of favoritism are best avoided.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You’re the model arch-supercriminal . . . until Batman comes after you! You’d be rich dozens of times over, if you could keep your mind on the job and stop scheming to tame and make him yours. How many years have you been trying? Has he ever even kissed you? You’re pathetic.”

Catwoman hissed. “Listen you little brat–”

“We Parkers are a traditional crime family. Your threats don’t scare me, because we all take exception when one of us is threatened. Come along, Spade. Welcome back to the family. Boys, if Catwoman rises from that chair, shoot her!”

Spade stood and carried the Onyx Osprey to a position out of the line of fire. “Oh,” Legs said, looking over her shoulder and holding up a hand as she began to follow Spade. “If the rest of you want to avoid getting your bellies filled with hot lead, you’ll leave us alone.”

Without warning, three Batarangs flew across the room, slicing across the Parker Brothers’ knuckles, causing them to drop their weapons uselessly to the floor. Batman, Robin, and Batwoman entered the room and fell upon them, with forcefully flying fists. It took Legs a moment to realize what had happened before she began to retreat. She was stopped in her tracks when Flamebird stood before her.

“Cats– ” Catwoman began.

“Finks–” the Penguin said as she spoke.

“–get them!” the two arch-criminals ordered simultaneously.

As the cats and finks moved toward the invaders, Flamebird stepped forward and feinted a blow to Legs’ midsection. As the aspiring criminal dodged, she was surprised when the Girl Wonder’s foot smacked into her face and took her off her feet. Flamebird approached the attacking thugs, as Legs Parker was enveloped by velvety blackness.

Catwoman, Purdey, and Undine watched the crime-fighting quartet repel the sextet of thugs’ initial attack. The Penguin put a fresh cigarette in his holder and lit if from the burning butt he dropped into the ashtray he had been filling since he arrived. He puffed once meditatively and stood. “Come, ladies. Wak! A little surprise I’ve prepared for Ms. Parker is about to function and a few preparations are required before it does. Wak, wak, wak!”

“Do you mean your umbrella?” Undine asked.

“No, my pretty pet. That weapon of mine is too well known. I knew someone as knowledgeable as Catwoman would demand I surrender it. Now, come along.” The Waddling Master of Fowl Play wound an arm around his moll’s waist and led her from the room with Catwoman and Purdey following. He closed the door behind him. “The tide of battle will turn in seconds,” he predicted, grinning wickedly. He turned to their hostess. “Before it does, would you mind killing the lights in that room?”

Purdey glanced at Catwoman.

“Do it,” the Feline Fiend ordered. She pulled a pair of goggles from her belt. “Each of my cats has been issued a pair of see-in-the-dark glasses. With the lights out, they’ll be able to function purr-fectly.”

“Right,” Purdey said. She carefully opened the door and reached through. She flipped the light switch. “Excellent. Wak, wak, wak!” He pulled his umbrella from the stand outside the meeting room door.

The criminals listened, with bated breath, as the sound of fists smacking flesh, followed by moans and grunts of pain, was replaced by a strange wheezing groaning.

“What is that?” Purdey asked.

“Good question,” the Penguin said.

“Holy Timely Arrival!” Robin cried inside the meeting room. “The Clock King is back!”

“A fine addition to our criminal catch,” Batwoman said.

“Did the lights going out have to do with his appearance?” Flamebird asked.

“I don’t know–”

A hiss, a pop, and a choir of anguished cries interrupted Batman’s thought.

“What was that, Your Majesty?” the Clock King’s young male henchman wearing a kilt asked as he emerged from the strange blue box, carrying a flashlight. “Hey, would you look at the size of that thing!”

“That’s what we came for,” Clock King’s perky female assistant said as she followed.

“Based on the faint odor in this room,” the Clock King said as he exited, ”it seems to me these heroes and henchmen have been blinded by a magnesium flare. Someone around here is really quite clever.” He picked up the Onyx Osprey.

“I don’t see anything that looks like it was a flare,” Clock King’s girl said.

“It would have to have been ignited,” the Clock King said thoughtfully. “Shine the torch around the room.” Then he pointed at the Penguin’s ashtray. “Ah, it would appear to have been disguised in a cigarette!”

“How long will everyone be blinded, Your Majesty?” the male Second Hand asked.

“Not much longer, I should think. Come along. We should be going.”

“Unhand that statuette, Clock King!” Batman commanded. The light-absorbing material around his cowl's eye-holes had protected his vision. “It’s time you were going to jail, where you belong!”

“Batman!”

The Clock King’s awed exclamation was cut short as the Penguin and his companions burst into the room. The arch-criminal quickly gathered his wits. “Jamie, Zoe, when I say run, you run.”

“Put that statuette down, Clock King!” Catwoman ordered.

“Oh, very well,” the Momentous Monarch said. He dropped the statuette to the floor and fished a pocket watch from his coat pocket and flung it toward Batman. “Run! Back to the ship!” he cried, leading the way.

An explosion in midair stunned Batman, knocking the Dark Knight off his feet.

“I can’t see a thing in the dark, wak! Undine, hit the lights!”

As the lights came on, it became obvious that all the combatants, except Batman, who had been in the room when the Penguin’s flare had exploded were still blinded. The Caped Crusader was suffering from the effects of the Clock King’s concussive pocket watch.

With surprising speed, the Penguin waddled around the room, streaming colored gas from the tip of his umbrella into each of the heroes faces. Meanwhile, vision slowly returned to the eyes of the battered henchmen.

As Catwoman retrieved her weapons, she quickly put her cats to work. “Nick, Beaumont, get Batwoman and Flamebird. Spade, I want to talk to your ex. Get her.”

“Yes, Catwoman,” they all answered, squinting and rubbing their eyes.

“Hammerhead; Moray Eel; and Manta Ray, collect the Dynamic Duo,” the Penguin ordered. “Wak, Wak, Wak!”

The Penguin’s and Catwoman’s henchmen moved to obey as the blue box into which Clock King and his crew had retreated disappeared noisily.

Purdey turned to regard the Penguin. “What was that thing?” she demanded. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Never mind,” the Penguin said. “My little arrangement has delivered Batman, Robin, Batwoman, and Flamebird into our hands! Wak, wak, wak!”

“Spade,” Catwoman said, picking up the statuette the Clock King had dropped. “Bring Ms. Parker here. That little brat needs to learn some manners, so I see no reason to delay sinking my claws into her—deeply.”

“Yes, Catwoman,” Spade’s deep voice said. He devoutly hoped she had forgotten his temporary change of loyalties.

“While you’re entertaining the Parker family, I’ll see to the Dingbat Duos,” the Penguin said, “but now that they’re nearly disposed of, will you sell me the statue, Catwoman?”

“As soon as we agree on the price,” the Princess of Plunder answered.

“Capital. Wak, wak, wak!”

“Come, Spade,” Catwoman ordered, as she led the way outside. Spade carried the still dazed Legs Parker outside and set her gently onto the lawn.

“If you’re going to scratch her with your claws, boss,” Spade asked, “does that mean she’ll be scratched from Gotham City’s rogues gallery forever?”

“Purr-haps, Spade. Tell me. How do you feel about her?”

“I wouldn’t want to hurt her.”

Catwoman smirked. “You still want her?”

Spade glanced at the defeated woman lying at their feet. “Well, I wouldn’t call her useless.”

“She held all of us up and insulted me! I won’t let that go unpunished!”

“What are you going to do to her, boss?” Spade asked.

“Excuse me,” Purdey said, indicating Legs. “I’ve been back inside talking to some of my sisters. We’ve agreed that there was no real harm done, since those big boys she came in with didn’t shoot up the house. If there’s no objection, we have some plans for them.”

Legs moaned. Catwoman crouched beside her.

“Listen, little girl,” the villainess quietly said. “You’ve got half a minute to give me a reason not to scratch you to death.” Legs’ glance shifted from Catwoman’s face to the glint of moonlight on the villainess’ cruel, steel claws.

“I’ll give you Batgirl,” she said weakly. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Batgirl?” Catwoman repeated skeptically.

“Batgirl,” Penguin said, sounding more interested and walking over to join the meeting. “We can eliminate all of them? Wak, wak, wak! Oh, frabjous day!”

“How do you propose to get me Batgirl?” Catwoman asked.

“You don’t understand,” Legs Parker said, quickly regaining her strength. “She tried to catch me when I arrived. My brothers grabbed her and I beat the Batsnot out of her, softening her up. I was going to finish the job personally, but if I can save my skin by denying myself that pleasure, she’s all yours.”

“Where is she?’ Catwoman demanded.

Legs told them.

“Get her, Undine,” Penguin ordered.

“It will be my pleasure,” Undine said, shedding the machine guns she had taken from the house and slipping off to retrieve the fifth prisoner.

“Purdey,” Catwoman said, “We won’t be needing the Parkers until tomorrow. If you and your sisters would like to entertain them . . .” Selina let the implication go unsaid. “By the way, do you have a spare room where Spade could play with his ex?”

“I’m sure we could make them comfortable,” the coed said, regarding the criminal couple with a lecherous grin.

“Splendid,” the Penguin enthused. “While the sorority sorts out the sleeping arrangements for the Parkers, we’ll take our other prisoners back to my seaside hideout. Wak, wak, wak! What’s keeping Undine?” Just then his most gorgeous goon appeared with Batgirl’s unconscious body draped over her shoulders.

“Purr-fect,” Catwoman said, stretching and flexing her fingers. “We can actually take all of them out at once! Mr. Spade, I’m leaving you in charge. I’m sure you’re up to the task.”

“Yes, Catwoman.” Seemingly, the deep-voiced cat had dodged the bullet. Things had worked out better than he could possibly imagine.

“Catwoman,” Legs Parker said, attracting the villainess’ attention. “Thank you.” Spade lifted her in his arms and carried her toward the house.

“I sincerely hope you and I will never have to discuss the purr-ameters of our relationship again, little girl,” Catwoman warned. Once Spade had gone, she turned her attention to the Penguin, who had just finished supervising his prisoners’ packaging for their short, one-way trip.

“Boss,” Undine said, clutching the Penguin’s arm as he turned from his finks’ completed work.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked, smiling at her.

“None of our prisoners will have any use for their vehicles once we’ve finished with them, right?”

The Penguin’s eyes widened with delighted incredulity. “Great quivering icebergs! You’re right! Finks, get the Bat-vehicles and bring them here.” His men ran off as he began to look for Catwoman. “Where is she?” he demanded. “Catwoman!”

“What is it?” she asked, sounding bored as she carried the Onyx Osprey across the lawn toward him.

“Whose vehicle would you like to ride to my hideout?”

Catwoman glanced at the sound of the approaching motors and smiled “Pengy, you’re the greatest. I’ll ride the Batgirlcycle.”

“Capital!. I’ll ride Batwoman’s Bat-Cycle. Undine, you drive the Batmobile and lead the way.” The Penguin wanted nothing to do with the Batmobile, but felt he had to make up an excuse not to drive the legendary car. “In spite of the fact you’re incredibly hot, you’ll be warmer in the car.”

“You could keep me warm, Pengy,” she said, climbing onto the bike behind him.

“As you wish, my dear,” Penguin agreed, feeling her body press firmly against his. “One of you finks, take the car, another, Flamebird’s motorbike.”

“I’ll follow you,” Catwoman agreed excitedly, pulling behind the Penguin. She quickly realized her arch-criminal colleague had been hopelessly distracted. “Boys, don’t forget the prisoners!”

“Onward!” the Penguin cried, and led the criminals away.

Meanwhile, in the Clock King’s incredible escape vehicle, his assistants seemed dejected. “What rotten luck!” the pretty, dark-haired girl wearing a sparkling, silver catsuit which clung closely to her petite, well-proportioned body, fumed. “Batman burst in on us just as His Majesty was grabbing the statue.”

“Aye,” the young man wearing an elegant shirt and piratical belt to go along with his kilt agreed. “A wasted trip . . . but at least we got there.”

“You two think Batman beat me, don’t you?” the Clock King asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You dropped the statuette,” the young Scot accused.

“Everyone saw you,” the girl concurred.

“Oh, yes. You’re both right. Of course . . . everyone saw precisely what I wanted them to see.” The Clock King pulled a statuette from beneath his shabby coat and set it on top of the rising and falling column in the center of his craft’s hexagonal console.

“You switched them!” the male assistant exclaimed.

The girl reached out and weighed the statuette in her hand with a delighted laugh. “No wonder you’re Batman’s nemesis, Clock King. That preternatural pretender has no idea he’s been utterly outwitted.”

“You’re very kind, Zoe. We’ll have to remind Batman of this episode before I destroy him.”

“You have a plan to get rid of him, Clock King?” the criminal’s male companion asked.

“Well, Jamie, not as such, but I am pondering certain possibilities all the time. Let’s just say Batman’s doom is never far from my mind.” He glanced at the girl and realized she was staring at the statuette and frowning. “What’s wrong, Zoe?”

“This statuette is supposed to be made of gold and is covered to disguise that fact, right?”

“Yes.”

“I think it should be heavier.”

“Let me see.” Clock King said. He set the statuette on a scale on a table before one roundel-covered wall and frowned at the reading. “May I borrow your dirk, Jamie?” Once the hairy-legged Highlander had surrendered it, the arch-criminal scraped at the bottom of the statuette. “Yes,” he muttered. “It’s just as I thought. This statue is made of lead.”

“So, you did the switch wrong,” Jamie accused.

“No. Someone else made a switch. I think an eighteenth-century crook called Garsone Maltese once stole this piece. I wonder whether he is responsible for the exchange or if it was more recent?”

“We could always find out,” Zoe suggested practically.

“That’s true, isn’t it?”

“What was the name of the archeologist who discovered the Onyx Osprey?” Jamie asked.

“Jones,” the Clock King said, bending over the console. “It’s hard to believe he was fooled. I’ll need spacial coordinates for Key Blanco, Florida, on this planet, Zoe.”

“When would you like to arrive?” she asked.

“Let me see,” the Clock King began, losing himself in thought.

Presently, Batwoman, Batman, Batgirl, Robin, and Flamebird were revived from their unnatural slumber. Nick, Beaumont, Hammerhead, Moray Eel, and Manta Ray stepped back, permitting them to see the Penguin, flanked by Undine and Catwoman, regarding them through a hazy curtain of cigarette smoke. The captives lay on their stomachs at a forty-five degree angle, with their arms bound together behind them. To see the villains, they had to turn and look over their shoulders.

“Welcome to Penguin’s flight school,” the wily bird chirped. “Wak, wak, wak! You’ll all notice, I trust, that we’ve tied you into position with stout ropes wound into stevedore’s knots for your exciting maiden voyage.”

“Holy One-Way Trip! These are torpedo tubes!”

“I do believe you’re right, Boy Blunder!” the Penguin said, feigning surprise. ”It seems we’re prepared to send all of Gotham City’s costumed crusaders flying into the waters of Gotham Harbor as masked missiles in one baleful broadside.”

“You’ll never get away with this you, foul fiend,” Flamebird cried.

“We’ll soon see, my flickering fledgling. Wak!”

“All you’re going to see after this, Penguin, is the interior of your permanent cell,” Batgirl predicted.”

“I don’t think any of the witnesses to your fateful flight will be of much use to the prosecution, Batgirl,” the Penguin responded. “Not that any of us will ever be caught, once you’re all gone. Wak!”

“Penguin,” Batman began, adopting his lecturer tone, “these torpedo tubes were put in place for defense. The use to which you are putting them perverts that purpose and increases the risk of terrorist attacks on innocent citizens. The brave people of Gotham City face this outrageous threat every day. In the name of humanity, abandon this murderous plan!”

“Do I detect a trace of ego, Batman?” Catwoman teased. “You are so full of yourself sometimes.”

The Penguin listened tranquilly to Batman and watched a smoke ring he blew slowly drift upward. “You know, Batman, you may be right,” he said. Catwoman and Undine speechlessly turned to stare at him. The Penguin shrugged. “I mean it. We may be super-criminals, but we are American super-criminals.”

The tuxedo-clad villain returned his attention to the Caped Crusader. “Rest assured, Batman, after the five of you complete your flights, I’ll let the authorities know these torpedoes need to be replaced. It’s the least I can do, as a former candidate for public office. Wak, wak, wak!”

Catwoman and Undine visibly relaxed. The Penguin had not taken leave of his senses.

“Now as to the details, my five fettered foes,” the Penguin continued. “The launch will be handled from here. Your landings will be your responsibility. I’m quite certain the shattering force with which your skulls should impact the surface of the sea will closely resemble the meeting of falling melons and cement sidewalks.”

“Messy,” Catwoman said absently.

“Undine,” the Penguin said, “kindly take the controls.”

“It will be my pleasure, Pengy,” she said as light glinted on her white teeth. “Thank you.”

“I certainly intend to,” the Penguin muttered, as she stepped away from him and slowly crossed the room. When she was in position, he went on gloating more loudly. “Within a very few minutes, you will all be airborne. Seconds later, your tragic trajectory will have concluded and your watery remains will be spread across the sea to be devoured by the fish. What isn’t eaten will be locked away forever in an ice-water mansion deep beneath Gotham Harbor. Wak! Now, Undine, into the unfriendly skies with them!”

“We’re ready for action, Penguin,” Undine reported.

“Capital! Set the target range for beyond the barrier reef.”

Undine worked for a moment. “Range is set to beyond the barrier reef.”

“Verify the target area is clear of vessels. Wak!”

“Target area – clear.”

“Wak, wak, wak! Lock our projectiles on target!”

“The target is locked!”

“Prepare to fire Batwoman! Bon voyage, Batwoman. Happy landings. Wak!”

“I’m all set, Pengy,” Undine said eagerly.

“You may fire on my mark.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Meow.”

“Five.”

“Hey!” Undine interrupted. “We won’t be able to see their ends!”

Penguin leered appreciatively at his henchwoman’s buttocks. He spoke so that Undine couldn’t hear him. “There’s another end that concerns me just as much.”

Catwoman, though, did overhear his remark. She rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “Do get on with it, Penguin.”

“I do apologize, ladies. I’m sure you’ll both understand I was all caught up in the moment. Activate the external camera.”

Fabric stretched against Undine’s body as she bent over the controls and hunted for the appropriate switch with her hands. She soon located and activated the control. “Ah. Camera activated. The scene of the choppy sea appeared on an enormous view screen above the Penguin’s human torpedoes.

“Resuming countdown,” the Penguin reported. “Four!”

“Purr-fect,” Catwoman said, leaning forward with anticipation.

“Three! Wak, wak wak!” Batwoman thrashed in her torpedo tube and realized the knots binding her had been tied far too well to give her even a faint a hope of escape. She glanced fearfully at Batman and her eyes grew wide.

“Two!”

“Up, up and away,” Undine said, laughing delightedly and poising her finger over the launch button.

“One!” the Penguin cried, removing his cigarette holder from between his teeth.

“Wait a minute!” Catwoman shouted.

Tension drained from everyone in the room. “Hold the countdown!” The Penguin was first flustered, then angry. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

Catwoman put her hands on her hips and complained, “Are you planning to put us through all this five times?”

“Come on, Catwoman. It’s ecstasy. We can see everything from here. First, we see the look on the face of the victims as they wait to be hurled into oblivion. Then, each penetration of the sea can be observed on the screen. Finally, we’ll be able to monitor the remaining victims spirits ebb away to nothing with each death.”

“I wish I could be sure I can take it,” the tall strawberry blonde lamented.

“With all due respect, Catwoman,” Undine said, “what are you talking about?”

“I’m in crime because of Batman. For some strange reason, it’s the only way I can get him to chase me. Naturally, I’m playing hard to get.” Her voice became very small. ”This time, it looks like that game is really about to end forever . . . and it’s been so much fun.”

“You’re complaining?” the Penguin asked, unable to keep the surprise from registering in his voice.

“Of course not!” Catwoman replied. “Sure, losing Batman will change crime forever for me, but I never thought I’d get to watch Batgirl and Robin become fish food. That, Pengy, is what makes being part of your audience absolutely purr-fect.” She laughed. “Don’t you have the means to see these torpedoes’ landing up close and purr-sonal topside?”

“I do. We’ll have to start the countdown over again.” He had been enjoying watching both Catwoman and Undine’s bodies become rigid with anticipation. He could feel his chest heaving and his heart pounding.

Catwoman’s questions continued. “Can’t you set them to launch automatically?”

“Yes, I can.” the Penguin said. As he went on considering the proposal, excitement grew within him. “Indeed I can!”

“Well, then,” Catwoman said practically, ”Just do it!”

“Undine, synchronize the torpedoes for simultaneous, automatic launch.”

“Aye-aye, Pengy,” she said. “The Bat-launch is synchronized.”

“Set the countdown for fifteen minutes.”

“Hey, boss,” Hammerhead ventured from the “cheap seats,” “If you set if for about forty-five minutes, we’d have time to order pizza.”

“Shut up, you insipid idiot!” the Penguin ordered, conking the thug on the head with his umbrella. “Matters of life and death are not the time for pizza!” He blew a stream of smoke at the hapless thug and turned his attention to Catwoman. “Fifteen minutes will be plenty of time to get situated topside and let the tension rebuild — both up there and down here. Wak!” The Penguin stepped toward Hammerhead, fixed his gaze upon the fearful fink, and raised his umbrella again. The Penguin’s finks fled.

“The countdown is set,” Undine announced, pointing at an indicator on one wall. “Launch will take place exactly fifteen minutes . . .” she pointed at the control panel “. . . after I push this button.”

“Wak, wak, wak!” The Waddling Master of Fowl Play spun to face his amorous agent and grinned wickedly at her. “You may begin the countdown whenever you’re ready. We’ll take our leave directly thereafter.”

Undine cast a questioning glance at Catwoman. “Purr-fect,” the Feline Felon approved.

“Right,” Undine said, touching the countdown control and laughing. The digital display began running backwards from 15.00.00. “That’s it then.” The supercriminals and the Catwoman’s cats joined the malevolent moll’s merriment.

“Boys,” Catwoman said with a flick of her wrist and an extended, clawed finger. “Out!” Her cats departed as bidden.

“Come along, ladies,” the Penguin invited winding his arms around his blonde companions. “I’m sure the view from up top will be quite spectacular. Shall we go?”

“Indeed, Pengy Sweet,” Catwoman said, as her hand slowly and gently stroked the arm with which the Penguin held her. Her other hand clasped the Onyx Osprey and held it closely against her side. “In a very few minutes, everything in the world that could ever stop us will be gone forever.”

“Indeed, Catwoman. Only a criminal genius such as myself could have devised such a fiendish fate for our enemies. Wouldn’t you ladies agree? Wak!”

“Whatever you say, boss,” his picturesque paramour agreed, laying her head on his shoulder.

The terrible trio locked the door behind them as the countdown inexorably continued.

Back to the Batgirl Bat-Trap Homepage!