A throng of enraged people, all citizens of Gotham City, was loudly protesting outside Police Headquarters. A petite, yet buxom blonde in a white dress with a wide black belt and matching, thigh high boots clapped her hands, encouraging the crowd along with three stalwart men wearing black pants and white sweatshirts. In agitated voices, the mob chanted, “One, two, three, four, we want Batman no more! Five, six, seven, eight, Musicman is so great! MUSICMAN, MUSICMAN, MUSICMAN!”

The cheers grew to a thunderous pitch, and their picket signs were lifted high as a short man in a black coat with white vertical stripes stepped onto a temporary podium made from milk crates. He smoothed his necktie, which had part of the musical arrangement to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony printed on it. “My dear friends,” the peculiar man began in a melodic voice:

[If] You want a better kind of future,
One that everyone can share,
I’d like to help you with your problems.
Stick around; we’re nearly there!

He was singing now, his tenor voice filled with all the gusto of a true operatic singer. He tried to begin his soliloquy again, but the excited citizens were shouting encouraging words. He waited until they had all composed themselves and then belted out:

All I am saying is Give Peace a Chance!
Try to see it my way,
Only time will tell if I am right, or I am wrong!
Try to see it Batman’s way,
There’s a chance that we might fall apart before too long!

The stranger grew solemn as he declared, “Batman doesn’t care about the people of this fair city! The only reason he’s a crimefighter is to glorify his own ego! He wants us to thank him profusely, to revere him and hold him in high esteem! He doesn’t really care if there are criminals on the streets, endangering our children! If we didn’t idolize him, he would go back to his Batcave and sulk for all eternity! Batman is against peace in this world! I-I am for peace, love, hope and charity!”

The crowd roared with wild applause as the short man bowed and smiled pleasantly. Slightly changing the words to an oldie again, the musical man was able to strike the right chord with the peace-hungry multitude:

So come on, babes, follow me!
I’m the pied piper; trust in me!
I’m the pied piper, and I’ll show you where peace is at!

As the deafening plaudits rang in his ears, the performer almost didn’t hear the sound of the first police siren. He looked around and spotted three officers attempting to break up the rioters. He hit a high note (for a man), and instantly the foursome who had been inciting the mob to protest appeared.

“Flat, Sharp, Major, you’ve got to get me out of this place, if it’s the last thing you ever do! I will not be caught by the coppers!” the little man commanded his goons.

The instigators nodded their consent before Major, the largest, hefted the small man onto his shoulder. Flat, the stupidest, but second strongest, carried the delicate woman. Sharp led them, shouldering and shoving his way through the mass of humanity before them, as Musicman raised his booming, vaguely hypnotic voice again. “My friends, it's time to show these pigs what we think of their precious Batman – and of them as well!”

Musicman's encouragement and Sharp's rough treatment of the citizens further angered the infuriated protesters. Their jostling, erratic jumping up and down, and the skirmishes that had erupted between some of the revelers prevented the police from catching the Musicman or any of his four companions.

A group of determined police officers arrived like the cavalry. In his boisterous Irish brogue, Chief O’Hara bellowed orders, coordinating his officers' efforts to separate the rabble-rousers and patiently disperse them. Slowly, they advanced into the mass of uncontrollable people, firmly advising them it was time to go somewhere else and guiding them to the edges of the throng.

The police managed to thin the crowd considerably before the sound of a shattering windshield brought an officer's club descending sharply upon a citizen's knuckles. The situation degenerated from that point. Cameras captured the sounds of grunting and smacking flesh, as well as a scene of controlled chaos for broadcast that evening.

Chief O'Hara and his men had wanted to disperse a peacefully assembled group of protesters. Instead, they were compelled to arrest a few of the men who had attacked them. Charges were pending the following morning.

The Musicman Keeps Them Guessin’

The very next day, a similar demonstration took place outside Police Headquarters once again.

“Those rioters are filled with unmitigated gall!” Commissioner James Gordon shouted with righteous anger. “How could they turn on Batman like that, after all he’s done for the community?” He turned to his weary Chief of Police. “How many did you have to arrest today?”

“I’d say about five rapscallions, Commissioner,” O’Hara responded. “Every one of them deserved worse than imprisonment!” He scowled fiercely, his Irish temper flaring to an unusually high level.

Commissioner Gordon was about to reply when his secretary’s voice came over his intercom. “A letter just arrived, sir, addressed to Batman.”

“Who gave it to you?” asked Gordon.

“I don’t know. It was slipped under the door.”

“Bring it in immediately, Bonnie,” James Gordon ordered.

The secretary complied, gently placing the envelope on her boss’s desk. Once Bonnie had left, Gordon snatched the letter to examine it carefully. “I’ve never seen this handwriting before.”

“Should we open it, or leave that task for the Caped Crusader?” O’Hara inquired.

“Opening someone else’s mail would be sacrilegious!” Gordon seemed absolutely appalled that his friend and co-worker would even think of such a thing.

“Then we’d better phone the Dynamic Duo right away.”

The two policemen stepped over to the red telephone that would connect them to Batman and his partner in crimefighting, Robin. O’Hara picked up the glass cover that protected it from unwanted dust and grime, while Gordon waited docilely. Once this ceremonious flourish was completed, the Commissioner lifted the phone from its cradle and pressed the single red button.

Meanwhile, behind stately Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne was deeply immersed in a game of croquet on his expansive lawn. His opponent was the beautiful and buxom Barbara Gordon, daughter of the Commissioner.

On the terrace was Dick Grayson, his former ward, going through his college studies. He had just started his senior year at Gotham State University. The young man stopped his homework for a moment to smile at his Aunt Harriet, who was flitting about the back yard and pruning her garden.

Unaware the red Bat-phone was incessantly beeping in his study, Bruce breathed in the fresh air. “What a wonderful day to be alive!”

Barbara agreed and hit her ball with a satisfying, “whack,” sending it neatly through the first wicket. She grinned as she headed toward the newly positioned ball, her tan Capri pants moving with her muscular legs. “It’s so nice to have a day off from the library.”

Dick glanced up from his texts and exclaimed, half-teasingly, “How am I supposed to study my Advanced Macroeconomics when I can’t even concentrate!”

“Is this beautiful Fall weather distracting you too much?” Barbara asked.

“Yes! and I can’t afford to fall behind. Professor Edgewater is infamous for asking for the most unimportant information on his tests.”

“Nothing is inconsequential, Dick, remember that,” Bruce began in his lecture tone. “All information is important for life, even if we might not think so at the time.”

Several years ago, Richard would have admitted his mistake and said something to the effect of, “When you put it that way, Bruce.” Now, however, that he was 21, Grayson was becoming more peeved each time Wayne began one of his familiar reprimands on Dick’s “jaded view,” or “lack of knowledge.” The college student was an adult and he felt it was about time his former guardian began treating him like one.

Dick was about to say so, when Barbara spoke. “How do you remember all that ‘important information,’ Bruce?” Barbara teased, putting her strong hands on her shapely hips as she waited for a reply.

Whether he was embarrassed because he had no answer, or because he was confused that her pose reminded him of Batgirl, a woman never far from his mind, Bruce hit his ball with such force that it soared into Aunt Harriet’s flowerbed!

“I’m sorry, Aunt Harriet. I guess I’m not that physically talented,” Bruce lied.

“Well, you’re certainly no Batman,” Mrs. Harriet Cooper replied in a flutter. She had fond admiration for the tall hero who dressed in gray tights and wore a body suit, cape, boots and cowl.

Bruce suppressed a grin at the irony of her statement.

At that same moment, Commissioner Gordon was about to hang up the phone in despair. “Why won’t he answer, O’Hara?”

The Chief didn’t have time to respond, for the proper British voice that almost always answered the Bat-phone finally came over the line. “Batman will be here in a moment, sir.”

“Thank you so much!” cried Gordon to the unknown man.

The unknown man was actually Alfred Pennyworth, loyal butler to Mr. Wayne and confidant to Batman and Robin. He was also the only man who knew that Barbara Gordon was Batgirl. He strolled onto the terrace with a tray full of iced tea. “The refreshments are here, sir.”

Dick eagerly cast his studies aside. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“I apologize for the delay. I just received an urgent call from Mister Wayne’s stock brokerage. It appears there is a red alert on one of his investments.”

Bruce and Barbara came over just in time to hear Alfred’s announcement. Bruce immediately excused himself to talk to his “stock brokers” in his study. Barbara shrugged nonchalantly, causing her light blue sweater to crinkle. She took a glass of tea and seated herself next to Dick.

The young man, though, had other ideas. “Gosh, I’m never going get any studying done at this rate. Maybe I should sit in with Bruce and gain some practical experience in economics.”

Barbara looked to Alfred for an explanation for her hosts’ abrupt behavior. Instead, the butler whispered, “Their departures may be fortuitous, Miss Gordon. I heard on the news that there’s been another riot outside Police Headquarters. Do you think that perhaps Batgirl should appear at the scene?”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Barbara said quietly, barely concealing her excitement. “Please make my excuses to Mr. Wayne.”

“Master Wayne is far too immersed in his business to notice your disappearance, but when he is finished, I’ll tell him you became tired of waiting and will call again.” Alfred watched as Barbara Gordon exited the manor, on her way to make her dazzling transformation into the brilliant Batgirl.

Mrs. Cooper came up from the garden for her iced tea, gazed around, and exclaimed, “Mercy me! Where did everybody go?”

Bruce had already toggled the hidden switch in his bust of Shakespeare, which opened a massive bookcase. There gleamed two poles – poles that Dick and Bruce quickly slipped down in order to change into the Dynamic Duo. Robin decided he wanted to drive his own car, so he set off in the Redbird while Batman roared away in the Batmobile.

“You have no idea as to who or what instigated these heinous riots?” Batman inquired, once the police had related the whole story of the morning’s events.

“No. If we did, we wouldn’t be sitting here, twiddling our thumbs,” Chief O’Hara said. The tone, much sharper than that with which he usually addressed Batman, revealed his frustration. “Both yesterday and this morning the citizens have been chanting about someone called Musicman.”

“This morning, a speaker revived the specter of Proposition B, the measure defeated a couple of mayoral elections ago,” Commissioner Gordon said. Mayor Linseed had since won re-election again, this time virtually unopposed.

The men in the office recalled the ballot measure Gordon had mentioned. It would have required the police department to provide full details to the public of the relationship between the law enforcement community and Batman, as well as his fellow crimefighters. “I’ve not heard of a character called the Musicman before,” Gordon concluded.

Batman asked, “May I please see the letter now? It may tell us more about this obscure character.”

Robin sidled up next to him to read it. Together, the Dynamic Duo perused a short, cryptic letter:

Dear Batman and Friends,

I, the unstoppable Musicman, declare war on Batman! You might ask, “what is war good for!” It’s good for “absolutely nothing,” except in getting rid of you.
Any who wish to oppose me are welcome to try. “Follow me, where I go . . . up and down, all the way and all around. Take my clues and say, ‘you'll follow me.’” Be warned! “I won't back down. No, I won't back down.”
If the “race is on,” I promise your formerly adoring public will soon be saying their dear Dark Knight “has left and gone away, hey, hey, hey.”
Your first clue is: “Turn Around, Look at Me,” by the Vogues. Good Luck – you’ll need it!

P.S. “Here's to you losers, bless you all.”

“Not another musical villain!” O’Hara whined. “No sooner do we get rid of the Siren, than someone else comes out of the woodwork to take her place!”

“Of all the audacity, telling you that you’re going lose his little game!” Gordon sputtered angrily.

“Don’t worry; we’ll take care of him, easily!” Robin pounded one fist into the other hand.

“Pride goeth before a fall, old chum,” Batman upbraided his partner.

“But Batman, this guy has a childish mind,” Robin insisted. “Why else would he end his letter with that ridiculous rhyme?”

“Because he fancies himself to be the Musicman, and See You Later Alligator, was a song performed by Bill Haley and the Comets,” a feminine voice informed him. The four men turned to face the Queen of Crimefighting, who was standing confidently by the office door.

“Batgirl, how good to see you again.”

“It’s good to be seen, Batman,” the Purple-clad Paragon of Women replied.

“Obviously, you heard the letter,” Robin surmised.

Batgirl nodded, jostling her red, shoulder-length hair. She couldn’t be sure whether Batman or Robin suspected it was a wig, but felt confident her father and Chief O’Hara had no idea that the auburn locks were not her own. “He seems to know his oldies quite well.”

“Yes, besides quoting the Haley and the Comets’ song, he rephrased the lines from War, by Edwin Starr, and Mrs. Robinson by Simon and Garfunkel,’” Batman observed.

“Gosh, I wasn’t even aware of that,” said Robin. “The only quotes I recognized were from Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and George Jones.”

“To get to the hear of the matter, though, what does this madman’s letter mean?” Deep in meditation, Batman placed his gloved pointer finger on the edge of his chin.

“Maybe he’s just alerting us to his presence and telling us to be on the lookout for his diabolical plan?” Robin suggested.

“I think Musicman has challenged us to a little rally,” Batgirl interjected.

“Of course! He told us through all those quotes that this first clue would lead to the next!” the Dark Knight exclaimed.

Batgirl peered at the piece of paper, her mind working at lightening speed. “Maybe the hint is located in the group’s name, the Vogues.” Suddenly, the petite crimefighter’s eyes lit up with the exhilaration she always felt when she was involved with a case. “Wait a minute: the Gotham City Plaza is holding a fashion show today, featuring clothes from the magazine Vogue! The exhibition starts at eleven a.m., with a brief luncheon at twelve and the continuation of the show afterwards!”

“It’s already 11:20, but I’m confident we can get there in time!” Batman exclaimed enthusiastically. After bidding farewell to the Commissioner and the Chief, Batman motioned for his two partners to follow him outside.

“It would be shameful to waste gas by taking three vehicles to the Plaza, so I’ll leave my Batgirlcycle behind and ride with one of you two gentlemen.” Batgirl stared longingly at the Batmobile as she spoke.

Batman followed her gaze, smiled, and politely offered her a ride. Over Robin’s silent protestations, Batgirl eagerly hopped into the passenger’s seat. Seconds later, the Batmobile had pulled into traffic after steering around a poodle, which was obliviously crossing the street. Tires squealed inexplicably as the Batmobile turned a corner.

Robin sighed as he realized that maybe he was still too young for a woman like Batgirl. He definitely was fortunate that the cute teenage crimefighter Flamebird had graced the Gotham City scene. Robin, though, found it pleasant to dream that one day Batgirl would be interested in him!

Musicman entered a vast, run-down, musical instrument warehouse. Abandoned patriotic bunting hung here and there. The villain’s four minions trailed behind him. “By now, Batman has read the clue and is on his way to his inevitable doom!”

“I still don’t see the point in killing the Bat-freaks,” complained his petulant moll.

“Melody, Melody, Melody.” The Malevolent Maestro sighed and then explained. “With the crazed crimefighters out of the picture, it will be incredibly easy to steal the 24 karat, solid gold reproduction of the platinum selling record, Yesterday. It’s the only one of its kind and is on display at Bruce Wayne’s Music Memorial!”

A wave of admiration and avarice swept over Melody, Sharp and Major. The feelings, however, were not unanimous. “What’s the point of owning that replica if we can’t even cash it in?” Flat grumbled.

“You dolt, I’m going to sell the reproduction to the infamous art-dealer, Yoshio Takashi!”

“Doesn’t he only buy things off the black-market?” Sharp wanted to know.

“Precisely, my clever goon; Takashi only purchases items for a very high price, usually in the millions!” Musicman cackled nefariously at his own ingenuity before adding, “What is even better, I’m planning to frame Batman and his friends as the robbers!”

“I thought you just said we were going to do away with them,” Melody interjected.

“We are, Melody, but I plan to destroy their reputations before they are removed from the scene forever.” Musicman laughed. “Think of it: the legendary Batman will look worse than The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald before I’ve finished with him.”

“You see,” Sharp whispered to his dim compatriot, “The Edmund Fitzgerald, or what’s left of it, is at the bottom of Lake Superior.”

“Oh, I see“ Flat said. “So, the Edmund Fitzgerald was a ship. Did it hit an iceberg like the Titanic?”

“It went down in a storm,” Sharp explained.

Musicman glared at his henchmen. “Returning to business, how have we done at the rallies so far?”

“More people got arrested at the second one,” Major reported. “A few police officers received minor injuries.”

Sharp added, “We also spoke to a few young men who wanted to join the gang. Batman incenses them and I think they feel demonstrating against ‘the Man’ is some kind of moral obligation.”

“Good. Ask them to join us here later,” Musicman instructed. “I trust the donations to our cause have been generous?”

“Yes, and our sponsors had no idea they were even being robbed!” Melody said with a laugh, tossing a handful of large bills onto a conveniently nearby desk. The men, including Musicman, all threw similar wads of cash onto the table. Melody began to sort and count the bills. Once she had finished, she announced, “We have a few grand here.”

“So what’s our cut?” Sharp asked.

“You don’t get a cut of this,” Musicman said. He pulled a large manila envelope from the desk drawer along with an ovular, yellow sticker with a black bat depicted upon it. “It’s operating capital. Melody, look up the address of Police Headquarters.”

“Right, boss,” the blonde said, bending and extracting a phone book from another desk drawer.

He turned to two of his three thugs and barked orders, “Flat, Sharp, I want you to prepare the Bat-trap while Melody and I trail the Caped Crusaders. We’ll need to know which ones are out working today, so we can set the traps accordingly. I really want to eliminate all five of them, but there’s no guarantee that Batwoman and Flamebird will interfere. If we need anything, we can communicate via our cell-phones.”

The two goons responded dispassionately, then marched to the other side of the large warehouse to begin their work. Major glared angrily as he demanded, “What am I supposed to do while the rest of you are busy?”

“You’re going to plant the next FOUR clues at their appropriate locations,” Melody told him. “You remember where they go, don’t you?” She stared peevishly at him, waiting for an answer.

Major nodded, snatched the papers from Melody’s manicured hand, and left the vicinity.

Once the goon had gone, the ravishing rogue’s mood changed dramatically. A pair of imps began dancing in her eyes as she reached to place three fingers over her employer’s mouth. She stepped toward him and grinned as he sat on the desk. She made herself comfortable in his lap and bent her mouth to kiss him as her arms slipped around his neck. “At last we’re alone,” she said huskily once their kiss had broken. She leaned close to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Her breath was very hot against his neck.

The Musicman turned to his luscious moll, inquiring, “Are you ready for your own assignment, my beautiful minuet?”

“Do we have to go to work right away?” she asked, pouting.

Musicman took her face in his hands and kissed her again. “Soon,” he whispered, “we haven’t much time.” Their lips brushed and Melody let her head fall against his neck so that she could feel his breath against her ear when he spoke again. “Batman, Robin, and their women will be after us already. I’m looking forward to a very lively chase.”

Melody glanced down to see Musicman open a drawer containing a black and white garment. “You have a vital role to play in the next phase of my plans, my dear. I’ll also need you to wear that for me.” He lifted the garment and grinned as she examined it with sparkling eyes. He raised her to her feet and stood himself. He kissed her neck gently, tickling her. “You will be so beautiful.”

Melody smiled beguilingly as she replied, “I’m so excited, my heart is ticking like a metronome!” The two shared another brief kiss before exiting the building arm in arm.

The Batmobile, followed closely by the Redbird, screeched to a halt outside the Gotham City Plaza. The Terrific Trio bounded into the expensive hotel, wasting no time locating the conference room where the fashion show was in full swing. They didn’t want the exhibition to stop for their benefit, so they remained in the back of the room, out of view.

In one of the plush seats watching the performance was Betty Kane, niece to business tycoon Katherine Kane. Betty was like most teens; she enjoyed gazing at the latest styles, especially the high-class outfits that, fortunately for her, she could afford.

Betty was now nineteen, having graduated from high school two years ago. Instead of attending college, she had pursued a professional tennis career. Although she wasn’t yet a threat to the Williams sisters, her ranking had steadily improved.

Currently Betty was taking a week off from the tour. The time back in Gotham City wasn’t as much fun as she had hoped, though, because her aunt was in Orlando, Florida, conducting a business transaction.

As one model after another stepped onto the walkway, Betty’s mind and eyes began to roam. She squirmed in her chair and turned around to check the time on a fancy wall clock. That’s when she spotted Robin and his two friends! Her heart racing, Betty quickly decided that she would have much more fun if she knew why the three crimefighters were scouting the area. They would never tell an ordinary teenager about their mission, but, luckily for Betty Kane, the super heroic Flamebird was her secret alto-ego.

She slipped out of the room unobserved by anyone except the ushers. Quickly, she ran to the underground parking garage and her brand-new Porsche, a present from her aunt, and removed a satchel bag with her spare Flamebird costume inside. Then she sneaked quietly into the ladies’ room to change. When she emerged, Batman, Batgirl and Robin were just coming out of the conference room into the hallway. She hastily stuffed her satchel bag behind a potted plant.

“We’ve scoured the whole room and backstage, yet we didn’t find anything!” Robin complained, oblivious to the petite figure of Flamebird.

“One of the models must be carrying the clue on her person,” Batgirl reasoned.

“It’s not as if we can ask to search the models while they’re on the walkway,” Batman retorted.

“Then, why don’t you just make your presence known?” Flamebird asked, stepping into view. “Evidently, the woman with the clue doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Or she’s waiting ten minutes until the luncheon to tell us the next hint,” Batgirl added.

“Flamebird, since you somehow were able to find us and seem to know what’s going on, take Robin and search backstage again,” Batman ordered. The two younger heroes nodded eagerly and deftly dodged several people on their way backstage.

“We’ll make our way to the stage,” Batman finished, as he politely opened the door for Batgirl.

Ignoring the gasps of surprise and delight from the audience, the two walked down a wide aisle to the foot of the stage. There they waited for someone to step forward – or for something else to happen.

Robin and Flamebird were having similar luck backstage. Robin had been filling Flamebird in on all the details of the case. Just as he was finishing, Melody stepped out of one of the dressing rooms in a slim, black and white bathing suit.

The suit was a one piece with vertical white stripes on the side and a low-cut front. The bikini cut of the suit was hardly unflattering, showing off nearly all of the petite young woman’s shapely legs and well-rounded hips. Still, it didn’t seem to fit exactly right. She giggled at the two crimefighters before she slinked onto the walkway.

Unfortunately for the henchwoman, Melody’s giggle attracted the attention of one of the stagehands. “That’s funny,” he said to the costumed adventurers, “I don’t remember her from the dress rehearsal this morning.”

Flamebird exchanged a concerned look with Robin. “Wait here, Robin,” she said. Before he could object, the Goggled Girl entered the dressing room alone. In the corner she found a bound, gagged, and struggling model hidden behind a curtain. Flamebird hurriedly released the unassuming blonde woman and made certain the battery victim was not injured.

“The woman who just got onstage is a phony!” Flamebird exuberantly told Robin, once she had returned to his side.

“So, that must mean she has the clue!” Robin completed her thought. “We had better stay here, so we can arrest her when she finishes her turn on the runway.”

The moll passed by Batman’s stately figure and nonchalantly removed a note from the bosom of her bathing suit. She let it drop and it fluttered into the Caped Crusader’s outstretched hand. Then, before Batgirl could tackle her, Melody raced back up the walkway from whence she came.

The crowed, outraged at such an amateur performance, jeered at Melody. Batman stepped onto the stage, disrupting the whole exhibition. Several models shrieked as he pushed apologetically past them in pursuit of the moll. Batgirl sighed in embarrassment, but followed the Dark Knight’s footsteps. By now the entire audience was in an uproar of massive proportions.

By the time Batgirl reached her three partners they had cornered the moll. “Who is this Musicman?” Robin demanded.

Melody simpered, singing, “You stick around and it may show. I don’t know; I don’t know!”

“Something, by George Harrison and the Beatles,” Batman murmured automatically. He was about to interrogate her further, when the lights went out, shrouding the inside of the backstage area in a cloak of impenetrable darkness. In the brief disorientation that followed, Melody slipped through the crimefighters’ grasp with a graceful leap and a maniacal laugh.

Musicman emerged from the electrical room, smiling happily for having thwarted the four heroes. “Ha, just when you think you have me, Batman, I do something electrifying; like switching off the power!” He quickly fled, just as the emergency lights flickered on. Outside, he joined his scantily clad moll. Together they made their getaway in villainous style – in other words, by walking down back alleys.

Too late to pursue the villains, the crimefighters scanned the new clue, which read: “Britney’s Spears, Baby, Baby, One More Time.”

“Holy Pop Idol! What’s that supposed to mean?” Robin asked.

“It is rather ambiguous, but I’m convinced that we’ll be able to figure it out,” Batman returned.

“Why do you think he put an apostrophe and an s after the name Britney?” Batgirl inquired.

In a revelation, Robin exclaimed, “Musicman must be telling us that somebody named Britney holds something very important for this trail of clues, or maybe we’re supposed to go to a Britney’s house.”

“I’ve just remembered something that might be significant!” Flamebird piped up. “The philanthropist Cameron Britney has a private collection of spears and arrowheads on display at his mansion.”

“Of course! He and Bruce Wayne were advertising it on the radio several days ago,” Batman said, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that.

“But what does the song Baby, Baby, One More Time have to do with it?” Batgirl asked.

“This is the second and final time Mr. Britney is letting the public in Gotham City view his collection before he donates it to a museum in Chicago,” Robin explained, showing his extensive knowledge on natural history and current events in general.

“I suggest we split up: Flamebird with Robin in Redbird, and Batgirl with me in the Batmobile,” the Caped Crusader proclaimed. “I’ll lead the way to the mansion, if that’s okay with you, old chum?”

“I don’t care who gets there first, Batman,” Robin assured his longtime partner in crimefighting.

As Batman and Batgirl exited the Plaza, Flamebird lied, “Let me call Batwoman to let her know where I’m going. She’s making some adjustments to the Bat-Gyros. I’ve got a portable Bat-phone in my utility belt that I’ll use to contact her. Please bring your car up to the curb and wait for me.”

After Robin acquiesced, Flamebird grabbed her satchel from behind the plant and ran to Betty Kane’s car. When she was positive no one was looking, she tossed the bag into her vehicle before running up to the street.

She smiled tranquilly as she slipped into the passenger seat of the sleek Redbird. “Let’s go have a good look at those spears!”

Musicman and Melody ran back into the warehouse, panting from their exertion. Once they had recovered their breath, Musicman called for his goons. Soon, Sharp and Flat stood before them, awaiting new instructions.

“‘Time has come today!’” sang the Musicman as he rubbed his aquiline nose. “We strike hard, and we remove those Bat-blemishes from the world! Melody and I have discovered that four of the Quailing Quintet are active! We’ve decided to frame those youngsters, Robin and Flamebird, for the robbery, and eliminate Batman and Batgirl, one way or the other!” A cacophonous cheer reverberated through the massive building.

“Sharp, Flat, did you finish setting up that Bat-trap?” After receiving an affirmative response, the Musicman gleefully chuckled. “Good work, my fiendish friends! ‘You’d better go now, go now’ to Sam’s Supreme Songs and CDs.” He addressed his love with the question, “Where are the Bat-costumes you created, my dulcet dear?”

Melody grinned as widely as possible as she dragged a large, brass trunk from the corner of the room. With an affected air, she removed a replica of Flamebird’s and Robin’s costumes, complete with masks and makeup. “This makeup will give us a youthful glow – not that I need it or anything.” As Musicman admired her craftsmanship, she added, “I hope no one will notice that Robin’s chin has suddenly grown two inches.”

Musicman glared testily at her as he snapped, “No one will know the difference, or my name is ‘John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt;’ you dig?” He tapped his foot importunately until Melody wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, Sweetums; I was wrong.”

“‘Only My Love does it good to me!’” declared the Musicman extraordinaire. He leaned forward to kiss the blonde bombshell.

Meanwhile, Batman and his gorgeous companion reached the estate ten minutes ahead of Robin. When the Redbird had not followed right away, Batman had driven off, sure that his friend could find the mansion with ease.

“Well, Batman, where do you think the next clue will be?” queried the Dominoed Darling of Gotham. “In the exhibit case with the spears, or somewhere nearby?”

“There’s only one way to find out . . .”

Entering the manor, the duo announced their presence to the butler and the other visitors. “There’s nothing to fear, citizens,” Batman informed them, “We’re just enjoying the exhibit, like yourselves.”

Once convinced they were in no mortal danger, the guests resumed their activities. Batman and Batgirl joined the throng to examine the spears and arrowheads.

Unbeknownst to them, Major had just finished sneaking two clues into the exhibit. With an exaggerated sigh, he lumbered out of the estate to his vehicle. “I’ve got two more stops to make before I join Sharp and Flat,” he complained to himself.

Batman and Batgirl decided to split up to search for the next clue. After futilely surveying many artifacts, Batman stooped over an ancient Indian spearhead carved out of stone. It was lying incongruously on a red satin pillow – a pillow that was slightly askew. This seemed odd to the Dark Knight, for the rest of the show had been meticulously laid out. Excitement building in him, he investigated the display case’s lock. It had been quickly and efficiently picked! After gaining the consent of a security guard, Batman opened the case and gingerly lifted the pillow.

Underneath was a rectangular index card with the words, “I don’t wanna be your lion, cuz lions ain’t the kind you love enough.”

“Batgirl, I’ve found the next clue!” Batman shouted across the room to his female friend.

“Are you sure? because I’ve found a piece of paper sticking to the end of this spear!” The petite Gotham City Prowler gestured to a long, wooden spear attached to the east wall of the mansion. At the top was a white sheet of paper. Batgirl stretched, jumped, and managed to snatch it without upsetting the artifact.

“‘It’s gonna take money, a whole lot of spending money.’ Name the song and the George Harrison album that it’s from.’” she read aloud.

“What a fiendish plot: two different clues!” Batman cried.

“Which one is the right one?” Batgirl mused.

“Well, fortunately there are four of us!” Flamebird said as she entered the room.

“Two of us are bound to take the correct hint,” agreed Robin, standing behind his teenage companion.

“I can’t help thinking it’s a trap,” Batman proclaimed.

“Well, no matter what we think, it’s best not to argue about business in front of these fair citizens,” noted Batgirl.

The four crimefighters hurriedly assembled outside by their two vehicles. Before discussing their itinerary, the group went over the clues again. Robin immediately recognized the George Harrison lyric.

“That’s from ‘Got my Mind Set on You,’ an awesome eighties’ song!” he exclaimed. “I love the album, Cloud Nine!” He deliberated over the paper briefly before yelling, “Holy Expensive Checks! Cloud Nine is the name of that new ritzy restaurant located on the ninth floor of Katherine Kane’s Networld corporate headquarters!”

“That’s right. It’s only been open for three weeks,” chirped Flamebird. She frowned slightly as she added, “Its customer base dries up significantly in the afternoon, though.”

“I guess we’ll just have to get permission to enter the restaurant.” Robin turned to hop into his car, but Batman checked him.

“Robin, be careful; we really don’t know who we’re up against.”

“Gosh, Batman, I’ll take extra good care of myself and Flamebird.” He grinned flippantly at his three colleagues. Flamebird returned the smile before she and Robin got in the car and sped off down the street.

Once the two young heroes were out of sight, Batgirl asked, “Do you have any idea from which song this lyric comes?”

Batman shamefacedly shook his head. “Sometimes, it helps to say the line out loud.”

The twosome gazed at the lyric intently and recited, “I don’t wanna be your lion, cuz lions ain’t the kind you love enough.” Suddenly they both sang,

Just let me be your Teddy Bear!
Tie a chain around my neck and lead me anywhere!
Oh let me be (oh, let him be) your Ted-dy Bear!”

They danced a little jig by the Batmobile, Batman twirling Batgirl around in tiny circles. He finished the tune in a low baritone voice, “I just want to be your Teddy Bear OOO!”

Several bystanders tittered, amused at the two heroes. Batgirl felt her face grow hot under her mask, with her cheeks burning as red as her hair.

Batman suffered similar effects from being caught acting silly in public. He wasn’t sure why he had allowed himself to act as he did. There was just something about being alone with Batgirl that made him feel . . . younger.

Once most of her composure had returned, Batgirl began, “We now know that this lyric is from the song, ‘Teddy Bear,’ by Elvis–”

“But what does it have to do with our madcap chase to find an elusive villain?” finished Batman. Upon receiving a nod from the beautiful female bat, he replied, “The answer must lie in the lyric, for why else would he quote that particular part of the song?”

“Why would he even quote, ‘Teddy Bear,’ unless the title meant something as well?”

“Good point, Batgirl.” The male bat placed the end of his fingertips together in deep contemplation. “Lions and teddy bears . . . oh my!” he murmured methodically.

At that moment, Mrs. Harriet Cooper stepped out of a black limousine. “Batman and Batgirl, what are you doing at Cameron’s estate?! Is something wrong? Is he hurt?!”

“It’s nothing to worry about, Mrs. Cooper,” Batman assured the easily-flustered woman. “What brings you to Britney’s mansion – the spear collection?”

“No, I have a tea engagement with the kind Cameron.”

Batman wondered why he hadn’t remembered her appointment. He had been present as Bruce Wayne when she had called Cameron Britney. Smiling, he listened politely to the older woman’s rant.

“Don’t you think it’s terrible that Mr. Britney is giving his fine collection to an out-of-town museum? Part of Gotham City’s heritage is disappearing!”

Batman’s smile faded as an idea struck him like an electrical shock. “Great Scott, why didn’t I see it before? The Gotham City Museum’s most celebrated feature is its lion fountains and they have been the key to a conniving criminal’s clue in the past!”

Batman vividly recalled how the four-legged fountains had been the answer to a riddle the Riddler had provided the police after the Brilliant Blackguard had assumed the Dynamic Duo had died. At first, the Caped Crusader had gotten credit for discovering the legendary lost treasures of the Incas. As soon as possible, though, he gave credit where it was due. It had been the Riddler’s faith in the accuracy of the legend that had actually uncovered them.

On that case, the Prince of Puzzler’s assistant had worn a purple bodysuit into which she seemed to have been poured. This recollection brought Batman’s mind back to the present, where the similarly-clad Batgirl was speaking.

“The museum is only part of the answer. The Teddy Bear Factory is just a block away from there!” Batgirl added enthusiastically. She slid into the Batmobile in record speed, her muscular companion not far behind.

“Did I say something wrong?” Aunt Harriet wondered as the Batmobile began to pull away from the curb.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cooper! You’ve been an enormous help!” Batman called over the roar of the engine, just before the Batmobile zoomed away, tires once again squealing.

“Oh, Alfred,” Aunt Harriet gushed as she turned back to her limousine. “Did year hear that?”

While Batman and Batgirl drove to their next destination, Robin and Flamebird arrived at theirs. Robin smoothly parallel parked and the two alighted the marble steps into the business building. The guard at the security desk acknowledged the pair as they raced past his station, on their way to the elevator that would whisk them to the ninth floor. Inside the elevator car, Flamebird smiled to herself and thought, ‘I’ve been in this building at least a hundred times, but never before in costume!’ She looked at Robin, who was waiting impatiently for them to arrive at Cloud Nine. Flamebird sighed inwardly, ‘If only Aunt Kathy could see me now!’

As the two young crimefighters began searching for their clue, Musicman and his malevolent moll Melody were entering the Bruce Wayne Music Memorial . . . dressed as Flamebird and Robin! In a voice as that vaguely approximated Robin’s, Musicman greeted each of the thrilled citizens. He and his accomplice finally made it to the Beatles section of the museum.

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, besides me?” breathed Melody as she gazed at the solid gold reproduction of the “Yesterday,” record. The frame in which it was set gleamed almost as brightly as the gold.

“It’s Showtime, my baby grand,” whispered Musicman. He and his aide pulled out pistols, which had been hidden under their capes. “OK, everybody, don’t move, and you’ll all be safe!”

“Robin, what’s gotten into you?” a middle-aged man demanded.

“Flamebird’s taken a fancy to the Beatles’ record, so I’ve decided to give it to her as a present!” Musicman motioned for her to remove the plaque from the wall. Melody obeyed and soon was clutching the valuable next to her large bosom, which had been strapped in to make her look more like a teenager.

Musicman knew from singing on stage how to make his exit. Slowly and decorously, he bowed to the agitated crowed before reaching into his utility belt. He produced three small capsules, noted where the nearest exit was, and thrust the pills onto the floor. They erupted into red smoke, making it impossible for anyone to see as Musicman and Melody managed their escape.

In Commissioner Gordon’s office, he received some rather startling news from one of his officers over the phone. “Robin and Flamebird just stole the gold Beatles’ record?!? I don’t believe it! I can’t believe it!!” He slammed down the receiver in disgust.

Chief O’Hara agreed. “Sure’n it twer a couple of imposters. Either that or they’re under the evil spell of some drug . . . or it’s part of some Bat-counterplot!”

“Even so, Chief, I guess we’ll have to issue a warrant for their arrest until we get this mess straightened out.” He shook his head disconsolately. “I do sometimes wish they’d keep me better apprized of what’s going on . . .”

Meanwhile, Robin and Flamebird had discovered the next clue on the Today’s Special board. Underneath the “Soup of the Day,” the words, “I Hear a Symphony” were written in blue magic marker.

“Gee, that was a great Supremes’ song!” Flamebird said. She noticed Robin’s blank expression and inquired, “Don’t you know who the Supremes are?”

“Um, is that an oldies group?”

Flamebird decided to ignore her chagrined friend, asking, “Where do you normally hear a symphony?” She answered her question with the comment, “At the opera, so all we have to do is find an opera house–”

“Excuse me,” Robin interrupted pointedly, “but so far the song and the artist have been part of the clue. Do you know of any opera house with the word Supreme in its name?”

“Perhaps we should start again at the beginning.”

“Look, I can never think properly on an empty stomach. Why don’t we discuss this clue over lunch?” Robin offered his arm to the young woman in an elegant fashion. The two exited the office complex once more, unobserved by anyone except the guard at the desk and Major.

The guard inhaled and let the breath out slowly as Major stepped from behind a curtain of foliage that decorated Networld's lobby. "You were right," the guard said. "Robin and Flamebird stopped by and didn't stay long."

"What did I tell you?"

"What you didn't tell me was why."

"That's not important. Just forget they were ever here. You're getting paid, right?"

"So you tell me," the guard cooly replied. The large thug grinned and pulled a bulging envelope from under his coat. He started to toss it to the greedy guard, then stopped.

"You won't forget to take care of the security tapes?"

"That was the deal . . . after I get my money." Major tossed the envelope to the guard, who caught it in mid-air. "Thanks," said the guard.

"Don't spend it all in one place."

The guard was tearing at the envelope as Major walked out the door. Major smiled evilly at the prospect of framing Robin and Flamebird. Once outside, he flipped open his cell phone. “Hey, Musicman, did you finish stealing the Beatles’ record?”

“Yes,” Musicman replied, somewhat annoyed, “we’re in our van in a parking lot . . . resting. It’s so fulfilling to know that the police think those two birdbrains are the criminals instead of us!”

“Batman took the clue you wanted him to.”

“I knew the eighties’ song would appeal to the Boy Blunder more than to his comrade.”

“Flamebird and her boyfriend should be soon on their way to the music store.”

“Good,” the Musical Mastermind congratulated his thug. “You may now return to Flat and Sharp.” He listened to the dial tone for a brief second before relaying the news to his moll.

The Batmobile swerved into a parking space at the Teddy Bear Factory. Batgirl gave Batman an amused glance as she remarked, “You possess such great driving skills, Caped Crusader.”

Batman wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. He was a bit embarrassed, since he had been showing off just a bit behind the wheel for the Delectable Daredoll. He let the remark pass and entered the building with the air of a man who knows he’s appreciated. “Good afternoon, citizen,” he spoke to a clerk behind the checkout counter. “Have there been any suspicious characters at your fine establishment today?”

The man, having never seen Batman in person before, scrutinized the Dark Knight warily, ready to phone Arkham Asylum.

Batgirl stepped up beside the tall, costumed crimefighter. “He means anyone besides himself and me.”

“Well, a tall, brawny fellow dressed in black and white checks came here with a note addressed to Batman.”

“May we please see this letter, sir?” requested the heroine. A wrinkled parchment was procured for the duo. She and her comrade quickly browsed the paper, grimaced at each other, and thanked the gentleman.

Batgirl was heading for the door, when she realized that Batman was not with her. She turned around to perceive him purchasing a teddy bear with a purple bow on its ear. She smiled; the purple bow was the same color as her outfit. Batman marched purposefully over to the curvaceous woman and ceremoniously handed her the bear.

“I’ll treasure it . . . always,” she said earnestly. They exited the factory, leaving an immensely confused man.

“‘The warehouse on the street Jerry Rafferty lives,’” read Batman out loud, as Batgirl unconsciously stroke her teddy bear. “I must admit, this riddle confounds me.”

“I can’t help recalling that lovely song in the musical My Fair Lady that the character Freddie Eynsford-Hill sings.” Batgirl cleared her throat before beginning her quavering rendition:

I have often walked . . . down this street before,
But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before.
All at once am I . . . several stories high,
Knowing I’m on the street where you live.

“I can’t remember who played Freddie in the movie – wait, it was Jeremy Brett!” Batgirl paused before asking, “In what else has he acted?”

“Jeremy Brett went on to portray Sherlock Holmes in a successful English series,” Batman responded automatically. Although he rarely found time for television, he had watched that series religiously.

Batgirl nearly dropped her stuffed animal in delight. “Sherlock Holmes lived on Baker Street and Jerry Rafferty performed a song of the same name in the seventies!”

“Batgirl, it appears you’ve done it again! What excellent deductions!” The Dark Knight rushed over to the Batmobile and activated the portable Batcomputer in the trunk. “List the buildings on Baker Street,” he mumbled as he typed the command into the computer.

The Batcomputer whirred briefly, then dinged to indicate it was finished. Tossing her bear into the passenger seat, Batgirl gazed at the card the computer had spurted out. “It says, there’s an abandoned musical instruments warehouse located on that street!”

“Then, that is where we will find our next clue, or our crafty criminal! The game’s afoot! To the warehouse!”

As the older Bats drove to Baker Street, Chief O’Hara ushered photojournalist Vicki Vale into Commissioner Gordon’s office. She turned at the sound of a wolf whistle and grinned at her colleague, Alexander Knox, who sat with a pencil poised over a pad balanced on his knee. “Hi, Al,” she said.

“It’s always great to see you, Vicki.”

“Just how much of her have you seen, Al?” Nellie Majors inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“Hi, Nellie,” Vicki Vale began smoothly. “Just what story did you come here to cover?”

“I heard Robin and Flamebird have taken up crime. Obviously, you’re here to get the police’s reaction, too.”

“Ditto,” Alexander Knox said. “Here comes the Commissioner.”

“Commissioner!” every journalist in the room said politely, loudly and eagerly as he walked to his place behind his desk. Chief O’Hara sat in a nearby chair.

“Hello, Commissioner. I’m Summer Gleason,” a titian blond reporter began for the benefit of the TV cameras. Gordon was well aware who the newswoman was. “Can you confirm that Robin and Flamebird have robbed Bruce Wayne’s Music Memorial?”

The Commissioner chose his words carefully. “I can report that the replica of Yesterday at that establishment was stolen by a man and woman dressed like Robin and Flamebird.”

“Isn’t the replica made of 24 karat gold?” Nellie Majors asked.

“Officials at the Wayne Foundation will have the specs,” Alexander Knox advised. “Didn’t that record go platinum?”

“You’re not seeing the story here,” Ms. Majors said.

“I don’t know,” Ms. Vale cautioned. “I’m not aware of another replica like the one stolen anywhere in the world.”

“Listen,” Nellie Majors lectured. “Gordon said–”

“That’s Commissioner Gordon to you, my bonnie lass!” Chief O’Hara interrupted as his face reddened.

“Is there a question, Ms. Majors?” Commissioner Gordon asked cordially.

“Yes, Commissioner,” Nellie Majors said. “What efforts has your department made to investigate this crime?”

“You know perfectly well we don’t comment on investigations until they are complete,” the Commissioner responded reasonably.

“In that case, how soon will it be before Robin and Flamebird are in custody?”

“I can’t say.”

“Having trouble finding them?”

“I haven’t been convinced they are responsible for the crime.”

“Tomorrow morning, you’ll be the only official in Gotham City who feels that way.”

“That’s a bold prediction, Miss Majors. Robbery is so outside Robin and Flamebird’s characters.”

“Unless someone else has gotten their hands on some of Catwoman’s cataphrenic.” Alexander Knox said.

“Is that a question, Mr. Knox?” the Commissioner asked.

Knox was more interested in another line of inquiry. “How do you feel about the anti-Batman rallies?”

“I’m disappointed by them. Batman and his colleagues have done more for our fair city than anyone can calculate.”

“I’ve seen a lot of heroes tarnished in my career,” Nellie Majors said pessimistically.

“Let’s be fair, Nellie,” Summer Gleason suggested. “Commissioner, isn’t it true that many times Robin answers the phone when you’ve tried to call Batman?”

“That is true,” the Commissioner responded uncertainly, “but what are you getting at? I hardly think it would be appropriate to use the Hotline to facilitate an ambush interview!”

“We wouldn’t do that, Commissioner,” Nellie said sweetly. “Call Robin and tell him the press would like to speak to him. He can answer our questions or we can truthfully report that, when facing the prospect of a media event, Robin turns chicken. What could be more fair?”

“How about a firing squad?” Chief O’Hara muttered.

Commissioner Gordon was about to add his two cents when a messenger arrived with a thick, manila envelope. It was addressed to the Commissioner and sealed with a large, yellow oval bearing a black bat symbol.

“Listen, Nellie,” Commissioner Gordon began edgily, “I have the greatest respect for you and your colleagues and would never want to seem to suggest how you should pursue a story, but I really can’t let you use the Batphone. You sound as eager to tear Batman down now as you were years ago when Mr. Freeze was trying to damage his reputation.”

“I’m just doing my job, like I was back then,” she retorted.

“What’s in the envelope, Commissioner?” Alexander Knox asked.

“Thank you, Mr. Knox,” James Gordon said gratefully, smiling. “That’s a fair question. Let’s find out.” He opened the envelope, reached in, and frowned. “It’s money.” The Commissioner dumped the contents of the envelope onto his desk as cameras clicked away, bathing him in a purple light.

“Could that possibly be bribe money?” Nellie Majors asked.

“It most certainly is not!” the Commissioner thundered. “Anyone could have sent this envelope!”

Ms. Majors put her hands on her hips as the official stared at her and then at the money piled on his desk. “Perhaps, Commissioner, but I think this picture will tell Gotham City why the police are doing nothing to protect its citizens from Robin and Flamebird. Come on; let’s go.” She triumphantly led the press from the room.

Chief O’Hara stood and glared after the retreating members of the fourth estate. “Should I throw them all in the jug?”

“No, Chief. They’re just doing their jobs . . . unfortunately.” O’Hara was going to protest, but the Commissioner held up a hand to halt his friend. “There’s nothing, however, that says we can’t use the Hotline to try to get to the bottom of this.” The Chief smiled as the Commissioner strode to the Hotline, removed its glass lid and jabbed at the button in the center of the red phone.

“Yes, Commissioner?” Batgirl answered.

“Batgirl, is that you?”

“Yes, Commissioner,” she said again, thankful once more that her father hadn’t recognized his own daughter’s disguised voice.

“Is Robin with you?”

“No, Commissioner. I’m riding in the Batmobile with Batman. Is something wrong?”

“We’ve had a report that Robin and Flamebird have committed a robbery!”

“What?!” Batgirl squealed. She told Batman what the Commissioner had said. “That’s ridiculous . . .” Batgirl commented. Then she reflected on her own experience the past spring, “. . . unless, of course, they’re under some kind of mind control.”

Batman tried to raise Robin on the Dynamic Duo’s personal communication system without success. Batgirl relayed this information to the Commissioner and then said, “Last we knew, Robin and Flamebird were heading to the Cloud Nine restaurant in the Networld Building.”

“Thank you for the information, Batgirl. If you hear from either of them, please have them contact us immediately. For now, however, I’m forced to put out an all points bulletin on Robin and Flamebird. Goodbye.”

Batgirl gave the grim news to Batman. “I’m certain the answer to all of this lies at the end of Musicman’s trail of clues,” the Dark Knight said somberly. He set his jaw more firmly than usual as he continued to drive towards the abandoned warehouse on Baker Street.

Meanwhile, unaware the forces of the law and order were being mobilized against them, Robin and Flamebird finished a small luncheon of tuna melts, potato chips and soda pop. Robin was so intent on enjoying his time alone with Flamebird at the sidewalk café, that he had turned off his Bat-communications system.

Gradually, Flamebird became aware that Robin was staring at her. “Whatsamatter?” She self-consciously wiped a red gauntlet across her chin. “Is there cheese on my face?”

“Nothing like that,” Robin said softly. “I was just thinking how pretty you must be behind those goggles.”

Flamebird’s heart leaped in her chest. ‘Is Robin hitting on me?’ “Why, Robin,” she giggled nervously, “I didn’t think boys made passes at girls who wore glasses.”

“I’m not a boy anymore.”

The Girl Wonder looked at Robin appraisingly. “So I’ve noticed.”

The pair gazed at each other across the table. ‘I wish this moment could last forever!’ Flamebird thought.

“Hey! Look at the hot chick with Robin!” A teenage boy, driving a convertible stopped in traffic in front of the café, had yelled loud enough to be clearly heard by the alfresco couple. Flamebird glared at the intruder.

“That’s Flamebird, you moron,” said another boy in the convertible’s front passenger seat, “and it looks as if she’d like to kick your butt!” The light changed and the car sped away.

The spell broken, Robin decided to return to business. “Well, I’ve been thinking over this clue, and I believe we’ve been going in the wrong direction,” Robin proclaimed as he nervously wiped crumbs from his green gloves.

“It seems great minds think alike, because I’ve come to the same conclusion. I’m not sure what sort of building we should be looking for.” Scratching her head in wonder, Flamebird scanned the words once more.

“I’ve concluded,” Robin said, “that we should be searching for a music store with the word ‘Supreme’ in it.”

Perky Flamebird stared at the collegian with genuine awe. “I’ll see if this café has a phone book!”

With admiration of his own, Robin watched her athletic form scamper off inside the restaurant. Robin knew they could have looked up the answer via the Batcomputer link in the Redbird, but as Batman had once taught him, sometimes a low-tech means of date retrieval was more efficient.

The Girl Wonder returned to their table several minutes later with the Gotham City Yellow Pages. Robin instantly flipped right to the music store section. When he saw that Flamebird was astonished at his quickness, he spoke, “I got good at searching for information in books in college. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

His attitude resumed a formality as he spotted the store, Sam’s Supreme Songs and CDs. “That has to be it!” He pounded the page with his pointer finger, and his ebullient friend agreed.

The petite teenage heroine copied the address onto a paper napkin, stood and sprang toward the Redbird. Robin left a generous tip on the table before quitting the establishment as well. After climbing into his vehicle, he revved up the engine and headed toward the music shop.

Unknown to the two crimefighters, Musicman had taken over Sam’s Supreme Songs and CDs. With a sinister gleam in his eyes, he wound the hemp rope tighter around the real Sam. “I hope you’re comfortable!” he commented politely. The inappropriateness of Musicman’s statement was enough to further peeve the bound man.

Sam attempted to speak through the gag in his mouth, but found it fruitless. Melody, wearing her dress and boots once again, stepped into the back room to inform her boss, “I’ve hidden the Beatles’ record, boss, and the lookout you posted just told me the Redbird has come into sight.” She giggled delightedly. “Now, I’ll make that phone call.”

“Finally! I expected them an hour ago! Now, before you call, help me carry out this nuisance.” The Musicman hefted poor Sam by the shoulders, while Melody grabbed his feet. In short duration, they had him lying uncomfortably, covered by a blanket in the back of their black and white getaway van.

Musicman straightened his composer tie and tugged at the lapels of his coat as he entered the sales floor to take care of an oblivious Robin and Flamebird. The two were focused on a music book display. There were song books with arrangements for any instrument, from accordions to zithers. “I was sure the next clue would be here,” muttered Robin.

“May I help you costumed kids?” Musicman inquired in a jovial voice. He pulled his white-rimmed bowler over his narrow eyes, shading his pointed nose, but enhancing his jutted chin.

“Yes. Did any sinister persons enter this establishment as of late?” Robin couldn’t help feeling please with his authoritative manner in front of Flamebird.

“Gee, a couple of students about your age tried to sneak out of here with several CDs, but other than that . . .” The malicious man of music shrugged his shoulders.

“We’ll just have a look at your wonderful selections, if you don’t mind,” Flamebird interjected gently.

Musicman nodded and proceeded to make a great spectacle of re-arranging the stock on one shelf. While he did so, the heroes continued to search for anything that even remotely resembled a musical clue. All of a sudden, Flamebird pulled out the stolen Beatles’ record from among the vintage Beatles albums on sale.

“That belongs in the Wayne Music Memorial!” Robin shouted.

“That’s right, Robin! Now, our only question is, why did you two steal it?” Three policemen, weapons drawn, entered the store.

“Thank heavens you arrived!” yelled Musicman. “We’ve got trouble . . . right here in Gotham City! These young hooligans are trying to rob me!”

“We didn’t take anything!” protested the distraught Bat-heroine.

“Eyewitnesses swear you and Robin stole that record,” said the second officer.

“Holy Double Trouble! We’ve been framed!” Robin declared. The third policeman snapped handcuffs on Lincoln green gloves.

“I’m sorry, Robin and Flamebird, but you have the right to remain silent,” the first officer informed them. “Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law . . .” He continued with the Miranda warnings as the police, looking stricken, escorted the two super-heroes out the door.

A policewoman arrived to take Musicman’s statement. “Are you the owner of this establishment, sir?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What is your name, sir?”

“Hill.”

“What? Sam . . . Hill?”

“Er . . . yes, that’s right.”

“Sam’s” charm and soothing voice soon convinced the skeptical officer than Robin and Flamebird had indeed attempted to rob him.

As the policewomen stepped into her car, she wondered audibly, “Now where have I seen that gentleman before?” She couldn’t place the “gentleman” as being the leader of the instigators of the riots she had helped disperse.

Soon Flamebird and Robin were unceremoniously ushered into separate sections of the Gotham City Jail. For the time being, they were allowed to keep their mask and goggles on and avoid being fingerprinted. If, however, they were indicted, their secret identities would almost certainly be revealed.

For now, they waited, alone in their cells. Robin was amazed at how easily this new villain had duped the forces of the Law.

Flamebird wondered what her Aunt Kathy would say. She also worried about missing her next tennis tournament. Suddenly, it occurred to her that such concerns might be the least of her worries! ‘What if we’re convicted?!’ After that, they would no longer linger in solitary safety. The criminal justice system would place them in the midst of their enemies and, simultaneously, at their mercy!

The Batmobile slid to a silent stop in the shadow of a grove of trees behind the warehouse. “We’ll have to get over that fence,” Batgirl said, sliding from the passenger seat. She noticed a weathered sign hanging on the metal. “Do you think it’s still electrified?”

“The factory is supposed to be abandoned,” Batman replied, emerging from the car to stand beside her, “but if Musicman is hiding out here, we shouldn’t take any chances. ‘He who knows how to fear, Batgirl, knows how to proceed with safety.’”

“A translation from the Latin.”

“Precisely.”

“These trees might prove useful. If we jump from one of the lower branches, we can get over the fence without touching it and possibly alerting the crooks to our presence – or worse.”

“Good thinking, Batgirl. We’ll want to get across the open lawn quickly and into the shadow of the warehouse wall.”

“Fine,” Batman’s curvaceous colleague agreed. “Climbing the wall in its shadow may prove essential to surprising the crooks inside as well.”

“Right; Let’s go!” Batman quietly enthused. He led the way into the conveniently located grove. “Ladies first,” he invited. Batgirl flashed him a delighted smile as she pulled herself among the branches above her. Batman’s gaze followed her progress upward before he began to climb himself.

“Ready?” Batgirl asked, once he had been crouched on a branch beside her for a moment.

“This looks good,” he answered.

Batgirl only nodded before launching herself into the air and clearing the fence with yards to spare. Her descent was rapid and ended in a martial arts roll that brought her rapidly to her feet. Batman made the jump with practiced ease and was soon running beside her stride for stride.

Together, they threw Batropes to the roof and climbed the warehouse wall. On the roof they found several skylights. A quick search found one on either side of a large room in which five figures had gathered far below the watchers.

“If we split up, we can divide their attention and may even take them by surprise,” Batgirl suggested.

“All right, Batgirl, you’ve devised a clever strategy. I’ll take this skylight.”

They opened the windows in the roof and prepared to rappel into the room and cut off the figures’ escape. “After you, Batman,” Batgirl invited, grinning, “I insist.”

“As you wish,” the Caped Crusader agreed, dropping from her sight. He controlled his descent until he could hang in the shadows above the gathered figures and overhear their conversation. Batgirl followed his progress as she made her own descent, discerning his plan and pausing when he did.

“Where are they?” Musicman fumed. He was dressed in a bright red drum major’s uniform, with a tall red felt hat. “They’re behind schedule. I should have a report by now.”

“Take it easy, boss,” Sharp encouraged. “Everything has worked perfectly so far.”

“Just like you planned,” Major agreed.

“That clue wasn’t easy, you know,” Flat said.

Musicman stopped impatiently tapping the drum major’s baton against the floor and stared at Flat incredulously. “Perhaps you’re right, but none of my other clues confounded our heroic adversaries for very long.”

“Even if the clues didn’t baffle, Batman, we’re ready for him,” Melody declared confidently.

Musicman unexpectedly snickered. “Indeed I am, Melody. I’m well prepared for Batman’s arrival . . . and he won’t be staying long.” The rest of the gang joined the villain’s laughter.

“You’ll be delighted to know, Musicman,” Batman said, stepping into the light, “I’m right here!”

“We’ll see, super-hero man!” the villain boomed. “Odds are, you won’t live to see tomorrow. We outnumber you!”

“Not as badly as you might think,” Batgirl declared, emerging from the darkness and placing her hands on her hips while spreading her legs to shoulder width.

“Batgirl, you only live twice, or so it seems – one life for yourself and one for your dreams . . . of being a super-heroine,” Musicman said. “Boys, you know I look at this world and want it all. So, strike like Thunderball!”

The three henchmen stared at their boss. Even Sharp was unsure what to do.

Musicman sighed exaggeratedly. He pointed his baton at Batman and then Batgirl. “Get them!”

Sharp and Flat moved against Batman while Major advanced on Batgirl. Musicman guided Melody from the battle zone.

“Ladies first,” the enormous Major said, swinging his ham-like fist at Batgirl. Batgirl ducked easily, letting the fist pass harmlessly over her shoulder as she drove two fists into his gut with the force of pounding pistons. Major’s extended arm fell across her back and he snaked his other arm to meet it. Before Batgirl could comprehend his strategy, the thug was yanking her body off balance toward him. His voluptuous victim exhaled sharply and involuntarily as Major began to squeeze her, crushing her body against him in a massive bear hug. Batgirl was trapped – unable to breathe!

Sharp and Flat advanced on Batman from opposite directions. The Caped Crusader stepped toward the stronger Flat and went through a combination of punches the thug fended off easily. As Batman and Flat circled one another, Sharp crept up behind Batman and prepared a devastating blow.

Suddenly, Batman retreated and raised a fist, which traversed the short distance between Batman’s hip and Sharp’s chin quicker than the human eye could follow.

The sharp impact of the blow propelled Sharp backward into the air. The quick-witted thug landed painfully on his back before the sound of his collision with Batman’s fist had even registered. Then, blackness enveloped him.

Batman spun toward the off-balance Flat and brought an elbow over the goon’s head to open a punching lane. The subsequent blow backed Flat up when it landed.

“I never dreamed I’d be hugging you, Batgirl,” Major taunted, his hot breath in her face as his massive arms went on crushing the oxygen from her chest. Feeling her head begin to swim, she realized he was also lifting her. Batgirl tried to cry for help, but realized she would need air to do so. Major’s grip tightened. She desperately thrust her knee into the big man’s groin.

Major gasped in pain and his grip on her upper body slackened. Batgirl felt the floor beneath her feet and set them for balance. She bent her knees and thrust her hands away from her. Major stepped back, trying to regain his faltering balance as Batgirl’s hands came to rest on her knees, supporting her while she panted.

Batman had immediately realized Flat was in better physical shape than the typical henchman. He would be able to endure a pounding that would have overwhelmed most other thugs. Batman’s strategy was to tire the man and penetrate his defenses when fatigue slowed his responses. One punch and then another slipped past the blocks Flat attempted, pummeling him with resounding smacks. Batman relentlessly continued to fight.

Major had recovered from Batgirl’s desperate blow and began to lumber toward her, enraged, his massive arms raised. The Purple-Clad Paragon leaped into the air and delivered a showgirl kick that snapped the thug’s head back. She landed and spun toward him, extending a leg into his upper chest. Major toppled to the floor.

The sound of Major falling was simultaneous with Batman hitting Flat in the face with stunning force. The fight ended with Flat flying through the air backwards until a wall rudely obstructed his trajectory.

Batman and Batgirl glanced over the fallen thugs, then regarded one another with smiles as they shook hands before turning toward Musicman and Melody.

“It appears the intrepid invaders have dealt with my men,” Musicman dejectedly observed. “It may be my destiny to be the King of Pain.”

“I know I’m ready for the times to get better,” Melody agreed. Then she pointed behind Batman and Batgirl at two men who approached the scene. “Look, our recruits are coming!”

“It seems we will rock you yet, Batman!” Musicman said.

“We’ll take care of them,” the first newcomer said, advancing on Batman.

“This is gonna be fun,” the second agreed, eyeing Batgirl appreciatively.

Batman’s adversary charged him and was surprised when the Caped Crusader stepped aside and slammed his arm into the oncoming man’s chest. The newcomer was dumped to the floor.

Batgirl waited for her opponent to reach for her and seized his wrist, pulling him off balance. Her free hand fired a fist into his face and felt bone shatter beneath his skin.

Musicman slid an arm around Melody’s waist. “I was hoping for more from the men. I think it’s past time we got on the road again.”

“I can’t wait,” Melody agreed Together, they began to retreat.

Batman was hauling his opponent to his feet by one arm while Batgirl swung hers in the opposite direction. Both heroes released their victims, causing them to collide violently. The thugs fell into a heap.

“Where has Musicman gone?” Batgirl asked.

“There!” Batman responded, pointing at the retreating figures. “Come on, before they get away!” The devastating duo pounded after the fugitives. “Turn out the light, Musicman!” Batman shouted. “The party’s over!”

Musicman and Melody had been chased into a corner. Batman and Batgirl slowly advanced on them, making certain to allow no avenue for escape. “It seems, you’re right, Batman.”

“You’re going to be featured in a new musical, Musicman,” Batgirl predicted saucily. “It’s called ‘Big River’, and you two will be going up it without a paddle.” Gotham City’s Gorgeous Guardian let her hands rest on her hips as she regarded the criminals. Musicman began to laugh hysterically. Batman and Batgirl regarded him coolly. After a few moments, Melody began giggling with her boss.

“What’s so funny?” Batgirl demanded.

“I can’t believe it worked!” Melody said, barely containing herself. She stepped back, letting the wall support her weight.

Unconsciously, Batgirl’s muscles tensed. The villains were not reacting to her stern demand in the manner she had expected. “You’re right, my dear,” Musicman agreed, bending double and cackling more loudly. Batman and Batgirl cautiously approached the merry villains. “We have them right where we want them.” Musicman suddenly straightened and stopped laughing. “Throw the switch!”

“With pleasure,” Melody responded, no longer laughing. Her fingers brushed across a panel behind her before Batman or Batgirl could make a move.

“Jump!” Batman commanded.

As Batgirl obeyed, the Caped Crusader’s command, Musicman thrust his baton toward Batman, pushing him backwards. Batgirl’s reaction was a split second too slow and she suddenly realized empty space had replaced the solid ground she had occupied a moment earlier. She and Batman were falling through a trapdoor!

Both instinctively reached forward, feeling their hands slap the floor; slide backward; and curl around the edge of the pit. There they dangled, gripping the floor tightly while feeling their strength begin to ebb away.

Musicman and Melody stepped to the edge of the pit and regarded the dangling duo with smiles on their faces and hands on their hips. “It seems you’ve both really fallen for me,” the treacherous tenor observed. “It isn’t a ring of fire in which you find yourselves, but I promise, unless both of you walk the line, there will be nothing but excruciating pain ahead of you.”

“What are you talking about, Musicman?” Batgirl asked.

“Show them.”

“Certainly,” Melody said as she produced a remote control and touched a button. Lights blazed below Batman and Batgirl that revealed a steep slope from which hundreds, perhaps thousands, of jagged points protruded, glinting.

“When you go down, you won’t get up again,” Musicman predicted. “My nasty musical notes will see to that!”

“I thought those were nails,” Melody remarked.

“That blackguard of a blacksmith we met agreed to modify the nails he sold to us when I explained what I’d do to him if I had a hammer.”

“So, our guests will be shredded as they slide down the chute into the chamber below?”

“Precisely and once they’re at the bottom, their bodies will be tumbled together with a few thousand more of my nail notes, until their remains resemble little more than hamburger.”

“Are we really in too much of a hurry to use the more interesting alternative?” she asked, pouting.

“I see nothing wrong with this arrangement,” Musicman objected.

“It’s icky,” Melody protested. “Don’t you think your other plan was more imaginative?”

“I don’t know, Melody,“ Musicman said thoughtfully. Suddenly, he made a gesture as though a thought had just struck him. “I’ll tell you what: let’s let them decide!”

“You mean, you’ll let us go?” Batgirl asked.

“Hardly,” Musicman answered, chuckling, “I propose to offer one of you the chance to determine how long the other will go on living.”

Batman glanced at his pretty partner. “There is an ending better than this for you, Batgirl.”

“What are you talking about?” She opened a hand and took a fresh grip on the edge of the pit.

“An experienced crime fighter like me is prepared to meet his Maker at any time.”

“I’ve been fighting crime for years!” Batgirl protested.

“Please, Batgirl. Young girls look up to you as a role model. I can’t allow you to throw your life away and shatter the image of you they have in their young minds and hearts.”

“You’re a role model yourself, Batman. You inspired me.”

“I wish we had time to relish this parliamentary debate,” Musicman interrupted. He nodded to Melody, who touched another button on her control. A metal plate began sliding across the top of the pit. “You both have until that panel is in place to finish deciding. Your decision will be final and going back on it will be fatal for at least one of you, I promise. By the way, the edge of the panel approaching your fingers is razor sharp.”

“You’re a fiend!” Batman accused, his voice quavering.

Batman and Batgirl glanced at the approaching panel, and each other. Simultaneously, they nodded. “All right, Musicman,” Batman said, “we surrender.”

“You agree to this, Batgirl? You will take the responsibility of keeping Batman alive?”

She hesitated for just a moment as the ache in her cramping fingers intensified. “I agree.”

“You agree to this stipulation, Batman?”

“Yes,” the Caped Crusader muttered through gritted teeth.

“Now,” Musicman said, adopting a businesslike tone, “I am about to instruct my men to pull you both to safety. After they do so, they will remove your belts, which I require as part of your complete surrender. If you resist, not only will you be breaking your word, but . . .” he leveled his drum major’s baton at Batgirl, “. . . I’ll shoot Batgirl . . . and at this range, I can’t miss. Do both of you understand?”

The pair could both see that the end of his baton was hollow like a gun barrel. “Yes,” both heroes said in chorus, casting wary glances back at the sharpened edge of the still-approaching panel.

“Let the good times roll!” Musicman cried delightedly as Melody retracted the panel with the razor-sharp edge. Batman and Batgirl both exhaled.

“Ladies first,” Musicman directed.

“I’m getting very tired of that,” Batgirl said darkly. She felt herself being pulled upward and set on the floor once again. Before she was allowed to regain her balance, she felt the golden collection of wonders unwound from her waist. A nod from the villain prompted the men to pull Batman to safety.

When the beltless Batman stood beside Batgirl, Musicman indicated the far corner of the abandoned warehouse. “That way,” he instructed. Batman and Batgirl walked off toward their uncertain fate. Musicman followed the grim parade, pumping his left arm up and down like a drum major, but never allowing the baton in his right to deviate from pointing at the middle of Batgirl’s back.

Presently, the heroes were guided to a high-ceilinged chamber, where dim light reflected from the polished surface of a circular, marble platform.

Their attention, however, was drawn to a vast, shallow fountain from which multiple arcs of water streamed from the middle and spilled into the centers of rippling pools near the fountain’s edges. Beneath the arcs of water, white plumes of water bubbled noisily. A veil of mist hung impenetrably above the aquatic apparatus.

Musicman stepped to a console where buttons and levers waited beside a panel of illuminated indicators. “The show must go on, men; strap Batman into place. Please behave yourself, Batman. I wouldn’t want to have to punish your lovely companion for your misdeeds.”

“Whatever you do to us, you fiend, I promise you will pay for it – dearly,” the Caped Crusader said as Musicman’s thugs led him forward.

“When my plans are concluded, my fine fellow, there will be nothing my wealth cannot achieve. You see, ‘I wanna be rich!’ ‘So give me money.’ Of course, ‘I can’t get no satisfaction’ with you heroes dogging my trail. So I decided to guide you to your doom!” Musicman explained, laughing until all of his minions had joined him. “Ever since I started leaving you my clever clues, you’ve been searchin’ every which way because the puzzle was simply irresistible, as I knew it would be.”

“I find you to be very resistible . . . as well as simply reprehensible, Musicman!” Batgirl declared.

“Let me bolster your opinion.” Musicman grinned wickedly, gesturing toward the platform.

“Please, sit down, Batman,” Flat said, gesturing toward the platform. The cooperative Caped Crusader sat on the edge of the platform. “Good, now just lie back and relax. We’ll take care of everything – especially you!”

Batman settled onto his back and Sharp circled the platform to grip the captive’s wrists and drag his torso toward the center.

Batgirl flinched and felt Major’s grip on her shoulders tighten. Musicman’s baton was now aimed at the golden bat on her chest.

Major’s breath rasped as he watched his comrades secure Batman’s hips, shoulders, wrists, and ankles tightly to the platform. He otherwise seemed to remain calm, as his grip neither tightened nor slackened throughout the rest of the process. Batgirl’s eyes widened with horror as the thugs worked.

Musicman and Melody watched eagerly as excitement built within them.

“He’s all set, boss,” Sharp presently reported.

“That’s right,” Flat agreed. “The Bat isn’t going anywhere.”

“That’s right. Nowhere – ever again,” Major taunted. He whispered in Batgirl’s ear, “What do you think of that, honey?”

Batgirl decided she should have definitely kneed this big lug harder, but said nothing.

“Happy days are here again,” Musicman declared. He handed his baton to Melody. “My dear, if you’ll please keep Batgirl covered, so she won’t attempt an ill-advised rescue.” He began to manipulate the controls before him. “Time to proceed with our attraction. I’ll let Batman’s destruction unfold, step by step.”

The fountain stopped and the mist hovering above it began to dissipate. Slowly, a suspended cage dangling from chains above the fountain and a pulley system became visible. Despite the lighting Musicman provided, the apparatus holding the cage up high remained shrouded in dimness. A motorized hum began to sound as the cage began descending. A second bright light illuminated a grand piano suspended above Batman in a similar manner to the cage. Close inspection told the Dark Knight the legs of the piano extended beyond the edge of the circular platform to which he was bound. A clear cylinder surrounded the piano and slowly lowered at the same rate as the cage until it rested on the floor and surrounded Batman. The descent of the cage halted when it hung a foot above the surface of the fountain’s now-placid waters. The floor of the cage was only slightly smaller than the surface of the fountain.

“Now, it’s your turn, Batgirl,” Musicman announced. “Please watch your step. Melody, get the door.” Major began to move Batgirl toward the suspended cage toward which the villain grandly gestured, while his marvelous-looking moll returned the baton to Musicman and took a key from him. Melody stepped onto the raised edge of the fountain and slid the key into the lock. When she backed along the narrow ledge, the cage door swung outward, opening wide.

“In you go, Batgirl,” Melody invited with a wicked smirk. Batgirl stepped to the edge of the fountain and across the water to the metal floor. She paused as the cage shifted, swinging away from her on its chains. Batgirl completed her step across and heard the door slam behind her.

Melody was locking the cage when the Dark Knight Damsel turned around to face her captor. The two women stood with their eyes locked, glaring at one another for a long moment and standing rigidly. Neither induced spontaneous human combustion. Eventually, Melody blinked.

“Now,” the moll began mockingly, holding up the key, “what shall we do with this?”

“We discussed this, dear,” Musicman said, setting down his baton.

“Can’t we take the key with us or toss it into the water?”

“Do what we planned. Batgirl will be far too busy to try for it, if she wants to delay Batman’s crushing finish.”

“Oh, all right!” Melody conceded. She sounded disappointed until she turned her attention to Batgirl. “Musicman absolutely insisted we give you a sporting chance,” she brightly explained. She sashayed along the edge of the fountain toward Batman. The World’s Greatest Detective found himself observing her progress with the same spellbound attention as the transfixed thugs. Her male victim had just finished cataloging her pulchritudinous perfection and realized her colleagues had been avidly following her movements from behind since she had entered the room. The ornamental object of their observations had just reached the point on the fountain’s rim closest to Batman when she turned, showing Batman what her colleagues had been seeing and vise versa.

“Now the grand finale,” Melody said, smiling. She reached her arms toward the cage. The gap between her fingertips and the cage was considerable. She narrowed it by bending at the waist and narrowed it further by stretching forward carefully to avoid plunging into the water. “This will do nicely,” she declared. Her hand had almost, but not quite, touched the cage. Melody’s audience toward which she had been leaning seemed to deflate as she straightened, but were drawn into her spell once again as she turned and bent to set the key on the ledge surrounding the fountain. Just before releasing it, she paused and touched it to her lips. Only then, did the wanton wench let go of the key.

Batman, Melody’s employer, and his henchmen were still transfixed as she extended a leg to the floor, settled her weight upon it, and set her other foot beside it. Then she returned to Musicman, her hips swaying naturally as she moved. “Is there anything else you’d like, boss?” she sweetly offered.

“One thing at a time, my dear,” Musicman responded, once his power of speech had returned. Melody only smiled at him and turned to regard Batgirl, who had ignored her performance and was examining a pattern on the floor of the cage. “I see you’ve begun to realize what will be expected of you, Batgirl.”

The Voluptuous Vigilante folded her arms and reached a hand up to thoughtfully stroke her chin. “What are you talking about, Musicman?”

“Permit me to explain. First, you and Batman have no doubt realized we made a few modifications to the executive ballroom in this facility.”

“We’d noticed that,” Batgirl replied drily.

“In just a few moments, Batgirl,” the villain continued, “you’ll begin playing an exquisite game. The stakes, of course, are Batman’s life.”

“I’ve agreed to play your game, Musicman. After Batman and I have won, we will hunt you; find you; and turn you over to the authorities, who will punish you for your crimes!”

“Before that delusion is shattered, I suppose it would only be fair to explain the rules of our little game. I’m sure you noticed the pulley system from which your cage and that grand piano above Batman are suspended. When the game begins, the piano will begin dropping onto Batman. Its descent can be influenced with the battery-powered controls on the floor of your cage. Lights beside pressure sensors on the floor will be illuminated. Immediately depressing the sensor will send a radio signal that will raise the piano, a slight delay will hold it in place, but delay too long and the piano will continue its descent.”

“You diabolical fiend!” Batman accused.

Musicman laughed delightedly. “Quite right, Batman.”

“So, all I have to do is step on the sensors beside the lights to keep the piano from lowering onto Batman?” Batgirl questioned suspiciously.

“Correct. That reminds me, we’d better see to the additional power." Musicman flipped a switch on the console in front of him. The hum of electricity filled the air. "Men, attach the chains.”

“Why do we need these chains again, boss?” Flat asked.

“They ground the electrical circuit,” Sharp explained as he completed his task, affixing a link to a hook pertruding from the underside of the floor of the cage. “The chains need to be attached to the floor, not the bars. Do you see the rubber feet on each of the bars?”

“I was wondering about those,” Major remarked.

“Without them, when I attached the chain, the circuit would have been closed and Batgirl would have been immediately fried,” Sharp explained. Then, as an afterthought, he realized with a shudder, "And so would have I!"

Musicman regarded his intelligent henchman with bemusement. Then he addressed Flat and Major. “The chain Sharp attached will suffice, gentlemen, thank you.” Two chains hit the floor.

“Let me make sure I understand this. I’ll be perfectly safe on the floor of the cage,” Batgirl said, “but the cage bars will zap me if I touch them, correct?”

“An astounding deduction, Batgirl. You, however, will be far too busy to even think of escape. You see, you may not be ‘Kung Fu fighting,’ but unless you move ‘as fast as lightning,’ you’ll put your partner in ever-increasing peril.” Musicman laughed. He turned to Melody and added, “I certainly am a diabolical fiend, aren’t I?”

“After you’ve done this long enough to get tired, the pace will pick up,” Melody explained. She leaned her head on Musicman’s shoulder and giggled. “When you are too late, too often, the piano will squash Batman like a grape.”

“I understand,” Batgirl murmured.

Melody, the villain, and the henchmen laughed victoriously.

“So, what happens to Batgirl after Batman is eliminated?” Sharp asked.

“Oh, nothing,” the Musicman said casually, “at least, nothing physical. But . . ." Electricity seemed to dance in the villain's eyes. ". . . just imagine it. She and Batman have agreed that her actions will keep him alive in this perilous predicament. Of course, she will have tried -- and done her very best,” Musicman said with mock empathy.

“We’re talking about her state of mind after she’s seen Batman smashed to a bloody pulp?” Melody asked as she gazed up at Batgirl, who was following every word. “I doubt it’s going to be good, you know?”

“Indeed, Melody,” her employer said with a wicked chuckle, “and I do know. Batgirl will take her failure to prevent Batman’s death very seriously -- personally, in fact. As she remains trapped in the cage, she will review and relive the incident over and over in her mind. Each time she does, doubt will gnaw at her psyche. She will come to know that she failed Batman and will never trust herself to be relied upon again -- ever!”

“No!” Batgirl protested.

“You’re very brave now, but how will you feel when you’ve recovered your strength after allowing Batman’s demise? What about an hour after you’ve survived him? What about the next day? After a week, a month, or a year?”

“No,” Batgirl said. Her voice was very small.

“There are ways out, of course.” Batgirl’s eyes locked on the villain’s.

“I’m not going to touch the bars of this cage and electrocute myself!” she declared.

“That won’t be necessary. Do you see that insulated lever above you?” Batgirl nodded. "You are free to pull it at any time.” Muicman laughed. “I would not recommend it, though. As soon as the lever is pulled, the cage in which you are suspended will be released and make a big splash in the fountain beneath you.”

“No song has words for such villainy!” Batgirl exclaimed.

"It gets worse, I assure you,” Musicman replied. "Although the cage will fall, the electical connection will remain intact and the water in the fountain is deep enough to wash over the rubber feet of the bars, so . . ."

”Oh, God!” Batgirl said. ”If Batman dies, you’re offering me a choice between beating myself up mentally while I wait to be rescued--"

"--with only Batman's dead body for company," Musicman pointed out.

"--or frying!”

“--to a crisp,” Musicman acknowledged, beaming wickedly. “I’m certain you’ll make the right choice. You see, the lever offers a more comfortable, prettier fate than the bars.”

“Batgirl, don’t let him--”

“I won’t do anything foolish, Batman,” Batgirl tried to assure the Dark Knight. She didn't, however, sound too convincing.

Musicman turned his attention to Batman. “She may remain strong enough to resist the temptation of the suicide switch, but after she hangs up her cowl the next time she takes it off, she’ll never put it on again. I am quite certain of it. Your death, my dear fellow, will utterly destroy her!”

Batgirl took a deep breath and let the air out of her lungs slowly.

“Let’s get on with it,” Melody urged.

"Boss?"

"What is it, Sharp?"

"Listen. I know Batman is tied in place and that you've arranged for Batgirl to be too busy to try to escape."

"Yes," Musciman said patiently.

"Might we be underestimating him?"

"Sharp," Melody said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at the aptly named henchmean. "If you'll let us get things moving, I'm sure you'll see--"

"One moment, Melody. Sharp has a point. Batman's record at escaping these situations is quite remarkable." The Malfeasant Maestro reached for his console and flipped another switch. "I've just activated a pressure sensor beneath Batman. Now, if his weight is removed from that platform, Batgirl's cage will be dropped into the water, with the same shocking results we've already explored." The villain beamed. "I'm sure the arrangement will ensure the Caped Crusader's good behavior."

"Wonderful," Melody said. "Now, are we finally ready to begin?"

“Yes," Musicman agreed. He once again looked at Batman, then slowly shifted his gaze to Batgirl. "Before we leave, I’ll put this game’s musical accompaniment feature into operation. A selection of slow songs will begin to play and the lights on the floor of your cage will begin directing your movements. After a time, the songs will get faster and you’ll have to pick up the pace to keep up. This process will be repeated until you fail to match the machine’s demanding tempo. Seconds later, Batman will perish.”

“You’re wrong, Musicman,” Batman said. “I have confidence in Batgirl and every reason to believe we’ll be out of your trap and after you sooner than you could possibly imagine.”

“In that case, Caped Corpse, I think we’ll get started.” Musicman touched another control on his console. A light on the floor of the cage illuminated. Batgirl moved to it and stepped on the associated button.

Another light illuminated on the other side of the cage. As Batgirl moved toward it, Flat, Sharp and Major began performing the do-wop number their boss had selected. Musicman joined in at the appropriate time as he wrapped an arm around Melody’s waist.

(Doe doe doe doe doe) Goodnight sweetheart, well, it’s time to go.
(Doe doe doe doe doe) Goodnight, Sweetheart, well, it’s time to go.
(Doe doe doe doe) I hate to leave you. I really must say.
Well, goodnight, Sweetheart. Goodnight.
(Doe doe, doe doe, doe doe, doe doe, doe doe, doe doe, doe doe!)

Musicman and his associates bowed to their captives, chuckled merrily, and left.

“Any ideas?” Batgirl asked, stepping on another pressure sensor and looking for the next light.

“Not yet, Batgirl, but never fear. I believe Robin and I have escaped every vicious ensnarement into which our underhanded opponents have placed us because our hearts are pure. You and I will get out of this -– somehow,” the Caped Crusader confidently told her.

She turned to look at him as her foot touched another pressure sensor. Batman was regarding her with an encouraging smile. “I hope you’re right, Batman,” she replied seriously.

Another light at the opposite end of the cage blazed.

Back to the Batgirl Bat-Trap Homepage!

You are visitor number to read this week's story.