THE STORY WILL CONTINUE, WITHOUT MISSING A BEAT,
IN MERE MOMENTS!

Batman Teaches a Music Lesson

Batgirl quickly shed her cape. Although she doubted it was a very good conductor of electricity, she saw no reason to risk having it brush against the bars of the cage.

Her foot landed on another pressure sensor and she pivoted to locate her next objective. Another indicator illuminated far away and she raced across the cage to step on the associated sensor, which would activate another. Batgirl paused, observing how her movements in turn moved the suspended cage, as she located the next light. Seconds later, she bounded toward it, preparing simultaneously to go through the rigorous routine once again. The music driving Batgirl’s movements with the lights had already grown faster.

Outside the cage, but just as much a prisoner, Batman watched Batgirl chase the lights across the suspended cage. A glance upward told him she had, so far, been able to keep the heavy piano suspended high above him.

“Keep going, Batgirl. I’ve managed to work some slack into my wrist bindings. We may have one slim hope,” he called.

“That sounds like progress,” she encouraged, breathlessly.

“Don’t talk. You’ll need every ounce of your strength.”

Batgirl knew he was right. Not only was it necessary to practically shout to be heard over the pulsating music, she had been in similar positions before. The Clock King had once made her move around the face of an enormous clock in time with the passing seconds, allegedly to prevent a powerful bomb from exploding. On two other occasions, Egghead had gleefully watched as she had been compelled to perform the deadly Bessarovian Cossack Saber Dance with frosted swords.

Despite her being in excellent physical condition, Batgirl was already breathing heavily and sweating profusely. She had leapt onto the warehouse grounds, climbed the wall, entered the building, fought Musicman’s henchmen, and desperately hung over a deadly pit by her fingers before accepting the rigorous task of keeping Batman alive. Her earlier exertions had taken more out of her than she had realized.

She stepped on another pressure sensor and glanced at Batman before locating the light beside the next sensor she would have to touch. As her beautiful body moved, her mind raced, actively assessing means of escaping her perilous predicament.

Batgirl knew getting through the roof or floor of her cage would be impossible. Her remaining options involved somehow reaching through or squeezing between the bars of the cage – without touching them. Touching the bars would mean instant electrocution.

She had already realized her movements could swing the cage, despite the restraining chain intended to ground the deadly circuit. It was just possible she could maneuver herself to within reach of the key Melody had left to tantalize her. Her problem was, if she even just brushed against the bars while reaching for the key, she would complete the circuit. The electricity would flow from the top of the cage, down the bars, then through her body to the floor of the cage and down the chain to ground, instantly turning her into a roasted piece of meat. Even if she could somehow avoid that fate, the time cautiously retrieving the key would require might doom Batman.

The Caped Crusader had told her he had made progress against his bonds. Batman seemed, though, whenever she could spare a glance in his direction, to still be lying helplessly bound to the marble platform inside the clear tube.

“I’m starting to get tired,” she loudly complained, panting. Her confession was an understatement, to say the least. As she moved, her legs seemed to be growing heavy, to be moving more slowly. Even so, she had no intention of stopping any time soon.

She was slightly off balance as she charged toward the next light. Her leg muscles had been working hard and maintaining an increasingly rigorous pace. Her chest heaved as she felt her muscles falter. Batgirl stumbled and slid rapidly toward the electrified cage bars!

Desperately, she hurled herself sideways, toward the center of the cage, rolling to counteract her forward momentum. She was panting as she safely came to rest, but horror gripped her as the jangling of the lowering piano’s chain seemed to scream in her ears.

“Batgirl, are you all right?” Batman asked.

“I’m okay,” she said breathlessly, reaching for an illuminated light near her hand and slapping it decisively to raise the piano again. Instantly, a light lit up elsewhere, but Batgirl was too busy returning to her feet to find it. The brief moment of motionlessness had made her conscious of the dull ache in her leg muscles that became increasingly acute whenever she moved. She tried to put this ache out of her mind as the piano lowered further.

Batgirl knew Batman was aware of her total dedication to their survival. This knowledge sustained her as she worked to return the piano to its original level.

As she labored, Batgirl realized Batman was observing and assessing Musicman’s deadly accommodations for them, just as she was. Perhaps together they would find a weakness upon which they could capitalize, or maybe Batman would find a flaw in the villain’s fiendishly deadly designs himself and save her.

Batgirl spent a moment dwelling on the pleasant prospect of Batman’s strong arms lifting her from the peril of the electrified cage and holding her tightly. As far as she was concerned, he could do that for as long as–

“Batgirl, is there any way you can release the ground chain?” Batman asked.

‘What? Wait.’ Batman was probably saying something important, something upon which their survival might well depend. She pulled herself together and reviewed his words, listening for him to continue.

As Batman spoke, his voice utterly replaced the din of the music. His rich, manly baritone caressed Batgirl’s ears, merged into her thoughts, and lent his commands an inspirational aura. “Musicman wants you to either touch the bars trying to reach the key or put the key in the lock. Either action would complete the circuit and electrocute you.”

Batgirl hadn’t considered the second possibility. “I know,” she finally fibbed, shunting her pleasant daydream aside and returning to reality.

Batgirl stepped on another pressure sensor and paused to regard her partner briefly as she searched for the next light.

“If you could somehow release the ground chain, that would enable you, if you can get the key, to unlock the cage safely.”

Batgirl’s foot struck the next pressure sensor and she turned, spotting her next destination almost immediately. She gasped as she realized it seemed very far away again. Her legs seemed weighted with lead as she moved toward the light. She was painfully aware of the shrinking interval between the target light and the associated sensor registering her weight. She would have to move faster! She would have to keep picking up her lead-weighted legs and moving them! The music driving the lights was becoming increasingly lively once more.

Batman had just suggested releasing the ground chain would enable her to safely unlock the cage. She agreed and also realized the chain’s release would give the suspended cage more room to move. Batgirl had catalogued the way her movements maneuvered the cage.

The problem was, the chain was hooked to the underside of the cage. She doubted she could reach it, especially without touching the cage bars.

She mindlessly kept touching the pressure sensors in time with the music, while considering their predicament.

Suddenly two thoughts flashed into Batgirl’s mind at once! A desperate plan of action quickly followed. ‘What has Musicman put within reach that is insulated?’ Batgirl looked up.

’The suicide switch!’

“Batman, I’ve got an idea!” Batgirl shouted. “It will take too long to explain! Just let me know if the piano gets too close to you!”

“Okay!” Batman yelled.

As soon as Batgirl stepped on the next light, she vaulted into the air. She landed against the bars of the cage. Since she wasn’t grounded, the electricity flowed harmlessly through her. In an instant she tightly wrapped her legs around the bars.

Stretching back as far as she could, she could just reach the suicide switch. As she had hoped, the insulation was nothing more than a hard rubber sleeve that had been slipped over the metal lever. Frantically she pulled at the insulation, being careful not to move the lever itself!

In seconds a hollow rubber tube of about three feet in length was in her hands. Now all she had to do was–

“Batgirl!”

The piano had started to descend. Fortunately, the next light was close enough that Batgirl could whack it with the rubber stick. Experience had taught that she needn’t apply much pressure to trigger the sensor.

With renewed energy, Batgirl somersaulted to the cage floor and attacked the next three lights. Her efforts resulted in once again returning the piano to its starting position.

“Now, Batman, I’m going to lift the chain off the hook with this tube. You guide me.”

“Alright,” Batman called. “Go straight in front of you. The grounding chain is trailing down in that direction.”

“Gotcha!” After tapping on the next sensor, Batgirl slid on her belly to the side of the cage Batman indicated. Reaching through the bars and back with the tube, ever so careful not to touch the bars themselves, Batgirl was soon able to hook the chain.

“Good fishing, Batgirl! Now, just lift it up a little–“

Batgirl felt the resistance give way in her hand. Less than a second later, there was a splash as the grounding chain fell into the fountain.

Now, getting the key and unlocking the door was possible. Unfortunately, that process would take even longer. When she abandoned her chase of the lights to retrieve the key, the piano would lower inexorably toward Batman. Could she escape the cage in time to save him?

What would they do if the piano were suddenly released to plunge downward onto Batman?

Assuming Batman could free himself from his bindings, his escape would be simple. The top of the clear tube surrounding him was uncovered, unlike Batgirl’s cage. The tube’s openness was necessary to allow the piano to crush Batman, but it would also let him out if he could free himself from the marble platform.

“Can you get free from the ropes?” Batgirl asked.

“There is a chip in the marble near my hand. I’ll be out of the ropes soon. If you can get the key, we’re almost out of here,” Batman called back.

Batgirl arrived at her destination just after the light moved to another beacon. A loud rattle revealed the chains were once again unwinding from the overhead pulleys. The piano lowered slightly and stopped when Batgirl reached the next indicator. If she were to engineer an escape, the time would have to be soon.

“Sounds good.” Batgirl’s foot tapped a sensor a mere step away from her. For a third time the overhead pulleys raised the piano to its original height. She found the next light and moved toward Batman. She was just in time to see him wrench his left wrist free from its bindings and attack his other wrist with his fingers.

Batgirl looked at Batman, who was tossing the ropes that had restrained his shoulders aside and sitting up. She spotted the next light and dashed to it, turning to find the next and lurch toward it. Early on, she recalled, her movements had been as fluid as a dancer’s. Now, her heavy legs protested against every movement. She depressed another pressure sensor and automatically searched for the next.

Batman’s hips were free by the time Batgirl could maneuver the cage into a position from which she could reach the key. “I’m going for the key,” Batgirl called.

“Okay,” Batman replied.

The music grew faster yet.

Batgirl stretched an arm between the cage bars, reaching for the key. It was just out of reach. If she couldn’t reach it without touching the bars, she would have to push against them and try to grab the key with the rubber tube she had left on the floor.

Before Batgirl went through that time-consuming process, though, there was one other thing she wanted to try. She shifted her weight back and forth, like she was on a swing. The arc of the cage’s motion increased until finally–

She was able to safely snatch the key! Batgirl backed away from the bars and spun toward the locked cage door.

Behind Batgirl, more clanking indicated the piano was lowering again. “How are you doing, Batman?” Batgirl yelled.

“I can stand, but I’m crouched beneath the piano. I can climb out of this tube any time, but as soon as I do, you’ll splash into the fountain and be roasted as the circuit is grounded by the water and the floor of the cage.”

“Good,” Batgirl said. The calmness her voice conveyed, despite its volume, was a stark contrast to her heartbeat, which seemed to be racing like a trip-hammer as she extended the key through the bars and turned her hand. There was no danger in touching the lock now . . . or the bars for that matter, but she knew the Caped Crusader was crouched beneath the piano inside the tube. The second he stepped from the pressure sensor, her cage would drop into the fountain.

Despite the coming perils, the Dazzling Duo was practically free. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” he confidently responded, favoring her with a rare smile.

“Here I go!” she announced, slipping the key into the lock and twisting.

In a flash of dread, Batgirl realized she was standing on the metal floor of the cage that would be part of a closed circuit after Batman moved and the cage was dropped into the water. If she were still in contact with the floor or the water, she would fry! What could she do?

She could only see one slim chance!

Gotham City’s Delectable Dare Doll pulled her arm back through the bars, swung the cage door open and leapt into the air, throwing herself at the cage door and clasping it up high with her gloved hands as one boot settled on the metal box that held the lock. Batman gripped the top of the clear tube around him and pulled himself upward. His legs swung over the obstruction and he dropped to the floor, bending his knees to absorb the shock of landing and charging toward Batgirl in the same movement.

Batgirl once again soared into the air, pushing off on one foot. To survive, she had to clear the fountain. It needed to be a record-breaking jump . . .

The piano and cage both fell with a splintering crash and an enormous splash, respectively. These sounds were nearly drowned out by explosions and the crackle of blue bolts of power crawling over the rippling waters of the fountain and climbing up and down the cage bars and the chains from which the deadly cage had been suspended. Flashes of color and explosive plumes of fiery smoke illuminated Batgirl as she seemed to hang momentarily in midair.

Silence erupted, utterly replacing the chaos.

Batgirl slowly became aware that she was exhausted, but more importantly, falling. One look told her she was going to land just short of her goal!

Instead of panic, resignation set in. The feeling was painless, almost pleasant. She knew she would never have time to properly catalog and analyze the sensations she was experiencing or to anticipate the sensations she would feel shortly, when her body hit the water with a resounding smack and blackness would envelop her, casting her adrift on a sunless sea, measureless to man.

Suddenly, she realized she should never have had time to consider all of these likely scenarios. What had happened?

Something was somehow holding her aloft – suspended above the water. Her eyelids, as well as her muscles, felt heavy. The adrenaline that had sustained her throughout the ordeal was gone now. The trial was over, but she needed to be conscious for its aftermath. What was holding her up?

No! ‘What?’ was the wrong question. The correct question was ‘who?’

The answer was Batman!

Batman and Batgirl were both smiling from ear to ear. Standing just outside the fountain, Batman had reached over and caught her.

With Batgirl cradled in his arms, the Caped Crusader crossed to the console and switched off the electrical current.

Gently, Batman lowered Batgirl to the floor. “How do you feel?”

“Better now,” Batgirl whispered. “Thank you, Batman.”

“Can you stand?”

She had not considered the question at all. She shook her head.

“I think Musicman left our belts around here somewhere. Why don’t you relax, while I find them?”

“No,” Batgirl disagreed. “Hold me.” Batman sat on the floor beside her and let her head fall to his shoulder. He watched her chest rise and fall as her breathing slowly became regular once again.

All she wanted to do was relax and be held. She let herself unwind, exhaling as she felt Batman’s breath against her cheek.

“Batgirl,” Batman began tentatively, as if he was a schoolboy talking to his first crush.

“Mm?”

“Are you alright?”

“I am now.” It was a simple sentence, but it conveyed much more meaning than would be perceptible to a nonchalant bystander.

Batman’s response was lost as she considered how wonderful it was to be next to him like this. Suddenly, she also realized he was waiting for her to say something.

“I’m sorry, Batman. What did you say?” she asked, slightly embarrassed.

“I asked if you thought you could stand now.” The concern was still present, but no longer the timidity.

“I don’t know.” ‘Should I admit my legs feel like mush?’ “Please . . . just let me stay here for awhile longer.”

“Okay, Batgirl”

“Please . . . call me Barbara,” she mumbled. She really was exhausted . . .

Suddenly, she realized what she had just said!

‘What have I done!? Did I really just allow myself to become so enamored at actually being with Batman that I willingly sacrificed everything I’ve spent years establishing? Am I relying on the vain hope that Batman will – what?’

Her silent chastisement stopped, because Batgirl suddenly realized she did not know what it was she really wanted from Batman. At one time, her desire had been for respect. She had earned that. Now, the things she was feeling had been spontaneous – not at all considered. Had she just jeopardized her working relationship with Batman? If so, what would happen to them next?

Well, the genie was out of the bottle now. What had been said could not be unspoken.

Batman had probably originally imagined Batgirl to be a crazed woman who had dressed up to follow him around. Batgirl bitterly recalled how Batwoman had once dared to put herself in Batgirl’s boots.

Batwoman suggested Batgirl had hoped to be Batman’s love interest. Batwoman had drawn out from her how special Batgirl had felt when she had been the only female crime fighter to team up with the Caped Crusader.

The two heroines had clarified their relationship in that conversation, but Batgirl had never been happy about how transparent she had been – and apparently still was. This realization was very hard for Barbara Gordon to swallow and part of her mind was composing sulfurous expletives.

“I’m sorry, Batgirl, but I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

Batgirl exhaled. Her secret was still safe – it would remain safe.

Batman would never lie about something this serious . . . or would he? No, but she had to answer him, to retrieve a situation that had gone totally out of control. The time for fatalism had miraculously passed.

“I said ‘thank you,’ Batman,” she answered, standing up and straightening her legs.

“You’re welcome, Batgirl.” Batman was still smiling. Batgirl was certain her having fallen into his arms had been part of the reason.

She would ordinarily be thrilled to have brought this facial expression out of him. Now, having almost revealing her secret, she needed to get away from him – but not too far away, of course. She was perfectly capable and it was time to get back to work.

“Let’s look around. We might get some idea of what Musicman is planning next,” Batgirl suggested. She turned and took one step. Her second step followed easily from the first. She was, of course, pleased to have recovered, but another part of her was starting to curse silently again.

Robin stood impatiently by his cell door. He had been in jail for more than an hour, yet he had not been given the chance to call his lawyer, or anyone else, for that matter. His utility belt had been removed for “evidence,” but Robin suspected it was to keep him from using any of his tools to escape or call for Batman’s assistance.

Robin was about to bitterly protest being kept incommunicado to the sentinel who kept pacing the jail’s floor, when a detective entered the facility. “We’re sorry we didn’t get to you till now. Forty prisoners ahead of you needed to phone their lawyers . . . or their mommies.” There was an unbecoming look of reproach planted on the cop’s well-carved countenance. "I never thought I'd see the day when one of you caped clowns would be in jail, just like all the criminals you apprehended."

Robin took large gulps of air, ordered himself to remain serene, and grimaced in return. It would not help convince the police of his innocence if he insulted one of their men.

“Would you like to phone your mommy-” the rude officer began.

“No, I want to speak to my lawyer!” Robin practically barked, losing all control of his propriety.

“Mind your manners, punk,” the detective mockingly reprimanded him. He motioned for the guard to release Robin and followed the costumed crimefighter to a pay phone from which Robin spotted his pretty partner, Flamebird.

She looked dazed and confused, until she realized he had begun to approach her. She smiled wanly at him before he whispered, “Leave everything to me. Batman and I know this great attorney who can get us out of this jam.”

Before the entirely bewildered and besmirched girl could respond, Robin had picked up the phone. Quickly, he dialed Wayne Manor to inform Alfred, the butler, aid in crime fighting, and now legal representative, of their predicament.

When Alfred Pennyworth answered the phone in the great room of the mansion, Robin butted in, “Don’t talk, just listen. Flamebird and I – that is Robin – are in jail, accused of stealing some priceless record. I need you to come down to discuss the legal situation.”

“You mean you want me to pose as your barrister?” the British butler asked. “As you wish, Master Ro-”

Dick’s Aunt Harriet Cooper entered the room and Alfred changed his words. “As you wish, Master Dick.” With great dignity he set the phone back in its cradle. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Cooper.”

“I was just going to watch the evening news,” Mrs. Cooper explained. “My, that tea engagement with Cameron Britney certainly exhausted me.” She found the remote control on the coffee table among a collection of catalogues and magazines.

Alfred thought quickly. If Mrs. Cooper turned on the television, she would undoubtedly see the news of Master Robin and his female companion’s “robbery.” Being such an adamant fan of the Caped Crusaders, such information would severely shock her. Alfred persuasively spoke, “Since the event was so tiring, perhaps you ought to lie down for awhile. Any earth-shattering news will be repeated in the seven o’clock edition.”

Aunt Harriet smiled innocently as she replied, “What a good suggestion! I don’t know what I’d do without you three men around protecting and helping me.”

Noble Alfred guided her gently up the stairs before getting his disguise and “legal documents” together. Soon, he arrived at the Gotham City jailhouse and was directed to the room where his two “clients” waited.

The minute she saw the lawyer, Flamebird was certain she had seen him before, perhaps when Betty Kane had been to one of many social functions. She couldn’t, however, place where she had met the tall, distinguished man with the graying black hair and mustache and designer glasses.

Robin couldn’t help thinking what a good job Alfred had done in the disguise department. He was shocked, though, when, before even sitting down, the butler spoke in a pseudo-American. “Do I understand correctly, you’ve been accused of theft at gunpoint?”

“Yes,” Flamebird replied emphatically, jumping to her feet, “but we’re innocent!”

“Save your speech for the jury,” the discourteous detective snapped.

“Sir, when I want your opinion, I will ask you,” Alfred calmly told the policeman. His serenity and politeness commanded respect from the cop, and Robin was proud to be his friend. “Now, I wish to speak to my clients in private.”

“Sure, sure,” the policeman muttered. He left the room as Alfred and Flamebird sat down.

“Miss, my name is Farthingale Stillwell of Soames, Stillwell & Thistlewaite. My card,” Alfred handed Flamebird a card he had printed up long ago in anticipation of such a situation.

“Very nice to meet you, sir,” Flamebird replied, taking the card and extending a red-gloved hand.

“All the evidence is with the police, including the item we supposedly stole,” Robin said, continuing the interrupted conversation.

“You shall be out of here in no time, sir and miss,” Alfred consoled. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Flamebird and Robin explained about the eyewitnesses and various theories to account for what the people at the Memorial had seen. They also filled “Mr. Stillwell” in on what they had been doing during and after the time of the robbery.

Suddenly, Robin snapped his fingers, something he was barely able to do even with his skin-tight gloves. “The security guard at Networld! He saw us and it must have been about the same time as the robbery!”

“Not only that,” added Flamebird, “but we’ll be on the Networld headquarters security tapes. They’ll show the exact time we were there!” Robin and “Mr. Stillwell” looked at the Girl Wonder questioningly. She caught herself. “Or, at least, I assume they will,” she said sheepishly.

“Excellent.” Satisfied he had all the information he needed, Alfred knocked on the conference door. When the same policeman reappeared, he pointed his long index finger at the impolite officer and said, “Now, if this good gentleman would kindly lead me to the stolen – record, did you say, Mr. Robin?”

“Now, you know you can’t have access to any evidence without filing a Motion for Discovery,” the detective replied smugly, “and your clients haven’t even been formally charged yet. Besides, the fellas in the lab are still working on that record.”

“Do you mean to tell me you don’t even know whether the alleged stolen merchandise is genuine?” Alfred inquired, utterly appalled.

“Let’s pretend the record we’re holding in evidence is a phony. I’d figure either these two juvenile delinquents hid the real one, or the genuine article had already been stolen and these two amateur criminals broke into the Wayne Memorial and stole the fake. Either way . . . .” The cop shrugged his brawny shoulders, unconcerned about choosing between the alternatives.

“It could also mean that somebody else stole the real solid gold duplicate of the Beatles’ record and then planted a replica on us!” Robin added vehemently.

“Sheesh, you are persistent!” the officer exclaimed.

As the words tumbled from the detective’s lips, Inspector Basch appeared at the door. “Excuse me, detective, but tests confirm that the record is not solid gold, but simply a piece of metal fashioned to look like a record and brushed over with gold paint.”

Robin was about to let out a whoop for joy, and Flamebird was about to sigh in relief when the inspector continued, “We also found the fingerprints of a woman by the name of Melody McManus. Does anybody have any idea who she might be?”

“The Musicman’s moll, the woman who was at the fashion show earlier today!” Flamebird cried exuberantly.

“Say, Melody McManus could be Miss Flamebird’s alter ego,” insisted the insolent detective, not ready to concede defeat.

Inspector Basch smiled wryly as he commented, “Ms. McManus is in her early thirties. There is no possible way that this little lady here is that old. Besides, the robbers were wearing gloves both at the scene of the robbery and when our officers arrested them.”

“And when we tried to take their fingerprints,” the officer added, grumbling. “I still think we should have gotten their prints.”

The unrelenting detective was about to suggest they take Miss Flamebird’s fingerprints anyway when Alfred said, “With all this conclusive evidence that has been presented, perhaps you can release my clients?”

“What about Mr. Hill’s complaint?” the detective whined.

“Mr. Hill’s statement doesn’t jibe with what the arresting officers witnessed,” Inspector Basch said. “I think we can let Robin and Flamebird go.” Although he didn’t work as closely with the Caped Crimefighters as the Commissioner, Chief O’Hara and Lieutenant Mooney, he had been a fan of Batman’s for some time. Basch had never doubted the young heroes’ innocence. He did, however, advise them to remain out of the picture for the time being.

As “Mr. Stillwell” and the costumed duo headed outside, Alfred whispered, “I must warn you both that the paparazzi are horrendous. Reporters and photographers have been standing outside this police station and the Police Headquarters since they found out about your ‘robbery.’” His words of caution were a split second too late.

Flamebird and Robin exited the building, only to be bombarded on all sides by the obnoxious trill of reporters and the flashing bulbs from photographers’ cameras. “How does it feel to be free?” Alexander Knox demanded as he shoved a microphone under the unsuspecting Flamebird’s nose.

“Gee, news sure does travel fast,” Robin muttered to the speechless Flamebird.

“Mr. Robin,” began the imperturbable English butler in a whisper directed at his young master, “I drove the Batcycle to Police Headquarters via the remote control. I would have brought the Redbird, but you must have left that control in your glove compartment.”

“And my car is still at that infernal music store,” Robin sighed, “but thanks for the Batcycle.”

“What are you two talking about?” Flamebird asked suspiciously. By now several nosy reporters had pushed the trio down the steps. Consequently, they were almost on the sidewalk where more crazed journalists and newsmen waited.

“I was merely suggesting you two ought to go out the back entrance in order to get to Police Headquarters,” “Mr. Stillwell” replied, unfazed, “and then promptly return to your respective Bat-sanctuaries.”

The threesome had been dragged into the middle of the crowd, making escape seemingly impossible. However, six police came to their rescue by shoving the ravenous reporters aside. Alfred stood his ground as his two companions scurried back into the building to find another exit. Robin’s “lawyer” dutifully answered the myriad of questions flying at him like tennis balls from a ball machine gone awry. After half an hour of questioning, the weary police commanded the newsmen and women to leave the premises. By this time, Robin and his trusted counterpart had escaped.

In the meantime, Musicman was admiring the Beatles’ record at his hideaway, Sam’s Supreme Songs and CDs. He paused to listen to the latest news on television. An anchorman explained how Robin and Flamebird had been released after some exonerating evidence was found, including fingerprints on a phony record.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE WERE FINGERPRINTS FOUND ON THE FAKE?!” he bellowed.

He calmly smiled when Melody entered the room to find out what was the matter. “Melody, my sour note,” he began through gritted teeth, “didn’t you wear gloves when you planted that replica record in the bin?”

“You didn’t tell me to,” the moll retorted defensively.

“We have to leave immediately! Robin and Flamebird will be on to us!” cried Major, who had been busy stealing as many albums and songbooks as he could.

“No, I am happily prepared for such a disaster. We’ll let our little enemies return to the scene of the crime, namely this music store.” Musicman sneered nefariously as he continued, “I’m certain the costumed creeps will arrive long before the police decide to return. I’m prepared for Robin and Flamebird. They may be coming, but they won’t be staying long – ‘staying alive,’ that is!”

Robin and Flamebird stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of Police Headquarters. Robin was delighted to see that Alfred had managed to park the Batcycle in the Batmobile’s usual parking space. He was momentarily puzzled at the absence of the sidecar, but recalled Alfred was having its paint touched up. He glanced at the Girl Wonder with a grin and silently thanked the Wayne butler.

“Now what?” Flamebird asked. “The police and our lawyer seemed pretty convinced that we should stay out of the picture until the Musicman was arrested.”

“But it will take longer to arrest that poser if we aren’t involved,” Robin pointed out. “I say we go after him! He wouldn’t have bothered framing us if he didn’t want us out of the way for some reason.”

“I agree. The place to start is probably Sam’s Supreme Songs and CDs, where that preening pretender had us arrested.”

“Right,” Robin concurred. “Besides, I left my car there and we have to pick it up. Don’t we?”

“Sure,” Flamebird said. She skipped toward the Batcycle in her normal perky fashion. “Let’s go. I’ll hang on tightly.”

Robin wondered if she saw him smile as he started the Batcycle. Flamebird wondered if he realized she was grinning as she settled into position on the bike with his body between her thighs.

“Don’t forget to hold on tight,” Robin called over his shoulder distractedly, forgetting she had just promised that a moment ago. Flamebird leaned forward, pressing herself against him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

For some reason, he remembered Catwoman’s comment that he was, “all work and no play.” At the time, he may have taken his crime fighting too seriously. Batman often told people the work afforded little time for socializing. Of course, he respected his mentor enormously, but feeling Flamebird clinging to him as they sped trough traffic at the top legal speed made him decide his recollection of the Feline Felon’s words was both ironic and incongruous.

Flamebird, Robin determined, had not been advised of the senior crime fighter’s perception of an inverse relationship between crime fighting and socializing, or disagreed and was resolute to disprove it. He could feel her gloved fingers absently squeezing his waist, as her quickening breath seared the back of his neck. She was playing and it wasn’t at all fair. On the other hand, he didn’t care. He was driving and knew the trip was going to be far too short, though he was using the most scenic route to their destination he knew.

Robin passed Sam’s Supreme Songs and CDs and his Redbird and parked in a nearby alley. “Okay,” he said, half turning toward her, “we’d better split up. I don’t want Musicman slipping out the back while we go in the front.”

“Good thinking. It’s time we went in there and kicked some butt. I’ll take the back,” the Goggled Gal decided. She bent and gave Robin a peck on the cheek. “For luck,” she explained bashfully.

Robin reached for her neck and pulled her lips to his, holding them there for a long moment. “For even more luck,” he said after their kiss broke.

They released each other and separated without another word. Robin waited beside the bike as Flamebird dashed toward the back of the shop, her cape fluttering in the breeze behind her like dancing flames. Once she had gone, Robin took in some air, exhaled, and pulled himself together. Then, he hurried to the front of the store.

Inside, he did not recognize the thug behind the counter, but the thug recognized Robin and opened his mouth. He closed it again without uttering a word as the colorfully-clad crimefighter casually approached. “Hi,” Robin said, “I’m looking for a copy of the Batusi or maybe something by Neal Hefti or Danny Elfman.”

Flamebird’s approach was more straightforward. She unlocked the back door with a tool from her utility belt and did not hesitate when the thug guarding it stared at her with widening eyes. The Girl Wonder grinned and kicked the man where it counted.

His knees buckled and his hands dropped to cope with the pain. “You’re going to take me to Musicman,” she told him quietly.“ Where is he?”

The thug gasped and pointed toward the front of the shop.

“Thank you,” the curly-haired crusader brightly said, propelling him with a shove in the direction he pointed. The man fell flat on his face and felt himself hauled to his feet. Another push sent him crashing to the floor just inside the doors to the front showroom.

“Excuse me for a moment,” the thug pretending to be a clerk said to Robin, sliding a few CDs toward the heroic customer.

As the man turned to the doors behind him, he collided with the guard from the back. The impact knocked the ersatz clerk into the glass counter, which shattered.

Flamebird stood framed in the door with her hands on her shapely hips and her kicking leg settling on the floor in front of her.

The sound of the shattering counter made Musicman whip his head toward a security monitor. “‘Help!’” he said when he realized who had invaded his hideout. “‘I need somebody, not just anybody’’s help!” He picked up a microphone. “Flat, Sharp, Major, battle stations! The winged wonders have descended upon us. ‘Live and let die!’ Melody, come with me.”

Robin’s fist mashed the fallen clerk as he rose to his fellow henchman’s defense.

The unhappy clerk raised an arm to defend himself and felt himself hauled backward by that raised arm. Flamebird took a running step and planted her foot on the back door guard’s groin and launched herself into the air as the thugs Musicman sent to his recruits’ defense burst into the room.

The teenage heroine flipped over in midair and let both of her heels impact Flat’s head, flattening him.

Robin spun from the men collapsed near the remains of the counter and blocked a blow launched by Major. He counterpunched, penetrating the thug’s defenses with a second blow and went through a combination so practiced he could execute it almost automatically. Robin’s fusillade of flying fists quickly reduced the man to a moaning heap.

Sharp had his pick of invaders to attack and chose the weaker looking, off-balance Flamebird. He stepped behind her and delivered a shove that sent her to the floor hard. His attempt to follow up was intercepted by a green glove that fell on his shoulder and spun him around. A green fist clipped his jaw and another blow impacted his solar plexus. He doubled over in pain before Robin’s forearms slammed into the back of his head, dropping him to the floor.

Robin surveyed the scene as the fallen thugs began to regain their feet and gather themselves for the next round.

Flamebird also began to rise, but stopped as her upper arm was seized in a firm grip and a taunt wire was placed against the side of her throat. “With hardly any effort at all, I can slit your throat, Flamebird,” a female voice softly said. “If you’re smart, you’ll hold perfectly still.” From the corner of her eye, Flamebird observed the wire at her neck was tightly strung on a bow for a violin. The look on Melody’s pretty face told the young heroine she would be wise to obey.

Batman and Batgirl examined the entire warehouse, finding nothing but a trunk filled with replicas of their own costumes, plus Batwoman’s. Flamebird’s and Robin’s apparel were missing.

“It doesn’t make sense, unless Musicman and his moll Melody were masquerading as our younger associates!” Batgirl mused aloud. Still aching from her long and tedious, “music lesson,” she hobbled to the desk where Musicman had stashed the money used in his Anti-Batman propaganda.

“I’m certain that’s what the Menacing Musician has done, but if only we could find another clue to his plans.” Batman’s voice trailed off as he stared at the desk on which his comrade was perched. “Maybe we’ve overlooked something in the writing desk.”

“Impossible!” the Caped Cutie disagreed. “We combed through it carefully . . . twice!” She paused as an interesting thought jumped into her exhausted brain. “Unless, there’s a secret drawer we haven’t found!”

The duo pounded on the wooden piece of furniture to no avail. They could not find anything remotely like a hidden compartment. Defeated, Batgirl sat on the desk again, accidentally banging her sore legs against it. Part of its intricate paneling popped open to reveal a secure hiding place.

Batman eagerly scanned the content, while his female friend impatiently awaited him to finish. He discovered that Yoshio Takashi had written Musicman a letter, requesting the Gold Beatles’ record for his private collection “Great Scott,” he murmured, “I wonder if the costumes were designed so that . . .” He spotted an envelope where he found five receipts for airplane tickets.

Without another word, he dashed outside to the Batmobile, Batgirl trudging painstakingly behind him. When the petite and pretty crime-fighter reached the vehicle, its AM radio droned the current news. The reporter rattled out the words in record time.

“Flamebird and Robin, the two young crime fighters of Gotham City, were released from prison some fifteen minutes ago. They were accused earlier of stealing the solid gold replica of the Beatles’ record, “Yesterday,” after they were spotted at the scene of the crime. Fingerprints, which are conclusive evidence, have confirmed that two look-alikes stole the record. We will have more details on this earth-shattering event later.”

Batgirl stared agape at a concerned Batman. “I hope they’re alright,” he said quietly.

“All through history, it has been shown that worrying never accomplishes a thing.”

Batman smiled, assured. “What a profound statement, Batgirl.” He changed the subject by inquiring, “Now, if you had just stolen a priceless item and were planning to sell it to an international, illegal art collector, where would you go?”

“If I thought my enemies had been eliminated and didn’t know that the police were on to me,” Batgirl mulled over aloud, “I would go to the airport!”

“To quote a lyric like the masterful Musicman, ‘Come on, take the money and run!’”

Batgirl grinned as she added, “Or more appropriately for us, ‘Come on, take the Batmobile and run,’ to the airport!”

As the Batmobile cruised down the many back alleys to get to the main road, Batman spoke almost shyly, “I was really quite concerned that we wouldn’t get out of that perilous predicament.” It appeared he was going to continue, but at the last moment he lamely asked, “What about you?”

Batgirl, bemused at his uncharacteristic behavior, slowly nodded her head as she tried to decipher his meaning. “I was worried, too, if that’s what you mean.”

The Caped Crusader inhaled shallowly and tried to exhale deeply. He didn’t succeed very well. “Several months ago, I was informed by one of my dear friends that it would be wise if I told you how I feel about you, Batgirl.”

Was this the declaration of love that Batgirl had half-hoped for and half-dreaded for several years? Was she ready for this unnatural display of emotions from the indomitable Batman? She tried to respond, but her heart was palpitating so quickly, she was afraid it would leap out her throat if she opened her mouth. Unconsciously, she held her breath and waited for him to continue.

Batman was turning a violent shade of crimson under his cowl. His eyes were focused on the road ahead of them. He wished with all his heart and might that he could tell Batgirl his true feelings for her. No, he did not love her – at least he didn’t think he did – but he respected her deeply. When he had told Alfred of his admiration and esteem for the strong and dependable woman, the faithful butler had suggested he repeat this information to her. Now that he had the chance, Batman had lost all his strength. He, who had always so intrepidly escaped the ensnarements of his enemies and often encouraged Batgirl while in the midst of danger, was terrified of what her answer would be to any sentimental remark he might make.

Finally, his blushing and doubts subsided. He proclaimed, “Batgirl, out of all the female partners I have met and worked with over the last several years, I revere and cherish you the most.”

‘It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was pretty darn close!’ thought Batgirl. She felt her own face flushing at such high praise from the usually stoic Dark Knight. She was sure Batman had never expressed such high regard for any woman, except perhaps the intoxicating and evil Catwoman. ‘Wait until I tell Batwoman!’ Batgirl inwardly gloated. Then she realized how insulting that would be to one of her associates in the battle against crime. This news would be even sweeter if she kept it to herself.

Batgirl suddenly realized Batman was waiting for her to reply. She tried not to gush as she spoke, but knew she wasn’t successful. “It just so happens that several months ago, I, too, had a similar conversation with one of my dearest friends.” She recalled her brief conversation with Alfred. How wise he was!

“Batman, I can’t think of anyone else’s respect and admiration I would want more than yours.” She laid a soothing hand on his arm, but quickly removed it when she realized how uncomfortable they both were.

“Then, would you mind having a Batburger with me after we finish this case?” Batman reminded the Delectable Dare Doll of a boy asking a girl out on his first date. “You almost always disappear before I can thank you properly.”

She wasn’t about to tell him it was because she was usually quick-changing into her other personality, Barbara Gordon. “I would love to!” she replied, almost too eagerly.

Batman’s eyes moved from the road for a brief second in order to gaze at her happily. “Let’s catch these dastardly criminals!” As they drew nearer to the airport, he added, “I wonder what Robin and Flamebird have decided to do, now that they’ve been arrested and released, all in one day?”

“I’m sure they’re involved in important work,” Batgirl answered thoughtfully.

The five thugs loomed over Robin and surrounded him. Coolly, the young warrior eyed his opponents and waited in a fighting crouch.

“Get up carefully,” Melody ordered her captive. “We want your partner to see you.” Flamebird straightened, feeling Melody hold the deadly bow in place against her neck, giving no opportunity to reverse the situation. “Well done. Now, relax.” Flamebird obeyed, exhaling.

Robin’s assessment of the opposition went on until he became aware of Flamebird’s situation. He took advantage of what he expected would be a lengthy respite, conserving his strength and letting his hands settle on his knees.

“I’m a little surprised by this pair of birds,” Musicman boomed cheerfully, addressing his men. He turned to the invaders. “You two watch your enemies with ‘the eye of the tiger.’”

“Let her go, Musicman!”

“I am sorry, Robin, but I’m aware her perilous position is the only thing preventing the two of you from rocking my men further.”

“I said, let her go!” Robin repeated in a quietly deadly voice.

“I did not emerge merely to engage in an exchange of threats, Boy Wonder. Melody, take care of business.”

The blonde drew her bow back a mere inch, severing the scarlet choker at Flamebird’s throat. Absently, Melody flicked it from the Girl Wonder’s throat and everyone watched silently as it drifted to the floor and settled. “There’s nothing left to cut but skin now,” the henchwoman observed.

“Forget me, Robin. Do what we came here to do!”

“Sorry, Flamebird. He isn’t giving me a choice.”

“You’re ‘a jolly good fellow,’ Robin, as I knew you would be,” Musicman said. “Now, before we proceed with your finale, I think we’ll add your belts to my collection. Boys, ‘Take it Away.’”

“Thanks, boss,” Flat said, stepping toward Flamebird and sliding her utility belt from her waist.

“These are nice,” Major concurred, as he retrieved Robin’s belt as Sharp held his arms.

“I take it the rest of your ‘collection’ belonged to Batman and Batgirl,” Flamebird said.

“What have you done with them?” Robin demanded.

“You’ll soon be able to ask Batman,” Musicman said, smiling and taking the belts from his men. “Come.” He opened another door and mounted a staircase.

Sharp lifted Robin by the armpits and began to follow. “March,” Melody ordered, applying pressure to Flamebird’s back and maintaining the position of the deadly bow with her other hand.

“Major,” Musicman said when they had all reached to top of the stairs, “prepare to put Robin out of our misery.”

“Right, boss,” Major replied, turning toward the young man and hammering the side of his fist onto the top of the hero’s head once. The victim’s knees buckled and he slumped to the floor.

“Robin!” Flamebird said, inhaling sharply.

“Quiet!” Melody commanded, pressing her bow more firmly against Flamebird’s throat without moving it to sever her flesh. The Girl Wonder’s chest heaved as Musicman’s men began uncoiling ropes as they bent over the unconscious Robin.

Flamebird’s eyes flicked to Musicman, who was watching happily as his men pulled Robin’s arms behind his back and bound his wrists and elbows. They then tightly knotted their ropes around his knees and ankles before straightening and lifting him.

“Now,” the evil man began, rubbing his hands together with anticipation and laughing.

The henchmen carried their victim to a darkly stained, wooden box as tall as a closet and as long as an automobile, which had been brought into the storage room. They separated two panels close to the top of the near side, revealing a horizontal cylinder as wide as the enclosure. Robin was suspended from hooks the henchmen spaced to correspond with the location of his bindings before sliding rubber straps through his armpits and buckling his upper chest firmly against the cylinder.

The men then separated a set of panels beneath the first and revealed a second enormous cylinder, around which white paper with erratically spaced holes had been punched. They pulled some paper from the roll and fastened it to the cylinder from which Robin had been suspended.

“It looks like a gigantic player piano roll,” Flamebird noted incredulously.

“Very good, my dear,” Musicman complimented. “I can see you’re going to be something of a loss when all is said and done.”

The men rotated Robin’s cylinder so that his body was covered from neck to ankles in the paper. This left Robin so that he was suspended sideways, his face towards the open end of the machine. Moments later, he recovered from the blow he had received earlier.

Robin moaned and looked over his predicament. “Holy Jerry Lee Lewis! I’m wound into a gigantic player piano roll!”

“‘Goodness gracious! Great balls of fire,’ Robin!” Musicman said. “You are very astute. I really admire how quickly you’ve grasped the situation.”

“An interesting choice of words,” Robin remarked darkly.

“An appropriate choice of words, Boy Wonder,” the villain corrected. “Soon after this device begins to play, the piano roll will constrict about you, mashing your muscles to mush and cracking your bones like eggshells.”

“No!” Flamebird cried. “You can’t! You’re a monster!”

“Oh, but I can, my flickering fledgling,” Musicman said, laughing softly. “I wanted you to appreciate how your boyfriend would perish before I dealt with you. Since you’ve spoken up, I believe we’ll get on with it.” Musicman’s laughter became a little louder. “Oh, Flamebird, ‘that’s what I like!’”

Flamebird began to tense her muscles. “You may quote Big Bopper, but you’ll never be as ‘big’ a man as he. I bet you’ve never written an original note in your life!”

Musicman, enraged at having his creativity called into question, yelled, “See to that insolent girl right NOW!”

In an instant, Melody shoved Flamebird off balance into the arms of the waiting henchmen. The crimefighter struggled mightily as they dragged her toward a door in the side of the Musicman’s malevolent music box, but she was inexorably dragged inside. The door closed behind them and a considerable amount of commotion followed before the panting henchmen emerged.

“She’s all set, boss,” Sharp reported. “What a wildcat!”

“What have you done with her?” Robin demanded.

“How touching,” Musicman teased. “He cares for the little girl. Show him, boys.” The men began to rotate Robin’s cylinder so that the intended victim faced the interior of the machine.

Musicman turned his attention to his shapely moll. “Melody, the scene inside the machine is likely to become a bit messy. Why don’t you select the song the machine will play while it sends these birdies to meet their Maker?” he suggested.

“Okay, Musicman. I really don’t want to watch anything too horribly icky happen to the prisoners – not,” she hastily added, “that I care what you do to them.”

“I understand, my dear.” As Musicman stepped into the machine, Melody folded down a keyboard at another large machine across the room, uncovering a screen with a myriad of selections she could scroll through to make her choice.

Inside, Robin could only vaguely hear their conversation. His teeth were gritted and he glared at the man who jauntily stepped into the heroes’ death chamber.

Flamebird also regarded him coolly.

“Comfortable, my dear?” he asked, feigning concern.

Wires ran vertically along the wall perpendicular to Robin’s roll. Some of them had been wound tightly around Flamebird’s splayed arms and legs, while the metal strands closer to her body had been threaded through her cheerleader skirt; her scarlet, gold and green-fringed, v-necked top and along her back. Her position suspended among the wires made her look like a gigantic starfish or perhaps a spider. Naturally, she could not move.

Flamebird’s only response to the villain’s question was a cold steely glare. Musicman ignored the savage expressions on his prisoners’ faces and went on cheerfully, enjoying himself.

“I am sorry to have to put you both through all of this. You could have just stayed in those nice comfy cells I arranged for you to occupy. Some people just can’t take a hint.” The Mad Music Maestro shrugged, touching a switch that illuminated a dim light inside the chamber. Now, row upon row of wooden hammers, poised to strike the wires in which Flamebird’s body was suspended, were illuminated.

“Oh well, you will now each have the unique, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: to watch as a super-hero – or heroine – is killed. Robin, you will be squeezed like a puss-filled pimple and you, Flamebird, will have your pretty form hammered to a bloody pulp.” Musicman paused and mused to himself, “I wonder which of you will lose consciousness first . . .” The sadistic villain returned to addressing his captives. “I trust you both understand how a piano works?”

“Like a typewriter,” Flamebird replied, “the key makes the hammer rise and strike.”

“Right,” Robin concurred. “The difference is a piano strikes a wire that sounds a note instead of the paper on which a typewriter prints letters.”

“Very good,” Musicman complimented. “I can see you two ‘don’t need no education.’”

“That’s don’t need any education,” Robin lectured. “Good grammar is essential.” ‘Holy Wannabe! I’m sounding like Batman!’ he thought.

Musicman stared impatiently at the ceiling of the death chamber for a moment. “I see you’re unfamiliar with poetic license. The line isn’t even mine.”

“Most of yours aren’t,” Flamebird accused.

Musicman controlled his flaring anger with an effort. A grin appeared and disappeared like a facial tic as he stared at Flamebird. “The volume of the music will slowly increase over time . . . and there aren’t any amplifiers. Do you know what that means?”

Horror registered on Flamebird’s face as realization dawned. “That means . . . as time passes . . . the hammers will strike harder and harder!”

“Bright girl. That’s right. Once my music machine has finished with you, you’ll both just be two more bats in the grave and your sassy mouths will be silenced forever. Now, if you’ll excuse me–”

“You’ll never get away with this!” Robin predicted.

“Even if you do kill us and have managed to kill Batman and Batgirl, Batwoman will hunt you to the ends of the Earth and bring you to justice!” Flamebird’s voice was low as she spoke. “I doubt very much she’ll deal gently with you once she’s caught you!”

“I’m a little disappointed she hasn’t had the nerve to join the party. I would feel safer with all of Gotham City’s bats out of the way . . . but perhaps she’s smarter than the rest of you and will stay out of my way. One can always hope. Now, I have a few final details of your fate to which to attend.” The villain bowed to Robin and blew Flamebird a butterfly kiss before chortling again. “Farewell to you both. There will be no more encores.” Stepping from the young heroes’ death chamber, Musicman closed the door behind him and smiled wickedly as the lock clicked.

Inside, Robin and Flamebird stared fearfully at one another.

“I can’t decide,” Melody complained.

“Speak up, dear,” Musicman said, “or the audience won’t be able to hear.” On reflection, he observed, “Hey, that rhymes! Now, what were you saying?”

“I was thinking about ‘Taps,’ but it’s kind of short and doesn’t use many notes. A more complicated arrangement will do a more thorough job on Flamebird. What do you think of this song for their lethal lullaby?” Melody pointed at a different tune on the list.

Musicman glanced at the choice she indicated and favored her with a despicable smile. “It’s perfect,” he complimented and kissed her lightly. “Print it out and we’ll have the boys load it into the machine.”

Melody punched a button and there was a sound like a giant printing press swinging into action. In minutes, a bell sounded and a hail of punched-out paper poured out the back of the second machine.

Flat and Major opened the front of the device, removed a giant roll of paper and hauled it over to the death machine. They detached the roll in the chamber from the lead paper around Robin, removed the current second cylinder, loaded the player piano roll Melody had created and attached the new roll with clips to the lead roll.

“Why don’t you start it up?” Musicman offered to his moll.

“Can I?”

“Of course, sweet song of my life.” He evidently had already forgotten her little slipup involving the fingerprints on the fake gold record.

Melody pressed the start key. “I know you set the score to repeat over and over. How many times was the song printed on that roll?” she asked.

“Oh, about one hundred, fifty.”

“One hundred and fifty!” Even Melody’s face registered shock and horror.

“Yes,” Musicman replied, enjoying her reaction. “There will be very little of them left intact below their necks when the concert is finished. The Minstrel once threatened to shake off Batman’s and Robin’s heads. I will have removed Robin’s and Flamebird’s in a different manner.”

Melody swallowed hard. She listened to the song play through once. It was almost impossible to recognize, as about half the notes were replaced with the sounds of hammers striking flesh and Flamebird’s little yelps. Melody decided to lighten the mood.“Shall we sing?”

“I suppose we have time to provide vocal accompaniment once, if you wish. We have plenty of time before our flight.”

Melody hummed and swayed as the song played again, drinking in the admiration of the men. “I’ve Got a Crush On You,” she sang, concluding the number with its title. Melody began to giggle and the rest of the gang joined her before Musicman led the way from the room, holding his happy henchwoman in the crook of one arm.

Hammers continued to strike Flamebird’s body and the music roll tightened slightly around Robin.

“Have you escaped similar traps in the past, Robin?” Flamebird asked over the music, during an interlude when she wasn’t being beaten.

Robin recalled how Lord Marmaduke Ffogg had left him to be crushed by drawbridge cables on a rotating vertical spool in the winch room of Londinium’s famous Tower Bridge. Batman had saved him from that crushing fate, but there was no need to share those details with Flamebird.

“Sure,” he encouraged. “Chandell’s evil twin brother Harry arranged for Batman and me to be perforated into a piano roll like the one driving this machine. All we had to do to survive was to sing louder than the notes intended to destroy us so the needles punched holes around us.”

“Will our singing save us now?”

“Well, the music roll driving this malevolent mechanism has already been punched.”

“Oh, drat!” Flamebird writhed among the wires. “The hammers are starting to hit me harder. I think this perverse piano has gotten warmed up.”

I think you’re right,” Robin agreed, feeling the paper roll tighten across his chest slightly as he rotated out of Flamebird’s view. He struggled against the constricting, growing roll, but he barely ripped it.

After the fifth rotation, his stomach began to disagree with him. As it churned violently, Robin began to wish he hadn’t eaten so much for lunch. He needed to remain collected in order to escape his seemingly inevitable doom and he certainly didn’t want to vomit in front of Flamebird. Then a startling revelation occurred to him! ‘Paper is edible! Why don’t I just eat through this roll until I’m free of its entanglement?’

With a voracious appetite he didn’t know he possessed, Robin bent his head to reach the perforated paper and began chomping. It was difficult to get the sweaty paper in his mouth, since he didn’t have the use of his fingers, but he managed to get small chunks inside. At first he spit out the portions, but as the minutes ticked on, he realized the masticated pieces were sticking to the whole pieces of paper. Thus he kept chewing the same sections, which interfered with his work. Finally, he began to swallow the punched paper, an unpleasant task.

After five torturous minutes, Flamebird gasped in pain, “Have you thought of anything, yet, Robin? ROBIN!?” Her eyes blinded temporarily by perspiration, she could not see her companion. “Ooooh noo, the roll has already killed him!” she wailed. Her tears mingled with her heavy sweat, making her wish the bright bulb above her would suddenly blow a fuse. The piano began its third round of, “I’ve Got a Crush On You.”

Just then, Robin’s semi-deep voice assured her, “I’m not dead. I’m eating my way through the paper!” There was a series of crunching sounds and the wrinkling of parchment. Then she only heard the piano music and the dull thud of the hammer heads hitting her. Through her pain, she gazed admiringly at the quick-witted hero.

When her right arm – Betty Kane’s ace tennis arm – received a stunning blow of such force that it went numb, Flamebird shouted, “I hate to mention it, but your plan won’t work unless you eat faster!”

Robin wanted to protest that it was impossible, but he needed his mouth to grind and gulp. The movement was becoming a routine: chew and swallow, chew and swallow; gag slightly, then chew and swallow. His chest was free for an instant until he circled again, and another round replaced it.

‘This isn’t going to work!’ he despaired, but he continued to eat. It was almost as if it was a habit. “I’ve Got a Crush On You” began playing for the fifth time, and Robin bit off his innumerable hunk of paper. This time he tasted his own sweat as well as the flavorless parchment.

“Great. I know salt is supposed to add flavor to food, but this is ridiculous,” Robin muttered between bites. He squirmed uncomfortably as the salty wetness of his sweat mingled with his saliva before he forced himself to swallow. His abrupt movement had caused two layers of paper to rip! His perspiration had moistened the punctured paper, and soggy paper was easier to break!

Anxiously and energetically, he wriggled as much as he could through his tight bindings. He heard the pleasant sound of paper shredding and falling to the piano’s floor. His actions made him perspire more, which aided in the process of breaking the paper. He also continued to chew, even though his jaw was becoming sore.

Flamebird shrieked as the hammers’ blows became more intense. She would be black and blue tomorrow, but that would only be a problem if she survived. None of the hammers hit her on her head, a “kindness” that was probably designed to insure she’d remain conscious to suffer as long as possible.

For the seventh time she took an impact on the bare skin of her chest, just above her breasts. She wondered if her sternum had cracked. If it hadn’t yet, it soon would . . .

“I’ve Got a Crush On You,” finished its seventh round. The notes where the hammers hit Flamebird were, of course, missing, but the song was still recognizable. She couldn’t come up with a means of escape. Her only hope was that Robin could break the roll and stop the music.

Robin grunted, satisfied that another piece had slid to the floor. He managed to grin encouragingly at Flamebird before he spun out of sight.

Robin’s tongue was raw. It probably had paper cuts. His saliva had all been used up from sweating and chewing so much. His muscles were taunt and numb from being pulled and tied so tightly. His stomach grumbled in protestation as he swallowed yet another piece. In short, he had no energy left to continue eating.

The tune finished its eighth playing. Robin swore he would never listen to that melody again.

He opened his mouth to bite, but his jaw seemed locked. He knew he had to continue, at least for Flamebird. He marveled at how his hurt mouth had been so lively earlier when he had kissed the beautiful girl in the adjoining chamber. He heard her cries of misery and forced himself to swallow another section.

“Robin,” came the faint voice of the young woman he had come to adore, “Are you almost out?” It was agony to even talk at that point, but Flamebird had to know.

“I’m sorry, Flamebird,” he mumbled, “so sorry.” He owed her the apology, at the very least. Exhaustion had taken its toll on the young crimefighter. His chewing and writhing had seemed to do little more than induce a great deal of sweat and pain. He knew he had consumed several feet of paper, but the way his stomach was churning, he decided it might really have been yards. He closed his eyes and felt himself sag against the perspiration-soaked paper that still surrounded him. An instant later, the red-breasted hero involuntarily surrendered to unconsciousness.

Flamebird listened to the pitiful clamor and saw her partner slump in his imprisonment. She let tears flow down her wasted cheeks and was about to succumb to darkness as well when, to her amazement, as the roller turned Robin nearest the floor, his weight forced the remainder of the perforated parchment to tear down the middle! The music stopped! Her beloved Robin had broken the paper!

Slowly, she moved her fingers and toes and noted that her muscles were still functioning. Satisfied that she wasn’t a paraplegic or crippled, she let herself faint from fatigue. When she came to, she saw Robin pulling on his bindings.

“When I passed out, the ropes tugged on the metal hooks, weakening them,” the yellow-caped crimefighter slowly explained, gasping. He took a deep breath and continued, “I’m hoping the hooks are weak enough for me to work my way free from these bindings.” It was an excruciating job, especially since he was still rotating at a rather fast speed.

After ten minutes, his arms, followed by his legs, broke free. The strap under his armpits and around his chest saved him from plummeting to the floor of the interior of the player piano. Robin shakily unclasped the buckle on his chest that had connected him to the cylinder. Unfortunately, he now was suspended only by the rubber straps in his armpits.

Robin squealed in pain before he tried to pull the straps from his underarms. The rubber was sticking to his sweaty flesh, and added to that was the fact that the strap pushed his arms slightly out to the sides. He forced his arms to maneuver in order to pry the straps from his armpits. He finally was able to disentangle himself completely from his bondage. The only damage to his underarms was that they were chafed.

“Robin,” Flamebird cried, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, luckily this thing is short enough that my feet immediately touched the floor.” Nevertheless, Robin rubbed his throbbing underarms for a moment before turning his attention to his friend. “Let’s get you free, shall we?” He hurriedly untied the tenacious teen from her bonds and, before she could thank him, ran out of the player piano, muttering about “finding a bathroom.”

Flamebird observed that his face had been an unbecoming shade of green. Shrugging, she expertly checked all of her limbs for severe damage. In the end, she determined that she felt as if she had had too much exercise. It could have been much worse. She hobbled out of the deathtrap in time to see her partner returning.

“They’ve all left the building,” he informed her.

Flamebird sighed and said, “What next, then?”

“Well,” Robin scratched his chin, unconsciously imitating Batman, “Musicman did mention the airport.” His eyes popped open in alarm as he added, “Holy Great Escape! He’s leaving the country with the gold Beatles’ replica album!”

“Not if we can help it.” Flamebird stiffly limped toward the stairs.

Robin ran to her assistance. “You’ll never make it down in one piece,” he said kindly. Robin lifted her up in his pained arms and carried her down the stairs.

Flamebird wasn’t about to argue with that! She allowed his muscular arms to hold her tightly to his chest. Resignedly, she laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and let out a contented sigh.

Once they were at the bottom, they decided to rest a while before heading out on the open road. When they finally departed, they left the Batcycle and took the Redbird.

Commissioner Gordon suppressed a triumphant smile as the same reporters from his earlier press conference stepped into his office. He had summoned them to discuss Robin’s and Flamebird’s release from prison. James Gordon wanted to shout, “I told you Batman and his companions hadn’t turned evil,” but that wouldn’t be decorous.

Always the one to view all sides of an issue, Nellie Majors was the first to speak. “I saw Robin and Flamebird speed away on the Batcycle. They appeared to be ready to start investigating again, but didn’t the police specifically tell them to lay low?”

Gordon bristled as he responded, “Doubtlessly Robin was dropping Flamebird off in some abandoned area so she could get to her Bat-Cavern unobserved.”

Defeated for the moment, Nellie became silent, but Alexander Knox now spoke. “How do you feel about the release of the kid crime-fighters?”

“I’m ecstatic, naturally.”

“How do you explain the money that was sent you?” Vicki Vale asked.

“As I told you before, there is no proof as to who sent that money. I can tell you it is being held as evidence until we determine from whence it came.”

“Whom do you suspect?” Ms. Vale inquired.

“I’m sorry, Vicki. I can’t comment on ongoing investigations. You know that, but I realize you have to ask. Be assured I am looking forward to commenting further on that matter as soon as I possibly can.”

“Do you have any suspects?” Knox asked.

“I can’t say. Sorry.”

“So, what you seem to be saying, when I read between the lines, is that Robin, or maybe even Batman, may have still turned crooked?” Ms. Majors prodded.

“Aren’t you a devil incarnate,” Chief O’Hara mumbled.

“That little remark could be considered slander, Chief,” Nellie replied tauntingly.

“Not if it’s true,” Knox said under his breath.

In the meantime, O’Hara boiled over at Majors like a piping hot pan filled with water. “You had better be out of Police Headquarters in ten seconds, or my men will personally escort you out!” He wagged a finger in the general direction of the door.

“Go ahead. That would be quite a story,” Ms. Majors sweetly invited.

“Chief, please control yourself,” Gordon commanded the enraged man. He took in some air and slowly exhaled as he turned to the smiling journalist. “Now, Ms. Majors, is there anything else you’d like to . . . er . . . know?”

Ms. Majors let out a sardonic laugh as she eased her way through the many reporters and photojournalists. “It doesn’t matter what I ask. You’re gonna defend that Crazed Cowled Creep until the bitter end. You want to know what I want to know? Alright, Commissioner. Why do you defend Batman so valiantly. What does he have on you?”

“All Batman has on me is my gratitude for the countless times he has saved this city! Now, Ms. Majors, that is quite enough! I asked all of you here to discuss the situation regarding Robin and Flamebird. Let’s stick to the topic.”

Nellie Majors coughed. “You’ve been the Commissioner for some years now. I think I’ll expand my inquiry into Batman to include you! That means you’d better be squeaky clean, Gordon!” she said ominously. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

The entire throng stared at the defiant woman. As soon as she had made her exit, the newsmen and women started to spurt out a myriad of questions, while Gordon and O’Hara tried to end the meeting that had gone so awry. Fortunately, the Batphone interrupted the mass of deafening people. All eyes turned to the red object that was blinking and beeping persistently.

Gordon crossed the room and resumed his sedate manner to answer the phone. “Yes, Batman?”

“I need a squad of your men at the Gotham City Airport’s international terminal,” came the deep voice on the other end. Musicman is planning to escape with the real gold Beatles’ record. Batgirl and I will try to detain him until the police can arrive.”

“What does this musical maniac and his moll look like?” Gordon inquired. After getting a lengthy description of both which he wrote down, he said, “Thank you, Batman, and it’s so good to hear your voice.” He hung up. Now he stood a little straighter and gazed a little more superiorly at the press.

“O’Hara, send twenty of your men to Gotham City Airport’s international terminal and inform security of the impending danger. Here are the descriptions of the real thieves of the gold record.” Once the Chief of Police had gone, the Commissioner exhaled and returned his attention to the media people. “I will now answer any polite questions you might have.”

“Thank you for your time, Commissioner,” Vicki Vale said hurriedly.

“We have to get to the airport – fast!” Alexander Knox added. The press hurried away.

The Batmobile parked in one of the few unoccupied spaces in the international terminal’s short-term parking lot. Batman and Batgirl rushed into the airport, where they spent precious minutes explaining to federal security why they wanted to check all planes leaving for Japan. Finally, after a phone call up the chain of command, and even though they weren’t ticketed passengers, they were given permission to pass through security, utility belts intact, and investigate the terminal.

Batman made sure to warn security of any unusual looking personages, namely a man, a woman and several men, all dressed in black and white. “We’ll send out a special warning to all posts,” one screener promised.

Batgirl gazed up at a monitor with schedule of departing international flights. “One plane is leaving for Japan at 4:55 p.m. That’s thirty minutes from now. The gate is B9.”

“Benign?” Batman repeated, smiling. “Very ironic, I must say.” The two caped heroes hastened to the appointed gate.

Meanwhile, Musicman, Melody, and their men arrived at the gate with several carry-on bags and a briefcase. Musicman clutched the briefcase as if it held all the riches in the world.

“I wonder what that screener at the X-ray machine thought that record was?” Flat wondered.

“Well, I’m sure it didn’t look dangerous,” Sharp explained, “and, in case you’re wondering, Takashi has arranged for us to pass through customs in Japan.”

“Did any guards follow us?” Musicman whispered nervously.

Melody suppressed a groan as she replied, “That’s the fourth time you’ve asked that!”

“I know, but now that the police are on to us, I can’t help but be a little suspicious.”

“Well, stop it,” Major complained, “you’re making me nervous, too.”

“I give the orders around here, you big lug!” snapped the Malignant Maestro. He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled to face Sharp.

“There are three airport security agents coming our way,” Sharp hissed. “I don’t think they’ve seen us . . . yet.”

Musicman and his minions ducked behind several chairs. “We must initiate our emergency plan,” the Musicman declared. “Melody, see if you can sneak off into the women’s room unnoticed.”

“That would be quite impossible,” Flat said, his eyes riveted on the moll’s buxom figure.

Musicman rolled his eyes and continued, “I need you to change into your Flamebird costume and distract the guards. We will sneak onto the jet, and when you’re done, join us.”

“As you wish, Musicman dear,” crooned the blonde. “Which duffel bag has my costume?” She didn’t wait for a response, but instead searched the carry-on luggage until she found a bag with the initials F. B. written on it. She waited until a group of passengers coming off another plane walked past, and then joined them. When the throng passed the restrooms, she sneaked inside.

Musicman peeped from behind the vinyl seating where he was hiding. The security guards were now conversing with the flight attendants that were in charge of collecting the tickets. It was obvious to the diabolical mastermind that the guards were warning them of any conspicuous characters. He waited impatiently until the sentries had gone away, then he got up and walked to the flight attendant.

“What was that all about?” the Musicman asked innocently.

“We’re supposed to watch out for any man or woman in black and white.” The stewardess gazed at the Musicman’s black sweat pants which had a print of piano keys going up the sides. “I guess I’ll have to have one of the security guards frisk you.”

Musicman was about to protest when the voice of his moll stopped him. “That’s all right, ma’am. I checked this man out already.” Melody, dressed as Flamebird, smiled warmly at the stewardess.

The flight attendant looked baffled at seeing Flamebird. The costumes of Batman, Robin and Batgirl were somewhat familiar to her, but she hadn’t seen Flamebird’s before. She didn’t, however, have time to pursue the matter, for one of her colleagues had just announced that first class passengers could board. The well-heeled travelers queued up, ready and waiting to board the jetliner. She opened the door that would lead to the airplane and began taking tickets.

Musicman begrudgingly stepped to the back of the general boarding line with his henchmen. It wouldn’t do to start a riot by trying to take cuts.

Melody sauntered over to the restroom where she would change back into her civilian clothes, but at that moment, Batman and Batgirl came up to Gate B9. Frantic, Melody rushed over to them, so they wouldn’t see her boss.

“You’re alive,” the fake Flamebird exclaimed incredulously.

“Of course we are,” answered Batgirl warily. “What are you doing at the airport, especially after being framed for robbery?”

“Well, since the Musicman is trying to skip town with that golden record, I – that is, Robin and I – decided to stop him.”

“Have you seen anything suspicious?” Batman asked, his eyes darting from passenger to passenger.

“Nope, so let’s be going,” Melody said, moving past the distinctive duo, trying to lead them away. The caped crimefighters only turned to watch her. ‘What’s wrong with them? Why aren’t they following me?’

Suddenly, Melody’s musings evaporated as though a wizard had made them vanish into thin air. At that moment, Robin and the real Flamebird entered the vicinity. Melody swerved behind a group of people just as Flamebird spotted her.

“Stop!” the teenage heroine commanded, charging toward the masquerading moll.

Batgirl caught sight of the heroine and the identically-dressed henchwoman. She glanced at Batman questioningly. “Which Flamebird is the real one, Batman?”

Batman was about to reply when Robin spoke, “That’s an imposter! Arrest her, Batman!” The Dark Knight turned to face his regular partner and then glanced at Melody, at whom Robin was pointing.

“No, Batman!” Melody said, pointing at the real Flamebird, “she’s the imposter. Arrest her!”

“Oh no you don’t,” Flamebird said. “I’ll arrest you myself, if you don’t surrender at once.”

“We’ll see who gets arrested, Flamebird. ‘Come on down. I’m here waiting on the ground. Flamebird, I’ll beat you good. Oh, Young Lady Bird, I wish you would’-”

“Your wish is my command,” Flamebird announced, interrupting the song lyrics and striding toward the confrontation. Another crowd of airport patrons screened the caped adversaries from Flamebird’s colleagues momentarily. When the crowd had passed, the two women were circling one another, making it impossible for the interested onlookers to distinguish between them.

“Holy Double Vision! Should we intervene?”

As the Terrific Trio regarded the combatants, they battered one another with merciless, lightening-fast combinations. “It’s time I showed you for what these boots were made,” one of the Flamebirds said, spinning. Her opponent ducked.

“It’s a difficult decision,” Batman answered. “We know Flamebird can take care of herself, but letting Musicman’s moll go inadvertently would be a tragedy.”

“Why don’t you shut up and fight?” the other, so-far silent Flamebird said. She feinted and slid a kick into her opponent’s breadbasket.

“Wait a minute!” Robin said. “When Flamebird and I were held by the police, we learned Melody McManus is in her thirties. That means whichever woman is old is the imposter.”

“You’ll pay for that,” the bent Flamebird threatened, dropping to one knee, and spinning to kick the other woman’s legs from beneath her.

“It’s amazing what a little makeup can do, Robin,” Batgirl advised. “Deciding between them on that basis may be more challenging than you think.”

The standing combatant advanced on her fallen opponent and prepared to swoop in and finish her off with a devastating combination of blows. Suddenly, the winged Flamebird sprang at her opponent and took her to the floor, slamming her head against it with stunning force.

“Robin, Batgirl, the one who won the fight is Melody.”

“How can you be sure, Batman?” Batgirl asked, matching her colleague’s quiet tone.

“Flamebird’s costume includes a scarlet choker that woman is not wearing.”

“Brilliant observation!” Batgirl praised.

“That’s it, Batman! You’ve determined the way to tell them apart,” then Robin continued joyfully, “but the winner of the fight is the real Flamebird!”

“How do you know that, old chum?”

“Before Musicman left us to die, Melody used a violin bow to cut Flamebird’s choker off and compel me to surrender. I’ll tell you the whole story later.”

“Good thinking, Robin,” Batman praised.

“Congratulations,” Batgirl said, favoring the victorious young woman with a smile. Then, she turned her attention to the defeated desperado. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

Melody simpered as she inquired, “On what charge?”

Batman’s head swiveled to gaze at his young companions. The true Flamebird said, “On charges of stealing the solid gold replica of ‘Yesterday,’ by the Beatles.”

“‘Laugh, Laugh, I thought I’d die! It seemed so funny to me,’ Melody sang sardonically. “You think you’re going to fool anyone? It’s plainly obvious that you’re the phonies, trying to plant the blame on me. Airport security will have something to say about my arrest!”

Batgirl snapped Batcuffs onto Melody’s hands. “Only Musicman and his cohorts would use song lyrics as part of their normal conversation!” Batgirl declared.

“She’s right!” Robin concluded, as he and Flamebird pulled their captive to her feet.

The false Flamebird panicked as she realized her mistake and that she had been irrevocably caught. “Musicman, ‘won’t you please, please, help me!’” she shouted.

The Musicman handed his ticket to the stewardess, smiled, and ignored the entreaties of his beloved. Slowly, he headed to the plane.

“Where is that musical maniac?” Robin demanded.

“He’ll leave without you, get all the money, and live in luxury while you’re in prison – unless you tell us!” Flamebird predicted.

“My darling wouldn’t do that to me,” Melody began, removing her mask. “He promised to love me always if I helped him.”

“He probably also told you he’d kill all of us,” Batgirl said. Melody stared at her for a long moment.

“Oh, Melody, you poor deluded creature, there’s a powerful lesson to be learned in all this: Money can’t buy you love!” Batman lectured.

Suddenly, Melody burst into tears and cried, “He just boarded that plane. Go . . . get him. Get him!”

Batgirl and Flamebird tried to calm her while Batman and Robin ran in pursuit of the Musicman. They hurried past the astonished flight attendants, down the jetway and aboard the plane. They quickly passed the innocent passengers, who helpfully made way for them, and reached the far end of the central aisle that divided the seats. Turning back toward the cockpit, they saw the Musicman scooting down the aisle towards the main door, briefcase still in hand.

“Stop that man; he’s a criminal!” Batman yelled.

The Musicman whirled around at the sound of the voice, but as he did, his briefcase got caught on the armrest of the seat to his right. The Musicman tried to hurry down the aisle in an attempt to escape, but the briefcase pulled him back, sending him crashing to the floor.

The criminal maestro expelled an enormous breath. “I’ll need lawyers, guns, and money to get me out of this,” he muttered. “What I have instead is evidence, an angry moll, and my goons. All right!” He straightened and slipped into an empty seat. “Well, it’s one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, now go get them, boys!”

Passengers screamed in terror, scattered and ducked for cover.

Major came at the crimefighters first. They stopped him by simultaneously punching his eyes.

The goon stumbled, but remained upright. He tried to hit Batman, but the Caped Crusader managed to deflect the onslaught of offense Major had launched at him. While his partner’s opponent busily battled Batman, Robin threw his leg out to trip the thug. The hero with the “R” on his chest succeeded, and Major fell loudly into the narrow aisle.

While Major was on the floor, the Dynamic Duo pummeled him severely, moving past his supine body once he had been knocked out.

Sharp and Flat approached next to try to demolish the Dynamic Duo. Robin and Batman prepared to face their new opponents.

Sharp was fast and managed to sock Robin in the breadbasket. Robin retaliated by cuffing his chin. The impact sent the goon several steps backward.

As Sharp engaged Robin, Flat stepped up onto armrests on either side of the aisle and launched himself at Batman. The thug felt gloved fingers grip his shirt and wrenched him toward the back of the plane.

Robin’s attack followed the devastating blow that had made the tall thug retreat with a kick to Sharp’s chest.

Infuriated, Sharp grabbed Robin by the collar and tossed him into an empty seat. The hero’s head hit the oval window.

Sharp looked like he was going to hurtle himself on top of the young man when a bone shattering punch from Batman to the head knocked him unconscious.

Musicman had been turned around, watching the action from his seat. With two of his men down, the villain now got out of his seat and began tiptoeing toward the plane’s main door.

Flat staggered to his feet and made his way back towards the fray. The remaining thug approached warily. He waited for his moment and lunged at Batman. After delivering the knockout blow to Sharp, the Caped Crusader whirled and knocked Flat off-balance for a second.

Flat regained his footing and charged at Batman again. Flat felt the back of Batman’s gloved fist impact his nose, which dissolved into a plume of blood that settled onto his face.

As the defeated thug’s body settled to the floor, the young man and his mentor each gripped one of the other’s gloved hands and shook it profusely.

Unexpectedly the wily Musicman had reversed course. Now he grabbed Batman’s cape, and wrapped it around the Caped Crusader’s head!

This action gagged him. The arch-criminal seemed to find this amusing, for Musicman began dragging Batman around by the edge of his cape!

Robin tried to stop the cowardly attack, but he was still dizzy from his battle with Sharp. Batman was also between him and the retreating rogue. Soon, Batman began turning blue in the face, and it looked like Musicman would win some measure of victory.

Laughing, Musicman sang, “Would you be mine? Could you be mine. Please, won’t you be my prisoner?” He continued, retreating toward the first class section of the plane, until he encountered the curtain separating the first class seats from the coach section. The curtain had been pulled shut by an unknown person. Suddenly, the curtain was being wrapped around the Musicman’s neck! “Have a taste of your own medicine, Musicman!” a female voice commanded. “It only takes a spoonful of sugar to help it go down, but I think I’ll give you a few extra lumps for good measure!” The Malevolent Maestro gurgled in response, turned white, then blue, and then passed out.

The purple-clad Batgirl emerged from the other side of the curtain. She had made her way on board after leaving Melody in Flamebird’s custody. “Since you were taking so long, I thought I should come and see what was the problem,” Batgirl explained.

Just then, two Gotham City police officers and three members of airport security entered the jetliner. “Flamebird informed us that there was a thief on board,” on of the security team explained. “Er, that was the real Flamebird, wasn’t it?”

The Terrific Trio exchanged amused glances before Batman said, “Yes, sir, there is no need to worry. The real Flamebird, along with Robin and Batgirl, have managed to save Gotham City from the clutches of evil. Would you care to take over?”

He and his companions tiredly, but confidently, exited the plane, ready to fight evil another day.

“That was one thing I missed while following Musicman’s clues: there was no classical music,” Batman began as he grabbed another fry.

Batgirl wiped her mouth after taking a large bite of her Bat-Burger. “Well, you can’t really quote classical pieces, unless they’re part of an opera.”

“Of course, you’re right, Batgirl.” The Dark Knight scanned Dunbar’s Diner, which was crammed with noisy high-schoolers. An obnoxious hard metal song came over the diner’s speakers. “Would you like to listen to some classical music in the Batmobile? I just installed a new radio.”

Batgirl looked relieved. “That would be absolutely heavenly.”

Batman left money on the table and the two hopped into the car. Soon they were several miles down the road, parked in a grove of trees. “My friend Bruce Wayne owns this property. I’m sure he won’t mind if we stay here awhile and listen to some very soothing music,” Batman explained. He switched on the radio and found the classical station. Unfortunately, the station was on commercials.

All at once, the vehicle was filled with a discomfiting silence. ‘Now that we’ve exhausted our conversation on music, what do we talk about?’ Batgirl wondered to herself. Fortunately, Batman found an oldies channel where an obscure Beatles song was playing. The beat was catchy, as were the lyrics:

I want to tell you.
My head is filled with things to say.
When you’re here,
All those words – they seem to drift away.

Batman realised how befitting the lyrics were. That was exactly how he felt about Batgirl. There was another verse and then a bridge, but Batman was too intent on thinking of something to say that wasn’t about music or crimefighting to listen. He did hear the second bridge that went as follows:

Sometimes I wish I knew you well,
Then I could speak my mind and tell you.
Maybe you’d understand.

I want to tell you
I feel hung up but I don't know why,
I don't mind
I could wait forever, I've got time, I've got time, I've got time.

Batgirl reached over to shut the radio off. “It’s hitting too close to home,” she said softly. She paused and added, “I do wish I knew more about you Batman, but I don’t know why.”

“I think it would be best if you figured out what your heart wants. Don’t worry about me. As it says in the song, ‘I could wait forever; I’ve got time.’”

Batgirl shook her head, repressing a smile. She was surprised when Batman grew serious and said, almost demurely, “I think I’m beginning to realize what my heart wants.”

Batgirl felt her stomach do nervous flip-flops. She noticed that Batman was edging closer to her for a kiss. It seemed only natural to lean towards him – after all, what harm would a little kiss do . . .

A loud car horn interrupted their romantic actions. Batman glanced angrily at the road to see who had disturbed them. Robin drove by in his Redbird, Flamebird sitting next to him. Her arm was draped around his shoulder and a mischievous smile was spread across her face.

Chuckling, Batgirl waved at the two young crimefighters, who immediately waved back. The Redbird cruised out of sight, leaving a very entertained Batgirl and a very disgruntled Batman. The Petite Paragon playfully punched Batman’s arm as she said, “I thought you told me you could wait forever.”

Batman looked confused as he answered, “What are you talking–”

“Then, you should have no problem in waiting for the next appropriate time to kiss me. Now, why don’t we head on out of here? You know, we have had a very busy day!”

Batman reluctantly agreed, and the two drove off into the sunset after the Redbird.

Back to Batgirl Bat-Trap stories

Back to the Batgirl Bat-Trap Homepage!

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