A Crime Wave’s Inception

“It will take the laser longer to pierce the tank than to burn away the paint,” Batwoman said encouragingly. She relaxed, suspended in Black Widow’s sinister spider web, having realized her fierce struggles had so far been totally ineffective against the sticky, complex network of thin, strong strands entwining her.

“Do either of you have any idea how long we have before the gas is released?” Flamebird asked.

“I know we’ll have a lot more time to get out of this web if I can knock my laser away from that tank,” Batgirl said. She extended her fingers, keeping them away from the web, and fiercely wrenched her arms downward.

“How will you do that?” Flamebird asked.

“I’ve got to get one hand out of my gloves. We’ll have a chance – if I can do it!”

“It sounds like crooks have tried to suffocate you before,” Batwoman said.

“There isn’t much crooks haven’t tried to do to me before,” Batgirl said. She was still yanking her arms down viciously. Both Batwoman and Flamebird could see a thin line of flesh.

Batwoman was, of course, correct. The first attempt to asphyxiate Batgirl had come in Londinium, beneath Ffogg Place in Lord Marmaduke Ffogg and his sister Lady Penelope Peasoup’s dungeon. The English criminal siblings had twice tried to use lethal fog pellets to eliminate her. Fortunately for the Curved Crusader, the first time the pellets had been stale, while Batman was present with Anti-Lethal-Fog Batspray to disperse the fumes on the second.

Years later, Playgirl had enveloped Batgirl in a shrinking Death Bubble, which had proven to be unbreakable. The heroine had put herself in a trance, thus conserving oxygen, in the hopes of eventual rescue, which had ultimately been realized. More recently, the Sandman had tried to smother her with feathers. Batgirl had escaped that situation using a technique similar to the one she was trying to employ now.

“It looks like your plan is working,” Flamebird encouraged.

The line of flesh visible on each of Batgirl’s arms had grown wider. The Purple-clad Paragon was still pulling her arms downward.

“Of course!” Batwoman exclaimed. “The reason our hands are stuck in this sinister web is our gloves are all stuck to the strands. If we can take off our gloves, we’ll have our hands free!”

“Brilliant!” Flamebird said. “We’ll be able to use our upper bodies, if we can keep our capes between ourselves and this horrid web.” Suddenly, in a flash of insight, the Girl Wonder extrapolated the idea of removing gloves to its logical conclusion. “You aren’t seriously proposing we escape this web by undressing?!”

“For now, I just want to get my Bat-laser away from that tank,” Batgirl calmly explained. As she spoke, she spread her gloved fingers and let the back of the material stick to the web. She slid her hand downward and pulled it free of her glove. When her fingers emerged, they held a sharp knife. “Okay. Here we go!”

Flamebird was about to say something, but caught a glance from her aunt and remained silent. The young heroine realized all of their lives might well depend upon Batgirl’s concentration.

The apparent redhead raised her knife as she measured angles and distances. Then, she inhaled and sent her knife spinning toward her Bat-laser. The blade effortlessly severed the silken thread holding Batgirl’s laser in position. The second the threads parted, the laser fell against the tank and bounced away, with the miniscule light beam pointed harmlessly away from the tank of deadly gas.

“Yes!” Flamebird enthused.

“Nice throw, Batgirl,” Batwoman said. “We owe you our lives.”

“We’re not out of this web yet,” Batgirl said.

“I’ve got an idea about that,” Batwoman said. “Batgirl, can you reach my belt with your free hand?”

“I think so,” Batgirl answered.

“Your electric whip!” Flamebird said.

“Luckily, the crooks thought I carried all of my equipment in my Bat-kit.”

“Okay,” Batgirl said, stretching toward Batwoman’s belt. “How do I get out your whip?”

Batwoman directed her and took the whip in the hand closest to the floor. “Octo left the remote control for the web on the computer desk. I can reach it with the whip, but I’m not sure I can keep hold of it long enough to haul it back here. Do you think you can catch it one-handed, Flamebird?”

”Normally, yes,” Flamebird said. “With my hands stuck, it’s hard to say.”

“I’ll try to get it right into your hand. The most important thing is to keep it from sticking to the web, so we give ourselves a second chance at the catch if we need it.”

“Okay, Batwoman. Let’s try it.”

“Right.” Batwoman flicked her wrist and sent her electric whip licking toward the remote control. The whip snapped beside the device.

“That was close,” Batgirl encouraged.

“Thanks,” Batwoman said. “I’ve never used my electric whip with my hand stuck to a spider’s web before.”

“Try it again,” Flamebird suggested.

“Okay. Here we go.” The second attempt tapped one end of the control over the edge of the desk. “Now,” Batwoman said, “third time’s the charm.” The tip of Batwoman’s electric whip entwined the extended end of the web’s remote control. A different movement of the Brunette Bat’s wrist brought the control flying back toward the trapped trio of heroines.

Flamebird’s fingers stretched toward the oncoming control. The Distaff Duo and Batgirl held their breath. The control touched Flamebird’s fingertips and the young heroine grasped it before it came into contact with the sticky strands of the web. “Got it!” the Girl Wonder said, turning the control and pressing the button to lower the web to the floor.

“Nice work, you two,” Batgirl said. “It’s just as well we don’t keep score when it comes to saving each other from situations like this.”

“Right,” Flamebird agreed. “Our next problem is getting out of this web.”

“I think I can take care of the web,” Batwoman said. “Just beside where you found the handle of the whip is a switch that will engage its electrical properties.”

Batgirl reached for the switch. “I found it.” Batgirl paused. “Er, this won’t electrocute us, will it?”

“My whip isn’t designed to be lethal. We may get a buzz, but we’ll be fine. I hope this web, on the other hand, won’t be so fortunate.”

Batgirl took comfort in Batwoman’s assurances. “Ready.”

“Hit it!”

With a buzz and crackle, a blue bolt of energy illuminated the whip, which Batwoman let fall against the web. Instantly, the web conducted the power and collapsed behind the captives, leaving nothing but smoking ashes behind as Batgirl, Batwoman, and Flamebird dropped the short distance to the floor and safety.

“Gosh!” Flamebird said, shaking off the effects of the electrical shock, “that was close!”

“Another of our enemies’ murderous exercises has failed,” Batwoman declared. “The question is, what necessitated our immediate demise. Or, to put it another way, what exactly are Black Widow and the Parkers planning? Is there more to their plot than the Internet café opening?”

“I wonder if they’ll proceed with those plans once they discover we’ve escaped?” Batgirl picked up and switched off her Bat-laser to put it away once her belt was in place around her waist. As the Dominoed Dare-Doll put away her knife and slipped on her gloves, she continued, “If we’re going to find out, we’d better get after them.”

“They’re long gone by now,” Flamebird said, buckling her own belt into position.

“They might have been too clever about where they chose to eliminate us,” Batwoman said, returning her electric whip to its place on her belt and putting her Bat-kit away on her hip. “We might find a clue here.”

“Good thinking,’ Batgirl complimented.

“Octo left her disk of Black Widow’s farewell messages,” Flamebird said. “That means we have pictures of part of wherever they’re hiding out.”

“I’ll look into the disk while you two look for clues on Webmaster’s equipment.”

“Sounds good, Batgirl. You might cruise around and catch up with them, too,” Batwoman said.

“I intend to try. Luck is an important weapon when fighting crime.” Batgirl dashed out the door to her Batgirlcycle with the disk.

“We’ve got a lot of computers to look at,” Flamebird said, sitting down.

“I think we can save time by checking the server,” Batwoman said. She sat down at what she suspected was the master console. She turned the console on and was immediately confronted by a password screen.

“How will you get around the password protection?” Flamebird asked.

“People often write the password somewhere close to their computers. We’ll look around and even if we don’t find anything, Katherine Kane knows a few tricks. We’ll get in, believe me!”

Batgirl had no luck tracking Octo and the Parker siblings, but was drawn to the courthouse when she noticed a pair of figures step from a car pulled to a stop near a rear door. ‘I doubt court would be in session at this hour,’ she thought. ‘I’d better see what’s happening.’

It took Batgirl a moment to conceal the Batgirlcycle and approach the empty car that had attracted her attention, sparing it a mere glance before moving to the building’s door, which was ajar. “Once more into the breach,” she murmured, passing through the door and melting into the shadowy darkness of the hall beyond.

A tiny light in a room at the far end of the hall drew her attention. As she silently approached, she could clearly see a man crouched over something on the floor. Batgirl stepped through the door and reached for the light switch.

The man whirled toward her, shielding his eyes as the lights blazed. “What the—"

“I don’t know who you are,” Batgirl said authoritatively, “but you’ve got some explaining to do!”

“Who are you, lady?” the man asked, straightening and smiling as he exhaled the deep breath he had taken involuntarily.

“I might ask you the same question.”

The man wore slacks and a dark coat over a black turtleneck and faced her with eyes twinkling from a face framed by graying hair. “Well, my name is Desmond and I just came to clear up some misunderstandings.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“That’s right, lady. That outfit of yours doesn’t look like a uniform.”

“I’m a duly deputized agent of the law. Now, what is the nature of these misunderstandings and with whom did you arrange to be here tonight?”

“The misunderstandings are kind of historical and I don’t really have an appointment with anybody.”

“That’s a problem,” Batgirl said. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“Well, lady,” Desmond said. “Even if you are a cop, that’s a very generous offer you just made. I’m flattered, but kind of busy tonight.”

“You don’t understand. I’m placing you under arrest!”

“Oh.” Desmond frowned. “I don’t think that’s going to work at all.”

As the old man spoke, Batgirl realized someone had come up behind her. She pivoted, but it was already much too late. Something impacted the back of her knees, making her collapse. Batgirl spread her hands to break her fall and rolled back onto her hip, awaiting the follow-up attack. When it came, she raised an arm to block the swing her attacker took at the back of her head. Her entire arm went numb. She saw the light glinting on her attacker’s teeth as he raised his weapon again.

Batgirl ducked, drawing her legs forward and rising to her toes seconds later as the man’s weapon whipped past her head. She was poised to bring her attacker to the floor with a diving tackle, but had forgotten all about Desmond. The unarmed man had worked his way behind her and shoved her just as she lunged. Batgirl’s forward momentum stretched her body completely before she went down with a smack. With her arms and legs splayed, she could not prevent her chest from hitting the floor painfully, knocking the wind from her. Her initial attacker’s weapon hit the back of her head with a sickening crunch as her arms moved back to support her weight when she rose. Batgirl moaned and lay still.

“Nice shot,” Desmond said.

“What should we do with her?”

“Nothing. Remember that when I activate this bomb, we’ll only have ten minutes to leave the building before it blows.”

“You realize this is Batgirl?”

“Is she really a cop?” Desomand asked. “Never mind. In ten minutes, it won’t matter. She’ll be nothing but a memory.” The demolitions man engaged the timer on the bomb. “Come on! We can just make last call.”

His partner nodded and switched off the lights. “Good idea. We’ll each raise a glass to Batgirl as she goes up in smoke—literally.”

Seconds later, the unconscious heroine was left alone in the dark.

Minutes later, Batgirl moaned as she became slowly conscious of a throbbing pain centered on the back of her head. She reached back and touched her opposite shoulder, wincing slightly as her fingers brushed across the point of impact. She took a deep breath and tried to rise, falling back to the floor as her numb arm collapsed beneath her weight.

She shifted and used her other arm to rise to her knees. She blinked until a secondary wave of pain was banished. Slowly, she began to take in her surroundings.

The room was dark, but Batgirl’s eyes had adjusted to the gloomy murk. She searched for the source of a short, repetitive beeping seemingly synchronized with the throbbing pain in her head. When she found the source, her eyes widened and she shunted the pain aside.

The soft sound corresponded to a blinking light that drew Batgirl’s attention to a timer marking the passing seconds with a rapidly descending countdown. The timer was linked to a powerful explosive and well over half the allotted time had been exhausted. In fact, less than three minutes remained before the bomb was set to go off!

Batgirl’s vision blurred as her wide eyes narrowed. She passed a hand over her eyes and bent over the bomb. ‘If I can get this open in time, I might be able to disarm it,' she thought. ‘If not . . . . .’

She took a tool from her belt and quickly went to work on the housing encasing the bomb. A full minute passed before the panel atop the bomb pulled free and Batgirl’s tiny Batlight stabbed the darkened bomb’s interior.

Suddenly, her vision blurred again. She shook her head violently and blinked, focusing. She swore. ‘I’ll never get out of the blast radius now, and if I lose concentration or focus while detaching the timer from the explosive, I’m dead!’

Batgirl took a deep breath and glanced at the timer.

She had less than thirty seconds!

Batgirl reached for the connection. “Here goes,” she muttered.

The beeping stopped and Batgirl exhaled, rising to her feet and fighting off another wave of pain. She leaned against a file cabinet and called the police on her cell phone to report the incident.

When officers arrived, the pretty, young heroine was cruising along deserted side streets and imagining how she would benefit from a good night’s sleep after applying an ice bag to the back of her aching head.

The next morning, Gotham City’s fully recovered Chief Librarian, Barbara Gordon, made time to begin comparing the background on the disk Batgirl had taken from Webmaster’s Internet café to pictures in the public record. She had been able to crank out job-related work, and did so to devote her efforts to the painstaking process of crime fighting she had undertaken. As she worked in her private office, the radio softly played the news.

Meanwhile, Betty Kane combed through the files Batwoman and Flamebird had recovered from the Webmaster’s server the night before. She had neglected the sleep her coach had told her to get, but felt lives were at stake and that the sacrifice was short-term and worthwhile. The lecture her coach would give her, however, would be agonizing. Betty hoped radio news would keep her from dwelling on that depressing prospect. She reached up and flicked the switch.

As her crime-fighting colleagues pursued leads, Katherine Kane was forced to carry out her responsibilities as C.E.O. of Networld. She, too, however, had switched on her radio to listen to the morning news.

An announcer’s voice slowly became discernable through the static. “Mr. Van Jones, you are here protesting the showing of the gritty gangster film Casino this afternoon at the Bijou Theater, despite the fact the proceeds will help with the theater’s restoration.”

“That is correct,” the noted film collector said. “I think the selection of such a violent, modern film undermines the purpose of this great theater. It has been maintained to keep the great films of yesteryear in the public eye. I’ve shown silent films from my personal collection here for years and enjoyed the black and white talkies countless times. These are the films the committee running the theater intends to be shown here. I say, leave the modern, Hollywood schlock to those multiplexes with stadium seating and enormous cup holders!”

“You do realize organizers claim the screening this afternoon will raise a lot of money, don’t you, sir? Many of this afternoon’s patrons are expected to be from the more well-to-do of Gotham City society.”

“Of course I do. I would just prefer to have seen a classic selected to punctuate the purpose of this theater. The money will be welcome for when the theater returns to its mission. We all want the proverbial balcony open, so that we can let the public enjoy great, old movies.”

“Thank you for your perspective, Mr. Van Jones. This is Lawrence Queens, reporting from outside the Bijou Theater.”

Simultaneously, the three heroines realized the crooks next target would be the film screening. They began making arrangements to attend.

Over the intercom Katherine Kane told her personal assistant, Jeffery, to clear her schedule. She then crossed her office to her private elevator and used a special key to descend to a hidden level below the executive parking lot. This level was her corporate Bat Cavern, where she changed into Batwoman’s yellow and black costume, mounted her Harley Bat-Cycle, and roared toward the scene of the impending crime.

Barbara Gordon put her assistant, Myrtle, in charge at the library and hurried to her apartment, where her spinning bedroom wall gave her access to Batgirl’s headquarters. Following her tantalizing transformation, the Batgirlcycle carried her toward the Bijou Theater, where action awaited.

Betty Kane was already in her Flamebird costume, so all she did was cross the Bat Cavern and climb aboard her Bat-Gyro. Presently she was winging her way toward the Bijou Theater.

As the Bat-Women converged, the heavily armed Parker siblings burst through the theater doors out onto the sidewalk.

“This is too easy!” Mad Dog said, laughing.

“We should have gotten rid of those Bat chicks years ago!” Machine Gun said.

“I’ll give that idea two thumbs up!” Pretty Boy agreed.

“It isn’t like super-criminals haven’t been trying, boys.” Legs said. “Let’s get moving. We’re falling behind on our timetable.” The criminal siblings dashed across the street as approaching engines and the whir of air support grew louder. They paused. “What’s all that racket?”

“It’s Batwoman, Batgirl, and Flamebird!” Pretty Boy exclaimed.

“I thought you killed them!” Mad Dog accused his sister.

“Yeah!” Machine Gun seconded.

“I can’t believe they’re alive,” Legs said, frowning as she and her brothers faced their apparently resurrected nemeses. She shrugged. “Never mind, boys. We’ll solve this problem right now. Shoot ‘em down!”

The Parker Brothers seemed to snap out of their momentary immobility. Each selected one of the targets and opened fire.

Batgirl and Batwoman continued driving toward the gunmen, crouched behind their bulletproof windshields, as bullets whizzed around them. Flamebird manipulated a button on a panel near her hand as she brought her Bat-Gyro swooping toward the criminals.

“It’s not working!” Mad Dog worriedly observed.

“I‘m running out of ammo,” Pretty Boy announced.

“I need to eat more carrots,” Machine Gun glumly decided. “My aim is off.”

“All right,” Legs said, assessing the ineffectiveness of the barrage of bullets her brothers were spewing. “Let’s head for the truck.” She led her brothers away, running.

The Bat-woman converged on the fleeing criminals’ and conferred as they abandoned their vehicles. “I activated the Bat Gyro’s Bat-magnet and reversed the polarity,” Flamebird said. “It worked perfectly. No bullet even came close to me.”

“The safest place to be when under fire from the Parker Brothers has always been directly in front of them,” Batgirl said. “Legs can shoot straight, but she’s the only one.”

“They’re getting away,” Batwoman warned. “Come on!”

The terrific-looking trio went pounding after the criminal quartet and saw them dash into the back of a parked truck and close the rear doors.

“We’ve got them,” Flamebird said, slamming her fist into her gloved hand.

“Maybe,” Batwoman cautioned. “They’re up to something. Otherwise, why would they corner themselves by running into a truck?”

Batgirl took out her Bat-laser and blew out the truck’s rear tires. “We’ll ask them,” she decided, stepping to the back of the truck and banging on the door with her fist. “Open up!” No sound came in response. “Open up, or I’ll cut you out of there!” Again nothing happened in response. “You asked for it,” Batgirl murmured.

She aimed her Bat-laser and cut the hinges off the truck’s rear door. The Distaff Duo attached Bat-magnets to the door and pulled it away from the truck. Empty apace yawned before them as the back of the truck came open.

“Impossible!” Batwoman said. “They can’t have just disappeared.” She stepped into the back of the truck and looked around, finding nothing. Batgirl moved to the cab and discovered it was just as empty as the back.

Flamebird ducked under the truck and examined the underside of the space in back. She found a latch and a pair of hinges. Operating the latch caused a square panel to swing downward. Two handles were revealed above the trapdoor. Flamebird pushed upward, straightening. Moments later, she had lifted a plate in the floor of the truck and raised her head and shoulders through the revealed aperture. “It looks like they got out through here.”

Batwoman peered through the open trapdoor. “There’s a manhole down there, too. So, we know how they got away, but not where they went.”

“We could go after them!” Flamebird suggested.

“We’d be lost in the sewers after about five minutes,” Batgirl warned. “Our being here suggests the Parkers’ crimes are predictable.”

“So, they’re getting away this time, but next time, we’ll be waiting for them!” Flamebird said.

“We should check in with Commissioner Gordon,” Batwoman suggested.

As the heroines regrouped, the Parker siblings returned to the Old Criminals’ Home where their mother sat with Black Widow, Octo, Mr. Desmond Marshall, and Frank Nitty Gritty while a child played on the floor.

“How did the job go, Honey?” Mrs. Parker asked.

“Just fine, Mom,” Legs replied, settling into a chair and crossing her namesakes as she reached for a glass of iced lemonade. She took a sip and nodded. “The boys did pretty well holding up the patrons for money and jewels. I got to the box office before they had finished counting the afternoon’s take. So, we got that, their petty cash box, and a little extra I found after I blew the safe because Mr. Marshall had given us the means.”

“Call me Desmond, Honey. The little piece of plastique did the job then?” the inventive gangster asked.

“It worked beautifully, Desmond. So did the trapdoor in the truck. That was a good idea, Mr. Nitty Gritty.”

“You can call me Frank, Honey. Thanks. Some of our old tricks work pretty well.”

“That’s why we brought you handsome devils into this gang,” Black Widow said, regarding the old gangster with a smile.

“We’ve got enough talent here to run this town or pick it clean,” Mrs. Parker declared. “Running a gang from here might even be a better idea than taking over the prison.”

“With Batman’s women out of the way, the rest of the jobs should be easy,” Octo said.

“That’s one snag I discovered,” Legs Parker said. “Batgirl and the Distaff Duo survived our trap at the Internet café.”

“How?” Octo demanded.

“I have no idea or it wouldn’t have happened,” Legs said. “In my experience, Batgirl is very hard to kill. After awhile, it really becomes annoying.”

“I knew Batgirl had at least survived your efforts at the Internet Café,” Desmond said. “She interrupted Benny and I when we went to blast the records at the courthouse for you. Batgirl should have been blown to bits. She was unconscious when I engaged the countdown.”

“I have heard no news of any explosions in town last night,” Octo said.

“Batgirl must have revived and defused the bomb,” Legs reasoned, shrugging. You didn’t tie her up or anything?”

“It seemed unnecessary,” Desmond answered. “Besides, we went there to take care of the records, not Batgirl.”

"It seems you didn't take care of either," Octo retorted drily.

“Well, the Dynamic Dingbats weren’t cupcakes when we went against them,” the senior Ma Parker remarked. “They busted into Warden Crichton’s prison as soon as they realized we had taken it over.”

“I’m surprised. Shouldn't such rash actions make it ridiculously easy to get rid of them?” Octo asked.

“You'd think so,” Legs confirmed. “First we tried to blow them up with the Batmobile and then we attempted frying them on the prison’s electric chairs. Neither arrangement did the job.”

“Your early encounters with the caped, dynamic dolls are ancient history,” Black Widow thoughtfully said. “In the light of recent events, it seems the preparations we made for our foes may be employed sooner than I’d planned. They’re all crushing bores and I can’t wait to be rid of them!”

“Are you going to short-circuit their brains?” Mr. Marshall asked. “That gizmo fascinates me.”

“No, you darling man. Mrs. Parker and I don’t need Batman and Robin, since we have you two and all of your colleagues.”

Frank Nitty Gritty and Mr Marshall smiled, glancing at one another.

“You boys earned your money on this job,” Mrs. Parker said. “We’ll take care of you personally in just a little while.”

The gangsters’ grew even happier and they began to laugh. Soon the entire assembly was laughing.

“Speaking of having things, I’d like to take the loot we need sold off to my old friend Freddy the Fence,” Legs said, once normalcy had returned. “I’m sure he’ll give me very favorable terms.”

“What are you going to do with your scrumptious friend Spade after you and Freddy . . . um,” Octo paused to find the right word, “negotiate?”

“If my negotiations go particularly well, Mr. Spade could suddenly find himself available,” Legs answered, favoring her young friend with a wicked grin.

“If that were to happen, I’m sure I could console him,” Octo said, her eyes sparkling. “Would you say it’s likely?”

“I almost married Freddy.”

“You’re a real friend, Legs.”

“You wouldn’t think so if you’d met my good friend Freddy. Besides, it seems to me you’re getting plenty of attention. Aren’t you seeing Webmaster while my brothers are busy falling all over themselves to hit on you?”

“As for Webmaster,” Octo explained, “he started talking about featuring me as a model on one of his pay websites. Given what we’re all planning, I don’t need the money or any of the associated crap.”

“How much money?” Legs asked.

“Not enough! He tells me I’m beautiful, but I can‘t help wondering if he’s thinking of me as a person or as a commodity who can grow his bank balance. Am I being unfair? I don’t care. Honestly, lately, I’ve been feeling like getting a new man.”

Legs smiled sympathetically. “I know my brothers would be pleased to hear it. Tell me, does Mad Dog get the first crack at you?”

Octo’s instinctive, concise response to that question remained unspoken as the redhead considered her audience and took in some air. “What are you talking about?” she asked after what she hoped had not been too awkward a pause.

“You told Mad Dog he is a rabid animal.”

“Yes. So what?”

“What is he supposed to think?”

“Do you recall the context of that statement?”

“Remind me.”

“I was under the impression I’d shot Mad Dog down like I was using a machine gun.”

“Oh,” Leg Parker said, with an amused smile. “If you’d really prefer him —”

“If you two have finished horse trading,” Mrs. Parker sternly said, interrupting, “I’ll go over the next job.”

“Pay attention, girls,” Black Widow directed. “Strict attention!”

“I don’t get it,” Chief O’Hara complained. “Black Widow and the Parker family are obviously working together, but nobody knows fer’ sure what they stole at the Anderson Museum and there was no sign of Black Widow at the Bijou.”

“Yet, they tried very hard to kill all of you,” Commissioner Gordon said. “That fact suggests something ominous planned for the near future.”

“The Parker family targeted social events when they first came to Gotham City,” Batgirl recalled.

“Black Widow robbed banks,” Flamebird said.

“There was one other aspect to Black Widow’s robberies, Flamebird,” Batwoman excitedly recalled. “She carried them out in alphabetical order.”

“The Anderson Museum is associated with the letter ‘A’,” Chief O’Hara said, again displaying his keen deductive mind.

“The Bijou Theater starts with ‘B’,” the Commissioner said.

“But the movie, Casino, being shown at the Bijou, started with a ‘C’,” Flamebird observed.

“What would start with ‘B’ then?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“Batgirl,” Batwoman said.

“Or Batwoman,” Batgirl concurred.

“The attempted murders,” the Commissioner said.

“Then, are we at ‘C’ or ‘D’?” Flamebird asked, exasperated.

“The files we recovered from the Webmaster’s server may provide a clue,” Batwoman said.

“I’m still looking at the message Black Widow helpfully provided,” Batgirl said.

“We’ll keep in touch through the Commissioner’s office while we apply our brain power to these perfidious puzzles.” Flamebird suggested.

“Good thinking,’ Batwoman praised.

“Right,” Batgirl agreed.

The terrific-looking trio of Gotham City’s shapely sentinels spun toward the double doors of the office and dashed to their appointed tasks with capes billowing behind them.

“There are three things I’ve come to rely on more and more heavily in recent years, Chief O’Hara.”

“Faith, hope, and charity, Commissioner?”

“Batgirl, Batwoman, and Flamebird.”

Late that afternoon in the Bat Cavern, Flamebird opened a folder from among the files recovered from the Webmaster’s server. “Wow!” she said, her hand hovering near a drink for which she had reached. “They’ve got as much information about this place, the Diva’s Den, as anyone could want.”

“Did you say the ‘Diva’s Den?’” Batwoman asked.

“Yes. They have schematic drawings of the security system, architects’ drawings of the building, photos of every room, notes about the security staff, and timetables for traffic lights in the area. Black Widow is planning something.”

“The name of that establishment sounds familiar.” Batwoman reached for a phone and called her office.

“Executive line. This is the office of Katherine Kane. My name is Jeffery. How may I help you?”

“This is Katherine, Jeffery. I need to know if I was invited to a function at a place called the ‘Diva’s Den’ recently.”

“Of course, Ms. Kane. Let me check.” He put her on hold briefly and came back with the answer. “Yes. One of your rivals, Mr. Bridges, invited you to a dinner for movers and shakers in the industry this evening. The invitation implied you would feel at home in the establishment.”

Batwoman made a face. “Carson Bridges was probably very sure I’d turn him down.”

“You did so immediately, as I recall,” Jeffery reminded her. “I trust you’ve not changed your mind?”

“No! Mr. Bridges has had too much fun at my expense already.” Batwoman sighed. “Thank you, Jeffery. I won’t be back to the office today, so wrap things up and go home.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Goodbye.” Batwoman put the phone down and sat very still for a moment. “I am very tempted, Flamebird.”

“I don’t know what this guy Carson Bridges did to you, but I know you aren’t going to let Black Widow victimize him.”

“Carson Bridges is the most colossal . . .” Batwoman paused and took a deep breath, “loser I know. Besting him in every business category every month is the closest thing to ecstasy I let myself experience at the office.”

“Your work is more competitive than I thought,” Flamebird said diplomatically.

Katherine Kane admitted to herself that she was easier to work for when Networld was ahead of Bridges’ company. “Competition makes us better. Despite the fact Mr. Bridges is —”

“A loser?”

“At the very least,” Batwoman said, grinning, “he is a citizen and withholding our protection would be wrong.”

“So, you and I are going to a party?”

“We’ll be working, Flamebird, and we don’t want to be late. Let’s go!”

The Distaff Duo landed their Bat Gyros on the roof of the Diva’s Den. They watched and waited.

Below, a sumptuous meal was served. Then, after the dishes had been cleared, the speakers, who addressed the attendees from behind a podium placed at the head of and atop an enormous, central table, began to move through the evening’s planned program.

Just after Carson Bridges stepped to the microphone for the evening’s final speech, gunfire erupted, and the self-appointed emcee was pulled violently backwards. Two women brandishing machine guns emerged to flank the microphone.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies and gentlemen,” Octo said.

“We’ve come to collect your generous donations to our favorite charity,” Legs Parker explained as she waved her weapon menacingly. “Our associates will be moving among you, collecting your money and valuables. We’d like to thank you in advance for your generosity, because we know you will not want to suffer the consequences of greed.”

The Parker Brothers, Spade, and French Freddy the Fence began circulating among the tables to collect cash and jewelry. Above them, the Distaff Duo prepared to literally crash the party.

The overhead skylight shattered, enabling Batwoman and Flamebird to descend upon the criminals like angels of doom. “It’s you who will suffer the consequences of greed,” Batwoman said as she yanked the machine gun away from Legs.

“You’ll all be back in jail before morning!” Flamebird predicted as she disarmed Octo.

“We’ll see about that,” Legs Parker retorted.

“Get them, boys!” Octo commanded, her green eyes flashing.

The Distaff Duo disabled the automatic weapons, then vaulted to the tabletops, as the crowd of innocent bystanders scattered. The combatants converged. Batwoman and Flamebird waited on the tabletops, ready to serve up pain. The men approached warily on the floor. Black and red boots caught Spade and French Freddy in the chin and sent them flying to shatter a buffet table against one wall.

The Parker Brothers mounted the tables. Pretty Boy led the way and felt his legs cut from beneath him and his shoulders gripped from behind as he fell forward. Batwoman and Flamebird used his forward momentum to send him flying to land on another table, which collapsed.

Mad Dog lowered his head and charged at Flamebird. She took a step back and pushed him to one side as he passed. The thug tumbled from the banquet table and took out four chairs when he fell.

Machine Gun threw a punch at Batwoman, but was frustrated when she sidestepped. He felt her heel sweep his ankles from beneath him as her elbow impacted his ribs, toppling him from the table. He landed on a tray stand, destroying it and remaining still momentarily.

Batwoman and Flamebird waited with hands on knees as the Parker Brothers attacked again. This time Mad Dog and Machine Gun were dispatched with kicks to the chin and Pretty Boy was sent stumbling toward the other two, bowling them over like tenpins as he fell. Each thug brought a chair to the tabletop for the third attack and left groaning after their intended victims ducked, causing the men to clobber one another.

Spade and French Freddy rejoined the fighting family at they renewed their attack again, mounting the table and charging. The Distaff Duo separated and crouched to catch Spade and French Freddy below their knees. The criminals’ forward momentum, together with the Distaff Duo’s attack, lifted them into the air and sent them head-over-heels to the floor. Everyone on the table turned around and the Parkers charged again. Machine Gun and Mad Dog felt arms clamp around their throats, taking them off of their feet and flinging them over the edge of the table to the floor. Once the trio of remaining combatants faced one another again, Pretty Boy charged with widespread arms. Two fists slammed repeatedly into his gut, bringing him to his knees. Together the Distaff Duo lifted the moaning thug and flung him from the battle zone. He did not move after hitting the floor. Batwoman and Flamebird shook hands.

Octo and Legs Parker were glowering at the Distaff Duo.

“We’ve dealt with your thugs again,” Batwoman said.

“Now, it’s your turn!” Flamebird said. Together the heroines walked along the banquet table, approaching the wicked women.

“It seems we’ll have to deal with them ourselves one more time,” Octo said, sounding bored.

“It’s like I always say,” Legs Parker said. “You can’t rely on men to do women’s work. Let’s get them!”

Together, Legs and Octo quickly gripped the near end of the tablecloth and yanked, upending the Distaff Duo. The unexpected tactic caught Batwoman and Flamebird off guard.

Legs and Octo went on pulling until the heroines were brought within reach. Each caught a heroine and slammed her to the floor. The Stunned Sentinels lay helpless as Legs and Octo unleashed a barrage of bashing blows that left the heroines’ battered bodies bruised and beaten. Unconsciousness claimed the clobbered cuties moments later.

“That was fun,” Octo said, straightening and breathing heavily as a smile illuminated her pretty face. “Especially considering what they just cost us. What shall we do with them?”

“I suggest we take our losses out of their hides,” Legs said, casting a baleful glance at the captives.

“I like the sound of that idea. The question is: how?”

“You’ll see, Octo,” Legs said, giggling. “Tie them up.” She shook her head disgustedly as she regarded her brothers and her pair of would-be suitors. “Boys, wake up!” She pointed at the unconscious crimefighters. “Bring these two when we go . . . and don’t forget the loot!”

Cold overwhelmed Batwoman instantly as her eyes opened. The back of her bare thighs was in contact with wet cement that seemed to have already sucked every scintilla of heat from her body. Wetness had saturated the end of her cape and was beginning to soak through her yellow leotard. She exhaled and was surprised her breath was invisible as she shivered. Her black boots and gloves protected her extremities from the wetness of her environment, but she had been bound to metal pipes, which seemed colder than the cement beneath her. ‘Where am I?’

“Batwoman is awake, Octo,” someone with a French accent said.

“French Freddy the Fence,” Batwoman softly said. “What have you done with Flamebird?!” The captive bat’s voice became more forceful as she asked the question and she was delighted her teeth were not chattering as she spoke.

“Oh, nothing, Batwoman,” Octo said, giggling and favoring the pretty prisoner with a smirk. “I think, however, that the Parkers have nearly finished with her.”

“You fiends!” Batwoman raged as heat visibly warmed her beautiful, bound body. “If those brutish brothers have laid a hand on her––”

Octo laughed. “Your concern is so touching,” she said, barely controlling her laughter. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. The little girl with whom you work won’t be getting older or wiser after tonight. The Parkers have been assigned to eliminate her, as the rest of us have been ordered to deal with you.”

“So, I’m to be killed.” Her statement was a recognition of fact, not a question.

“Painfully and publicly,” Octo confirmed. Strands of straight red hair reached over her collarbones on each side of her lovely face. “Hence, we drained this fountain with its statue of Justice in the middle. It’s in the park near the Old Criminal’s Home, and you’ve no doubt realized you are in it. Very soon, we’ll turn it on. Later, you’ll have no chance to retire as a superheroine, because you’ll have drowned. I’m so sorry to have to burst your bubble, so to speak.”

Octo’s response to Batwoman’s question explained everything. The cement forming a bowl beneath the fountain had not yet dried since the criminals had drained it. Obviously, they would refill it, now that she was installed against its curved side with her feet bound in the center and her head positioned near the bowl’s lip. A glance upward told Batwoman the water level would rise above her head before fountain was completely refilled. Also, as the slow process went on, water would creep up the length of her body, chilling her to the bone as more and more of her body became immersed. As if this fiendishly frigid torture would not be cruel enough, the water would eventually compel her to hold her breath for longer than was humanly possible.

Ultimately and inevitably, she would involuntarily inhale. Water would fill her lungs. Her vain attempts to expel the liquid would only cause pain before she blacked out. Her body would be found in the public park sometime the next day, still bound in place below the water’s surface.

The Attractive Avenger hurled herself against her bonds, thrashing violently, but vainly.

“The ropes restraining your limbs are made of spider silk, Batwoman,” Octo said. The ravishing redhead looked away from her captive and up at the moonlit sky. She seemed to draw inspiration from the sight. “Those gossamer strands are water resistant and that silk happens to be the strongest substance on Earth.” She returned her attention to Batwoman. “You aren’t going anywhere!”

“You’ve considered this carefully,” Batwoman said. She shuddered and the movement had nothing to do with the cold.

“My boss did. As you’re probably aware, she’s a criminal genius from the old school.”

“Criminals have tried to drown Flamebird and me before,” Batwoman confidently said. “They failed!”

Her confidence was an act, but Batwoman was not lying. Britannia, the masquerading British monarch, had gained control of the Bat-Gyros and sent them out over the sea, where the vehicles had run out of fuel and begun dragging the Distaff Duo to the ocean floor, according to the criminal’s plan. Only Batman, Robin, and Batgirl’s intervention had saved them.

“Well, Legs and I wanted to do this job right. So, we were careful not to make mistakes. The plan, as you noted, is working rather well,” Octo observed, laughing. Then she went on, “The best part is, we’re about to give you something else to think about. I know you’re deeply concerned about your own personal welfare–”

“You wouldn’t be getting anywhere near a point, would you?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Octo retorted, pointing to a tripod being raised nearby. “Look!”

Batwoman looked and inhaled. Flamebird’s body dangled from the tripod!

The younger heroine moaned. “Where am I?” she weakly asked, as consciousness returned.

“You should be more worried about where you’ll be in a very few minutes,” Legs Parker advised, laughing.

“What do you mean?!” Flamebird demanded.

“Look down.”

Flamebird did. She realized her wrists had been bound behind her back and she hung from ropes wound around her shoulders and beneath her armpits. This arrangement seemed to be a blessing. Had she been hung with a noose, she would likely have already died of a broken neck, or be slowly dying as the rope choked her. Additional bindings had been tightly wound around her thighs, knees, and ankles. Several yards below her feet, she saw a dark grey square.

“This doesn’t look good,” Flamebird muttered.

Legs Parker and her siblings laughed. She stood looking up at the captive with her namesakes spread in a shooting stance and a pistol held beside one hip. Her brothers were stationed at the legs of the tripod, supporting it.

“It’s all a matter of perspective, my dear,” the female gangster explained. “Directly beneath you, a memorial to fallen police officers from the days before our friends at the Old Criminals’ Home retired is being constructed. Right now, the project is a little ahead of schedule. Before we go, we’ll turn the monument into a real tomb, so that one of Gotham City’s modern-day defenders may also be remembered—posthumously and anonymously.”

“So, that grey stuff is cement?”

“Semisolid wet cement,” Legs elaborated. “Once you’re dropped in, that sinking feeling you’ll experience will enable you to easily understand the gravity of your situation.”

“You’ll never get away with this!”

“Really? Well, since you’re about to disappear, I wonder who will stop me?”

“There’s always Batwoman!”

“Not for much longer,” Legs said. She indicated the fountain where the beautiful, brunette bat lay bound and laughed.

“Batwoman!”

“Flamebird!”

“Within seconds, Octo and I will be involved in a race to your deaths. Each of us has supervised the setup for your individual, perilous predicaments.”

“The best part of our race, though, is that, when it’s over, we both win . . . and you both lose! You’ll both have perished!” Octo interjected. “Are you ready, Legs?”

“I am if you are, Octo.”

“Splendid,” Octo said. She sashayed to the valve that would seal Batwoman’s fate, where Spade waited, watching her with understandable interest. She folded her hands on his shoulder and let her chin rest on them before speaking softly. “Spade, prepare to turn on the faucet.” Catwoman’s former employee nodded and reached for the valve.

“All set,” Legs said, raising her gun and steadying the weapon with both hands, carefully aiming.

“Okay!” Octo said. She and Spade were regarding one another with smiles on their lips and devils dancing in their eyes. “All right!” the redhead said, focusing on her murderous chores. “We’ll finish them after I count down from three. Three - Two - One. Kill them!”

Spade turned the valve as Legs Parker fired a bullet that severed the knot holding Flamebird’s body suspended. Water began gushing into the fountain after a brief moment during which pressure forced it upward through the pipes. Meanwhile, Flamebird dropped straight down, plunging into the semisolid substance waiting to swallow her. Already her feet had vanished in the ooze and her calves were being sucked down quickly.

“Come on!” Legs urged. “Let’s get going while the Distaff Duo dies!” She, French Freddy, and her brothers climbed into a car. “We can enjoy the show from a more comfortable vantage point.”

Spade and Octo hurried to the getaway vehicle and momentarily regarded each of the captives from their seats. “I’m sure your everlasting end will be vastly entertaining. Go, Legs!” The motor revved and everyone in the vehicle laughed. Moments later, Batwoman and Flamebird were left alone to die. As they contemplated their individual fates, neither heroine could help being transfixed and horrified as the means of the other’s murder unfolded inexorably before her eyes.

Earlier that evening, at the public library, Barbara Gordon was engrossed in her comparison of the images from Black Widow’s recording to photos of building interiors from around Gotham City. She was beginning to consider taking the remaining books home to continue her research over a light dinner when the images at which she was looking made her freeze and stare. Her heart rate increased as she examined the picture in the book and the identical photo beside it. “I didn’t know the Old Criminal’s Home was on the National Register of Historic Places,” she murmured.

She put her research materials away; sent an e-mail to the police about her findings; locked the library, which had closed several hours previously; and headed for her apartment. She ate a quick, light dinner and crossed her bedroom before undergoing her tantalizing transformation and racing to the criminals’ headquarters at the top legal speed.

Once there, she glanced through a lighted window as she Bat-climbed the wall. Legs Parker, Octo, and their entourage filed into a room where Black Widow and the senior Ma Parker sat in rocking chairs talking. Batgirl stopped Bat-climbing, let go of her rope with one hand, and placed a Bat-microphone against the window.

Legs began speaking as Batgirl slipped the earpiece under her cowl. “It’s been sort of a mixed night.”

“Oh?” Black Widow queried.

“Batwoman and Flamebird interrupted the job at the Diva’s Den, enabling most of the goodies to get away. We, however, captured them and took them for a little ride--to the park.”

“I don’t understand,” the senior spider said.

“That’s good news,” Grandma Parker explained. “On one of our walks over there, the girls and I worked out ways to make use of some of the scenery.”

“That’s right,” Octo enthused. “Legs and I made final arrangements for the Distaff Duo, and they’re well underway as we speak. We’re all looking forward to watching their last moments after this meeting. So, what’s next on our agenda, boss?”

Outside, Batgirl was torn between saving her colleagues and learning the criminals’ plans. She considered the question as they continued.

“You’ve all done very well,” Black Widow praised. “I believe we’ve come to the letter ‘E’.”

“Just a minute,” Grandma Parker said. “As much as I like your plan to go through the alphabet, committing crimes, if that is all we do, we’re thinking small.”

“The proceeds from the operation so far have been considerable,” French Freddy pointed out, smiling, “even if the dividends from the last job were somewhat unexpected.”

“Granted,” Mrs. Parker agreed, “but compared to what we stand to make, it’s chicken feed. An unimaginable hoard of riches will be ours, if we just let our imagination be our guide.”

“What’s for breakfast, Ma?” Mad Dog asked. “All our riches are making me hungry. Just imagine what we can afford.”

"Champagne wishes and caviar dreams,” Spade said, seeming to become entranced as he looked past Legs and French Freddy at his pulchritudinous prospective new paramour, Octo.

“We’ll eat before the next phase, boys,” the criminal matriarch said. “Now, imagine Gotham City gripped by lawless chaos.”

“It’d be dangerous, Ma,” Machine Gun said.

“Small timers would run amok, committing all manner of petty crimes and cause panic in the streets,” Pretty Boy predicted.

“Police resources would be tied up and spread out, leaving the bigger scores for more organized and experienced outfits like ours,” Octo said.

“Interesting,” Black Widow mused, leaning back in her rocking chair. “The question would be how to bring about such a chaotic state of affairs.”

“Simple,” Mrs. Parker explained. “Three people who don’t wear capes are in charge of all law enforcement in this town–”

“Commissioner Gordon,” Machine Gun interrupted.

“Chief O’Hara,” Mad Dog contributed.

“That new lieutenant, Diana Mooney, seems to have a lot of influence,” Pretty Boy suggested.

“That’s right, boys,” the original Ma Parker complimented. “Now, just what do you think would happen if they were all three to be taken out?”

Everyone in the room began to laugh. Outside, Batgirl held her breath and felt her heart rate increase.

“We would be able to move in and own this town,” Legs said. Her eyes sparkling greedily. “We’d establish ourselves quickly enough and then start pulling strings. With that kind of power we could to anything and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop us!”

“That’s right, Legs,” her mother said. “I sent a team of our experts here at the home out to take care of each of those law enforcement officers. Shortly after dawn, this town’s top cops will be mere memories, and by noon, all of Gotham City will know it!”

‘Not if I have anything to say about it,’ Batgirl thought. She felt her muscles tense and exhaled, trying vainly to relax. ‘Ma Parker’s intended victims need to be warned about the impending attacks . . . but they’ll be safer if I can learn by whom, how and when these attempted murders will take place.’ There was more. ‘Batwoman and Flamebird are in danger, but given the tendency of criminals to use elaborate and torturous means to eliminate their enemies in addition to helpfully explaining them before engaging the deadly apparatus, the Distaff Duo will certainly survive long enough for me to gather some information before coming to their rescue.’

“We’ll be able to capitalize on the chaos within two days,” Black Widow said. “With all of our opposition out trying to maintain order, we’ll be able to steal whatever we want, whenever we want, from whomever we want. It’s a brilliant plan, Mrs. Parker.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Black. I think it’s rather good myself.”

“You know, the schedule leaves us time to get rid of the Dynamic Duo and Batgirl,” Octo said practically.

“I don’t care what happens to Batman and Batgirl, but I have plans for Robin,” Legs Parker said. “You know, Batgirl was on our trail along with the Distaff Duo. I wonder where she is now?”

Inspired, Batgirl decided this remark was her cue. She put her listening device away and kicked off of the wall to swing toward the window separating her from the villains. ‘Forcing Grandma Parker to recall her hit teams and countermand their orders will be even more effective than informed warnings. Not having to worry about Daddy, Chief O'Hara and Diana will enable me to save my crime-fighting colleagues.’ Her boot soles shattered the window seconds before the Feminine Scourge of Crime stood crouched in the center of the debris her entrance had caused, facing her enemies in a fighting crouch. “I’m closer than you think, Legs! It’s the end of the line – for all of you,” she said authoritatively. “Surrender!”

“Maybe it’s the end of the line for you, Batgirl!” the senior Ma Parker replied.

“All right, my marvelous muscled marauders,” Black Widow said, “get her!” French Freddy the Fence, Spade, and the Parker Brothers surrounded Batgirl.

Batgirl unleashed one of her famous showgirl kicks at French Freddy, but was surprised when he caught her ankle and held her leg high in the air.

“Isn’t he marvelous?” Legs Parker asked.

Batgirl adapted her tactics, hopping into the air and preparing to slam her free foot into the man holding her leg. She then planned to land on her hands, spring back to her feet, and renew her attack. Spade had seen Batgirl fight before and had bruises to prove who had won. With a crooked smile, he intercepted her kicking leg. Batgirl’s shoulders fell backward and Pretty Boy caught them. The thug’s brothers each seized Batgirl’s arms.

As the others maintained their grip on Batgirl’s flailing limbs, Pretty Boy wrapped her shoulders with his arms. Kicking impotently, squirming fiercely, and bucking with the energy of a maniac, Batgirl fought to free herself from the thugs’ combined grip. Nevertheless, they maintained their hold on the thrashing, titian-haired heroine.

‘Well,’ Batgirl thought bitterly, ‘getting caught isn’t going to help anyone whose life is in danger tonight, and I’m about to be numbered among the victims! This is not good—and will probably only get worse!’

“I’m impressed,” Octo announced, grinning at Spade as Batgirl squirmed violently, yet helplessly, in the five men’s grip.

“Aw, she ain’t so tough,” boasted Mad Dog. Batgirl ineffectually snarled at him.

“Well,” Mrs. Parker observed. “It looks like you got her.”

“Yes,” her daughter agreed. “Now what?”

“Bind her, then bring her to the operating theater,” Black Widow commanded. “Batgirl will be staying—forever!”

“I don’t think so!” Batgirl cried. “I’ll be out of here soon enough – and you’ll all be in jail shortly thereafter!”

Batgirl’s prediction brought laughter from the villains.

The men carried Batgirl to a table and held her down while Octo and Legs each slipped on a pair of gloves. Batgirl felt her body stretched to its maximum and she was held firmly in place. Legs unwound a short length of sticky, silken chord and wound it around the captive cutie’s ankles, drawing it tight and tying it expertly. A second similar chord drew her knees together and a third encircling her thighs rendered her legs immobile. Octo, meanwhile, directed the men to bend Batgirl’s arms into a trapezoid around her cowled head. She arranged for the heroine to maintain this position by binding each of Batgirl’s wrists to her opposite elbow.

“What is this stuff?” Batgirl demanded, struggling vainly in her strange, sticky bondage.

“It’s spider silk,” Legs Parker responded gleefully. “The strongest substance on Earth. Not only is it wound around you very tightly, the tenacious grip it has on you will remain constant, as you’ll soon realize.”

“Don’t touch Batgirl’s bindings when you move her, boys,” Grandma Parker cautioned. “They’re sticky.” The Parker Brothers rolled a mobile hospital bed into position beside the table and carefully transferred Batgirl to it. The criminals whisked her away and brought her to a stop beneath a light in an operating room.

“Anesthetize the patient,” Black Widow ordered.

Having been captured, Batgirl had decided escape would afford her the best opportunity to warn her father and his colleagues about the killers hunting them and to rescue the Distaff Duo from their impending fate. Her heart sank when she heard Black Widow’s command. ‘There will be no way to tell how long I’ve been unconscious when – or perhaps if, I revive!’ the Purple-clad Paragon thought. ‘It’s possible my rash action will cost Daddy, Chief O’Hara, Batwoman, Flamebird, and Diana their lives!’ Seconds later, an oxygen mask covered Batgirl’s nose and mouth. Despite holding her breath as long as she could, Batgirl was soon rendered unconscious.

She would never know if the senior citizen supervillainess had miscalculated the duration of her unconsciousness, or if she intended for Batgirl to revive just before her fateful operation’s conclusion. Regardless, Batgirl could neither move a muscle, nor guess at what deadly danger she had been subjected during the unknown duration of her artificial slumber.

Black Widow came into view and raised a hypodermic needle so Batgirl could see it. The senior citizen supervillainess slid the needle into Batgirl’s hip at an angle so it penetrated her flesh deeply without drawing blood or causing much pain. Slowly the stopper was depressed and the needle withdrawn, so that the contents of the hypo were left behind. A moment later, Black Widow drew back and sighed. “There. The final injection is finished.”

“Soon, so is Batgirl,” Grandma Parker said with a laugh.

“What have you done to me?” Batgirl demanded. Her voice seemed softer than she thought it should be. ‘Perhaps it’s a lingering effect of the knockout gas,’ Batgirl speculated.

“I’ve given you a number of injections,” Black Widow answered.

“A high number,” Mrs. Parker concurred, laughing.

“Well,” Black Widow said thoughtfully, “Shelob has been a very busy girl.”

“Shelob?” Batgirl asked.

“Oh, you obviously haven’t met.” Black Widow turned to her arachnid assistant, Octo. “I think it would be a good idea for Shelob to watch the miracle of life we’ve arranged for later tonight. I promise you, Batgirl, it will bring your impressive career, as well as your life, to an end, quite soon.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Octo replied with a laugh.

“Stop being so cryptic!” Batgirl demanded. “What have you put into me?”

“Very well, Batgirl. Since you insist . . .” Mrs. Black said. “Octo, bring out Shelob’s cage so Batgirl can see her.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

The young henchwoman had already crossed the room and unlocked a wooden cabinet. Octo retrieved a large, caged creature and carried it toward the prisoner at arm’s length. Batgirl’s eyes widened in horror and her breath caught in her throat. Inside the cage was a monstrous, black arachnid with an hourglass shaped red mark on her underside. The black widow spider’s bent legs made the creature seem about the size of a Frisbee, and her head was as large as a softball. Octo hung the sizable spider’s cage from a hook above Batgirl and stepped well back.

“That’s the biggest spider I’ve ever seen,” Batgirl said quietly.

“Alas, Batman and Robin electrocuted Shelob’s older sisters when I served those dynamic darlings for dinner eight years ago. She’s eaten already today, so you won’t be serving as a meal for her.”

“A small favor, I’m sure,” Batgirl muttered, her voice quavering slightly.

“Quite, Batgirl,“ Black Widow confirmed. “It’s important for the female spiders to remain well fed, because they’re very versatile. For example, Shelob provided the silken threads which bind you now.”

“I understand only the female black widow spiders are the predators,” Mrs. Parker said.

“That’s correct,’ Black Widow confirmed, “and, just like human females, Shelob also takes care of the species’ reproduction. To that end, she has laid thousands of eggs.”

”NO!” Batgirl screamed. Her gaze traveled from the enormous, caged black widow to the villainess with the same moniker. Batgirl had begun to understand the fate the old woman had planned for her.

Batgirl had been correct about her situation growing worse once she had fallen into the criminals’ hands. As she looked at the monstrous spider, Batgirl reviewed what she had learned so far about her impending fate and became certain she had deduced the dire design by which the Black Widow might well achieve the Distaff Daredevil’s demise. Her goal, when she had burst through the window, had been to save lives. The cost of her death, if Black Widow brought it about, would be much higher now than it would have been in similar situations in Batgirl’s experience. This bitter irony was hardly lost on the helpless heroine.

Black Widow continued speaking. “These eggs are quite fragile, hence their rather vast number. Hatching them requires the proper conditions and the young spiders require a good deal of nourishment immediately when they are born. This brings us to you, Batgirl.”

Batgirl stared silently at her captors, horror etching her features into a defiant mask.

“She’s guessed,” Grandma Parker said with a delighted grin.

“So it seems,” Black Widow agreed. “Yes, Batgirl, your body heat will provide a good amount of the warmth needed for the eggs, which I’ve nestled among the layers of your skin, to hatch. Happily that outfit of yours is stretched so tightly against your flesh, it functions as a fourth layer of skin, thus accommodating even more eggs.”

“So,” Octo queried, “her body heat will induce hatching?”

“Not entirely,” Black Widow replied.

“The hatching conditions include both warmth and darkness,” Batgirl guessed.

“Precisely,” Black Widow confirmed. “Boys!”

Spade and French Freddy the Fence moved Batgirl beside a cylindrical metal enclosure and opened it. Seconds later, the Parker Brothers lifted the meticulously prepared morsel and laid her carefully inside on her back.

“Goodnight, ma cheri,” French Freddy said.

“Enjoy our warmest regards,” Spade added.

“Just a moment, boys,” Legs Parker said, stepping toward the victim as her boyfriends cast questioning glances at her. “We know Batman carries Shark Repellent Batspray, so it’s reasonable to assume Batgirl has something she can use against spiders.”

“It isn’t like Batgirl could ever reach her utility belt now,” Octo pointed out. “Still, she should have died twice last night.”

Legs pulled Batgirl’s utility belt from the captive’s waist and withdrew it from the cylindrical enclosure. “Good thinking, Legs,” the senior mob matriarch complimented. “Where were we?”

“I believe we were sealing this young woman’s fate,” Black Widow said. “Do the deed, my darlings!” She smiled as the men closed the mysterious metal cylinder, encasing Batgirl in almost total darkness. A circular pane of glass above her head let in a bit of light, but she had little time to explore her surroundings before a soothing, penetrating wave of luxurious heat enveloped her.

Slowly, Batgirl exhaled. “It’s an incubator.” Her voice was muffled, but could be clearly heard outside.

“Precisely, Batgirl,” Black Widow said happily. “Just relax and enjoy your final moments, while the ideal conditions for Shelob’s eggs are automatically maintained.”

“Not all of the eggs will hatch,” Batgirl said defiantly.

“Of course not, but many will,” Black Widow replied. “When Shelob’s babies crawl into the world, they will be very hungry. Fortunately, a rich source of protein and nutrients will be close at hand.”

Black Widow laughed. “I imagine it will be quite painful.” She paused. “On second thought, though, I honestly don’t know how long you’ll remain aware. It could be some time . . .”

The old crone took great delight in describing the process. “First, they’ll feast on your skin and drink your blood. Next, they’ll come to the muscle just below your skin. Later, the marrow inside your bones will nourish the little beauties. Finally, the organs your bones protect will yield the vitamins and nutrients once stored for your body’s use. I’m very much afraid when they’ve finished devouring you, there will be very little left . . . other than perhaps a few threads from your costume.”

“You’re all horrible!” Batgirl accused.

“You are such a hot menu item, Batgirl,” Pretty Boy said.

“She looks lip-smacking good to me,” Machine Gun agreed.

“A real delicacy,” Mad Dog assented.

“I’m sure Shelob’s babies will thoroughly enjoy their first meal,” the senior mob matriarch murmured.

“Bon appetite, Batgirl,” Legs Parker said, giggling delightedly.

Black Widow waved a hand over Batgirl in an all-encompassing gesture. “While Batgirl is being digested, we can admire the lovely loot collected earlier this evening.” She turned and began to lead the criminals from the room. “Come on, Mrs. Parker, boys,” she said over her shoulder.

“I’m sure the itsy, bitsy, creepy, crawly, critters will find you exquisitely delicious,” Octo said, laughing. “Goodbye, Batgirl, you tasty spider treat. While the boss and the rest of the Parkers are looking over their loot, Legs and I will be enjoying the Distaff Duo’s demise.”

Moments later, only Shelob, the gigantic black widow spider, lingered to watch over Batgirl as her horrific fate inside the dark, artificially-warmed incubator slowly unfolded. Batgirl was conscious of the other lives her rash decision to confront the criminals had endangered. She felt responsible for her father’s life and the lives of his colleagues. Also, Batgirl might well have elected to pass up a chance to save Batwoman and Flamebird from their undoubtedly dastardly doom. They might all die, unless she could escape – somehow!

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