Crime’s Many Faces

Author’s Note: Robert Holmes originally conceived the magic act concluded in this episode.

Onstage at the Henry Gordon Jago Dinner Theater, a leggy woman wearing a short, sparkling dress positioned a tall, black box with exotic, Oriental symbols painted on its sides. The magician, Le H’Sen Chang, spun this box, slapping each side with his palm. The hollow sound demonstrated the solidity of each of the cabinet’s sides. He and the girl opened the double doors on the front of the cabinet before he hit the sides and back of the box’s interior to demonstrate the prop’s integrity once again.

Below the stage, unknown to everyone above, the gagged Distaff Duo had been prepared for a grisly demise. ”At last,” Scarlet, the redheaded rogue leaning decoratively against the wooden ladder beside the captives said, “Chang is getting started. I’ll slip upstairs to waylay anyone who may be coming to help out the magician’s volunteer.”

“Good idea,” Tawney, the brown-haired beauty, said. She playfully tested the ropes that would soon position the captives in harm’s way, as she anticipated the magician concluding his act - and perhaps his career - by running the Distaff Duo through repeatedly. “You might want to commandeer the lights as well. We wouldn’t want the audience or the media to miss Batwoman and Flamebird’s finale.”

“I will,” Scarlet replied and vanished up the stairs. Her three companions joined her soft laughter as they watched her depart.

“I don’t think the volunteer will be part of the trick when it happens,” Cathey, the Oriental outlaw, predicted. “I’ll be ready if I’m wrong, though.”

“I do wish Chang would get on with it,” Topaz, the blonde, complained.

Above, Le H’Sen Chang’s act continued. “Now, I will ask my eager volunteer to kindly step into the Cabinet of Death.” A drum roll sounded as the magician’s assistant escorted the volunteer to the stage. The man stepped into the cabinet, turning to face the audience. The magician and his assistant closed the box and turned it around. As the magician began to slap the sides of the box yet again, the volunteer exited the box and moved offstage. The audience laughed.

The magician and his assistant turned the cabinet again and opened it. They glanced inside and determined it was indeed empty. “The bird has flown,” the Oriental magician observed with a shrug. “One of us is yellow.”

When the audience stopped laughing, the magician and his assistant bowed to one another before the assistant stepped into the cabinet. A cymbal sounded as the doors closed on her.

Below, the assistant was surprised when a hand clapped over her mouth, silencing her startled cry as she was dragged down from the ladder. Arms wrapped around her torso and neck, compressing the blood vessels feeding her brain and restricting her intake of breath. She struggled against her attacker vainly while the world slowly transformed into an indistinct kaleidoscope of color and light. Finally, she was enveloped by velvety oblivion to which she gratefully surrendered.

“I think,” Cathey said, releasing the assistant’s unconscious body and glancing down as it silently settled to the floor, “I’ll step onto the stage and see that our captives get our point. After all, I can blend right in.” She chuckled as she departed.

“Let’s do it,” Topaz said enthusiastically.

“Pull,” Tawney ordered. The women tugged on ropes fed through pulleys fixed to the underside of the stage and attached to the corners of the platform on which Batwoman and Flamebird stood. Between them, the two easily raised the horrified Distaff Duo into the Cabinet of Death and wound ropes around the ladder to hold the platform, which had become the cabinet’s floor in place. All the women knew the heroines would remain in grave danger, right where the villains wanted them.

“Break a leg, you two,” Tawney teased.

“Your debut will be killer, I’m certain,” Topaz happily enthused.

Since the curvaceous captives could not respond, their captors tied the ropes off and looked over their handiwork with wicked glee.

“That’s it,” Tawney said, smiling. “They’re finished. Nothing can stop their end now.”

“Come on, we can watch unobserved from the wings,” Topaz urged. “I don’t want to miss a single slice.”

Together, they departed to watch the fruits of their lawless labors, as the Distaff Duo struggled inside the cabinet onstage.

Le H’Sen Chang began to work the crowd once again. “If you will now pay close attention, ladies and gentlemen,” the magician invited. He took a sword from the darkened wings and waved it demonstratively as the cymbal sounded once again. The magician hit the stage, as well as both the front and back of the cabinet with the sword before poising it to thrust through the cabinet’s sides and, unbeknownst to him, its occupants.

Flamebird’s eyes widened behind her goggles as the tip of a sword slowly approached her. She leaned to one side and began to slam the back of her head into Batwoman’s shoulder. She could not turn to see if her aunt had interpreted the warning, but listened as snare drums sounded again. The sword continued forward until only the hilt remained extended from the side of the cabinet where Le H’Sen Chang stood. Presently, the tip of the blade emerged from the opposite side of the cabinet—gleaming. Flamebird exhaled a deep breath she had not been aware she was holding, and the Girl Wonder realized her aunt was pressing against one of her arms. When Flamebird shifted in response, Batwoman suddenly twisted, compelling the younger woman to turn her shoulders. The Distaff Duo went on moving together inside the cabinet.

The magician took another sword and prepared to repeat the procedure, pressing the sword through a lower point on the cabinet’s sides. As the sword was pressed forward, Oriental music began to play.

At this apt moment, Cathey stepped onto the stage. No one had seen her yet and she grinned wickedly as another sword was pressed through the cabinet. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall to enjoy the show.

“In my country, this is known as the Death of a Thousand Cuts,” the magician announced when eight blades pierced the cabinet. He inserted another and turned to retrieve the last blade. He paused imperceptibly when he noticed the unfamiliar Oriental woman holding it for him, but, being an experienced showman, pressed on with the act, ramming the final blade into place. The audience had no way of knowing why the new girl’s smile was so wide as she regarded them.

Once she realized the act was about to conclude, the magician’s new assistant circled the cabinet as the magician spun it around once, slapping the front and back with his palm. Then, one by one, he removed the swords and flung them skittering backward across the stage. “I will now ask my new volunteer to kindly assist opening the cabinet,” the magician explained. They reached for the doors as the music stopped. Then, the ‘Cabinet of Death’ opened.

Flamebird led Batwoman from the cabinet, then took an exaggerated curtsy as the audience erupted in wild applause. Cathey and the magician started incredulously at the living heroines.

“Impossible,” Cathey whispered.

“Where did you–” Le H’Sen Chang began to ask

“Kill the lights!” a female voice shouted.

Darkness fell across the stage as the fight between the Distaff Duo and the criminals was renewed. Flamebird suddenly felt herself yanked forward and flung into space. She landed in the audience and began to mutter apologies as she tried to regain her feet and scramble back to the stage.

Batwoman was aware of movement and slid toward it before something slammed into her, slamming her body to the stage. As the Distaff Duo regrouped, they heard the sounds of footsteps rapidly pounding on wood grow softer. Cathey, Scarlet, Tawney, and Topaz were gone.

Light returned a moment later and Flamebird, the theater owner, and the confused magician knelt over Batwoman. When the brunette beauty regained her feet, she realized the curtain had been lowered between them and the audience.

“What happened?’ the theater owner demanded.

“You’ve been robbed, and the robbers tried to kill us,” Flamebird explained.

“You were in the ’Cabinet of Death’ all the time?” the magician asked.

“I’m afraid so, “ Batwoman answered.

“I had no idea. A thousand pardons, please. How did you survive?”

“It wasn’t magic,” Flamebird said. “We managed to turn so the swords you impaled the cabinet with passed between our bodies.”

“Fortunately, your weapons were sharp enough for us to cut ourselves free,” Batwoman explained.

“Remarkable!” the magician marveled.

“I’m glad you are unharmed – and this is probably not a good time to ask –” the theater owner began. “but what happened to the robbers and the money they stole?”

“I’m afraid the crooks escaped with the money,” Flamebird said, “for now.”

“We’ll go after them, sir,” Batwoman assured him. “We’ll catch them, too.”

Meanwhile, ice clinked as the heavy sculpture poised to crush the Dynamic Duo lowered a few critical inches. Lying in a growing puddle of slowly refreezing slush, the bone-chilled battlers shivered.

“It’s getting c-c-closer all the time,” Robin observed.

“Yes, old ch-ch-chum, but we’ve survived fiendishly ch-ch-chilling and cruelly crushing f-f-fates before.”

“Does that mean y-y-you have an idea?”

“Possibly.”

“Well, we’ll never be able to reach our utility b-b-belts as long as we’re t-t-tied like this.”

“We’ve managed to t-t-turn aspects of demonic deathtraps against our conniving c-c-captors in the past when our utility b-b-belts were unavailable. A similar p-p-principle may save us now.”

“The heat from these b-b-burners is melting the ice. How do we k-k-keep from becoming p-p-pancakes?”

“Can you move your fingers, Robin?”

“I think so. Hey! I c-c-couldn’t move a muscle before the c-c-crooks turned on those burners. Maybe . . . .”

Both captives’ fingers moved and stretched toward the hilts of knives tucked into their gloves.

“Almost!” Batman said, his fingertips straining toward the goal. “Almost!” His fingers brushed the hilt of his knife and he managed to grip it. “Got it!”

“Nice going, B-B-Batman!”

“We’re still a long way f-f-from freedom, old ch-ch-chum.”

Robin let out a breath. “Okay. I’ve g-g-got hold of my knife. Now it’s t-t-time to pull it out.” He, like Batman, worked with agonizing slowness to draw the blade from its sheath, afraid if it slipped from his fingers, the vital tool would forever be out of reach. As the Dynamic Duo worked, ice shifted in the bags and the sculpture descended closer to the floor—and its intended victims. “Batman, the bottom of this sculpture is t-t-touching my t-t-toes!”

“My knife is nearly in p-p-position, Robin. We’ll be f-f-free of this situation soon.” Batman’s knife was free from its sheath and he was turning the blade toward this bonds. He began to draw the honed edge back and forth across the rope, letting the weight of the blade take it deeper among the rope’s slowly separating strands with every stroke. As Batman’s blade cut more deeply, Robin turned his knife to cut his own bindings.

“It’s working, Batman!” Robin enthused as he felt the strands of rope binding his wrists separate.

The ice sculpture dropped closer to the floor as Batman and Robin’s hands came free from their bonds.

“Okay, Robin. We’ve g-g-got to g-g-get out of here . . . quickly!”

“Right. The ice is pressing against the balls of my f-f-feet.”

Both men sat up, bent at the waist, reached beneath the ice sculpture, and slashed at their ankle bindings.

“These ropes are nearly f-f-frozen!” Batman observed.

“It’s a good thing we k-k-keep these knives razor sharp,” Robin agreed, as he strained to cut through the bindings. He began to scoot backwards and pull himself from beneath the sculpture. “Holy Velcro! My legs are stuck to the metal f-f-floor!”

They put their knives away once the ropes had been severed and began to vigorously rub at Robin’s legs. “The friction warming your skin may be our only ch-ch-chance, Robin.”

“If this d-d-doesn’t work, Batman, you’ll have to g-g-get yourself out.”

“It will work,” Batman said determinedly. His face was an impassive mask as his gloved hands worked at Robin’s flesh.

The sculpture settled closer to the heroes as Robin experimentally moved his legs. “The friction is working,” the former Boy Wonder observed. ““We d-d-don’t have much t-t-time, though.”

“Keep rubbing!” Batman moved to his companion’s ankles and worked quickly, as the motion of Robin’s hands against his own knees warmed them.

“Okay, Batman, I think that d-d-did it. Let’s g-g-get out of here!”

The ice in the bags closest to the burners had all melted and the bags suddenly burst. Batman and Robin instinctively drew their legs toward their chests and pushed themselves back simultaneously. The heavy ice sculpture crashed to the floor in the space they had occupied seconds earlier, crushing the ice cubes that had slid beneath it. The Dynamic Duo scooted backwards and stood. Robin led the way as they stepped from the freezer and gratefully felt themselves enveloped in warmth.

“Yow!” Robin exclaimed as he bent over to gingerly examine the back of his legs. “I think I left quite a bit of skin in there!”

“Well, Boy Wonder,” Batman teased, “at least you won’t have to shave the back of your legs for a while.”

“Yeah, right,” Robin said grumpily. “Maybe it is time I redesigned my costume to include some long pants.”

“What, and disappoint all your female fans?”

Robin glared at his mentor, but thought, ‘Maybe I should ask Flamebird what she thinks.’ Suddenly, as he looked around the Frosty Freezie factory, his mood turned serious. “It’s lucky for us they didn’t lock that freezer door.”

“I’m sure the items in our utility belts could have dealt with such a problem,” Batman replied. “It’s another example of criminals’ overconfidence undermining their plans.”

Robin nodded. “So, Cocoa and her men brought us here to kill us and frame Mister Freeze. Do you think they left any clues behind?”

“I think we’d learn more from the scene of the robbery at the hotel. A forensics team should be all over it by now. Let’s check in at Police Headquarters.”

“To the Batmobile!” Robin cried. The Dynamic Duo raced outside and looked around the deserted parking lot. “It looks like the crooks took all the vehicles when they left.”

“It’s possible the Batmobile is still at the Gotham City Hotel.”

Robin pointed at a skid mark on the pavement. “I think the Batmobile was here, but is gone now.”

Batman crouched beside the mark and examined it in the light of a street lamp. “You’re right, Robin. Those tread marks are unmistakable.”

“It’s going to be a long run to Commissioner Gordon’s office.”

“I think we can take public transportation unobtrusively at this hour. The journey should be relaxing. It might even be pleasant,” Batman pointed out.

“At this hour, it’s going to take time to get across town via public transportation,” Robin remarked.

“We should have no trouble reaching our destination by sunrise,” Batman philosophically said. “We will, however, need exact change.”

Batgirl was amazed at how thoroughly her demise had been planned. She had confidently, or perhaps overconfidently, made her presence known to prevent the crime in progress and dealt neatly with the crooks’ initial attack, while setting up a contingency in case her good fortune changed. The criminals had anticipated her every move and neatly turned the tables.

Now, her every movement was accompanied by excruciating agony that left her breathless. The gag in her mouth restricted her breathing and made speech of any kind utterly impossible.

The muffed moan she heard, as a twitch in her leg accompanied a spasm of pain that racked her body, depressed her, because she realized the probable real reason for the gag. Glass prisons like the one in which she found herself were vulnerable to sound waves that matched their sympathetic vibration. Such a note, if it were sustained, could shatter the prison. With the gag in place, that avenue of escape was hopelessly unavailable.

One advantage she did have was control over her use of the available oxygen. Once her supply was exhausted, however, she would die! Both the Dynamic and Distaff Duos, however, as well as the police, knew she had come to investigate Fouad Sphinx’ apartment. If she were to put herself in a trance, she might be found before her oxygen was exhausted . . . but it was more likely her suffocated corpse would be discovered too late. Batgirl had no real indication of where she was, and if she simply waited for the police to find her and she had been moved, she would certainly perish.

‘The crooks knew their riddle had more than one interpretation. They were well prepared. I have to assume other traps were set for Batman, Robin, Batwoman and Flamebird,’ she thought. ‘Even if I’m wrong or if my friends escaped any traps the crooks had set, there’s no reason to believe my colleagues could find me either, at least not before all of the air inside this pyramid is gone.’

An hour ago, she had possessed a distress beacon that could summon the police if she got into trouble. This item and many other marvels were in her utility belt, which was buried in the cement a yard from her perilous position, hopelessly out of reach. Her killers had put the homing device with which she had planned to track them in the cement beside it, rendering her contingency plan useless.

Bitterly, Batgirl concluded her analysis by glancing once again at the inverted jar that had extinguished the candle beneath it. She represented the candle and the jar represented the glass pyramid covering and threatening to suffocate her. ‘How much longer can I last?’

Desperately, she wrenched at her bonds and moaned again as pain swept over her entire body. Again, depression assailed her as she considered the fiendish effectiveness of the ropes running between her legs. She was almost accustomed to being hogtied by villains, since she suffered such treatment routinely. The rope cinching cruelly against her crotch tightened her bonds whenever she moved, thus transforming her escape attempts into malicious means of perpetuating her deadly imprisonment.

‘It’s nothing but a glass cover, but I’ll die if I don’t get out from under it, and the only thing keeping me here is the fact that I can’t move!’ Another moan rewarded her vain struggles and her head began to swim as more spasms of pain wracked her body.

‘Pain!’ Batgirl silently told herself. ‘If I’m hurting, I know I’m alive!’

Batgirl relaxed and flexed her wrists ever so slightly. Without her utility belt, she was missing many of her primary crime fighting tools. Yet, because depriving her of her belt was such a commonly-used tactic, she carried backup tools in her boots and gloves. Flexing her wrists would allow her to verify the position of a well-honed blade she knew would slice through her bonds as though they were composed of tissue paper.

She closed her eyes and bit hard on her gag before letting her shoulders slump to give herself precious slack in her bonds. Ready, Batgirl opened her eyes and moved her hand to reach the blade she had in mind. She welcomed the pain as it traversed her nervous system, holding her hand in position to retrieve the blade. She exhaled through her nose and stretched her fingers to pull the blade from its sheath.

The Dark Knight Damsel was delighted to learn the movement of her fingers did not induce the pain that had accompanied all of her other actions thus far. Slowly, she withdrew the blade and turned it to rest the sharp edge against her bonds. She took another breath and bit at her gag again as she began to draw the blade back and forth.

The weight of the blade allowed it to sink deeper and deeper among the chords as her muscles twitched involuntarily. Slowly, the pain ebbed and her bonds fell away. Batgirl tore the gag from her mouth and put her knife away. She pulled one leg forward and began to rise to her feet before collapsing.

“No,” Batgirl quietly said. She dared not speak further for fear of wasting precious air as she thought, ‘Air is all used up! Got to get out of here—right now!’

She pulled herself forward and plunged her hands into the semisolid cement. Turning her fingers, she managed to grip the bottom of one side of the pyramid. She managed to lift it an inch above the cement before the muscles of her arms gave out. Thankfully, she managed a deep breath of fresh air before the pyramid fell over her once again. “Too weak,” Batgirl muttered. “Only one chance now.”

She retreated to one wall of the pyramid and put her hands flat on the floor, slowly raising herself into a crouch. She took another breath and flung herself forward, using a running step to build momentum. She crossed her arms protectively in front of her head and turned her face aside an instant before her shoulder impacted the glass pane ahead of her.

Batgirl’s body passed through the shattering glass pane as it transformed into thousands of razor sharp rivulets that rained down around her. She hit the floor with her hands and tumbled forward to roll onto her back with a smack. Her chest heaved as she inhaled fresh air greedily.

When her strength returned, Batgirl stood, fished her utility belt from the semisolid cement, cleaned it off as best she could, and buckled it around her waist. A quick search told her she was in the basement of the Oasis Hotel, but nothing else of consequence. Quickly, she made her way outside, where she found the police had been summoned to investigate the robbery at the pantomime performer’s home. Finally, her Batgirlcycle was gone.

“I’m on my way back to Headquarters,” the burly officer in charge of the case told Batgirl. “I’d be happy to take you along, if you’d like to come.”

“Thank you,” Batgirl said and settled into the passenger seat of his squad car. “Tell me about the robbery.”

“Well,” the officer began, “the thieves absconded with the contents of Mister Sphinx’s safe, a jewelry box that must have belonged to a houseguest, and a rather large collection of valuable comic books.”

“I see.”

“How did you come to be at the hotel’s apartment complex, Batgirl?”

“I suspected a crime might be committed against Mister Sphinx and I was right. A woman, whose name I believe is Ashley, dressed and behaved like a mime as she and a few henchmen stole the items you mentioned. They also tried to kill me after I confronted them.”

“We’re here,” the officer announced, pulling to a stop in front of Police Headquarters. Batgirl checked in with her friend, Lieutenant Mooney, and hurried to her father’s office.

Later that morning, Barbara Gordon would have to deal with the problem of the stolen Batgirlcycle. Unlike Batman, she could not simply turn to a different means of transportation. Regardless, she had resources at her disposal. Her head librarian’s salary was enough to cover normal crimefighting expenses, but buying another motorcycle was out of the question. Financing would risk opening an avenue through which her secret identity might be discovered. In the past, she had carefully documented her “Barbara Wilson” alias, which facilitated crimefighting-related travel. The alternate identity would enable her to rent a motorcycle without any link to the Police Commissioner’s daughter. Her false persona employed makeup and the Batgirl wig to enable the lovely librarian to look very different than she normally did. Once the rented bike was dressed up, it would stand in nicely for the Batgirlcycle until she recovered the genuine article.

She thrust her private plans aside as she noted Chief O’Hara and her father dozing and awaiting developments. Obviously, they were engaged in one of their now rare all-nighters.

“What happened, Batgirl?" the Commissioner asked as she softly shut the door behind her.

“The crooks were after Mister Sphinx all right,” Batgirl reported. “They all dressed like mimes and tried to kill me. I still don’t know who our enemy is, but I suspect the woman in charge of the robbery was Ashley, whom we identified earlier.”

The pale, red light of dawn illuminated the sky as Batwoman and Flamebird joined the group.

“It seems the crooks struck at Fouad Sphinx,” Chief O’Hara told them. “What happened at the dinner theater?”

“The crooks robbed the box office and tried to kill us,” Flamebird related.

“Did you recognize any of them?” Commissioner Gordon asked.

“Oh yes,” Batwoman said. ”We caught Scarlet, Topaz, Cathey, and Tawney red-handed, but they got away.”

“We’ve been combing Gotham City from the sky, but haven’t found them yet,” Flamebird lamented. “When we spotted Batgirl on the steps of Police Headquarters, we thought it would be a good idea to check in and compare notes.”

Batman and Robin arrived presently and the women quickly reviewed their adventures. “Holy Prognostication! We recognized Cocoa at the Gotham City Hotel!”

“She tried to frame Doctor Shivel for a jewel robbery and for our murder,” Batman explained.

“Okay,” Batwoman said. “The question is, for whom do all of these women work?”

“Well,” Batgirl said, “even if there aren’t a lot of clues to their employer’s identity, we’ve at least been able to prevent their crimes.”

Robin and Flamebird shook their heads.

“I wish we had,” Batwoman said.

“Might there be other clues?” Batgirl asked.

“We first encountered this crook almost five years ago. If we review our experiences and the clues we’ve found, we may come up with a connection.”

“Good thinking, Batwoman,” Batman praised. “We may not have a moment to lose.”

“There’s one more thing,” Batgirl said, as Batman turned to lead the way from the office. “My Batgirlcycle was stolen.”

“Holy Coincidence! So was the Batmobile!”

Batman stopped and regarded Batgirl gravely. “Our enemies have deprived us of our vehicles in the past when they thought we were dead or knew we were incapacitated, but those thefts have historically been the result of sudden inspiration.”

Batgirl began to follow Batman’s line of thought. “You’re afraid since both the Batgirlcycle and the Batmobile have been stolen, whomever is behind these crimes may have something more sinister in mind?”

“I’m afraid so, Batgirl,” the Caped Crusader said.

“The more quickly we go over these clues, the faster we’ll figure out the answer,” Flamebird said. “Of course, we’ll keep in touch through the Commissioner’s office.”

“Right you are, Flamebird,” Batwoman agreed. “Let’s go!” The Dynamic and Distaff Duos dashed from the office, followed closely by their purple-clad colleague.

As the Bat-Gyros whirred into the sky and Batgirl hurried to Barbara Gordon’s apartment, where a relaxing bath awaited, Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s faithful butler, pulled Robin’s car, the Redbird, into a secluded alley near Police Headquarters.

“Holy Timetables, Alfred! It’s a good thing you got our message.

“I’m glad I was able to arrive at an opportune moment, Master Robin.”

“Indeed a fortunate development, Alfred,” Batman said. “Can we drive you back to the Batcave?”

“That won’t be necessary, sir,” the Englishman said, pulling a radio-equipped bicycle from the spacious trunk of the Redbird. “I’ve brought the Alfcycle to convey me home. It’s such good exercise, you know.”

“Very good thinking, Alfred,” Batman praised. “Dedication to physical fitness is a key to anyone’s personal success.”

“Indeed, sir,” Alfred said simply. Robin slid behind the wheel without comment and let the engine idle while Batman sat down beside him. Both heroes fastened their seatbelts.

“Goodbye, Alfred,” the Dynamic Duo said.

Moments later, the Redbird pulled away while Alfred began to pedal.

Meanwhile, Irving Irving, the manager of the Heritage First National Bank, was a little startled when the Distaff Duo and Batgirl raced into his establishment. “We’re here about a crime, Mister Irving,” Batwoman said. “It’s a good thing you came in early today.”

“It’s vital you show us your main vault,” Flamebird urged.

“Of course,” Mr. Irving said, summoning an escort of guards.

“Wow!” one of the escorts said. “It’s Batwoman, Batgirl, and Flamebird.”

“We have to hurry,” Batgirl cautioned. “We may have very little time.”

"Certainly,” Mr. Irving said. “Right this way.” He quickly led the crimefighters to the vault, which he opened. He switched on the light and let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. “It’s safe. Everything is going to be okay.”

“It’s beautiful,” Batgirl said, staring at the neatly stacked greenbacks as her hands settled onto her shapely hips and her eyes glittered.

“Who did you say was going to steal the money?” Mr. Irving asked.

“We didn’t,” Flamebird said, chuckling. “We’ve given it some thought, Mister Irving, and decided to take your money into our custody, where it will be much safer.”

“Let’s get started,” Batwoman suggested. She and her partners took large bags from their belts and began to fill them quickly.

Mr. Irving and the guards could only stare as they gathered their wits. “Am I to understand,” Mr. Irving began, “that you ladies came here to rob our depositors?”

“I’m afraid that’s about the size of it, Mister Irving,” Batwoman confirmed.

“Thank you for helping with the vault,” Batgirl said, laughing. “Getting it open would have been a royal pain without your help.”

“We’re through helping you!” Mr. Irving said, his voice rising.

“Please, be careful, Irv,” Flamebird cautioned. “If you try to stop us now, people will get hurt, perhaps badly.”

“Perhaps not the people you think,” Irving Irving said, moving toward a button protected by a glass panel and shouting, “Stop them, men!”

The guards drew their guns and aimed at the caped cuties. The terrific-looking trio hurled exploding gas balls to the floor, which promptly incapacitated the security force. Irving Irving lurched toward the alarm button, shattering the protective glass before he felt a gloved hand fall onto his shoulder.

“Stop it, Irv!” Batgirl commanded. “It isn’t time for the alarm yet.” She hit him in the mouth to restrain him, knocking him to the floor.

“Was that necessary?” Batwoman demanded.

“Who cares?” Flamebird asked. “Let’s pack up the rest of this money and get out of here.”

Within minutes, the marvelous-looking marauders had finished their work and Irving Irving had recovered.

“It’s time for the alarm now, Irv,” Batgirl said, crouching beside him briefly and pecking him on the cheek. “Give the cops our complements when you report us.” She straightened and quickly followed her pretty partners from the premises.

The bank’s alarms blared as the trio of thieves concluded their inaugural crime, roaring off on motorcycles, including the Batgirlcycle.

As the bat women made off with Heritage First National Bank’s depositors’ holdings, Mr. William Wentworth Wumpington, the older gentleman who managed the Gotham City Savings and Loan Company, received the Dynamic Duo. He had been awakened to the dire news that all the money in his vault had been replaced with counterfeit bills and raced to his place of work. “Batman,” the worried executive asked, “How could this have happened? Who is responsible?”

“It’s just a rumor, Mister Wumpington,” Batman began.

“But given your company’s history as a target for crime," Robin continued, "we felt we should investigate."

“I’m grateful, Robin,” the manager said. “I understand the Siren has not reformed and the news of her marriage to a doctor was false.” The foreign villainess had once placed Mr. Wumpington under her sinister spell in the course of robbing the establishment.

“That’s right, Mister Wumpington,” Batman confirmed. “Don’t be alarmed. The Siren is safely tucked away in Gotham State Penitentiary . . . and the court is considering further action against her.”

Mister Wumpington looked thoughtful. “I have heard something about her court case. Isn’t District Attorney Harvey Dent proposing her vocal cords be removed?”

“Holy Laryngitis!” exclaimed Robin.

“I believe that’s correct,” said Batman, “but let us return to the matter at hand. Would you please permit us to examine the contents of your vault?”

“Of course,” the manager said. “Please follow me.” Inside the vault, the Dynamic Duo began to look closely at the currency. The manager selected a random bill and held it up to the light. The experienced Wumpington saw enough to convince him the bill was genuine. “Batman, this money is not counterfeit. I think you were wrong.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Dark Knight said. “I want to be sure to build my retirement fund with honest-to-goodness, American currency.”

“What!” the shocked executive demanded.

“Shut up, old man!” Robin said, shoving him into a corner and slamming his green-gloved fists into the man’s midriff.

The bank alarm heralded the unmistakable roar of the Batmobile shortly thereafter, as the caped thieves sped from the scene.

That afternoon, Commissioner Gordon looked stricken as the last bank security tape finished playing. ”Well, gentleman, you’ve presented solid evidence that Batman and Robin robbed the Gotham City Savings and Loan Company, and Flamebird, Batwoman, and Batgirl hit the Heritage First National Bank simultaneously at dawn. Both establishments were completely cleaned out.”

“That’s impossible, sir. All of the alleged perpetrators were in this office at that time,” Chief O’Hara protested.

“I’m sorry to say, Commissioner, this is just the type of response I expected,” Irving Irving gravely said.

“We demand action!” William Wentworth Wumpington exclaimed. “The Dynamic Duo raced from the scene of the crime in the Batmobile.”

“I saw Batgirl on the Batgirlcycle, too,” Irving Irving revealed.

“Sure an’ in the meeting I mentioned, Batman and Batgirl said their vehicles were stolen. So, it must have been the thieves themselves who robbed you.”

Both bank managers glared at Chief O’Hara, who found he could only stare back in response.

“Gentlemen,” the Commissioner said, breaking the tension, “in light of the evidence, I am prepared to ask the Caped Crusader and his colleagues to explain what appears on these tapes, but I caution you, I don’t believe my eyes.”

“I know Gotham City’s criminals are capable of extraordinary things,” William Wentworth Wumpington said, “but I am compelled to believe my eyes, Commissioner.”

“I certainly hope you will not be taken in by a preposterous story about imposters impersonating these heroes,” Irving Irving said. “Batgirl has dabbled in crime in the past, yet has somehow been able to explain all of her actions away. About a year ago, her citizenship in Gotham City even came into question.”

The Commissioner vividly recalled how Egghead had been appointed as Gotham City’s Manager and had raised the question to remove the Curved Crusader’s opposition to his scheme. Nevertheless the public official did not want to spend the morning debating the point with the bankers. “We’ll do everything in our power to get to the bottom of this strange case,” he assured the bankers, shaking their hands.

“Thank you, Commissioner,” they both replied, taking their leave.

“It’s a dark day, Commissioner. I know you had to do something–”

“How could this be possible?”

The Chief paced the office for a moment and spun toward his employer, snapping his fingers. “I’ve got it! Remember when Mister Freeze staged that fight between his men and the Dynamic Duo at the party we attended at stately Wayne Manor?”

Commissioner Gordon thought for a moment. “I do, now that you mention it. That wasn’t the only time that Frigid Fiend used doubles of Batman to confound us and the Caped Crusader.”

“Sure an’ he did, and he wasn’t the only one.”

“The Riddler sent one of his henchmen to impersonate Batman when he planned to blow up the torch room at the Queen of Freedom Monument.”

“Begorra. Mister Freeze and the Riddler somehow have become suspects again. We could be off-base, though. Catwoman had her own Batman impersonator rob a grocery store in front of witnesses so the Caped Crusader would be arrested and out of the way the first time she tried for the Batagonian Cat’s Eye Opals.”

“I also seem to remember the Musicman pretending to be Robin and his girl, Melody, impersonating Flamebird to shift suspicion as they made off with that valuable record three years ago.”

“Okay, we know Batman and his colleagues are not responsible,” Chief O’Hara said, grinning. “We can also point out several times when they are known to have been impersonated, which seems to be the case here, too . . . but . . . shouldn’t we warn them about the robberies?”

“Good thinking, Chief!” He flipped O’Hara the purple cellphone. “You call Batwoman and I’ll contact Batman at once!”

“What about Batgirl?” the Chief asked.

“Oh, I’ll get in touch with her as well. Don’t worry.” As he spoke, the Commissioner crossed his office and lifted the plastic dome from its place above the red phone.

Many days, Bruce Wayne was quite content to let Dick Grayson oversee operations at Wayne Industries. Not only did Bruce have complete confidence in his former ward, he also knew Lucius Fox was there to guide the recent recipient of a Masters degree in Business Administration.

“All right, old chum,” Batman said as Robin joined him after Dick returned from the office. “I reviewed the data we have gathered on our adversary and analyzed the clues we obtained once again.”

“Have you made any progress?”

“I’d like to go over it all with you and we can decide together.”

“No problem,” Robin said, pouring a cup of coffee and sitting down opposite his mentor.

The beeping Batphone stopped the conference before it started.. “Yes, Commissioner?” Batman asked.

“Batman, I . . . I don’t quite know how to tell you this,” the public official hesitantly began.

“Please be direct, Commissioner. I can take it.”

“Right. Well . . . at dawn this morning, while you and the others were speaking to Chief O’Hara and me in this office, you and Robin robbed one bank and your female colleagues robbed another.”

“That’s impossible,” Batman slowly said.

“I know, but my duty to the citizens of Gotham City demands I take some kind of action. I felt it only fair to let you know.”

“Thank you for telling me. Robin and I will keep in touch.”

“Batman, I feel it’s important for me to be clear. Any policeman you encounter will be duty bound to bring you in for questioning, although I’d rather not waste your time while you track down the real criminals.”

“Thank you again, Commissioner. Be assured, Robin and I are making progress to that end as we speak.”

“Trouble?” Robin queried as Batman replaced the receiver.

“It seems Batman and Robin robbed a bank this morning while you and I conferred with Commissioner Gordon.”

“Do the victims have evidence?”

“Undoubtedly they have security tapes of our impersonators,” Batman answered. “Let’s go over our experience with our enemy and render the phony evidence against us useless.”

“I’m with you,” Robin concurred. “We first encountered this crook almost five years ago pretending to be Penguin while robbing Star Labs. We learned absolutely nothing, except what Cocoa and the other women impersonating the perpetrator’s finks looked like.”

“Next, a year later,“ Batman picked up the narrative, “Ashley and Topaz both dressed up as Catwoman to rob the Gotham City Natural History Museum of artifacts unearthed on the Canary Islands. When we intervened, they tried to sink us in an elevator shaft they had filled with kitty litter.”

“We got a sample,” Robin recalled. “I don’t remember it telling us much.”

“The kitty litter quicksand proved to be a blend of perfectly ordinary sand, water, and kitty litter. We found nothing significant about the manner of their blending.”

“Before last night, our most recent encounter with this criminal was at the Crown Observatory. Cocoa and Cathey tried to rob the rooftop restaurant of the new chef’s silver, bejeweled cooking utensils. Subsequently, they left a device intended to shatter the external, glass elevator in which they trapped us so we would drop to the sidewalk far below.”

“That device was very interesting,” Batman said. “Having taken it apart and put it back together again several times, I suspect I know where it was constructed.”

“Holy Not-So-Abandoned Factory or Warehouse!”

“Perhaps, but investigating the site of its manufacture can wait. We may be able to find our crooks by using a homing device I put in the Batmobile and arranged to have transmit at specific times to keep it from being used to locate the Batcave.”

“Gosh, Batman, that’s planning ahead.”

“Merely a necessary security precaution, old chum,” the Caped Crusader said. Batman indicated a circular screen on a nearby instrument. “Keep your eye on the Bat-radar. I’m about to receive the transmission.” Batman and Robin turned to their task.

“I’ve got it!” Robin said.

“Good. Get the G.P.S. reading on the Bat-Global-Positioning-Satellite Tracker and I‘ll plot the Batmobile’s position on our lighted Lucite map of Gotham City.“ A moment later, Batman had plotted the coordinates on the map.

“Where is the Batmobile?”

“The coordinates you gave me are in the middle of Gotham Harbor.”

“Let me double check,” Robin said. A moment later, he straightened and stared at the map. “The coordinates are correct. Could the Batmobile be on a boat?”

“Possibly,” Batman admitted. “I am, however, more inclined to think the transmitter was discovered and thrown into the water from this bridge,” Batman said, indicating a point on the map.

“If you’re right, and you usually are, we’re back to the device this crook used against us at the Crown Observatory.”

“I’m afraid so, old chum.”

“I’m ready to check out the factory or warehouse you found whenever you are.”

“Good. The device exhibits a degree of sophistication suggesting it was made by a local specialist.”

“A local specialist?” Robin repeated, making the words a question. “You don’t mean–”

“Exactly, Robin,” Batman concurred. “We may not have a moment to lose! To the Batcycle!”

As the Dynamic Duo reviewed their clues in the Batcave, Betty Kane pressed the concealed button on the side of the grandfather clock in the main hall of her aunt’s mansion and moved both of the clock’s hands straight up. After a click, the clock swung open on hidden hinges, acting like a door. Once the young, professional athlete had passed through and closed the door behind her, the clock returned to the correct time and continued ticking.

A short flight of steps led to an alcove where Batwoman and Flamebird’s costumes waited. Once Betty Kane had changed, she stepped to the top of a slide where she sat and slid quickly down to the Bat Cavern. As Flamebird crossed the crime fighting duo’s headquarters, Batwoman set a juggling ball on a table and glanced at her research notes. “There’s no getting around it, Flamebird. The criminal who used these juggling balls against us loaded one with perfectly ordinary knockout gas. How was tennis practice?”

“I think my stamina is improving. All that running is starting to pay off,” she said.. “Are we at a dead end in the case? You know, we’ve been pondering this clue for the last four years.”

Batwoman’s Bat-cell phone halted their conversation. “Yes, Commissioner?” the brunette beauty asked.

“This is Chief O’Hara, Batwoman. Startling news,” he said. “While you and the others were speaking to the Commissioner and me earlier this morning, Batman and Robin robbed one bank while you, Flamebird and Batgirl robbed another. I felt it fair to warn you any policeman you may encounter will have to try to bring you in for questioning ”

“Thank you, Chief. Of course, you realize, it’s impossible we’re responsible?”

“Certainly!” the public official responded. “Our duty to the citizens of Gotham City, however, demands we take some kind of action.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you for telling me. Flamebird and I will keep in touch.” Batwoman disconnected and explained the situation to her partner.

“So, this crook’s gang is impersonating us now.”

“Trying to kill us hasn’t worked, so I suppose our Mystery Villain is trying another tactic.”

“Then, what do we do?”

“I suggest we start by reviewing our cases involving this adversary.”

“Right,” Flamebird agreed. “We first encountered this crook when he or she was trying to pin crimes on Zelda the Great, who had reformed. Most recently, he or she tried to shift suspicion to Shame. Fortunately, we foiled both of those crime waves, but we haven’t found a single clue to our enemy’s identity.”

“This crook’s homage to the Joker was more promising,” Batwoman said. “After using the knockout gas in these juggling balls, our crook tried to blow us up on oversized rockets launched from the roof of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art.”

“Is the knockout gas any help?”

“None. I think the rockets, however, may be another matter.” Batwoman replied, stroking her chin.

“What do you mean?” Flamebird asked. “The rockets blew up, and all of our evidence except that juggling ball went up in smoke with them. Didn’t it?”

“Those fiendish firecrackers were unique and probably locally manufactured. They also had to be delivered to the museum.”

Flamebird smacked her right fist into her left palm, a mannerism she had unconsciously copied from Robin. “I can think of only one place in Gotham City where those rockets might have been made!”

“Precisely. To the Bat-Gyros!”

Meanwhile, Barbara Gordon felt her personal digital assistant vibrate, indicating Batgirl had received an email, just as she was preparing to close the library for the day. Although some members of the police force now had the Dominoed Daredoll’s cell phone number, her father still used the email account when he wanted to talk to his daughter’s alter ego privately.

“I’ll lock up, Myrtle,” she said. After doing so, she shut herself away in her office and read the electronic mail detailing the robbery Batgirl and the Distaff Duo had committed while speaking to the police at dawn that morning. She picked up the phone and dialed her father’s private number. Together, they had installed extraordinary security devices to insure the line could not be tapped.

“Hello,” the Commissioner said.

“Hi, Daddy. I got your message and thought I’d better check in.”

“I’m glad you did. I’ve given orders that Batgirl be brought in for questioning, if any of my officers encounter her. I know the tapes I have are of imposters committing the crime, but I had to appease the bank managers somehow.”

“I understand.”

Even though he knew he was alone, James Gordon looked furtively around his office. “Ah . . . perhaps Batgirl should lie low for a while?”

Barbara groaned inwardly. To be fair, she had been pleasantly surprised at her father’s acceptance of her need to continue to be Batgirl. Every once in a while, though, his natural instinct to protect his child emerged.

“Now, Daddy–”

“Alright. I know I shouldn’t have suggested that . . . . So, how will you proceed?”

“I have an idea of how to locate the thieves on your tapes, assuming they are the same thieves who took the Batgirlcycle.”

“That’s good news. I think this morning’s thieves are the same crooks you are after. Use of the Batgirlcycle is part of the case against you.”

“You’re probably right. I hope to have more good news the next time we talk. Now, please go home and try to get some rest. Let Diana cover the night shift. It’s her job.”

“Barbara, unlike librarians,” James Gordon teased, “police commissioners don’t have regular hours.”

“Daddy, I worry about you!”

“You’re out there, most often alone, fighting crazy criminals, facing demented deathtraps, and you’re worried about me?”

There was a long moment of silence. How could Barbara respond? There was only one way.

“I love you Daddy.”

Police Commissioner James Gordon fought back a tear. “I love you, too. Please, be careful.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Shortly thereafter, Barbara Gordon crossed her bedroom to undergo her tantalizing transformation into Batgirl. She put the conversation with her father out of her mind and turned to the matter at hand.

“Now, Charlie,” she said to her parrot, the second pet bird of hers to have that name, as she carried his cage into her secret room, “the crooks who stole the Batgirlcycle probably don’t know I carry my spare utility belt under the seat and that it contains a homing device I can track.”

She picked up her utility belt, pulled a device from one of the belt’s pouches and switched it on. “There! I’ve got it.” Barbara Gordon smiled broadly. “Watch out, villains. Here comes BATGIRL!”

Batwoman and Flamebird slid from their Bat-Gyros, which had landed on a balcony surrounding the upper floor of Honest Gabe’s House of Scientific Discoveries and Deathtraps. Together, they approached a glass-paned door leading inside, for which Flamebird reached.

“We’d better be careful,” Batwoman cautioned, gripping her partner’s shoulder. “Gabe may have security devices protecting this place or perhaps a staff.”

“Right, Batwoman.” Flamebird pulled her hand back without touching the door. “Caution should be our watch word while we check this place out. I’ve not heard of small-time operators like ‘Honest Gabe’ having thugs. An assistant, however, is a real possibility.” She began examining the door minutely. “You were right. It’s alarmed.”

“We should be able to get around most of his security devices easily enough,” Batwoman said, taking a tool from her Bat-Kit.

Inside, a flashing light prompted Honest Gabe’s assistant to turn on a security monitor and watch the Distaff Duo as they crept down a flight of stairs, pausing at a landing where the staircase turned. Hands curled around a pair of levers as the heroines continued their descent, following Batwoman’s gesture.

A sudden click heralded the instantaneous transformation of the staircase into a smooth, waxed ramp. Both heroines’ feet slid from beneath them before their momentum and gravity carried them rapidly down along the slick, sloped surface.

“Brace yourself against the walls, Flamebird!”

“I can’t!” she cried, vainly spreading her arms. “The ramp is too wide!”

Batwoman reached the same conclusion when the landing at the bottom of the ramp collapsed and they found themselves falling through dark emptiness.

Their unexpected descent stopped as suddenly as it had begun when they collided with a fine wire mesh spread like a net beneath what had obviously been a trapdoor. The heroines' limbs splayed as the wind was knocked from them both. A sticky spray then showered them from above.

“Yuck! What is this sticky stuff, Batwoman?” Flamebird asked. “I . . . can’t . . . move!”

“I don’t know, Flamebird, but I can’t move either. We’ll have to wait and see what happens next. Meanwhile, save your strength.”

“Good thinking.”

Moments later, a petite, brunette woman stepped into a circle of light that blazed without warning beneath them. She wore an ensemble that covered her body completely while doing more than hint at its proportional perfection. The pink slacks molded to her lower body and were tucked into matching boots, while the obsidian jacket encasing her upper body seemed to shimmer in the light.

“Good evening, ladies,” the girl said. Her voice was pleasant, but had a slightly high pitch. “I’m Mousey and I’ve come to thank you for literally dropping in.” The girl giggled at her joke before her voice grew serious. “Now, most customers who arrive without an appointment use the front door. Since you didn’t, I have to assume you aren’t really customers. So, what do you want?”

“Maybe you could let us down before we talk,” Batwoman suggested.

“I think it would be best to establish the parameters of our relationship first,” Mousey replied.

“Maybe we should find out what Honest Gabe thinks,” Flamebird suggested.

“He’s with a customer in the field,” Mousey explained. “For the moment, I’m in charge. If you’d like to wait for Gabe, I’ll leave. You two aren’t going anywhere any time soon.” Mousey turned, seemingly pleased at the idea of leaving her two captives in their current position until her boss returned to issue instructions.

“Wait! Since Gabe obviously trusts you, perhaps you can tell us about a particular pair of rockets we think was developed here,” Flamebird suggested. The pleasantness with which she imbued her voice surprised her. “We need to know for whom this development project was undertaken.”

“Do tell,” Mousey replied coolly, looking along her left shoulder and folding her arms across her chest, a mischievous look on her face.

“We think the rockets were delivered to the Gotham Museum of Modern Art and the order may have also included some purple knockout gas hidden in a hollow juggling ball,” Batwoman elaborated. “If you’d be so kind as to share your list of clients with us, we’ll determine to whom the item was sold and be on our way.”

Mousey shook her head and smiled. “I don’t think so. First, Gabe’s client list is confidential. Second, as you are no doubt aware, we are engaged in scientific research here and we have a budget. So, I’m sure you’ll understand our desire to take full advantage of guinea pigs who literally fall into our laps.”

“You can’t hold us here against our will!” Flamebird raged.

“Really? Maybe you’re right.” As Mousey spoke, she produced and activated a cutting torch with a flame resembling a light saber. Her face was illuminated momentarily before she reached up and sliced Flamebird’s trapped form from the mesh above. Flamebird hit the floor hard and squirmed painfully and helplessly in the strange, sticky mesh.

“What are you going to do to us?!” Batwoman demanded.

“You’ll find out,” Mousey said, giggling. “Oh, I should warn each of you, your partner’s continued safety is entirely dependent upon your good behavior.”

“If you harm either of us, Mousey, you’ll regret it,” Batwoman warned.

“Not as much as you will, but we’ll see what happens,” Mousey predicted, cutting Batwoman down and regarding her as she lay gasping beside Flamebird. “Don’t worry ladies. You’ll be of much more use to me by remaining intact, so I’ll save the rough stuff for later.” As Mousey spoke, she switched off her torch, slipped on a pair of latex gloves and reached down to drag her captives to the lab. Once they had arrived, Mousey selected a test tube and emptied its contents into a clean rag she dropped carelessly onto Flamebird’s face.

“What are you doing to her?!” Batwoman asked, enraged as much by her own helplessness as by Mousey’s actions.

Their captor ignored Batwoman, watching Flamebird and her watch instead. Within seconds, Flamebird’s struggles ceased and she collapsed as her muscles relaxed completely. ‘That works fast,” Mousey remarked absently. “We should charge more for it.”

“What have you done to her?” Batwoman inquired insistently.

“Don’t worry, Batwoman,” Mousey said, making a note on a clipboard. “I’ll be reviving your partner as soon as you’re situated. She’s fine and will remain so as long as you don’t resist.” When the girl turned toward the brunette bat, she held her cutting torch again, but was turning it down until it became smaller than a candle’s flame. “I’m going to cut you loose and I want you to understand I do not want to hurt you. Hold still. Moving around could cause a very unfortunate accident.”

“Fine,” Batwoman said. Mousey cut her free and she followed the woman’s gesture to a chair resembling a dentist’s in which she sat down. Moment’s later, she was strapped into place and various medical measuring instruments adhered to her body. A mask soon covered her nose and mouth and she was aware that she was breathing pure oxygen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m monitoring your normal vital signs to have a baseline against which subsequent data may be compared,” Mousey explained, giggling. “Are you ready? It’s time for the first test.”

“Would it matter if I said I wasn’t ready?”

“Not really,” Mousey replied, introducing a measured amount of gas into Batwoman’s air supply. She glanced at the recording instruments, noting how the readings were rapidly changing as an alarm sounded. “If you ladies will excuse me, I seem to have more unexpected company.” She stepped into the office adjoining the lab and looked at the security monitor. “The Batcycle,” she murmured as her hand reached for another group of levers.

“Holy Denotation, Batman!” Robin exclaimed. “Honest Gabe’s House of Scientific Discoveries and Deathtraps really is a house . . . and it’s huge!”. He reached for the doorbell once the Dynamic Duo had made their way to the front porch after dismounting the Batcycle.

He stopped suddenly when Batman gripped his wrist.

“What is it, Batman?”

“Honest Gabe sells deathtraps here, old chum. There is no telling what preparations he may have made to deal with uninvited visitors,” Batman urgently said.

“Right. We’ll have to be careful.”

“Precisely.” Batman put on a filter mask while Robin did likewise. “Ready?”

Robin nodded.

Batman carefully pressed the doorbell while holding his other hand near his utility belt. Robin did likewise as a small cloud issued from a valve. Robin instinctively reached for the front doorknob and was surprised when it turned, admitting them to the front hall, where both men collapsed.

“Excellent!” Mousey crowed, grinning and switching off the monitor. “Gabe’s extra fine knockout powder does the job, despite the Dynamic Duo’s filter masks. Now, it’s time to pluck Flamebird’s feathers.”

“Gosh! That was close!” Robin softly said, putting away his filter mask shortly thereafter.

“A small deception giving us more questions for our host,” Batman said, stepping forward and following the hallway to an open door. “Come on.” They found a pair of doors leading to staircases leading up and down. ”Which one?”

“Down,” Robin decided. “Based on our experience with Black Widow and her ilk, criminals can normally be found ‘under the house.’”

“Sound thinking, chum,” Batman complimented. He and Robin descended to the basement where they peered into a lab.

Batwoman seemed unhurt. The older heroine was stretched out and strapped to what looked like a dentist’s chair as her vital signs were monitored.

Flamebird seemed in considerably more danger, having been bound to a metal swing inside a domed cage. Her dangling legs were several feet above the floor, beside which Mousey crouched and attached a pair of clamps, from which red and black chords extended. The girl straightened and stepped to a bank of controls beside the captive’s unusual prison.

“Now,” Mousey eagerly murmured, reaching for a knob and glancing at the appropriate meter.

“I wouldn’t do that!” Robin said, stepping into the room and flinging his Batarang. Mousy pulled her hand back as the missile’s wing buried itself in the machine.

“Hey!” she said, whirling to angrily face the Dynamic Duo. The look on Robin’s face made her step fearfully back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the former Boy Wonder demanded.

“I–”

“Never mind,” the young Titan interrupted. “It doesn’t matter what it was. It’s over now!”

“Thank you, Robin,” Flamebird said, as he opened the cage and released her. “I think I was about to help her discover the human body’s tolerance for electrical shock.” Batman, meanwhile, was freeing Batwoman from the chair.

Mousey had not made a sound since Robin opened the cage and Batman had stepped past her. She quietly moved toward the door and was just about to make her escape when Flamebird’s voice stopped her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the yellow-goggled guardian of Gotham City demanded.

“Anywhere but here,” Mousey muttered, hurrying through the portal.

“No you don’t!” Flamebird said, whirling a pair of balls dangling from a thin, leather strap in one hand. She let go of the strap she was holding seconds before it wrapped around the fleeing henchwoman’s ankles while momentum carried the fugitive forward. Mousey fell flat on her face.

“What is this thing?” the brunette henchwoman demanded as she struggled to free herself.

“It’s a bola, a weapon with prehistoric origins capable of entwining the arms or legs and holding them in place, as you can see,” Flamebird revealed. “Playgirl gave me the idea of using them when she tried to kill Robin and me with several pairs a couple of Christmases ago.”

“It’s too bad you survived.”

Robin examined Flamebird’s captive more closely. “Hey, I recognize you! You’re Mousey. You worked with the Riddler. Gee, that was a long time ago.”

“I’m so glad you remember me,” Mousey said sarcastically as she wriggled in the bola. “Now, what was it you guys wanted, anyway?”

“We’re trying to trace a device someone used to shatter a glass elevator in which Batman and I were once trapped,” Robin explained as Flamebird dragged Mousey back into the lab.

“Well . . . I just started working here recently,” Mousey protested.

“We don’t expect you to know anything off the top of your head,” Robin said. “The client we’re interested in has probably used Honest Gabe’s ‘services’ more than once. So, his client list–”

“Is confidential. Sorry.”

“In your brief experience,” Flamebird began, “do you have much repeat business?”

“Honest Gabe would quite freely tell you he is not ashamed to have Catwoman as a client. You see, she happens to be a world-famous celebrity. Some of her popularity no doubt stems from having famously used the world’s first functioning Voice Eraser–”

“She stole the voices of world-famous entertainers Chad and Jeremy to shake down the British empire,” Batwoman said, stepping into view followed by Batman. “It seems the loss of the singers’ income tax contribution at that time threatened to devalue the British pound.”

“I read the Siren used a similar device on several singers in Gotham City before she was finally arrested,” Flamebird added.

“Someone else must have made the second voice eraser," Mousey surmised. “Imitation is, of course, the most sincere form of flattery. Now, back to Catwoman. She also used a prototype for a revolutionary Feline-Enlarging Formula to great effect. Her testimonials indicate she was exceedingly pleased with Gabe’s work. He invented both the Feline-Enlarging Formula and the Voice Eraser. The man is a visionary, a genius, and my friend.”

“Ingenious. I’ve always doubted Catwoman’s claim she was such a great inventor,” Batman said. “Now, we need to know if any of your other clients bought kitty litter.”

“Do you sell knockout gas?” Batwoman inquired.

“There is also the question of that more specialized item I mentioned earlier,” Robin added.

“Why don’t Batman and Batwoman look through the client files, while Robin and I continue to interrogate Mousey?” Flamebird suggested.

“I don’t think these are the client files,” Batwoman said shortly thereafter, as she thumbed through a drawer in Honest Gabe’s file cabinet. “There was a unique incubator sent to the Apex Apothecary Shop, a spray wax chamber delivered to someone called Clavier Ankh, a certain amount of equipment was sent to the Fragrance Factory on Lavender Lane, a Surfing Experience & Ability Transferometer & Vigor Reverser was delivered to the Ten Toes Surfboard Shop, the Gotham City Police Department commissioned thousands of exploding mechanical mice, some kind of mineral detector was delivered to the Florence of Arabia Bellydancing Nightclub, and various supplies as well as furnishings were delivered to the launch pad factory at Flying Circus Hill. Other than this guy, Clavier Ankh, it’s not clear who the clients might have been. Have you ever heard of a crook by that name, Batman?”

“Clavier Ankh was an alias the Joker once used. It proved to be the key to tracking down his whereabouts on that occasion.”

“I see,” Batwoman said. “This looks more helpful. Something called a ‘Parfume Pressurizer’ was delivered to Minerva’s Mineral Spa with a note about the customer always being right.”

“I think that ‘product’ is really called a Persimmon Pressurizer. Minerva would appear to be the recipient, though,” Batman said, as the desk opened for the tiny tool in his hand. “Let’s see if I can find a clue here.” He pulled a manilla folder from the desk and began to look through it.

Meanwhile, in the lab, Mousey regarded Robin and Flamebird with undisguised horror. “You can’t do this to me!” the brunette protested. “You’re supposed to be good guys!” Honest Gabe’s young assistant had been bound to the swing in the cage, precisely the way Flamebird had been.

“You said your boss would want to take full advantage anytime a guinea pig fell into his lap,” Flamebird said mercilessly.

“Do you know what he’ll do to me when he learns what happened today?”

“You seem worried,” Robin said, letting a hint of sympathy creep into his voice.

“Listen,” Mousey pleaded, “if you’ll let me think straight, I might remember something about the kitty litter . . . or at least the knockout gas! Many of our clients find that useful.”

“We don’t have time for games,” Flamebird said, throwing a switch. The swing to which Mousey was bound began to descend. “Oh. Now I think I see how this is supposed to work.” She waved at a gauge and asked conversationally, “Does this indicate how much power is electrifying the cage? I wonder–”

“Robin, stop her!” Mousey pleaded.

Robin regarded the captive seriously. “I’m sorry, Mousey. I don’t know how this equipment works any more than Flamebird.” He shrugged and spread his hands.

“Okay!” Mousey yelled. “Turn it off and I’ll talk!”

“Talk first,” Flamebird said coldly. “After all, you were going to zap me without a second thought.”

Mousey looked at Flamebird’s face and the electrified floor of the cage, toward which she was descending. Her glance flicked between them several times before her face fell and her shoulders drooped. She began talking quickly.

“Listen, Gabe asked me to pull a file the other day that was pretty thick. The names clients give us are often meaningless. What we care about is the delivery address and whether a client has paid in the past. I remember reading about a pair of gigantic firecrackers that resembled rockets Gabe delivered and set up at the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. I don’t remember seeing anything about the thing Robin was talking about earlier, but your mentioning of kitty litter triggered my memory.”

“Why?” Robin and Flamebird asked simultaneously.

“Double check everything I’m telling you, but I think the same client who ordered the rockets had a lot of kitty litter delivered to a museum once. What you really want is the billing address. I don’t remember exactly what it was, but it didn’t change. I think it was a some place that has been out of business for awhile.”

“Typical,” Robin said.

“What kind of business was it?” Flamebird asked.

“It might have been a theater. Now, please, turn this off!”

“Which theater?”

“I don’t know,” Mousey whined as she glanced at the ever-approaching floor. “I think it had a name that made it sound artsy and suggested it catered to theater actors!”

“The Majestic Bard Repertory Studio,” Batwoman said, entering the room.

“We found the address,” Batman added, following the Brunette Bat.

“Great!” Robin enthused. “Let’s go!”

“Hey!” Mousey shouted. “What about me?!”

"Perhaps we should turn it off?" Robin suggested.

“That won’t be necessary,” Flamebird said. Mousey regarded the young heroine with wide, horrified eyes as the swing stopped descending of its own accord. Even if Mousey let her legs hang straight down, her feet were still several inches above the cage floor. “It was designed to torture someone with longer legs than yours. I wouldn’t have used it, otherwise.”

“I’ll get all of you for this!” Mousey loudly threatened, as the heroes departed, ignoring her.

As the Dynamic and Distaff Duos hurried from Honest Gabe’s House of Scientific Discoveries and Deathtraps, the stand-in Batgirlcycle pulled to a stop beside the abandoned Majestic Bard Repertory Studio. ‘This must be the place,’ Batgirl thought, throwing a Batrope to the roof. Quietly, she began her Batclimb and presently slipped through a broken, upper story window.

Employing equal stealth, she climbed among the catwalks and rafters where ropes, curtains, weights, and lights were suspended. Below, the stage was shrouded in darkness, but the area where the audiences had sat was dimly lit. This space was clear of seats and of much of the debris to which the chairs had been previously reduced, perhaps by vandals.

Batgirl knew someone was using the apparently abandoned theater, because two tables had been set up beside what was once the orchestra pit, with neatly stacked greenbacks arranged on both of them. ‘It seems I’ve found the proceeds from both of this morning’s bank robberies,’ Batgirl thought, pulling a camera from her utility belt. She snapped a picture before descending to the largely-cleared area before the shadow-shrouded stage.

“Is that you, boss?” a female voice asked, moments after Batgirl stepped away from the convenient rope that had facilitated her descent, back into darkness.

“Who else would it be?” Batgirl demanded, harshly, vainly willing her suddenly tense muscles to relax and hoping her tone would compensate for her voice being naturally unfamiliar to the speaker.

“Not Batgirl,” the white-haired woman who had tried to kill the heroine the previous night said, laughing and stepping into the light.

Batgirl smiled and let her eyes twinkle with genuine amusement. Evidently, the henchwoman thought she was talking to her unseen employer. “You did a good job on her, Ashley,” Batgirl said. “You didn’t come down here to fish for compliments though. What do you want?”

“Thanks, boss. I do have a question. How long will you let us go on pretending to be Batman and the others, while we commit robberies?”

“Why do you ask?” Batgirl inquired from the shadows, softening her tone, but only slightly.

“Dawn Robbins will talk to the press after we hit her party. Batman and the others will be practically banished from Gotham City long before she’s finished with them.”

“That’s the idea, Ashley,” another female voice said, Batgirl’s eyes widened as another Batgirl eased herself from a seated position on the stage from which she had obviously observed Batgirl’s arrival and the subsequent conversation. “Batgirl, whom you apparently did not kill, has staged an impressive performance, impersonating me.”

The second Batgirl to appear stepped into the light looking exactly like the genuine article. Each stood still, facing the other. Ashley looked helplessly back and forth between the two women.

“We’ll discuss your failure later, Ashley. Batgirl’s performance is impressive indeed,” she agreed, “but, she is impersonating me.”

Ashley shrugged. “I can’t tell you apart,” she lamented, “not yet, anyway.”

“It may not matter,” the faux Batgirl said. “Batgirl’s penchant for crime is well known. It first became apparent after Catwoman reshaped her mind, making Gotham’s Dark Angel into a master criminal. Batgirl proved formidable enough to scare her mistress into believing a beautiful Frankenstein’s monster had been created and unleashed to terrorize the city. Apparently, the Joker felt the same way three years later, shortly after he ‘recruited’ her into his gang. Batgirl followed his lead, but didn’t seem to know her place, overstepping her henchwoman boundaries constantly when Joker and his followers set about eliminating their enemies. Oh, and we mustn’t forget her one-time alliance with Bookworm she tried to explain away, claiming an imposter was at work. I think the truth is Bookworm found more to do in bed than read when they were together.”

“It seems to me you should know, Batgirl,” Batgirl said, trying to sound bored while cringing inwardly at the implications of her mirror image’s words.

The other woman laughed, smirking. “You’re very good. Last year Batgirl robbed a jewelry store while allegedly under the Siren’s spell and this morning she and her female allies seem to have robbed a bank. It seems to me that if we were to join forces, we’d be unstoppable and that anyone who opposed us would be easily and mercilessly crushed.”

“I have no idea to whom you’re referring, considering Batman, Robin, Batwoman, and Flamebird are now dead,” Batgirl snapped.

High above the confrontation, the Dynamic and Distaff Duos had entered the building via similar means as Batgirl.

“When we get down there, I’ll be able to tell them apart,” Robin said confidently.

“Are you sure?” Flamebird asked. “Batgirl is obviously trying to get that girl to attack her boss.”

“Batgirl will no doubt be trying to keep from giving herself away, too,” Batwoman cautioned.

“Only Batgirl and her evil twin will know for sure which Batgirl is real,” Batman thoughtfully said.

“Holy Double Vision!” Robin softly exclaimed leaning toward a handy rope.

“Let’s watch Batgirl play out her role in this scenario,” Batman suggested. “We don’t want to spoil her bluff unnecessarily and we just might learn more by simply watching and listening. We’ll have to be quiet to clearly hear.”

“Getting closer would also help,” Flamebird suggested, “as long as we remain out of sight.”

The faux Batgirl cocked her head to one side, contemplating the other woman’s confident declaration concerning the demise of the unseen heroes. “Well,“ she began, extending a hand “What do you say to a partnership?”

“Why not?” Batgirl said, stepping forward and gripping the other woman’s hand. “Together, we’ll bring Gotham City to its knees.”

“Not together, Batgirl,” the heroine’s evil twin said, laughing. “I only took your hand so that Ashley could get behind you. We know our attempt on Batwoman and Flamebird failed. Let her have it!”

“It will be my pleasure. Because the Distaff Duo survived our ‘arrangements’ for them, Batgirl, we couldn’t use their genuine vehicles for a third robbery this morning,” Ashley explained. “Their survival cost us a lot of money!”

As she spoke, Ashley let her fingers curl lovingly around the handle of a blackjack she carried against her spine. She raised the weapon and moved toward the heroine.

She was just about to strike when purple knuckles impacted her chin, ushering her into a swirling vortex of velvety oblivion that seemed to suddenly envelope her.

“Surprise!” Batgirl said. “I only took your hand to find out who you really are!” As she spoke, Batgirl reached out with her free hand and took a hold of her evil twin’s cowl, gripping it tightly. She pulled the costume’s cowl, along with its red wig, from the woman’s head, thus revealing the woman wearing them and releasing her simultaneously.

At the same time, as Batgirl unmasked her twin and Ashley’s body settled to the floor, Batman realized the faux Batgirl had retreated a step to put some distance between her and Batgirl, extended a shapely leg, and pressed a button in the floor with her foot. “Time to emerge,” the Caped Crusader said, leaping for a hanging rope and dropping a handful of smoke pellets to the floor below.

Robin, Batwoman, and Flamebird followed the senior crimefighter to the floor. When the smoke cleared, the small army of thugs – who had been summoned to aid the unmasked villainess – saw the five heroes surrounding their young, dark-haired leader, who was still wearing the majority of a Batgirl costume.

“Holy Improbable Revelation!’ Robin exclaimed. “I know her.”

“Indeed, Robin.” Batman said. “Several tiny things make much more sense now.”

The redheaded heroine could only stare speechlessly at her unmasked twin. “I don’t believe it!” she incredulously said.

“You’ll regret having done that, Batgirl,” the heroine’s evil twin predicted, nodding so that dark hair cascaded around her head until it framed her pretty face.

“You’ve come a long way since you impersonated Little Bo Peep last year,” Batgirl declared.

“It fooled you a decade ago and put you in Riddler’s hands,” the dark-haired desperado declared, chuckling. “Two years ago, Egghead was just as pleased when I delivered Batgirl to him.”

“Do you know this woman?” Batwoman asked her colleagues.

“Gosh, yes!” Robin replied. “Her name is Pauline. She was the Riddler’s moll when he made a silent film of Batman and me as a ploy to steal the famous film aficionado and collector Mister Van Jones’ extensive and expensive silent film collection.”

“What did Riddler do to you?” Flamebird asked.

“He tried to cut me in half with a buzz saw.”

“Lengthwise,” Pauline added. “Too bad he changed his mind.”

“Riddler’s change of mind didn’t keep him from trying to toss me off the Chessmen Building!” Robin remembered.

“You poor, deluded creature,” Batman sympathetically began. “It‘s clear you remain a frustrated, would-be actress, even after ten years.” Pauline glared at the Caped Crusader as his description went on, “You’re still a star that was never born, venting her disappointment on society.”

“Why am I surrounded by living heroes?” the former moll demanded. “They’re all supposed to be dead!”

“We survived your latest attempts to kill us!” Flamebird announced.

“Obviously,” the villainess went on. “I knew that! It gets worse! They found us here, at our secret hideout!”

“We traced you through clues you left at the scenes of our attempted murders in the past,” Batwoman explained. “The murderous plans of which we speak, of course, also failed.”

“You also made a mistake stealing the Batmobile and Batgirlcycle,” Batman revealed.

“I’m sure both vehicles have been useful for your crime wave,” Batgirl said, “but we have ways of tracking our vehicles, so that when they’re stolen . . . . ”

“Oh, spare me!” the dark-haired criminal mastermind grumbled. “Who asked you, anyway?”

After a brief pause, Batman went on advising the young villainess. “Riddler led you down a thorny path with wild tales of get-rich-quick schemes and promises of a life of leisurely ease–”

“The fact is, Batman, I’ve been considering a career change, but since you’re so smart, riddle me this! When is a criminal like lightning?”

“I must admit,” Batman conceded. “I wasn’t expecting a riddle. When is a criminal like lighting?”

“It could have to do with both being bright,” Batwoman suggested.

“Or maybe it involves flashing,” Flamebird ventured.

“What about speed?” Batgirl asked.

“I’ve got it!” Robin declared. “A criminal is like lighting when he is charged!”

“Correct!” Pauline said. “The Riddler used me as his messenger girl to get his riddles to Batman. In exchange for that important service, I saw the Batcave, but I also went promptly to jail. While I was there, I had a lot of time to think and came to one very important conclusion.”

“I would hope you realized crime does not pay,” Batman said, shrugging.

“The crime you’re planning against Dawn Robbins is going to be particularly unprofitable,” Batgirl predicted. “Yet, I’m curious. To what conclusion did you come in prison?”

“In crime, it’s best to be in charge,” Pauline said, grinning. “So much boring unpleasantness can then be avoided. It may be true that I’m venting my disappointment on society, but I’m now doing so from a much loftier position.”

“You couldn’t have been prepared to take over a gang of crooks after one short stretch in prison,” Flamebird objected.

“I’m not so sure,” Batwoman said. “Prison would be the perfect place for an aspiring crook to assemble a gang.”

“Your partner is right, Batwoman. I wasn’t prepared to lead a competent gang. Although, I did learn a lot and met a number of helpful crooks. Instead, I get myself recruited into another gang – the Falsehoods.”

“You worked for Falseface?” Flamebird asked. Her muscles tensed slightly as she thought of the first criminal to have tried to kill her.

“Right up until you and Batwoman helped the Dynamic Duo thwart his attempt to rig the Gotham City mayor’s race a few years ago.”

“I don’t remember arresting you.” Batwoman said.

Pauline laughed. “That’s because you never did. I knew the jig was up before Boss Two F figured it out. Mister Knox foolishly let his last television show before the mayoral election get sabotaged, before realizing all of the heroes Falseface had tried to kill were still alive. Falseface and Knox dealt with these discoveries by retreating to a known hideout. It wasn’t hard to figure out they were finished.”

“You, however, were just getting started,” Batgirl said.

“Precisely. I went to the dressing rooms as soon as we all got to the circus. I knew a crook willing to impersonate the chief of police or the Commissioner would have some uniforms around. It worked like a charm. My old cohorts didn’t recognize me when I escorted them on their way up the river.”

“Very clever! The police always have an impressive presence when arresting a supervillain,” Batwoman said.

“Then, you took your cue from Falseface when committing crimes,” Flamebird said.

“Right. I’m sure you remember how he planned to make Batgirl into cat food, but let you and Batwoman stand in for her when you showed up at the circus.”

“Yes,“ Batwoman said. “He suggested the Joker or Catwoman would be blamed for our murder.”

“I see,” Batgirl said. “You’ve been committing crimes in the guise of other criminals.”

“You pretended to be Penguin after robbing Star Labs,” Robin said.

“You’ve also tried to kill us as Catwoman,” Batman said, “among others.”

“So, you’re behind the mysterious figure in the robes and hood who whispers to conceal his or her identity,” Flamebird said.

“You should be ashamed of trying to frame Zelda the Great for your first wave of crimes,” Batwoman said. “She has reformed and is entertaining children for Bruce Wayne as the Resident Lady Magician at his Children’s Hospital. You might have stolen hours of joy from sick kids as well as Zelda’s good name.”

“Listen, Batwoman. Before I’ve finished with you and the rest of the Quixotic Bat-quintet’s precious reputations, I, the Drama Queen, will have rid the world of all of you once and for all!”

“Like you did posing as the Joker or as Shame?” Flamebird sweetly asked.

“You also tried to frame Chandell for our murder on another occasion,” Robin recalled. “He reformed after his prison term and is teaching music locally at the college level.”

“I certainly haven’t forgotten your recent stint as Mister Freeze,” Batgirl said. “Well, Pauline; or Drama Queen; or whatever you call yourself, Batman and the rest of us are all far from dead, as you know, despite your best efforts.”

Pauline laughed. “I assure you, Batgirl,” she said, “when I take my shot at super villainy, I’ll hit the bull’s-eye. My past attempts to get rid of all of you may have failed, but you’ve never kept me from the prizes I sought. So, you can imagine how my retirement fund has grown.”

“If you’ve been so successful,” Batgirl asked, “why did you throw in with Egghead two years ago?”

"Egghead seduced me with his reputation as a genius and his plan to make Gotham City into a town of crooks. It seemed like a shortcut to instant wealth. If it had worked, he and his helpers could have easily left this town as bare as a Thanksgiving turkey carcass after the meal. Oh, and leaving you, Batgirl, to have your brains scrambled as progressively larger eggs were dropped onto your skull one by one was also a memorable treat.”

“Sorry to have upset your plans,” Batgirl said.

“Not to worry,” Pauline, the Drama Queen said, laughing. “I’ve got all of you right where I want you.”

“Look again, Pauline. You won’t escape us this time,” Batman predicted.

“That’s for sure!” Robin agreed.

“I’m sure you’re still very impressive after all these years, Batman and Robin,” Pauline, the Drama Queen, said. “I wonder though, do I really need to escape from you, or will you need to escape from me?” As the young criminal spoke, her throng of thugs moved eagerly toward them. “Since our first meeting, you’ve attracted some pretty partners in crime fighting, but my forces still outnumber you – dramatically! So, before my stage hands, prop men, and extras demolish the five of you, I’ll give you one chance to surrender quietly.”

“Forget it!” Robin and Flamebird said simultaneously.

“As you wish,” Drama Queen said. Her enemies prepared to defend themselves. “Men, Batman and his allies have refused to go along with our plans. This means they must be persuaded. I’ve brought all of you in for your ‘persuasive’ talents.” The speaker’s voice became amused and she heard knuckles cracking. “When the coming fight is over, I want the victims helpless and damaged. Don’t imagine they won’t try to defend themselves. Once they’ve been defeated, we’ll be able to deal with them properly – for the last time!”

“This situation reminds me of a scene we once filmed for Penguin,” Robin murmured. “We’ll give Drama Queen the same kind of realism.” As he spoke, the former Boy Wonder slammed his fist into his palm.

The horde of goons began to edge even closer to their intended victims. “Okay,” Flamebird muttered. “Here they come.”

“All right, boys, the bruising bat-battle sequence will be dealt with in a single take,” Drama Queen said, backing from what would become the combat zone, dragging Ashley’s still unconscious body to safety. “Get ready. Get set. Get them!”

As the fight began, Drama Queen bent over Ashley and began patting her cheeks and helping her to slowly revive.

Fists flew at the heroes from all directions. Each blocked and counterattacked their assailants instinctively. For a time the combatants resembled dancers, circling; engaging; and retreating as blows were deflected and absorbed and bodies moved with fluid grace.

Soon, Batman, Robin, Batwoman, Flamebird, and Batgirl began to employ a defensive strategy, forming a circle, from which each faced outward and blocked oncoming blows before dispatching attacker after attacker with what became necessarily vicious effectiveness.

Batman’s fist shattered a man’s nose and a second man’s face was in the path of his other fist as he pivoted, pulling his arm back and upward.

Robin’s fists slammed repeatedly into a man’s gut before clipping a second man’s chin and hitting the first man again as he sagged. New thugs replaced the ones Robin had repelled and the young hero fought on.

Batwoman sidestepped an oncoming thug and cut his legs from beneath him. As he fell, a heel came into contact with the back of his neck and slammed his face into the floor.

Flamebird hit a man with two body blows low down and rammed her knee into his face as he doubled over. She took him out by snapping her foot into his throat.

Batgirl spun before a charging thug and straightened him with a kick to the center of the chest. She spun again and slammed her heel into the side of his head, taking him down.

As Drama Queen’s thugs continued swarming toward them, Batman and his companions realized there were many more of them than they had been prepared to defend against, yet not all of their attackers could move simultaneously and none of the attacks seemed coordinated.

Thugs routinely picked themselves up to rejoin Batfights, and the heroes normally put them down and moved on to the next attacker, finally subduing them only after repeated battering. For this fight, however, the sheer number of opponents dictated the heroes dispatch their enemies quickly, in most cases the first time a given thug attacked. With a few exceptions, the thugs who were dispatched declined to return to the action. As the horde of thugs thinned out, the heroes had more space in which to move and battle their opponents. Thug after thug fell under the relentless impacts of the heroes’ gloved fists and booted feet.

Drama Queen had smiled when her forces first surged toward her intended victims, but her happiness ebbed as thug after thug was beaten back and left motionless, moaning. The embattled enemies of evil fought tirelessly and the young, aspiring criminal mastermind began to feel her enemies’ defeat was taking too long. Her well-laid plans were either going awry or had not been as well-laid as she had imagined.

Batman, Robin, Batwoman, and Flamebird had gained enough room to literally fling their partners at their enemies, while Batgirl had begun incorporating acrobatic rolls among her whirling attacks and her stunning, showgirl high kicks — her signature attack.

While the heroes’ first concern remained their own defense, Drama Queen’s thugs were being dispatched right and left, making their leader grow impassive as she watched the battle rage. Gradually, she grew worried as the numbers in the fight grew even and her forces were stunned, slammed into one another, and heaped atop the haphazardly stacked piles of beaten, human debris. Batman and his victorious colleagues shook hands all around.

“Now, Drama Queen,” Batman said. “It’s your turn.”

“I’ve another salvo to launch before my act gets the hook,” Drama Queen cried. “Lights!”

Five spotlights blazed from the back of the theater.

“Cover your eyes!” Batgirl urged. Each of the heroes raised an arm against the eye-searing light beams and began retreating.

As the dazzling beams mercilessly maintained their blinding focus on Gotham City’s guardians, Drama Queen retreated to a switch, watching the heroes back inexorably toward the curtained stage. Eagerly, she waited. Watching. Anticipating. Soon, they reached their mark and she threw the switch, shouting “Now!” The curtain hanging before the stage draped over the temporarily blinded heroes and held them helplessly still.

“What’s happening?” Flamebird asked, tearing vainly at the curtain.

“Drama Queen trapped us,” Batwoman said. “Unless we can get out of here quickly . . . .”

“It seems the tables have turned yet again,” Drama Queen triumphantly crowed, “this time for the last time. Take them, ladies!”

Ashley flicked a lock of pale, nearly-white hair away from her eyes as she led half a dozen shapely silhouettes from the stage. Topaz tossed her reddish, curly hair as she regarded the covered captives from her position beside the pale-haired woman. Cocoa’s white teeth flashed wickedly as she took her place, grinning at how her petite partner, Cathey’s, braided pony tail swung, providing a provocative counterpoint to the rhythmic movement of her shapely hips. Tawny blinked several times when she took her place before her hazel eyes returned to their usual, half-closed position, framed by her brown hair. Finally, Scarlet brushed her long mane of red hair back, away from her well-rounded hips, before her hands came to rest there. She completed the ring of well-proportioned henchwomen who surround the helplessly trapped heroes, awaiting their mistress’ orders.

Drama Queen folded her arms with satisfaction and threw her head back, laughing as the sinister sextet beamed at their helplessly trapped targets. “Now,” the brunette in the bat costume said, licking her lips. “Incapacitate them!”

Gleefully her gorgeous goons set upon their victims. Booted feet slammed into the backs of the heroes’ legs, bringing them painfully to their knees. At this point, their attackers worked slaps, punches, pushes, and stomps into the pummeling that soon brought moans and agonized cries from the victims for several minutes before the heroes finally lay still and silent.

“I should have simply left their capture to you,” Drama Queen said. “After all, history has shown that when a job is to be done right, a woman should attend to it.”

“We could keep working on them,” Scarlett offered. “They won’t last much longer.”

“No, dear. I’ve a much better fate in mind for this formerly fearsome fivesome,” Drama Queen said with a delighted laugh. “First, however, a change of clothes will be required. Tie them up and take them to the car. You’re all going to love my plan for them.”

Later, Robin moaned as his eyes fluttered open. “What hit me? Where am I?” he weakly asked With a glance, he assessed his position. Ropes wrapped his forearms and abdomen, holding his arms against his sides and his body motionless, balanced on his feet between a pair of parallel, vertical poles. His ankles were bound together and fastened to an eyebolt drilled into a pedestal beneath his feet. Experimental movements told him the only movable parts of his body were his shoulders and neck, but pain accompanied even slight movements and he could see the large, ugly bruises on his bare forearms and legs while feeling those bruises his costume covered. He heard himself moan again and wondered about his companions.

Gritting his teeth, he twisted his upper body as much as his restraints would allow and spotted Batman, Batgirl, Batwoman, and Flamebird lined up beside him and similarly bound. He noted an unpainted board behind each of them and bent back his head, gasping as he confirmed he was bound before a similar surface. Soft sounds around him revealed the other captives were reviving, and assessing their situations. “Is everyone okay?” the former Boy Wonder quietly asked after waiting a silent moment.

“I think so,” Batgirl said. “It looks like Drama Queen’s goons beat us up pretty well, but there is probably much more to her murderous plans for us.”

“Her female helpers were characteristically efficient,” Batman agreed, exhaling a long, measured breath. “Clearly, Drama Queen’s planned finale for us is not yet underway.”

“I’m glad we’re all conscious now,” Flamebird admitted. “What do you think she plans to do to us?”

“I doubt we’ll have long to wait before we find out,” Batwoman murmured. “Villains tend to closely monitor their helpless, unconscious captives.”

The sound of an opening door demonstrated the accuracy of Batwoman’s observation.

Seven female figures wearing police uniforms entered the room and regarded the captives silently, smiling wickedly. “They look magnificent, girls,” Drama Queen complimented, removing her cap and holding it over her heart. Her henchwoman did likewise. “In a few hours, they’ll be quite dead and there is nothing any of them will be able to do about it.” The women laughed for a moment before the villainess realized her captives were staring at her. She turned her attention to them, grinned, and asked, “Do you know where you are?”

“That would be our first question,” Batgirl said, adopting the role of spokeswoman.

“Well,” Drama Queen responded, “it’s my extreme pleasure to welcome you to the Gotham City Police Department Pistol Range. Once we’ve gone, all of you will remain helplessly bound behind the targets. Later this morning, this term’s class of police cadets will take their final shot at target shooting. The young cops have been practicing their marksmanship, so I’m sure they’ll make a wonderful firing squad. It’s ironic. As they blast their way onto the force, they’ll never suspect they’re executing their greatest allies. I wish we could stay to watch the fireworks, but my plan to exonerate them after the fact requires as timely an execution as yours.”

“This isn’t going to work, Drama Queen,” Batgirl warned. “The cadets will be exonerated because it will be obvious we were murdered. ”The bruises we endured being captured won’t fit into your planned scenario either.”

“Did the girls hurt you?” Drama Queen asked, laughing. “You don’t really understand the plan, Batgirl. Those cops will deliver your blood to the public and before I’m finished, every citizen in Gotham City will be screaming for it. If you think your reputations are tattered now,” she laughed, “just you wait.”

“That’s impossible!” Flamebird said. “Batman and Robin are media darlings.”

“Dawn Robbins, the famous actress, is throwing a party tonight. The five of you are about to crash it and mercilessly rob her guests blind. The party should be very well attended and the hostess will be justifiably furious, especially considering the Dynamic Duo saved her years ago, after the Penguin kidnapped her. Now, she is a real media darling and will make the perfect victim for my purposes. Oh, I’d have robbed her anyway, but having left you all here to die beforehand makes the plan so much more delicious.”

“Your planned caper has enormous potential.” Batwoman said, her voice reflecting her understanding of its implications.

Drama Queen acknowledged the analysis with a nod and grinned as she explained, “Not from a financial standpoint. I’ll only get small change out of it, at least by my standards, however, Ms. Robbins will induce shock and awe in media and law enforcement circles.”

“She will demand our arrest, or worse,” Batman predicted.

“Precisely,” Drama Queen said. “So, after the police cadets finish blasting you all to Kingdom Come, they’ll be Gotham City’s newest heroes.” She and her minions laughed.

“Holy Turnabout!” Robin exclaimed.

“Well, now that we’ve given you something to think about, we’ll leave you to enjoy your remaining hours among the living,” Drama Queen decided. “Scarlet, be sure to turn out the lights when we go.”

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

“The cops won’t stop me,” Drama Queen disagreed, chuckling. “They’ll be doing me a big favor in a few short hours.” Before any of the captives could retort, the villainess waved a dismissive hand at them. “Shut them up!”

Ashley, Topaz, and Cathey each carefully smoothed duct tape over the Distaff Duo and Batgirl’s mouths before pecking each on the cheek and whispering, “Goodbye.” Cocoa and Tawney also administered deep goodbye kisses, pressing their lips hard against their victims’ mouths and lingering until each moaned involuntarily. Only then, reluctantly they stepped back and applied the tape.

“Too bad you miss out on more, Batman,” Cocoa said, stepping back. “I know you’ve resisted beautiful women in the past, but I’m different. It could have been sweet, if we’d had time to get properly acquainted.”

“You’re confident,” Tawney said. “I think he’d have disappointed you in the end.”

Batman was slowly recovering from the kiss, breathing through his nose, while the tape on his mouth obscured his expression as completely as his cowl hid his eyes.

Cocoa shrugged. “A short affair would have been worth it. After all, who has ever had Batman all to herself?”

“Good point,” Tawney conceded, shrugging. “It’s too bad about Robin.” She was aware of the Twenty-something Titan’s eyes upon her and indicated him with an all-encompassing gesture. “There is so much more I’d enjoy doing to him, before the end.”

“I’m sure he’d enjoy the treatment,” Cocoa agreed, licking her lips and shrugging, “probably in spite of himself. Oh, well.”

“The Dynamic Duo are losing much more than their lives tonight,” Tawney said, laughing. “I think they’re beginning to appreciate that fact, though just barely.”

Drama Queen waited for her shapely sycophants to return to her, favoring her victims with a courtly curtsey. “With all of you out of the way, I’ll have no trouble bringing about the storybook ending I’ve planned for this little crime wave. Come, my fairy princesses,” the villainess said as she took her leave, followed closely by the others, who curtseyed in turn.

Scarlet paused in the door after turning off the lights, regarding the helpless, human targets. “I believe the girls are right about you, Batman and Robin,” she said. “The Caped Crusader and what we’ll call his ‘powers’ have been a hot topic among female criminals for . . . well . . . probably as long as you’ve been fighting crime. Robin, for the record, you have got it going on. Too bad it will all be over by morning. Oh, you ladies can also count on your fate being quite hot and deeply penetrating. Farewell.” With a delighted wave and a laugh, she closed the door, which locked behind her.

Echoes of their laughter lingered for a time before utter silence fell over Drama Queen’s victims. The darkness quickly became oppressive, making each prisoner seem utterly alone, despite the closeness of the others. None of them had a sense of how quickly their end would come, but each knew it would — eventually. Inevitably. For the moment, there was nothing to do but wait.

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