WHILE THE CAT’S WHISKERS HAVE YET TO COMPLETELY CRUSH BATGIRL, BATWOMAN, FLAMEBIRD AND ROBIN, THE TERRIBLE TENDRILS’ EVIL EMBRACE CLOSES MORE TIGHTLY AS TIME PASSES!
WILL THE SINISTER, SILVER STRANDS LEAVE ROBIN AND HIS COMELY COMPANIONS BOUND AND BREATHLESS?
OR, CAN CATWOMAN’S VICTIMS DEFEAT HER DEADLY CONTRAPTION?
HOLD YOUR BREATH, IF YOU CARE FOR OUR HEROES!
DIRE DEEDS HAVE YET TO BE DONE!
Author’s Note: SteveZ originally devised the trap currently threatening our heroes.
“Holy . . . Ghoulish . . . Grip! This stuff . . . is as thin as fishing line . . . or dental floss, but . . . I can’t . . . break it!” Robin complained.
“It . . . bends,” Batwoman said, thrashing. “Yet, Catwoman
“There has to be something we can do,” Flamebird said. “It sounded from all that quoting Catwoman did that you’ve had experience with this stuff, Batgirl.”
“I have— twice. Last time Catwoman caught me investigating her hideout at the Krazy Kitty Krispies Kat Kakes Kompany warehouse and wound me into her wicked whiskers to die. That variety reacted to movement.”
“So, you remained motionless,” Flamebird guessed.
“Unfortunately, Catwoman made that strategy impossible. I was, however, able to summon aid.”
“That won’t work . . . this time,” Robin said. “Catwoman told me . . . she’s jamming your signal . . . somehow.”
“What about *wheeze* your first . . . experience, Batgirl?” Batwoman queried.
“I remember . . . that story,” Robin said, as his muscular chest strained to obtain air. “Catwoman . . . ambushed you . . . on Karnaby Katz’s front lawn. He’s the devil-may-care men’s clothing designer . . . from Londinium. Those . . . Cat’s Whiskers sounded . . . just like these.”
“That’s right, Robin. I managed to use my surroundings to save myself,” Batgirl explained.
“Then, you were outside. This is a typical Catlair. There are curtains, cushions, cat statues, and a throne for Catwoman on a dais,” Flamebird observed. “I don’t see how any of those things can help us.”
“None . . . of those things . . . will help us,” Batwoman agreed in a very quiet voice. She couldn’t take in enough air to generate any volume. “We’re indoors . . . and underground.”
“What difference does that make?” Flamebird asked, grimacing as the Cat’s Whisker tightened noticeably against her body. Before long she would be in as bad a shape as Batwoman and Robin.
“It’s cooler in here than it might be outside,” Batgirl said.
“So . . . this stuff . . . will crush us more slowly,” Robin grimly said, with far fewer decibels than just seconds before.
“That fact . . . probably only . . . adds to . . . Catwoman’s enjoyment,” Batwoman remarked.
“True,” Batgirl firmly said, “but Catwoman has inadvertently given us extra time to devise an escape. Let’s not waste that opportunity.”
“I just thought of something,” Flamebird said. “This stuff will go on constricting for a while, even after it’s killed us!”
“Then . . . focusing on . . . an escape
“Nothing . . . will be gained by . . . getting discouraged,” Robin cautioned.
“I’m sorry,” Flamebird said. “I can’t help myself.” The young crimefighter was despondent over her role as “evil Flamebird.” ‘This is all my fault!’
Silently, despite her colleagues’ good advice, she considered their predicament’s implications further. ‘The Cat’s Whiskers will keep contracting until our corpses reach room temperature! After it strangles me, it will slice inexorably through my costume and flesh. My muscles will be cut through and blood will ooze from the wounds. Then, pressure will be applied to my bones and they will be slowly crushed, their jagged edges slicing my internal organs and what was left of my muscles and flesh to pieces! It’s all too torturous and hideous!! There HAS to be a way out!’
“We’re in a condo,” Batgirl said, gasping for breath. She, too, was now starting to suffer from the effects of the terrible twine. She hardened the muscles of her arms and shifted so she could breathe more easily.
“Holy . . . Regulations! I’m sure residents . . . aren’t supposed . . . to set up deathtraps like this in their homes!”
“You may . . . have just hit . . . upon the answer, Robin!” Batwoman said.
“I didn’t seriously mean . . . we should sic the condominium owners’ association on Catwoman!”
“No . . . but there are federal regulations . . . we might use to our advantage!” Batwoman suggested.
“Holy . . . Red Tape!”
“How will a federal case cool these Cat’s Whiskers and make them expand instead of contract?” Flamebird asked.
“Fire codes!” Batgirl excitedly said. “This condo must have a sprinkler system!”
“Good . . . thinking, Batgirl,” Batwoman praised. Then, however, her hopes fell. “But . . . how are we going to reach
“I’ve got an idea!” Batgirl said, suddenly remembering the collars Catwoman had used against her and Lieutenant Mooney two nights previously. She had spent some time before work reducing their potency and circumference as well as replacing their pressure sensitive triggers with switches before adding them to the arsenal she carried around her waist, confident of their effectiveness and that she could safely carry them.
Doing such modifications herself was part of the price she paid for picking up crime fighting gear secondhand. Batman somehow seemed able to finance research and development for his unique and specialized equipment. ‘He must be a millionaire or something,’ she thought. She was amazed at how little time had passed between the acquisition of Catwoman’s explosive collars and the moment Batgirl called upon the items to save her life.
Batgirl’s challenge would be to reach one of the collars. She relaxed and felt a Cat’s Whisker constricting against her shoulder.
“I’ll have to hurry, though . . . .” Batgirl said.
She turned her head and moved her shoulders slightly, so she could focus on the Cat’s Whiskers tightening against her hips. She twisted her waist and began to slide her belt around so one compartment was close to the Cat’s Whisker against which her hip had been brushing. ‘If I can open that compartment, we'll have a slim chance, but if the Cat’s Whiskers immobilize my lower body, we’re all finished!’
“What . . . are you . . . doing?’ Flamebird asked.
“I just might be able to reach something in my utility belt. If I can get it, this item will start those sprinklers . . . or kill us all!” Batgirl said.
She relaxed and risked releasing a breath. The Cat’s Whisker wedged between her costume and the bottom of her belt as the sinister strand constricted further against her chest. She did her best to move away from the whisker and felt the strand drawn more tightly against her belt. “Now!” Batgirl said, exhaling audibly and bending her knees to scoot a few inches across the floor. The compartment of her belt tore open!
“I . . . can . . . barely . . . breathe,” Robin said.
“Keep some air in your lungs at all times,” Batgirl advised. “No deep breaths.”
Try pushing . . . the Cat’s Whiskers . . . away from your chest,” Batwoman instructed. Such an effort had helped her a little.
“Th-Thanks,” Robin weakly said.
Batgirl squirmed in her bonds, drawing a telescoping pointer from its place on her utility belt. She held the implement between her body and the constricting Cat’s Whiskers, relaxing so that the whisker slid beneath the flattened tip of the pointer. “Good,” she murmured. A slight tug at the Cat’s Whisker beside her hand drew the tip of the pointer upward.
“How will . . . that pointer . . . help us, Batgirl?” Flamebird asked.
“I need it to draw something else out of my belt,“ Batgirl explained. “Now, I need as much slack as we can get in these Cat’s Whiskers. Could all of you please move as close to me as you can?”
Batwoman, Flamebird, and Robin all edged closer to their purple-clad partner.
“Thanks.” She wiggled in her bonds, extending the pointer, using the constricting Cat’s Whiskers, until she could grip her tool with her hand. “Now, our escape gets easier,” Batgirl said.
“How . . . will that . . . save us?” Flamebird asked.
“Watch. I should be able to open this compartment,” Batgirl muttered, deftly extracting the pointer from beneath the sinister strand and prodding the place on her hip where the explosive she had worn while lying on Catwoman’s trebuchet resided. Seconds later, with meticulous care, Batgirl slid the explosive collar along the pointer and into her hand.
“Okay . . . now . . . how will . . . that collar . . . help?” Batwoman curiously asked.
“It’s laced with C4 and I've just activated the collar's pressure sensitive trigger. I’m hoping to detonate it and turn on the sprinklers.”
“Hurry,” Robin said, so softly as to barely be audible. “I . . . can’t . . . breathe.”
“He’s . . . right,” Batwoman agreed. “I don’t think I can last . . . much longer . . . against these ghoulish garrotes.”
Batgirl looked at Flamebird with concern. Although the young heroine had been the last to be placed into the trap, she now seemed to be fading fast. Behind her goggles, Flamebird's eyes were closed.
“Flamebird!” Batgirl nearly shouted. “Ready to get out of here?”
The blonde's eyes fluttered open. “Never . . . readier.”
”I’ve got one chance to do this. Here we go!” Batgirl flung the collar at the ceiling. She turned her head as the device exploded in a plume of flame.
Robin’s ears rang as the shock of the explosion tore at the Cat’s Whiskers surrounding him. Batwoman could feel the heat constrict the strands tightly around her. She tried to inhale, but found she could not!
“Can’t . . . breathe!” Flamebird said, expelling all of the air from her lungs and feeling the slack in the Cat’s Whiskers being taken up as they contracted!
‘I failed!’ Batgirl bitterly thought. She, too, found it impossible to take in any air! ‘Catwoman’s Cat’s Whiskers have tightened against us to the point where our chests cannot expand at all!!’ She wondered how long she’d have to suffer before unconsciousness . . . .
Batgirl closed her eyes, but suddenly became aware of a roar that completely overwhelmed her senses. The roar was accompanied by a numbing sensation that completely enveloped her.
‘Is this death?’ she wondered.
“Batgirl!” a male voice called.
“Batgirl, are you all right?” a female voice urgently said.
“What?” Batgirl absently asked. She opened her eyes and inhaled instinctively. To her great surprise, she felt the sweet sensation of air filling her lungs. Batgirl vowed she would never, ever, take breathing for granted again.
Someone was supporting her and pulling expanded strands of Cat’s Whiskers away from her body. “Batwoman?”
“The explosion from the collar worked!” the yellow-clad heroine explained. “The cold water made the Cat’s Whiskers expand instead of contract. We were able to extricate ourselves from Catwoman’s trap.”
“I thought we’d had it there, for a minute,” Batgirl admitted. She took in her drenched surroundings and saw Robin helping Flamebird from the cruelly constricting coils.
“I’m so sorry, Robin. If I hadn’t gotten captured, Catwoman could never have used me to catch you. You almost died and it was my fault.”
“No it wasn’t, Flamebird. I’ve been a victim of Catwoman’s drug myself. She administered Cataphrenic and manipulated you while you were under its influence. Come on. Batwoman has gotten Batgirl free. Let’s get out this awful place.” As Robin spoke, he helped the Girl Wonder to her feet.
“Shouldn’t we search it?”
“Blaze let it slip that they’re going to hit the Federal Depository Building,” Batwoman said. “I think we’ve given them enough of a head start.”
“She also said she planned to tell Batman where he would be able to find our bodies,” Batgirl said. “A call to him on the Batphone might also be a good idea.”
His adventure had begun when Bruce Wayne discovered some of his rich friends imagined they had misplaced some of their most valuable belongings. He had realized the items had vanished when these socialites and captains of industry had been away from their well-protected homes. Bruce had compiled a list of missing items and realized the items had grown progressively more valuable as the disappearances continued.
Suspicious, Bruce, as Batman, had begun to look for a connection among the victims of what he was convinced were robberies. The link he had found proved to be a recently opened health club called Elysian Elegance.
The Dark Knight’s investigation of that facility had brought him to a large room where some of the more recently stolen items were displayed with signed paperwork documenting ownership transfers. “Diabolical,” he had murmured. “These have all been forged.”
“It is pretty smart, Batman,” a female voice had said. “When all is said and done, everything will appear perfectly legal and above-board.”
Batman had spun to regard a young woman with long, brown hair framing her pretty face as it cascaded to her shoulders before curling outward. She had regarded him, leaning decoratively against the door jamb wearing a white leotard, matching sweat pants, and tennis shoes. He had recognized her without reading the name stitched into her athletic wear.
“Aphrodite,” he had said. “I had hoped you would have given up your former criminal ways.”
“I might have too, except when the boss came to me with her latest scheme, it seemed so lucrative . . . and she said she couldn’t pull it off without my artistic talents,” the criminal’s athletic assistant had explained. As she continued speaking, Aphrodite had regarded the Caped Crusader with a conspiratorial smile. “Listen. Not all of the benefits have to be financial, handsome. If you’d let me, I’ll show you some non-financial benefits to crime. I know you’re a busy guy, but I don’t see you with much else to do right now.”
“You’re very attractive, Aphrodite, and while some might be flattered by your generosity–”
Aphrodite had moved toward him and reached her arms to his shoulders. “Won’t you even consider–”
“I cannot allow myself to give in to temptation–”
His voice had seemed to trail away as the henchwoman had drawn his mouth to hers and kissed him. Her body had pressed slowly against his.
“. . . however attractive it may be,” the Caped Crusader had concluded breathlessly, after the kiss broke.
“Are you sure?” she had asked, her eyes sparkling, as she looked up at him.
“I am positive, Aphrodite. The lure of easy money can be very seductive, but must be resisted.” As Batman had spoke, he stepped away from her, holding her back at arm’s length.
“Minerva was right!” Aphrodite had fumed. “You really aren’t human!”
“Don’t feel bad, Aphrodite, dahling,” the beautiful, Hungarian arch-criminal had said, leading a trio of muscular goons into the room. “Batman is renowned for resisting the considerable charms of some of the most beautiful villainesses in the world. He is utterly devoted to his crime-fighting crusade. Such devotion is admirable, however unfortunate—for him!”
“Boss, if you don’t mind my asking, how did Batman fare against you?”
“I do not pick up men, dahling,” her mistress admonished gently. “Men pick me up.”
“I see,” Aphrodite responded, frowning as her voice hardened. “Well, you’re right about one thing. Batman will regret rejecting me.”
“Ladies, however focused my crime fighting may be,” Batman had said, regarding Aphrodite, “I would be less than honest if I did not point out the temptations I have resisted both tonight and in the past were very real and that whatever I may have accomplished was not easy.” He had favored the brown-haired beauty with a smile before turning his attention to her mistress. “Minerva,” Batman had gone on, “I should have realized you would be behind a series of thefts centered around a health club, but I was not aware you had been released from prison.”
Minerva had grinned. “Warden Crichton began to use the exercise room I managed during the prisoners’ off hours. I was able to ‘persuade’ him to release me from prison early and keep my release from you and the Commissioner.”
“More of your malevolent mind control?” Batman had surmised.
“Of course. My release from prison was only the beginning. The dahling men and women who donated all of this lovely loot became very cooperative after just a few of my enhanced – and renamed – eggplant jelly vitamin scalp massages,” she had explained.
“I appreciate your admitting to your crimes so readily.”
“Not at all, Batman, dahling. Your arrival was anticipated. I am sorry our attempt to recruit you was unsuccessful. The alternative can be so . . . unpleasant.”
“I strongly doubt your discomfort will keep you from trying to carry out your sinister plans, whatever they may be,” Batman had said.
“As you can imagine, Batman, dahling, the early stages of my operation are going too successfully for me to allow you to interfere.”
“I plan to do more than that, Minerva. I’m putting a stop to your criminal scheme right now. You and all of your associates are under arrest.”
“You think so?” the blonde beauty had asked, with a laugh. “I’m sure Apollo, Adonis, and Atlas will persuade you otherwise. Get him, boys!” Minerva and Aphrodite had retreated as the three Greek goons surrounded the Caped Crusader.
Batman had moved his head to avoid the first blow from Atlas and stepped forward, out of reach of his other opponents, to counterattack. Blue fists had impacted the hapless thug and left him on his knees, gasping. Batman had turned and felt the other two begin to rain blows on him. They had been strong, but Batman had known he was the more experienced fighter. In order to win, Batman had known he would have to disable his opponents before they could wear him down completely.
Adonis’ defenses had collapsed and the thug felt himself flying backward until the wall had gotten in his way. Batman and Apollo had begun circling one another, each probing the other with jabs, while Atlas and Adonis had regrouped.
Batman had engaged Apollo in a bruising series of combinations that had taken the thug out of the fight, but had cost Batman a considerable amount of energy.
“Breathing heavy, aren’t you, Batman?” Adonis had asked.
“You know you’re going to lose,” Atlas had said. “Give it up, Batman.”
“We’ll see,” Batman had said, gripping the man and spinning him into his partner, toppling both of them. He had let his hands fall to his bent knees and rested, as the muscular thugs had regained their feet and angrily charged. Batman had dodged the wild haymakers his opponents had launched, enabling each to clobber the other with staggering force. Batman had attacked Adonis before the thug could recover from his partner’s blow and the scientific combination Batman had delivered had left the gorgeous faux Greek moaning on the floor.
“Looks like it’s down to you and me,” Atlas had said.
“Come on,” Batman had challenged.
The thug had accepted the invitation and regretted it almost instantly, since the Dark Knight was ready. Batman’s hands had moved along the punching lanes swiftly as he landed blow after blow, blocking the majority of the counterpunches. Soon Atlas had sagged and Batman had finished him with an uppercut that had lifted him into the air and brought him to the floor with a loud smack.
With a glance at the fallen thugs, Batman had begun to approach Minerva again. “So much for your men, Minerva. Now, it’s your turn.”
“As delighted as I would be to place myself in your custody, dahling, I think you’ll find I’ve not yet begun to fight. Aphrodite!”
“A very famous quote, Minerva,” Batman had begun. He was cut short when something had shattered at his feet. Batman had turned to Aphrodite who had circled behind him and flung a second small glass bottle to the floor, where it, too, shattered.
“Come and get it, Batman,” the henchwoman had invited with a wicked smile.
Batman had stepped toward her and realized too late he could not avoid stepping into the contents of the bottles Aphrodite had shattered. His foot had slipped as he stepped from the puddle of goop and Batman had fallen heavily to the floor. He had tried to stand immediately, but could not. He had fallen again.
“It’s massage oil, Batman,” Aphrodite had explained. “I guarantee you’ll be more comfortable after you realize it’s already rendered you helpless. You see, one way or another, I’m going to get my hands on you.” She grinned at him, licked her lips, and laughed.
“I’ll not give in,” Batman had said. He had tried unsuccessfully to rise again and again until one of the falls made him hit his head. Minerva and Aphrodite had laughed as the Caped Crusader’s consciousness slipped away.
“Welcome back, Batman, dahling,” Minerva said. “According to my measurements, you are six feet, one and one-half inches tall at the beginning of this exercise we’re about to begin.”
“That is correct,” Batman said.
“Not for much longer,” Aphrodite said, her voice betraying amusement. “You’re about to get much taller.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve installed you on a traction table, dahling,” Minerva explained. “Once we turn it on, it will begin to stretch your spine. Very slowly, your vertebrae will separate. Shortly afterward, the machine will begin to really damage you.”
“You’ll leave the machine running?” the Caped Crusader questioned, horror-stricken.
“Naturally,” the foreign fiend continued. “When the bone is stretched apart, the nerves in the spinal column will be drawn taut, like the strings on an instrument. Slowly, very slowly in fact, the nerves will stretch, weaken . . . and break! Not all at once, you understand, but the weaker nerves first. Later, the stronger nerves will be snapped. In the end–”
“I’ll be paralyzed.”
“Permanently, never to fight crime, or do much of anything else, again.”
“Such a waste, really,” Aphrodite lamented.
“These little sacrifices must be made, dahling. Now, see to the controls.”
Aphrodite moved to a panel and began manipulating knobs. After a moment the surface to which Batman’s waist was strapped began to move back and forth slowly, in metal tracks. The springs inside these tracks stretched and compressed more rapidly as Aphrodite adjusted the speed of the mechanism and regarded her victim with a wicked grin.
“Good,” Minerva said after a moment. “Any last words, while you remain intact, Batman, dahling?”
“Just that you will never get away with this, even if I am disabled. Also, crime does not pay!”
“We’ll see about that, Batman,” Minerva said jubilantly. “With you out of the way, one more obstacle in my ultimate scheme will have been removed. Power beckons, the likes of which Gotham City has never known . . . and soon it will all be mine,” she said dreamily. “Mine!” she repeated. “I tell you, it’s the most exciting feeling I’ve ever experienced.”
Batman could feel the device working against the rigid resistance of his spine already. “Power is a dangerous thing, Minerva. It corrupts and must be wielded wisely to be effective.”
“What do you know about it, you doomed dahling? Come, Aphrodite. Let’s go. There is nothing else to see here.” With a laugh the Hungarian beauty led the way to the door.
The other woman glanced over her shoulder. “You really should have accepted my offer,” she said wistfully, just before the door closed and locked.
Batman felt the bones of his back shift slightly as some of the resistance the machine combated was overcome and wondered how painful the process would be in the end.
“Did you find Flamebird?” Chief O’Hara anxiously asked. Lieutenant Mooney had briefed her superiors on the events the night before at the Gotham West Towers Hotel. Now, she and O’Hara were coordinating the department’s response to Catwoman’s crime wave with the Commissioner.
“Yes, she’s fine, no thanks to Catwoman,” Batwoman informed him.
Just then, the Commissioner’s double doors admitted Batman. “Minerva is back, Commissioner,” he announced.
“Minerva?” the public official repeated. “How do you know?”
Batman described the adventure that had led him to Minerva’s torturous traction table. Batgirl arrived just as he described how he had been left to his fate.
“What a gruesome trap!” Batwoman exclaimed.
“I agree,” said the Commissioner. “The victim might survive it, however, which could protect Minerva against a murder charge.”
“Yes,” Batgirl agreed, “fighting crime from a wheelchair would be very different from what we all do now.”
Chief O’Hara asked the question on everyone’s mind. “So, Caped Crusader, how did you ever get yourself out of that diabolical device?”
“Well,” Batman answered, “as I said, Minerva had taken my shirt, belt, cape, and boots, while Aphrodite had set the machine to work on my spine at a fairly rapid pace. I imagine they guessed I had the stamina to resist their cruel efforts for a time.”
Another problem had been his having embarked upon his investigation on his own. No one, not even Alfred, had had any idea where he was. To escape the sinister ensnarement threatening him, he had known he would only have himself upon whom to rely. He had also known the limits of his physical endurance, which would, once they had elapsed, compel him to endure the end Minerva had envisioned for him.
A fact in his favor had been the means of his literal destruction were mechanical. Carefully, he had examined the moving parts of the machine beneath him. They had been neither enclosed, nor protected in any discernable way. As he had watched, a chain like that of a bicycle was drawn in one direction and then the other over gears that regulated the straps pulling tirelessly and inexorably at his spine.
These straps had been vulnerable. With time, he had felt he would have likely been able to work slack into them so that he could free his hands. While use of his hands might bring him closer to freedom, this prospect had offered no guarantees. The traction table controls had been too far away from the table for Batman to reach them. Also, even after his hands had been freed, the machine would continue performing its fiendish function.
Everything driving the mechanism had been made of metal, so damaging it would be challenging. Yet, Batman had thought, ‘the gears might be attacked.’
He had recalled similar contraptions, which had been set to kill him in the past. The Joker had installed him on a machine designed to cut him into a human skeleton key with a gear-driven blade. Ironically, a spare house key he carried in his utility belt had saved him from that particularly horrific fate. Also, when he had first encountered Britannia, she had bound him to the gears of the British monument, Big Ben, intending for the great clock to measure his final seconds on Earth before grinding him to pieces. A sticky spray he carried in his utility belt had saved him then, leaving the historical monument undamaged after his escape. Neither of these experiences could help him this time, however, since Minerva had made a point of depriving him of the miraculous wonders his utility belt supplied.
Nevertheless, she had hardly been the first supervillain to leave him to die without his utility belt. He, like Batgirl, carried an assortment of useful items in his gloves and boots. ‘I may have one slim chance,’ he had thought, as he imagined the bones in his spine being drawn even further apart. ‘I’ve got to reach one of the objects in my gloves.’
To this end, he had begun trying to slide his forearms forward through the strap that had bound his wrists. He had had to pause in his task whenever the mechanism pulled at his spine. The rest of the time, however, the traction table had aided Batman in his escape efforts. This fact was just as well, since time had been of the essence.
Gradually, his arms had inched forward and his fingers had curled back to tug gently at a gleaming lock pick, which had slowly been extracted from its place in his glove. Holding this implement, Batman had watched the exposed gears of the merciless mechanism. He had slid the lock pick through his fingers to get it into position, and had let it drop at what he imagined had been the appropriate moment.
‘Will the pick bounce off of the gears and be lost to me?’ he had wondered.
Batman had watched, holding his breath, as the lock pick had fallen into one notch of the gears, which had wound toward the point where the gear holding the lock pick would mesh with a second gear. The device had clicked repeatedly until the lock pick had slid into a groove in the second gear, thus stopping the first gear from filling the gap. The mechanism, mercifully, had paused in its torturous task and the gears had begun to tremble as the machine’s repeated attempts to go on operating continued.
“Yes!” Batman had enthused, as both gears had begun to loosen the bolts holding them as they quivered. He had begun to assess what damage the machine might have done to him physically, by flexing muscles and twitching his limbs experimentally. He had quickly determined he had not been badly hurt.
The mechanism beneath him had soon collapsed and stopped moving.
“It didn’t take me long to cut myself loose,” Batman continued. “I shut the machine off to prevent it from starting a fire, spent a few minutes in a conveniently close-by sauna, dressed, and began searching for the crooks. They, however, had left their hideout, no doubt for some nefarious reason.”
“Minerva and her minions might be robbing another millionaire this very moment!” Batgirl said.
“My thoughts exactly,” the Dark Knight said. “Commissioner, you may soon be getting a phone call from Minerva’s next victim.”
Just then Commissioner Gordon’s phone rang.
“Holy Delphic Divination!”
The public official lifted the phone. “Commissioner Gordon speaking,” he said.
“Hello, Commissioner. Aren’t you a bit old to be up so late? I was expecting to talk to my good friend Diana.”
“Catwoman! You . . . you–”
“Bitch,” Lieutenant Mooney supplied.
The Commissioner glared at the younger woman. He would never use such language in his office . . . or anywhere else, for that matter. Still, he understood the Lieutenant’s feelings.
Gordon returned his attention to the target of Mooney’s antipathy. “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me here again! What do you want now?”
“I have a little tip for Batman. If he wants to find his colleagues, they’re a little tied up at the Catacombs Condominium Subterranean Suite Six. I’m afraid when he arrives, he’ll be too late, unless he really hurries,” the Feline Felon purred.
“Is there anything else, you murderous . . . murderess?”
“Not just now, Commissioner. I’ll be in touch,” she promised, laughing until the connection broke.
“Catwoman has escaped?” Batman asked. He had wondered why all his crimefighting cohorts were congregating at the Commissioner’s office.
“Yes,” Robin confirmed, “and somehow she’s back in Tara Kaat’s body.”
Batwoman faced the Commissioner. “So, she told you we were dead already?”
“Or about to be so. I could send a squad to look for clues, but I’m afraid she’s bluffing, diverting Batman while she commits the crime that will conclude her current criminal campaign.”
“That was only part of her plan, Commissioner,” Batgirl said. “The manner of our murder would have been a nasty surprise for Batman.”
“I’ll send a squad car,” Chief O’Hara said. “The crooks don’t usually invite a forensics team to the scene of one of their bizarre attempted murders before they’re captured.”
“Good idea, Chief,” Lieutenant Mooney said.
“We might be able to surprise Catwoman,” Robin suggested. “We’ll have to hurry, but we might catch her at the Catlair to which I was lured, before she strikes.”
“Good thinking, Robin!” Flamebird praised.
“I’ll go to the Federal Depository Building in case you miss her.”
“Right, Batgirl,” Batman said. “Let’s go, Robin. To the Batmobile!”
“We’ll come with you and back you up, Batgirl.” Batwoman offered. She turned to Flamebird. “I brought your Bat-Gyro here by remote control.”
“I’ll be glad for the help,” said Batgirl enthusiastically.
“Come on!” Flamebird urged. “Let’s go!”
“Whoever, whenever and wherever you find her, let us know,” Lieutenant Mooney called as the five costumed crimefighters raced out the door. “I’m personally escorting the paddy wagon when we catch her!”
“Your enthusiasm is commendable, Lieutenant,” Chief O’Hara said.
“I’m glad we have the help against Catwoman,” Commissioner Gordon said. “We can cope with any investigation following a crime, but with Batman, Robin, Batgirl, Batwoman, and Flamebird, we have a chance to succeed at proactive crime fighting.”
“Their help cuts down on the chances of our case getting tied up in red tape,” Lieutenant Mooney agreed.
“Begorra! It makes these rare all-nighters worthwhile,” Chief O’Hara observed.
“That’s up to you, Catwoman,” the sexy socialite said. “I’m just happy to help you out. If you paid me, I’d be an accessory, or a co-conspirator, or something. I’m not playing your game for the money. It’s fun.”
“Well, I think a little something in your casino account might compensate you for your trouble,” Catwoman thoughtfully said. “There is rrrisk, after all. Besides, my former hench-kitten, Puffy, is a dealer here. I’ll have a word with her and she’ll see that you win some money.”
“Thank you,” Lisa said, shrugging. “I guess you can afford to be generous, if you’ve really gotten rid of Batman’s allies and sent him to take care of the bodies. Is there anything you’re still worried about?”
“Nothing of consequence, my dear. With Batman all alone, brrroken and defeated, and the others out of my way, there is nothing in the world that can stop me.” Catwoman laughed. “Nothing!”
“All right,” Lisa said, her mouth widening into a smile as her eyes narrowed. “How about ten percent of the profit?”
“I’ll give you five purr-cent and the prrromise of a bonus if the take is more than I estimate.”
“Done.”
“Purr-fect. I’d best be going to have a word with Puffy. Thank you again for all of your help.”
Later that evening in the casino, Lisa Carson won a great deal of money from a tall, leggy African-American dealer.
Meanwhile, Catwoman pulled the Catillac beside a trio of trucks within sight of, yet concealed from, the Federal Depository Building’s security perimeter. Blaze, Gunner, and Blaster joined her after she slid from the car.
”All right, cats, tell me about the pre-purr-ations.”
“The fence is mined, boss,” Blaster said.
“You can blow it whenever you want,” Gunner added. “The wall beyond it is all that’s between us and the vault.”
“Of course, we have everything we need to penetrate it as though it were made of cardboard,” Blaze enthused. She lifted a briefcase and tapped it significantly. “The diversion you wanted to cover our escape is also prepared.”
“Show me,” Catwoman purred.
Blaze bent over the case and manipulated a combination dial. “If the settings are wrong when this case opens, it will blow and leave very little of the unfortunate soul who tried to open it,“ she explained, opening the case. An array of wires and explosives confronted them. “If this bomb is placed anywhere near anything flammable, volatile, or a major heat source, it will be powerful enough to take out the entire building.”
“You’re going to kill everyone, as well as steal the money?” Blaster asked. He was surprised, as that was certainly out of character for his boss.
“Of course not,” Catwoman said. “Still, I’m sure I’ll get maximum coop-purr-ation when I rrreveal the place is in jeopardy.”
“What does that remote control do for us?” Gunner asked.
“It lets me go on using the threat of the explosion long after we’ve left the prrremises. Just in case,” Catwoman explained, taking the device. “You see, Batman would never allow innocents to be harmed, so if we do encounter him, we’ll be able to manipulate him purr-fectly. Even that cursed Lieutenant or those idiots Gordon and O’Hara would think twice before forcing me to blow up the whole building.”
“So, we blast our way in, grab the loot, get out, and head for the Catlair in New Gurnsey, where we divvy up the spoils.”
“Precisely, Blaze. Close the case and hand it over. We’ll blow the fence at dawn.”
“Why wait?” Gunner asked.
“Because I said so!” Catwoman answered angrily. She didn’t abide being questioned by the hired help. Then, for the sake of team morale, she calmed. “Besides, it’s in just a few minutes and the best time to hit the place from a psychological standpoint.”
They all took cover behind the vehicles and Catwoman’s hands curled around the plunger that would initiate her next catastrophic caper, caressing it eagerly as she waited.
As sirens sounded and feet pounded toward the intrusion, a gesture from their mistress bid Gunner and Blaster to raise shoulder mounted missile launchers and fire at the wall in front of them. Two projectiles penetrated the wall before twin explosions blasted the visible portion of the wall away from the metal shell of the vault beyond, which the heat and the force of the explosion caused to crumple inward.
Catwoman laughed triumphantly as her men attached chains to the front bumpers of their trucks and a pair of industrial-strength magnets Blaze quickly carried to the crumpled wall. She dropped the magnets and activated a cutting torch with a flame as long as a light saber and began to penetrate the damaged vault wall. Once Blaze had cut the metal from the aperture the explosions had caused, she attached the magnets which the trucks pulled back, thus detaching the obstruction from the newly created means of egress.
Catwoman drove her truck over the mangled fence and through the hole she had blown in the vault wall, pulling far forward to leave room for her minions to park. Blaze had followed her in when Catwoman slid from the driver’s seat of her truck.
“You did it, boss!” Blaze gleefully praised. “We’re rich!”
“Of course I did it, Blaze! I’ve been planning this job for seven years.” She laughed. “Originally, I was going to hit this place with the Joker, but I realized how su-purr-fluous his assistance would be in the end. Now, let’s get this money into these trucks and see that every scrap of luscious loot is packed away.”
“You got it, boss!” Catwoman’s colorful henchwoman enthused. As they began to work, the men arrived with the other trucks and began to help load the money. When the first truck was filled, Catwoman motioned Blaze to the hole where she had been keeping watch.
“Take over for me while I see to the diverrrsion I’ve planned to coverrr our escape. The opposition seems to be orrrganizing.”
“Right, boss.”
Catwoman snatched the briefcase containing the bomb she had prepared from the seat of the truck she had driven into the vault and moved toward the main vault door. She was surprised when it opened as she reached for it. When she saw why it had opened, Catwoman could only stare.
“Look at this,” Batgirl said.
“It seems we’ve caught a cat,” Batwoman observed.
“It’s time to drag her off to jail,” Flamebird added.
“Impossible!” Catwoman managed to say, somehow regaining control of her jaw, which had gone slack and fallen open. “You’re dead! DEAD!! DEAD!!!” The Crime Queen barely remained in control of herself.
“Wrong, Catwoman,” Batgirl said.
“We’re all very much alive,” Batwoman added.
“We’re putting an end to your crime wave,” Flamebird said.
Catwoman had recovered from the shock of her victims confronting her and was revising her escape strategy as she moved the encounter toward its inevitably violent conclusion. “Well then, that situation will clearly have to be rrremedied,” she said, backing up and resuming her commanding demeanor. “Cats, these three stand between us and the untold rrriches for which we came. Annihilate them!”
When nothing separated the terrific-looking trio of heroines and Catwoman’s minions, Gunner and Blaster charged. Blaze hesitated until she realized Flamebird was racing toward her.
Both gargantuan goons reached for Batwoman and Batgirl’s throats and were surprised when their intended victims simultaneously brought their arms sharply downward and pulled the thugs’ hands apart. Letting go of the goons’ wrists, both heroines hit them with two body blows that doubled the men over. Purple and yellow boots thrust into the stunned men’s breadbaskets seconds before Batwoman and Batgirl seated themselves while grasping their attackers’ shoulders. Catwoman’s massive minions were torn from their feet and flew head over heels through the air. They hit the floor with a thunderous smack.
Flamebird saw Blaze turn and begin to run. The young heroine pursued until she could push the henchwoman, causing Blaze to pitch forward face first, spreading her arms to break her fall. Moments later, the lavender-haired lackey felt her wrists seized from behind, twisted behind her back, and secured with Batcuffs. “Consider yourself extinguished, Blaze!” Flamebird said.
“Flamebird, please give me a chance. I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”
“This isn’t personal, Blaze. Don’t worry. You’ll get a fair trial.”
Blaze rolled over and tried to protest, but Flamebird was already gone.
Catwoman ran deeper into the Federal Depository Building as her minions were dispatched. “Catwoman's getting away!” Flamebird cried, charging after the villainess.
Batgirl spotted the fleeing felon and darted after her. Blaster regained his feet and saw the two heroines pursuing his mistress. He extended one thick arm toward the chase and spun to bring his arm hard across Flamebird’s chest, knocking the Girl Wonder to the ground.
Batwoman, meanwhile, was viciously clobbering Gunner with her heel. Instead of collapsing to the floor, the thug straightened and grinned at his opponent. Batwoman inhaled. The thug took a swing at her and Batwoman dodged, spinning to ram an elbow into the thug’s battered lower body. She heard him grunt and felt him lean toward her slightly as she took his extended arm in both hands. Gunner was surprised when his opponent dropped to one knee and wrenched his arm forward. He felt himself snapped to the floor and was immediately aware of a gloved hand gripping his jaw and slamming his head to the floor several times. Gunner could only moan as Batwoman regained her feet.
Flamebird estimated Blaster weighed two or three hundred pounds more than she as he loomed over her. She bent her legs and began to scoot away from him as he grinned. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said. “Come on, little girl.”
Flamebird pushed her upper body upward and drew her upper leg to her chest. “Come and get it yourself,” she muttered.
“Oh, baby,” Blaster said, licking his lips; stepping toward the blonde beauty; and looming over her, as he drank in the sight of the crumpled, helpless heroine.
Flamebird let out a cry as she thrust her legs into the man’s groin as he bent toward her. Blaster gasped in pain and sank to his knees, reaching downward as Flamebird sprang into a low crouch and spun, extending one leg. Her boot heel slammed into the man’s face and dropped him audibly onto his back. She recovered her balance and moved to his position with a single stride, before stomping his head into the floor hard.
“Don’t ever call me ‘little girl!’”
Both Batwoman and Flamebird found themselves looking for more of Catwoman’s goons as they rolled Gunner and Blaster onto their stomachs and shackled their wrists behind their backs.
“Nice work, Flamebird,” Batwoman complimented.
“Nice work yourself, Batwoman. How do you think Batgirl is doing with Catwoman?”
“I’m sure we’ll find out, soon enough.” The heroines shook hands.
“So,” the Princess of Plunder said as Batgirl confronted her, “you’ve abandoned your colleagues to my minions tenderrr merrrcies. That decision was very unwise, Batgirrrl.”
“I think the fight will be fair enough, Catwoman,” the Curved Crusader disagreed. “Besides, Batwoman, Flamebird, and I all feel the point in thwarting this robbery was to capture you!” As Batgirl spoke, she inexorably approached her enemy.
“I see,” the fiendish Feline Felon purred. She indicated the briefcase she had set atop a barrel of flammable liquid inside an enclosure resembling a large prison cell. “Beforrre we dance, I should point out that brrriefcase contains a bomb I can detonate with the touch of a button.”
“You won’t do that while you’re in here,” Batgirl said sweetly, stepping toward the voluptuous villainess.
“I suppose not, but I have no intention of staying. You, however–”
”If you want to fight,” Batgirl said, “shut up and fight.”
Catwoman pulled out a golden pistol and aimed it at Batgirl. “That shouldn’t be necessary. The sonic beam in this gun can carrrve into you as easily as a hot knife slides through the high-prrriced sprrreads, purr-ticularly at close rrrange.” The villainess smiled, laughing. “I see no need to hurry the prrrocedure, either. I’ll savorrr your long, sweet scrrreams as though they werrre ambrrrosia.”
Batgirl’s hand suddenly shot out with the speed of a lightening bolt; seized Catwoman’s gun hand in a grip of steel; and pulled, twisting viciously. Catwoman yowled and the gun clattered to the floor, where Batgirl kicked it out of reach. “You talk too much,” Batgirl said, and flung the villainess to the floor. “Surrrrenderrr!” she demanded, mocking her adversary’s habit of rolling ‘r’s.
“I don’t think so,” Catwoman angrily replied. She leaped at Batgirl with a hiss, baring her clawed fingers, which Batgirl well knew were capable of ripping flesh to shreds.
Batgirl retreated a step and spun aside, avoiding the slash of Catwoman’s claws by mere inches. As momentum carried the Feline Fiend past her, Batgirl kicked at the villainess’ back, sending her to the floor once again, this time face first. “You’re welcome to reconsider, Catwoman,” Batgirl said, resting her hands on her knees as the petite, limber woman regained her feet.
“I’m going to cut you to pieces!” Catwoman raged, charging.
Batgirl sidestepped again and brought her stiff arm across her opponent’s shoulders, knocking Catwoman to the floor for yet a third time.
“I’m still unscathed, Catwoman,” Batgirl said, “but if you want to keep trying-”
Catwoman dove from a crouch and brought Batgirl down with a tackle. She rammed a knee into the purple-clad heroine’s crotch and was rewarded with a grunt. Batgirl felt her counterpunch swept aside and the tips of metal claws slide against her throat. “Get up!” Catwoman commanded.
As Batgirl obeyed, she was given no opportunity to regain the upper hand against her enemy. “By now Lieutenant Mooney knows where you are, Catwoman. You can do whatever you like to me, but the more time you spend here, the less chance you’ll have of escaping.”
“Purr-haps you’re rrright,” Catwoman said. “I don’t have the time to rrreally enjoy slicing you to rrribbons. Fortunately, this bomb will take carrre of you, at the same time it crrreates the purr-fect diversion and utterrrly destroys this building. Kindly step into the cage.” A shove propelled Batgirl inside the enclosure before Catwoman slammed the door shut, locking it.
Catwoman retreated to the elevator control switch as Batgirl turned to face her. Clawed fingers grasped the elevator’s master power switch and reactivated the room’s means of egress.
“Leaving so soon, Catwoman?” Batgirl said.
Before responding, the Princess of Plunder pulled a control from her belt and began pressing buttons. After a minute, she regarded her prisoner as though she had eaten a canary. “I’ve overstayed my welcome, but I want to leave you with something to remember me by, Batgirrrl. This control has engaged the timerrr on the bomb in that brrriefcase. In ten minutes, you and this building will be blown sky high . . . oh, and tamperrring with the lock on the case could easily brrring about your purr-sonal Arrrmageddon more quickly.” The avaricious African-American backed into the elevator that had carried her to the room. “Goodbye.” Catwoman laughed, but her eyes seemed to betray another emotion as the elevator doors began to close.
Batgirl had been pulling something from her belt as Catwoman spoke. ‘I’ve only got one chance!’ Batgirl thought. “Catwoman,” she said softly. The retreating rogue turned toward her captive in time to see a Batarang sever the electrical wires that powered the elevators, thus showering the floor harmlessly with sparks. “You’re not going anywhere!”
“What have you done?!” Catwoman demanded, sliding between the partially closed panel doors seconds after the elevator’s interior lights went out.
“Giving you a reason to help me disarm that bomb.”
Catwoman glowered at her opponent, then shrugged and smiled resignedly. “So, I guess if I want to go on living after nine minutes and the dwindling seconds–”
“Exactly.”
“You’ll need the combination to safely open the briefcase,” Catwoman said.
“Let’s have it.” Catwoman told Batgirl the combination. “Wait. Can’t you disarm the bomb with the remote control?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Catwoman said. Batgirl entered the combination, flipped the latches, then bent over the opened briefcase. She began to examine the bomb closely.
Catwoman unlocked the cage and stepped inside. She felt a shudder like electricity run through her body as she stood shoulder to shoulder with her erogenous adversary. For the first time ever in Tara’s body, she was working with Batgirl. “Let me do it. It’ll be quicker, since I built it.”
“Certainly,” Batgirl agreed.
The black-clad beauty held her breath as she bent to her task. Moments later, she straightened. “It’s deactivated.”
“Good work,” Batgirl complimented.
Catwoman looked up and realized her enemy had stepped from the cage and was closing the door on the villainess. “Stop! You can’t do this to me!” the dismayed desperado cried.
“That cage should hold you until Diana and the police can come and get you,” Batgirl said.
“Wrrrong, Batgirl,” Catwoman triumphantly began. “I have the key to that lock rrright—It’s . . . gone.”
“I decided it would be safer with me,” Batgirl said, displaying the key as Catwoman’s hand fell away from her belt.
“So, you’ve trapped me the way I trapped you moments ago.” Catwoman’s voice was very small as she spoke.
“Turnabout is fair play,” Batgirl said. “I’m glad the irony isn’t lost on you.”
Catwoman regarded Batgirl with half a smile and half a frown. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a vicious mean strrreak?”
Batgirl clipped a pair of cables from her belt to the wires her Batarang had severed. Lights inside the elevators came on and all of the panel doors closed. “Call it a character flaw,” Batgirl said. “I may have never been
called a friendly, neighborhood superheroine, but at least I haven’t
reactivated that bomb by remote control.”
“I suppose that’s something,” Catwoman replied thoughtfully, as Batgirl vanished into an elevator, which promptly began ascending. “Wait! Batgirl, when you’re in your right mind, you’d never try to murder anyone, not even me!”
There was no response to Catwoman’s shouted revelation. “Ah, well,” she said out loud with a shrug.
The cunning criminal smiled slyly as she reached into the other side of her belt. Her grin widened when her claws found for what they were searching. “Too bad Batgirrrl doesn’t know . . . I always carrrry a skeleton key!”
As Catwoman escaped, she reached a decision. “I’m tired of fooling around with amateurs. It’s time I recruited some major league help . . . .’
It was the final paragraph of the story, however, that really caught her attention . . .
“Betty!” she yelled.
Her twenty-year old niece soon appeared from around the corner. She yawned and sleepily asked, “What is it, Aunt Kathy?”
Kathy Kane struggled to contain herself. It was a losing battle. “I just read in the paper that Flamebird has been confirmed as the special guest at the annual PVC and Latex Convention in upstate Gotham!”
Betty grabbed the newspaper from her aunt’s hands. “It made the paper? Great!”
The Networld executive glared at her late brother’s only child. Betty grinned sheepishly. “Ah. You’re upset. I suppose I should have told you. I made the promise to appear while I was ‘evil Flamebird.’ Now, I can hardly go back on my word, can I?”
Kathy Kane could think of absolutely nothing to say.
Batman, however, was nowhere near the Batcave and, regardless, was unable to respond to a summons on the Batphone. He lay shirtless on his stomach with his parallel arms outstretched and strapped at the wrists. Other straps were fastened across the back of his neck, and around his waist. Strong fingers gently pulled his boots away from his legs. Seconds later, he felt the straps binding him tighten and thought back to how he had fallen into his enemy’s hands, to be placed in his present, perilous position.
When Batman revived, he lay shirtless on his stomach with his parallel arms outstretched and strapped at the wrists. Other straps were fastened across the back of his neck, and around his waist. Strong fingers gently pulled his boots away from his legs. Seconds later, he felt the straps binding him tighten.
Later, Robin hung on to Batgirl’s shoulders as they hurried on the Batgirlcycle to where he had parked the Redbird. After getting into his car, Robin raced back to the Catacombs Condominium to pick up Flamebird, while Batgirl proceeded on to Police Headquarters. Batwoman, flying her Bat Gyro, arrived at Commissioner Gordon’s office first.
Batman had considered calling for help. He had quickly rejected the idea, however, since there would likely have been no one to hear his cries or at least no one who would have been allowed to respond to them. Counting on Aphrodite to have a change of heart and save him would have been foolish. He had realized she was intellectually aware of the consequences of her actions, but might easily be hit hard with horror when their reality actually confronted her. Of course, it would have been too late for him then.
As Batman finished his story, Robin and Flamebird arrived, both looking a little more flush than could be explained just by their run up the front steps of Police Headquarters.
Meanwhile, in Lisa Carson’s hotel suite, a devilish deal was being concluded. “Everything went purr-fectly, Lisa,” Catwoman announced, cradling the phone. “It is my pleasure to rrreimburse your expenses for this suite and the storage facility where we kept the explosives for the job. Would you like a cut of the spoils?”
Three guard patrols passed the hidden criminals without spotting them between the time when the explosives were set to blow the fence and the moment Catwoman depressed the plunger. A flash of flame preceded a heavenward plume of smoke, leaving the fence a fallen heap of blackened, twisted metal.
Catwoman, with claws bared, hissed at Batgirl just as the doors of an elevator closed between them. The Purple-clad Paragon saw that the car began to descend before stepping into the next car in a parallel shaft. Batgirl’s car had just reached the bottom when the light went out. The Dominoed Daredoll felt for the narrow gap between the elevator’s panel doors and began to separate them. Once she could step through the aperture, she found the gap between the panels in the second set of doors separating the room Catwoman occupied from Batgirl. Slowly, she began to pull them apart and stepped through.
Twenty-four hours later, Kathy Kane sat at the breakfast table of her mansion, reading the morning’s edition of the Gotham City Times. She was pleased by the credit given to Batwoman and Flamebird in regards to the foiling of the robbery at the Federal Depository Building and to the arrest of Blaze and the rest of Catwoman’s gang, but was naturally disappointed Catwoman herself had evaded capture.