A Web of Deception

Nothing seemed at all amiss as the patrons of the day’s final tour through the private, historical Anderson Museum in Gotham City were told of a legendary, illicit fortune allegedly hidden somewhere among the many treasures on display. Yet, perfidious preparations for a terrifying crime wave were nevertheless well underway.

“To this day,” the tour guide concluded, “no one has ever found a thing, and periodic searches have combed this house since the days of Prohibition in the 1920s. Of course, you’re all welcome to enjoy the exhibits or look for the legendary hoard of cash on your own until we close. Also, any of you who would like to spend money may still browse the treasures offered in our gift shop. It will remain open for another half hour. Thank you all for coming.”

That sales pitch made a young, red-haired woman lingering toward the back of the group smile thinly. She checked her watch and glanced at the old man shuffling behind the tour guide. He, in turn, was looking at an ornate clock hanging in the main hall.

It was time.

The group had just reached the bottom of the main staircase when the old man collapsed with a gasp, falling heavily from the landing to the floor. He weakly clutched at his chest. All the visitors except the one who had expected the ‘accident’ crowded around him. “Somebody call a doctor!” the concerned tour guide said. Several cell phones came out of patrons’ pockets and purses.

“I’m a doctor,” a curly-haired man wearing a dark trench coat and a very long, striped scarf said, bending over the fallen man. Many patrons put away their cell phones.

“Excuse me, sir,” the tour guide said. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look like a doctor. What is it you are a doctor of?”

“Oh, practically everything,” the Doctor replied, casually listening to an instrument he took from a pocket. He reached and prodded the man here and there. “Bone structure is intact.”

“Aren’t you going to check his breathing and pulse?” another onlooker demanded.

“Watch his chest,” the Doctor advised, unbuttoning the top of the man’s shirt.

“It’s going up and down,” the onlooker conceded.

“I noticed that immediately. Note the blood vessels are clearly visible through the skin. This man is obviously enjoying a rare excursion. The throbbing visible here indicates his heartbeat is a little fast.” The Doctor pointed out the pulsing blood vessel. “Now,” the strangely dressed Doctor went on, “this man’s condition is understandable, given the excitement of a variation from a more relaxed, routine today.”

“So, what happened to him?”

“Oh, it’s elementary. He lost his balance and grazed his head on that railing. Never mind about that. Could someone get a glass of water? He’ll recover in less than a minute.”

“What happened,” the patient demanded, fifty seconds later as the doctor helped him sit up.

“It’s all right. You slipped on the rug at the bottom of the stair here. You’ll be fine,” the Doctor answered, supporting the patient.

“Indeed I will, young man. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. Thank you for keeping all those pesky doctors away from me.”

“Would you like some water?” the Doctor kindly offered, displaying his white teeth as he smiled broadly.

“Not without a shot of something strong in it.”

The Doctor took the cup of water someone had brought for the old man and drank it. “That’s good. Thank you,” he said, handing the empty cup back to the startled museum patron. The Doctor returned his attention to his patient. “Would you like a jelly baby?”

“I’d really rather have a drink.”

“Good idea,” the Doctor encouraged, straightening and helping the old man to his feet. “It’s really a very good idea . . . very, very, very good, in fact.”

The tour, minus its stragglers, moved toward the gift shop.

The redhead, who had expected the old man’s collapse, retreated as soon as the performance began. She hurried along the deserted hall and stepped into an equally deserted library, closing the door behind her. She turned on the light and smiled. Her information had revealed access to the well-concealed vault would be denied unless these initial steps had been taken.

The entrance to the vault was, of course, behind one of the bookcases. The girl had been told a means of moving the bookcase aside would be behind the Renoir painting. Unfortunately, she knew nothing about art and could not have identified a Renoir if it had bitten her. So, she had to waste time disarming the alarms protecting each painting and checking behind them one by one, before reconnecting the circuit whenever she found nothing.

This chore was more of an annoying necessity than a burden though, and she eventually found the switch hidden behind the painting. She turned it with a smile. The bookcase slid aside to reveal a dark chamber the size of a closet. “Perfect so far,” the pretty burglar murmured as she stepped into the chamber the bookcase had hidden. She turned around and found a panel upon which two buttons were arranged vertically. She pressed the lower button and was unsurprised when the bookcase slid back into place, a dim light blazed, and the small chamber began slowly descending.

At the bottom of the shaft, the woman illuminated more dim lights and stepped into a room filled with dust covered shelves stacked high with money—more money than the woman had ever seen in one place at one time in her life. She inhaled, moved to the opposite side of the room, knelt on the floor, and spread her large, thin coat. She began pulling the stacks of bills from the upper shelves and heaping them on the coat. Once the pile became large enough, she wrapped it in the coat and took a needle and a spool of silken thread from her bag. With these, she sewed the coat around the money. The next garment to be used in this manner was a second thin coat she slid from with a delighted laugh. She had dressed in layers for this job. Each of her outfits was a little larger than the one beneath it, so that all of the clothes could be worn inconspicuously. Removing all the money might easily require her to undress almost completely. Sewing all of her garments into loot bags would take time, but, of course, she had all night.

The lone guard on duty drowsed as dawn’s early light heralded a new day. Suddenly, he straightened and stared at the monitor showing the hall outside the upstairs library. A scantily-clad redhead, with strands of straight hair reaching halfway down her bare back, moved silently along the corridor in black moccasins.

To have said she was clad scantily was generous. The long, shapely legs extending from her well-rounded hips were sheathed in a black thong and sheer, matching nylons. Her upper body was bare except for the black brazier that strained to contain her breasts. She had accessorized with a pair of elbow length, black gloves and a black, silk scarf that concealed her face.

The guard followed her progress as she moved from one camera view to the next, as excitement built within him. ‘I wonder if she got her outfit from the Black Widow Lingerie Company,’ he thought. She descended the staircase and seemed to be coming closer to his position.

‘Could my office really be her ultimate destination,’ the guard wondered, ‘and, if so, what does she want? Of course, it’s my duty to investigate this invasion of the premises, but if the intruder is coming to me, she’s making my job easy. Who am I to argue? Besides, she appears to be well worth investigating—thoroughly.’

The sound of the door opening behind him made him realize how distracted he had become. As he swivelled his chair around, he realized the intrepid intruder stood framed in the door before him. She was somehow larger than life, looking leggy, luscious, and lovely all at the same time. “Hi,” the guard said nervously, blushing. “What do you want?”

“You,” the girl whispered and raised one hand, curling a finger toward herself, motioning for the man to approach.

“You’re kidding!” the incredulous guard said, rising. He inhaled involuntarily.

The woman stepped toward him without a word and wrapped her arms around him. His fingers pulled the scarf away from her face as her hands played over his back and drew him toward her. When the scarf was gone, her mouth pressed against his and they kissed. The guard was aware of nothing but her scent and the heat of her body as the kiss went on. His coat fell from his shoulders as their embrace continued. He drew her closer and she went on kissing him slowly.

Suddenly, a sharp pain jabbed the guard’s hip, sobering him instantly, tearing him from the intruder’s intoxicating touch and shattering the spell she had woven.

Naturally, it was much too late. His body twitched in the woman’s grasp, and he realized he was powerless to prevent the contents of the hypodermic needle from being injected into him.

“What was that?” the guard asked, when the kiss broke.

“Venom,” the woman answered, giggling. “I’ve introduced in into your femoral artery, so it will go straight to your heart and paralyze you for a little while. Don’t worry. I didn’t use a strong enough dose to stop your heart and kill you, but I’d really hate what I would be forced to do, if you were to do anything to make me regret my decision to spare your life.”

“Why attack me at all?”

“I can’t have you interfering with my plans and I don’t want you giving the police a pesky eyewitness account of this morning’s enterprise.” As the woman spoke, she stepped behind him and retrieved her scarf, which she used to blindfold the guard. Her final chore with the guard was to wrap his elbows, knees, wrists, and ankles with the remainder of her silken thread.

When the girl was finished binding him, the guard said, “You won’t get away with–”

“What?”

He paused to compose his thoughts, “–whatever it is you’re doing here.”

“Really?” the girl said, her voice betraying a hint of challenge. “I suspect your description of me to the police will be incomplete. I don’t even think you realize my face was covered. Your security tapes would have told you that eventually, but my little spider electromagnet will take care of them.” The girl laughed and opened a cabinet filled with videotapes. She pulled the current tape from the machine and put it away before setting something else inside the cabinet and touching a tiny switch. An hourglass shaped light on the underside of the black device glowed red. “There. All your evidence will soon be gone, and I have to be going myself. I hope my little visit was good for you, too,” she said. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Bye.” The guard heard the door close and lock as the girl left him alone.

As the woman moved toward the main door to the Anderson Museum, she dialed her cell phone.

A short time later, a blonde woman pulled a van up close to the front of the mansion turned museum. “Octo is ready for you boys, so get going.”

“Sure thing, Sis,” the girl’s three brothers responded simultaneously. The large, heavily armed trio made their way to the museum.

“Spade,” the blonde said to a man who slid from the passenger seat beside her to follow her brothers.

"Yes, Legs, my dear?”

She handed him a bulky black coat. “Octo will need this,” she said.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Spade agreed. He hurried after the other men while the getaway driver made sure all of the van’s doors were ajar as she kept the engine idling. When he reached the main door, Spade saw his companions surrounding Octo and showering her with compliments. “You might need this,” Spade said, offering the coat.

“Thank you, Spade,” the woman in the museum lobby said. “Mad Dog, Machine Gun, and Pretty Boy say the sweetest things, but your actions are so thoughtful,” she said, slipping the coat over her bare shoulders while letting it hang open. “Why don’t we go get that money? There’s rather a lot of it.”

Within half an hour, Octo and her evil entourage were driven away.

“It’s baffling,” Commissioner Gordon said hours later as he reviewed reports of the crime.

“Sure an’ it is,” Chief O’Hara said. “This spider woman attacks the guard and seems to be able to take anything she wants, yet steals absolutely nothing!”

“What was the point?”

“Begorra!” Chief O’Hara agreed, “and who was she?”

“Just a minute, Chief,” the Commissioner said suddenly. “Why did you call our criminal a ‘spider woman?’”

“Well, first there is the silk the guard had been tied up with. Then, this electromagnet she left to destroy the security tapes looks like a spider,” he explained, presenting the unique piece of evidence, “and, according to the lab, the hypodermic needle she used to paralyze the guard had spider venom in it.”

“You’ve checked with the security departments of surrounding buildings for any pictures they may have taken of our mysterious intruder?”

“Well, the Anderson Museum was once a mansion. There are no other businesses nearby. There is a traffic light, though. Lieutenant Mooney detailed someone to look at that footage.”

“Good—“

The phone interrupted the Commissioner’s line of thought. “Yes, Bonnie?” he said, picking up the receiver.

“Lieutenant Mooney is here, sir. She says she has something to show you.”

“Thank you, Bonnie. Please send her in.”

Police Lieutenant Diana Mooney strode purposefully into the room. She carried a large manila envelope and announced, “There’s more to the incident at the Anderson Museum than we thought.” She opened the envelope and set six enlarged snapshots on the Commissioner’s desk.

“The Parker children!” Commissioner Gordon exclaimed. “Machine Gun, Pretty Boy, and Mad Dog are all clearly approaching the museum . . . and Legs is driving the getaway van!”

“With them involved, how can nothing be missing?” Chief O’Hara demanded.

“I don’t know, Chief. You recognize this scoundrel, of course?” The Commissioner was pointing at the photo of a thug in black pants and a black and yellow striped shirt.

“That’s Spade, Catwoman’s former henchman,” Chief O’Hara said, glancing at the photo. “He seems to have found a way to keep busy, despite his mistress’ ‘death.’” The Chief didn’t believe they had seen the last of the Princess of Plunder. The only evidence the lab boys had found in the tank was one of her boots. Still, tests had confirmed the blood was hers–

O’Hara suddenly remembered something pertinent. “Hey! Spade once dated Legs Parker!”

“There’s nothing illegal about dating,” Lieutenant Mooney wistfully said.

The Chief gave his lieutenant a sympathetic look. As his wife often complained, police work in Gotham City left little time for a social life.

The Commissioner, a widower, returned to the topic at hand. “We’re left with this woman in black.”

”The face recognition program is running now, sir,” Lieutenant Mooney said. “Unless she’s new to the Gotham City rogues gallery, we’ll know who she is soon enough.” As she finished, Mooney noticed something out of place on the Commissioner’s desk. “Is that a spider?”

“It’s a disguised electromagnet, Lieutenant.”

She reached and picked up the device, examining it. When she illuminated the red light on its underside, her face paled. “Do you know what kind of spider this is supposed to be?”

The three of them stared at the glowing, red hourglass of light as the horrifying realization struck them all. “Saints preserve us!”

“It’s a black widow!” Commissioner Gordon said.

“This girl isn’t Black Widow,” Chief O’Hara said with a burst of deductive insight, pointing at the picture. “Black Widow is older than I am! I believe she’s in the Old Criminals’ Home.”

“This woman may be a new version, just like Legs is now Ma Parker,” Lieutenant Mooney observed. “She looks pretty young to be a widow, but she might not be taking the name literally.”

Chief O’Hara frowned. “Of course, if she is a widow, that could mean some unfortunate fellow in her past met with foul play . . . and we didn’t even know about the crime!”

“Until and unless we find some evidence,” Lieutenant Mooney gravely said, “there'll be nothing we can do about that.”

“Speculation at this point may only get our investigation off track,” the Commissioner cautioned.

Lieutenant Mooney pulled out her cell phone and punched a number. “Officer Broderick, I may have a lead on that picture I asked you to identify. I think the woman may be an associate of the Black Widow.” Mooney listened as, on the other end, practiced fingers flew over a keyboard. Broderick then reported his findings. “Good work. Thanks for your help.”

“He found her?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“Her name is Octo. She worked for Black Widow at the time Batwoman and Flamebird first appeared in Gotham City. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, they arrested her.”

Both Commissioner Gordon and Chief O’Hara were staring at the covered, red phone across the office. “Lieutenant Mooney is right, Chief,” the Commissioner said. “Batwoman has been successful against Black Widow most recently, and, as I recall, at Legs Parker’s wedding, Batgirl talked the bride into surrendering before her help started a firefight that would have gotten a lot of people, many of them innocent bystanders, needlessly killed.”

“Sure and she was, Commissioner. You’re thinking we might not want to call in Batman and Robin on this one?”

“Recently, we may have taken Robin away from his studies too often and it may be unfair of us to call in Batman first on every case, especially when it involves super-villainesses.” As the Commissioner spoke, he produced a purple cell phone with a bat symbol on it.

“I’ll e-mail Batgirl,” Chief O’Hara offered.

“Good thinking, Chief. I’ll contact Batwoman.”

Lieutenant Mooney permitted herself a small smile as her superiors went about contacting Batman’s female allies.

Betty Kane tossed a ball high into the air and whacked it across the net, watching her second serve with satisfaction as it hit just inside the service line. Her new coach fired it sharply along the left sideline and Betty, after racing across the court, reached the ball after it bounced and returned it with a two-handed backhand. Betty then charged the net as the ball shot back toward her. She volleyed the yellow sphere with a forehand that put the ball over the net and in play at a sharp angle, out of reach of her coach. “Point for me,” she called cheerfully.

“Nice shot. I think that’s enough for today.”

“Okay. Same time tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Remember your diet and don’t stay up too late. I want to work on your stamina and that means running farther. If I wear you out early, I’ll have a chance when we hit the court.”

Betty laughed. “Thank you for agreeing to coach me here in Gotham City.”

“Well, the facilities you’ve built to practice on here at home are state of the art.” Four courts were laid out side-by-side: one with a Rebound Ace surface, one clay, one grass and one with the same hard court as used at Flushing Meadows. All four were covered by a retractable roof, in place on this blustery fall day.

“Aunt Kathy said if I’m going to make it to the top of the women’s rankings, some commitment was required on both our parts.”

“Your aunt is very generous. Oh, here she comes.”

Katherine Kane stepped onto the Australian Open tennis court and walked toward them with a smile. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“I had a great workout,” Betty said.

“We still have a lot to do, but we made some progress today. I’m going to hit the showers. If I don’t see you later, Betty, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“She’ll get back to you on that,” Kathy Kane interrupted.

“Oh?” the coach questioned. “You can bet Justine, Anastasia, Maria and Svetlana aren’t taking tomorrow off. The Australian starts January 17.”

Betty knew her coach was right. Justine Henin-Hardenne, Anastasia Myskina, Maria Sharpanova, Svetlana Kuznetsova and many other top professionals would await Betty "down under." Her crime fighting as Flamebird, however, saved lives. While Flamebird was obviously just one of Gotham City’s five famous defenders, fighting crime allowed Betty to directly impact the safety of one particular citizen, whom she dearly loved — her aunt, Kathy, who was really Batwoman. Betty had every intention of going on watching her partner’s back as their ongoing war on crime continued; despite the many perils she routinely faced, Flamebird’s commitment to her aunt was stronger than her fear of danger.

Betty looked at her aunt knowingly. “It’s okay, Coach. I do have other responsibilities . . . but don’t worry. I’ll be getting plenty of exercise.”

The coach shrugged. Tennis was her life and she couldn’t imagine anything being more important to her new student. Still, for what they were paying her . . .

“Alright. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

Once her coach had gone, Betty lowered her voice. “What’s going on?”

“Get cleaned up. Batwoman and Flamebird are wanted at Headquarters.

“Who is it this time?”

“Black Widow.”

“Her again! I’ll meet you in the Bat Cavern.”

Katherine Kane nodded and walked directly to the grandfather clock in the main hall, which was easily visible from the living room. She pushed a concealed button on the side of the clock and moved both hands straight up. After a click, the clock swung open on hidden hinges, acting like a door. Once the beautiful billionaire had passed through and closed the door behind her, the clock returned to the correct time and continued ticking.

A short flight of steps led down to an alcove where Batwoman and Flamebird’s costumes waited. Once Katherine Kane had changed, she stepped to the top of a slide where she sat and slid quickly down to the Bat Cavern.

Barbara Gordon felt a vibration against her hip and turned the front desk of the Midtown branch of the Gotham City Library over to an eager intern. She locked her office door and checked her e-mail at the special account set up for Batgirl. She sent an acknowledgment and announced to her staff she was taking an early lunch. At home she underwent her tantalizing transformation and Batgirl soon arrived at Police Headquarters, where the Distaff Duo awaited her.

“You dealt with Ma Legs Parker most recently, Batgirl,” Commissioner Gordon explained. “Batwoman and Flamebird dealt with Black Widow and her nephew, Archie Arcane, when she short-circuited the Dynamic Duo’s brains and threatened Katherine Kane and her niece Betty.”

Flamebird shifted uncomfortably. That reference hit a little too close to home.

Batgirl had mixed feelings about her most recent encounter with the young mob matriarch, who had tried unsuccessfully to steal an art object, the Onyx Osprey, at gunpoint from an illicit auction. Batgirl had prevented Legs from killing off some of her competition prior to the auction, but had subsequently been captured. While the Curved Crusader was delighted to have survived the inevitable deathtrap in which she and all of her colleagues had been placed, the entire Parker family’s escape on that occasion still frustrated her.

“We thought since they seem to have teamed up, that the three of you might put your heads together and stop them,” Chief O’Hara said.

“Black Widow and Ma Legs Parker,” Batwoman mused.

“I’d think Legs Parker has her hands full taking care of a toddler,” Flamebird remarked.

“We can only hope,” Batgirl said. “I understand the residents at the Old Criminals’ Home adore Legs’ child.”

“So, this kid is spending countless hours with a bunch of retired gangsters?” Flamebird demanded.

“In addition to Mommy and her brothers, the Old Criminals’ Home offers Grandma; several so-called uncles; and one ostensible aunt, Black Widow, with whom the child can play—and learn from.” Batwoman said grimly. “It’s the ladies that worry me most.”

“I can send some men to haul them in,” Chief O’Hara offered.

“We don’t have proof they’re behind the crime,” Batgirl said.

“In fact,” the Commissioner said, throwing up his hands, “except for the assault and battery of the guard and breaking and entering, there hasn’t been a crime!”

“There’s little doubt the Parker children; Legs’ boyfriend, Spade; and this woman, Octo, were up to something more than mere mischief at the Anderson Museum,” Batwoman mused.

“Yet, the museum has not reported anything missing,” Flamebird said. “Why would they attack the guard and destroy the security videotapes if they weren’t going to steal anything? Shouldn’t we be most concerned about what those crooks were really doing?”

“It might be wise to have the answers to those questions before we start arresting people,” Batwoman said.

“You’re asking good questions, Flamebird,” Batgirl said, “and I may know where to find some of the answers.”

“Okay, Batgirl,” Batwoman said, “while you try to figure out exactly what the crooks have done, Flamebird and I will use the resources in the Bat Cavern in an attempt to discover what they plan to do next.”

“Just imagine what those enterprising people at the Old Criminals’ Home could have done had they worked, saved, and invested for their retirement,” Flamebird said. “They’re all tough and managed large organizations. Think what they could have accomplished legally and the vast amount of money they might have had available to spend in their golden years.”

“I always told you kids crime would pay,” the original Ma Parker said, stuffing a final bundle of greenbacks inside a mattress before reaching for a needle and thread.

“The best part of last night’s job is: nobody has a clue anything is missing!” Legs Parker said, knotting thread and closing the mattress upon which she was working with a delighted laugh.

“I love money—cash money!” Black Widow said. “Your good work gave us more gorgeous greenbacks than have been obtained through any modern-day criminal enterprise. Yet the best part of the scheme is that this money is only operating capital.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t the job make us filthy rich?” Octo asked.

"Oh, we are rich!” the senior Ma Parker agreed, “but putting our ill-gotten gains in these mattresses will make this money more available to our talent.” The senior citizen supervillainess laughed. “Gotham City is about to be awash in a crime wave the likes of which has never been seen before. Last night’s job will easily cover all the expenses we will incur, and the money we stand to make from our plans will make last night’s haul look like small change.”

“Why don’t you put it in a bank?” Octo asked.

“Banks are vulnerable to the criminal element,” the gang leader objected. “In other words, people like us rob them routinely. You see, Octo, I hate putting my money in bank accounts, but I adore banks . . . and with interest rates being so low . . . .”

“So, you plan to knock over a bunch of banks?”

“Not us,” Mrs. Parker said. “Our associates here at the Home.”

“Like the sorry actor who collapsed so I could sneak into the hidden vault?”

“Precisely.” Black Widow said. “I’m a little surprised no one has tried to take advantage of this collection of talent before.”

“It might have to do with all the gangsters here being greedy crooks at heart,” Legs suggested. “For example, Little Al charged Catwoman one million bucks – cash – for plans to the mint. I also heard the actor we hired for the job last night not only took his cut, but robbed the doctor who tried to help him after they got roaring drunk.”

“I guess the doc got stuck with the check,” Octo said, grinning evilly. “Alcohol certainly has its uses.”

“Drinking can be a profitable ploy,” Legs agreed as her lips twitched into a smile.

“Everyone around here knows what will happen if they mess with us,” Octo said with a wicked smirk. “Our enterprising actor did his job. As long as he doesn’t impact our profits, who cares what little bonuses he gets out of the work?”

A knock sounded at the door. Octo stood, slipping on a white lab coat she buttoned to conceal the red hourglass insignia centered on the form fitting, black outfit molded closely to her curvaceous body. She opened the door to admit Spade.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he said to Legs, who smiled more widely as she regarded him. She looked good that day, too, with her suntanned namesakes extending from a pair of faded, cutoff jeans and a patterned work shirt knotted across her pouty breasts.

“Is there something you wanted, young man?” Black Widow asked in a raspy drawl.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ladies. Johnny, or rather, Mr. Bingo, would like a word with you.”

“Run along and see to those records, Mr. Spade,” the Grandma Parker said, waving her hand dismissively. “Why don’t you help him, girls?”

“Send that handsome man in here while you’re at it,” Black Widow added.

Legs and Spade hurried from the room and Octo brought in the well-dressed, retired gangster before withdrawing herself.

Johnny Bingo sat down across from the two senior citizen supercriminals. “So, how did it go?”

“Your information was magnificent,” Black Widow said. “So, by the way, are you, doll.”

“You earned your cut of the take,” the Grandma Parker said, pulling a briefcase from the top of a nearby shelf.

Johnny Bingo opened the case and fanned through one of the bundles of bills neatly arranged inside. ”These are the bigger bills?”

“It’s just as we promised, love,” Black Widow said.

“Swell.” Johnny Bingo closed the case and set it on the floor.

“May I ask you ladies to dinner?”

“At the cafeteria?” Mrs. Parker asked.

“Where they’ll serve us the usual slop?” Black Widow added.

“Well, yes and no. You’ve been busy with the job, so you might not have heard. Some things have changed around here. One of the more popular modifications is the chow. We’re getting edible meals now. They serve steak — every night.”

“Oh, that Atkins diet!” Black Widow complained.

“There had better be a nice salad!” Mrs. Parker warned.

“We’d love to dine with you, Johnny,” Black Widow decided. “Please ask Mr. Marshall to join us. His electromagnet functioned beautifully and we wouldn’t want our celebration to be incomplete.”

“You mean Desmond?” Mrs. Parker nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Johnny Bingo picked up his briefcase and took his leave with a bow.

“The experiment has been an utter success, Mrs. Parker,” Black Widow said.

“That’s right, Mrs. Black. We have more specialists and experience here than I had when my family and I took over the Gotham City pen. My idea to tap into the criminal talent right here at our fingertips looks like it’s going to work.”

“Brilliantly.”

“And this is just the beginning.”

“Indeed. Not only will we shortly command unimaginable wealth and power, but we’ll have won an exquisite game of Spider and the Fly that has already begun with Batman; Robin; Batwoman, Flamebird and . . . and, what’s that other girl’s name?”

“Batgirl, Black Widow. We put all the clues in place for them. Is everything prepared?”

“Providing Masked Muscles and his friends are as smart as I think they are, your children should be able to have the pleasure of doing away with them as early as tonight!”

“I’m looking forward to the firsthand account of their demise and their obituaries in the morning,” Mrs. Parker enthused. The original Ma Parker and the Black Widow laughed. “The news might even warrant an extra edition.”

“The good old days,” Black Widow said with a sigh. “I miss them.”

“We’ll have to remember them, dear. The youngsters are destroying every trace of the talent at our disposal,” Mrs. Parker said with a sigh.

“The sacrifice will be worth it,” Black Widow said, placing a consoling hand on her colleague’s shoulder. “We can’t have the police learning of whom we can make use and of what they may be capable.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Parker agreed. “The good old days were grand though.”

“Those were the days.”

Shortly thereafter, in another part of the Old Criminal’s Home, Octo fed the contents of a manila folder into the shredder. “Listen. Getting rid of these files is all well and good,” she said, “But don’t the cops have their own copies?”

“The cops’ have duplicate files, but they are not as well organized as these,” Legs Parker said, feeding paper into another shredder. “Believe me, if anyone wants to know anything about our ‘new’ recruits, they’ll check here first.”

“They’ll check their own records, though, as soon as they realize we’ve beaten them to these,” Spade pointed out.

“True,” Legs said. “I have a thought.”

“What?” Octo asked.

“Have you noticed anyone skilled in sabotage or demolition?”

“A few of these guys were very good at that kind of thing,” Octo replied, “army training, you know.”

“Veterans who just couldn’t give up on the old-time notion of plunder,” Spade said appreciatively. “I love it.”

“Excellent!” Legs said. “You’re both quite right. The cops have duplicate copies of all of these records, but we have the talent to take care of that little problem.”

“You’re going to have them burned, aren’t you?” Spade asked.

“Blown up, but it amounts to the same thing.” Legs said.

“Do you have any idea if any of these records have been computerized?” Octo asked.

“That would be worth finding out,” Legs admitted.

“I’ll ask Webmaster to check and do something about anything he finds,” Octo promised.

“Is he capable of handling the job?” Legs asked.

“Quite capable. He may have a few other projects in the works, but I’m sure I can persuade him to give this assignment top priority.”

“What makes you so sure?" Spade asked.

“Is he always this dense?” Octo asked.

Back at the public library, Barbara Gordon’s research had unearthed the urban legend about the hidden vault at the Anderson Museum containing a cash fortune. “If the crooks found that money, some of the strange aspects of this case start to make sense,” she said over the phone.

“Right, Batgirl,” Commissioner Gordon agreed. “The attack on the guard would be necessary so that no one would realize what had been taken. Since no one knew for a fact that the money was there in the first place, they couldn’t report it as stolen.”

“Exactly, Commissioner,” Batgirl said. “Now, we can assume Black Widow has a vast fortune with which to work. The question is: into what devilish design does that fiendish fortune fit.”

“Perhaps the Distaff Duo’s predictive efforts will tell us,” Commissioner Gordon said.

In their Bat Cavern, Batwoman and Flamebird tried to puzzle out Black Widow’s perfidious plot.

“It must have something to do with spiders,” Flamebird insisted.

“Undoubtedly. Now, Black Widow’s crimes have all involved banks or extremely wealthy people. So, what is the connection between the wealthy and spiders?”

“Black widows, tarantulas, trap door, and daddy longlegs are all types of spiders.”

“Technically, Flamebird, the daddy longlegs, or harvestman, is an arachnid, but not a true spider. Those names, however, do correspond to spider-oriented criminals in Gotham City.”

“That’s right,” Flamebird said, snapping her fingers. “All of those crooks worked for Black Widow, but she also had a henchman called Webmaster!”

“Right. Let’s find out what happened to him since his arrest five years ago.”

“Do you think he might still be working for the Black Widow?”

“It’s possible. I’ve just realized how spiders are related to the entire world.”

Flamebird slammed her fist into her gloved palm. “Wow! Spiders are related to the entire world via the world wide web! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Fortunately, Flamebird, you are not looking for a means to convey a brain short-circuiting pulse to rich businesspeople around the globe.”

“Could she do that?”

“She could try. Look! Webmaster has become a businessman and he’s inviting his biggest investors to an Internet café opening party tomorrow night.”

“A bunch of rich guinea pigs upon whom Black Widow might test her technology. The profit potential of such a criminal venture is virtually unlimited.”

“The only problem I can see with this scheme is its initial expense,” Flamebird said.

“We’d better alert the Commissioner so he can tell Batgirl.”

“Saint’s preserve us!” Chief O’Hara said. “You suspect the crooks have a scheme that requires a lot of money. Batgirl suspects they stole a lot of money, but didn’t know how they would use it.” He went on to explain Batgirl’s theory.

“Please tell Batgirl we’ll meet her at Webmaster’s Internet café tonight,” Batwoman said, providing the address.

“Sure an’ I will, Batwoman.”

Later, as the Bat-women converged on the Webmaster’s Internet café, the Parker siblings, Spade, and Octo completed their dire duties.

“We’re ready,” Legs Parker said with a laugh. “This is going to be great!”

“You think they’re smart enough to figure out what we’re doing here?” Octo asked, sitting at a desk and stretching her legs so her heels were centered on the blotter.

“They’re smart enough to get curious,” Legs assured her. “You know how deadly curiosity can be.”

“If you’re tired, Octo, you can rest your head on my shoulder,” Mad Dog offered.

“Do you know what I’d do to you if I really had the chance to sink my fangs into you?” the black-clad redhead asked.

“Tell me,” the gangster dreamily responded.

“Absolutely nothing!” she replied, letting her voice take on an arctic quality. “You’re already a rabid animal.”

As Octo responded to his invitation, his smile transformed first into a frown and then into an angry scowl. He took in some air and tried to recover. “You don’t know what you’re missing, baby.”

Mad Dog Parker was expecting another icy retort from Octo. So, a female voice speaking next was not really a surprise, but the speaker, when she revealed herself, was new to the conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt your love-fest,” Batwoman said, stepping into view.

“It’s time for all of you to go back to jail, without passing ‘Go,’ collecting two hundred dollars, or doing anything else!” Flamebird said, taking a position beside her mentor.

“Warden Crichton has kept your cells empty for you,” Batgirl said, coming into view across from the Distaff Duo and blocking the room’s other exit. “We’d hate to disappoint him.”

“Welcome to our parlor,” Octo said calmly.

“I’ve been looking forward to burying you all for a number of years now,” Ma Legs Parker said. “I think you’ll each fit quite nicely into a six-feet deep hole.”

“Why don’t you make yourselves useful, boys?” Octo said.

“I thought I just made you that offer,” Mad Dog protested.

“Are all of you really such idiots?” Legs Parker fumed. “Wait!” she said, holding up her hand and looking at the ceiling. “Don’t answer that. Instead,” she pointed at the heroines, “get them!”

Spade obediently charged toward Batgirl and the three Parker Brothers faced the Distaff Duo, forming a semicircle.

Batgirl moved to dispatch Spade with one of her showgirl kicks and was surprised when he slid past her and swung toward her abdomen. As Batgirl’s foot came to rest, she pivoted and shot her other leg backward, catching Spade in the gut.

Batwoman leaped at the Parkers, catching Mad Dog with a flying kick in the chin and dropping him to the floor with a loud thud. Flamebird dove toward Pretty Boy’s legs and somersaulted past the best-looking Parker man toward Machine Gun, who doubled over when her heels caught the man named after a firearm in the groin.

Spade felt himself seized by the shoulders and flung across the room with great force. He could not help but collide with Pretty Boy. Both thugs fell in a tangle of arms and legs.

“They’re getting their butts kicked,” Octo complained. “Can’t you do something to discipline them?”

“Not really,” Legs replied with a shrug and a sigh. “They’re family.”

“I suppose we’d better help them, then.”

“Let’s get organized first,” Legs said. “If we do this right, we can save ourselves a lot of trouble.”

“Good idea.” Octo took something the size of a cell phone from her purse and pushed a button, aiming the device at the nearest wall. Slowly, a circular curtain of what looked like woven, black yarn descended. “Now,” the black-clad redhead said eagerly.

Spade and Machine Gun collided, flung into one another by Batwoman and Flamebird. As they collapsed, Batgirl ducked under a punch from Pretty Boy and drove her fists into his chest hard.

Legs and Octo separated and approached the fight from opposite directions. With hand signals, they selected Batwoman as their first target. Mad Dog had recovered from Batwoman’s kick; struggled to his feet; and fended off an attack by Flamebird, shoving her mercilessly aside. He realized Octo and Legs Parker were creeping up behind Batwoman and pivoted toward her. He raised his hands and engaged the brunette bat. He took a swing at her and was not surprised when his wrist was gripped. He set his feet, took hold of Batwoman’s wrist, and pulled hard.

Batwoman’s body pitched off balance, enabling Legs and Octo to seize the opportunity to grab her shoulders. They pulled Batwoman from the fight, dragging her struggling body backward--toward the black, yarn curtain. Once they had moved to within a yard they lifted the captured, vainly squirming heroine and flung her backward. She was engulfed by the curtain.

Batwoman quickly recovered, shaking her head and focusing on the perfidious, pretty pair regarding her. She pulled one arm and then the other forward and was dismayed to feel the strands she touched remain in place against her. When she tried to step forward with either leg, she realized her legs had also adhered to the sticky strands behind her.

“You’re experiencing a unique security Webmaster had installed here, Batwoman,” Octo explained. “How does it feel to be caught in a spider’s web?”

“It feels like a temporary condition to me, Octo!” Batwoman replied.

“We’ll get an update when we provide you with a couple of companions,” the avaricious arachnid assistant promised. She turned to Legs Parker. “Shall we?”

“Just a minute,” Legs said. She stepped forward.

“Be careful of the web,” Octo warned.

“I know,” Legs said, reaching for Batwoman’s belt and detaching the prisoner’s Bat-kit. “We should have grabbed this before sticking her up.”

“What for?”

“If you thought she was helpless before,” Legs said happily, “she won’t have a clue of how to escape from the web without her stuff.” Legs opened the Bat-kit and showed her partner the array of tools it contained.

“So, before we catch the other two, we take their belts?” Octo asked.

“Precisely.”

As the dastardly duo returned their attention to the fight, they realized Spade and Pretty Boy had backed Flamebird into a corner and were forcing the youngest heroine to fight defensively, thus tiring the Girl Wonder rapidly. Meanwhile, Mad Dog was holding Batgirl’s arms behind her back while Machine Gun was pummeling her with rapidity worthy of his name.

“Who’s next?” Octo asked.

“Flamebird, but let’s give the boys a little time to play. After all, they’re winning now,” Legs Parker pointed out with mischievous delight.

“You’re right. We may as well enjoy the show.”

Legs and Octo grinned at one another as the beating their male associates were administering continued.

The goggled good girl was growing steadily weaker as she repelled blow after blow by Spade and Pretty Boy. Suddenly, she snaked a punch through Spade’s defenses and moved to charge through the gap between the thugs. Pretty Boy reached across Flamebird’s back and gripped her shoulder spinning her around. The blow with which he had originally planned to knock her to the floor impacted her throat instead of the back of her head.

Instead of letting their victim collapse to the floor, Pretty Boy and Spade caught her and began to carry her toward the still struggling Batwoman.

“Just a minute, boys,” Legs Parker said, raising a hand to stop the henchmen. As they halted, the blonde bad girl reached for Flamebird’s utility belt and unbuckled it.

“To the web with her,” Octo said, gesturing once the belt had hit the floor. Pretty Boy and Spade carried the prettily struggling Flamebird toward her fate as Machine Gun’s assault on Batgirl continued.

With Batgirl’s wrists clamped in Mad Dog’s iron grip, she was forced to use her knees, feet, and legs to fend off the relentless attack. This method had grown less effective as Machine Gun pressed his advantage. Batgirl could see her pretty partners had been caught and realized she would have to reverse her own situation if she were to rescue her crime fighting colleagues.

As Flamebird was flung helplessly against the sinister sticky circle, Batgirl leaned her weight back against Mad Dog. As she expected, the thug supported her so that she could quickly draw both her knees upward together.

As Batgirl had hoped, Machine Gun stepped toward her when she leaned her weight back. His step enabled Batgirl to thrust her heels outward and slam both feet into his chest. Machine Gun crashed to the floor. As Batgirl’s feet followed, she shifted her weight and pivoted to send Mad Dog sprawling.

Spade and Pretty Boy turned away from their pretty, struggling captive to find Batgirl charging toward them. They stepped forward to meet the attack. Batgirl leaped into the air and felt something grip her ankle and pull her leg down sharply. Her momentum stretched her out and caused her to do a belly flop onto the hard floor. Instinctively, she reached out her arms and hands to break the fall.

Despite this reflex action, a moan escaped Batgirl’s lips as she landed, momentarily stunned.

“Nice work, Machine Gun,” Legs said, as her brother rolled the heroine over and reached to unbuckle her belt, which he flung aside.

“Now,” Machine Gun said, licking his lips, “I’m going to have some fun!”

“We don’t have time,” Legs objected.

“Come on,” Machine Gun said, spreading his hands over Batgirl’s hips. “I caught her.”

“No!” his sister said.

“She won’t be any fun after we shoot her.”

“This is a job. Remember?”

“The job was to trap any heroes or heroines who showed up. Well, we did. Come on, Legs. Please?”

“When was the last time you had a date, Machine Gun?” Octo asked.

“I was inside until recently,” Machine Gun said.

“Not that recently,” Legs disagreed.

“Hey!”

“The point is,” Octo said in a voice leaving no room for argument, “your sister and I aren’t going to wait around while you play with Batgirl. So, get her into the web!”

“Gosh!” Machine Gun said disappointedly, like a little boy told to come inside. “Now?”

“Now!” Octo let her hands rest on her hips and glared at the big thug. Machine Gun cowered.

“Can I do it myself?”

“You may handle the assignment any way you like. Just do it! I want her in that web!” Octo said, extending her arm and pointing with a jab of her extended finger.

“Sure,” Machine Gun casually said. He slung Batgirl over his shoulder almost effortlessly and moved toward the web where the Distaff Duo helplessly struggled. Machine Gun spilled his captive forward so that the web caught her. Once Batgirl was clearly stuck in place, he stepped back. Only then did Batgirl recover and begin her own vain struggles among the sinister, sticky strands. “How’s that?”

“Fine,” Octo said. “Now, get out! . . And take your brothers with you!”

Spade moved to follow the dismissed Parker Brothers and hesitated. “You’d better help them find the door,” Legs suggested.

“Are you sure you won’t need me here?”

“You won’t enjoy the girl talk, Spade.”

“All right. See you outside.”

“I’ll join you soon,” Legs said. Once the men had gone, she turned to her cohort in crime. “You handled that well, Octo.”

“Thanks. You weren’t going to have your brothers shoot up the captives, were you?”

“Machine Gun just made me mad. Besides, your boyfriend, Webmaster, wouldn’t have had an Internet café if I had turned the boys loose in here. They talked about using the Bats for target practice--”

“With machine guns?”

“Have you ever seen my brothers shoot?”

Octo thought for a moment and glanced heavenward. “They do need practice, don’t they?”

Legs laughed. “Precision shooting wouldn’t really be the point of the exercise, but I thought we’d be outside where the gunfire wouldn’t damage anything much more significant than the victims.”

“You and I could always shoot them.”

Legs Parker shook her head.

“Come on! It will be fun. Wait a minute. You do shoot?”

“My shooting isn’t the problem. Look, Octo, if the Mole Hill Mob, the River Rat Gang, the Bad Pennies, or the False Hoods gave us trouble, we’d hunt them down and shoot them up. The Bats warrant something else. Their fate must be more creative . . . slower and much more interesting.”

“Then, what are we going to do with them?”

“I’m thinking. Let’s play Black Widow’s goodbye message.”

“Okay.” Octo moved to a computer and slid a disk into the floppy drive. She selected a file. “All right, Caped Captives, my boss has a proposition for you. So, pay attention—strict attention!”

The screen of Octo’s computer was projected onto a larger screen on which Black Widow could clearly be seen. “Good evening, my lovelies,” the arch villainess began in her trademark raspy voice. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Webmaster’s security web. First, I’m going to give you a tiny piece of advice: if you wish to live and thrive let the spider run alive and proceed with her plans.”

“Not a chance!” Flamebird cried.

Octo paused the file and shook her head. “Flamebird, this is a prerecorded presentation. The boss made one for each combination of heroes who might have showed up. You can tell me anything you want the boss to hear.”

“As soon as we get out of here, you’re all in big trouble!” Flamebird said.

“In that case,” Octo said, “I suppose we’d better make certain you remain in that web . . . for the rest of your lives!”

Octo left-clicked a mouse and Black Widow continued, “Since you refuse to heed my good advice, let me show you with whom I’ve begun to work.” The camera retreated to allow Grandma Parker and a child seated in her lap to come into the frame. “As you know, the Parker family is one of the most formidable criminal organizations in Gotham City. Instead of feeding you scrumptious sentinels to a few of my infamous pets, I’m turning you over to the tender mercies of the Parkers’ representatives. I’m confident they have plans for you.” The villainess laughed. ”You might have a chance to reconsider my generous offer, but I rather doubt it. Please remember, I gave you a chance. Now, goodbye–forever.” The file ended and the screen returned to the Webmaster’s standard desktop.

“I’ll give you one last chance to promise not to interfere with us again,” Octo said.

“Flamebird is right,” Batgirl said. “We can’t and won’t just stand idly by while you commit crimes.”

“I trust you concur, Batwoman?”

“That’s right, Octo. There will be no negotiations.”

“In that case, I’ll give you a little demonstration.” A black-gloved finger tapped a button on Octo’s control that began to raise the web in which the heroines were helplessly trapped. Once in position, their backs fell away from their capes, putting a strain on their limbs. “As you can see, the web is quite strong. It’s more than strong enough to bear your combined weight, which will be your combined deadweight very, very soon.”

As Octo laughed she glanced at Legs Parker, who had gathered Batgirl and Flamebirds’ utility belts and was examining them, along with Batwoman’s Bat-kit. “I know exactly how I want to do this,” Legs said thoughtfully.

“What are you planning?”

Legs pointed at a large red tank that looked like an enormous fire extinguisher in one corner of the room. “Do you know what that is?”

“It says ‘Halon,’” Octo read. “Beats me what that is.”

“It’s part of the fire suppression system,” Legs explained. As she went on, her eyes glittered and her mouth curled into a mischievous grin. “I’m going to breach that tank. When I do, this room will be automatically sealed and the gas inside it will be released to suck up every bit of oxygen. Of course, you and I won’t want to be in here when that happens. The rodents and their little birdie, however, will be left quite breathless in a matter of seconds, because we’ve seen to it that they’ll stick around.”

Octo smiled as she considered the fate her friend had planned for the prisoners on the fly. “You mean that they, instead of the nonexistent flames, will be extinguished?”

“Precisely.”

“Sounds promising. How are you going to breach the tank?” Octo asked.

“Batgirl’s Bat-laser has a low setting. That will do the job . . . slowly enough,” Legs replied, with a laugh. “Find something we can use to hold the device, which one of our ‘guests’ has so generously contributed, in place.”

“No problem,” Octo said. She took a spool of silken thread from a pocket and handed it to her partner. “Any last words, ladies?”

“We aren’t the only obstacles to Black Widow’s plans,” Batgirl warned.

“Killing us will only make things harder on you when you’re caught,” Batwoman concurred.

“Make no mistake!” Flamebird said. “Batman and Robin won’t rest until you’re all in jail, so you’ll never, ever get away with this!”

“Batman is becoming more of a fossil every day,” Octo said. “He knows what he’s doing, but I don’t think his motor works as well as it once did, so to speak.”

“As for Robin,” Legs Parker said, running a hand lovingly over Batgirl’s Bat-laser, “I’m looking forward to personally corrupting him – very slowly.”

“You have nothing that would interest Robin!” Flamebird shouted.

Legs laughed and stopped stroking the laser to regard the young heroine. “You’d be surprised, little girl!” Legs paused and approached the web. “Oh, I get it. You think you know exactly what interests Robin, because you imagine he’s interested in you. Well, whether he is or not, I doubt he’ll be interested for very long . . . in a corpse!” Legs shrugged. “Exquisite! Competition can be so tiresome.”

“Thanks for walking into our trap and letting us dispose of you so easily,” Octo said. “I never imagined it would be this simple. Ready, Legs?”

Legs Parker moved to the enormous tank, tied the Bat-Laser into place and tapped a button to send a pinhead of light downward toward the container of deadly gas. “Yes. Let’s get out of here!”

“Say,” Octo said, “wouldn’t their belts and the Bat-kit make nice trophies?”

“The Dynamic Duo might be able to use them to track us. I don’t think we want to lay out the welcome mat for them just yet.”

“Whatever,” Octo said. “Good night, ladies.”

“You’ll all soon find out how long each of you can hold your breath.” Legs said with a laugh in which Octo joined. They waved, backing toward the door and drinking in the sight of their struggling, doomed captives. “Later,” Legs cheerfully called. Within seconds, the Bat-women’s captors were gone.

The paint on the tank the laser had touched was already burned away and a thin wisp of smoke curled toward the ceiling before dissipating.

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