The guard on rounds answered the call. “Bored?”

“Not this time, Glenn. I need you to look at the outer doors at the end of the psyche ward. Someone just used them.”

“I was just there and didn’t see anyone.”

“Well, check it out anyway. You’ll give me something to put in the log.”

“Okay, Mike.”

“Thanks.”

Glenn turned and retraced his steps, whistling while he walked casually to the glass doors affording him a view of the spacious, darkened lawn. At first, everything looked normal, but Glenn found himself staring after a few scant seconds, his eyes widening in surprise. Two saddled horses had been picketed in the grass beside the sidewalk. They were both chewing on the lawn contentedly. “What--?” the guard quietly began to ask.

A step interrupted his line of thought seconds before something pressed into his side. In this way, his attention was inexorably drawn to matters inside the building.

“Hands up!” a woman curtly, but softly, ordered. The guard raised his hands and felt his wrists drawn behind his back and tightly bound. A gentle, but firm, push propelled him in the direction he had been moving before Mike had called him. The guard’s captor followed, speaking softly. “When we reach the nurse’s station, you’ll call her. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good, Handsome. Shooting you would be a waste,” the woman said, chuckling. She stopped following the guard, remaining out of sight when he reached the nurse’s station. “Hi, Gorgeous,” the guard said cheerfully. “Could you come over here for just a second?”

“Hi Glenn,” the nurse said, approaching him with a grin. “What’s up?”

“Your hands better be, unless you wanna die,” the invader answered, aiming a small gun at the nurse. The nurse raised her hands and stepped toward the blonde, pony-tailed bandit.

“Glenn–”

“I’m sorry, Vicki. I had no choice.”

The nurse focused her attention on her attacker. She tried reasoning. “That’s kind of a small gun,” she observed, feeling her arms drawn behind her back and her hands firmly secured.

“It’s called a Derringer, honey, and if you behave yourself, you won’t have to learn how big a hole it could put in you or your friend here.”

The guard and the nurse stared fearfully at one another. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to bust my Shame-honey out. So, where are his belongings?”

“Most of them will be in his room,” Glenn replied.

“Listen, Miss,” the nurse urged, ”Shame is recovering from an extremely traumatic attack of fright. Apparently, his condition was caused by something nasty called fear gas. While he is here, we can help him. He is not under arrest or anything right now. He remains in our care, because outside this institution, his reactions to startling stimuli might be unpredictable. Please let us finish helping him. You don’t understand how close he is to complete and permanent recovery.”

“Hush up! Now, what did you mean, most of Shame’s belongings are in his room?”

“He had guns!” Glenn said, as though this revelation was comprehensive and self-explanatory.

“Right,“ the armed woman drawled. “Now, what did you do with them guns?”

“They’re locked up in the security room.”

“Lead the way,” the woman ordered, pushing the nurse gently forward, “and you, march!”

“There you are, Glenn. Did you find anything by those doors?” the guard in the security room said as the gunwoman’s entourage appeared.

“I’m afraid so.”

“What do you mean?”

“He found me,” the woman with the Derringer told him.

“You! You visited Shame earlier today,” the man in the chair said. “What do you want?”

“You will hand over the guns you took from Shame, or the nurse dies.”

“I can’t do that–”

“Glenn!” Vicki pleaded, staring at Mike.

“Sorry, Vicki,” Mike said. “In my position, I can’t be pushed around by anyone, no matter what. Glenn will explain.”

Glenn took a deep breath and stepped toward his superior. As he exhaled, he unleashed a powerful kick that snapped back the man’s head into the wall and knocked him unconscious. “I’ll get the guns for you, ma’am. Please just don’t hurt Vicki.”

“Well, if you do precisely as you’re told, she might live through this little adventure. Oh, and Vicki, if you misbehave, I’ll kill Glenn here,” the armed woman said. “Now, get me them there guns.”

“They’re in the safe. I’ll need my hands.”

“Forget it. Tell me the combination.”

“I’m really not supposed to–”

The woman glowered at Glenn. “You’re not supposed to attack your co-worker, either. Now, keep thinking about Vicki’s safety!”

Glenn inhaled and let the breath out slowly. “All right. Spin the dial and I’ll tell you.”

Seconds later, the safe was open and an eager hand dived inside. “Very good,” the invader praised, as she draped Shame’s gun belt over one shoulder “What else are you keeping in here?”

“Just the more valuable personal belongings of some of our wealthier patients,” Glenn said.

“The only patient who might have something valuable enough to put in the safe would be Mr. Woodhouse, the multimillionaire,” Vicki remarked. “He employs the most competent butler I’ve ever seen in my life. Mind you, I don’t know many butlers, but this guy is incredible.”

“I ‘spose his money might come in handy,” the gunwoman said, emptying the contents of the safe into a saddle bag she had been carrying the entire time. “Now, I’ll need the key to this room.”

“Mike has it,” Glenn said.

The woman shoved Glenn back toward Vicki and covered them as she retrieved the key; took the videotape that had recorded her movements through the hospital; gathered cell phones and the telephone on Mike’s guard console; and tapped the button that shut off all the security apparatus throughout the building. “All right, Glenn. Come here.” When he reached her, the gunwoman swept his feet from beneath him and moved to the door. “Remember, boy, if I have any trouble, Vicki is dead.”

“If you hurt her, I’ll–”

“Right.” The blonde turned off the light and closed the door, locking it after propelling the nurse ahead of her. “Now, Vicki, we’re almost finished. Take me to Shame.”

“O-Okay,” the nurse fearfully said. “Listen. Remember how I was saying Shame is not completely well. If you startle him in order to wake him up–”

“I have this all planned, dear. You just let me worry about my Shame-honey. Is this the room?” The nurse nodded.

They entered a room illuminated by moonlight where a man slept. “We’re doing good. You just keep your mouth shut and do what we tell you and you’ll live to tell the cops about this in the morning. Now, sit in that chair.” Vicki obeyed and did not resist as she was securely bound. “I won’t gag you unless you make me.”

“Thank you,” Vicki said fearfully.

The woman turned her attention to the sleeping criminal. She bent over him and kissed him gently. Shame awoke and looked at the moonlight-bathed face of his ravishing rescuer. “Mornin’, lover,” he said. “You done made it. I’m so glad.” His teeth flashed, as he wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her. Moments later, he had pulled her onto the bed and rolled over on top of her.

“Shame-honey. We gotta go,” his rescuer urged after their kiss broke.

“What fer? You had a plan to get in here tonight. Now, I got a plan to take advantage of you bein’ here.” Shame let his mouth descend onto hers once again.

“Darling, listen. I ain’t gonna be able to come close to giving you what you’re due here in the hospital. I got your escape all planned. Now, get dressed.”

“You two are disgusting,” Vicki said. “Shame is nearly over the effects of the Scarecrow’s fear gas and you’re going to break him out of the hospital so you can–”

“Hush up!” the criminal couple ordered.

Shame obediently climbed to the floor.

His woman slid from the bed and glanced at her face in the mirror while she drew the pillowcase from the pillow. She used the cloth to gag the nurse while Shame dressed and gathered his belongings. “Hey, this ain’t mine,” the outlaw said, pulling a packet of greenbacks from his saddlebag.

“It is now, Shame-honey. It used to belong to some millionaire.”

“Good,” Shame drawled. He replaced the money and went on, “We got ourselves a grub steak. You done good, lover. You ready to go?”

“Whenever you are, Shame-honey.”

“Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll let everyone in Gotham City know that Shame is back in town– ridin’ again!”

“Don’t you mean later this morning, Shame-honey?”

“Right,” Shame absently said.

“So,” the girl leading the Conniving Cowboy of Crime asked, as they passed through the hospital halls, “how are you gonna let them lawmen and their dang, caped padners know you done come back, Shame-honey?”

“I’ll tell you on the way, baby. Come on! Let’s git.”

Fifteen minutes later, the criminal couple was riding away hard on horseback whooping wildly, laughing, and firing celebratory gunshots into the air. Vicki, the duty nurse, remained helplessly bound and gagged in Shame’s hospital room and the guards who might have saved her were also bound, locked away in their own security room.

The Guns of Shame

Later, just before the sun rose over Gotham City, citizens swarmed to their workplaces. Gotham City’s police force managed this traffic flow, before a fresh detachment of officers came on duty to serve and protect the citizenry. The new shift typically ignored the Hotel Sleazy, located across the street from Police Headquarters. The nefarious goings-on there were normally of more interest to the previous shift’s officers. On this day however, the notorious establishment had entertained equally, or perhaps more notorious visitors, who surveyed the scene on the street below with evil eyes and insidious intent.

“He’s coming,” the blonde gunwoman said. She was dressed in boots; a pale, plaid blouse; faded, leather pants; and a matching vest. Her tan cowboy hat was perched on her head while a red scarf encircled her throat. She had put away her Derringer, and hung a pair of holstered guns on her belt. She also carried a rifle.

“Good,” her companion drawled. He was dressed as she was, except his hat was white, the bandana at his throat was purple with white dots, and he carried a single pistol.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Shame-honey?”

“Darlin', if anybody can do it, you can.”

“Making the shot ain’t the problem!”

“Listen up and listen good! I’m gonna let Gotham City know that Shame is back in town. That no good varmint, Commissioner Gordon, arrested the Scarecrow and didn’t do nothin’ about what that gas did to me. He shut me away in Mount Ararat Hospital for them doctors and forgot all about me.”

“I thought there was a note about pressing charges against the Scarecrow with your things at the hospital.”

“Hmm. That scrap of paper is more worthless than a treaty with an Injun savage. Get it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Besides, I deal in lead, not lit,” Shame paused, deep in thought. He went on. “Lit-liti-litiga–”

“Litigation.”

“Right,” Shame drawled. “It ain’t even for me I asked you to do it. Commissioner Gordon just had my Calamity Jan arrested and taken away to jail. Now, I know you done come back to see me after that, and I appreciate it. Don’t get me wrong. I just can’t stand the thought of Calamity rotting away in jail. Gordon is makin’ a waste of a good woman.”

The gunwoman's lips curled into a smile. “You and me have made the most of the time since then while you was in the hospital, Shame-honey. Has it been a whole year?”

“Yep. You and me done been together again for a year. It’s past time we done got back to business and Calamity ain’t gonna do nothin’ but help.”

“They arrested her mother, Frontier Fanny, at the same time.”

“You wouldn’t like Frontier Fanny. I ‘spect we can leave her right where she is.”

“I don’t know, Shame-honey. I ain’t never met her before. Besides, who ever said I like your Calamity Jan?”

“It don’t have nothin’ to do with you, dumplin’. She wants me and Calamity Jan to git hitched.”

“I didn’t know you was the marrying kind.”

“I ain’t,” he quickly said.

“Then, why are we doing this? You don’t need her. You got me!”

Shame was suddenly very aware of the girl and her interest in the scene outside the window. His voice fell dramatically as he repeated and concluded his thought. “I ain’t ready to git married. Not yet. Nope. Not me. It ain’t never gonna happen.”

“I can see Commissioner Gordon now,” the girl announced excitedly. She lay prone on the bed, pressing the butt of the rifle against her shoulder beneath where her long, blonde hair spilled into the center of her back. She squinted though the sights, looking along the barrel, smiling and waiting. “It won’t be long now.”

“You’re usin’ that bullet I gave you, right?”

“I sure am, Shame-honey.”

“Good,” Shame drawled. “Remember, when you take him out, I don’t just wanna see blood, I wanna see gore.”

“Then, you keep watching, Shame-honey. When I’m finished with Gordon, he’ll be deader than a turkey after a Thanksgiving dinner.”

Shame had been watching her. He had examined the way her breasts crushed against the mattress, how her hips flared from her abdomen, and how the curve of her butt flowed into her long, lovely legs, spread ever-so-slightly on the bed. The Conniving Cowboy of Crime was having a hard time deciding whether the murder he had plotted or the marvelous looking murderess he had engaged to do the job was more worthy of his undivided attention. He knew he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the drawer, but decided this would be a tough decision for anyone. Perhaps he should have the Commissioner killed at lunchtime or that evening when he left work. His amorous assassin had awakened him in quite the inspirational manner, after all, but making the decision about when his victim should die might just give him a headache that would spoil everything. Shame was consciously aware of a great proverbial weight being lifted from his shoulders as he decided to follow through with his original plan. There would be plenty of time for his inspirations later.

Below and across the street, Barbara Gordon disengaged herself from her father’s arm. “We’ve drawn a crowd,” she remarked, pointing out photographer Vicki Vale as well as reporters Summer Gleason and Alexander Knox, among others, waiting for the Commissioner on the steps in front of Police Headquarters. “Do you want to go in through the side door?”

“No, Barbara,” the Commissioner replied. “The public deserves to know their police are busily serving and protecting them.”

“I don’t like the idea of you walking into an ambush interview.”

“It’s not an ambush. I can see them. I’m walking into an impromptu press conference with my eyes wide open.”

“What do you think they’ll ask you?”

“Shame’s condition in light of last night’s events, what I’m doing about the apparent return of the Archer, why Playgirl got out of jail, if there is a connection between Archer and Playgirl, Batman’s true identity, or that impending motorcycle group’s meeting.”

“Do you mean Heaven’s Devils?”

“That’s right, Barbara.” The Commissioner looked at his daughter in surprise. “I didn’t know you were familiar with them.”

“It’s a club for biker babes. They spent one weekend each semester recruiting when I was in college.”

“I’m glad you didn’t join. They have a dubious reputation.”

“Could you really see me on a motorcycle, Daddy?”

Commissioner Gordon grinned. “Who knows what the reporters will ask me?” he asked rhetorically. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’m not expecting the Spanish Inquisition.”

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Barbara muttered. Then she smiled and more loudly said, “Well, I’d rather not take the chance of talking to them about Bruce Wayne.”

She had been dealing with unwelcome media attention since she had helped the police capture Calamity Jan and Frontier Fanny by masquerading as Bruce Wayne’s bride-to-be. Their charade had taken her to the altar and Bruce had gracefully explained to the public that she and Bruce had realized their courtship had been too brief to take the final step. Since that announcement, for which she was grateful, the media had closely followed her social life, particularly when her path crossed the multimillionaire’s. The two had, of course, spent more time together, so the charade’s aftermath had been worthwhile. Still, her relationship with Mr. Wayne was their business and Barbara tried to keep the details from the public as much as possible. She did not care that every scrap of gossip the public read about them served only to make the public’s hunger for information more insatiable. ‘Thank goodness the press hasn’t gotten wind of Batgirl’s date with the Minstrel!’ she thought.

The Commissioner’s daughter pecked her father on the cheek and heard the click as Vicki Vale snapped their picture. She felt a flare of anger spark within her, but controlled herself through habit. “I have to get to work. Thanks for breakfast, Daddy. I’ll talk to you tonight.” With a forced smile and a wave of her hand, Barbara Gordon departed.

“Commissioner,” Alexander Knox called, “have you called in Batman to help you track down Shame or the Archer?”

“I’ve not been made aware Shame or the Archer have committed crimes recently in Gotham City, Mr. Knox. Remember, we investigate crimes.”

“Is it true the Archer met with Playgirl at Warden Crichton’s prison?”

“I’m not psychic, and I cannot comment on any ongoing investigations, even if I were.” As he spoke, the Commissioner mounted the steps.

“There is an investigation, then?”

“We are constantly monitoring the activities of known super-criminals who are at large. Thank you for asking.”

“Would it be a good idea to have your officers begin handling security at places like The Ambrosia Fountain or the Nectar Nook?” Summer Gleason asked.

“I can’t think why?” Commissioner Gordon replied.

“Both were robbed recently by a gang dressed like cowboys and cowgirls,” Vicki Vale explained.

“Our game plan in those cases is to catch the crooks.”

“Are you making any progress?” Knox persisted.

“All the time. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific about it, except to say that when we catch them, we’ll certainly inform our good friends in the press.”

“Commissioner,” a quieter, higher-pitched male voice said before Knox could follow up again. The Commissioner turned to find the speaker had been a Boy Scout.

“Good morning, son. You’re up early.”

“I know you’re a busy man, Commissioner,” the youngster said courteously. “I thought it might be better if I asked my question before you got too busy today.”

“Well, that’s very considerate of you. How can I help you, young man?” As he stooped to speak to the boy, he reached for his hat too slowly to prevent the wind from plucking it from his head. Everyone heard a bang that might have been a car backfiring a second later.

“My name is Andy Stevens and I’m fourteen years old. You may remember me from when I came to report Shame stole my radio and I met Batman. Anyway, I wondered if you knew someone willing to be a counselor for the Rifle and Shotgun Shooting merit badge.” Andy bent and picked up the Commissioner’s hat, extending it toward its owner. “Hey! Why are you wearing a hat with a hole in it?”

“What?” the Commissioner asked. He and Andy stared at the hole, which had penetrated the crown of his homburg. Their gaze traveled simultaneously to a nearby potted plant where a glittering metal lump had somehow lodged.

“What is that?” Andy demanded as his finger jabbed toward the glittering metal.

Commissioner Gordon picked it up and turned it between his fingers. “It’s a platinum bullet.”

Everyone connected the dots as Vicki Vale snapped a picture of the Commissioner, his damaged hat, and the platinum bullet.

“Only one man uses platinum bullets,” Alexander Knox remarked solemnly.

“Shame!” Andy said, voicing the thoughts of everyone.

“All right!” Commissioner Gordon said authoritatively. “Let’s move inside – quickly! It’s not safe out here!” James Gordon made certain all of the citizens surrounding him were safe before following them into Police Headquarters. No further shots were fired.

Barbara Gordon had just arrived in her office at the Midtown branch of the Gotham City Public Library, when her assistant, Myrtle, burst breathlessly through the door. “Barbara, have you heard the news?! Someone just took a potshot at your father!”

“What!?” Barbara exclaimed, concern etched across her pretty features.

“Don’t worry,” Myrtle quickly assured her boss, “no one was hurt.”

“That’s a relief!” Barbara exclaimed as she collapsed into her chair.

“In fact, your father made sure everyone was inside before he took shelter himself – oh, and a platinum bullet was found at the scene.” Barbara digested all this information, then she rapidly made a decision. “I’m putting you in charge until further notice and will be taking the rest of the day off. I may be in late tomorrow.”

“Are you okay, Barbara?“

“I will be as soon as I’ve seen my father, made sure he’s okay, and taken steps to see he stays that way.”

“I understand, Barbara. I’ll take care of everything here. Good luck.”

The head librarian smiled warmly at her friend and colleague. “You practically run the place anyway, Myrtle. Thank you. What would I do without you?”

“You’d do just fine. I’ll talk to you soon.”

”You’re sure?”

“Yes. Now, go.”

“Thank you.”

Barbara left the library, but did not go to Police Headquarters. She knew her father was safe and was proud that he had put the safety of the public, even that of the media, ahead of his own. She also realized the platinum bullet pointed to Shame, as did most of Gotham City by now. Barbara had a hunch, however, as to the hiding place of the sniper. She felt it was more than likely James Gordon had been fired upon, as he had been once before, from the Hotel Sleazy. Barbara was going to make it her business to track down the would-be assassin.

It was not, however, the beautiful Commissioner’s daughter who emerged from the secret freight elevator of her apartment building on a powerful motorcycle, but the Purple-clad Paragon of all things virtuous—Batgirl!

The Dark Angel of Gotham pulled to a stop behind the hotel and recalled its infamous history. Before slipping in the back way, she stooped to examine a brown mess on the sidewalk near a telephone pole. A brief nod brought her glance to the several tufts of grass protruding from the sidewalk’s cracks. These, Batgirl noted, were much shorter than the other weeds, which marred the dilapidated thoroughfare. She examined the telephone pole and found evidence that something had been rubbing against it recently. A nylon fiber answered the question of what. “Someone tied a horse or horses here,” Batgirl deduced. “It ate that grass and apparently . . . .”

She shrugged and went inside.

“Batgirl!” the woman behind the counter said.

“That’s right. I want to know what you know about the shooting earlier today.”

“I don’t know anything,“ the woman said, quivering.

Batgirl nodded. “Are you cold in here?“ she asked. She let the edge in her voice soften and smiled, exuding kindness.

“No. I’m fine.”

Batgirl quickly detected that, as in many older buildings, rooms were either too hot or too cold. The lobby was too hot. “Why are you shivering?”

“Am I shivering?”

“Yes. Listen. I won’t hurt you. In fact, the last thing I will allow is for you to be hurt. Everything is going to be okay.” Batgirl made herself relax, still smiling encouragingly. She took a tentative step toward the cowering desk clerk. “Could you please tell me what happened?” Batgirl’s manner was now considerably less aggressive. The desk clerk might easily be more of a victim than Commissioner Gordon. Batgirl knew she could get the frightened woman to help her without scaring her to death. ‘Those tactics can wait until I locate the real criminals.’

“It was the most unusual thing I’ve ever seen,” the clerk said, relaxing visibly and leaning forward on the counter. “A cowboy and this blonde cowgirl burst in here with drawn guns. This hotel doesn’t pay anywhere near enough for me to deal with stuff like that, you know.”

“I’m sure it was scary,” Batgirl said gently.

“It was terrifying! The blonde hogtied me and left me on this counter. They went upstairs and warned they would come down and shoot me if they heard me fall off the counter! I won’t speculate about what they did up there, but I can tell you it didn’t take very long.” The desk clerk was warming to her subject and smirked.

“Please go on.”

“When they came back down, the cowboy told the blonde to let me go. She threatened to kill me if I told anyone what they had done. I was going to ask what she was talking about, since they hadn’t used the room long enough to do anything, you know? Then it hit me. They didn’t even pay!”

Batgirl looked at the woman blankly as she continued her story. “The blonde shot the knot she had tied in the ropes and severed it. I was free, but that shot kind of got my attention. They rode off into the sunrise on real live horses! That was less than half an hour ago.”

‘The blonde cut your bonds with a bullet?”

“ It was kind of amazing.”

“Did they retrieve the bullet?”

“No.” The desk clerk pointed at a hole in the wall.

“Would you mind if I had a look?”

“Help yourself.”

Batgirl stepped behind the counter and examined the damaged wall. She pulled a magnifying glass from its place at her hip and looked more closely. “Just as I thought,” she said. “It’s an ordinary bullet. There are nylon fibers from the rope between it and the wall.”

“What does that mean?”

“It tells me the woman had at least two weapons.” Batgirl knew Shame’s reputation as a terrible shot. She strongly suspected he had given the blonde the ammunition for the shot taken at her father. Batgirl’s explanation meant nothing to the clerk, but she really didn’t seem to care. “Did the cowboy call the blonde by name at any point?”

“He might have called her, ‘Babe’.”

“I’d like to see the room they used.”

“I don’t think anything happened up there, you know?”

“Something happened up there all right, but it wasn’t what you had in mind. I think they wanted the room for its view.”

“It’s view? Really? That’s unusual.”

The desk clerk led Batgirl to the room Shame had briefly occupied and unlocked it with a master key. The heroine noted the view of the steps in front of Police Headquarters and the bullet casing she found under the bed confirmed her suspicions.

She found nothing else in the room before her Personal Digital Assistant alerted her to an e-mail Batgirl was receiving. She checked the message on her cell phone and grinned. She routinely arrived at Police Headquarters quickly in response to her e-mail. This time, the Commissioner and Chief O’Hara would really be impressed by the record response to their summons. She only had to cross the street.

“Okay,” Batgirl said. “I think I’ve seen what there is to find here.” She returned her attention to the desk clerk. “I want you to carefully think over everything that happened to you one more time. Is there anything you remember that you haven’t mentioned?”

“I told you what happened.”

“I know. You’re not in trouble. It’s just that any little thing might be important.”

“Okay,” the clerk said dubiously. Then her face brightened. “Okay. The cowboy wore a white hat and a purple kerchief with white polka-dots and . . . Oh! I don’t know how important this is, but the girl had her blonde hair done up in a long pony tail.”

“That’s it. Thank you,” Batgirl encouraged.

“Batgirl, I’m scared,” the desk clerk said as the Gorgeous Guardian of Gotham City returned with her to the lobby. “Can I get police protection?”

“I’ll ask,” Batgirl promised. “You had a close brush with criminals this morning and were very brave. Bravery and truthfulness are all one can ask of any citizen.” The speech sounded as sappy as some of Batman’s, but it cheered the desk clerk enormously.

“Thank you. Good luck going after them. Hit them one for me, will you?”

“Sure,” Batgirl said. “I’ll ask the police to send someone over to look out for you.”

“Thank you.” As Batgirl began to cross the street, the hotel desk clerk picked up the phone. “You’ll never guess what just happened to me . . . !” she began excitedly.

Batgirl’s first stop inside Police Headquarters was her friend Lieutenant Mooney’s office. “Come on in,” Mooney invited, leading the way into her office. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m about to be asked to look into the attempt on the Commissioner’s life. I was on the case already and everything I’ve seen so far points to Shame and a blonde female accomplice wearing her hair in a long pony tail.”

“Hmm,” the Lieutenant said, settling into her comfortable chair. “My first thought would be Calamity Jan. Let me check on something.” She picked up the phone and spoke for a moment before thanking the party on the other end and hanging up. “I thought so. Calamity Jan’s appeal starts bright and early tomorrow morning. Harvey Dent was furious at Oliver Wendell’s tactics at the trial. He called it a ‘media rodeo’, but Wendell got his client back into court. I suppose he deserves some credit.”

“He might deserve more money for his services.”

Lieutenant Diana Mooney laughed. “Gotham City criminal defense lawyers have a pecking order. Major arch-criminals use Lucky Pierre. Oliver Wendell handles the second bananas and their better-paid escorts, while the thugs are left for Alfred Slye and his smarmy ilk.” She shrugged and made a face.

“I remember District Attorney Harvey Dent’s ‘media rodeo’ quote. ‘Media circus’ is a cliché that is routinely accurate when the Joker is in court, but the twist the D. A. put on it was very appropriate, given the defendant,” Batgirl said. “So, do you have any idea who Shame’s girl might be?”

“She might be anyone, but before he took a shine to Calamity Jan, Shame worked with another gunwoman,” Lieutenant Mooney recalled. Her fingers tapped away at her keyboard and pulled up the information for which she was looking. “Her name was Okie Annie. I’ll send this information up to the Commissioner. Hadn’t you better get moving?”

“Yes, thank you, Diana. You might print out a picture and have someone show it to the desk clerk at the Hotel Sleazy. Shame and his woman threatened this clerk and she wants police protection.”

“You started poking around the Hotel Sleazy?”

“Yes. I found a casing and a bullet, but left everything for you and your team. I have to go.”

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“Any time,” Batgirl said and made her way to her father’s office.

The Commissioner’s secretary, Bonnie, followed Batgirl into her superior’s office and gave him the file on Okie Annie. “Thank you, Bonnie,” he said. Then he turned to Batgirl. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Batgirl. Did you happen to catch my impromptu press conference?”

“No, Commissioner,” Batgirl said, but when I heard about the incident, I anticipated your call and did a little digging across the street. I was able to confirm the sniper took the shot at you from the Hotel Sleazy. It appears most of the evidence points towards Shame.”

“Sure and it does, Batgirl,” Chief O’Hara agreed. “If I had that bloodthirsty bushwhacker in my sights, I’d–”

“Chief O’Hara!” Commissioner Gordon sharply said. “Need I remind you once again that I am violently opposed to police brutality!? I would suggest that if I am led to believe you are treating this attempt on my life differently than any other case, you will find yourself doing the dirtiest job the Department of Sanitation has to offer! Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir!” the Chief said, standing stiffly. As he relaxed, he began to think of something to say to salve his superior’s mood, but the Commissioner’s phone rang and robbed him of the opportunity.

“Very good,” Commissioner Gordon said, thus disposing of the issue. He picked up his phone and moved on. ”Yes, Bonnie.” He listened. “Please thank them for me.” He hung up. “Shame’s accomplice is Okie Annie. The desk clerk at the Hotel Sleazy recognized her mug shot photo.”

“I’ll put out an all points bulletin for Shame and Okie Annie and warn officers that both of them are armed and dangerous,” Chief O’Hara offered.

“By all means, Chief O’Hara. Let it be known Shame and Okie Annie are wanted, dead or alive as of now!”

“Dead or alive, Commissioner?” Batgirl asked.

“Chief O’Hara will not allow his officers to go in shooting, Batgirl, but Shame is a desperate man. I won’t allow an officer to get killed because he or she feels compelled to question the extent of force authorized to use against such deadly desperados.”

“I understand. I’ll be after him, too. With luck, I can get him before he shoots up your force or gets himself killed.”

“Thank you, Batgirl,” Chief O’Hara and the Commissioner said simultaneously.

“One way or another, this town has got to be cleaned up, so little children can be safe and healthy while they grow up,” Batgirl said and turned toward the door.

“Please be careful, Batgirl,” Commissioner Gordon said.

Batgirl paused suddenly, her breath catching in her throat at the sound of her father’s words. She took in some air and exhaled, striding to the doors. Perhaps the men had not noticed her body language. ‘No way!’ She could feel their eyes on her as she glanced over her shoulder at them. Chief O’Hara was approaching her. He leaned past her and opened the door. “Begorra!” he said.

“Be careful, Chief,” she quietly said, “and keep the Commissioner safe. I’m relying on you.” Chief O’Hara nodded. More loudly Batgirl said, ”Thank you. Adios, amigos.” Then, with a forced grin and an apparently cheerful wave, she was gone.

“I’d hate to lose her,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“Do you think we can get her a bigger posse?” Chief O’Hara asked, crossing the room again.

“Last night Batwoman and Flamebird were investigating recent robberies at The Ambrosia Fountain and the Nectar Nook, well known watering holes frequented by the well-to-do.”

“I remember. The crooks were dressed in western garb and waved around more artillery than Custer used against Sitting Bull. Could Shame have been behind them?”

“Perhaps, though he was still hospitalized. Batwoman guessed the crooks, whoever they are, might strike next at a casino night hosted for charity by Lionel Kohler on a steam-driven train. I certainly hope they’re not on the wrong track.”

“I’m sure the Distaff Duo’s investigation is chugging along, sir,” Chief O’Hara said.

At that moment, the Batwoman and Flamebird were vainly straining to loosen a railroad spike, which kept them affixed to a railroad trestle. So far, their efforts seemed to have made little progress. Nevertheless, they took turns at the strenuous chore, trying to keep hope alive in their hearts.

Far away, they heard an ominous rumble.

“The train -- it’s coming!” Flamebird fearfully said.

“It always has been,” Batwoman replied. “Now, pull!” Together they renewed their efforts.

If they could not free themselves from the sinister spike, there would be nothing to do but recall the events leading them into their perilous predicament—until the end.

“I wouldn’t have thought Shame would go back into crime after his experience with the Scarecrow,” Flamebird had remarked over her radio, as the Distaff Duo tracked the train from above late the previous night in the Bat-Gyros. “You remember what he was like that morning when we saw him at Police Headquarters.”

“I remember. He was terrified, hiding from us behind his raised arm, and that’s why I’m not certain it is Shame,” Batwoman had replied.

“It was awhile back when we saw him in that condition. Isn’t it possible he rediscovered his backbone, or maybe grew one?”

“Remember our mysterious friend who impersonates other criminals when committing crimes?”

“I sure do!” Flamebird had responded. “We’ve encountered that crook committing crimes in the guise of Zelda the Great and the Joker. The gang got away both times. Could it be Falseface?”

“I don’t think so, Flamebird. Although one can never be sure if it’s really him in prison, Falseface is much bolder. He would be leaving butchered quotes at the scenes of his crimes to draw attention to them and build terror as his crime wave continued. He would want us to see him everywhere, because we could never be certain who he was when. Our culprit is more cowardly and seems to impersonate reformed or incarcerated crooks.”

“You may be right, Batwoman. I have to admit, I hope it doesn’t turn out to be Falseface.” She had turned her thoughts to her mentor’s line of thinking. “Isn’t impersonating crooks dangerous? What will the real crooks do when they realize someone has pretended to be them?”

“They would have to determine the perpetrator’s identity, just as we must. From prison, that investigation would be especially challenging.”

“Look there,” Flamebird had said, pointing at several figures jumping from a bridge to the top of the train. “Whoever they are, we should find out what they’re doing.”

“Agreed.”

The Bat-Gyros had descended to a flat car and the Distaff Duo had moved to the window of the door to the luxury car the newcomers had invaded. Peering inside, they had seen half a dozen masked men aiming six shooters at the players seated around a card table, while a pair of masked women had gathered the loot from the table and the card players’ pockets.

“Follow my lead,” Batwoman had said and begun to scale the side of the private varnish.

“Good luck,” Flamebird had said. As she had waited to act, Flamebird watched the scene inside the car play out.

Most of the crooks had worn black hats and matching leather vests, belts, gloves, and boots. The men had also worn pale blue collared shirts and faded jeans. Their belt buckles had been shaped like the state of Texas and blue bandanas had covered the lower halves of their faces. The women had worn pink, collared shirts and heart-shaped belt buckles. Their faces had been masked with red bandanas and their leather pants had seemed painted against their lovely lower bodies.

“Time to head for them hills. Come on Red, partners,” the taller woman had said. Her hazel eyes had sparkled as she draped her bag of loot over one shoulder so it hung beside the hip opposite the one where she wore her gun. She had run a hand through her brown hair and turned away from their victims.

“After you, Ms. Brown,” Red had said. The shorter woman’s hair had spilled all the way to her hips and accented the reddish caste of the leather garb that seemed to have been shrunken with meticulous care to show off the proportional perfection of the beautiful bandit’s body. “We’d all hate to have to shoot any of you foolish enough to follow us. You gentlemen have been very generous. Thank you again.” She had secured her bag of loot as the taller woman had and put her gun away. As the men had turned to follow their attractive associates, they put their guns away as well.

“None of your are going anywhere,” Batwoman had said, stepping through the front door of the car.

“Except up the river,” Flamebird had added, entering from the back of the coach.

“It’s the Distaff Duo!” one of the men had said fearfully, raising his hands.

“What are you doing?” Ms. Brown had demanded as her gun appeared in her hand once again. “We have the upper hand here.”

“Hey! That’s right,” the cowboy with his hands in the air had said, lowering them and drawing both of his guns. Each of the men had worn a gun on each hip.

“You two should surrender instantly,” Red had sweetly suggested. “Unless, of course, you want the boys to start using you for target practice.”

“You vile villains,” one of the card players had said.

“You have the guns,” Flamebird had acknowledged, raising her hands.

“You’re smarter than you look,” Red had said. “Boys–”

“Red, wait. I have a far more entertaining idea,” Ms. Brown had said. She then had addressed Batwoman and Flamebird in turn. “If you two would willingly give up your belts, we’ll lose ours as well. Then we can have this out: woman to woman to woman to woman.”

“That sounds fair,” Batwoman had said, unbuckling her belt and letting her Bat Kit slide from her hip.

“Are you sure we want to do this?” Red had asked dubiously.

“Absolutely!” Ms. Brown had said cheerfully, shedding her gun. Flamebird and Red had also disarmed a moment later.

“All right!” Flamebird had enthused, “a fair fight. Let’s get it on!”

“There’s one little thing before we begin,” Ms. Brown had said. “Boys, Red and I are about to beat our guests into submission. If they resists in the slightest, kill our original hostages.”

“You got it,” the cowboy who originally surrendered had said, his mouth twisting into a wicked smile.

“So much for a fair fight,” Batwoman had lamented. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

“You didn’t really think I’d throw away a perfectly good advantage, did you?” Ms. Brown had asked. “Why would I?”

“What happened to our all-female showdown?” Flamebird had bitterly asked.

“It’s on, Flamebird,” Red had said, stepping toward her. “Fair fights are for losers, though.” She had turned to the other ornamental outlaw. “Ready?”

“I’m ready to rumble!” Ms. Brown had said approaching Batwoman.

“You know we must do everything in our power to protect the public,” Batwoman had said.

“Yes,” Ms. Brown had said, “that sentiment is so very noble.” With a delighted laugh she had hit Batwoman in the mouth.

Red had gone to work on Flamebird at the same time. Together the beautiful bandits had backed the heroines into opposite corners of the train car and mercilessly worked them over. Soon, the Distaff Duo had slid down the walls, becoming beaten heaps on the floor. They had taken the beating, knowing the cowardly criminals would not hesitate to gun down their robbery victims at the first sign of resistance.

The delectable desperados had yanked the heroines to their feet and continued their demolition with sadistic delight. They had drawn out the beating, relishing every blow, until the heroines slumped helplessly to the floor and lay moaning, motionless at their attackers’ feet.

“You were very well-behaved, Batwoman,” Ms. Brown had complimented. “You didn’t even hit back.” She and Ms. Red had laughed. “Tie them up. We’ll take them along and dispose of them in some appropriate manner. I’m sure our hapless victims will turn their utility belts and such over to the police when they report us.”

“Come on, Ms. Brown. Let’s just ventilate them and be done with it,” Red had suggested, winding her gun belt around her waist once again.

“Oh, no! Shooting them would never do. If we’d wanted to fill them with lead, we wouldn’t have had to take the trouble to beat them up. I’m certain the boss has a much more imaginative fate in mind . . . and besides, what do you think will happen to us if the boss is denied the pleasure of disposing of them?” As Ms. Brown had asked her questions, she had also slid her gun and belt back into place.

Ms. Red had shrugged. “You’re right, of course, but we’ve missed the first jump off point already. Let’s get out of here. Boys, bring the Winged Wonders and the safe. Everybody knows Lionel’s big game is played for a bigger prize than just the kitty.”

The gang had tossed the bound beauties unceremoniously onto a sand dune before jumping to the top of it seconds later. Batwoman and Flamebird had rolled to the bottom and lay in the shallow waters of the Gotham River, desperately trying to keep their heads above the surface as the water swelled their bonds, making the rope cut painfully into the heroines’ flesh.

“We’ve . . . got to escape, Batwoman,” Flamebird had whispered, hoping her partner would be encouraged to know she was still conscious.

“I agree, Flamebird, but our enemies are almost here. I’m sure they aren’t finished with us yet.”

“You are so right, Batwoman,” Red had said with a delighted laugh.

“Say goodnight,” Ms. Brown had said. Boots had then thudded into the heroine’s heads and ushered them into black, velvety oblivion.

A tiny light had signaled a barge, which drew alongside the bank. “Contact the boss,” Ms. Brown had ordered. A moment later, she had been speaking on a cell phone. “It went very smoothly . . . and we got a little bonus: Batwoman and Flamebird. What would you like us to do with them?” She had listened for a long while and laughed. “It will be my pleasure to eliminate them.” She had hung up and handed the phone back to the barge captain. “Proceed downstream at the best speed you can make.” He had nodded and ordered his oarsmen to put their backs into their work. The barge had moved into the swiftly moving current in the center of the river.

Flamebird had revived to feel wind on her cheek, cramps developing in her legs, and a dull ache in her shoulders, which heralded the discovery that her wrists were bound behind her back. Her eyes had opened and she had inhaled cold morning air as the panoramic view of a valley before and beneath her was revealed in the predawn light. Its beauty was breathtaking, but that had not been what had caused her reaction. Her last memory had been of rolling down a sand dune into the Gotham River. ‘What am I doing in this beautiful scene?. . . and what will happen next?!’

A moan from behind re-focused Flamebird’s mind. She had been positioned on her knees. A slight movement of her hips had told her rope had been cinched around her ankles to hold her in place. Another movement to relive the ache in her shoulders had reminded Flamebird her arms had been drawn behind her back with her wrists having been bound and anchored in a manner similar to her ankles. Flamebird’s finger had extended and encountered other fingers.

“A spike,” Batwoman’s voice had said. She had obviously been secured in a similar manner to her niece.

“Batwoman?”

“It’s good to hear your voice, Flamebird.”

“We seem to be tied to a railroad spike, so we’ll be enjoying the view for awhile.”

The view was indeed impressive. The Distaff Duo had been able to look down between the rails beneath them and see the Gotham River cutting through the valley far below. Both heroines had glanced to either side and were chilled anew as they realized a railroad track stretched in both directions well beyond the trestle to which the Caped Cuties’ beautiful bodies had been bolted.

“I’m afraid your view of the scenery will come to an abrupt end fairly shortly,” a female voice had said into the heroine’s ears. Both had realized they were wearing headphones and microphones. Another female voice had penetrated their consciousness. “You are both, though, making a splendid, albeit temporary, addition to the scenery.”

“What’s going on?” Flamebird had asked.

“It seems we’re being watched,” Batwoman had observed.

“That’s right, Distaff Duo,” the second voice had confirmed, chuckling. “You can’t see us, but we can see you.”

“The elusive Mses. Brown and Red, I presume,” Flamebird had said.

“Hey!” the second voice, Ms. Red, had said, “Junior Bird Woman got it right.”

“Impressive,” the first female captor, Ms. Brown, had complimented.

“I’d like to hear for whom you two work,” Batwoman had said.

“You can ask,” Ms. Brown had suggested. “We’ll be adding the boss to our conference call in just a moment.”

“But it won’t do any good, “ Ms. Red had predicted. ”The boss loves being mysterious. Indulging these melodramatic whims would be annoying if it weren’t so very profitable.”

“I’m happy you’re glad, Ms. Red,” a distorted voice had said. “I believe we’ve said quite enough about ourselves already.”

“You must be the hooded whisperer,” Batwoman had deduced. The Brunette Beauty’s guess had been rewarded with the intake of breath.

“Wow! You even wore those hooded robes of yours when your gang dressed like clowns to pin suspicion for your crimes on the Joker, ‘ Flamebird had said. “Is this theatrical flare of yours an obsession?”

“Good thinking, Flamebird.” Batwoman had complimented. “This trap seems to be a variation of one of the classic situations in melodrama.”

“You’re so right, ladies,” the distorted voice had confirmed, ”at least about your predicament. As for my motivation, Lionel Kohler has a perfectly good steam locomotive chugging toward you both at top speed. It seemed a shame not to make use of it.” Everyone on the line had laughed, except the trap’s intended victims.

“This never actually works in those melodramas,” Batwoman had pointed out.

“Right,” Flamebird had agreed. “Once we’ve escaped, there is nowhere on Earth you’ll be able to hide when we come after you and bring you to justice.”

“You’re forgetting something, my little birdie. This is real life, at least for a little while longer. The train will reach you tomorrow afternoon. One minute later, the Distaff Duo will have been transformed into disintegrated debris.”

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

“We already have,” the voice had replied. “While you two wait for the train, my troupe and I will take up train spotting from a much safer vantage point. Don’t worry. Our little visit to the train has not delayed it at all. Therefore, your death is right on schedule. Now, ladies, look to the west.”

Batwoman and Flamebird had obeyed and realized their trestle was at the foot of a long, steep slope. “We’ll be able to see the train coming,” Flamebird had said.

“Even if the engineer sees us, he won’t be able to stop.”

“We’ll be seen. There is a tunnel close to the top of that hill. The train’s headlight will be on.”

“Excellent deductive reasoning, Flamebird,” Batwoman had praised.

“Indeed,” the distorted voice had agreed. The criminals on the line had laughed again. “I’m delighted you both understand the gravity of your situation. It’s going to be a beautiful day. Goodbye, ladies—forever!” The line had gone suddenly dead with a sharp click.

Flamebird had looked from the slope to the west to the position of the sun to the east. “Any ideas, Batwoman?”

“Not yet, Flamebird,” her mentor had replied, wrenching vainly at the railroad spike that held them in place. “I don’t think the train is anywhere near us yet. We should have plenty of time to think this situation through.”

“You think the crooks overlooked something?”

“I know they did. Crooks always do. Our task is to realize what they overlooked and take advantage of it.”

Much later, the sun blazed high above the panoramic, natural scene.

“They didn’t leave us any slack!” Flamebird cried, frustrated. “We’ve been struggling with this spike all morning!”

Far away, they heard an ominous rumble.

“The train -- it’s coming!” Flamebird fearfully said.

“It always has been,” Batwoman replied. “Now, pull!” Together they renewed their efforts.

“Did you feel that?’ Flamebird asked. She ceased her exertions, breathing heavily and becoming aware of the sweat drenching her costume.

“The spike shifted, but it stopped when you spoke just now.”

“Wait a minute, Batwoman! Don’t do anything for a second.” Flamebird hardened her muscles and strained at the spike once again. “Nothing!”

“I think you’re on to something, Flamebird,” Batwoman shouted. “We’ve been working against each other all morning. My efforts are negating the progress you make.”

“Probably part of our killer’s murderous plan,” Flamebird grimly concluded.

“No doubt,” Batwoman agreed. “Whoever this crook is, he or she is devilishly clever.”

The sound of the approaching train grew louder. Flamebird looked up the hill and thought she could see the light from the train engine begin to superfluously illuminate the scenery high above them.

“Right!” Flamebird shouted in response. “Now we know how to thwart the crook’s plan. We’ll have to work together.”

“Good thinking. Pull straight up on three! One! Two! Three!”

The luminous circle of the oncoming train’s headlight grew brighter and larger. The railroad trestle began to shake.

“I think it’s starting to come!” Flamebird shouted. She was trying to encourage her partner.

Batwoman could not hear her niece, but had the same thought. “The vibrations are loosening the spike, too. Keep pulling!”

Together, they pulled.

Once the engineer spotted something on the track, the train’s whistle sounded continuously, making further communication between the heroines utterly impossible. The thunderous clicking and clacking of locomotive wheels against metal rails intermittently interrupted the banshee-like shriek of the train whistle, as the big black engine bore inexorably down on the helplessly bound captives.

Batwoman’s analysis of the oncoming train’s effect upon their bindings was valid. Together with the help of the vibrating trestle, the Distaff Duo’s teamwork and effort slowly extracted the sinister railroad spike. Once free from the trestle, the monstrous piece of metal fell from the ropes entwining it, dropping between the rails and out of sight before splashing unheard into the river far below.

Flamebird pointed in the opposite direction from which the train was coming and Batwoman shook her head after a glance at the train hurtling toward them.

Flamebird’s mind raced. Batwoman was right. They could not hope to reach solid ground before the oncoming train ran them down. Equally impossible was to reach the opposite side of the yawning valley before the train. Had Ms. Brown not tricked them into giving up their utility belts and Batwoman’s Bat Kit, the solution would be simple at this stage. Now, without their equipment, safely leaving the railroad trestle in time would be almost impossible. Batwoman’s hand falling on her shoulder tore Flamebird from her depressing reverie.

“I have a plan!” Batwoman shouted. “Follow my lead! There’s no time to explain!”

A glance at the careening engine confirmed Batwoman’s assessment of the timetable survival required. Flamebird nodded.

Incredibly, Batwoman crouched and dove over the side of the railroad trestle. Flamebird’s eyes widened in horror until she saw her mentor collide with a one of the supports beneath the trestle and wrap her body around it. Once the Brunette Beauty was sure she could safely let go with one hand, she motioned for Flamebird to follow.

With a glance at the oncoming train engine, Flamebird threw herself from the trestle into space. Flamebird’s fall was both short and a credit to her moniker. Pain welcomed the young athlete as her shoulder hit the metal support column. She wrapped her arms around it in a bear hug and tried to do the same with her legs. She could feel her breath expelled from her mouth and her chest heaving as her lungs filled again. It slowly dawned upon her that she had somehow managed to cling to the support girder and was not plunging toward the valley floor where her remains would eventually sustain the scavengers below.

Another fact impressed itself upon Flamebird’s consciousness: She had duplicated the maneuver Batwoman had somehow performed to stay alive. Therefore, in order for Flamebird to be clinging to the girder, her mentor would have had to move.

Looking up, Flamebird saw the train rumbling overhead and Batwoman seated on a cross girder with her back against the girder to which both heroines had now clung. Flamebird began to climb. Batwoman helped Flamebird to her perch, and the two heroines sat across from each other, their chests heaving until the train their captors had planned to have dice them had passed harmlessly overhead.

“That was close!” Flamebird said.

“Almost too close,” Batwoman said.

“Now that we’ve survived, we’ll be going after those crooks.”

“Yes. I think they orchestrated that phone call from a concealed cabin in this valley.”

“Would the cabin have phone lines?”

“That’s a good question. Following telephone wires would be smart thinking, but I imagine our opponents used a cell phone there. We might find the cabin from the air in the Bat Gyros.”

“They’re still on the train, with our belts.”

“I’m afraid so. The sooner we start, the quicker we can fly back here. I think we’re only a few miles from the train’s destination. Are you up for a little running?”

“I’m ready any time. Hey, the bad guys might have made another mistake.”

“What’s that?”

“They put these headphones and microphones on us. We might find a clue.”

“Perhaps. They certainly won’t elude us forever.”

The Distaff Duo climbed back to the railroad trestle and slowly walked to solid ground before beginning to stretch and massage the pain from their limbs. Then, together they ran along the tracks at an easy, yet rapid pace.

“I’m sure Batwoman and Flamebird are on top of the situation with Lionel Kohler’s steam train,” Commissioner Gordon confidently said.

“Right. If the Distaff Duo is busy, might Batman and Robin be able to help Batgirl track down Shame?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“The voice that sometimes answers the Batphone explained Robin was busy with college studies when I last called the Caped Crusader.” Unknown to Gotham City’s leading lawmen, Dick Grayson had asked Alfred to make excuses for Robin so Dick Grayson could keep a promise he had made months ago to take his friend Susie out to dinner. He had finally realized she had grown impatient waiting for him to keep his word. He did not know Susie’s restiveness had stemmed from an attempt the Joker and his newest assistant, Harley Quinn, had made on her life just before the end of the last semester.

“Did you ask Batman to look into Shame’s disappearance from the hospital?”

“I may owe you an apology, Chief O’Hara. I forgot to tell you. I received a call from Warden Crichton this morning and learned Playgirl had been granted a temporary pass from prison--”

“Why would ‘the Gangster Gal of Games’ be granted parole, even a temporary one?” Chief O’Hara demanded.

“I asked the same question. Warden Crichton explained the time away from jail is a privilege she was granted for good behavior prior to her upcoming trial for the attempted murder of Max Chessman. He said the temporary pass would separate those particular prisoners and give Playgirl a chance to begin learning to integrate herself into society.”

“Maybe,” O’Hara said skeptically. “Why didn’t the charge negate Playgirl’s reward?”

“The Warden explained letting one mistake erase weeks or months of worthwhile work is counterproductive to the motivation he is trying to provide.”

“I don’t know, Commissioner. I went to a lot of trouble putting her behind bars and Lucky Pierre got those charges plead down to something absolutely laughable!” Chief O’Hara fumed. “I know these bargains make the courts run more efficiently, but they’re frustrating. I’m sure the Warden means well--”

“Simmer down, Chief,” the Commissioner said, raising a hand. “I let Batman know Playgirl would be loose in Gotham City, in case of trouble.”

“So you could summon him on a moment’s notice.”

“Precisely. I pray that does not become necessary.”

“Begorra! So, Batgirl is on her own.”

“Yes, Chief. I’m afraid she only has us to help her track down those odious outlaws.” The two men stared at one another.

Batgirl’s first stop in her pursuit of Shame was the Mount Ararat Hospital. “Thank you for seeing me, Doctor Denton. I need to talk to you about Shame.”

“Well . . .” Doctor Denton began, “I cannot go into a great deal of detail with you, Batgirl – doctor-patient confidentiality and HIPPA, you know. In light of his abduction–”

“Or escape.”

“Er, yes, well, in light of all the circumstances, however, I can say he has made enormous progress in the time he’s spent here with us.”

“Is he cured?”

“No. The Scarecrow’s fear gas did a number on him. When he arrived, he was literally cowering behind his raised arm. Loud noises startled him and he found his own shadow terrifying.” The doctor’s manner turned inquisitive, clinical. “I understand you, too, were subjected to fear gas at one time?”

“Yes. Fortunately, my exposure was minimal and it was to an earlier, less potent variation.”

“Fascinating.”

“Can Shame function in society now?”

“Probably. He’s had excellent support from a woman I understand he intends to make part of his family, once he’s served his sentence. His intended mother-in-law visited often. Then, suddenly, she stopped. I wonder why?” ‘Evidently, the good doctor doesn’t follow the news,’ Batgirl thought, but for the time being, said nothing.

“Anyway, eventually moving into a family setting would be ideal for Shame. At this stage, his environment here at the hospital serves to reinforce the treatment he has received. A certain amount of external stimulation could well be beneficial, if supervised. We were about to begin a program of such stimulation when his future mother-in-law stopped visiting. Then, a younger, blonde woman appeared–”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“She’s gorgeous, normally wears her hair in a pony tail, and dresses in western-style garb.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry to have interrupted.”

“Well, as I was saying, It would be ideal for Shame to become part of a family unit,” the doctor said.

“Unfortunately for Shame, both his fiancé and her mother have been imprisoned. I think I know who the new blonde is, but is there a way to verify this woman’s identity?”

“I’ll consult the log. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that very much.”

Doctor Denton left Batgirl alone in his office and rummaged around his outer office noisily for a few moments before returning. “The other woman signed her name as Okie. She started coming when the prospective mother-in-law, named Fanny, was still visiting, but they never came together. Recently, Okie visited much more frequently.” The doctor did a double take, as if something Batgirl had said earlier had finally sank in. “Did you say Fanny . . . has been imprisoned?!”

“I’m afraid so, Doctor.”

The information Doctor Denton provided fit with what Batgirl suspected. Shame apparently had two female admirers: Calamity Jan and Okie Annie. Frontier Fanny had insisted on acting as a chaperone when her daughter was with her intended. Calamity Jan’s scheme to rob newlyweds had recently been thwarted by Gotham City’s crime fighting duos, which cleared the field for Okie Annie.

“Doctor, you mentioned you thought Shame had been kidnapped. Why is that?”

“This Okie person held up our patrolling guard and the duty nurse, took Shame’s guns and some money from the safe in the security room, and made her way to Shame’s room.”

“The two of them left together, didn’t they?”

“Yes, on horseback.”

“So?” Batgirl prodded.

“Well, Annie was armed and I have told Shame repeatedly how important it is for him to remain here until he has a clean bill of mental health.”

“Do you know, did Annie threaten Shame?”

“I hope not! The stress of being threatened is greater than the stress of being kidnapped! Stress is very dangerous for Shame in his current mental state.”

“How would Shame be likely to react to danger?”

The doctor stroked his chin. “That would be hard to predict.”

“Is he on any medication?”

“No. Thankfully, he’s well beyond that stage. We cannot use drugs to treat these conditions for very long because of side effects and the dangers of addiction.”

“I understand.”

“Shame is well along in his treatment. He would be able to function well in normal society, but as an arch-criminal, his circumstances and environment change rapidly. He may handle it well, or he may not. It will be interesting from a scientific standpoint to see which scenario develops.” Doctor Denton had gotten a faraway look in his eyes. A steely stare from his costumed visitor brought him crashing back to earth. “Of course, Batgirl, I would never sanction such an experiment as the one this Annie woman has inadvertently begun! To do so would hardly be ethical.”

“Quite,” Batgirl said seriously. “Is there anything I can do to help in Shame’s treatment when dealing with him?”

“On the run, in the wide world and planning a criminal crime wave, I can only advise you to be very careful in dealing with him. There’s no telling of what he is capable right now.”

“I’ll be careful, Doctor. Thank you again for seeing me.”

“You’re welcome, Batgirl. Good luck.” The doctor paused as Batgirl took her leave. Then he said quietly, “You may very well need it.”

Batgirl’s visit to the hospital had not yielded much information she had not previously known or guessed. She was frustrated and decided to check out Shame’s old hideouts, just in case the dim desperado had picked a predictable place to hang his hat.

The abandoned offices of ‘Frontier Fan’s Wedding Plans’ were deserted. The Sun Down Saloon was as abandoned as the rest of the ghost town in which it was located. The Gotham City Central Park Stables yielded no sign of the criminals. Finally, the Westernland Amusement Park was equally devoid of criminal activity, but Batgirl spent a couple of hours accommodating autograph requests before she could get away.

“Well, Charlie,” Barbara Gordon said to her pet bird after reversing her tantalizing transformation, “tomorrow morning Calamity Jan has her appeal and Batgirl will be there just in case the Redoubtable Road Agent shows his malignant mask. Meanwhile, the library needs me, but first I’ll arrange to have dinner with Daddy and grab a bite of lunch.”

Meanwhile, in their suite at the Adobe Hacienda Motel and Eats, which served the best chili and guacamole in Gotham City, Shame outlined his forthcoming criminal campaign for his current companion’s comment. “All right, Okie Annie, we gotta meet the gang you done put together so we can spring Calamity Jan tomorrow mornin’ and get on with what I like to refer to as ‘the Plan’.”

“As I asked before, why do you need her when you have me?” Okie Annie asked, setting her gunbelt in the chair her rifle leaned against.

“Having two women in the gang is like having another man, and means twice as much fun to boot. Now, let’s hit the bar and meet them hombres.”

“Are you sure I can’t turn you around to my point of view?” she asked, tossing her hat into the chair with her guns and slipping out of her vest.

“Well, I reckon you could try.”

“Good. Cause I set up our meeting with them for early tomorrow morning.” She stepped toward him and removed his hat. She slowly settled into a sitting position on the bed and slid her boots off, kicking them away playfully.

Shame sat beside her and took her in his arms. They kissed. “You know what, Shame-honey?”

“What?”

“You’re the best.” Somehow, she had loosened the ribbon that bound her hair in a ponytail. As she spoke, she shook her head and let her hair spill around her shoulders in a golden cascade.

“You planned this,” Shame accused, as he felt his bandanna pull away from his throat, his vest fall open, and the comforting weight of his gun slip away from his waist.

“You got a problem with my plan, big boy?” Okie Annie inquired as she reluctantly broke a much slower kiss.

“Nope,” Shame confessed. Slowly, they embraced and fell backward together.

The next morning Bartholomew Black awoke to the sound of a revolver’s hammer being thumbed back. He opened one eye and stared at a weathered, scowling face beneath a white cowboy hat. His glance flicked from the face to the six-shooter aimed at his head. “Mornin’,” Bartholomew Black drawled.

The gunman grinned and lowered the weapon. “Mornin’. You got nerves, boy. Me and you are gonna be good buddies. I’m Shame.”

“Bartholomew Black. I just saved your life, Shame.”

“How do you figure that, Bart?”

“Well, if you would have plugged me, my three friends would have blown you away in about five seconds flat.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” a baby-faced man said, holstering a pistol.

“Black white man speak with straight tongue,” a Native American man with long black hair and a loaded gun he slid beneath his belt said. He settled onto a comfortable cushion and controlled his twitching hands by tightly gripping the arms of the chair he had selected.

“I’d say so,” a third gunman who wore a white lab coat over his western attire and a modern tie rather than a kerchief chimed in.

”Right,” Shame said. “Then, we’d have had five dead men.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Shame,” Bartholomew Black began. “How do you figure?”

“It’s simple, Bart,” Shame explained. “I done brought along my woman’s auxiliary to introduce y’all.”

“That’s right, boys,” Okie Annie said. “I got one gun for each of you.” She strutted into the room, set her rifle down on the table the men had gathered around, and sat, slipping the Derringer one of her hands concealed away. “Course we’re all friends now, right, Shame-honey?”

“We will be, as soon as Bart here finishes the introductions.”

“Well,” Bartholomew Black began, “my Native American companion is Crazylegs. He doesn’t ever sit still.”

“Don’t he never?” Shame asked.

The outlaw performing introductions shook his head.

Shame regarded the Indian with a level stare. “How?” he asked.

“What?” Crazylegs asked, turning in his chair to see the outlaw chief better.

“I said ‘how‘?” Shame explained. He emphasized the question by raising his right hand up rigidly with the palm facing his Native American henchman.

“Okay,” the bewildered Indian answered, nodding.

“Right,” Shame said. “Now, listen up, Kemo Sabe. Keep your tongue harnessed and you’ll have a thin lip.”

Crazylegs blinked.

“Who’s next, Bart?”

“My young friend here is ‘the Kid’.” Bartholomew Black said.

“The Cisco Kid?’ Okie Annie asked.

“Nope,” the Kid responded.

“The Sundance Kid?” the henchman in the lab coat asked.

“Nope,” the Kid responded.

“The Pecos Kid?” Shame asked.

“Who?”

“Never mind,” Shame replied. “I met the Pecos Kid when he was a kid. You’re too old to be the Pecos Kid because he’s still a kid.”

Bartholomew Black explained, “His name is Davis K. Rogers.”

“So, the ‘K’ stands for Kid,” Okie Annie guessed.

“No. I just like to be called ‘Kid’,” the Kid revealed.

“Right,” Shame said. “Who is this other fella?”

“Doctor Valentine Valentine, at your service.”

“Hey, Okie Annie, the Doc here is named after my favorite holiday!”

“Mine too, Shame-honey.”

“All right. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty of what we’re gonna do this mornin’,” Shame said. “Now, my other girl, Calamity Jan, is s’posed to be in court today. Cept we don’t want her in court. We want her with us. Get it?”

“Got it,” the henchmen said simultaneously. Okie Annie frowned, saying nothing.

“Good.”

Shortly thereafter, Gotham City’s Shapely Sentinel sat on her Batgirlcycle, awaiting the arrival of Calamity Jan at the courthouse. She had selected a vantage point that afforded her a clear view of the entrance, while keeping her presence concealed. Batgirl had been waiting for half an hour before the armored prisoner transport pulled to a stop. Guards emerged from the front of the truck and drew weapons to cover the prisoner.

“All right!” Shame’s voice rang out. “I want those guns on the ground and your hands in the air.”

The guards hesitated.

“Move it or we’ll put more holes in you than a Texas oil field!”

The click of revolver hammers being thumbed back heralded the clatter of guns hitting the pavement.

“Move away from that truck! Keep ’em covered, boys.” The guards obeyed. “All right, Okie Annie. Get their guns and I’ll get ready to cover the inside of that truck when you open it.”

“Whatever you say, Shame-honey.”

Moments later, Shame was staring at an armed guard and his one-time fiancé, Calamity Jan. “You,” the Conniving Cowboy of Crime said to the guard, “git out here and leave your gun in there.”

“You come to get me, Shame-honey!” Calamity Jan said happily. “Tell him to give me the keys to these shackles.”

“You heard the lady,” Shame said. “Do it!”

The guard did as he was told. Then, suddenly, two Batarangs flew into the midst of the ambush, disarming Shame and wrapping a rope around Okie Annie’s upper body, pinning her arms to her sides! The Batgirlcycle coasted silently into view. “You can now all step into the truck, because I’m placing you all under arrest!” Batgirl ordered, remaining seated on her vehicle.

Shame had been muttering since the gun had flown from his hand. Now his words became distinct. “Okie Annie; Kid; Doc; Bart; Kemo Sabe, let’s drill her!”

Shame’s henchmen aimed at the Curved Crusader and emptied their weapons. Batgirl hunched behind her windshield and quaked with self-satisfied laughter as her bulletproof windshield easily withstood the bandits’ barrage of bullets.

“Boss,” the Kid said when the shooting stopped. “We’re out of ammo. Sorry.”

“Well, use the lawmen’s guns then!” Shame ordered, stooping to retrieve his pistol.

Another hail of bullets drummed into Batgirl’s windshield uselessly.

“Now that you’ve taken your best shots at me, Shame,“ Batgirl said, laughing, dismounting, and striding toward him before putting her hands on her hips and spreading her legs to shoulder width, “it’s my turn.”

“Oh, Batgirl,” Shame disgustedly complained. “You know none of us is no good in a fair fight.”

“That’s what I was counting on,” Batgirl declared. “I’ll give you all one more chance to give yourselves up.”

“We ain’t never gonna do that! Git her, boys!”

Shame led the men, charging toward Batgirl. She bent her knees—waiting. As they reached her she leaped into the air and over the top of the bull-rushing bad guys. She landed, spun, and fired her foot at the back of Crazylegs’ head. The infamous Indian fell flat on his face and remained still.

Doctor Valentine Valentine and Bartholomew Black had turned when Batgirl returned to her feet and seized her arms. The Kid favored the curvaceous captive with a crooked smile and began to systematically beat the heroine senseless.

“Give her a good one for me, Kid!” Calamity Jan shouted.

“Beat her brains out,“ Shame exuberantly cried.

“Pound her into pulp,” Okie Annie enthused. She began to clap her hands as Calamity Jan freed her from the Batrope.

Slowly, Batgirl grew numb to the pain to which the Kid was subjecting her and shook her head. With a flash of clarity, Batgirl braced her feet and raised a knee into the thug’s chin as he snaked another fist into her tortured torso.

As the stunned cowboy recovered, Gotham City’s Gorgeous Guardian drew her arms forward and shot her elbows backward hard. She felt her captors’ hands fall away. Doctor Valentine Valentine saw his intended victim turn from him and deliver two punches into Bartholomew Black’s midsection with pile-driving force. He took his chance and lunged toward her.

A sixth sense warned Batgirl of Doc’s attack and she met it with a backward swing of her elbow and an accompanying pivot. The blow fell with a force that shattered the thug’s nose and dropped him to the pavement with a smack. The thug began to rise and fell back when Batgirl’s heel hit him where her elbow had a moment ago.

She was standing beside the Kid, and he seemed to be recovering. Batgirl didn’t wait for him to attack again, but spun and caught his chin with her heel, landing a blow that took the last henchmen out of the fight for good.

“And then there was one, Shame,” Batgirl said. “I’m going to demonstrate why arch- criminals shouldn’t take potshots at public officials.” Her tone left the cowardly cowboy with the distinct impression the treatment she was about to administer would hurt—a lot. Batgirl took a step toward Shame.

“This isn’t good,” Okie Annie said.

Calamity Jan nodded. “I don’t know what your doin’ with my future husband, but you’re right. Can you drive this truck?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Help me with the men,” Calamity Jan said.

“Are you giving me orders?”

“We’ll need the men for Shame’s plan, whatever it is. So, let’s get the them into the truck!”

“What about Shame?”

“I’ll tend his wounds after we get away.”

“We’ll see about that,” Okie Annie murmured. She pointed to the villain’s fallen hat and spoke more loudly. “There should be a tiny gun in the band, but if you ask Shame about it, he’ll deny it’s there. By the way, don’t think I’m not still armed!”

“Let’s get Shame out of here, before we fight over him,” Calamity Jan suggested. She had emptied the gun she had taken from the guard who had ridden in the back of the truck into Batgirl’s windshield. Useless as a projectile weapon, it still served as a bludgeon. She hit the guard with it and lowered his unconscious body to the floor of the truck. Next, she slipped to the ground and dragged Crazylegs to safety. Okie Annie was busy moving Bartholomew Black’s body to the truck. Shame’s women finished their chore by sliding the Kid and Doctor Valentine Valentine into the truck. Then, Okie Annie moved to the driver’s seat and let the engine idle.

Shame had relapsed into fear once his retreat had brought him against a wall and his puny defenses had evaporated. Batgirl stood over him with her hands on her hips as he covered his face and shrank into a fetal position, quivering.

“That’s enough, Batgirl!” Calamity Jan said. As Batgirl glanced at her, she realized the Engaged Evildoer held a Derringer to her guard’s head. “If you hit him just once more, you’ll be cleanin’ this one’s brains off the street. Get it?”

“Got it,” Batgirl said. She reached her hand toward Shame’s shirt and pulled the villain to his feet.

“Good.” Shame staggered toward the back of the truck and his beckoning bride-to-be. “Calamity, you done did it, darlin’. Thanks,” he said. He had begun to become calmer.

“Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!” Calamity Jan shouted as she pulled Shame safely aboard.

The truck pulled away from the curb and Batgirl moved toward it until Calamity Jan shoved her hostage from the vehicle. Batgirl examined him quickly, determined he was uninjured, and raced to the Batgirlcycle. Grimly, she began to pursue the villains.

“Where are we going, Shame-honey?” Okie Annie asked.

“Our first stop will be the Sun Down Saloon. This truck will be too conspicuous. So, we’ll hide it in the stables and head back to the Adobe Hacienda Motel and Eats. Then, we’ll get started on what I like to call ‘the Plan’. Once we’re finished, we’ll all be filthy rich.”

“Shame-honey, shouldn’t we hit a gun store on the way back to the motel?” Okie Annie asked. “We’re gonna need ammo.”

“We don’t have to do that, Okie Annie. When Calamity Jan and I hid out at the saloon, we left a cache behind, ‘cause we was gonna loot Gotham City durin’ the panic after the Mayor’s death.”

“Trouble was, “ Calamity Jan recalled as she affixed a gun belt around her waist, “Batgirl escaped our trap and we never got around to that part of the plan.”

“Then let’s git the guns and git,” Okie Annie urged.

“You and me got things to talk about first,” Calamity Jan said ominously.

“Oh, Calamity, if your gonna be like that, wait ‘till we git to the saloon. We got beer there, at least.”

“No problem,” Calamity Jan agreed.

Soon thereafter, the gang sauntered into the shade of the saloon. Jan found some ammunition, loaded her guns and gave some to Annie. Before she could re-arm the rest of the gang, Shame unbuttoned his vest and froze when something fell to the floor. “What the heck is that?” the confused cowpoke asked.

“It’s a Bat Homin’ Transmitter,” Calamity Jan said. “I hate those electronic nuisances.”

“Batgirl must have planted it on you before Jan threatened that guard!” Okie Annie said.

“Boys, get upstairs and keep watch,” Shame ordered. “I ‘spect Batgirl is on our tail.”

“She can be on my tail, anytime,” the Kid said quietly, smirking as he climbed the steps.

“Not for much longer,” Calamity Jan said, aiming her gun at the tiny device.

“Hold your horses, honey!” Shame urged.

“What for?”

“Batgirl don’t know we know she’s a comin’. So, when she gits here, we’ll be ready.”

Calamity Jan laughed. “We’ll drop her in the middle of the street and leave her for the buzzards.”

“Wait a minute. Simmer down, woman. I gotta think about this a minute. The first time we had Batgirl, we used her to bargain with Batman and the Law.”

“I kinda like Calamity’s plan, Shame-honey,” Okie Annie said.

“Thank you,” Calamity Jan said. “But that brings me back to what I wanted to talk about.”

Shame sighed. “What is it, Calamity?”

“Who the heck is she?! And, more importantly, what exactly is she doin’ here?!” Calamity Jan demanded.

“Okie Annie is one o’ the best gunwomen in the business,” Shame explained.

“The best, Shame-honey.” Okie Annie corrected. “And please don’t forget to mention my other talents, either.”

“So, what else can you do that I should know about?” Calamity Jan asked threateningly.

“She darn near killed Commissioner Gordon for me yesterday mornin’,” Shame hurriedly said.

“Yesterday mornin’?” Calamity Jan demanded.

“We hooked up the night before last,” Okie Annie sweetly explained.

The pigtailed blonde’s voice fell, but the level of menace with which she imbued it was ratcheted up significantly. “So, just what have you two been doin’ the last two nights?”

“That’s our business,” Okie Annie said. Her voice was detached, but her smile was wide and mischievous, a stark contrast to the anger bubbling to the boiling point in Calamity Jan.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

Frustrated with Okie Annie’s smugness, Calamity Jan turned her attention to her intended future husband. “Well, almost don't get the job done. And how come she’s usin’ my pet name for you, Shame-honey?”

Shame shrugged, but avoided Calmity’s Jan’s gaze.

Okie Annie spoke up for herself. “Listen. I saw him first. You are using my pet name for him.”

“Did he ask you to marry him?”

“Touché’! But, has he actually married you?”

“He will.”

“Really?” Okie Annie sarcastically asked. “That ain’t what he told me. Besides, which one of us busted him out of the hospital?”

“All right! All right! That’s enough,” Shame cut in. “Hold on, both of you!”

“Shut up!” both women ordered simultaneously. Shame shrunk back.

“I’m starting to wonder whether this gang is big enough for the two of us!” Okie Annie said, stepping toward the other woman.

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll whittle it down to size, soze you can understand,” Annie sweetly offered, “If you ain’t out of here before I draw, I’ll–”

“I think you finally got a good idea,” Calamity said. Her hands hovered above her gun belt.

Shame stepped between the women, trying once again to assert some authority. “Nobody is gonna shoot nobody in here–”

“Fine, Shame-honey. I’ll take care of her out front,” Okie Annie offered.

“That’s OK by me,” Calamity Jan said, “but you’ll be the one feedin’ the vultures after I’ve pumped you full of lead.”

Shame stared helplessly at the ceiling.

“Shall we?” Calamity Jan sweetly suggested, gesturing toward the swinging doors to the street.

“After you. I insist, ” Okie Annie said.

“I ain’t eager to git shot in the back,” Calamity Jan said.

“Would I do that?” Annie innocently asked.

“All’s fair in love and war, dearie.”

“Fine! We’ll go out together and back into position. That way, we can keep an eye on each other the entire time,” Okie Annie suggested.

“Agreed.”

“’Course, I’ll only need one shot to take care of you!”

“Come on,” Calamity Jan said. “Let’s get this done.”

Crazylegs dashed into view on the balcony above the bar, seconds after the gunwomen disappeared. “Batgirl be in town any second.”

“Dang! I hadn’t had a chance yet to git me some of my platinum bullets!” Shame fumed. “Get the other men down here and let’s get ready to attack her again!”

Batgirl pulled to a stop in front of The Sun Down Saloon. She dismounted and moved confidently through the swing doors. The saloon appeared deserted. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, Shame.”

“You ain’t got much savvy, Batchick.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got you covered six ways from Sunday.”

“If you really did, I bet you’d be shooting instead of boasting.”

“That’s a wager you would lose.”

“I don’t think so. I’d be dodging bullets already, if you could shoot me, Shame. That’s why you opened with chit chat, instead of a fusillade of lead.”

“Dang it, Batgirl. You’re smart.”

“I try.”

“We still got you outnumbered six to one half.”

“What?”

“Girls only count for a half,” Shame explained.

“So, that must by why I won the last round so handily,” Batgirl sweetly retorted.

“Listen. Just ‘cause I let you in here, don’t mean I’m gonna let you git out alive.”

“You’re pretty handy with your mouth.“

“Aw, you sound just like Batman tellin’ me that.”

“Batman is very perceptive.” Rather than settling in a fighting stance in anticipation of the coming action, Batgirl let her hands settle on her hips and took up the tone of a lecturer.

“What?” Shame asked, puzzled.

Shame’s women had just started to move into position for the coming gunfight, when they heard the Batgirlcycle in the distance.

“I’ve been looking forward to ventilatin’ her,” Calamity Jan said.

“I can’t disagree with you there.”

“Okay, Annie. Shame ain’t goin’ nowhere. If you agree to a truce, we can always settle our differences once Batgirl is taken care of, once and for all.”

“We set the time and place to fight over Shame the moment we know Batgirl is dead. Right?”

“Right.”

“We have a truce then?”

“Agreed,” Annie said.

Okie Annie and Calamity Jan shook hands. Jan then said with a conspiratorial smile, “Now, let’s bag ourselves a Batgirl.”

They retreated into an alley and watched Batgirl dismount the Batgirlcycle. Okie Annie began to raise her Derringer and Calamity Jan grabbed her arm.

“What are you doing?” the pony-tailed blonde demanded softly, but sharply.

“Shame won’t want her to die like that, unless he pulls the trigger. Besides, if you miss–”

“I ain’t gonna miss!”

The brief argument ended when Batgirl stepped into the saloon. “Come on,” Calamity Jan urged.

As the cowgirls reached the saloon door, Batgirl stood in the center of the floor with her hands on her hips, lecturing Shame.

“You’ve fired your last shot in Gotham City, Shame,” the heroine said. “It’s time for the last roundup. Greed and avarice have finally guided you to the end of a lonely trail.”

“It ain’t as lonely as you might think, Batgirl. You know, sometimes all I need when things look grim is a gun to make things all right again.”

“Violence begets violence, Shame. You, of all people, should know that.”

“She makes me sick,” Okie Annie softly said, aiming her Derringer at Gotham City’s Gorgeous Guardian once again.

Calamity Jan reached out and pulled Okie Annie’s gun gently off-target again. As the pony- tailed blonde shot another angry glance at her companion, she realized the pigtailed blonde was pointing at something. Following the outstretched arm and pointing finger, Annie’s eyes lit up. Batgirl was standing directly beneath the saloon’s chandelier!

Calamity Jan nodded and Okie Annie adjusted her aim. A single bullet severed the rope holding the chandelier to the ceiling and dropped it onto Batgirl’s head. The heroine collapsed as Shame’s women stepped into view.

“Happy trails, Batgirl!“ Calamity Jan said. She turned to the gorgeous gunwoman beside her. “By the way, nice shot.”

“Thank you,” Okie Annie replied, aiming her gun at the fallen Batgirl. “I can finish her off whenever you want, Shame-honey.”

“I got a better idea,” Shame said. “Put her in the jail for safekeeping. We can see if we can use her to lure Batman into an ambush. If not, we can always git rid o’ her later.”

“Annie and I will take care of her,” Calamity Jan offered. Each took one of the unconscious heroine’s arms and began to drag her away.

When they were out of Shame’s earshot, Jan whispered, “I got an idea, Annie.”

“What’s that, Jan?”

“Batgirl don’t really need to be breathin’ for too much longer, if all we need her for is to be a hostage.”

“I think I like the sound of that. What do you have in mind?” Calamity Jan outlined her idea rapidly.

“Ya’ know,” Okie Annie said, “we might accidentally end up becoming friends.”

Batgirl moaned. Her eyes fluttered open. “What hit me?” she softly asked. When no answer came, she began to focus and realized she was standing in the sheriff’s office—inside a cell. “It seems the shoe is on the other foot.” She stepped back to begin pacing the length of her cell and realized she could not back away from the bars against which she was leaning. A glance at her hands revealed they had been lashed to the bars. “Did they use enough rope?” the Curved Crusader asked incredulously. Rope had been wound around her wrists and continued down the length of her forearms to her elbows.

An inside door opened and Calamity Jan and Okie Annie entered the room, carrying something between them.

“Sounds like our guest woke up,” Calamity Jan said.

“Darn. I was looking forward to waking her,” Okie Annie replied.

“Never mind. Let’s get this set up.”

“No problem.” The henchwomen worked quickly. Batgirl watched, horrified, as a circle of gun barrels was mounted on a stand and a crank was attached to the side and tested.

“Ya’ know, it’s lucky the Sheriff was so well prepared to defend his prisoners,” Calamity Jan remarked with a laugh.

“Not for Batgirl, it ain’t,” Okie Annie disagreed with a delighted grin.

“You’re just going to shoot me?” Batgirl asked.

“I do believe the correct term is perforate,” Okie Annie said, with an amused chuckle.

“Ventilate would also be quite descriptive,” Calamity Jan concurred, laughing along with her pretty, perfidious partner.

“What will Shame say?”

“By the time he figures out what we done did to you, it won’t matter what he says,” Calamity Jan explained, laughing. “’Course, by then, he won’t mind and I can be very persuasive in a pinch.”

“As can I, Jan.” Annie agreed, joining her pretty partner’s mirth.

“I’m sure that’s true,” Batgirl said witheringly. That remark silenced the heroine’s captors for a moment.

Calamity Jan’s lips twitched into a wicked smile as she removed the crank from the gun and added additional parts before reattaching it. “Git the rope set while I load this, Annie.”

“Sure.” Batgirl noted how Okie Annie positioned the sheriff’s desk chair and tied a knot around one of its legs. Annie then extended the rope toward the gun Calamity Jan was loading. Once that task was complete Calamity Jan took hold of the crank and pushed it forward.

Batgirl’s eyes widened with horror as she prepared to feel her body ripped apart. She was surprised when she felt no pain and realized Calamity Jan was slowly manipulating the crank, while still smiling wickedly.

“Not yet, Batgirl,” Calamity Jan said. “Shame would be upset if we did you in right after he told us to keep you safe.”

“You two are perfect for that Southwestern scoundrel,” Batgirl decided aloud.

“Why, thank you, Batgirl,” Okie Annie said. “That’s one of the nicest mean things anyone ever said about me.”

“Even so,” Calamity Jan continued, returning to their murderous business, “the second I let go o’ this spring loaded crank, this here gatlin’ gun will turn you into a purple piece o’ Swiss cheese.”

“Since we don’t want you to be minced for a little while yet,” Okie Annie said, “I’ll just tie the crank into position to keep it from cutting loose on you.” The other end of her rope slipped over the crank. Calamity Jan let go and the crank inched forward harmlessly. The rope, however, went taunt. “Now, all we have to do is arrange to sever the rope. Do you have a match, Jan?”

“That will kill her too soon. I wants to be long gone with Shame before the deed is done.”

“Good point.”

The blonde bad girls glanced around the office and grinned simultaneously as their gaze focused on a single candle that would illuminate the cells after dark.

“Splendid,” Okie Annie murmured as she retrieved the candle and set it beside the rope.

“A notch would make it perfect,” Calamity Jan suggested.

Okie Annie nodded, knelt, cut such a notch into the candle with a knife she found in the desk drawer, and slipped the rope into it. “There.” She took a match and lit it on the sole of her boot. The flickering flame illuminated her wicked smile as she touched the flame to the candle wick, withdrew it, and shook the match out.

“That’s pretty, Annie,” Calamity Jan said. “The candle will slowly burn down to the rope, which will then catch fire; burn through; and allow the gatlin’ gun to blast Batgirl into her own personal sunset.” She settled her hands on her hips and looked over the lethal arrangement while Okie Annie straightened.

“You don’t seriously expect to get away with this, do you?” Batgirl asked.

“We don’t expect you to be doing anything about it.” Okie Annie replied.

“That’s fer sure,” the other blonde agreed. “We’d better mosey, Annie. Shame will be waitin’ to head for them thar hills. Adios, Batgirl!”

“Shame on both of you. How will shooting me in cold blood enhance your boss’s reputation?” Batgirl raged, shaking her bound arms and the cell door to which she was tightly tied.

“Well, Batgirl,” Okie Annie said, “folks whose opinion Shame cares about won’t give a hoot, just so long as you’re dead. Happy trails.”

With mocking curtsies and wicked laughter, Shame’s fiancé and his mistress took their leave of Batgirl. The heroine focused on the deadly ring of gun barrels aimed at her abdomen and the flickering flame inexorably burning away the candle.

A puddle of wax had formed around the candle’s base. Batgirl felt sweat trickle along her spine as she wondered how long it would be before her body would be torn to pieces in an eruption of flying, hot lead.

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