A Grade ‘A’ Crime Wrought

The sun blazed over Gotham City one chilly, Spring morning as Warden Crichton drove past the occasional, dedicated jogger on his way to work at Gotham State Penitentiary. He recalled them absently when he discovered a gym bag with his name on the tag in his outer office. With a shrug, he picked it up and set it beside his desk, promptly forgetting all about it. As he turned his attention to his morning pot of coffee; his computer; his incoming messages; his schedule; as well as his outgoing correspondence, the Warden remained unaware he had unwittingly set an arch criminal’s fiendish plans into motion.

He suddenly remembered the gym bag when the telltale sound of the zipper drew his gaze. The prison official’s eyes widened in surprise when two scarlet, spike-heeled shoes shot from the bag, preceding a shapely pair of suntanned legs. Shortly thereafter, a brunette woman’s head, shoulders, and arms also emerged.

Startled, the Warden began, “What the–”

The woman put a finger to her lips and leaned forward, straightening to gain her feet. Cut-off denim shorts sheathed her hips while a red-checkered, short-sleeved shirt was knotted across her chest, leaving her abdomen bare. This skimpy outfit covered her considerable assets while showcasing her hourglass figure magnificently. Perhaps it was this fact, rather than the finger at her lips, that rendered the prison official momentarily speechless.

She stepped toward him and perched a shapely hip on his desk. “Good morning, Warden,” she said in her Bronx accent. “Mr. Egghead has a proposition for you and I’m here to present his modest proposal.” She bent and retrieved a sheaf of papers from a side pocket of the gym bag, handing them across to the Warden, who accepted them.

“Well, Chickadee,” the Warden said, “I suppose you’ve answered my question about why you are here in my office and not in your cell.” As he spoke, he tapped a hidden button to summon help. “Egghead should know better than to ask an emissary to tempt me. With all due respect, I can resist pretty women. If I couldn’t, I would never have lasted in this job.”

As the Warden spoke, his audience glanced at the array of controls that could open any cell at the facility. She yawned elaborately as she listened and returned her attention to the Warden with a bright smile. “He knows, Warden. I’m just a messenger, not part of the transaction. Thank you for the compliment, though.”

“You’re most welcome. I’m obliged to ask about your attire.”

“Your prison uniforms do nothing for me,” she complained.

“So I’ve been told,” the Warden said smoothly. “I would have thought you’d choose your hat check girl uniform in which to 'work.'”

“Oh, normally I would have,” the girl agreed. “This morning I had to spend a few hours curled up in that bag and decided this outfit would be more comfortable. Do you like it?”

“It’s lovely,” the Warden answered, turning his attention to the papers he had been given without sparing his visitor another glance. “To be fair to Egghead, I suppose I should read this proposal before rejecting it.”

“Your sense of fair play is widely renowned, Warden.”

“I pride myself on it.”

As the Warden began reading and wondering what was keeping the guards he had summoned, Chickadee went on talking. “Mr. Egghead said you would need a couple of minutes to read over those documents before you signed them.”

“Chickadee, I want you to understand I have no intention of signing anything presented to me under these circumstances. There are channels through which such proposals may be sent and it would be unfair to everyone following the rules–”

“Excuse me for just a moment, Warden.” Chickadee suddenly said. She hurried through the Warden’s door moments before a soft pop heralded a great deal of coughing. Seconds later, she reappeared, leading two guards into the Warden’s office with a gun in each hand. “Mr. Egghead also said I needed to be ready to intercept a couple of guards like these guys,” she announced, pulling a handkerchief she had used as a filter from her mouth. “His smoke bomb egg incapacitated them just long enough for me to disarm them.”

“I see these papers would authorize your outright release, Chickadee. They indeed seem perfectly in order, except for the signature, and would also apply to Egghead.”

“I’ll be back with you in just a minute, Warden,” the girl said politely. She pointed at one of the guards. “You will handcuff your partner to one of the Warden’s client chairs unless you want me to blow your brains all over the carpet!” Her tone left no room for argument and once she had been obeyed, Chickadee motioned for the second guard to sit on the other chair. She crouched behind him and handcuffed him to the chair before retrieving a roll of duct tape the Warden was surprised she located. The girl smoothed a strip of tape over each captive’s mouth. “Warden, I feel it’s fair to warn you that if you send for any more help, I’ll be forced to kill these men.”

“Chickadee,” the Warden warned, “you’re already in considerable trouble and I guarantee you’ll be in a lot more, if you murder my guards in cold blood!”

The brunette favored the Warden with a thin, knowing smile. “After you sign those documents, you’ll have to catch me before I’m in any trouble.”

“You’re wrong,” the Warden gently said. The phone rang and Warden Crichton automatically reached for the receiver. From the light on his phone system, he could tell the call was coming from the prison kitchen.

“That will be Mr. Egghead,” Chickadee said. “Put him on speaker. Would you like more coffee?”

The Warden nodded seconds before Egghead’s cultured voice came clearly from the speaker. “Good morning, Warden. I trust Chickadee has presented my modest proposal. I egg-spect you’ll be releasing us presently.”

“I think your much-vaunted brain is scrambled this morning, Egghead. I have absolutely no intention of releasing either of you before your prison terms are complete!”

Chickadee set a steaming cup of coffee beside the Warden and took an appreciative sip from her own, smiling.

“You’ve behaved egg-sactly the way I egg-spected you would,” the Brainy Blackguard replied, “which is why I detained your secretary when she came down here for her morning cup of gourmet coffee. Unless Chickadee and I are promptly released, I’ll have my associates down here utilize the poor woman as the secret ingredient in tomorrow’s breakfast casserole.”

The Warden’s face paled. “I must warn you, it is the policy of this facility not to negotiate in hostage situations, but you’ll have to prove to me you have my secretary before I consider making an egg–cept – I mean exception!”

“War-Warden,” a frightened woman said. “I . . . I’m here Please--”

The woman’s voice became inaudible once she had been dragged away from the phone.

“Oh no!” Warden Crichton’s face fell into his hands. “I can’t just let these crooks go, but I cannot allow my secretary to be harmed.” The Warden glanced at Chickadee, who had set one of her guns down while keeping hold of the other. ‘If I could somehow capture her,’ the prison official reasoned, ‘a trade might be arranged.’

Warden Crichton thought desperately. He finished his coffee. “Chickadee, would you get me a refill?”

“Sure, Warden,” she sympathetically said. “You have a lot on your mind.” As Chickadee retrieved the Warden’s empty cup, she dropped the gun she had set down into the bag in which she had arrived. She then moved to the coffee pot without taking her watchful eye off of the prison official. As he accepted more coffee, he realized Chickadee would give him no opportunity to turn the tables on her. Dejectedly, he began to reread the documents the supervillain had prepared.

“I have no choice but to sign if I want to avoid needless bloodshed,” Warden Crichton said. He reached for his pen and poised it, leaning over the papers and hesitating. The room was utterly silent and Chickadee’s incongruously disarming smile remained etched on her face as the muzzle of her gun remained trained unwaveringly upon the Warden. Slowly the prison official exhaled. “You win, Egghead,” he softly said, signing the documents with a heavy heart.

“Chickadee?”

“He signed us both out, boss,” the girl cheerfully said.

“Egg-cellent!” the bald bad guy crowed. “Since my new associates are prison employees, they can drive us right out of here as soon as they escort the Warden’s secretary to her office and present their immediate resignations.”

“See you soon, Eggy,” Chickadee said. The telephone connection was broken twenty minutes before Egghead, Chickadee, and two others drove through the prison gates.

“I thought I’d bring her statement over personally,” Warden Crichton said, handing the document across Commissioner Gordon’s desk. “I’ve given her the day off with pay and told her to call me tomorrow at home if she wasn’t feeling up to coming in.”

“Egghead threatened your secretary?”

“I would have called his bluff, in accordance with policy, except his henchwoman had already thwarted my surprise attempt to capture her and my secretary sounded terrified when Egghead put her on the phone. I’ve got a lot of work to do and will need a temp to help me out, but reporting Egghead’s escape is much more important. He told me my secretary would be the secret ingredient in tomorrow morning’s casserole!”

“’Tis a dark day in Gotham City, Warden,” Chief O’Hara said, his face set into a grim mask.

“I agree completely, Chief. It’s up to your department to correct the situation.”

“I understand,” Commissioner Gordon quietly said. “Thank you for informing us of Egghead’s escape so promptly. Now, you can help us.”

“I’d be happy to, Commissioner. Egghead has gone too far!”

“Begorra!”

“We’ll do everything in our power to bring him to justice quickly. Now, tell us about these breakfast chefs with whom Egghead and Chickadee drove off.”

“They are twins, legal French immigrants, speak fluent English, and have very impressive credentials. If fact, I hired them while Egghead was still on the loose, long before he and his henchwomen planned to open ‘EGGS R US’ and turn Gotham City’s population into a criminal society Egghead could lead.”

“What are their names?” Chief O’Hara asked. “I’ll need them to put out an All Points Bulletin.”

“Of course, Chief. I’m sorry. Their names are Michelle and Suzette Cook.”

“Their surname doesn’t sound French,” the Commissioner remarked.

“They explained that when I hired them,” the Warden said. “Their real last name is 'Cuisinier.' They said ‘Cook’ is a translation.”

“I’ll look up their license plate number with the Department of Motor vehicles and get officers patrolling the city looking for their car,” Chief O’Hara said. “Until Egghead commits a crime, that will be our only chance to track him down.”

“I wonder how long we’ll have to wait for Egghead’s first criminal strike?” Warden Crichton worriedly wondered aloud.

Egghead’s first criminal strike would come sooner than the Warden, the Commissioner, or the Chief expected. The chrome-domed criminal mastermind was directing his driver to his first target, the Gotham City Art Museum, as the forces of law and order mobilized against him.

“What are we doing here, boss?” Chickadee asked. “The display you told me about won’t open for hours.”

“With your help, my dear, we’ll participate in an unscheduled, egg-sclusive showing of the eggs-hibit, which will be its last public display.”

“What are we . . .” the driver began.

“. . . going to see?” her twin sister finished asking.

“I’m sorry,” Egghead began, glancing at the driver’s nametag in the rearview mirror. “Michelle,” he continued. “I haven’t told you or Suzette about the plan I’ve hatched. The internationally famous Lady Easterly has lent her jeweled Easter eggs to the museum. I think, once we appropriate them, they will help me satisfy all of your egg-spensive tastes, at least for a time.”

“Delicious,” Chickadee greedily enthused.

“Good idea, boss!” the twins said, simultaneously. ‘The exotic, foreign quality of their voices, along with their smiles, could, if employed properly, prove quite intoxicating,’ Egghead decided.

“The eggs should be worth . . .” Suzette began.

“. . . a tidy sum,” Michelle said, concluding the sisters’ nearly simultaneous thought.

“Tell me, my dears,” Egghead said. “Do you always finish each others sentences?”

“We’re identical twins,” Michelle explained.

“We think alike,” Suzette elaborated.

“Interesting,” Egghead commented. “How will I tell the two of you apart?”

“We’ll show you . . .” Suzette said.

Egghead raised an eyebrow, marveling that Michelle had not chimed in until Suzette had finished.

“. . . later.”

“I’m sure that revelation will be an egg-squisite pleasure.”

The French, blonde twins’ pronouncement was only the latest reason for Egghead’s promising prediction. Both women had known they would not be performing their usual duties, so they had selected identical outfits specifically to showcase their beautiful, bronzed bodies. Both wore sandals and bright, yellow short shorts with matching halter-tops against which their breasts strained whenever they inhaled. Long, white coats were their lone concession to their culinary careers and the chilly, Spring weather.

Egghead was smart enough to try preemptively mollifying Chickadee. She was an experienced henchwoman whom he had employed for many things in the past. She had begun her criminal career on the Penguin’s payroll and also worked for the mad, demented Madame DeBase and the young Ma Legs Parker, for whom she had also served as a bridesmaid.

“For the moment, I’d like to focus on the job,” Egghead announced. “I egg-spect you all know your way around the museum?”

“No problem,” Chickadee confidently said.

“We do,” Michelle said.

“Indeed,” Suzette agreed.

“Very well. Michelle will see to the car while Chickadee and Suzette come with me. Once we’re inside, Suzette will see to the guard monitoring the building while Chickadee attends to his or her off-duty colleagues in the break room. Once that opposition has been dealt with, join me at the eggs-hibit and we’ll be on our way.”

“How would you like us to incapacitate the guards?” Chickadee asked.

“The twins whipped up some special, helpful eggs after putting you in position this morning,” Egghead explained. The car stopped and the terrible trio approached the museum. “Chickadee, I’m certain the door will yield to your egg-spert touch.”

“No problem,” the bronzed brunette from the Bronx said.

With his display of brilliant, criminal leadership complete, he watched appreciatively as his shapely, brunette sycophant strutted confidently to the door, crouched decoratively before it, and went to work. Moments later, the lovely lawbreaker straightened, opened the door, and led the way inside. There, she paused, gesturing along an empty corridor with a curtsy and a satisfied smile before she, Suzette, and Egghead split up.

“What are you doing here, Miss?” the guard monitoring the museum’s cameras asked as Suzette entered the room.

“I have something for you,” Suzette answered, dipping a hand into her coat pocket.

The guard stared speechlessly. ‘She’s got something all right,’ he thought. ‘She’s got quite a bit, in fact. I’ve never seen her before, but she says she brought me something. I wonder if she’s referring to what I’m hoping she is.’ The guard could feel his heart rate increasing.

Suzette extracted her hand from her pocket and the guard saw she held an egg. “Look,” the blonde intruder invited. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“Pretty,” the guard repeated. The power of the spell Suzette had cast seemed somehow enhanced as she spoke. The guard was paying more attention to her red lips as they parted before her white teeth than the small object she held before her bare abdomen. The guard saw her smile as he lowered his eyes, drinking in the voluptuous vision her fabulous features presented. Suzette was a very pretty picture as she stood, posed.

She tossed the egg toward him as he let out a breath. His hand stretched toward the small orb and tapped it with his fingertips, causing it to fall to the floor just beyond his reach.

Suzette had already turned away when the guard collapsed, overcome by a plume of knockout gas. Seconds later, she was leaning over him, going through his pockets. “Idiot!” she said with a laugh.

Meanwhile, Chickadee entered the break room, smiling at the men who turned brightening smiles toward her. “Good morning, boys,” she said.

“Hi,” was all she allowed anyone to say in response before extracting a handful of eggs from her bag and throwing them to the floor near the guards. She grinned at the men through a filter mask as they collapsed. She waited a full minute to be sure the gas had done its work before going through the first man’s pockets.

As his henchwomen went about their wicked work, Egghead’s acid egg dissolved the lock on the glass cabinet he wished to empty. By the time Suzette and Chickadee arrived, he had cleaned it out and carefully put away his ill-gotten gains. “Egg-cellent, girls. It’s time to make our egg-zit,” he announced, leading the way to the car.

Barbara Gordon had just stepped from the shower when the dispatcher on her police band radio made her pause reaching for a towel. “Calling all cars. Be on the lookout for Egghead, Chickadee, and a pair of blonde henchwomen. They are to be considered armed and dangerous. Do not try to apprehend them without backup.”

“It’s a good thing I have the day off,” Barbara said. The message repeated twice while she spun her bedroom wall and underwent her tantalizing transformation to become Batgirl, the feminine scourge of crime. Moments later, she shot from her secret freight elevator on the Batgirlcycle and hurried to Police Headquarters.

“He broke out of jail and stole Lady Easterly’s jeweled Easter eggs less than an hour later,” Commissioner Gordon said. “It’s outrageous!”

“Sure and it is!’ Chief O’Hara agreed.

“I understand Chickadee helped him and that he had two other female assistants.”

“You’re well informed, Batgirl,” the Commissioner said. “I’m glad you’ve lent us a glove. There is no telling what else Egghead has in his carton of crimes to come.”

“It’s true Egghead is a tough egg,” Batgirl said.

“The most rotten egg of them all,” Chief O’Hara gravely agreed. “How will you proceed?”

“Well, he’ll have to sell the stolen, jeweled Easter eggs. If I can pursue that sale, I may learn something from him or his associates that will enable me to track him down. Egghead may be smart, but he’s also cocky enough to brag about his plans.”

“Batgirl,” Chief O’Hara slowly said, “Suppose Egghead expects you to follow up on this crime?”

“He may indeed have committed this crime simply to draw you into a trap,” the Commissioner cautioned.

“Regardless of any bizarre, deadly traps Egghead may set up, I’m going after him. He has got to be stopped!” Batgirl said. Then she favored the police leaders with her most winning smile. “The robbery at the museum is likely just the topping for a cunning criminal casserole Egghead has cooked up. Besides, crooks have been trying to do away with me for nearly a decade and they haven’t gotten me yet.”

“We’re all glad of that, Batgirl,” the Commissioner admitted.

“Begorra!” Chief O’Hara seconded.

“Now, maybe you can give me more information. What can you tell me about Egghead’s newest assistants?” Batgirl asked.

“They are French twins who worked in the penitentiary kitchen for Warden Crichton since before you brought him in last time,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“I wonder,” Batgirl said, pacing, “whether they helped Egghead gather the gang for his last caper. You’ll recall he recruited Cornelia from the Joker and took Pauline from Riddler. Egghead told me he took Pauline because of how long ago she worked for Riddler. He correctly assumed I wouldn’t recognize her. Now, of course, I know what she looks like and that little trick won’t work. I’ve been reading up on Batman and Robin’s exploits before I started fighting crime as well.”

“Batman has often spoken of study and the value of knowledge,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“'Know your enemies’ is good advice.”

“Sure an’ you’re right,” Chief O’Hara said. Then, he turned the conversation back to the case. “So, you think Egghead put these chicks in place to help him recruit a gang after he and Chickadee escaped?”

“It may have been even more of a criminal masterstroke than that, gentlemen,” Batgirl said. “These two appear to have helped with his escape earlier today, so they were probably placed for a devious duel purpose.”

“Diabolically brilliant!” Commissioner Gordon said. “We’re talking about the past, both distant and recent. Egghead stole Lady Easterly’s jeweled Easter eggs less than an hour after his escape. I shudder to think what sinister scheme he might hatch next!”

"Now then, ladies," Egghead began. “The purpose of this morning’s activities is two-fold. Lady Easterly’s jeweled Easter Eggs will fetch a fine price on the black market. They will also draw the various bats from their respective belfries as they scramble to stop us.”

Michelle began, “So, we stole the eggs to lure . . .”

“. . . them into a trap?” Suzette concluded the question.

“Egg-sactly,” Egghead said, smiling broadly. “Chickadee and I will attend to those deadly details while you twin temptresses negotiate a nice high price for the eggs with the finest fence in town.”

Chickadee frowned and muttered, “You two lucky–”

“What . . .” Suzette began.

“. . . do you mean?” Michelle concluded the question.

Chickadee took in some air and let it out slowly. “The boss can only be talking about one man when he refers to the finest fence in town.”

The twins turned from Chickadee and grinned at one another. “French Freddy Touche . . .” Suzette said, grinning from ear to ear.

“. . . The Fence,” Michelle concluded with a wicked smirk. “Our negotiations should be a pleasure . . .”

Egghead turned expectantly to Suzette, awaiting the conclusion of the twin’s second thought. “. . . for all of us,” she added. “They’ll be very intense, as well.”

“We can’t wait!” they said together.

“Egg-sellent!” the criminal mastermind said, extending a piece of paper. “Here is his address. Take some of the eggs as samples and see that we make a lot of money.” Egghead noted Chickadee’s questioning glance and explained. “Using multiple samples shows good faith. French Freddy and I both know creating multiple, duplicate eggs would be prohibitively egg-spensive.”

The twins nodded and took their leave.

“Freddy will like them,” Chickadee said, “but he won’t like you using him as Bat-bait.”

“Not to worry,” Egghead admonished, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve considered every possible contingency and I’m sure the twins will more than compensate Freddy for any inconvenience. Besides, he gets a small role in the death of certain bats.”

“Are we really ready for them?” Chickadee asked. “Every one of our super criminal colleagues has been trying to kill the bats and their sidekicks for years, and our efforts have proven equally ineffective.”

“Oh, yes!” Egghead laughed. “The twins have cooked up an egg-squisite concoction to my egg-sact specifications.”

“So, what are you hatching for us to do once the bats and their little birdies are out of the way for good?”

“An egg-cellent question. You know, I’ve long wanted egg-sclusive control of Gotham City.”

“I know when you tried to acquire the lease from the last of the Mohican Indians, Batman discovered criminals could not become leaseholders.”

“Indeed, Chickadee. Since that loophole in the lease closed for me, I’ve been egg-sploring other options. I’ll need to have a word with the Mayor in the near future.”

The brunette thought for a moment. “Well, it isn’t the political season in Gotham, but as I recall the Grand Order of Occidental Nighthawks has endorsed the Penguin for mayor every time Linseed runs, whether Penguin is in the race or not. Can you steal an election months after it’s over?”

“I’ll egg-splain tomorrow. For the moment, I’ll reveal we’re going to engage in a bit of political poaching, that is, capturing control of the city at a time other than after a regularly scheduled election.”

“Then you and I have nothing to do but wait and see who comes out to gobble up the bait in your Bat-trap?”

“Well,” Egghead said, “not egg-sactly. This is the first time you and I have been by ourselves egg-sclusively in months.”

It was true. The criminal couple remained in the abandoned luxury hotel in which Egghead had chosen to hide out, and they were quite alone. Not surprisingly, Egghead had made the executive suite the nerve center of his headquarters.

“Say, you’re right! You know, I’ll want to change before seeing the bats who take the bait off to the afterlife,” Chickadee said practically. “Would you help me undress?”

Egghead reached for the knot holding Chickadee’s shirt in place against her chest. “I love your mind,” he said, tugging gently and loosening the knot as she leaned provocatively forward, kissing him deeply as his arms enveloped her.

Batgirl decided to start her jeweled Easter egg hunt directly and without the slightest bit of subtlety. Knowing the loot would have to be smuggled out of town, she drove to a shabby riverboat, where two large men waited at the top of the gangplank.

“Hey! What do you want?" one of the men demanded.

“I’m here to see the Captain.”

“I don’t think he wants to see you!” the second man said.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Batgirl said. “I’m coming aboard, anyway.”

The first man’s voice fell, speaking with a calculated amount of menace. “You’ll have to go through us–”

A blow delivered with bone-shattering force cut him short, making him double over, gasping speechlessly as his legs collapsed beneath him. The second man lunged, but fell over the collapsing thug’s body, which Batgirl shoved into his path. Batgirl stepped over the guards without looking back after delivering a chop to the back of the second man’s head. “Since you insist,” Batgirl sweetly murmured.

She moved aft, ignoring the music and laughter mingling with the chink of change and poker chips in the cabin accessible from the main deck.

The next man Batgirl encountered guarded the hatch leading to the lower decks. “Hey!” he demanded, unwittingly echoing the man at the gangplank. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to see your boss.”

“He’s busy.”

“I’m sure he is, but he’ll make time to see me. Now, if you’ll please step aside.”

The man hesitated and Batgirl stepped forward. He sensed her intention and quickly reached for her, but felt the heel of a hand hit the center of his chest, shoving him far backward while his legs were swept forward. He fell to the deck, hitting his head, before Batgirl slipped through the hatch and down the ladder. She looked around to see whether anyone had noticed the minor altercation while her eyes adjusted to the shadowy gloom below decks.

Seeing no reaction, Batgirl hurried further aft, ignoring the debauchery around her until she found the last man who would obstruct her. He was guarding a door, until a capsule of Bat-gas sent him drifting into velvety blackness. Batgirl rolled him into a conveniently situated companionway.

The door to the Captain’s cabin was her last obstruction and Batgirl kicked it in without further ado, yielding a startled cry and a seafarer’s curse.

“Good morning, Captain. I see you're getting an early start. Unless, of course, you haven’t finished what you started last night yet. I honestly don’t care. I want French Freddy Touche, the Fence, and you’re going to give him to me!”

“What makes you think so, you !@#$%?”

“Such language,” Batgirl said, shaking her head. “Your guards didn’t stop me from seeing you, so, we’ll be having the little chat for which I came. As I said, I want French Freddy. Now, where is he?”

“Who is she?” a woman’s voice demanded.

“Shut up, Brandy!”

“I won’t ask again,” Batgirl quietly warned. “This really isn’t a social call!”

“I don’t know.”

Batgirl’s eyes narrowed as she pondered whether the Captain was answering her question or challenging her last statement. “What don’t you know?” she ominously asked.

“I have no idea where French Freddy is.”

The tension in Batgirl’s body that had built since she entered the cabin eased slightly. “I don’t believe you!” she replied, regarding the Captain coldly as her hands settled onto her hips while her legs spread to shoulder width.

“Hey! He said he doesn’t know!” Brandy said.

“Shut up, Brandy!” Batgirl said. She stepped from her comfortable, familiar pose; crossed the cabin with a single, sexy stride; gripped the Captain by the throat; and wrenched him into a sitting position, banging his head on a conveniently situated, overhead beam. “Tell me where he is—NOW!”

“Why lean on me? You know he isn’t on board!”

“You know about all the stolen goods leaving this city, even if they don’t go through your slimy hands,” Batgirl said. She let go and leaned closely over him as he sank back to the bunk. She let her voice fall, transforming it into a menacing whisper. “If you think I’ve been bad news before–”

“Okay. Okay, Batgirl. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you in the dark. Listen. French Freddy reopened his fencing academy,” the Captain said. “You didn’t hear this from me.”

Batgirl pulled the Captain’s face into position less than an inch from hers. “Thank you,” she said. “If you’re lying, I will come back here and sink this tub. Anything you may have in the hold will be lost and you’ll go for a little swim in the bilge water. Your unhappy clients will find whatever may be left of you tied to the mast and you can explain the loss of their property to them. Do I make myself clear?” She shoved him roughly back to the bunk.

“Sure, Batgirl. I’m being straight with you.”

Batgirl did not respond and the Captain soon realized she had gone. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Where were we, Brandy?”

“I was just leaving! If you’re smart, you won’t be here either, when she comes back to dismantle you and your boat!” Moments later, his door slammed and rapid, measured footsteps echoed after Brandy’s departure.

The Captain was not smart, but he did not see Batgirl again that day.

French Freddy’s Fencing Academy was not only the best place in Gotham City to sell off stolen property, the owner taught lessons in swordsmanship with the epee; the saber; and the foil. Batgirl marched in through the front door, which had been locked, and was easily able to overhear the quiet conversation in the back room.

The conversation was taking place in French. Fortunately, Batgirl was fluent in the language. “So, mademoiselles, it seems we have much to discuss,” French Freddy said. “Perhaps we should adjourn to more . . . comfortable surroundings?”

“I’m sure you could suggest . . .” Suzette began.

“. . . somewhere appropriate,” Michelle concluded.

“I have a suggestion,” Batgirl said in perfect French, striding into the room and letting her hands rest on her shapely hips. “I think you’ll all be adjourning to jail, where you belong!”

The three foreign fiends sat around a table with plates of grouper covered in a shrimp Bearnaise sauce; wild, long grain rice; broccoli; glasses of white wine, and a chilled, nearly empty bottle between them. The twins darted their hands beneath the table, pulling the stolen samples from Batgirl’s line of vision, as they glanced at one another, expressing their surprise in their native tongue.

“Batgirl,” French Freddy said, standing. “I didn’t know you spoke my language. My compliments.”

“Merci, Freddy,” Batgirl said. “Now, I’m here to send you and your new friends to jail. Would you care to come quietly?”

French Freddy laughed and let one hand curl around the hilt of a handy foil. It was not a blade used for competition, but had its tip sharpened to the extreme. “You’ve not undertaken such a simple errand as you think, mon cheri. Getting out of my salle alive will not be as easy as getting in apparently was.” As he spoke, the Frenchman approached her. “En garde!” Batgirl backed into the main room of the school as French Freddy rushed at her, brandishing his weapon. Michelle and Suzette followed French Freddy, hoping to watch him slice the intruder to ribbons.

Batgirl retreated to where she had spotted a number of swords displayed on one wall. She watched French Freddy approach as she reached for a foil and held it before her, taking the en garde position. French Freddy slashed at her, but she easily parried. She followed up instantly, lunging and leaping forward. A flick of French Freddy’s wrist moved her blade aside, but he retreated to maintain the proper distance. He began to back her up with a series of rapid sword strokes, realizing almost immediately Batgirl had turned to get some room in which to retreat.

They advanced and retreated across the strips, swords clashing and light flashing from their blades. Barbara Gordon was proficient with several weapons. She had learned to shoot as a teenager and had adopted swordsmanship as a hobby in college. Infrequent, but intense, weekend workout sessions with a Hungarian master had reinforced her training and sharpened her skills.

French Freddy was in excellent shape physically and was more experienced with the blades. He kept Batgirl moving, slashing; thrusting; and parrying vigorously. Their last fight had come after Batgirl had single-handedly dealt with an entire, large gang of thugs, all intent upon her destruction. Then, he had planned to tire her and overwhelm her. Now, he realized he would have to really be the better fencer.

Batgirl, however, was fighting aggressively, and had proven capable of mixing other fighting styles with her swordsmanship in the past. She might, he thought, have even gotten better with a blade since their last encounter. Freddy wouldn’t have had that second glass of wine if he’d known he was going to engage in mortal combat.

Despite her confidence in her skill, Batgirl knew she had more about which to be concerned than just her duel with French Freddy. The twins were watching the swordplay and Batgirl knew they could stop observing and begin participating in the assault upon her at any moment.

Batgirl could not, however, dwell on the twins’ potential role in the duel. French Freddy was lunging toward her. She slid to her right and let her left leg stretch as the other bent. As Batgirl sank to the floor, beneath a lateral cut, she thrust her blade forward. French Freddy was preparing his attack and had to turn his shoulders to avoid her thrust.

Batgirl fired a punch into his exposed side as she pulled back her sword. French Freddy doubled over, gasping.

Batgirl pounced on her advantage, straightening and sinking to the floor once again as she spun and extended a leg. French Freddy felt his legs cut from beneath him and fell flat on his face. His arms spread instinctively to break his fall and the pommel of Batgirl’s sword slammed into his sword hand.

“Yield!” Batgirl sternly commanded.

“Oui,” French Freddy softly said.

“She beat him!” Suzette fumed.

“This cannot be,” Michelle incredulously agreed. Batgirl was aware of the twins separating and approaching her from opposite directions. They nodded to one another and took an egg each in hand.

“I’d advise both of you to consider your next action carefully,” Batgirl warned.

“We have, Batgirl,” Michelle assured her. Then she began, “Please accept . . .”

“. . . these tokens of our affection,” Suzette concluded the thought. Together they tossed the eggs toward Batgirl. “Pleasant dreams.”

The Curved Crusader whirled, slashing at each of the tiny, flying orbs. Her blade severed each in turn, releasing the glittering powder within. She could not help inhaling it while the twins turned their faces aside. Batgirl’s vision blurred instantly, and she passed one hand and then the other before her eyes to try focusing. Soon, she dropped the sword as her sense of balance came under assault. Finally, her legs became incapable of supporting her weight and she fell to the floor where black oblivion enveloped her.

“How do you feel, Freddy?” Suzette asked, as the twins helped him to his feet.

“We hope you are not hurt,“ Michelle added.

“I am fine,” French Freddy assured them. “Thank you for your assistance. What shall we do with Batgirl?”

“Our boss has plans for her,” Michelle answered.

“We’ll contact him on the way to the venue for our negotiations,” Suzette said.

“Ladies, that will be my pleasure,” French Freddy said, winding an arm around each of their waists and guiding them from his academy. Batgirl remained motionless on the floor.

Later, the ache in Batgirl’s wrists and shoulders told her they bore her full weight as she slowly revived. “What happened?” she mumbled as her eyes fluttered open. She instantly realized she had been suspended from an overhead hook in the main room of French Freddy’s Fencing Academy and that a circle of powerful spotlights had been trained upon her. These, however, had not been activated—at least not yet. She gasped and inhaled. Quietly and dejectedly, she answered her own question as she reviewed the events leading to her unconsciousness. “Overpowered again. Knockout powder.”

Footsteps heralded the return of Batgirl’s captors. She expected French Freddy the Fence and the twins, but saw Chickadee striding toward her with Egghead following closely and obviously enjoying everything about the spectacle before him.

‘My plan worked,’ she thought, ‘so far! Now, I’ve got to get Egghead talking before they leave me to die . . . and, of course, I’ll have to survive!’

The criminal genius and his pretty paramour were a collection of contrasts.

The tall, thin villain paused to regard his captive with serpentine eyes. The pale skin of his bald head and manicured hands were rarely touched by the sun and would have leant his appearance a nightmarish quality had it not been for the yellow shirt, the matching show handkerchief in the breast pocket of his white tuxedo, and his mustache.

Chickadee, however, was petite, dark-haired, tanned, and well proportioned. Her skimpy, scarlet cigarette-girl uniform accented her well-rounded figure beautifully. It resembled a heart and boasted white, lace frills at the sleeve cuffs, leg holes, and along the bust line. While her shoulders remained bare, her lovely legs were sheathed in a pair of ash gray nylons. Finally, scarlet, spike-heeled shoes completed her look.

“So, Egghead, obviously you’re behind the theft of Lady Easterly’s jeweled Easter eggs,” Batgirl said. “Your presence here confirms suspicions I share with the police.” She sounded a little weaker than she would ideally have liked and guessed this weakness was a lingering side effect of the knockout powder.

“Egg-citing, isn’t it?” Egghead asked. “You’ve cracked the case, but I egg-spect the yolk will be on you.” The villain and his shapely sycophant laughed.

“We can change positions any time you like, Egghead,” Batgirl sweetly offered. No matter what happened, she was not going to give the resplendent rogue the satisfaction of breaking her spirit. After all, her plan had been to lure him into a false sense of security so he would become overconfident and reveal his plans.

“I think not, Batgirl. While we talk, however, I think your egg-secution should be egg-spedited. Chickadee, if you’d be so unkind,” the villain invited, gesturing at Batgirl.

“Sure, Eggy,” his amorous assistant said, strutting toward Batgirl’s suspended figure and squatting in front of her. Chickadee’s hands wrapped lovingly around the heroine’s right boot and tugged gently. Batgirl squirmed, resisting, and kicked with her left foot. Chickadee leaned her face back and pulled down once sharply, tearing an agonized cry from Batgirl’s throat.

“Try to kick me again and I’ll teach you what real pain is,” Chickadee threatened. As she spoke, Batgirl’s boot pulled away from her foot, revealing a purple, padded sock. Chickadee shifted and pulled off Batgirl’s left boot. The heroine was still gasping from the painful pull she had endured and did nothing to resist. Finally, the scarlet-clad scofflaw straightened and unbuckled the utility belt from Batgirl’s waist. From the belt, before setting it aside, Chickadee took out some rope and a knife. After cutting three short lengths, she bound Batgirl’s legs together at the knees and ankles. Stepping back and smiling as she surveyed her handiwork and Batgirl’s surroundings, Chickadee found a gallon jug of steel polish and suspended it from Batgirl’s ankle bindings to hold the captive’s body perpendicular to the floor. “Now, it’s time to put my artistic touch on your finish,” Chickadee eagerly said.

“What are you talking about?” Batgirl demanded.

“You’ll soon see,” Egghead gleefully said.

Chickadee retreated from the room and returned shortly thereafter, pushing a cart bearing a covered pot beside a covered platter. When she uncovered the pot, Batgirl saw it contained a thick black syrup . . . or perhaps thin chocolate pudding.

Batgirl’s nose wrinkled as her eyes narrowed.

Chickadee darted a glance at her victim and uncovered the platter. A long, slotted spoon and two paintbrushes lay on the platter. Chickadee began by plunging the spoon into the pot and stirring. When she was satisfied, Chickadee stepped behind Batgirl and unclipped the cape from the heroine’s shoulders. The henchwoman spread this accessory on the floor carefully beneath her victim. “Ready, Batgirl?” Chickadee asked.

“You’re going to do whatever you plan to do, regardless.”

“Indeed,” Chickadee gleefully agreed, giggling as she took up the larger paintbrush and dipped it into the viscous fluid. She smiled knowingly as she slid the brush along the edge of the pot to minimize dripping. Then, she stepped from view behind Batgirl. Seconds later, the brush touched the back of Batgirl’s neck and descended vertically along the crimefighter's spine.

Gotham’s Gorgeous Guardian gasped at the touch of the fluid-soaked bristles. “It’s freezing cold,” she whispered.

Chickadee laughed delightedly. “This is going to be fun, Eggy,” she said.

“Egg-cellent, Chickadee. This, as you know, is only the egg-squisite beginning.” The perfidious pair laughed maliciously. “Continue.”

From this black line along Batgirl’s spine, Chickadee spread the liquid with feather-light strokes to the left and right. The victim shivered as her back was slowly covered completely. A step to the left and another dip of the brush into the pot brought Chickadee into a position where her liquid soaked brush could lovingly caress Batgirl’s right side.

As Chickadee worked, with her short, feather light brush strokes, Batgirl began to quiver with laughter as the cold fluid made her shiver. Soon the victim was giggling involuntarily as Chickadee’s artistry spread the fluid over her other side and the henchwomen bent to work lower.

“Does it feel good, Batgirl?” Chickadee taunted as her brush plunged between the pretty prisoner’s legs.

“It tickles,” the once Pied Paragon said.

“Egg-squisite in the egg-streme!” Egghead said, happily watching the muscles ripple all over Batgirl’s lower body. Chickadee paused and stirred the syrup a bit.

“Of course it tickles, Batgirl,” Chickadee said, returning to her victim with a laugh. “l am absolutely certain you recall, I know precisely where you’re most vulnerable to tickle torture.”

The hourglass-figured henchwoman was right. She had been spreading her sinister syrup over Batgirl’s legs deliberately. Chickadee continued crouching as she worked her way around Batgirl, swaying decoratively as her brush moved lower and lower. Batgirl’s torturer had been grinning as the brush flitted over Batgirl’s backside and grew more and more delighted as the bristles brushed her thighs, knees, calves, hamstrings, ankles, and feet.

Batgirl grimaced, recalling how Chickadee had made her dire discoveries. The Bronx-born brunette had led four fellow fiends who mercilessly tickled Batgirl with five and later ten feathers. Batgirl was reminded the attractive artist had made the most of this experience each time Chickadee reached up and darted the brush against Batgirl’s crotch, attacking her sensitive, thinly covered skin and making her victim’s muscles quiver and shiver yet again.

“I notice you’ve compensated for how Batgirl’s movements effect your artistic endeavors, Chickadee,” Egghead observed.

“Right, Eggy,” Chickadee agreed, grinning. “Our goop is soaking through her costume almost instantly, but I’m being generous with it so every inch of her skin will be covered when I’ve finished.”

“I wonder, Batgirl, do you fully understand egg-sactly what I’m having Chickadee do to you?” Egghead asked, as his attractive assistant began brushing the slick syrup along her victim’s hands and arms.

Batgirl had been considering that question while Chickadee worked. “I would imagine mere torture isn’t the ultimate aim,” Batgirl surmised aloud.

“Oh, no, Batgirl. I must admit, however, the process is making me egg-static.” The villain laughed, shaking with undisguised delight. “Your body resembles that of a dancer. You’re very fit. That is to say, you’re in egg-sellent physical condition–”

“I try to keep in shape,” Batgirl said, interrupting.

“With considerable due respect to Chickadee,” Egghead said, “you’re succeeding.”

Chickadee cleared her throat noisily and slapped the brush against, Batgirl’s shoulder.

“You must egg-scuse me, my dear,” Egghead said, raising a hand. “It seems to me whatever form of egg-sercise Batgirl typically employs, whether it be dancing, falconry, or even spelunking, it is noticeably effective.”

“I warn you, Egghead,” Batgirl said menacingly. “You will achieve nothing through flattery.”

“I guess she does, or rather did, more to keep in shape than beating up criminal thugs,” Chickadee mused as she went to work on Batgirl’s head. The henchwoman’s larger paintbrush flitted over every inch of Batgirl’s cowl, her exposed throat, her chin, and her cheeks before the avaricious artist switched to her smaller one. “Time to do the fine work.”

Two light brush strokes coated Batgirl’s eyebrows and downward flicks of the wrist caused Batgirl’s eyelids to flick closed involuntarily. Instantly, the henchwoman applied her fiendish fluid and finished painting Batgirl’s large, eye holes with a practiced swirl. The mask beneath Batgirl’s cowl had been saturated previously, but the exposed underside of the heroine's nose was quickly covered after Chickadee dipped her brush into her sinister syrup once again.

“You’re being very thorough,” Batgirl murmured. She was delighted she had not heard her voice quaver. ‘My body heat has quickly taken care of the chill temperature of Chickadee’s grotesque goop. Should I be worried?’ Batgirl silently wondered.

“Hush,” Chickadee whispered as her quick brush strokes flicked across the captive’s lips. Once the syrup had been applied, it was easily smoothed over Batgirl’s bare flesh with longer, more fluid strokes. Soon, the heroine’s face had been transformed into a brown mask.

Batgirl’s tongue darted from her mouth to tentatively lick her lips.

“That won’t work, Batgirl,” Chickadee teased, chuckling. “It doesn’t really matter. You won’t be around too much longer. This stuff does its stuff very quickly.

“Oh, by the way, feel free to open your eyes any time. Flesh requires less syrup to coat and what little I used on your eyelids should have already dried.” As Batgirl’s eyes opened, she saw the wickedly smiling henchwoman and her malevolent master regarding her once again.

“Perhaps it is time for me to return to my egg-splanation.”

"Good idea, Eggy!” Chickadee encouraged. “You tell her.” The amorous artist changed paintbrushes again and passed the larger one through the cleft between Batgirl’s breasts. The Dominoed Dare Doll laughed breathlessly.

“Decades ago,” Egghead began, “certain cabaret dancers learned how dangerous it can be to paint the entire human body. Doing so, it seems, prevents the skin from breathing properly and cooling the body in the course of a dancer’s professional egg-ertions.”

“You’re hot stuff, Batgirl,” Chickadee taunted, chuckling wickedly. “Unlucky you.” The baleful brush caressed Batgirl’s lower chest, sliding slowly back and forth and covering more of her costume.

“So, this goop is sealing my skin?” Batgirl asked.

“Egg-sactly, but there is considerably more to the fate I’ve planned for you,” Egghead said. "You’ve no doubt noticed my assistant has been encouraging you to eggs-hale. The reason is the coating she had applied to every inch of you. It has already sealed your skin, as you deduced. Soon, it will harden like the shell of an Easter egg and add a solid, outer layer to your cooking carcass.”

“I’m not a carcass yet, Egghead!” Batgirl pointed out. “Far from it!”

“It is merely a matter of time,” Egghead delightedly assured her, barely keeping his wicked mirth in check. “The seal on your skin will cook you in your own succulent juices, while the hardening outer shell will restrict your breathing. Your lungs will be prevented from egg-spanding fully for an egg-stended period of time.”

“Right,’ Chickadee agreed. “This stuff will get stiff, and turn you into a stiff,” she laughed. She was literally putting the finishing touches on her handiwork, spiraling the goop around Batgirl’s breasts from their bases to the tips of their nipples under the skin-tight lurex.

“I’ll still be fighting you with my dying breath,” Batgirl defiantly said.

“No doubt,” Egghead said. He turned to Chickadee. “Finished?”

“Yes, Eggy,” Chickadee said showing him the now-empty pot. “Of course, I’m not the only one. Batgirl will fully realize that soon enough.”

Very little of the cold, black syrup had dripped onto Batgirl’s cape. It saturated her costume, which stuck to her skin and made every feature of her body stand out magnificently.

“Sooner than even you imagine, my dear,” Egghead said, flipping on each of the powerful lights surrounding Batgirl’s suspended, painted body. She was suddenly well illuminated and felt the heat from the lights envelope her completely. “These lights will keep the heat on you while that slowly forming shell keeps it in you. When these elements have done their work, you’ll be very well-done indeed, hard-boiled, in fact. Farewell.”

“Batgirl, you really do look so very hot right now!” Chickadee taunted, laughing delightedly.

“Quite so, Chickadee,” Egghead agreed. “Come along. While this marvelous-looking morsel cooks, we have a golden egg to goose from Gotham that will deliver the entire city to me on a silver plate.”

“One moment,” Chickadee said. She touched her fingertips to her lips and turned her hand toward Batgirl, exhaling after the kiss sounded quietly. “Goodbye, Batgirl.” The henchwoman turned from the victim and reached up to Egghead’s neck to draw his mouth to hers. She kissed him hard and deliberately. “I’ll have to thank you properly for this tremendous opportunity, Eggy, baby.”

“I am at your egg-sclusive disposal, my dear,” he said, releasing her and watching closely as she strutted out without sparing Batgirl another glance. With a delighted smile, he followed. Anticipating.

The Curved Crusader tried to inhale as she became fully aware of the growing, uncomfortable warmth incessantly attacking her, slowly sapping her strength and spirit. She realized she was now only capable of shallow breaths and that her ability to breath would be severely diminished all too quickly as the sinister syrup soaking her to the skin and covering her curvaceous, costumed body hardened.

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