Like so many driven people, he had waited too long to retire. His beloved wife had died during the time he was still spending at least twelve hours a day working.

His first vacation following his retirement had been a horrible travesty. He had had the misfortune of being stuck in a sunny, Southern town when college students from all over the country, and, indeed, the world, had come to spend money and socialize. He had simply wanted to get away to a quiet place where he could enjoy natural beauty.

The trip had certainly given him plenty of opportunities to see natural beauty. In fact, it had been utterly impossible for the older gentleman to avoid seeing much more than he wanted of several natural beauties. These, he felt, had been displayed in an extreme state of undress – relatively speaking – and he was more than old enough to know how some of the more erotic forms of entertainment going on all around him were constantly encouraged.

To put it briefly, he had had an awful time and his experience had turned the mild-mannered business magnate into a straight-laced, senior citizen crusader. His legendary work ethic and drive had then enabled him to become the city’s leading critic of what he considered indecency.

“You and the Gotham City Decency League have had some successes at ridding the city of what you call ‘dens of iniquity’,” reporter Alexander Knox stated in an interview.

“That’s right, Sonny,” the controversial crusader replied, “and I’ve got some news for you. We’re just getting started. Mark my words – you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

“Many of your critics suggest you see no difference between mildly racy forms of entertainment and vile, pornographic filth. How do you decide where to draw the line?” Knox asked.

“I know pornography when I see it!” Mr. Post testily responded.

“What would you say to those who question your opinion of what is pornographic?”

“I wouldn’t speak to such people!”

“Does it bother you that your efforts have put many people out of work?”

“The public has a right to be protected,” Emilio Post declared to his inquisitor, “from displays of suggestiveness and undress which are disgusting to all right-thinking people. I’m doing the right thing and have no trouble sleeping at night.”

Three days after his interview, shortly after Mr. Post had retired for the evening, a car pulled into his driveway. Its occupants saw the old man switch off his bedside lamp and smiled. Waiting.

The blonde, blue-eyed driver reached to answer a cell phone a moment later. “This is Sasha, boss,” she said. Sasha listened for a moment. “He just turned in.”

“Give him a chance to fall asleep, then proceed,” Sasha’s employer ordered. “Call me when the job is done.”

“Right,” Sasha said and hung up.

“How long?” Sasha’s female companion asked.

“Be patient, Hippolyta,” she replied. “Check your equipment again and we’ll get started.”

Moonlight illuminated Emilio Post’s body as the women from the car climbed through his open bedroom window. As Sasha moved to the security system and disengaged it, Hippolyta set up her video camera on a tripod; checked to see the bed was in its sights; and switched it on.

“Are we ready?” Sasha whispered, shrugging out of her coat so that her pale skin contrasted with the dark material of her brazier and matching thong. She tossed her blonde hair and stepped from her sandals.

“All set," Hippolyta softly replied, slipping from her coat and revealing a similarly scanty wardrobe that complimented her long dark hair. She paused on her way to the man in the bed. She was taken aback by what she saw along the walls. The bedroom was lined with glass tanks filled with water.

“He has lots of fish.” She encompassed the room with a sweeping gesture. “I mean, judging by the fish in here, he must really have a lot.”

“He collects exotic fish as a hobby,” Sasha explained. “Remember, he ran an import business.”

“I thought that meant he had a couple of rare species in a tank in the living room, where most people show off their pets. This house must have more fish in it than the Gotham City Aquarium,” Hippolyta responded, shrugging.

The man in the bed stirred. The intruders fell silent, regarding him as they licked their lips and winked at one another. Both the shapely Scandinavian and her gorgeous Greek companion had started working as servers at one of the venues Mr. Post had regarded as a vile den of iniquity. They had worked their way to the stage and were just beginning to profit handsomely from their lascivious labors when their employer had been compelled to close. Now, it was payback time.

Together, the women leapt onto the bed, landing outstretched on either side of its occupant. Before the man realized what was happening, they were all over him, stroking; licking; kissing; and caressing him as he began to respond involuntarily to their treatment.

Once he realized what was happening, Emilio Post tried to sit up, but felt his companions hold him down as their hot breath seared his cheeks. He was surprised and dismayed to feel his unexpected companions snuggle more closely against him.

“What’s happening? What’s the meaning of this?”

“Think of it as publicity, Emilio,” Sasha whispered huskily.

“An expose,” Hippolyta added, with a mischievous laugh, before she slowly licked his ear. “Soon, all of Gotham City will know how the head of its goody-two-shoes Decency League entertains.”

“Scandalous,” Sasha said, kissing him hard on the mouth. “You really are a very bad boy.” The women laughed.

“You . . .can’t do this to me!” Emilio Post protested. The effect of this indignant statement was largely ruined as the girls compelled their victim to gasp with delight at that particular moment.

“Nonsense,” Hippolyta admonished, bending her mouth to his neck. “You’re starting to sweat. Look at it this way, when we’ve finished with you, you’ll never be called a cold fish again.”

“You two will ruin me!” he predicted breathlessly.

“Well,” Sasha began philosophically, “your league shut down our employer and put us out of work.”

“So, you can imagine how we’ve looked forward to getting our hands on you,” Hippolyta unsympathetically said.

“The cold, cruel world leaves a young woman with only a limited education very few alternatives,” Sasha explained.

“We read over your comments about our performance and realized crime was our only real talent,” Hippolyta went on. “So, think of the tape we’ll send you as a keepsake . . . or our way of thanking you for what I’m certain will be pleasant memories.”

As they spoke, the women kept their hands at work against his body, but withdrew the other sources of stimulation.

Emilio Post was horrified as he felt his pajama top torn from his chest and tossed playfully away. “Leave me alone!” he shouted, writhing helplessly between his companions.

“If that’s really what you want, it’s going to cost you,” Sasha told him seriously.

“What will it cost me?”

“You have a safe here, Emilio,” Hippolyta said. “Open it for us.”

“If I do, you’ll let me go?”

“Reluctantly,” Sasha said, letting her hand slide downward across his chest.

“Move,” Hippolyta whispered.

Emilio Post hurried from the bed, spurred by the progress of Sasha’s hand. His companions followed more slowly. Emilio swung a painting aside and spun the dials on his safe. He found Sasha beside him as he pulled the safe door open and was dismayed to notice Hippolyta operating the camera, which had changed its focus to record the proceedings.

“That’s beautiful,” Sasha dreamily said as the money-filled safe opened. Then, her voice grew hard as she commanded, “Pull out a bundle of bills and hand it over.”

“There. Now, I’ve paid you,” Emilio Post said. “Get out!”

“It’s a start,” Hippolyta said. “The camera got beautiful footage of the transaction.” She laughed as Sasha slipped the money into the band of her thong and wrapped her arms around their victim’s neck to draw her body against his again. She kissed him hard on the mouth and waited breathlessly for the response he could not help but make. “Such sweet footage.”

“If you’d like, we can finish what we started,” Sasha offered, after finally releasing him. “Your reputation is shot now. So, there’s no reason not to make your fall from grace as pleasant as possible.”

“I told you to get out! Leave me alone!” the outraged, retired businessman shouted. “I’ll have the police on you two so fast it will make your heads spin!”

“Not likely, Emilio,” Hippolyta said. She pulled a dart gun from among her camera equipment and shot him between the shoulder blades. The victim slumped. Unconscious. “It’s just as well he refused,” the Greek gunwoman said. “We’d have given him a heart attack.”

“How were we to know he really is a cold fish?” Sasha demanded rhetorically. She and Hippolyta laughed and bent over their victim.

Five minutes later, Emilio was bound and the pair had put their coats back on. After ten more minutes, the contents of the safe, the captive, and the camera equipment were all stowed away in the spacious trunk of the girls’ getaway car.

“Ready?” Sasha asked.

“Call the boss,” Hippolyta advised, as she slid into the passenger seat.

“This is Sasha,” the driver said. “Hippolyta and I have our man, the goods on him, and a considerable amount of money.”

“Good work, girls,” their employer praised. “Tell me, is it true Mr. Post has many rare fish?”

Sasha frowned and conveyed the question to her partner.

“I’m no expert, but he certainly has a lot of fish,” Hippolyta confirmed.

“I doubt a man like him would bother to keep goldfish and guppies. I have an idea that might please our new colleague after I recruit him later this morning,” the kidnappers’ employer said, before going on to explain. Fifteen minutes later, Sasha and Hippolyta carefully carried a covered aquarium between them. They set it gently on the floor of the car's back seat before driving away.

A Taste for Vengeance

Warden Crichton began each morning at the Gotham State Penitentiary with a cup of steaming, hot coffee. On this morning, he came to work to be welcomed by a dark-eyed, black-haired beauty wearing a pink dress and sandals as she perched on the fender of her pink car. He recognized her instantly. “Florence,” he happily said, extending his hand. ”What a pleasant surprise.”

“I’m delighted to hear it, Warden. May I have a moment of your time?” Florence of Arabia asked, favoring him with a wide smile. Florence was rarely refused when she smiled and knew it. The request she had come to make would be unnatural to the Warden and she reasoned it would be useful to get him into the habit of obedience.

“Of course,” the Warden said, leading her to his office gently by the arm. “Come in and have a seat. Would you like some coffee? I find I can’t start the day without at least one cup.”

“Thank you, Warden.” She sat down in one of his client chairs and crossed her long, lovely legs. He came to her smiling and holding a brimming coffee cup. She accepted the cup, took a sip of the steamy brew, and nodded approvingly. “This is very good.”

“I grind the beans each night myself and set the timer so that it’s brewed and ready for me when I come in. It’s the one luxury I allow myself in what can be a tough job,” he explained. The prison official poured himself a cup and sat down at his desk. He regarded his visitor for a moment, smiling. From what he could see; had seen; and knew of her, there was much to admire. “Now, you didn’t come here to talk about coffee. How can I help you?”

“Let me begin by telling you what an enormous help you were to me while I was here years ago.”

“Thank you,” the Warden said. His smile deepened as he began to approach one of his favorite subjects. “Did you know I view my job differently than many people might think I should?”

“I’m not certain I understand,” Florence admitted, leaning interestedly toward the prison official.

“Many people think I concern myself with punishing evildoers, and perhaps I do. I see myself, however, as someone who tries to help convicted criminals reform and become productive members of society.”

“Well, you certainly helped me after King Tut steered me into a life of crime. Your progressive penological program returned me to my life as a respected restaurateur and aspiring club owner.”

“The belly dancing establishment with which you were associated before you fell in with King Tut gave you valuable experience.”

“Unfortunately, my business has performed less than brilliantly since I served my time. I’m told most entrepreneurs fail at least once before they succeed. At the moment, I’m between ventures.” Florence wanly smiled.

“I understand your belly dancers came to the attention of the Gotham City Decency League and that they put some pressure on you.”

Florence laughed and suddenly worried her reaction might seem overly harsh. Quickly, she took in some air and focused on the Warden, smiling and giving her natural beauty time to entrance her audience once again. “Belly dancing is an art form. Colleges, universities and organizations such as the YMCA offer classes in it. I explained that to the League. Their response was a boycott and a media campaign aimed against my ‘den of iniquity.’ I suppose it was inevitable.” Florence saw the Warden was once again listening closely to her. She lowered her eyes and let her voice falter. “Bad publicity has finally killed the club. I came to see you because my business has gone, dare I say, belly up.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the Warden said seriously. Florence looked up to see her audience regarding her intently. She felt a thrill of elation when she realized her performance had enticed him. Now, it was time to see how closely he would follow her lure. The Warden asked, “How can I help?”

Florence let her voice become businesslike. “I understand your restaurant, the Iceberg Lounge, went under after the Joker robbed it at a charity function.”

“That’s true. Everything still exists, but it’s been awhile since my convict-run eatery served a customer.”

“I’d be willing to buy all of the Iceberg Lounge’s assets, on the condition that you’d be willing to give someone in your charge with culinary experience a chance to become my managing partner, so that I can concentrate on marketing the new business.” She had let her bait into the water and regarded her audience with wide, innocent eyes as she wanly smiled and continued, “I could use some good publicity. I think a convict manager would give me the right blend of business expertise and community service. At least, I hope such a person would.”

“I think you’ve had a wonderful idea. Matey Dee, Cordy Bleu as well as Chickadee all have valuable experience in the food entertainment industry.”

“I was hoping a resident of the arch-criminal wing might be available. There’s one in particular who would help me make a much bigger splash.”

“Whom did you have in mind?”

“A man with an emotional interest in the Iceberg Lounge . . . and practical, culinary and management experience gained from an establishment called The Penguin’s Nest.”

“The Penguin?”

“Indeed.” She smiled engagingly. “I’ve given my choice a lot of thought. He really would be ideal.”

“Penguin has escaped custody while on trial and aided another defendant, who was subsequently found guilty in absentia, to escape. Together they committed a number of crimes, threatening prominent citizens in Gotham City. I can’t simply let him out for good behavior and parole is out of the question.”

“Why? What if you released him into my custody?”

“I don’t know,” the Warden hesitantly said. Florence of Arabia knew her hook had been set. It was now time to reel in the Warden. The initial fierceness of his struggles would soon pass.

“Didn’t you once appoint Bruce Wayne to be Catwoman’s parole officer?”

“Unfortunately, I had to discontinue that particular program. Mr. Wayne is one of Gotham City’s leading citizens, but he was not equipped to keep an arch-criminal like Catwoman from running amok.”

“You couldn’t come up with some way to improve the program?”

“Catwoman went to college and said she planned to take up crimefighting.” The Warden sighed wistfully. “It seemed so perfect. Now look what happened to her.”

“Well, reinstitute your program, but use reformed former prisoners of yours as the parole officers. In this case, Penguin will be embarking on a real career immediately and, as my partner, I have a real stake in our success. Mr. Wayne is a well-meaning philanthropist, but risked nothing when he took charge of Catwoman. I’m sure his failure hurt him deeply, but my proposal gives me much more incentive than he had.”

“Well, our review of the program did suggest Mr. Wayne’s lack of experience was one of the program’s flaws. You make a very good argument, Florence . . . but I don’t know . . .”

“Trust me, Warden. I’ve seen prison from both sides. With all due respect to Mr. Wayne, I’m much more qualified than him to undertake an arch-criminal’s reform. Hasn’t the Penguin tried to reform in the past?”

“No. He claimed to have reformed once, but he was lying.”

“Oh. Well, what about that time he ran for mayor?”

“Batman, the Penguin’s opponent, proved the Penguin’s run for mayor was a scheme to rob the good people of Gotham City.”

“Warden, I know all about Batman. For example, he and all of his colleagues risk their lives voluntarily to fight crime.”

“They are all admirable, aren’t they?”

“Please let me try to be clear about this point: Batman and his colleagues are not paid to fight crime. Catwoman would not have been either, presumably. Running the Iceberg Lounge should give the Penguin partnership income, so he will be much better equipped to function in society than Catwoman ever was.”

“Our review of the program might have overlooked that particular point. I may have to write an addendum. Anyway, all of the evidence to which I have referred in our discussion is in court documents and open to public scrutiny.”

“I’m sure it is and I’m glad you mentioned the courts, because that brings me to my next point. I’d really hate to have to sue you for discrimination.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t respond well to threats, Florence.”

“You had no trouble releasing a female prisoner into the custody of a goody-two-shoes citizen with a silver spoon in his mouth. I’m asking you to do the same for a male prisoner and a female ex-convict who has turned her life around. You are resisting. My attorney suggested this might happen. He is poised to file a petition for damages.”

“Just whom did you engage?”

“A senior partner of an out-of-this-world law firm from Boston, Denny Crane.”

“Denny Crane?”

“One of his associates advised me that Denny Crane would be the only logical choice.”

“I’m sure I can persuade Denny Crane that saying I resisted overstates my hesitancy.”

“Won’t you have to convince a judge and jury, if I sue?” Florence regarded him with her most beguiling smile, which enhanced the sweetness imbuing her voice. “Warden, I really think you’ll find resistance is utterly futile.”

“That may be true. Listen, it may not have to come to a lawsuit. Given the points you raise, I think I can take your proposal to the Commissioner, the District Attorney, and the Penguin.”

“If they agree, you’ll do it?’ Florence of Arabia eagerly asked.

“Well, I want you to realize there are no guarantees and that the threat of a lawsuit has not influenced my decision in the slightest.”

“Not even the mention of Denny Crane?” Florence of Arabia was the perfect, pretty picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“Not even the mention of Denny Crane,” the Warden confirmed.

“Fine. Excellent. I’m sorry to have felt I had to resort to threats. You have no idea how low that ploy made me feel. I’m glad we’re still on speaking terms. I really value our relationship, Warden.” She was smiling and the Warden would never know part of the reason for her good cheer was he had swallowed her bait completely. “Thank you.”

“Because I’m taking your proposal seriously, I want to be certain you understand you’ll be solely responsible for the Penguin’s good behavior. I’ll never convince anyone to go along with the proposal without such a recognition.”

Florence of Arabia’s smile widened. “I understand perfectly, Warden. Thank you again.”

A week later, the Gotham City Decency League met in the second floor meeting room of the Midtown Branch of the Gotham City Library.

“So, no one has heard from our chairman, Emilio Post, for more than a week?” Vice- Chairperson Abbegail Dearson asked rhetorically.

“Oh, dear! I hope nothing awful has happened to him!” Harriet Cooper said.

“If it has indeed been a whole week,” Alfred Pennyworth, who had driven Mrs. Cooper, began, “perhaps the police should look for him?”

“Would you like to make that a motion, Alfred?”

Alfred didn’t have the heart to tell the dear lady he wasn’t actually a member of the organization. Although he believed they did some good work, he felt at times the membership was a bit over-zealous. “Well . . .”

“So moved!” said Thomasina Bowdler, a blue-haired lady in the front row.

“Second,” Mrs. Cooper quickly said.

“All in favor,” Ms. Dearson said, counting the rising hands. “The motion carries. We’ll ask the police to look for Emilio. That concludes our business until next month. It’s time to adjourn to Cameron’s by the Park for lunch.”

The approving murmur of conversation died as the group disbursed, leaving Abbegail Dearson to sign out with Barbara Gordon, the head librarian.

“It’s very kind of you to let us meet here each month, Barbara,” Ms. Dearson said.

“Making free meeting space available to citizens’ organizations is one of the services the library provides. I think your league does . . .” Barbara searched for exactly the right word, “admirable work.” ‘Thank goodness they’ve never gone after Batgirl over her costume!’

Barbara took the signed paper. Babs noticed some brochures on a table at the side of the room, as well as other items elsewhere. “You’re all set. Just turn off the lights and pull the door closed behind you when you’re all finished. It will lock automatically. I need to get back to the main floor. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Goodbye, Barbara, and thank you again.” As Barbara left, Abbegail Dearson gathered her literature and the tape recorder used to help create the minutes as a record of the league’s activities. The Vice-Chairperson put all these things into her briefcase. When she looked up again, a stout man stood framed in the door, lighting a cigarette that extended from an ebony holder. The man wore a tuxedo, a purple top hat, and white gloves. He held an umbrella in his free hand.

“I know you!” Ms. Dearson fearfully said, pointing. “You’re the Penguin, a notorious criminal. Not only that, you tried to make an awful movie! What do you want?”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” the archfiend said, bowing. He then took his cigarette holder in his hand, gesturing as he went on speaking. “You misunderstand my intentions, however, my dear Ms. Dearson.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do, madam. Wak!” he replied. “I am prepared to reacquaint you with your magnificent league’s chairman, Mr. Emilio Post.” As Penguin spoke, he used his foot to push the door closed behind him. The door softly locked.

“You’re here to help me?” Ms. Dearson asked skeptically.

“I am,” Penguin insisted, stepping toward her. Abbegail Dearson retreated toward the window.

“Why would you do that?”

“I make this gesture as a concerned citizen. Remember, I was once a mayoral candidate. Wak!” Penguin explained. Behind Abbegail Dearson the window silently opened. “In exchange for this good deed, I only require one thing, madam.” Penguin indicated her with his cigarette holder. “Abbegail Dearson . . . I want you! Wak, wak, wak!”

As Penguin spoke, umbrella handles hooked under Abbegail Dearson’s armpits and she felt herself lifted from the floor. She was about to scream when a hand clapped over her mouth. She squirmed, but felt herself embraced in a strong grip. The support might have been just as well, since there was nothing but empty space beneath her feet!

“Well done, my fine, finny finks! Wak, wak, wak! Well done,” the Maestro of a Million Criminal Umbrellas crowed. Penguin stepped to the window ledge and closed the window behind him as he made his own exit.

“She never arrived at lunch, Miss,” Alfred, the butler, said on his cell phone as he walked to the limousine in order to pick up Mrs. Cooper. “We had every reason to suppose she would be coming and I only call on you because Mrs. Cooper instructed me to ask the police, on the league’s behalf, to look for its leader, Mr. Emilio Post. I hope I am not jumping at shadows, but I am personally acquainted with no one better able to look into the matter than you.” Since Ms. Dearson was last seen at the library, this was undoubtedly true

“Thank you, Alfred,” Barbara Gordon said. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“I appreciate it, Miss. I really hope I’m not treading on your toes, but you must allow me to take advantage of our little secret from time to time.”

“No problem,” Barbara said. “I’ll call you later if I learn anything.”

“Thank you, Miss,” the native-born Englishman gratefully said. “I’d appreciate that very much.”

Barbara hurried to the room in which the Gotham City Decency League had met and unlocked the door, closing it behind her. She spotted Abbegail Dearson’s briefcase immediately and went to open it. The case was locked. Barbara took a tiny tool she had brought along from her pocket and went to work on the briefcase, which quickly surrendered to her efforts. She seized the tape recorder and listened to the tape, which shed no light whatsoever on the missing woman’s whereabouts. The other contents of the case were equally unenlightening. Barbara wiped her fingerprints from everything she had handled to avoid explaining how she had opened the briefcase and closed it once again, automatically wiping away her remaining fingerprints. She then turned her attention to the rest of the room.

‘It smells like cigarette tobacco in here, but smoking is not allowed,’ Barbara thought. ‘I’m sure no one from the league would have been smoking and Ms. Dearson would not have intentionally left her briefcase.’ Barbara spotted a black mark on the carpet and knelt to examine a fallen cigarette ash. “I was right,“ she murmured. ‘I wonder what brand of cigarette . . .’ Barbara snapped her fingers as she recognized the tobacco’s odor. ‘Antarctic Blends, smoked by the Penguin!”

Barbara’s only other clue was the unlocked window. It was hardly conclusive, yet Barbara normally kept closed windows locked at the library. ‘If Penguin had left via the window, he would have easily been able to remove a captive unobserved.’ Of course, she could not be certain the well-dressed fiend had even been there. ‘How could Penguin be on the loose again so soon?’

Barbara made sure the room looked exactly as it had when she entered and left it locked. ‘The police will want to examine this room, if it proves to be a crime scene,’ she reasoned.

“I’m sorry, Barbara, but we have rules about missing persons. Chief O’Hara has already tasked an officer to look for Emilio Post.” Commissioner James Gordon said that evening as they spoke in his office.

“You mean you can’t have anyone look for Ms. Dearson for at least a week?” Barbara protested. “Even with the cigarette smoke I smelled?” Barbara Gordon had been in close contact with the Penguin very early in Batgirl’s career and allegedly had been his prisoner on at least one other occasion.

“I really am sorry, Barbara. The Penguin does smoke and he was recently released to participate in one of the Warden’s programs, but the odor of cigarette smoke does not prove foul play.”

“What about the briefcase?”

The Commissioner spread his hands helplessly. “Ms. Dearson might simply have forgotten it. I appreciate your bringing this to my attention and I’m loathe to again tell you to leave police work to the professionals, but–”

“Well, I may just be overreacting,” Barbara said, pretending to be placated. “Please let me know if you learn anything about these unaccounted-for league members.”

“I certainly will, Barbara. Don’t worry and thank you. Really.”

“I’ll see you later, Daddy,” she said, and took her leave. The news Penguin had been released was a revelation. ‘If I weren’t certain the Penguin was involved, I wouldn’t be so worried,’ Barbara thought. ‘Batgirl will have a long night ahead of her.’

“Good night,” Warden Crichton said good-naturedly to his secretary later as his telephone rang. “Get out of here. I’ll get that.” He picked up the phone. “This is Warden Crichton. How may I help you?”

“Warden, this is Batgirl. I’m sorry to call so late, but I understand the Penguin is out and about with your blessing. Could you please help me understand why?”

“Certainly, Batgirl. Florence of Arabia has bought a business I tried to get my charges to run some time ago, the Iceberg Lounge. You may remember it.”

“I do. Go ahead.”

“Well, happily the Penguin has agreed to become Florence’s managing partner. To facilitate that partnership, I agreed to allow her to become his parole officer.”

Barbara frowned as she listened. She had nothing like Batman’s patience for the Warden’s “progressive penological programs.” Still, she recognized the man truly believed in his efforts and, once in a great while, he was successful. Besides, as Batgirl, she was in no position to criticize a man she considered a friend. So, she simply said, “I see. When did the Penguin get out?”

“Last night, after dinner. Is something wrong, Batgirl?”

“I’m chasing a hunch, Warden. I wouldn’t worry. I hope Florence and Penguin make a success of the Iceberg Lounge.”

“Thank you, Batgirl. That means a lot to me.”

“Good night, Warden.”

“Bye.” The Warden put down the telephone receiver and turned to his coffee grinder.

“Well, Charlie,” Barbara said to her pet parrot, “I have a place to start looking for Penguin’s victims now.” Barbara crossed her bedroom, spun her rotating wall, and underwent her tantalizing transformation into Batgirl. Moments later, she had mounted her Batgirlcycle and was racing toward the Iceberg Lounge at the top legal speed.

Meanwhile, inside the Iceberg Lounge, Abbegail Dearson revived to find Emilio Post tied to a straight-backed, wooden chair across from where she was similarly bound. “What happened to me? I must have fainted after being dragged through that window at the library. Where am I?”

“Abbegail, are you all right?” Mr. Post asked.

“I think so. We were all worried about you.”

“I’m fine, for the moment, but the woman behind that belly dancing nightclub we closed for the sake of decency has kidnapped both of us. I’m not sure what she plans to do to us, but I understand she has brought in some arch-criminal consultant.”

Abbegail Dearson knew who that was. “The Penguin,” she fearfully announced.

“The Penguin!” Mr. Post incredulously said.

“Yes. I saw him. I spoke to him before I was taken,” she tensely explained. “Tell me, why do you suspect this woman–”

“She called herself Florence of Arabia.”

“That’s right,” Ms. Dearson said, “isn’t it? Anyway, what makes you think Florence is working with the Penguin?”

“Err . . .” Mr. Post thought fast. He had no desire to describe the scene that had taken place in his bedroom. “The women who brought me here spoke on the phone with her. I, uh, recognized the number.”

“You’re better informed about our league’s targets than I imagined," she said drily.

“Really?” he answered innocently.

Abbegail Dearson frowned at her fellow captive. “Never mind. What do you think these two awful people could possibly want with us?”

“Revenge,” Florence of Arabia said, sweeping into her prisoners’ sight. “You two and the rest of your hypocritical, sanctimonious league shut down my business. It was a very lucrative business, and now you will all pay! I promise to exact a pretty penny from each of you before I destroy you — one by one.” The curvaceous, criminal capitalist laughed harshly.

“We all meant what we said when we called your so-called social venue a haven for harlots and their patrons.”

“Slanderous statements like that drove all of my patrons away! The club went out of business, so I decided to repay all of you in similar fashion, after first dragging your reputations through the mud. It’s lucky for you, I brought in the Penguin.”

Abbegail Dearson glared at her captor and demanded, “Why would you say that, you towel-headed tart?!”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names like that will only make me want to hurt you more, “ Florence of Arabia warned, raising an arm to indicate her captive and focusing with flashing eyes.

Ms. Dearson was too angry to take notice of the warning. “I think the name fits perfectly. Just look at what you’re wearing. You give all belly dancers, and belly dancing for that matter, a bad name!”

“Abbegail!” Emilio Post exclaimed, his eyes growing wide.

“Belly dancing has a great deal of cultural significance, Emilio,” Ms. Dearson said, glancing sharply at her fellow captive. “Obviously, in this woman’s case, however, such nuances are totally irrelevant.”

“Now, you look here--!” Florence of Arabia began.

“We have looked, ma’am." Abbegail interrupted. "I’ve personally never seen anyone who is so obvious.”

Florence tried to regain control of the conversation. “Well, I wanted both of you to recognize me, before I have you--"

“You wouldn’t dare!”

The two women silently held one another’s gaze for a long moment.

“To answer your question,” the Penguin began, entering and breaking the tension, “I am a criminal genius and I pointed out to my emotional colleague how difficult it would be to wring money out of your estates.”

“So, you aren’t going to kill us?” Emilio Post gratefully said.

“I never said that. Wak, Wak, Wak! I simply suggested money would be more accessible while you remain alive.”

“How does it feel to have gotten a reprieve?” Florence of Arabia asked, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “Even if it is only temporary.”

“You’re both simply going to rob us? That strikes me as being rather common,” Emilio Post said. “What sort of genius would that require?”

“This is outrageous!” Abbegail Dearson concurred.

“The genius, my vexed victims,” the Penguin began, “is that we will not simply rob you. Wak! We will induce each and every one of you to willingly pay us a vast sum of money and then be thankful you did so, even after we spirit it away from you forever.”

“You’ll be so grateful, that when we come back for more, you’ll pay up without hesitation,” Florence picked up the explanation. “Anyone capable of pulling off that scenario really is a genius.”

“Merely a criminal genius, my dear. Wak, wak wak!” Penguin reminded her with false modesty, tranquilly blowing a smoke ring. “But don’t ever forget it.”

“That’s exactly what you can do, Penguin!” an authoritative, female voice said. “Forget all about your kidnapping scheme, because I’m here to put a stop to it – right now!” A dark shape seemed to suddenly swoop in on the criminals from above. With startling speed, a shadow engulfed both of them, eliciting a fearful cry before a curvaceous creature stepped into a shaft of moonlight to menacingly regard her prey At the same time, Gotham City’s Purple-clad Paragon of all things virtuous, Batgirl, was revealed in all of her considerable, glamorous glory.

“Batgirl!” Florence of Arabia exclaimed, her voice catching in her throat.

“Batgirl!” Mr. Post and Ms. Dearson simultaneously exclaimed, with considerable relief.

“So, Batgirl, you’re aware of my princely plan,” the Penguin said. “Wak!”

“Appalled by it would be closer to the mark,” Batgirl declared. “Kidnapping and blackmail–-”

“Enough!” the Penguin interrupted. “My principle priority now, is putting you out of the way, my pretty prisoner.”

“I’m hardly your prisoner, Penguin!”

“I have a remedy for that situation. Wak, wak, wak! Get out here, my fine, fiendish finks!” Penguin shouted. Three men filed in front of their master, each wearing a black turtleneck and matching slacks. The thinnest man was tall and had curly, brown hair. The word ‘GILL’ was centered on his chest, written in white, capital, block letters. The shortest, thickest man had black hair and the name ‘DORSAL ‘ positioned in exactly the same way. The third man had blond hair; blue eyes; an athletic, muscular frame; and the name ‘FINN’ on his shirt. “Ordinarily, Batgirl, I would be loath to order my finks to beat up a woman–”

“Really?” Batgirl teased. “It seems to me you do it all the time, or at least whenever I’m around.”

“Wak! Precisely,” the Penguin confirmed. He regarded her momentarily through a curtain of smoke as he crushed out his cigarette and set its holder beside the handy ashtray. “Now, finks, let’s get her!” With a thrust of his umbrella, Penguin led the attack.

Batgirl met the Penguin with one of her showgirl kicks and deposited the villain on the floor. The finks charged past him, closing in on her from different directions.

Florence backed from the battle zone and tapped a button that would summon additional aid.

Gill took a swing at Batgirl, who ducked beneath it while Dorsal and Finn each flanked her. Batgirl’s counterpunch caught Gill in the gut and doubled him over. She raised a knee into his descending nose as the other thugs each gripped a shoulder from behind. She reached up and brought her arms sharply down and backward hard, ramming her battle-honed elbows painfully into her attackers’ ribs.

Sasha and Hippolyta entered the room as Batgirl sent Dorsal onto his back with an uppercut. They had reached their employer by the time Batgirl had dispatched Finn with a lightning-fast combination. “Our uninvited guest is laying waste to Penguin and his associates. Go, prepare the icicles, come back, and wing her.”

“No problem, “ Sasha said.

“We’ll take care of her,” Hippolyta confidently seconded.

Meanwhile, Penguin was bull-rushing Batgirl, who sidestepped and slapped the side of her foot into his backside as he passed. Her counterattack sent him crashing to the floor, reducing a pair of wooden chairs to kindling as he fell.

The three thugs were approaching more warily for their second run at the heroine. Finn and Dorsal flanked her again, attacking simultaneously. The Curved Crusader darted from between them and clobbered Gill with a spinning kick as the other two thugs hit one another. As Batgirl surveyed the wreckage, she knew the fight was over.

“Well, that about does it for Penguin, now it’s your turn, Florence,” Batgirl said, stepping toward the woman.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Florence said, surveying the damage.

“Thank you. I’ll happily accept your surrender,” Batgirl said.

“Now, why would I go and do a thing like that? What have I done?”

“Emilio Post was kidnapped before Penguin was released from prison and Mr. Post is here at the Iceberg Lounge. I think I can give the police more than enough evidence upon which to detain you.”

“Really?” Florence said innocently, batting her eyelashes at the other woman.

“Really,” Batgirl said sternly, spreading her legs to shoulder width and letting her hands rest on her shapely hips.

“Then, I suppose I’d better do something,” Florence said, the first hint of steel beginning to creep into her voice.

“Penguin tried,” Batgirl pointed out. “You saw what happened to him.”

“Indeed,” Florence said, matching Batgirl’s pose. “In just a moment, something wicked will happen to you, and then we’ll see. Get her, girls!”

Abbegail Dearson screamed and Emilio Post shouted a warning as Batgirl spun to meet the attack she knew would come from behind. Sasha and Hippolyta both leapt at her as she turned. She would never know how long they had crouched behind her. Both brandished icicles in each of their gloved hands.

Batgirl raised her arms to block the twin overhand attacks, plunging toward her neck. With her arms engaged, however, she was unable to keep each woman’s second weapon from slicing the thin material of her costume at the hip and lacerating the flesh beneath it. Batgirl’s counterattack was cut short as two knees slammed into her abdomen, doubling her over.

Batgirl had expected the pain, but was surprised by the dizziness accompanying it. Her attackers slashed Batgirl’s arms, cutting her again.

“What’s worse, Batgirl,” Hippolyta asked, “the pain . . ?”

Sasha kicked at Batgirl’s legs, sweeping the heroine’s feet from beneath her and chimed in, “. . . or the dizziness – caused by the drug in which we dipped these icicles? You’ll never, ever, return to your feet again!”

Batgirl pulled one leg forward and got her foot flat on the floor. She began to rise, planning to balance on that leg once she had straightened, but quickly realized the drug would never allow her to do so. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she pitched forward, landing on her chest with her limbs splayed out. She drew her arms back toward her and began to try rising again. Ultimately, she collapsed under her own weight, lay still, and moaned helplessly, utterly defeated!

Penguin rose, massaging pain away from the bruises he had received during the fight. “Florence, your aides got her!” he said in disbelief. “I’m impressed.”

“Sasha and Hippolyta took her down,” Florence of Arabia said. “Girls, see that our uninvited guest remains helpless.”

Sasha flipped Batgirl’s cape above the heroine’s head and inserted the tips of both of her icicles through Batgirl’s costume near their victim’s spine. Hippolyta did the same with her weapons. “Not a drop of that drug will be wasted now,” the Greek girl goon crowed, returning Batgirl’s cape to its place.

“That’s right,” Sasha agreed. “The ice will melt and soak through Batgirl’s costume, so that the drug comes into contact with her skin.”

“The drug works on contact,” Hippolyta explained.

“It works even more quickly when introduced into the blood stream,” Sasha delightedly added. “So, think of Batgirl’s wounds as a bonus.”

“Capital! Capital!” the Penguin crowed, lighting his cigarette once again. “Now that you’ve put her out of our misery, the time has come to make the condition permanent. Wak, wak, wak!”

Florence of Arabia stepped toward the Penguin, instantly attracting his attention. “I had a thought about that, Pengy,” she said.

“Oh? Do tell, my dear pretty partner in crime.”

“I suggest our captive be removed while we work out the details,” Florence suggested. “Girls, show Pengy where to take her.”

“Good thinking, my dear,” the Penguin praised. “Finks, take Batgirl away.”

Batgirl squirmed helplessly as the finks obeyed, but was utterly powerless to stop them. Sasha and Hippolyta led the way to the parking deck where they opened the trunk of a car. Batgirl’s head thudded into a tire tool when her body was unceremoniously dropped. Velvety blackness enveloped her almost instantly.

“Now, Florence, tell me what you had in mind,“ Penguin said.

“Mr. Post collects exotic fish,” Florence explained. “I took a school of his fish when I grabbed him, just in case a tasty morsel, like Batgirl, fell into our hands.”

“Tell me more about these fabulous fish,” Penguin suggested. “Wak!”

Emilio Post listened with a concerned expression on his face as Florence of Arabia elaborated on her plans for his fish. When she had finished, his face had transformed into a horrified mask.

“You can’t use my fish for such an evil purpose, you . . . you . . . monsters!”

“We can Mr. Post,’ the Penguin disagreed, “and we most certainly will. Wak, wak, wak!"

When Batgirl revived, it took her a moment to analyze her surroundings. She was leaning against a narrow, silver pole and balanced on her knees. Both her hands and feet had been drawn behind her back where each wrist had been bound to the opposite ankle. “I’ve been hogtied . . . vertically,” she muttered, gasping with pain as she shifted her weight experimentally. The cause of her torment became quickly obvious. Her thighs were splayed beneath her waist and her weight, along with ropes cinched through her bent knees and bound to a pair of eyebolts drilled into the floor inches from either knee, would maintain her agonizingly painful position indefinitely.

Batgirl hung her head and noted two additional restraints her captors had supplied. One had been knotted around her waist, drawn back through her thighs, tightly cinched, and tied off. A second separate restraint involved two ropes crossed in the cleft between her breasts, drawn taut, and tied off behind her shoulders. These ropes not only held her upper body immobile against the pole, but they held her upper arms against her sides as well.

Finally, her utility belt and the vast collection of wonders she carried around her waist was absent. Raising her chin, the Curved Crusader found her belt submerged in an aquarium, right in front of her, guarded by a school of exotic fish. The aquarium was enormous, relatively speaking, and uncovered, but was only one third full.

Not only had Batgirl been helplessly hogtied against a pole without her belt, she and the aquarium had been surrounded by a four-foot tall ring of plastic. “I’m in an empty wading pool,” Batgirl murmured. “This doesn’t look good. Those fish will be the key to this sinister situation, whatever it might entail.”

“Quite right, my dear,” the Penguin confirmed. “It’s a pity we have to be rid of such a clever heroine. Wak, wak, wak!”

Batgirl ignored the Penguin. She focused instead on the fish swimming inside the aquarium, trying to identify them. “They’re piranha!” she said after a moment. Her voice betrayed her trepidation and horror.

“Precisely, Batgirl,” Penguin confirmed. “Wak, wak wak! These freshwater fish from South America can strip away every scrap of meat from a horse in an hour with their razor-sharp teeth.”

“That’s right,” Florence of Arabia said, approaching and capturing the Penguin’s attention. “I knew they were carnivorous when I borrowed them, but I must confess to having been quite remiss about feeding them, until now.” She laughed. “I’m sure they’ll thoroughly enjoy you, Batgirl. I do hope you’re comfortable, by the way.”

“Not at all, Florence,” Batgirl defiantly said. She looked up and down at the former henchgirl. “Pet ownership—"

“I suppose I could be accused of cruelty to animals,” Florence dismissively said. She regarded the captive with a wicked smile. “Oh well. I’ve always had a much higher regard for fish than rodents.”

“I’m surprised you came up with this deadly arrangement.” Batgirl gasped, squirming prettily, yet painfully, in her restraints. Her efforts, however, were utterly in vain.

Florence of Arabia smiled with a mixture of pride and modesty as she regarded the captive cutie. “I just brought a few of the elements into play. Penguin worked out all the devilish details. Everything is ready, Pengy.”

“You’ve gathered all the pertinent papers?” the wily bird asked.

“Everything concerning my insurance policy on this place is in a fireproof box. I thought it would be more convincing if we dug these materials out of the charred wreckage of this building after the fact.”

“Capital! That will be the crowning touch to a sensational insurance fraud scheme. Wak, wak, wak!”

“So, this is the belly dancing venue the Gotham City Decency League closed,” Batgirl deduced. “Belly dancing is usually quite respectable, but I can see with someone like you in charge–”

“That’s enough, Batgirl!” Florence raged. Then she calmed. “But, you’re right,” Florence said, “this is the Florence of Arabia Bellydancing Nightclub. It won’t, however, be for much longer. Our people have rigged this place to go up like a Roman candle, shortly after the piranha finish their meal.” She laughed.

“You’re going to burn down your old business?”

“Permit me, ladies,” the Penguin said. “Before Florence and I take our leave, we’ll trigger the sprinkler there, just above you. It’s been disconnected from the rest of the fire suppression system. Water from it will fall into both the aquarium and the wading pool in which you find yourself. Long before the pool is full, the piranhas will be able to leave their aquarium. Once they can swim out into the larger pool, they’ll find a fantastic meal awaiting them – you! Wak! Shortly after you’re gone, the wading pool will overflow, spilling water onto the floor and ultimately immersing the electrical wires running along the walls, which we’ve exposed. We’ve also disabled all the circuit breakers. As you can no doubt imagine, the combination will be quite electrifying.”

“Water, the means the fire department will use to fight this fire, will only make it grow,” Batgirl surmised.

“Gotham City’s negligence in fighting this fire will be a strong component of my insurance claim,” Florence predicted. “I’ll collect the full replacement value of the building, because the insurance company will have no choice but to pay. I’ll make millions.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Batgirl responded.

“Perhaps not,” Penguin said. “Still, Florence’s legal team is top notch and we can be patient. We’ll take solace in the fact the piranhas will have made a marvelous meal of you, Batgirl. Wak, wak wak!”

The Penguin waddled over to Batgirl and stood just outside the plastic pond. “You know, it’s fitting you’ll meet your end in basically the same way Catwoman did. Quite an appropriate revenge for my former partner in crime, wouldn’t you say?”

Batgirl averted her eyes. Although she was blameless, she couldn’t help but feel some responsibility for the Princess of Plunder’s death.

“It’s been a rough few months for women running around in form-fitting costumes,” Florence observed cattily.

“Quite,” Penguin agreed. He turned to Florence. “Ready?”

“Let’s go, Pengy,” she urged.

Penguin nodded and opened his umbrella as he wrapped an arm around Florence.

“Have I told you, my dear, I’m really starting to love your mind?” Penguin asked.

“How very novel,” Florence of Arabia remarked casually, resting her head on the Penguin’s shoulder. “I’m sure you were already aware, I’m more than just a pretty face.”

“Oh, Florence, I assure you. I noticed that straight away. Wak, wak wak!” Penguin confessed.

They stood for a moment while a jet of flame shot from the tip of the umbrella and exploded the lone sprinkler head. Water rained down on Batgirl and into the fish tank and pool. The Penguin and Florence remained dry, protected from stray droplets beneath the umbrella.

Batgirl was drenched almost instantly and realized the water pouring into the pool was gathering in the center and creeping toward its edges and her.

“It’s working, Pengy!” Florence of Arabia excitedly shouted over the din of the indoor rain.

“Of course it is!” the Penguin loudly replied. “A Penguin ploy performs perfectly! Shall we go?”

“Why not? The rest of what there will be to see is going to get icky, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it will, Florence. Come. Let us away. Batgirl is quite finished. Wak, wak, wak!”

The perfidious pair took their leave as water began lapping at Batgirl’s lower thighs.

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