The Bat Women Reverse Its Direction

Batwoman and Flamebird found they could speak to one another over the sound of the cascading water and Batwoman’s chattering teeth. Her shivering hampered her struggles as frigid water spilled over her legs, creeping slowly upward.

Flamebird’s initial struggles seemed to make her sink deeper into the semisolid cement. When she was knee-deep, she decided to try remaining still, hoping her motionlessness would slow her deadly descent. While her plan was working, Flamebird knew she had only delayed the fate Legs Parker had planned for her.

“I’m staying still until I get a better idea,” the Girl Wonder called. “Are you making any progress?”

“I’m freezing,” Batwoman said, her voice quavering as her body went on shivering. “Water hasn’t soaked into the spider silk to bind my feet more tightly, as I feared. So, blood is still reaching my feet, but they’re going numb.”

“Blood is still flowing,” Flamebird encouraged. “That’s good news.”

“I’ve got to try to keep from shivering, Flamebird. I’m losing voluntary muscle control. Without it . . . .”

Both heroines were silent momentarily, knowing what Batwoman had not said.

Each knew Batman, Robin, and Batgirl had all escaped fates similar to the one Flamebird faced, coincidently involving gigantic, quicksand-filled cakes. The Dynamic Duo, however, would not be coming to the rescue and she did not have Heel and Toe Batrockets with which to blast free.

Stories paralleling Batwoman’s fateful experience were mostly about Batgirl, who had been immersed in chocolate by Simon the Pieman; wine by Legs Parker; and caviar by Olga, queen of the Bessarovian Cossacks. She had also avoided being drenched with scalding hot, scented oil on Louie the Lilac’s orders. Batman had nearly drowned at the hands of King Tut, when the malevolent monarch had sealed him in a sarcophagus and sunk him in a vat of water.

Batwoman and Flamebird’s peril now had the added psychological dimension of each watching the other perish. Flamebird’s strategy of remaining still offered little chance to save Batwoman, to say nothing of herself, and Batwoman’s trust in her muscles to respond to mental commands was diminishing rapidly.

“Time to stop sulking and get out of here!” Batwoman said. Her trembling fingers stretched toward the hilt of the knife tucked into her left glove. With infinite care, she began to draw the blade. She paused just before extracting it to be sure of her grip. “Almost got it, Flamebird.”

“Hurry, Batwoman,” Flamebird cried. “The cement is almost all the way up my thighs.”

Batwoman inhaled and pulled the knife free. Just as she did, her shivering body violently convulsed, moving her hand erratically, shifting the knife, and making it fall from her grip. Her fingers closed instinctively, but grasped empty air as the blade hit the side of the fountain; skipped away; splashed into the fountain’s frigid depths; and slid downward, well out of reach. “Oh, no!” Batwoman cried. “I dropped the knife!”

“What about the one in the other glove?”

Batwoman turned from the tantalizing means of escape to examine her other hand. It was shaking so violently, she knew extricating the other knife would be impossible. “It’s not going to happen, Flamebird,” she dejectedly said.

“Okay!” the Girl Wonder exclaimed. “It’s up to me. I’d rather do something, instead of just trying to stay motionless, anyway.” She had been standing still for some time, as her hands worked vainly at her silken bindings. As she worked, she had examined the rope from which she had dangled minutes earlier and the damage Legs Parker’s bullet had done. She needed a place to anchor her rope and the most likely targets were the tripod above her and the fountain in which Batwoman would likely soon drown. Once her rope was in place, she might pull herself free.

The fountain was far away, but the tripod had been supported while she had been suspended from it and the ropes holding it together had begun fraying when Legs’ bullet severed it. Flamebird’s weight and the strain the heroine’s muscular efforts would put on the tripod might easily cause it to collapse on top of her. 'Such a development could easily make my survival a dicey proposition!'

Flamebird decided the fountain would be the safer choice.

As she measured distances and angles, Flamebird considered how her body shape was working for her. She gained critical time for planning her escape as her hips slowed her descent into the wet cement. Another of Flamebird’s advantages was her utility belt, which had not been taken from her on this occasion. The collection of gadgets encircling her waist would be absolutely essential.

Her fingers probed the compartments of her belt, seeking the first item she would need, her knife. Once she held it, she positioned the blade against her wrist bindings and began cutting through them.

Presently, the silken threads fell away from Flamebird’s wrists, prompting her to call to her aunt. “I got my hands free, Batwoman! I’m about to use my rope to pull myself out!” She reached for her rope and realized her hips were nearly engulfed in the cement and that she would have to hurry.

“Sounds good, Flamebird! My abdomen is underwater. You’ll have to hurry!”

Flamebird’s fingers had just opened the compartments that held her Batarang and her Bat-Rope. She knew once her waist sank into the cement, her upper body would not take long to be engulfed. This fact meant it could easily take all of her strength to pull herself free. Then, with her legs still bound in three places, it might be tough to reach Batwoman in time.

“My plan using a rope may be too slow! How is the remote control for the Bat Gyros coming along?”

“I’m not sure, Flamebird,” Batwoman answered. “I’ve worked on it enough to feel we’re ready for testing. Did you find the control I put in your belt?”

“Yes. No time like the present for its first test!” Batwoman could see the control in Flamebird’s hands. “Here we go!” They waited as Flamebird manipulated the experimental controls. “We have liftoff! “ the Girl Wonder announced. “Now, I’ll try my hand at navigating and we’ll see how this baby maneuvers the Bat Gyros.”

Soon the unoccupied Bat Gyros whirred overhead.

“You brought both of them,” Batwoman commented.

“I thought it would be best to start in dual mode,” Flamebird explained. “I’ll land them and switch to single mode so I can get out of here.”

“So far it’s working,” Batwoman said. “Hurry! The water has reached my shoulders.”

Flamebird was becoming concerned about timing herself. The wet cement had enveloped her breasts as one of the Bat Gyros lifted into the air once again. She let the vehicle hover and began bringing it toward her as the cement closed over her shoulders. She hoped it would not take long to maneuver the one-woman whirlybird within reach. There would only be seconds before her chin touched the cement and her jaw began to sink!

The Bat-Gyro hovered just out of reach as Flamebird looked up. She could feel her cheeks being engulfed by wet cement. She brought the Bat-Gyro to within reach and gripped the landing gear with one hand. Flipping a switch made the chopper blades pull the craft and its passenger upward.

Now, Flamebird’s challenge was to hang on with one hand, steering with the other, as her craft slowly extracted her from her intended tomb. The initial strain on her fingers was horrendous! She closed her eyes and focused as she desperately clung to the landing strut. Slowly, she became aware of her body beginning to rise.

“It’s working, Batwoman!” Flamebird joyfully cried.

Her mentor did not respond. The Goggled Guardian’s joy turned to horror as she turned her gaze toward Batwoman. The Brunette Bat’s face was just below the surface of the water.

“NOOOOO!” Flamebird’s voice trailed to silence as all her breath was expelled. She hung her head and softly cursed. She had been too slow!

The Bat-Gyro pulled the young heroine’s shoulders; breasts; abdomen; hips; legs; and feet free, before she swung her legs forward and let go of the Bat Gyro. She hit the grass hard and rolled, letting go of the Bat-Gyro control.

In light of what had happened, Flamebird only wanted to lay where she was and cry, but she did not. Pain and anger made her roll onto her back, sit up, pull her blade from her belt, and slash her remaining bindings. Seconds later, she was racing toward the fountain. ‘First,’ she thought, ‘I’ll have to deal with Batwoman’s body. Then, I’ll hunt Octo, and when I catch her, I’ll kill her!’ Flamebird’s lips twitched into a smile that did not reach her eyes.

She reached the edge of the fountain and looked down at her mentor. Seeing the body made her freeze, staring. She did not want to believe Batwoman was dead. Seeing the body made Flamebird turn her mind from the inception of her plans to murder Octo. It was time to deal with the grim reality of Batwoman’s death. Her vendetta could come later. There would be plenty of time for vengeance, and Flamebird knew she would take every bit of it. Before the end, the young vigilante would be certain Octo experienced every subtle nuance of pain one human being could possibly inflict upon another!

“Business before pleasure,” Flamebird muttered, refocusing on her grisly chore.

Suddenly, a single bubble burst above Batwoman’s mouth!

The implications of that burst bubble became slowly apparent to Flamebird. ‘Batwoman hasn’t died yet. She’s still alive!’ The need to act crystallized suddenly in Flamebird’s mind. Batwoman would not remain alive unless Flamebird acted and the Girl Wonder held the means to Batwoman’s freedom in her hand.

The blonde woman’s gloved hand plunged into the water and her blade severed Batwoman’s wrist bonds with two swift slashes. Instantly, Batwoman sat up, breaking the surface of the frigid water, sending it in all directions. She greedily inhaled and sat, her chest heaving. “Thanks! I couldn’t have held my breath much longer!” Batwoman said between breaths.

“Batwoman, I–” Flamebird began, “I thought–”

“No, Flamebird. I’m harder to kill than that,” Batwoman said quietly.

Flamebird bent over the fountain and hugged her aunt. “I’m afraid of what I would have done to those crooks if I had been right about what I thought had happened.”

“That fact that you are contemplating your thoughts now keeps me from being afraid for you. Let me get out of this fountain and we’ll go get warm.”

Batwoman had been massaging warmth into her fingers and scooped her fallen knife from the bottom of the fountain. She bent forward and slashed the silken threads binding her feet. Finally, she stepped from the fountain and moved toward the almost forgotten Bat-Gyro remote control. Within minutes the Distaff Duo was flying off into the night, toward the warmth the Bat Cavern would afford.

As the Distaff Duo withdrew, Batgirl felt sweat slowly form a layer of moisture between her costume and her flesh.

This time, the heat enveloping her body was not meant to cook her to death. The warmth was merely one condition required to hatch the spider eggs. Too soon, tiny fangs would sink into her, releasing paralyzing venom that would leave her powerless to stop the baby spiders from devouring her. Batgirl shuddered, horror-struck.

Experimentally, Batgirl tried to move her fingers, but could not. She reasoned her continued paralysis was due to the lingering effects of the knockout gas Black Widow had used against her. For the moment, she knew she would have to think her way out of her predicament.

‘The heat, if it could be intensified, might cook many of the tiny eggs nestled among the layers of her flesh. Also, the eggs between her skin and costume would be particularly vulnerable.’

Unfortunately, she had no idea how she might reach the interior of the incubator controls. Even if she could, manipulating them might be very perilous. Burning out the heating coils softly humming around her and glowing like hardwood embers could easily expose her to smoke and flames, which would likely overcome her.

To embark on this line of attack, she would also need tools, but her belt had been taken and with it any chance of making her environment uncomfortable or even deadly for the tiny creatures that would soon emerge to consume her.

She dearly wished she could activate the tracer she carried to summon emergency aide. It had saved her life, but the police would take time, of which she assumed she had very little, to respond, even knowing where she had gone. Had she had the tracer, warning Lieutenant Mooney of the impending threat against Diana's life might have been simpler. Batgirl mentally shrugged. The tracer was on her belt and bound as she was, reaching it or anything she normally carried around her waist would have been impossible, as Octo had so accurately observed.

Without her utility belt, she seemed acutely conscious of her vulnerability to the fate Black Widow had devised. First, the gigantic black widow spider’s brood would feast on her. Later, elsewhere, the killers Ma Parker had dispatched to take out her father; her friend, Lieutenant Mooney; and Chief O’Hara would do their jobs. Batgirl knew about these assassins and had not had the opportunity to warn the criminals’ intended victims. She had also practically abandoned Batwoman and Flamebird, who had been placed in deadly danger before she had confronted the criminals. For Batgirl, her death would be the least worrisome feature of the sinister scenario now unfolding!

Abandoning her lamentation at the loss of her belt, Batgirl began examining the interior of the incubator.

“There is always a way out!” she told herself. “I’ve got to find it!”

Numerous heating coils surrounded Batgirl, having been installed within the smooth metal sides of the cylindrical chamber in addition to a cushion upon which she lay. One end of the chamber was made of thick glass, enabling the occupant to be observed from outside. She kicked herself mentally for not sooner realizing the glass was the most vulnerable feature of the deathtrap.

Both she and the Dynamic Duo had been imprisoned in glass chambers in the past. They had also both determined their prisons’ sympathetic vibrations to survive.

Batgirl began singing musical scales. As she sang, she watched the chamber’s glass wall with narrowed eyes. Higher and higher the notes progressed until she imagined the glass quivering. Her voice fluctuated as she moved to a slightly higher note and she began to consider the implications of her current approach.

The Curved Crusader might use up a good deal of her air supply. Also, when the glass shattered, assuming her plan worked, sharp rivulets might easily lodge in her eyes or fall into her open mouth. Finally, if she strained her voice without shattering the glass, there would never be a second opportunity for this technique to facilitate her escape. The implications of her last objection occurred to her as she expelled the last of her breath. 'Could this single pane of glass really be impervious to sound?’ Absolutely nothing had happened to it!

Batgirl was stunned by the silence that followed.

When her technique using sympathetic vibrations had succeeded for her, she had used the bell of a telephone to generate the sound. When it had worked for the Dynamic Duo, they had been trapped inside a giant, two-ton echo chamber and both of their voices had been required to shatter it. This time, she was laying flat on her back, an attitude not conducive to generating maximum volume. ‘What was I thinking?’ she bitterly wondered. ‘Who do I think I am? Ella Fitzgerald?’

She closed her eyes and filled her lungs gratefully. She was strangely aware of her chest rising and falling and knew she was nearly spent. The glass had been stronger than her voice and the tiny eggs embedded in her flesh would soon begin to hatch. Tiny feet would emerge and begin to crawl all over her before little mouths found pulsing blood vessels where fangs would dig in for the baby predators' first feast. Darkly, she wondered if the end would be painful.

Suddenly, Batgirl swore, unleashing a single, explosive expletive. ‘What is wrong with me?!’ She knew better than to lie in a perilous predicament, doing nothing but lamenting her inability to escape after one failed attempt!

‘The thing to do,’ she silently told herself, ‘is to reexamine the situation.’

“It’s past time to go,” Batgirl muttered. She tried moving her fingers and succeeded. Feeling for the hilt of a knife that might release her arms, she felt hope flaring within her. Her body had finally overcome Black Widow’s anesthetic; either that or she had been literally paralyzed with horror earlier. Now, she was not completely helpless. She could move! Batgirl knew the horror of the fate unfolding for her might cause her to exaggerate the need to escape quickly, but she was now tired of her escape attempts’ ineffectiveness. If nothing else, she would free herself from Black Widow’s sticky bindings.

She located her knife and extracted it slowly, more through force of habit than actual need. She turned it toward her bindings and began cutting. The silken threads adhered to the blade, thus slowing Batgirl’s release, but ultimately the bindings severed, remaining stuck to both of her forearms simultaneously.

Once her hand was free, she turned the knife; gripped it by the tip; and extended the hilt toward her still bound hand. As the blade bit into the remaining binding, Batgirl thought ahead. She would still be trapped in the incubator once her hands were free, but her prison still had its vulnerable, glass wall she could attack.

Even so, she would still face the important question of whether being free from the insidious incubator would be enough to prevent the spider eggs injected into her flesh from hatching, assuming whatever form of attack she chose would even be effective.

Suddenly, Batgirl felt her knife cut through her remaining arm bindings. Thus far, despite her efforts toward escape, she had been dwelling on the horrific fate Black Widow had devised for her and how her decision to confront the villains might have doomed her father, her colleagues, and a good friend. With new hope of freedom, she realized her dark frame of mind might have condemned her to death for making that decision. Bitterly, she bit her lip. The sharp pain focused her mind on the task of survival.

She stretched both hands above her head and felt the smooth, thick glass that separated her from freedom. She could detect no gap between the metal walls of the incubator and the glass window. She took a deep breath and tapped the glass with her fingertips.

“Okay,” she said aloud. Then her inner voice went on, ‘I’ll try brute force. It will either work or make me feel a lot better.’

She scooted toward the glass window and drew her arms across her chest, clenching her fists. She then sharply extended one arm, bringing the back of her gloved fist into contact with the glass, exhaling with the impact. Nothing happened!

She tried again several times and realized her beating fists would never penetrate the glass unless she changed her approach.

She paused to center herself, bringing years of training into play and recalling how a sensei from the Far East had taught her to deliver maximum force with a punch. In the confined space of the incubator, she had little room to draw back her fist, but the distance a fist traveled, she had learned, did little to make a blow strike with additional force. In fact, most television fights had combatants draw back their fists exclusively for the sake of the audience.

Batgirl hit the window again, once more with no effect.

Again and again the Curved Crusader struck the glass, which stubbornly remained intact. Her right hand began to throb. Batgirl gave the pane one last, desperate, supreme punch before closing her eyes.

Her efforts to shatter the glass had so far failed, despite her best efforts. Nevertheless, the glass was the most vulnerable point of the incubator, and still represented her only chance. Batgirl knew she could break the glass. ‘Its function as a prison is all in my mind,’ she told herself. ‘The thing to do is simply to extend my arm as I strike the blow.’

She pulled her arms back to her chest, twisting her wrists and clenching both fists once again. Then, she fired one fist forward, reversing the twist of her wrist and expelling the air from her lungs with a spirited shout. The thick glass halted the extension of her arm, cracking. A second punch caused a second crack and a third transformed the thick, tinted pane into a shimmering spider web of light.

“Yes!” Batgirl delightedly cried as she pushed against the shattered glass. It fell to the floor and cold air caressed her entire body, filling her with a joy that traveled all the way down to her toes. Challenge glinted in her eyes and her lips twitched into the smile of a happy warrior as she gripped the rim of the window, wrenching it hard until one end of the incubator swung open on concealed hinges. Batgirl gratefully gripped the edge of the sinister cylinder and pulled herself free from the terrible tube. As her legs emerged, her blade slashed her remaining bindings. She stood, pulling the sticky silk bindings away from her body and reaching for the control that switched off the heating elements.

“Sorry, Shelob,” Batgirl softly said to the black widow spider in the overhead cage as she put away her knife, found her belt, and buckled it into place around her waist. “I’m off the menu and you’re off to the Gotham City Zoo if the authorities take my suggestion. Right now, I have lives to save and Black Widow, Ma Parker, Legs, and all of their minions to put behind bars.”

Batgirl froze in the act of turning toward the door. Her euphoria at experiencing freedom had momentarily made her forget her body was still loaded with the gigantic spider’s eggs. She took a hand broom from her belt and slipped off both of her gloves before rolling her sleeves up to her elbows. As she manipulated the material, it quickly shook, spilling out many of the eggs nesting between her skin and her colorful garb. Meticulously, she brushed away the spider eggs lingering against her skin before rolling down her sleeves and replacing her gloves. Her boots were next and she was able to shake many more eggs loose before brushing her calves clear of the deadly debris.

She reasoned the majority of the spider eggs in contact with her flesh would have been positioned near her body’s core, around her abdomen; thighs; and groin, where they would be kept warmest. Nevertheless, undressing; shaking loose eggs to the floor; and brushing the rest away would be out of the question. Other lives were in danger.

At some point, Batgirl would research whether unhatched spider eggs in her body would cause her any harm . . . or perhaps she would consult with doctors at Gotham City Hospital, although she doubted they had ever considered such a case. For now, saving her father and crime-fighting colleagues was her first priority.

Batgirl crouched at her deathchamber’s door, listening as her lock pick quickly did its work. The noise she had made escaping had apparently not been noticed and she flitted through the Old Criminal’s Home’s halls silently, exiting via the front doors. Minutes later, she was away at the top safe speed. Her father and the other crime fighters were in danger and would never suspect it if she failed to warn and protect them. She was also afraid of what she would do to the criminals if she were to fail.

Batgirl was tempted to drive straight to her father’s house, but did not. She knew Batwoman and Flamebird’s lives had been imperiled in the park she could see as she mounted the Batgirlcycle. She also knew normal features of the park had been employed to bring about the heroines’ fate.

Batgirl paused atop a rise to look over the park and guess how her colleagues might have been killed. The answer was immediately obvious as she focused on the ghostly fountain waters bubbling in the center of the lush greenery stretching before her. The Batgirlcycle roared forward.

Crouched over the fountain moments later, Batgirl was relieved not to find the Distaff Duo’s bodies below the water’s surface. As she exhaled, she noticed something floating in the water and picked up a silken thread she ran meditatively through her fingers. “Tried and failed,” Batgirl muttered. She took a deep breath and turned toward her vehicle. That was when she spotted the tripod over the monument.

Racing forward she noted a cement bowl that had formed after Flamebird’s body had been removed and more of the silk strands Octo carried. “Well, that makes strike three, Black Widow, and it’s long past time to put you and your gang out of business.”

Back on the Batgirlcycle, the Curved Crusader headed for Police Headquarters. To protect the Parker family’s remaining intended victims, she would need help, and the police would be able to assist and warn the Commissioner and Chief O’Hara in the quickest, most efficient way.

Batgirl briefly considered calling Police Headquarters with her warning, but without her father being on duty, she would likely be put on hold while her call was routed and might reach an officer to whom she would have to try proving over the phone she really was Batgirl. With lives at stake, she did not have the time to engage in such an exercise!

Batgirl took the stairs at Police Headquarters three at a time and hurried inside to speak to the desk sergeant. “I need to see Lieutenant Mooney, immediately!” she told the officer.

“I’ll let her know,” the officer said, lifting the phone. “Lieutenant, Batgirl is here to see you.” The officer put down the phone. “She’s expecting you in her office.”

“Thank you,” Batgirl said and hurried to her friend’s office. “Diana, I overheard the Parker family and Black Widow plotting to kill you, the Commissioner, and Chief O’Hara. Killers had already been dispatched when the criminals spoke.”

“Okay, Batgirl,” the Lieutenant said seriously. “They haven’t gotten me yet. I’ll get some black and whites to drive by the Commissioner's house and the Chief’s apartment while we mobilize some real protection for them.”

“Sounds good. Do you have Batwoman’s cell phone?”

“Right here.”

“I’ll call the Distaff Duo while you get those black and whites rolling.” Lieutenant Mooney nodded while Batgirl activated the phone.

Katherine and Betty Kane had changed into swimsuits and settled into their Jacuzzi to soak, warm themselves, and strategize.

“Now that the crooks think we’re dead, what do you think they’ll do next?” Betty asked.

“Once they’re done celebrating, if they follow their modus operandi, they’ll continue to follow the alphabet, committing crimes.”

“Their last target was the Diva’s Den, so they’re at the letter ‘e,’ right?”

“I think so. I also think I know the target.”

“How?”

“I’ve been invited to a luncheon at an exclusive, private club called the Embassy to be considered for membership in an exclusive, private organization, the Establishment.”

“So, the crooks are following Katherine Kane’s social calendar?” Betty remarked with a wry grin.

“Several businesswomen will be bejeweled and trying to make a good impression, like at the Diva’s Den,” Katherine Kane explained, smiling.

“It looks like we’re in for another busy night,” Betty said. “Is there any way we could intercept them before they strike?”

Katherine Kane’s Batphone rang before she could answer her niece. “Maybe we’re about to find out.” She picked up the instrument and spoke into it. “Yes, Commissioner?”

“This is Batgirl, Batwoman. It’s good to hear your voice. It seems we’ve all had an exciting night.”

“You can say that again. Flamebird and I have an idea about Black Widow’s next crime.”

"I’d love to hear about your ideas, but I’ve learned the Parker family and Black Widow plan to kill the Commissioner, Chief O’Hara, and Lieutenant Diana Mooney before dawn.”

“Those monsters! Where are you now, Batgirl?”

“I’m at Police Headquarters with Lieutenant Mooney. She’s fine, so far.”

“Good. Flamebird and I will split up and make sure the Commissioner and the Chief get to work this morning. You stay with Lieutenant Mooney, just in case.”

“Do your really think the crooks would try to hit anyone at Headquarters?”

“It’s the best place to get all of them together.”

“Good point, Batwoman. I’ll see you and Flamebird soon.”

“Right.” Katherine Kane set aside the cell phone and climbed from the Jacuzzi as she summarized the phone call for her niece.

“To the Bat-Slides?”

“Definitely!” The toweled twosome hurried to the door concealed behind the grandfather clock and changed before returning to the Bat Cavern. “Would you like the Commissioner or Chief O’Hara?” Batwoman asked.

“I’ll take Chief O’Hara,” Flamebird said, looking up the officer’s home address.

“Good,” Batwoman agreed. “We should hurry. We may not have a moment to lose!”

Batgirl handed the cell phone back to her friend. “Since you’re going to be here working for awhile, I’d better let you get back to it. Please don’t examine any evidence without the bomb squad looking it over first. You should also be careful about what you eat or drink.”

“Yes, mother,” Diana Mooney said, grinning. “Listen, would you like a cup of coffee before you get out of my hair? I made it myself, so I know it’s safe.”

“Thanks,” Batgirl said, accepting the steaming cup.

“What happened after you learned about this threat to me, the Chief, and the Commissioner?”

“Well, I had a rather harrowing experience,” Batgirl went on to describe the trap from which she had escaped.

“That’s gruesome! Where do these crooks come up with their bizarre ideas? If you don’t mind, I’ll stick to fighting crime in the uniform. Our aborted flight from that trebuchet Catwoman planned for us was enough excitement for me.”

“Good thinking. As you well know, escaping from such diabolical devices can be very challenging.”

“You don’t get nearly the credit you deserve for going after those crooks,” Lieutenant Mooney said, smiling “Listen, I was pondering ways to put you to work while you wait for Batwoman and Flamebird, but I’ve changed my mind.”

Batgirl grinned. “Thank you.”

“You will march yourself down to the infirmary and cooperate with the doctor on duty.”

“I can see a doctor later, Diana. For now, I’m fine.”

“That’s because, as far as you can tell, baby spiders haven’t started eating you from the inside out yet!”

“They won’t. I escaped the incubator.”

“All that means is the hatching conditions are less than ideal,” Lieutenant Mooney declared. “You can walk down there or I can have you carried. The choice is yours!”

Batgirl looked at her friend sideways. “You’re really serious!”

“You bet I am! Last year you walked away from medical attention after Shame tried to kill you at the police stables. I’m not letting you do that this time.”

“What about my duty to protect you?”

“I’m here with the entire police force! I’ll be fine.” Lieutenant Mooney fixed her friend with a hard stare she had been practicing for years.

Batgirl shrugged resignedly. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to humor you, if the doctor isn’t busy.”

“I’m sure he’ll be able to squeeze you in. Now get going before I have you escorted.”

“Yes, mother.” The two friends laughed and Batgirl left the Lieutenant’s office.

The room was unoccupied when she stepped into the infirmary. Batgirl sat down and waited.

A few minutes later, a male voice from an adjoining room said, “I’m glad to see you kicked your cold, Batgirl.”

She stood to see a tall, muscular man in a lab coat striding toward her. “Doctor Vince,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s good to see you again.” She had met the doctor when he had treated the Dynamic Duo for Poison Ivy’s potent itching chemical.

“At your service. After I got the lieutenant’s call, I got over here from the hospital as fast as I could. I’m sorry to have startled you.” He gripped her hand and they shook as Batgirl’s body relaxed. His grip was firm and Batgirl followed him into the next room where she sank into the comfortable chair, toward which he gestured. “Now, how can I help you?” he asked, sitting down at a desk and regarding her with a smile. "The lieutenant didn’t give me any details."

Dr. Vince’s face transformed as she explained how the spider eggs were still embedded among the layers of her flesh. “Despite having escaped Black Widow’s incubator, Lieutenant Mooney is worried my body heat might still cause some of the eggs to hatch. Honestly, the idea of baby black widow spiders chewing their way through my skin creeps me out."

“That’s understandable,” Dr. Vince observed with a gift of understatement.

“So, that’s why I’m here.”

Dr. Vince let his breath out slowly. He had sought a challenging career. The practice of medicine in Gotham City had surpassed all his expectations. His first unique task had come a decade ago when, as a young man, he had been responsible for defrosting the Dynamic Duo, following a nearly fatal encounter with Mr. Freeze. “Well,” the doctor said, “I can understand why the lieutenant wanted me to come right over.”

“Can you recommend any appropriate measures?”

The doctor leaned back and closed his eyes. “I may be able to do better than that,” he said. “I have an idea.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Before I explain it, tell me something. Do you have a spare costume?”

"This idea of yours will help me with these embedded spider eggs?” Batgirl suspiciously asked, slightly frowning.

“Certainly!” the doctor replied. His confidence and disarming smile mollified her.

“All right then,” she carefully said. “Yes, I have another costume. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I think if I were to vigorously massage you quite thoroughly, all the eggs those crooks injected into you would shatter. Then, I would have time to research the matter and see if I need to prescribe anything to protect you from the remnants.”

Batgirl’s frown softened as she appraised the doctor with narrowed eyes. “Then what?”

“Since you have a spare costume, I can remove any eggs still left on the suit you’re wearing now. They could then be used as evidence against the crooks and together we can nail them.”

“I like the sound of your solution. What about any eggs or fragments we don’t use as evidence?”

“They’ll wash away in the shower.”

“The shower!” she repeated, her tone heralding danger.

“Please,“ Doctor Vince said, holding up a hand to halt the imminent protest. “I know the police have facilities right here, and I promise you’ll have absolute and complete privacy.”

“Listen, Doctor–”

“Please, call me Vince.”

Batgirl raised an eyebrow at the physician. “All right, Vince. I like the sound of gathering evidence.” Batgirl said.

She was being honest. It was rarely possible for Batgirl to have Gotham City’s criminals prosecuted for their attempts on her life. These deadly episodes were frequently reduced to little more than her charges and the criminals’ assertions of innocence, because little evidence supporting Batgirl’s version of events typically survived her miraculous escapes. Gathering evidence, after all, was far from her first concern in such a situation.

The doctor smiled. “Good,” he said. Then, he realized she was frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, there may be a problem.”

“What?” He regarded her seriously.

“I’m concerned about DNA.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“The eggs you propose to introduce into evidence may retain traces of human DNA—my DNA. I cannot have such cellular fingerprints used to uncover my secret identity. If my alter ego were to be revealed, my value as a crimefighter would vanish altogether, because my relationships with friends and family would be used against me.”

“Well, if I were to discover your secret identity through DNA, I could not be compelled to reveal it to anyone else because of our relationship as doctor and patient. Besides, to learn your secret, I’d have to compare your DNA to samples of DNA on file. These forensic methods are very new, so our data is woefully incomplete.”

Batgirl put her hands on his shoulders and fixed him in her gaze as she spoke. “Listen, Vince. I’d trust you to keep my secret because I think you’d resist the temptation to investigate me. The problem is, if it were to become known you possess my DNA, you’d undoubtedly become a target for criminals yourself. I’ve described how Black Widow tried to kill me. I don’t want to imagine what she or any of her conniving colleagues would do to persuade you to talk or perform experiments with the evidence to learn the truth.” As she spoke, he could see the intensity of her feelings in her eyes. Staring, he soon became lost in them—swimming helplessly in their entrancing loveliness.

Doctor Vince took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Batgirl released him and the spell of her eyes was broken. “I hadn’t thought about what criminals would do to me to make me spill the beans. Thank you for being concerned. I really appreciate it.”

“I’d feel that way about anyone,” Batgirl said. Her voice became very small as she continued. “Still–”

“Let me return to your first observation, Batgirl. Personally, I will always want to think of you as Batgirl, and I would never be able to do that again if I learned you were really Lieutenant Mooney, Vicki Vale, Barbara Gordon, Katherine Kane or whoever. Not, of course, that I suspect you of being any of those people.”

He paused and Batgirl inhaled before speaking. “Thank you, Vince.”

“It gets better,” he enthused, grinning. “I think if I were to clean the eggs and shells I want to preserve as evidence, your DNA would be eradicated.”

“That sounds good. Let me get my other costume and you can massage me. Your idea of a shower sounds absolutely heavenly.”

Doctor Vince nodded and watched her go. “Thank you,” he softly said.

As preparations for Dr. Vince’s hands-on treatment of Batgirl proceeded, Flamebird landed her Bat-Gyro on the roof of Chief O’Hara’s apartment building. The Girl Wonder walked around the roof and looked down each wall. Within minutes, she had located Chief O’Hara’s apartment and was climbing down the wall. She found his window and peered inside.

The Chief and his wife lay in bed, asleep. As Flamebird’s glance took in the rest of the scene, her eyes widened in horror. White smoke billowed from the register!

Flamebird reached down and tried to raise the window. It was locked! A glass cutter from her belt allowed her to cut a circle in the upper pane of glass. Once she had knocked out the circle she had cut, reaching through and unlocking the window was simplicity itself. By the time the draft from the window had awakened Chief O’Hara and his spouse, Flamebird had descended to the ground.

The building’s back door had been forced open and Flamebird slipped through silently. She descended a staircase as silently as a wraith and realized the door to the boiler room had been propped open.

The room was dark and smelled of gas. Flamebird could hear the whir of a small fan and a hiss. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized one vent had been opened and gas from a cylindrical tank was being blown through to do its murderous work. The young heroine stepped forward, reached for the valve on the tank, and switched it off. She was reaching to switch off the fan when a tiny sound told her she was not alone.

Flamebird turned and felt a shoulder collide with her abdomen, driving her backward into a wall. Stunned, with the wind knocked out of her, she sagged as a match flared, illuminating her face. “Oh, yeah,” a low voice breathed as the match went out. “It’s been such a long time.” The man began to press his chest against Flamebird, trapping her against the wall.

As her attacker leaned forward, Flamebird slowly curled her fingers and balled her hands into fists. As her nostrils flared and hot breath touched her cheek, the sides of Flamebird’s fists hammered her attacker’s sides. The attack was rewarded with a gasp and the man retreated a step, doubling over.

A hand slapped at Flamebird’s knee as she lifted it, but the man was surprised when her leg snapped forward sharply to impact her attacker and make him fall painfully to his knees.

“You little–”

Flamebird’s kicking leg hit the floor and her other foot silenced him by snapping into his chin and propelling him backward. “Life can be like that,” the young heroine said. “For you, I expect it’s going to get worse—a lot worse. She rolled the stunned thug onto his stomach and drew his wrists and ankles backward, securing them with her Batcuffs. “Chief O’Hara will be down to take you into custody shortly. Oh, and the reason you’ve not had a date since the Big Bang is: Your pick up line sucks!”

By the time the furious thug had recovered his breath sufficiently to reply, Flamebird was gone.

Steam drifted up around Batgirl as the hot spray poured over her, opening every pore of her skin wide. The pleasant sensations of the doctor’s strong fingers kneading her flesh lingered, somehow inexplicably enhanced by the steamy spray. She hesitated, reaching for the soap. ‘There’s no need to hurry,’ she decided.

‘Memory cheats,’ she recalled someone once saying. ‘Was the handsome doctor’s touch really that incredible?’ She smiled, as she thought about his hands sliding over her body, shattering the spider eggs embedded in her skin. She had done little to encourage him, but a glance would tell anyone Batgirl was a very beautiful woman who kept herself in exceptional physical condition. She was the patient and Doctor Vince had simply been doing his job. There was no denying, however, she had been completely relaxed when the massage ended. ‘Is my memory cheating when I remember realizing he had somehow known my tightly stretched costume conveyed every tactile sensation his fingers induced as they slowly kneaded my muscles? Perhaps that fact is self evident.’

In the past, her costume had been used against her, to convey the sinister sensations of sundry fiendish torture methods. As she showered, Batgirl considered how good she felt now, as she compared the contrast between the exquisite, lingering pleasure she enjoyed and the prolonged pain together with general discomfort to which supercriminals’ demonic deathtraps typically subjected her. Reluctantly, she switched the hot spray to ice cold needles that impaled her for a few invigorating seconds, tightly closing the pores of her skin. She turned off the water and reached for a towel.

In his lab, Doctor Vince would be waiting with whatever evidence he had retrieved from the costume she had worn to the infirmary. Batgirl took time and care as she dressed and re-arranged her wig. Her appearance had become a running joke she and Lieutenant Mooney enjoyed. The Lieutenant was often concerned Batgirl’s ‘outfit’ offered the heroine little protection against the many hazards she routinely encountered. ‘Yet,’ Batgirl thought, grinning into the mirror as she clipped her cape to her shoulders, ‘at times its form-fitting features are exactly for what a situation calls.’

At that moment, Batgirl felt marvelous, but nervous at the same time. Something neither dangerous nor destructive had happened between the beautiful heroine and her doctor. Whatever it had been, it concerned Batgirl. ‘Why? About what is there to be worried?’ she wondered.

Batgirl left the policewoman’s shower room, nodding to the officer outside who had been assigned to assure her privacy. She walked the hall to just outside the infirmary. Batgirl took a deep breath, reached for the doorknob, paused, opened the door, and stepped through.

“How do you feel?” Doctor Vince asked, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of Batgirl’s footstep.

“I feel like a million dollars,” she happily said. “Thanks for asking . . .and for everything else.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, straightening and stepping back from the microscope he had been using. “To me, you look like at least two million bucks.”

“Flatterer,” she accused and grinned as Doctor Vince laughed. “Did you find any useable evidence?”

“I’ve recovered several spider eggshells from the Latrodectus mactans, commonly called the black widow. I’ve cleaned them up and I think they’ll be suitable for evidence in your case once you catch the bad guys. You can have a look, if you’d like.”

Batgirl stepped to the microscope and bent to peer through the lens. “These look good to me. Of course, I’m no expert.”

“One of the things that works in our favor is the amount of the eggshell material I was able to gather.” He leaned over her and slid another slide into place for her to examine.

“Then . . . there is a lot more of this?”

“You betcha!” He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned against her as she examined more slides. He was conscious of the scent of soap as she reviewed the evidence. “What do you think?” he asked.

“You’re wonderful,” she said without hesitation.

“Thank you, Batgirl.”

The phone rang.

Batgirl felt the back of his hand slide against the hair of her wig as he retreated to retrieve the receiver. “Infirmary,” he said. He listened and handed the phone to Batgirl. ”It’s Lieutenant Mooney for you.”

Batgirl took the receiver. “Hi, Diana.”

“Flamebird caught someone trying to gas Chief O’Hara. I’ve had transcripts of all reports of officers I sent to drive by his apartment and the Commissioner’s house compiled. Also, I’m going to talk to an officer who just returned after I sent her to look for trouble around the Commissioner’s house. If you’d like to sit in, you’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Diana. I’d like that very much.” She put the phone down and regarded Doctor Vince. “I have to go,” she said.

“I know. Will I see you again?”

“It’s possible,” Batgirl passed him and moved to the door. She turned toward the doctor again. “Take care of yourself, Vince.”

“I will, Batgirl. Thank you,” he replied. Once she had gone, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He replayed the encounter in his mind, recalling the feel of the lurex stretched tightly over her every comely curve as his hands moved over them, massaging her. He smiled and his mind moved on. There had also been the feel of her hair sliding against the back of his hand moments ago. Suddenly, he stopped, standing absolutely still! ‘She had just come from the shower,’ he recalled. ‘Why wasn’t her hair wet? She might have dried it, but it wasn’t even damp!’

Batgirl met her friend in one of the interview rooms. “Are you expecting any news about the Commissioner?” she asked.

“Well, no news is good news, until the crooks’ intended victims show up for work. I’m expecting an update and I want to talk to the officer who volunteered to drive by the house so that I can ask any questions that might arise.”

“Sounds good. Where is this officer?”

“Sergeant Goldberg will bring the officer in momentarily.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded. Recently promoted Bill Goldberg and a Hispanic policewoman entered.

The woman had classic Latin looks with brown skin; an angular nose; determined eyes; and shoulder-length, black hair. Her uniform did nothing to disguise the fact that she was in excellent physical condition . . . and beautiful. There was, however, a hardness and world-weariness about her that told Batgirl life had not been easy for this young officer.

Goldberg made an introduction. “This is Officer Renee Montoya, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Goldberg nodded and withdrew. “Have a seat, Officer Montoya. Do you know Batgirl?”

“Only by reputation,” Officer Montoya said. “It’s a pleasure.” Montoya gave Batgirl a look the heroine couldn’t quite read. The two women shook hands.

“Now,” Lieutenant Mooney said. “Let’s hear about your drive past the Commissioner’s house.”

“Well, there isn’t much to tell. The street was deserted except for a parked car and there was no activity in the yard or anywhere nearby. I understand Batwoman is watching the Commissioner tonight because of a threat on his life, but I didn’t see her.”

“You probably wouldn’t have seen Batwoman,” Batgirl said. “We’re very concerned about the Commissioner.”

“I thought about running the license of the parked car,” Officer Montoya said. “I would imagine someone would have done it sooner, though, since I know I’m not the only officer to have been asked to cruise past the house.”

“Good thinking, Officer Montoya,” Lieutenant Mooney praised. She flipped through a stack of reports in front of her and frowned. “It looks like you’re the first officer to have been suspicious of that car.”

“I jotted down the license number,” Officer Montoya said, sliding a pad across the table.

Lieutenant Mooney pulled out her cell phone and began to dial. Then, she stopped, frowning.

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“Not really. I just noticed a strange message on my pager. All it says is ‘Goodbye’.”

Suddenly and without a word, Officer Montoya straightened, drew her gun, thumbed back the hammer, and began aiming at her superior officer!

Batgirl almost acted too slowly! She lunged forward, knocking Officer Montoya off balance. Gotham City’s Gorgeous Guardian reached for the falling officer’s gun arm and gripped it. She thrust the arm downward, slamming Officer Montoya’s hand into the table and making Lieutenant Mooney’s attacker’s fingers release the weapon. It clattered to the floor.

Officer Montoya glanced at her fallen gun, at Lieutenant Mooney, and at Batgirl. “What the–”

“You’re in big trouble, sister!” Lieutenant Mooney raged.

“I–”

“Attacking a member of the police department is a crime . . . and threatening a superior officer is insubordination!“

“Wait! I don’t understand,” Officer Montoya said.

“I’ll help you. You’re going to spend your time alone in a cell until I can get a review board convened. I’m sure Batgirl’s testimony will help see to it that you are thrown off the force and don’t work in law enforcement again—ever!”

“No!” Officer Montoya pleaded. “Please, give me a chance!”

“I’d say you just blew your chance!”

“I have no idea why what just occurred happened!”

Lieutenant Mooney laughed. “I suggest you figure it out, then.”

“Wait a minute, Diana,” Batgirl said quietly. “I was expecting an attempt on your life tonight. I was not expecting another member of the department to make it. Have you two ever met before?”

“No,” both policewomen answered simultaneously.

“That would mean Officer Montoya has no motive to kill you, Lieutenant?” Batgirl made her thought a question.

Lieutenant Diana Mooney frowned. “She was doing it for money, obviously!”

“I’m not so sure,” Batgirl said. “I’d like to try something before we throw the book at Officer Montoya.” Batgirl picked up the fallen gun and unloaded it. She handed it back to Officer Montoya. “Are you carrying any other weapons, Officer?”

Montoya gestured to her waist. “My nightstick.”

“Let’s have it,” Batgirl said, holding out her hand. Officer Montoya surrendered her bludgeon. “Okay. You’re disarmed, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Diana, what did your pager say again?”

“I had one message. It was the word ‘goodbye’.”

Officer Montoya drew her empty gun and once again aimed it at the lieutenant. This time, Batgirl did not interfere and the weapon clicked several times before the ashen-faced officer lowered her weapon and sank into her chair with her head in her hands.

“Just as I suspected,” Batgirl said.

“What are you talking about?” Officer Montoya softly asked. “What’s happening to me? Why am I throwing my career away?”

“I think you’re responding to a post-hypnotic suggestion,” Batgirl said.

“I thought a person couldn’t be hypnotized to do anything against their will,” Mooney said skeptically.

“Normally, that’s true, Diana, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time fighting crime in Gotham City, sometimes here the impossible does happen.” Batgirl turned to the despondent Latino woman. “Do you really want to kill the Lieutenant?”

“No, of course not!” Officer Montoya said. She turned pleading brown eyes on her superior. “You’ve got to believe me!”

The Lieutenant leaned back in her chair. She looked at Batgirl, let out a deep breath, then turned her attention to her subordinate. “I believe you, Renee, but we’ve got to get this suggestion canceled! Can you help, Batgirl?”

“I can try,” Batgirl said. She pulled a silver chain from her utility belt. “Diana, I’d like you to get a sketch artist while I put Officer Montoya into a trance.” Batgirl turned to the officer as her friend stood. “Renee, I want you to watch this chain as I swing it back and forth before your eyes. As it swings, you will begin to feel relaxed. Eventually, you’ll close your eyes.”

“Alright,” Officer Montoya said.

“Good,” Batgirl said. “Here we go. Watch the chain swing and listen to the sound of my voice.” Batgirl swung her chain before Officer Montoya’s eyes and watched them begin to follow it moving back and forth in its tiny arc. Batgirl spoke softly, "Renee, focus on the shiny chain. It represents the path back for the memories you have lost. You want to recover those memories. Focus on the silver chain and follow the path." As the chain swung, Batgirl watched Officer Montoya’s eyes focus more clearly. She repeated her directions and smiled as tension drained from the woman’s body and the uniformed policewoman’s breathing became more regular. "Good, Renee. You will know when your memories have returned. When they’re back, close your eyes and say my name." Batgirl swung her chain and repeated her directions again patiently.

Several minutes passed before Officer Montoya inhaled deeply. Her eyes snapped shut. "Batgirl," she said.

"Relax, Renee. Your memories are back. Everything is okay now," she told the policewoman and put away her chain.

"What happened?" Officer Montoya asked.

“You tell us,” Lieutenant Mooney said. She had returned and sat down, gesturing for the man who accompanied her to sit at the table with them.

“I was ordered to kill you, Lieutenant. I was to pull my gun and shoot you when you said ‘goodbye’ to me.”

“Renee,” Batgirl said, “I want you to forget this order. You are no longer subject to it.”

“I am no longer subject,” Officer Montoya repeated.

“Good,” Batgirl said. “Now, I want you to think of the person who gave you this order you need no longer follow and describe that person’s face in detail.”

“He was a tall man; an old man . . .” Officer Montoya began. She went on to describe him and answered questions the artist posed as he drew.

“Okay, Renee,” Batgirl said. “I want you to open your eyes and look at a sketch we’ve drawn. Tell us if the sketch looks like the man who ordered you to kill Lieutenant Mooney.”

Officer Montoya opened her eyes and looked at the sketch. “That’s him,” she said.

“Good, Renee.” Batgirl considered having Montoya relate how the policewoman had come to fall under the man’s spell. Although Batgirl was well-versed in the use of hypnosis, she wasn’t a doctor. She decided she had rummaged around enough in the woman’s psyche. “Now, I’m going to count to ten. When I reach ten, you will be released from your trance.”

“I will be released.” Batgirl counted to ten and smiled at her friends. ”So, it was this guy’s fault?” Montoya said, indicating the sketch.

“It looks that way,” Lieutenant Mooney said.

“Ma’am, I’d like permission to go arrest this man.”

“I’d gladly grant it, if we knew where to find him.”

“I think you should raid the Old Criminal’s Home,” Batgirl said. “Doctor Vince has gathered some evidence that Black Widow tried to kill me when I want to investigate that establishment. I suspect the man is this sketch is a resident there.”

“I’ll get a warrant,” Lieutenant Mooney said.

“Great!” Officer Montoya enthused. “While you do that, I’ll make copies of our sketch and start going through the old mug books. I want to find out who this guy is.” The Lieutenant nodded and Officer Montoya hurried off.

“That was close, Diana,” Batgirl said seriously.

“I know. We expected attempts on my life and the lives of Chief O’Hara and the Commissioner. We know attempts on the Chief and me have failed. I hope the Commissioner is okay.”

“I hope so, too,” Batgirl fervently said.

Batwoman flew her Bat-Gyro high over Commissioner Gordon’s house and descended to a nearby roof with a gentle slope. She gained the ground moving like a shadow and crept to the Commissioner’s back yard. Melding into the darkness, she noted the neighborhood looked exactly as it had from the air, with a car parked facing the Commissioner’s house a little further down the street.

Batwoman’s lips twitched into a smile that never reached her eyes as she settled to wait for the expected attack to strike the apparently unsuspecting public official. The predawn light shown in the eastern sky when a light turned on upstairs in the house and two heads appeared in the front seat of the car parked a few houses away.

“Well, well, well,” Batwoman murmured. She retreated and circled through the Commissioner’s neighbors’ yards so that she approached the car from behind. The men in the car were thin with white mustaches and matching, well-groomed hair. They wore black suits; black shirts; and white ties with matching handkerchiefs tucked into their breast pockets. The men turned their heads as the door to the back seat opened and a beautiful, caped brunette wearing a yellow and black outfit slid into the back seat. “You boys are up early.”

“Who are you?” the man in the driver’s seat demanded.

“What do you want?” the other chimed in.

“I’m Batwoman,” the heroine revealed, “You two are going to tell me why you’re watching Commissioner Gordon’s house.”

“I thought Batgirl was a redhead,” the man in the passenger seat said.

“Turn up your hearing aide,” the driver admonished. “She said she was Batwoman. Honestly, she looks all grown up to me.”

A light downstairs went on in Commissioner Gordon’s house.

“I asked you gentlemen a question,” Batwoman reminded her audience, letting a touch of menace creep into her voice. “I’m not leaving you without answers.”

“Nobody said you were going anywhere, Batwoman!” the driver said, reaching beneath his coat.

The Attractive Avenger reached for the man’s upper arm, gripped it, and wrenched it backwards. Something metal clattered to the floor of the car. “You naughty boy,” Batwoman said. “Tell me why you’re watching the Commissioner’s house!” She pulled back further on the man’s arm until he yelped in pain. “I won’t ask again!”

“Okay, lady! Okay! I’ll talk!”

The man in the passenger seat began, “You dirty rat–”

“Quiet!” Batwoman commanded, reaching out and clipping the man in the chin with her fist. The old man slumped. Batwoman returned her attention to the man whose arm felt like it was breaking. ”Now, you were saying?”

“We got instructions to watch Commissioner Gordon this morning and report what happens.”

“What do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer!” Batwoman tugged at the man’s arm and induced a scream.

“I can’t tell you – and if you torture it out of me, everyone in this neighborhood will hear!”

“You don’t want to know what I will take my sweet time doing to you if anything happens to Commissioner Gordon! I’ll pick a nice, private place, where you’ll be able to scream for hours – maybe days!”

“You wouldn’t! You’re with the good guys.”

“If the Commissioner dies, you’ll be my best lead on the cop killer. For all I’ll know, you’ll be the cop killer. I think the police will be rather forgiving of me under the circumstances.” Batwoman induced another scream.

“Okay. Okay!”

Batwoman leaned close to the man’s ear and noticed what had fallen from the man’s pocket. Her eyes widened in horror. In addition to the gun, a pair of wire cutters lay on the floor.

“It’s a bomb, isn’t it?”

The man hesitated.

“Isn’t it?!” Batwoman applied pressure to the man’s shoulder.

Out went the lights in Commissioner Gordon’s house.

“Yes,” the old man said softly.

The man felt the pain in his arm subside, looked fearfully for Batwoman, and realized she was gone.

He took a deep breath and started the car. It lurched forward a few feet before the trunk hit the street seconds after the back tires blew out. The driver reached for the handle of his door, which did not move.

Commissioner James Gordon stepped from his house into his garage and tapped the garage door opener. A light blazed and he descended to the floor, approaching the car. He pulled his remote control and his keys from his pocket.

“Commissioner!” a female voice called.

Reaching for the driver’s side door, he paused and glanced toward the voice. “Batwoman?”

“Yes – I have reason to believe there’s a bomb in your car!”

The Commissioner’s hand fell away from the door handle. He moved outside his garage and motioned for Batwoman to join him on his porch. Once she was at his side, he aimed his remote control at the car again. “I’ll pop the hood and we’ll have a look at the engine.”

The hood lifted without triggering an explosion and Batwoman hurried to examine the engine. A wire ran from the starter to a tiny digital display and beyond it to a bundle of dynamite sticks!

Batwoman inhaled and started to reach into the engine to carefully detach the wires.

“What did you find?” the Commissioner asked.

“There is a bomb. I’m going to try to disarm it.”

“Are you sure, Batwoman? I can easily get the bomb squad out here.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Batwoman assured him, carefully detaching the wire from the timer and the dynamite. She freed the timer from the starter and pulled the remaining wire free. “I think I’ve disarmed the bomb, sir.”

“Thank you, Batwoman. I owe you my life.”

“Think nothing of it, Commissioner,” she replied.

“I’ll think about it quite a bit when we track down those responsible.”

“I think I’ve found two gentlemen you should speak to already, sir,” Batwoman said, indicating the car with its back tires blown out and its occupants trapped inside with Bat-magnets.

It was almost eleven in the morning when Lieutenant Mooney addressed Batgirl, Batwoman, and Flamebird back in her office. The three older women drank coffee, while Flamebird quaffed a Red Bull. “Well, ladies, I think we’ve all done a good night’s work.”

“You, the Chief and the Commissioner are safe,” Batwoman said. “That makes it all worthwhile for me.”

“Not only that, but we caught most of the would-be killers,” Flamebird enthused. “The raid on the Old Criminals’ Home didn’t yield the hypnotist behind the attempt on you, Lieutenant, but did give us several suspects to question.”

“Officer Montoya learned a little about our hypnotist,” Lieutenant Mooney reported. “His name is Ronald Blackwitch. After a career as an undertaker, he went into Vaudeville as a mentalist. He did an act where he would read the minds of members of his audience. He might have had real talent because he moved on and became a con man, a bunko artist who was able to somehow convince his victims of almost anything, making a lot of money in the process. He was finally caught by a woman used as a lure, a novel idea back in the day. Here's his picture.

"He was a real work of art. Right before his trail, he claimed he worked for some secret government outfit called SD-6."

"Nice," Batgirl said after scanning the photograph. “Unfortunately, none of the Parkers, Black Widow, their known associates or this Blackwitch were there to nail." She turned to Mooney. "The report I read didn’t say anything about recovering any exotic animals either, which seems odd since I told you about Shelob, Black Widow’s enormous black widow."

“Well, even though we didn't find any giant spiders, I am happy to have a good report for the Commissioner,” Lieutenant Mooney said. “I’d better get up to his office. Then I’m going home to get some sleep. Thank you all for helping me through what’s been a long night. If you’ll excuse me.” She stood and took her leave.

“I’d feel better about patting ourselves on the back if the Parkers and Black Widow were in custody,” Batgirl said.

“You can’t beat yourself up, Batgirl,” Batwoman said.

“I’m not beating myself up.”

“Look, the police raided the Old Criminals’ Home and those crooks were not there.”

“Right,” Batgirl agreed. “So, where did they go?”

“They might have just gone to ground when they realized their murderous plans had failed,” Flamebird suggested.

“They didn’t become supervillains by giving up easily on their schemes,” Batwoman remarked.

Batgirl stood, began pacing, and whirled to face her partners in crime fighting. “The Parkers and Black Widow will try to finish what they started.”

“I don’t know,” Flamebird said. “Killing the Commissioner, the Chief, and the Lieutenant, now that they’re aware they were targets, would be ambitious. Of course, a great big, black widow spider being missing might suggest steps are being taken—-”

“Batwoman pointed out how determined they can be to follow through with their planned crimes,” Batgirl said.

“You’re right, Batgirl,” Batwoman thoughtfully said. “The best place now for the crooks to carry out their murderous work would be–”

“Right here at Police Headquarters!” Flamebird exclaimed, slamming her fist into her palm.

“If you two are right,” Batgirl said, “we have to hurry!”

“We may not have a moment to lose!” Batwoman agreed.

“Let’s go!” Flamebird urged.

“All right, boys,” Mrs. Parker addressed her sons. “Check over your guns. Gordon and O’Hara will be coming down any minute. When those elevator doors open, blow away anyone inside.”

“How can I help, Mrs. Parker?” Black Widow asked.

“You did bring your brain short-circuiter, didn’t you?”

“Indeed I did.”

“Good. Then my plan will work perfectly. These custodian outfits got us in position to do the hit. Once that job is done, we’ll head for the Records Room and destroy all the information the police have on our talent at the Old Criminals’ Home. You can take care of any opposition we encounter. When we’re ready, we’ll leave here with a police escort!” Mrs. Parker explained.

“Your plan sounds really great, Ma,” Machine Gun said.

“You sure are smart,” Mad Dog agreed.

“Hey,” Pretty Boy said, “here comes the elevator!”

“Okay, boys,” The Mob Matriarch instructed, “get ready.”

The Parker Brothers pointed their machine guns at the elevator doors and pulled back the bolts.

The elevator stopped at their floor.

“Aim!” the senior Ma Parker ordered.

The elevator opened.

“Fire!”

The villainess’ voice was drowned by the thunder of three machine guns as a massive hail of bullets tore into the interior of the elevator, perforating the walls; floor; and ceiling, as well as the walls on either side of the car. Moments later, the weapons were empty.

“Right,” Ma Parker said with a delighted laugh. “Success at last and chaos to follow! Let’s feast our eyes on the bloody remains!”

Her sons pressed forward and blocked the women’s view of the elevator’s interior.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Mad Dog exclaimed.

“I don’t believe it!” Machine Gun incredulously said.

“It’s impossible!” Pretty Boy echoed in amazement.

“What?” the machine gunners’ mother demanded.

“More elevators are coming,” Black Widow advised, preparing her brain short-circuiter.

“The game is up for all of you!” a stern, female voice said from the damaged elevator.

“It’s Batgirl!” Black Widow said, her voice not even trying to hide her surprise. “So, she’s the reason our targets escaped earlier. It’s amazing Shelob’s children didn’t finish her off several hours ago.”

“Regardless, she should have been shot to pieces just now!” Ma Parker complained.

“I would have been, if I hadn’t taken shelter behind my Bulletproof Bat-Shield,” Batgirl explained. “Now, you’re all under arrest.”

“There is one of you and five of us.” Ma Parker said.

“I wouldn’t bet on those odds!” Batgirl advised. She stood and put two fingers in her mouth before letting out a shrill whistle. Batwoman and Flamebird stepped from separate stairwells. “There’s no way out,” Batgirl declared. “Surrender!”

“I think not,” Black Widow said. “With my brain short-circuiter, I’ll persuade the three of you to arrest us and explain you’re delivering us directly to the penitentiary. Then, once we’re away from here, I can order the three of you to destroy each other!”

“That sounds very entertaining, Mrs. Black.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Parker. I’m sure it will be delightful.”

“It won’t work,” Batgirl predicted.

“Really?” Black Widow inquired. She stepped forward so that her colleagues were behind her and pointed her device at each of her intended victims in turn, activating it.

Batgirl, Batwoman and Flamebird stood motionless with stern expressions and folded arms.

“It . . . it’s not working!” Black Widow incredulously said.

“We’ve all taken the precaution of wearing Anti Short-Circuiting Bat-Electrodes,” Batwoman explained.

“We’ve outsmarted you, Black Widow!” Flamebird crowed.

“Huh,” Mrs. Parker commented, “all you’ve done is show me you have a smart mouth.”

“Get them, boys!” the other senior citizen supervillainess ordered.

Batgirl charged from the elevator, slamming into the Parker Brothers with her shoulder and her Bulletproof Bat-Shield. The siblings toppled like tenpins.

Machine Gun felt a hand twist his shirt and lift him. As he was hauled to his feet, he saw a purple fist before it impacted his nose. He then felt a knee slam into his groin. He stumbled toward Batgirl and felt himself shoved into a corner. The heel of a purple-gloved hand hit the center of his chest with bone-shattering force. He tried to block a high blow and felt another shot to his groin. As he blocked low, another blow left a bruise on his face.

“You win, Batgirl,” Machine Gun said.

“You may be finished, Machine Gun, but I’m just getting warmed up!” Batgirl’s fists pounded the thug’s groin like a pair of pistons. “I seem to remember you had plans for me at the Internet café the other night.”

“Nothing happened,” the thug protested, gasping as another knee connected.

“That’s why I’ll let you live, but you and I are far from finished with this little dance!”

“Please, Batgirl.” Mercilessly, Batgirl hit him again.

Down the hall, Pretty Boy had regained his feet and absorbed the first few blows Flamebird flung at him. He had retaliated and been dismayed when the Golden-Haired Guardian blocked each of his answering attacks. He had begun to move toward her, forcing her backward with his size. Flamebird retreated into an open elevator and closed the doors between them.

Pretty Boy blinked and pressed the button to summon the elevator. Seconds after the doors opened, Pretty Boy felt boot heels impact his cheeks as Flamebird swung forward from the top of the elevator door frame, thrusting her legs at the thug. Her body extended to the attractive athlete’s full height and remained parallel to the floor for a moment while Pretty Boy sprawled, hit the floor hard, and lay still.

Batwoman allowed Mad Dog to regain his feet before beginning to circle him. In turn he began to circle her. Their initial, probing attacks did little damage. Then, Mad Dog lunged toward Batwoman and she spun, sending a boot into his gut. The man doubled over and collided with Batwoman, taking her to the floor.

Batwoman continued rolling and fired a fist at the man’s face once she was on top of him. His head banged against the floor, stunning him. She slid from atop his body and rolled him onto his stomach.

“How did you do that?”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you good always triumphs?” Batwoman asked, snapping Batcuffs on the fallen thug.

The Distaff Duo approached Ma Parker as she backed into an elevator. The doors closed. She cackled maniacally as the car started to descend. The criminal matriarch checked her appearance in the mirrored wall and straightened her custodian uniform. When the doors opened on the main floor, Ma Parker saw the Commissioner, Chief O’Hara and a dozen officers waiting for her. “It’s the end of the line, Mrs. Parker,” the Commissioner said gently.

“I have a team waiting for you on every floor," Chief O’Hara said. "We thought we’d wait here, because the first floor - the main floor - is the most popular destination for any elevator. Now, there’s nowhere to run.”

“We’ll see about that!” the supervillainess said, snatching a pistol from her pocket.

All of the lawmen in front of her aimed guns at her.

“Don’t do it,” Chief O’Hara warned.

“Give me the gun, Mrs. Parker, and give yourself up,” the Commissioner said softly, holding out his hand.

Ma Parker regarded the fearsome amount of firepower arrayed against her and handed Commissioner Gordon her gun.

Back in the hall outside Commissioner Gordon’s office, Batgirl finally let the battered Machine Gun crumple to the floor in a moaning heap. As she turned, she spotted Black Widow creeping up behind the Distaff Duo, holding her brain short-circuiter in front of her. “Look out!” Batgirl warned.

“Too late, Batgirl!” Black Widow triumphantly said. “A few simple adjustments have boosted the power of my weapon! Now, I’m sure it will overwhelm your anti-whatisits. In a moment, you’ll all be mine, and, seconds later, we’ll take a little elevator ride to the roof and see how well you ladies can fly!”

A flying Batarang snatched the weapon from the villainess just as she switched it on. She bent to retrieve it. ”Black Widow, don’t!” Batgirl warned. Mrs. Black ignored her and picked up her weapon.

She was blinking as she straightened. “What did you say, my dear?”

“Black Widow?”

“Yes, Batgirl?”

“Please turn off your brain short-circuiter.”

“That’s a good idea,” the villainess said, shutting off her weapon.

“Hand it to me, please.”

“Be careful, Batgirl.”

“I will. Thank you,” Batgirl said, taking the device. “Now, would you please tell us where the rest of your associates are?”

“Certainly. My nephew, Archie Arcane, is taking care of Legs Parker’s child. She's pulling a job with one of those darling men Mrs. Parker recruited from the Home for their expertise, and my assistant, Octo, is waiting for Lieutenant Mooney, in case what we attempted here fails to kill her, which it did. Mrs. Parker was so thorough.”

“Thank you.”

“Is the job Legs Parker is pulling at a club called the Embassy?’ Batwoman asked.

“Will an organization called the Establishment be robbed?” Flamebird asked.

“That’s right,” Black Widow said. “Your powers of deduction are incredible. It’s no wonder you two are the scourge of crime.”

“Thank you, Black Widow,” Batwoman said. ”If we’re going to stop this crime, we’d better get moving.”

“Right,” Flamebird agreed. “Let’s go!”

“I’ll deliver Black Widow to the police and see what I can do about Octo,” Batgirl decided.

“What a splendid idea,” Black Widow mused.

Meanwhile, at the Embassy, the comic hired to entertain the Establishment’s guests after their lunch was admiring the young blonde who leaned over the buffet table in the green room arranging a tray of pastries.

“Miss,” he politely said. The girl pivoted and glanced toward him, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her chest.

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you please bring me a cup of black coffee?”

“Certainly,” she replied. She stepped to the coffee pot and selected a cup for him. Her body screened her actions as she stirred a fine powder into the steaming beverage. She placed the cup on a saucer and carried it to the performer, leaning over to give it to him.

The comic smiled appreciatively at her and sipped his coffee. “Delicious,” he said.

“I’m glad you like it,” Legs Parker said, smiling happily as the comic drained his coffee cup. “Good night.”

“What?” the comic asked before he slumped into a drug-induced sleep on the couch.

The girl took the coffee cup from his hand and set it aside. Deftly, she searched him, retrieving his wallet; watch; ring; and a fat envelope. “I love it when they get paid in advance . . . in cash!”

She had rolled him over and was binding his wrists when her partner entered the room. “You got him,” the tall man wearing magician’s garb said.

“Of course I did,” Legs snapped. “Get him out of here and put him with the girl.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be my assistant?”

“Just because, at the moment, I look like a wage slave–”

“I like the sound of that word, ‘slave.’”

“Dream on!” Once he had lifted the bound comic and carried him away, Legs stripped off the server uniform to reveal the glittering, body-hugging leotard she wore beneath it. A matching pair of boots she had placed on a lower shelf on the serving cart completed her look.

“Wow!” the magician said when he returned. “You can assist me any time.”

“We can talk about that after the job,” Legs said. “That is, if you think you can compete with that young man to whom Black Widow recently introduced me, her nephew, Archie Arcane.”

“I guess it depends on what you want.”

“I’m told newer models run better and last longer.”

“Maybe. Sometimes it’s good to have a model that’s been broken in.”

“Have you ever heard of a woman called Vixen?”

“Who hasn’t?” the magician asked. After a moment he frowned. “Do you mean she speaks highly of the gentleman you mentioned?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Legs said. “If you can really hypnotize everyone in the room and get them to give up their valuables without violence, I promise to be very impressed.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” ‘Of course, when we’ve finished, I’ll waltz away with your share of the loot,’ she thought. ‘At your age, you should know there’s no such thing as a free lunch.’

“No problem,” the magician confidently said. “You know I mesmerized that cop, right?”

“Sure,” Legs said out loud.

“Have you heard about how I got a Georgia county to finance my retirement?”

“Do tell.”

“Well, I did my act at the local bar and found myself talking to this fat guy dressed all in white who ran the county. Fortunately for me, he was a crook and had the sheriff as well as the bank in his pocket. I convinced him to promote a generous mortgage insurance plan and helped him sell it to most of the local farmers. Once the initial capital came in, I convinced the fat man to sign it all over to me. Once he did, it was time to go I thought about investing in an auto dealership there as a silent partner after about a month because everyone in that county seemed to need a new car for some reason."

“If all of your exploits were that profitable,” Legs said, her eyes sparkling, “What brought you to Gotham City?”

“I decided after I had swindled a county government my talents could be put to use making real money for someone in the big city. Gotham just happened to be where the cops nabbed me.”

“Too bad,” Legs sympathetically said. “I look forward to hearing more of your war stories later. For now, let’s go gather all those beautiful baubles. Our hosts will have finished eating soon.” The magician inhaled as she led him toward the stage.

Minutes later, the emcee stood at the podium. “I see we’ve had a last minute change in the program,” he said. “Our fabulous funny man became ill, but I am delighted to report an act has materialized – as if by magic – to amaze and astound you! It is my pleasure to present the Amazing Ronnie and his lovely assistant.” Applause greeted the young villainess and her partner as they took the stage, emerging from a puff of smoke that seemed to come from nowhere.

A stern, female voice at the back of the room also greeted the act. “Legs Parker, we’ve come to place you under arrest.”

“No!” the faux magician’s assistant said. “You’re dead. It can’t be!”

“Would your rather I arrested you?” another, younger, female voice sweetly asked.

“It’s Batwoman and Flamebird!” a member of the audience exclaimed.

“Ronnie,” Legs Parker said. “Get them!”

“What do you expect me to do?” the magician demanded. “I’m not going to fight them. They’re women! Besides, they’d kick my--”

“Can’t you hypnotize them?” Legs tartly suggested, cutting the old man short.

“It takes time – time they won’t give me.”

“Well, do something!”

“I intend to, honey. I’m leaving!“ Ronnie spun away from Legs Parker and ran.

He didn’t get very far before Flamebird swung across the room on a Batrope suspended from an overhead beam. She let go of her rope and flew into his back, knocking him to the floor with a smack. The young heroine wasted no time in handcuffing him.

“Idiot!” Legs Parker muttered. She lunged at the table of magic tricks and snatched a pistol from the place where she had hidden it. She glanced at Batwoman, who was hurrying toward her. “Listen, Batwoman. I’m leaving and I’ll blow away anyone who tries to follow me—especially you!”

“You can run, but you can’t hide from yourself,” Batwoman said.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You have responsibilities that will allow those of us who are after you to catch you. It may take time, but it will happen.”

“Responsibilities?”

“Family obligations, for example.”

“Ma and the boys know the risks we all run. Nice try. See ya!”

Batwoman did not move as the young villainess turned away. ”What about your child?”

Legs Parker stopped in her tracks. “My baby?”

“Have you thought about what will happen to your child while you hide out for the rest of your life, looking over your shoulder wherever you go?”

“My family–”

“Is in jail. The courts will consider your child’s interests when they sentence you. Surrender now offers you the chance to be part of your baby’s life. On that score, running away is a roll of the dice.”

“Will you help me to see my baby while I’m in jail?”

“I can try.”

“Thank you, Batwoman.” The gun fell from Leg’s Parker’s trembling hand. The audience applauded.

Flamebird grinned as her mentor handcuffed Legs Parker. ‘I hope Batgirl isn’t running into too much trouble,’ she thought.

The street was deserted when the Batgirlcycle pulled to a stop in Lieutenant Mooney’s driveway. The garage attached to the bungalow was closed. Batgirl could see no sign that her friend was in danger. She dismounted and raced to the front door, reaching for the bell.

Suddenly, her hand stopped. ‘If Diana is in danger and I announce myself, her attackers might kill her immediately!’ Batgirl thought.

She retreated and looked through the window to the garage. Two cars were parked inside. In all of her conversations with the Lieutenant, Batgirl had never heard the policewoman indicate she shared her home with anyone. She took a glasscutter from her belt and went to work on the window. “Sorry, Diana,” Batgirl murmured. “I need to know about that second car.”

The hole she cut in the window enabled Batgirl to unlock and lift it, so that she could slip into the garage. She moved toward the house, noting the engines of both cars were cold and the door between her and her goal was locked. A tool from her belt opened the door easily.

Batgirl had one foot across the threshold when a moan stopped her in her tracks. “She’s waking up,” a male voice said.

“I am surprised,’ another man with an accent replied, “considering how hard you hit her.”

“I didn’t want her to resist while we tied her up. Why did you make us tie her to this chair?” the first man complained.

“The extra goodies available on this job are all to be monetary!” a woman explained tartly.

“Why?” the whiny thug asked.

“Because I said so! Freddy, take Spade and loot the place. I’ll watch her.”

“Come on,” French Freddy the Fence invited. “You will not win this argument, mon ami.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

There was a lengthy pause before the exasperated Spade said, “You’re no fun, Octo.”

“If you don’t shut up and do as I say, Spade, I won’t give you the opportunity to find out how wrong you are. Now, move!”

Octo’s voice gave Batgirl the chance to approach the criminals and their captive silently. Octo stood over Lieutenant Diana Mooney, who was tightly bound to a straight-backed chair and gagged. The men were retreating hurriedly from the young woman’s sight.

“It’s well past time someone did a little housecleaning,” Batgirl said stepping into view. “Luckily for Lieutenant Mooney, I stopped by to visit.”

“Batgirl!” Spade exclaimed, his mouth falling open as he stared.

French Freddy reverted to his native tongue as his eyes grew wide.

Octo put her hands on her hips and regarded the newcomer with a cunning smile. “Not so lucky for you, Batgirl. I noticed you escaped Black Widow’s arachnid reception committee. So, before I let Shelob snack on the Lieutenant here, I’ll give dear Diana the once in a lifetime opportunity to watch you die!”

Lieutenant Diana Mooney’s eyes had flicked open and she was studying her predicament with intelligent eyes as she began straining against her expertly fastened bonds.

“No one is going to die here, Octo!” Batgirl predicted.

“We’ll see about that!” Octo retorted. “Boys, grab her and hold her!”

Both men charged at Batgirl. She considered French Freddy the more dangerous of her attackers and sidestepped around him. As he passed, she swung an elbow backward, slamming his head into a wall. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor stunned.

Spade turned and took a swing at her. Batgirl leaned back and avoided the punch. Once Spade’s outstretched arm was extended across her body, Batgirl seized the limb and used it to spin the thug to the floor. He began to rise almost instantly and received a vicious kick to the chin for his trouble. Batgirl followed him, pressing her advantage and crossing the room in pursuit.

Too many hours without sleep finally caught up with the Dominoed Daredoll. She was about to launch an uppercut that would have taken Spade out of the fight, when her arm was seized from behind and twisted behind her back. A painful cry escaped her lips and she tried to twist and relieve the pressure. “Non, Batgirl,” French Freddy said. “I do not think so.” A hand gripped the shoulder opposite the one wracked by pain and pulled it back to elicit another painful cry.

“Get her, Spade!” Octo ordered. As she watched the thugs go to work on the new prisoner, she extracted a hypodermic needle from a case in her purse and depressed the plunger to see it would work properly.

Spade had begun pounding at Batgirl low down until she sagged in French Freddy’s arms. When her knees buckled and another cry escaped her lips, he began to slap her repeatedly causing her to face one direction and then the other. When he tired of that torturous treatment, he hit her in the center of her chest with a rabbit punch that knocked the wind from her.

“That’s enough, guys,” Octo decided. “Each of you grab an arm and drag her butt over here. It’s time to take care of this pest once and for all!”

“What are you going to do to me?” Batgirl asked weakly.

Octo displayed the hypo with a wicked smile. “This contains a concentrated form of spider venom. As you no doubt know, it causes paralysis.” Octo paused to laugh. “I’m going to inject it directly into your heart. After that, you won’t last ten minutes and we’ll have all the time in the world to take care of your friend here.” Octo’s free hand caressed Lieutenant Mooney’s face.

“You won’t get away with this, Octo!” Batgirl predicted.

“Sure I will. It will only take a couple of seconds to uncover Shelob’s cage and open it. Then, slowly, the great big black widow spider will find her prey, climb to a comfortable spot, and sink her fangs in until her hunger is sated.” As Octo spoke, her hand went on stroking her intended victim’s cheek. The bound police lieutenant began to protest vainly through her gag.

“Let Lieutenant Mooney go, Octo,” Batgirl said. “You have me.” Lieutenant Mooney shook her head violently and screamed through her gag.

“I’d hate to give up a perfectly good advantage for no good reason,” Octo said, letting her hand fall away from Lieutenant Mooney’s face and stepping toward Batgirl with a laugh. “Okay, boys, lift Batgirl’s chest up here. The needle should go in just below the left breast.” The thugs draped Batgirl’s arms over their shoulders and stood, lifting their mistress’s victim into position. “Now,” Octo raised the needle and poised it in front of Batgirl’s chest. “any last words?”

Lieutenant Mooney’s vain protests continued as Batgirl’s eyes fixed on her would-be killer with chilling intensity. “You may kill me, Octo, but the police and Gotham City’s other costumed crimefighters will hunt you down to the ends of the Earth. Before you’re punished for these murders, you’ll learn what true terror is, because these people will not give up for any reason when they come for you. Once you’re caught, they will deal with you and they will not deal at all gently. Our murders will be avenged. So, do it, but don’t complain later you didn’t know how high the price would be.”

“If I were to let you go on talking, Batgirl,” Octo replied, “ I might eventually get really scared. Say goodbye to this world!” Octo stepped even closer to her victim and thrust the needle toward Batgirl’s heart.

Batgirl sagged in the thugs’ arms as Octo closed the distance between them. As her attacker reached the point directly in front of Batgirl, a purple knee impacted the hand holding the needle and the toe of a boot caught Octo’s chin, knocking the young villainess off balance. As the surprised thugs stared, the Dark Angel of Gotham lifted both of her legs together, back flipped, and landed standing behind French Freddy the Fence and Spade. Purple-gloved hands wound around their chins and brought the men’s heads together sharply. The heads cracked together audibly as the men collapsed, unconscious.

Batgirl stepped over the fallen thugs and passed Octo’s prone body as she took a knife from its place on her hip. The blade slashed Lieutenant Mooney’s bonds as Batgirl’s fingers tore the gag from the captive’s mouth. “Thanks,” the policewoman said. “Look out!”

Batgirl glanced behind her and saw Octo looming up and lunging toward her. She shifted her feet and dove at her attacker’s ankles. Her shoulder collided with the woman’s knees and Batgirl felt her falling over. As the Curved Crusader regained her balance she saw Octo lying on the floor and heard the young villainess moan.

“It’s over, Octo!” Batgirl said, reaching for her Batcuffs.

“Needle,” Octo whispered. “Help me!”

Batgirl’s eyes widened as she saw the hypodermic needle with its deadly contents protruding from Octo’s thigh. A purple glove snatched it from the woman’s leg, as Batgirl verified Lieutenant Mooney had finished freeing herself. “Diana, get us a medic!”

Lieutenant Mooney crossed the room in two strides and lifted the phone, speaking quickly.

Batgirl found a clean towel and wound it around Octo’s thigh above the puncture wound. Once she had twisted it tight and tied it off, she rolled the woman onto her injured leg and began lifting her upper body.

The injured villainess winced. “What are you doing?” Octo asked.

“The tourniquet will slow your blood flow and keeping your leg below the rest of your body will also help. Gravity will be on our side. The trick is to keep the venom from spreading as much as possible. Here, take this.” Batgirl handed Octo a Universal Bat-Antidote pill she retrieved from her utility belt. “I’m not sure it will protect you from such a concentrated dose, but I don’t think it will hurt.”

Octo swallowed the pill and looked up at Batgirl questioningly. “Why are you helping me? I would have killed both of you.”

“You could do a lot of good with your beauty, intelligence . . .” Batgirl looked over at Shelob’s covered cage, “. . . and your affinity for spiders. I want you to have that chance.”

“The paramedics will be here within minutes,” Lieutenant Mooney reported. “I’d better handcuff her thugs.” As she walked off, Batgirl and Octo heard her mutter, “Tied to a chair – twice – in my own house – I think I’ll complain to the police!”

French Freddy had recovered and turned his throbbing head toward Spade, whose eyes were fluttering open. “Come, mon ami. Let’s go while the ladies have their hands full.”

Spade moaned and began rising. The Frenchman was already crouched low and moving on the balls of his feet toward the door through which Batgirl had arrived.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Lieutenant Diana Mooney said, cutting Spade’s legs out from under him and then slamming his face into the floor. “You have the right to remain silent.” Spade’s eyes rolled up into his head.

The policewoman had reached the door through which French Freddy had darted in time to see the car in which he had arrived speed away along her street. “Next time, Frenchie!” she muttered as she returned to Spade.

Back in the kitchen, Octo turned her head toward Batgirl and smiled. “It’s over now. I’m off to jail and you’ll keep fighting crime.”

“The crime wave might be over, Octo, but, for you this could be a new beginning.”

Octo frowned and seemed to consider Batgirl’s words. “Maybe,” she thoughtfully said. “I’ve heard you can get an education in prison.”

“I believe you can.”

Octo’s eyes seemed to be looking elsewhere. “Besides spiders, I’ve always been interested in ancient cults.” Her attention returned to the present. “Thank you for your help, Batgirl. I really don’t deserve it.”

“You’re welcome, Octo.”

They could all hear the siren approaching.

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