Giving Batgirl Food For Thought

The lights blazing around Batgirl had enveloped her entire body in a cocoon of invisible warmth. While this sensation was initially pleasant and might, in some circumstances, be welcome, it grew more and more worrisome as time passed.

Ordinarily, she would have begun sweating in the intense heat. Chickadee’s "paint job," though, held Batgirl’s costume against the heroine’s body as closely as a fourth layer of skin and contained the moisture that would otherwise have been released.

Batgirl knew she was already starting to cook. She imagined she could hear her muscles sizzling. ‘How long,’ Batgirl wondered, ‘before my muscles tear apart when I try to use them?!’

Concern about the effect of the heat on her muscles was not her only problem. The sinister syrup was also forming a shell around her and Chickadee had manipulated Batgirl into taking shallow breaths during her torturous painting. Batgirl took in as much air as her lungs would hold and let it out slowly. ‘Mercifully, Chickadee saved my chest for last,’ Batgirl thought. ‘Had she begun painting there, I would not have had nearly as many opportunities to inhale . . . .'

“I’ve got to get out of here," Batgirl said aloud, to focus her mind. “I need a plan.”

She could see where Chickadee had tossed her utility belt after having ‘borrowed’ a knife and the Batrope binding her legs and holding the weight keeping her body perpendicular to the floor. In her utility belt, Batgirl carried an acid that might remove the hardening shell from her body in a diluted form, and a tracer that could summon aid. To use any of the miracles normally encircling her waist, however, she would have to reach the belt.

Glumly, Batgirl considered how thorough Chickadee had really been. Without the gallon jug of steel polish hanging from her ankle bindings, it would still have been practically impossible for Batgirl to reach the wonders around her waist, even with her body fully stretched out. A knife in the toe of her boot might have cut the weight free from her ankles and, perhaps, subsequently allowed the heroine to cut herself completely free. Chickadee had, however, also taken Batgirl’s boots.

“Wow! It’s hot.” Batgirl gasped and realized the heat was beginning to have an effect on her voice. “That’s the least of my problems,” she muttered.

The obvious first line of attack was against the spotlights trained upon her. She twisted toward the controls, gritting her teeth to cope with the pain. ‘Can I somehow swing over to the switch and turn the spotlights off?’ she silently wondered.

Batgirl felt her lips curl into a smile as she began to move her legs back and forth. The weight dangling from her ankles tore a gasp from her throat as the tiny arc her feet traversed grew longer and larger while she repeatedly swung like a pendulum. Larger and larger the arc became as the strain on her wrists increased. Inhaling became practically impossible as she stretched toward the spotlight switch, concentrating. She was close and straightened her foot, pointing her toe like a ballerina. ‘Egghead said I looked like a dancer,’ she recalled. ‘Maybe I can lend some irony to his observation by using those skills to escape!’

Sadly, though, she realized she would forever be millimeters away from her goal. Repeatedly she thrust her toes at her target, but touched only empty air.

There was, however, another hope. ‘I might be able to use this weight.’

Another gasp accompanied the movement sending the jug slamming into the switch. The impact knocked the entire control back, way out of reach . . . and Batgirl’s painful maneuver did not effect the lights at all!

Batgirl stared, dismayed. The heroine ignored the sensation of her arms being practically ripped from their sockets. She analyzed her actions and formulated her next strategem.

‘Perhaps the jug could destroy the spotlights?’ she mused. ‘I’m still moving and might be able to kick at each light when it comes within reach.’

Targeting one light, Batgirl inhaled and let her breath out painfully as the jug swung forcefully toward it. The weight passed above the blazing light bulb without making contact with the hot lamp.

“He’s smart all right,” Batgirl muttered, gasping as the restraining ropes above her tore mercilessly at her wrists. Her mind raced, reconsidering her options. ‘I’ve obviously been suspended too high above the lights to be able to reach them.’

“Wait,” she said, gasping with pain once again. “That’s it!” ‘The lights have been aimed up at me. So, the thing to do is . . . get under them!’

Batgirl tried to straighten her fingers and was delighted when they moved. She reached up and wrapped her hands around the hook from which she was suspended. Seconds later, she had pulled herself upward, then let go of the hook, hoping the force of all her weight yanking suddenly at the hook would pull it from the ceiling.

Instead, her effort tore another anguished cry from her throat as a sharp pain wracked her wrists. Batgirl’s maneuver had not moved the overhead hook in the slightest!

‘I need more leverage,’ Batgirl decided. She thought for a moment and grinned. ‘My legs are longer than my arms.’

She tried to bend at the waist. Her heart sank when she could not. The combination of the hardening syrup and the heavy jug dangling from the ankle bindings held her body rigid. She could see no way to dislodge the hook from the ceiling!

Batgirl began to feel dizzy. She filled her lungs and exhaled, becoming still as the pain her efforts had caused slowly ebbed. The semisolid shell encasing her body was now reflecting the hot lights, heating the sweat trapped between her costume and her flesh to a scalding degree. Hanging her head, she saw no means of escape whatsoever and began to consider the possibility Egghead had won. It seemed this trap might well succeed where so many others had failed . . . .

‘No!' Batgirl silently screamed. 'Crooks, even brilliant ones, always overlook something!’ She knew she simply had to determine what oversight the chrome-domed criminal had made and that every critical moment she wasted pondering that infernal question would be forever lost.

Each of her successive, labored breaths seemed to come more easily and she looked heavenward, perhaps for inspiration. She blinked at what she saw several times and tried to comprehend it.

‘The comparatively thin coating of syrup applied to my bare flesh must account for my ability to blink and talk,’ she decided. Batgirl felt her lips curl as her smile spread from ear to ear. She was staring at an incongruous spider web of small cracks that had somehow formed in the shell surrounding her forearms. ‘The cracks must have come courtesy of the ropes and the stress my movements have placed on the shell!’

Earlier, Batgirl had lamented the loss of her utility belt and her boots. What she had not considered at that time was she retained her gloves. Now, this fact was her only spark of hope. The flanges of her gloves were not merely decorative. They hid an array of tiny tools the heroine had secreted for use in the numerous instances when her better-known array of gadgetry was unavailable. Staring at the cracks in the deadly shell, Batgirl turned her hand and stretched her fingers to where she could maneuver a knife into her hand.

With great care, Batgirl eased her tiny, well-honed blade from its sheath; along her arm; and among her fingers. Once she was sure of her grip, she turned the blade so its edge touched her overhead bindings and drew it back and forth so that it slowly severed them. As her blade cut more and more deeply into the ropes, Batgirl knew her weight and the heavy jug dangling from her ankles worked for her, drawing her body inexorably downward.

Her shallow breathing compelled Batgirl to rest frequently, as the strained rope strands slowly separated. Finally, with a snap echoing like a gunshot, Batgirl’s wrist bindings broke, initiating free fall.

Batgirl’s bound legs could not support her as her feet hit the floor. She collapsed, landing hard on her back. She exhaled as her arms hit the floor and kept her from hitting her head. Batgirl’s chest heaved painfully and she could not inhale for a long, breathless moment. Once her lungs expanded again, Batgirl became aware of how much cooler it was on the wooden floor beneath the lights. Batgirl closed her eyes, trying to let cool sensations distract her from the pain wracking her entire body. After a few minutes, she moaned, remaining motionless as the spotlights went on beaming above her. ‘Will the pain and torment I’ve endured be worth the chance to go on living?’ she wondered. Batgirl dismissed her question as she surrendered to exhaustion, hoping her muscles were not cooked to the point they would tear away from her bones when she tried to use them. If they weren't, she would resume the hunt for her would-be killers later . . . .

Shortly after dawn, Millie Linseed, the mayor’s wife, made her way to a waiting limousine. “Good morning, ma’am,” the driver said, holding the door open.

“Good morning. You’re new, aren’t you?”

“I’m filling in today,” the driver explained.

“Of course,” she said, holding him momentarily with her gaze, hesitating before entering the vehicle. “Do I know you? You look familiar.” The tall, thin driver’s dark, ornate uniform included a cap that cast a shadow over his mustached face.

“People tell me I have that kind of face,” the driver replied. “You must see so many people.”

“That’s true,” Millie Linseed thoughtfully said.

“Are you ready to go to the charity breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you.” Ignoring the alarm bell going off in the back of her mind, Mrs. Linseed finally stepped inside the limo.

Once behind the wheel, the chauffeur continued their conversation as he turned the ignition key. “I understand pancakes are served at this breakfast. Wouldn’t omelets be more palatable?”

“I believe pancakes are a tradition. Omelets would be considerably more expensive, but you may have a point.”

Moments later, they were threading their way through traffic. “Driver,” the mayor’s wife said, “I think you just passed the hall where the breakfast is being held.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m selecting a suitable parking place.”

“What for? You’re not coming in,” Mrs. Linseed pointed out. “Just drop me off.” When her request was ignored, she began to protest. “Stop the car! I’m getting out of here!”

“Were you to succeed, it would be egg-strordinary.” The driver was right. Millie Linseed was dismayed to learn the inside of the car door had no handle of any kind. It was also impossible to operate the windows. She was trapped.

“What have you done with my driver? Where are you taking me?”

“I packed your driver in the trunk and you, Mrs. Linseed, will be my guest until I’ve concluded some business with your husband.” Egghead smirked. “I’m surprised, as the one-time Gotham City Chief of Police, you haven’t asked who I am.”

“I’ve placed your face,” the captive replied drily. “You’re Egghead, the villain who tried to gain control of Gotham City eight years ago by arranging for the lease to revert to the Mohican Indian tribe and manipulating Chief Screaming Chicken, last of the Mohicans.”

“Egg-sactly, Mrs. Linseed. Now, prepare yourself for an egg-zotic egg-sperience.” As Egghead spoke, the partition between the front and back seats slid into place between the occupants of the vehicle. Seconds later, knockout gas flooded the back of the limousine.

When Batgirl’s eyes fluttered open, she realized she lay on the wooden floor of French Freddy’s Fencing Academy inside a circle of spotlights beaming above her. She felt stiff and her body was covered with a black shell. Slowly, her memory returned and she became startled to realize she was alive. She inhaled deeply.

‘How is it possible I’m still alive?’ she wondered, ‘and Egghead believed the shell would prevent me from taking deep breaths.’

She moved her legs and heard a strange crackle. “Can I move?” Batgirl asked aloud. She drew her arms down toward her chest and heard more crackling. She looked at her wrists in time to see her black-coated ropes fall to pieces. ‘Chickadee’s goop must have saturated them,’ she reasoned. She pulled one leg back and let it shoot forward as she drew the other back. More crackling sounded as Batgirl watched the ropes that had bound her legs fall apart harmlessly. She sat up and heard more crackling.

‘What is that noise?’ she wondered.

She stood and spotted the black shell pieces lying on the floor around her. Clenching her fists, she grinned as more shell pieces fell to the floor. “Yes!” Batgirl cried happily, clapping her hands and watching the black covering crack and fall to the floor. Hurriedly, she began peeling larger shell fragments from her body.

When she could do no more with her hands, she stepped from the illuminated circle in which she had been bound, immediately aware of the dramatic change in temperature. She put on her utility belt; selected a hand broom; and vigorously brushed at every part of her costume she could reach. When she had finished, Batgirl grinned mischievously as she slipped on her boots; fastened her cape around her neck; and shut off the hot lights, leaving the heavy jug of metal polish and the debris Chickadee’s sinister syrup had become behind.

As she took her leave, Batgirl genuinely enjoyed the cool touch of the morning shadows, an extremely pleasant change from the sensation of being scalded by sweat trapped against her flesh. The wind seemed to absolutely caress her costumed curves as the Batgirlcycle carried her swiftly to Barbara Gordon’s apartment. Finally, the cool bath into which she sank shortly after removing her costume was utter ecstasy. Later, she climbed from the tub, pondering her survival further as she reached for a towel.

Her sweat had been steaming her flesh inside the hardening shell according to Egghead’s murderous plans. It was possible the goop closest to her skin had diluted to some degree. Still, the shell hardening from the inside out should certainly have done its wicked work on her. ‘What could have happened to thwart the villain’s plans?’

“My fall must have put cracks in the shell and allowed my skin to breathe!” Barbara decided aloud. “Yes. That explanation must be the answer! What do you think, Charlie?”

Her pet parrot offered no alternate theories explaining his owner’s miraculous survival, as Barbara pulled on an enormous t-shirt and crawled into bed for a few well-earned hours of sleep. “Maybe Egghead can figure out the answer,” Barbara muttered as her head sank into her pillow. “On the other hand, who cares?”

Meanwhile, in the executive suite of an abandoned luxury hotel, Chickadee knotted a short, scarlet robe and noted the unconscious woman her employer carried in his arms as she ushered him into the foyer. “Morning, Eggy baby,” she said. “I see you picked up some company.”

“Allow me to introduce Mrs. Millie Linseed, the mayor’s wife,” Egghead said. “Get dressed and join me with your camera. We have some photography to attend to before meeting the twins, concluding our business with French Freddy, and scheduling an impromptu meeting with the Mayor.”

“Sure, Eggy baby,” the girl said.

When she returned to her employer, he had bound Millie Linseed to a straight-backed, wooden chair positioned inside a large, clear orb that was nearly as tall as him. His fingers tapped keys on a wall-mounted panel, prompting the orb to close around the captive. Finally, he threw a switch and stepped back.

“So, what’s going on, boss?” Chickadee asked, resting one hand on a scarlet encased hip.

“This, Chickadee is now the golden egg, containing Mrs. Millie Linseed, for whom her husband will do egg-sactly as I say in order to keep her breathing.”

“Is that what the pump is for?” she asked, thoughtfully inclining her head.

“Very good,” the criminal complimented. “The pump continuously introduces oxygen into Mrs. Linseed’s environment, while egg-stracting the carbon dioxide she eggs-hales. This process must continue for her to go on breathing. Of course, if the Mayor is foolish enough to deny my modest proposal, you’ll have to turn off the pump and we’ll let him mourn his tragic mistake, after I’ve had her lifeless body delivered to the mayoral mansion. I’ll need you to remain here and take care of business should that switch need to be thrown.”

“You mean, I don’t get to help you shake down Mayor Linseed for control of the city?” Chickadee asked, pouting. “I’d think a remote control could be rigged to shut the pump down if he makes the wrong choice.”

“I’ll need someone upon whom I can rely to do the job in the regrettable circumstance that the Mayor refuses to cooperate. As the living embodiment of my threat, you will be egg-stremely essential. I have no intention of having him condemn his lovely wife to death, but rather to have his actions save her.”

“So, at the appointed time, unless I am told not to, I throw the switch and asphyxiate our guest?”

“Egg-sactly! I cannot have someone soft handling this job. After all, it may become necessary for Mrs. Linseed to egg-spire. In that regrettable circumstance . . . .”

“I understand, Eggy,” Chickadee said, brightening. “I suppose you’ll need pictures of this setup to help convince the Mayor to cooperate?”

“Indeed. Also, I just love watching you work.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Chickadee dreamily said, approaching Millie Linseed’s prison and raising the camera dangling from her neck to her eye.

Later, with Chickadee’s pictures tucked into his breast pocket, he joined French Freddy the Fence, Michelle, and Suzette at Pamela’s Café for omelets.

“I cannot tell you, mon ami,” French Freddy said, “what a pleasure it has been doing business with your agents.”

“I hope we’ve mutually arrived at an egg-sceptable figure,” Egghead said.

“Fifty thousand dollars . . .” Suzette said.

Egghead frowned, but turned expectantly to Michelle.

“. . . for each egg,” she said, smiling delightedly. “There are twenty . . .”

“. . . making a beautifully round figure of one million dollars,” Suzette said.

Everyone at the table laughed.

Egghead said, “I egg-cept.”

“The money will be paid upon delivery,” French Freddy said.

“We’ll handle the transaction in the car after we eat,” Egghead announced. The others nodded. “Then, we’ll drop Freddy at his fencing academy and egg-samine Batgirl’s mortal remains, which should have cooked quite thoroughly by now in the rock hard shell where we encased her body.”

“It sounds as though she’s very well done . . .” Michelle remarked, smiling.

“. . . perhaps even hard-boiled,” Suzette said, grinning.

Egghead and his employees laughed as French Freddy frowned. “You killed her at my school?”

“Egg-sactly,” Egghead answered. “Egg-squisite, isn’t it?”

“Well,” the Frenchman philosophically said, smiling and glancing at the twins. “I have no complaints about my alibi. Shall we go?”

Following their transaction, the four fiends filed into French Freddy’s Fencing Academy and found the circle of darkened spotlights; the heavy jug of metal polish with rope looped around the handle; the fragmented shell that had surrounded Batgirl; and the shattered, syrup-soaked remains of the ropes that had held her body aloft.

“I don’t see Batgirl, boss.” Suzette said.

“She’s gone,” Michelle confirmed.

“While Batgirl’s departure was egg-spected,” Egghead thoughtfully said, staring at the remains of his trap for a long moment, “I would have imagined it to be more figurative. The fact she egg-stricated herself from that situation is incredible. I would have thought her egg-scape impossible.”

“Well,” French Freddy observed with a shrug, “both literally and figuratively, there is less of a mess to clean up.”

“Since Batgirl hasn’t egg-spired according to my plans, we’ll have to approach our meeting with the Mayor differently,” Egghead decided. “Can any of you operate a helicopter, an aircraft also known by the quaint name of ‘eggbeater?’”

French Freddy smiled. “I know you can afford to compensate me quite handsomely.”

“Come. We must egg-stract such a craft from the fleet available at the Gotham City Airport.”

Barbara Gordon wanted to bury her head in her pillow when the alarm roused her. She rolled over and looked at the time as she resisted the urge to press the “Snooze” button. Babs switched off the alarm and reviewed the events of the previous night. Suddenly, she recalled her schedule for the day. She would have to get up. Barbara Gordon was to represent the Gotham City Library at a mayoral luncheon.

Amazingly, in less than an hour she was seated with her father, Chief O’Hara, and Warden Crichton in the Petit Ballroom of the Gotham Plaza Hotel. After the meal, the program proceeded according to the schedule – until the windows opened, admitting three white-clad figures.

“It’s Egghead!” Chief O’Hara said, beginning to rise.

“Suzette and Michelle Cook are with him!” the Warden said.

“Please sit down, Chief O’Hara,” Egghead said, holding up an egg, “unless you want this acid egg to crack and do considerable damage to one of these innocent citizens.” Egghead came to hold the egg above Barbara Gordon’s head as Chief O’Hara sank slowly back into his chair. “Thank you. Now, everyone will kindly turn over their cash and valuables to my assistants as they circulate among you.”

“You leave us no choice, Egghead.” Mayor Linseed said from the podium.

“None whatsoever, Mr. Mayor,” Egghead agreed as the twins moved among the luncheon attendees, gathering cash and valuables, filling the pockets of their lab coats. Barbara Gordon pulled something extra from her purse as she made her contribution to the criminals’ take. “Well done, girls. It’s time to go, but I need a word with the Mayor before I follow you.”

“What do you want, Egghead?” Mayor Linseed demanded.

“To show you some pictures,” Egghead said, as Michelle and Suzette stepped through the windows onto a dangling ladder they ascended, seemingly into the sky.

“It’s Millie, my wife! She’s inside some kind of oblong bubble.” Mayor Linseed said. “What have you done to her?”

“I assure you she is quite well . . . for the moment,” Egghead said. “Do you see the switch to the right of the enormous egg in which I‘ve placed the lovely lady?”

“Yes.”

“One of my assistants will throw that switch unless the next edition of the Gotham City Times announces you have made me city manager. The announcement should appear on the front page above the fold, to minimize the possibility of an unpleasant misunderstanding.”

“I can’t control the editor of the newspaper!” Mayor Linseed complained. Then he fearfully asked. “What does that switch do?

“It controls the apparatus providing your wife with fresh air,” Egghead explained. “I assure you, if that apparatus stops, the dear lady will egg-spire. I trust your role in her ongoing safety requires no additional egg-planation.”

“You monster!” Commissioner Gordon exclaimed.

“Please, Commissioner. Control yourself.” Egghead glanced at the egg he held above the public official’s daughter and smiled as he saw Commissioner Gordon follow his gaze.

“Listen, Egghead,” the Mayor said. “I can’t make you manager of Gotham City. The city charter has no provision for such a post.”

“You’ve forgotten something, Mr. Mayor. I’ve read the city charter egg-stensively after I egg-stracted it from its permanent display at City Hall–”

“In that case, you know that no criminal may serve in a governmental office described in that document.”

“Egg-sactly! My forthcoming position is not described, so no egg-sisting restrictions or qualifications need be applied to it. The charter further provides you may create such positions as you deem necessary to egg-sercise your egg-secutive powers. I’m certain your wife’s continuing safety will convince you of the necessity of such a post. I’ll egg-spect to see you at the office tomorrow morning, bright and early.” Egghead strode across the room and stepped through the window. Seconds later, he clung to the suspended ladder, streaking away through the sky.

“This is outrageous!” the Mayor fumed.

“Mr. Mayor, Chief O’Hara and I will do everything in our power–”

“I know, Commissioner,” the Mayor said, taking a deep breath and holding up a hand. “Are you all right, Ms. Gordon?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Mayor,” Barbara said. “I don’t often get threatened by super- criminals. It’s sort of exciting. I should probably be going, though, and let my father and Chief O’Hara get after him.”

“You’re an inspiration, Ms. Gordon.” The commissioner’s daughter took her leave.

“Sure and she’s right, Commissioner. I’ll need to update the All Points Bulletin we put out on Egghead and it might be a good idea to cordon off the city.”

“I know both of you and your fine police force will do everything humanly possible to capture that monster,” the Mayor said.

Yet the police were not the only entities hunting Egghead. Later, in the executive suite of an abandoned luxury hotel, the criminal mastermind and his attractive associates were reminded of the woman who was perhaps the villain's most tenacious pursuer, the still-living embodiment of every evildoers’ preeminent and enigmatic enemy—Batgirl.

“What’s this?” Chickadee asked, pulling a tiny object from among the money and valuables being sorted on a conference table. The item was the size of pin, shaped like a bat, and had illuminated eyes.

“It’s a homing device,” Michelle said.

“Someone, probably Batgirl, is using it to locate us,” Suzette explained.

“Well,” Chickadee said. “We’ll see about that.” She dropped the homing bat and prepared to crush it under her heel.

“Wait!” Egghead said, raising a hand.

“Why?”

“Batgirl does not realize we know she is coming,” the chrome-domed criminal pointed out. “If we destroy that tracking device, we will lose the opportunity to surprise her when she arrives.”

Chickadee set her foot down; stooped; and retrieved the device, grinning wickedly. “If Batgirl knows about Mrs. Linseed, we already have ideal bait.”

“Very good thinking, my dear.” The criminals laughed.

“So, shortly after Batgirl arrives to capture us . . .” Suzette began.

“We’ll turn the tables and trap her,” Michelle contributed. “Then, we’ll get rid of her . . .”

“Once and for all,” Suzette concluded.

“There’s one thing I don’t get, Eggy,” Chickadee said. “If we haven’t seen Batgirl since we left her cooking at French Freddy’s Fencing Academy, how did this tracer get mixed in with this loot? Could Batgirl have been there, without her costume? All those caped clods must have alternate, secret identities in everyday life.”

“Those are egg-cellent questions, Chickadee, however, it is also well known that Batgirl and the Dingbat Duos work closely with the police. Unless we can eliminate the possibility that Commissioner Gordon; Chief O’Hara; or some lesser known associate of Batgirl left this bug, working out her secret identity will remain problematic.”

“Besides, once Batgirl gets here, it won’t matter . . .” Michelle reminded Chickadee.

“. . . because we’re going to kill her,” Suzette added. The twins laughed.

Chickadee shrugged. “You’re right. I’ll put this thing near Mrs. Linseed,” Chickadee offered. “Then, I’d better get the paper. Unless the Mayor did what Eggy told him, we’ll have two visitors to kill later.”

“An egg-cellent idea, Chickadee.” Egghead complimented. The brunette beauty took her leave. “Now, my Delectable Duo, we have work to do. The end, however . . . Batgirl’s end, will be egg-squisitely egg-citing.”

Shortly thereafter, Batgirl arrived at the abandoned luxury hotel her homing device indicated Egghead was using as a hideout. She reached for the cell phone at her hip and was speaking to her father moments later.

“I may have found Egghead’s hideout, Commissioner.”

“Outstanding! I must urge you to use caution going forward, Batgirl. You’re probably aware Egghead kidnapped Mrs. Millie Linseed and has demanded the Mayor make him city manager. I shudder to imagine what would happen to our fair city if Mayor Linseed had submitted to that intolerable demand.”

“Thank you for bringing me up to date. I didn't know about Mayor Linseed’s brave decision. Now, I suspect Egghead will be using the executive suite of this abandoned hotel as his headquarters. That will be near the roof. I’ll Bat-climb up there and try to keep the Mayor’s bravery from causing a sacrifice.”

Commissioner Gordon had put the call on the speaker phone in his office. “Begorra, Batgirl! Good luck! Do you want me to sent a squad to back you up?”

“I think I’d better handle this myself, Chief. I don’t want to cause a hostage situation unnecessarily.”

“We’ll play it your way, Batgirl. Just in case, though, where are you?” the Commissioner asked.

She gave them the address of the hotel, thanked them for their trust, and Bat-climbed the hotel wall with her Batrope. On the roof, after a moment’s work, a previously locked door admitted her to a dark stairwell. Looking down, a glimmer of light drew her to another door, two floors below. Seconds later, she stepped into a deserted, dimly lit hall. A soft, mechanical sound drew her to another door beneath which a brighter light shone. This door was not locked.

Batgirl guessed anyone inside the room would likely expect someone to enter at any moment, but might easily be surprised when the newcomer proved to be her. She made a snap decision and burst into the room with a single stride.

The room was nearly deserted.

Only Millie Linseed, bound to a chair inside the clear egg, stared at her with wide, hopeful eyes. Batgirl’s tiny tracer rested on the floor in front of the enclosure. Batgirl knew Mrs. Linseed was being used as bait, but closed the door and crossed the room, hoping to free the woman before the trap was sprung. She might have a chance to free the mayor’s wife and get the hostage to safety. As she approached, Batgirl saw something besides hope in the captive’s eyes, something she understood too late.

The door Batgirl had used to enter the room opened behind her to admit Chickadee and the Cook twins. Each of the evil women carried a small basket. Egghead entered the room by means of another door and stepped to the switch behind and beside the captive’s unique cell.

“Welcome, Batgirl,” Egghead said. “We’ve been egg-specting you. I have a nasty little chore to do and, since I knew you were coming, I decided to wait for you to be an official witness. I know you won’t want to miss it.”

“And what would that little chore be, Egghead?”

“Why, murdering Mrs. Linseed, of course,” Egghead said, throwing the switch. “Now that I’ve attended to that – girls, egg-sterminate Batgirl!”

Batgirl whirled toward the henchwomen, expecting a fight to start, but was surprised to see each of her enemies had crouched, and begun carefully setting eggs on the floor and rolling them toward her, one after another.

Batgirl swung back to look at Egghead. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“I see you’re unfamiliar with my incomparable egg-splosive eggs. I’ll be happy to egg-splain. They’re each egg-stremely powerful and egg-squisitely sensitive, once they’ve come to a stop. You’ll find it much harder to egg-sit my lair than it was to enter. Whether you plan to capture me; fight my helpers; or save poor Mrs. Linseed from certain death, you’ll have to keep from being scrambled by those eggs.” Egghead laughed. “I’m sure you’ll find it as challenging as walking on eggshells.”

Egghead’s eggs littered the floor, surrounding Batgirl. Looking around, she asked, “I suppose you’re going to tell me any movement will set off this mine field you’ve created?” Batgirl asked.

“Egg-sactly, Batgirl,” the villain said, chuckling. “I’m going to enjoy this.” On the other side of the room, Chickadee and the twins also watched eagerly. Anticipating.

Batgirl looked up and saw nothing she could grip or toward which she could leap. Any move she made might trigger Egghead’s explosive minefield. What the eggs would do to her, she didn’t know. The resultant explosions couldn’t be too devastating, she reasoned, since Egghead and his henchwomen remained in the room. Time was of the essence, however, since Millie Linseed had realized her air supply had been cut off and was staring at Batgirl with wide eyes, in the grip of rational terror. The poor woman’s body trembled.

Batgirl’s right hand fell to a compartment on her belt from which she extracted a canister of liquid plastic. She began spraying the eggs, rotating, bending, stretching, and moving her canister from one hand to the other so that she could cover all the eggs without moving her feet. Once she had emptied the canister, she took a cautious step toward Egghead.

A pop sounded from each egg as it shattered. Nevertheless, the force of the numerous blasts did not propel the shell fragments all over the room, but merely collapsed them where they lay.

“Egg-ceptionally clever, Batgirl. Congratulations. I’m impressed.”

“I have other impressions to make upon you when I crack up your rotten gang, Egghead,” Batgirl said. “First, however–”

She flung another object from her belt at the egg-shaped prison in which Millie Linseed was dying. The object hit the side of the woman’s prison and exploded, forming an intricate pattern of cracks in its walls before the chamber collapsed. Mrs. Linseed gratefully inhaled. Egghead's captive was still, however, bound to the chair.

“You’ve spoiled everything!” Egghead fumed.

“You know what they say, Egghead,” Batgirl said, grinning. “In order to make an omelet, one has to break a few eggs.”

“I think it’s you who will be broken in the end,” the villain replied. “Get her!”

Batgirl whirled and found the trio of henchwomen much closer than she had expected. They had apparently been creeping up behind her. The twins lunged and Batgirl darted between them.

Chickadee launched a kick and Batgirl caught her heel, lifting it and continuing to approach her attacker until Chickadee was dumped on her butt and released.

Batgirl turned back to the twins, who were now coming at her separately. Suzette turned and spun a kick at Batgirl’s head while Michelle did the same from the opposite direction, trying for the heroine’s legs. Batgirl ducked under Suzette’s leg and slid toward the French girl’s exposed side, slamming her foot home. Suzette crumpled. Michelle’s kick missed its mark and the young woman slid toward Batgirl. The crimefighter, meanwhile, had brought her heel crashing down on the back of Suzette’s head, taking one of the sisters out of the fight.

As Batgirl landed, she pivoted into a staggering punch Michelle had launched at her. The French girl flashed a wolfish smile, shoving the heroine over her sister’s prone body.

Batgirl lost her balance, toppling as Chickadee got up and leaped at Batgirl. The heroine felt her shoulder driven hard into the floor.

Instinctively, Batgirl slammed the back of her fist into Chickadee’s chest and flipped her attacker to the floor as the Bronx beauty doubled over. In the next instant, though, Michelle’s knee slammed into the center of Batgirl’s chest, knocking the wind from the Purple-clad Paragon. The conscious, blonde henchwoman’s hand closed around Batgirl’s chin and lifted it, before slamming it forcefully and repeatedly into the floor.

First, Batgirl’s vision swam as her consciousness was overwhelmed by pain. Then, moments later, there was blackness.

When Batgirl revived, two hands restrained her in a grip like a vise. She shifted her weight, twisting to wiggle free, but felt a knee pressed against her spine as her shoulders were drawn slowly backward. “I will break you, unless you stop resisting!” Chickadee threatened in a voice leaving no room for misunderstanding. “You’re so very fragile in this position.”

“You’ve gotten stronger,” Batgirl murmured, becoming still as the tug on her shoulders reduced, decreasing the tension on her spine dramatically.

“I’ve been working out,” Chickadee smugly said. “Other henchwomen learned to fight and seemed to expand their career prospects in the process. I figured strength was an even more marketable commodity.”

“Very enterprising. If you were to go straight, Chickadee, you might have a future in marketing.”

“If I were you, Batgirl, I wouldn’t be worried about giving me career advice. You aren’t going to have a future, after Eggy gets finished with you.” The American henchwoman chuckled.

Batgirl was, in fact, worried about much more personal matters as she watched Michelle and Suzette use rollers to spread white liquid over a nearly square platform. One side resembled two similarly-sized curves positioned side by side.

“Finished,” Suzette happily said, straightening.

“It’s ready,” Michelle agreed.

“Egg-cellent,” Egghead eagerly said. “Let’s get Batgirl ready.”

“We’d be wise to take . . .” Suzette began.

“. . . away her toys,” Michelle finished.

Chickadee nodded and drew Batgirl back against her so that she could reach around and unbuckle the heroine’s utility belt. Its weight and that of the equipment it held caused it to fall from around Batgirl’s waist. Chickadee kicked the utility belt away without a thought.

“She might be even more helpless . . .” Suzette started.

“. . . without the cape,” Michelle pointed out.

“You’re right.” Chickadee undid the cape from around Batgirl’s neck and then shoved Batgirl forward. “Catch!” the brunette commanded, watching the twins as Batgirl stumbled into their waiting arms. The Bronx-born brunette tossed the cape carelessly after the discarded belt, grinning from ear to ear.

Before Batgirl was certain what had happened, she was looking up at the ceiling with Michelle holding her wrists and Suzette holding her knees. Together, the perfidious pair carried their captive to the platform and held her suspended above it.

“Going down . . .“ Suzette said, giggling as she moved Batgirl’s legs further apart and let go. In less than a second, Batgirl was falling the short distance to the platform where her legs remained spread and her arms splayed as they impacted.

”. . . and staying put!” Michelle emphatically added. Unlike her sister, Michelle could not contain her merriment and laughed.

The others joined her laughter as Batgirl gasped in pain; gathered her wits; and tried vainly to rise, writhing helplessly. “I can’t move,” she complained. “This platform is covered with glue.”

“Egg-sactly, Batgirl,” Egghead said. “The platform beneath you as shaped like a slice of toast. In honor of my new assistants, we’re about to cook up the most fiendish slice of French toast ever. Bring out the egg, girls.” He went on laughing as his leggy lieutenants obeyed.

Egghead watched Batgirl eagerly as her eyes widened in horror. His attractive assistants had wheeled an enormous, glass egg balanced on a metal ring toward her. It was clear and contained a slimy, green liquid. Once the egg was in position above the helpless captive, each set of wheels was removed and the egg was lowered until it remained just above Batgirl’s rising and falling chest.

“So, do you plan to crush me beneath this monstrous egg?”

“Oh, no, Batgirl,” Egghead answered. “You’re a rodent, not an insect. My plans for you are much more egg-stensive,” the criminal mastermind answered. He was no longer laughing, but contented himself with a wicked smile.

“I’m sure whatever you have planned will be as ineffective as all of your past brainstorms.”

“Do you think so, Batgirl?” Egghead asked, a hint of challenge creeping into his voice.

“I do,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“We’ll see. I’ve peppered the yolk of that egg with capsules of a potent acid. Each of them will shatter seconds after the yolk is egg-sposed to the outside air. Of course, this egg-sposure won’t occur until the air-tight egg cracks. When it does, however, its contents will spill all over you. I’m quite sure you’ll find your acid bath egg-stremely uncomfortable and ultimately fatal.”

“The searing feeling you’ll get in your stomach from this dish won’t be heartburn . . .” Michelle predicted.

“. . . it will be all burn,” Suzette added, laughing.

“Delicious,” Chickadee said.

“I see no need to egg-stend Batgirl’s egg-sit. I’m sure you all noticed the spigot that just happens to descend from the ceiling over the egg above Batgirl.” All of the women, including Batgirl, nodded. “Turn on the faucet, Chickadee,” Egghead commanded. “Let the spigot drip.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Chickadee said, striding across the room and twisting the valve. Water droplets began to fall, impacting the top of the egg above Batgirl at brief, but regular, intervals.

“Stealing from the playbook of Hippolytus de Marsiliis again, Egghead? That’s egg-stremely unoriginal of you.”

“Not so, Batgirl,” Egghead said, sniffing haughtily. “I’ve combined the water torture with a death created by a certain abominable Doctor Phibes.” The villain paused and smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find it quite egg-scrutiating in the end. I’ve chosen dripping water for its effectiveness, rather than its egg-zotic characteristics. Falling water is one of the most destructive forces on Earth, as you’ll soon see.”

“You’ll never get away with this, Egghead, even if it does kill me!”

“These conversations grow so tiresome. If you’ll egg-scuse us, Batgirl, I have a job to arrange to do, one that will allow me to do a job on Gotham City’s budget and by egg-stention, its treasury. With tax season having just concluded, it’s an egg-cellent time to implement an egg-ceedingly large, one-time donation to my favorite charity. The prospect makes my associates and I positively egg-zuberant.”

“I thought it was rabbit season,” Suzette said.

“No,” her sister disagreed, “it’s duck season.”

“One thing is for sure,” Chickadee said. “It’s always bat season around here.” The three henchwomen touched their fingertips to their lips and blew Batgirl parting kisses as they curtseyed and took their leave.

“You’ll see how wrong you are, when I get out of this!” Batgirl defiantly called after them.

“I seriously doubt you’re going anywhere – egg-cept to oblivion. Regardless, you must admit it takes real genius to take over a city by means other than an election. I’m sure you realize Millie Linseed is still in my power. With her involuntary help and you out of my way forever, nothing can stop me!”

Egghead walked around Batgirl one last time, enjoying the view. Batgirl, having nothing more to say, remained silent.

“Bon appetite, Batgirl! It’s been a slice.”

Moments after Egghead left, the echoes of his laughter died. The only sound besides Batgirl’s breathing was the deadly drip of the spigot, as drop after drop of water fell onto the top of the acid-filled egg. Batgirl had no idea how long she would have before it cracked, but knew she would have scant few seconds to live afterward.

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