To each of the Batgirls chagrin, it turned out Nora was indeed telling the truth. Now their fingers were locked together just as intractably as their legs . . . perhaps even more so.
The purple Batgirl, the one of the present, pushed her right hand forward, hoping to loosen the grip on the left hand of the blue Batgirl, her aspect from a nanosecond in the future. Simultaneously, her past self, the red Batgirl, pushed her right hand toward the left of the Batgirl of the present.
The struggle proved futile. The key to escaping a Chinese finger trap was to push in while, at the same time, to somehow pull out. With all their digits encased by the Chinese handcuffs and with their legs bound together by the Triple Leg Lock Knot, the necessary maneuver was impossible.
To make matters worse, with their hands and arms immobilized, Batgirl couldn’t see how she was ever going to get out of the leg knot itself. Unless they were rescued, they would be entirely at Nora Clavicle’s mercy . . .
Each Batgirl had a boot wedged under her butt. As if that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, the tangle of legs in each of their crotches splayed their own legs further apart. Although this knot did not put them at risk of immediate death, it was plenty torturous in its own right.
Nora again addressed the three Batgirls. “Eventually . . . and perhaps soon . . . your hands and most of your legs will go completely asleep. Once that happens, you'll NEVER escape! Ha, ha, ha, HA!”
Again, Clavicle was right. In the areas of their legs that were surrounded by each other, pins and needles had started after about ten to fifteen minutes. Another ten or so minutes later, these parts of their bodies had started going numb. Already, they could hardly feel anything there . . . and the process was about to repeat with their hands.
Batgirl knew there was a danger of blood clot formation. If clots did form and one broke loose and lodged in her heart or brain, this knot would indeed prove fatal. The purple Batgirl realized her “twins” shared her idea, as the three of them simultaneously renewed their struggles, trying to keep fresh blood flowing into their extremities.
‘Moving our legs restores a little circulation, but how long can we keep it up?’ Batgirl worried. ‘Besides, every time we move, it just makes the knot that much tighter!’
Batgirl wondered what Nora had in mind for the platform she had ordered her eunuchs to fetch from the van. For now, Clavicle, Vinyl, Evelina and Doctor Jones were talking excitedly amongst themselves, enjoying their handiwork. Lieutenant Mooney was still trapped in the corner, stuck behind the super-sharp wires.
‘Even If Diana had a portable radio, I’m sure it was taken from her.’ Batgirl tried to console herself with the prospect the disruption of the security system had perhaps triggered an alarm somewhere. At the very least, people would be arriving at the Gotham Research Institute in a few hours. If they could just hang on until then . . .
Suddenly, Batgirl was struck by a thought. She looked into the eyes of her red self, then the blue. This time, she wasn’t surprised to find her gaze met in each instance.
What Batgirl had recalled was that she often had fantasized about having a perfect twin! Growing up, she wished she had a double, someone to whom she could tell anything. How marvelous it would have been to have another person who would do anything with her! Now, if they could get out of this knot, her wish would come true – twofold – albeit a little off-color.
If they could escape, Barbara would now have someone – besides Alfred, Regina and Charlie – with whom to share her secret . . . and personal secrets she hadn’t told anyone. The other versions of herself would understand completely, because they were her!
There would be many practical advantages as well. For one thing, any question about her secret identity would be forever put to rest. Barbara Gordon and Batgirl could appear together, anytime!
She could also accomplish three times as much! They could rotate activities. One could be Batgirl on patrol, while another was Barbara Gordon at the library. The third could be sleeping! ‘It would be nice to get enough sleep for a change! Maybe, just maybe, Nora has done me a huge favor. Wouldn’t that be ironic?’
Batgirl’s reverie was broken by the arrival of the eunuchs. They were carrying what looked like folded-up corrugated cardboard. As they began to spread it out, Batgirl could see the material was much more substantial than that. Her heart sank as the implication became clear.
Meanwhile, the heroine’s tormentor came forward. Not surprisingly, Nora had more she wanted to say. “I’ve thought long and hard about what to do with you next. I’m going to have you put on this platform and carried back to my headquarters.” A faraway, dreamy look came into Clavicle’s eyes. “I wonder, should I make you beg for food and water or just hook you up to IVs again? Anyway, for now, I’m going to set you in a corner and you can watch as I pluck Gotham City clean.”
Nora’s face hardened as she continued. “Maybe I’ll just shoot Batman and Robin and throw their rotting corpses next to you . . . or maybe the bodies of that senile Police Commissioner, idiot Chief of Police and doddering Wayne butler.”
If Clavicle’s objective had been to get a rise out of the Batgirls, she had succeeded. Once again they pushed in on the finger traps. This loosened them momentarily, but any move to extricate their digits only served to make the bonds even tighter than before. They needed another hand, or at least some fingers, to get their hands free.
Batgirl understood that Nora knew exactly what the sadistic feminist was doing. Clavicle was adding psychological torment to the physical anguish the Batgirls were already suffering.
What Nora had no way of knowing was just how close to home the threats came to Batgirl. The Lunatic Lesbian was threatening Batgirl’s confidant, Alfred, not to mention her father!
“All right, eunuchs,” Nora commanded, “lift them up and place them on the platform.”
The six men did as they were told. Three of the men put their hands into the Batgirls’ armpits. The trapped trio were lifted slightly, then the other three men put their hands under the girls’ butts.
The three versions of the Dark Angel of Gotham struggled mightily as they were lifted some three feet into the air, but the human knot held fast. Being taken off the floor didn’t loosen the knot at all, but the procedure did not put extra strain on their bodies. In fact, it was a relief to have the weight taken off their bottoms and wedged-in feet. They all knew, however, that the respite would be short indeed.
The eunuchs accomplished their task with great care. The knotted threesome was gingerly transported to over the platform. Gently the Batgirls were lowered into place. If Nora’s plans came to fruition, Batgirl would spend the rest of her life on this platform.
All of a sudden, the purple Batgirl detected a strange scent in the air. It smelled to her like ozone.
If Clavicle noticed the odor, she gave no indication. “Now, eunuchs, carry the platform outside and load it into your–”
Before the men could move to obey, what seemed like sparks began to shimmer over the bodies of the red and blue Batgirls! The purple Batgirl saw the discharge dance around her entangled legs, but didn’t feel the sting of electricity. The sound of “pops” and “crackles” filled the laboratory.
“Sandahl, what’s happening!?” Nora demanded.
“I don’t know,” Doctor Jones admitted.
In a final flash, the two temporally-displaced Batgirls simply winked out of existence! Everyone in the room was shocked into motionless.
Batgirl recovered first. As she sprang to her feet, she tore the traps from her fingers. The adrenaline rush of freedom combined with the flow of fresh blood overwhelmed the ache in her legs. She leapt at two of the eunuchs, sending them flying. She then made a bee-line for the computer console.
“Get her, you fools!” Nora shouted at her henchmen.
The lumbering musclemen, however, reacted too late. Batgirl slid the T-bar on the control panel all the way she had seen Doctor Jones move it earlier. The wires imprisoning Lieutenant Mooney loosened to such an extent it was an easy matter for Diana to simply step over them.
Two more of the mostly naked bodybuilders lunged at Batgirl. The Purple Paragon caught one on the chin with a showgirl kick. She then pirouetted gracefully and delivered a stunning blow to the neck of the other.
The final pair of eunuchs advanced on Lieutenant Mooney. She launched her foot with what she expected to be a devastating strike to the groin of one of the men.
The man, seemingly unaffected, just grinned at her.
“Ah, the hell with it!” Mooney said. She landed a terrific right-cross on the man’s face, knocking him unconscious.
Meantime, Clavicle, Evelina, Vinyl and Doctor Jones stood over by the antenna, watching events unfold with undisguised concern. Finally, Jones ripped off her white lab coat to reveal her customary brown leather tank-top with matching trunks. “I’ve been waiting for this,” she announced with relish as she advanced towards the fray.
Her braggadocio, however, alerted Batgirl to her approach. Batgirl grabbed one of the four men who had tried to surround her by the wrist and swung the behemoth into the scientist. Dr. Jones was sent crashing into the computer console. The impact activated a random set of controls.
Once again the lights dimmed. This time, the low humming quickly progressed to a loud whine. The impression given was that the machine was running wildly out of control, heading toward a climactic explosion!
None of the combatants, however, could afford to be distracted. Mooney and one man had squared off for what had turned out to be an extended battle. After seeing what the policewoman had done with just one punch to his comrade, the eunuch stalked Diana cautiously. Speed was definitely on the lieutenant’s side, but strength and bulk were in her opponent’s favor.
Batgirl reduced the odds against her by sweeping the feet out from under two of the men arrayed against the Dark Knight Damsel. A kick to the head that would have resulted in a forty-yard field goal quickly rendered one of her fallen foes unconscious.
The man who had tumbled into Doctor Jones groggily lunged at Batgirl again. Not learning his lesson, he once more had his hand grabbed by the heroine. This time, she slung the hapless man into one of his fellows.
The pair ended up bumping into Evelina. Like a set of dominoes, Evelina fell into Vinyl, who in turn knocked Nora in front of the antenna. At that moment, a bolt jumped from the dish of the antenna and hit Clavicle square in the chest!
Z A P !!!!!
In the blink of an eye, Nora Clavicle disappeared.
All fighting immediately ceased. Batgirl asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Where’d she go?”
The words seemed to catch in Doctor Jones’ throat. “I . . . have . . . no idea.” She fell to her knees and began to cry.
Evelina and Vinyl looked on, dumbstruck. The eunuchs, their mistress gone, were in no mood to fight. One headed for the door, but Batgirl cut him off. “Uhh, uhh, uhh,” she said, wagging her right index finger in his face. He meekly went to stand over with the others.
The day that began with Nora Clavicle’s disappearance turned out to be clear. By mid-afternoon, it was quite warm in Gotham City for late October.
In the exercise yard of the Gotham State Penitentiary, the Minstrel was standing off by himself near the prison wall. A second conviction after capture at the gloves of Gotham City’s masked vigilantes had earned him a place in the prison’s Arch Criminal Wing.
Although some of the super-villainesses appreciated the Minstrel, he had yet to find favor with his male counterparts, with the questionable exception of Killer Moth. The Minstrel didn’t mind in the slightest. He considered most of them to be flamboyant fools – men who couldn’t be trusted as allies and who more often than not would be tripped up by their own egos.
Nonchalantly, but carefully, the Minstrel examined the wall. He hadn’t known for how long the device he had placed there would have to remain hidden. It turned out to have been for five years.
His eyes suddenly caught sight of a disc, the same color as the wall, stuck right into the cement. It was completely unnoticeable, unless you knew for just what to look. He let out a mental sigh of relief. It was still there, just where he had put it so long ago.
The Minstrel was keeping time in his head. ‘Just ten more seconds . . .’ At the expiration of the time period, the electronics genius pushed the disc at three discrete places in order.
The Minstrel closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sky. To a casual observer, the still-handsome fifty-eight year old was merely enjoying the sunshine.
Minutes passed. Then, from outside on the street, the Minstrel heard the roar of an engine. That was his cue.
The Minstrel walked into the prison wall . . . and stepped right through it! A large section of the rampart had become the consistency of talcum powder!
Sirens wailed and shots rang out . . . but to no effect. Before any of the guards could reach the scene, the Minstrel was safely ensconced in the back of a two-seat Indy Racing League car, a helmet decorated with a musical note perched on his head.
The driver was Donnie, an out of work open-wheel racer the Minstrel had retained, just in case he ever again found himself a “guest” of Warden Crichton. With the odor of methanol hanging in the air, the pair roared away as they quickly reached speeds in excess of 150 miles per hour. The malfeasant musician’s getaway plan had worked to perfection.
About a week later, Barbara Gordon was back at her post at the Gotham City Library. Even though her executive status as Head Librarian no longer required Babs to take a shift on the floor, she still enjoyed assisting seekers of knowledge in their pursuits.
Over the past couple of days, Barbara had come to know Eric, a high school senior who had been coming in after dark to work on a history paper. She smiled as the serious young man, a flock of brown hair falling into his eyes, approached.
“Ms. Gordon, this must be a mistake . . . or someone’s idea of a joke.”
“What is, Eric?” Barbara asked pleasantly. The student had in his hands a book entitled, Chicago Mobs of the Twenties, published in 1992.
“Look at this picture.” Opening the book to a particular page with the help of a bookmark, Eric handed the volume to the librarian.
Eric posed the question, but Barbara didn’t hear it.
“Isn’t that Nora Clavicle?”
Barbara became aware of Eric staring at her. “Did you say something, Eric?”
“I said,” he repeated, “isn’t that Nora Clavicle? I’ve seen her on television and in the newspaper.”
The details of Nora’s “disappearance” had been kept out of the news media. Barbara quickly collected her wits. “Well, I admit it certainly looks like her . . . but it can’t be. This picture was taken in the 1920s.”
“That’s why I think it’s a mistake or a sick joke.”
They talked about the boy’s discovery for a while. Eric eventually decided his paper was going to be much more interesting than he originally thought!
After Eric left to continue his project, Barbara began a frantic search of her own. She sought every bit of information she could find about the enigmatic Miss Stevens.
It was after midnight. Barbara was alone in the library. After an exhaustive evening of research, she concluded there just wasn’t that much to be discovered about the woman who looked just like Nora Clavicle.
Stevens had founded an organization called “The Women’s League for Better Government.” Shortly after the picture in the book was taken, Marian Stevens disappeared without a trace. Speculation was she had been bumped off by a male gangster.
Barbara leaned back in her chair and sighed. ‘Could Marian Stevens have been Nora? Could Doctor Jones’ machine have sent her back in time? If so, what happened to her?’
Barbara tried to put a coda on her arch-enemy by speaking aloud, “I wonder if I’ll ever find out . . ?”
It was a very tired Barbara Gordon who drug herself back to her apartment that morning. The clock on her living room wall indicated it was after 1:00 a.m.. She looked forward to going right to bed.
As she entered her bedroom, though, she heard a strange sound. There was a faint ringing. ‘That’s strange. I’ve never been able to hear the neighbor’s phone before.’
The sound continued for several minutes. ‘Why don’t they pick up?’ she wondered, a bit annoyed as she slipped under the sheet. She yawned. ‘That stubborn caller should realize no one is going to answer . . .’
Suddenly, Barbara sat up in bed like a shot. It had just occurred to her. The ringing was coming from inside Batgirl’s secret closet!
Barbara hopped out of bed and activated the revolving door to her Batgirl room. She went inside and retrieved Batgirl’s cell phone out of her utility belt. With trepidation, she answered it.
“Hello?”
Five seconds passed. ‘Maybe I should have put this number on the National Do Not Call Registry!’ she thought with a smile. “Hello?” she said again.
She was about to hang-up, when a familiar voice answered on the other end. The voice was smooth as velvet and twice as melodious.
“Ah, there you are Batgirl! I was beginning to worry.”
“Minstrel!” Barbara declared. “I heard you broke out of prison.” She paused as her brow furrowed. “How did you get this number? It’s impossible!”
“Just another one of my amazing gadgets, my dear . . . but don’t worry. I’m not trying to trace the call.”
Barbara had faith in the counter-measures she had installed, but still, she didn’t relish testing her electronic acumen against the Minstrel’s. “Well, what do you want?”
“I’m calling to make that date you promised me.”
“Date!?” Barbara said, horrified. “I promised to let you take me out on a date when–” Sudden realization dawned. “ . . . you got out of prison.”
“Precisely.”
“But that’s not what I meant!” the pretty, young librarian protested. “You know I was thinking of after you served your sentence!”
“But that’s not what you said,” the Minstrel said smugly. “In fact, I’d say the prospect of a date with you was a major motivating factor in my escape.” Then, like a little boy accusing a parent of breaking a promise, he continued. “I can’t believe Batgirl would go back on her word.”
“Ohhhh,” Barbara growled in frustration. It was important to her that Batgirl’s word be her bond. Although it had led her into several deathtraps, it had also saved innocent lives on more than one occasion.
In a moment of weakness she had opened her mouth and given in to some fool romantic notion. Now, she had to pay the price. “What do you have in mind?” she said resignedly.
“How about a quiet, candlelight dinner for two on the balcony of my hotel room, overlooking Havana Harbor?”
“Havana!?” Barbara exclaimed. The surprises this night kept coming, one after another. “You want me to come to Cuba?!”
“Well, since Castro doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States, you won’t feel obligated to try to arrest me.”
“But . . . but,” Barbara sputtered, “it’s against the law for an American to travel to Cuba!”
“Come, come, Batgirl,” the Minstrel pointed out, “in light of the fact that various state governors and United States senators have visited here recently, I can’t believe you’ll let some little legal technicality stand in the way of keeping your promise.”
“So, you’re already there,” Barbara deduced. “When do you want to have this ‘date?’”
“The sooner the better,” he replied sincerely.
Barbara considered how long it would take her to come up with a Canadian passport for “Barbara Wilson.” She could then fly to Montreal and catch a jet to Havana. “How about in three days?”
“Excellent!” the Minstrel declared, beaming. “I’ll look for you at, say, seven o’clock, local time? I’ll be on the balcony of room 700. I suppose you’ll be arriving by Bat-Rope. That would be less conspicuous than striding through the hotel hallway in costume.”
“OK. I’ll be there.”
“Wonderful. I’ll be counting the minutes till then.”
“Whatever,” Barbara said, a little more coldly than she felt. “Goodbye.” She hung up.
‘Why, oh why, did I ever make that stupid promise?!’ Barbara chastised herself . . . but she knew why. With an exaggerated sigh, she went over to her computer and began the process of having a new passport for Toronto “native” Barbara Wilson sent to the Gotham City Canadian Consulate to replace the one she “lost.”
On the flight from Montreal to Castro’s island “paradise,” Barbara tried to sort out her feelings. In his favor, the Minstrel was smart, handsome and possessed a great singing voice. He had declared his love for Batgirl, even offering to go straight for her.
On the other side of the ledger, Minstrel was thirty years older than Barbara. He was an escaped convict and a mortal enemy of Batman and–
Barbara was surprised at how little she had thought of Batman since the Minstrel’s call three days ago . . . especially since things between Batgirl and Batman were going pretty well. ‘Why am I jeopardizing my developing relationship with Batman by flying down here?’ Barbara asked herself.
The rationalization of just keeping a promise could only fool herself for so long. There had to be more to it than that . . . and Barbara suspected she knew what it was.
Even though Batman was her idol– and one of the most exciting men in the world – there was something about him that disappointed Barbara. ‘Sometimes, he’s a bit too much of a Boy Scout . . . a straight-arrow. After all, it took him six years to ask Batgirl out on a date!’
Barbara was still struggling to come to terms with her experiences with Cataphrenic. She was nothing like the person the drug turned her into, but she did have to admit, she did have a “dark side.” Although she kept that aspect of herself firmly in check, she realized it was, at least in some small respect, part of the source of Batgirl’s strength.
‘If my self-analysis is correct, it may explain why I am also attracted to “bad boys,” like Detective John Nail . . . and the Minstrel.’
Barbara smirked to herself as she put her head back on her seat. ‘Maybe I should schedule an appointment with Doctor Quinzel.’
Barbara resolved to try to get some sleep. It promised to be a most interesting evening.
The Minstrel waited out on the balcony. Room service had been delivered some five minutes ago and he hoped the hot food would stay hot and the cold food cold.
As he had no doubt that was how Batgirl would appear, he, too, was in costume. The blue and white one with the griffin on the front was his favorite, so he wore it this special night. He gazed out into the sky over Havana Harbor, trying to make out some stars in the moonless sky.
All of sudden, he heard the sound of boot heels hitting the floor of the balcony. He whirled around to find Batgirl standing there, hands on hips, regarding him coldly.
“Batgirl! I didn’t see or hear you coming. That was quite an entrance.”
With a flick of her wrist, Batgirl detached her Bat-Rope from the hotel’s roof. She motioned the Minstrel to stand back as the high-test, but light-weight, line hit the floor. Batgirl wound up the rope as she said, “Minstrel, if you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”
Although the words were harsh, they were said with a smile. “Oh, this will be our little secret,” the Minstrel replied. “That’s my promise to you.”
Always the gentleman, the Minstrel remembered his manners. “Would you like a drink? I’ve heard Batman doesn’t use alcohol, but–”
”Please,” Batgirl requested, “don’t mention his name tonight.”
“Very well,” agreed the Minstrel. “Anyway, I’ll understand if you don’t want any spiritous beverages, since I assume you’ll be leaving the same way you came.”
“Bottled water will be fine, thank you.”
The Minstrel handed Batgirl a champagne glass, pulled a large bottle of Evian out of an ice bucket, opened it and filled Batgirl’s glass. He then did the same for himself.
He held up his glass and proposed, “To a most memorable night.”
Batgirl titled her head in agreement and they clinked glasses. She looked into his eyes for a few seconds, took a drink, set her glass on the table set for two and walked over to the balcony railing. She put her gloves on the rusty metal and leaned slightly forward. Her cape fluttered in the wind.
“I have to admit, you certainly did pick a lovely spot.”
“Thank you.” He indicated an area in the harbor with his hand. “Do you see that point over there? That’s where the Maine sank.”
“Remember the Maine,” she said quietly.
The pair looked out into the harbor for a time. The Minstrel was unsure what to do or say next. ‘I usually know exactly what to do,’ he thought. The uncertainty was unnerving, but exciting. ‘I kind of like it.’
He looked at his “date.” On the one hand, it was ludicrous: her in a skin-tight, purple costume wearing a cape and cowl; he in his super-criminal attire. On the other, it was the most romantic moment of his life.
Finally, he reached a decision. He walked to the table and pulled out a chair. “Would you care to sit down?”
She nodded and stood in between the chair and the table, lifting her cape with her hands. “Thank you, Minstrel–”
As he pushed in the chair and took his place opposite Batgirl, she giggled. “Surely you have a name besides ‘Minstrel.’”
The arch-villain looked at her fondly. “Surely you have a name other than Batgirl.”
“Err . . . yes,” she replied, looking down at her empty plate. “Point taken.”
From an adjacent cart, the Minstrel served dinner. The hotel chef had taken full advantage of the treasures of the sea accessible from the island nation. A cold crab salad with fresh local greens was the first course.
Despite Cuba’s socialistic economic system, the government-run hotel catered well to the tastes of Western capitalists. The meal was excellent.
Perhaps more surprisingly, both diners found they enjoyed the dinnertime conversation. As neither dared to reveal much, if anything, about themselves or their pasts, current events was the major topic. Both crime fighter and criminal were delighted to discover the other had perceptive insights into the news of the day.
The mood turned even lighter when Batgirl worked up the courage to ask the Minstrel his opinion of some of his fellow arch-criminals. The Caped Cutie saw no reason to hide her amusement as the musical villain gave his critical, unvarnished assessment of the likes of the Joker, Penguin and Riddler.
All too soon the repast was over. As Batgirl lingered over a cup of hot tea, the Minstrel stood, picked up his lute and began to sing:
There comes a time
When you face the toughest of fights
Searching for a sign
Lost in the darkest of nights
The wind blows so cold
Standing alone
Before the battle’s begun
But deep in your soul
The future unfolds
As bright as the rays of the sun
You’ve got to believe
In the power of love
You’ve got to believe
In the power of love
The power of love
Blazing emotion
There’s a light that flows from your heart
It’s a chain reaction
And nothing will keep us apart
Stand by my side
There’s nothing to hide
Together we’ll fight to the end
Take hold of my hand
And you’ll understand
What it truly means to be friends
You’ve got to believe
In the power of love
You’ve got to believe
In the power of love
It gives meaning to each moment
It’s what our hearts are all made of
You’ve got to believe
In the power of love
The power of love
The Minstrel silently put down his lute. Batgirl said, “That was . . . beautiful.”
The singer bowed his head slightly and sat down. “Thank you.”
“In fact,” Batgirl admitted, “the whole evening has been wonderful.”
The Minstrel looked into the eyes behind the mask with a mixture of tenderness and sadness. “The question is, what happens next?”
Batgirl quickly got up and turned away. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” the Minstrel said as he rose.
Batgirl looked back over her shoulder at the man she knew should be her adversary. “You know, I half-expected you to put something in my drink . . . or to try to tag me with some sort of electronic tracking device.”
“How do you know I didn’t?” the Minstrel asked.
Were those tears forming in Batgirl’s eyes? “I know,” she said simply.
The Minstrel knew what she meant. A love gained through mind control or blackmail was no love at all. He decided to go for broke. “Batgirl, stay with me. I’ll renounce crime forever.”
Batgirl shook her head sadly. “And, what? Live off the money you’ve stolen?”
The Minstrel took a deep breath. “All right, I’ll return all of it. We’ll get by.”
Batgirl couldn’t believe how tempted she was . . . but it was out of the question. “No. You’re an escaped convict. You still have to pay for your past crimes,” she said with a resolution she didn’t entirely feel.
Now it was the Minstrel’s turn to look away. “Batgirl, you know I can’t do that. I can tell our age difference bothers you already. By the time I’d have served my sentence, I’d be a senior citizen. I can’t expect you to wait.”
“So that’s it, then,” Pulling out her crossbow, Batgirl shot her Bat-Rope toward the hotel roof. She looked at the Minstrel. “Next time we meet, it will be my duty to arrest you.”
“It will be your duty to try,” the Minstrel said with a wry smile. “But rest assured, unlike Catwoman, I won’t try to kill the one I love. I may neutralize you – detain you, but I could never hurt you.”
Batgirl felt a single tear role from underneath her mask and down her cheek. “You already have.” She pushed a button on her Bat-Crossbow and was lifted into the air.
The Minstrel watched her go. He remained alone on the balcony, looking up where she had disappeared from sight, long after she had gone.