Crime’s Timely Hands

Jack O’Shea was smiling as he stepped from Warden Crichton’s office with a cigar clamped between his teeth. While he was now a free man, he was still obliged to wait to smoke until he left the prison grounds. He did not mind. In fact, he never struck the match. Early release had been his first pleasant surprise that day. The second was the stretch limousine waiting for him. He grinned at the guard who had pointed out the car and turned toward it with a raised eyebrow. Opening the door enabled him to discover his third pleasant surprise that evening, a beautiful woman waiting inside.

She regarded him with an amused expression that drew his gaze to a lovely face framed by blonde hair curling outward above her shoulders. “I’m Jack O’Shea,” he said, kissing the knuckles of her upraised hand. He released her and smiled winningly, ignoring her pumps but admiring her long, bare legs as well as the short, royal blue dress that clung invitingly to her every curve. “I write a syndicated gossip column you may have read. Would you like to make some news?”

“I know who and what you are,” the blonde said, adopting a businesslike tone as her eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’m here to pick up you and another guy a judge helpfully released for us today.”

“I can’t honestly believe you’d have a problem picking up guys.”

“Once we’re all together, we’ll have a job to do,” the girl said.

“Okay,” Jack O’Shea said, settling down comfortably across from her. “You used the word ‘us’ when you mentioned my release. Whom do you represent?”

“You’ll find that out in due time. I will tell you the boss has not been incarcerated for a very long time.”

“You did come here for me though, Miss–”

“My name is Queenie and I am here to pick up you and one other ex-con, as I said.”

“Who?”

“I’m told you know him,” Queenie said. “Here he comes now.”

Jack O’Shea reluctantly tore his eyes away from Queenie and glanced at the man being directed toward the car. “Spade?”

Jack O’Shea knew him as the occasional lover of Legs Parker, matriarchal mobster, Ma Parker’s, daughter. While the young man’s paramour was known to aspire to gang leadership herself, Spade was best known for having been Catwoman’s employee. The former henchman leaned toward the door Queenie opened and happily said, “Hi,” while putting his cigar in his pocket and watching the blonde woman lean back against the leather upholstery, relaxing.

“Hi,” Jack O’Shea could not resist saying, as Spade climbed into the car.

Spade glanced at the other man as Queenie touched a button beside an intercom. “I have them both,” she said. “We can go.”

Spade kissed Queenie’s hand and settled into the seat across from her, frowning resignedly at the man beside him as the car pulled away. Jack O’Shea smiled, remembering his cigar. “Do you have a light, Queenie?”

“Smoke those later, Jack,” Queenie said. “They’re filthy and we have work to do.”

“What work?” Spade asked, as Jack O’Shea put his cigar away.

“I don’t mind working, but I need to know for whom I’m doing the job,” Jack O’Shea said. “I also think these prison suits will look a little conspicuous.”

Queenie bent and lifted a panel from the floor to reveal a pair of labeled garment bags. “The outfits in here should fit you. You’ll change after I step out at the Kronos Building and collect an item from the trunk. We’ll then all meet with Mr. Dorn, the head of security. We have a special, after-hours appointment. My item should be impressive enough to persuade him to show us everything we need to know in order to come back and get what we really want when it arrives.”

“Sounds good to me,” Spade said. “I take it we get paid off after we hit the place?”

“Precisely,” Queenie said, grinning broadly.

“I still want to know for whom we’re working,” Jack O’Shea said. “Knowing what we’ll ultimately steal would also be helpful.”

“After our visit you’ll know enough to knock the place over yourself,” Queenie said. ”Of course, if the boss is given reason to suspect you screwed the job up for him, I’m sure his identity will be the last thing you ever learn.”

”So, the boss is a man?” Jack O’Shea deduced.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” Spade asked. “We case this place, hit it at the appointed time, and get paid handsomely.”

“That’s right, Spade,” Queenie agreed. She turned to Jack O’Shea and leaned forward. “I honestly don’t know who the boss is myself. Now, everybody knows Jack O’Shea, having worked for Catwoman, has no problems with female authority. So, why are you asking so many questions?”

“It’s weird being let out of jail specifically to do a job.”

“You’re a trained observer. Right?” Queenie began. Jack O’Shea nodded. “I’m sure you notice all sorts of fascinating things as you do research for your column. You know, I’ve never been interviewed for anything except my rap sheet.”

“As I recall,” Jack O’Shea said, smiling at her warmly, “you’ve worked for the Joker in the past.”

“That’s true.”

“When we have some time, I could interview you about him.”

“That might be nice,” Queenie said. She regarded the gossip columnist with what might have been new interest. “Yes. I think I’d enjoy being 'interviewed'.”

“Excuse me,” Spade said. “Why was I selected for this job?”

“You, Spade, are experienced and learned our business from the best,” Queenie explained, turning her head to regard the other man. “I’m told you helped Catwoman bust into the mint.”

“That’s right,” the thug confirmed. “We’d have cleaned it out, too, if it hadn’t been for Batman and Robin. Hey! There’s the Kronos Building now.” Jack O’Shea and Queenie followed Spade’s pointing finger with their eyes.

The limousine stopped and Queenie stepped to the street; walked to the trunk, which opened; and retrieved an ornate case, as Spade and Jack O’Shea exchanged their prison garb for elegant, well-tailored suits. Meanwhile, the woman behind the wheel picked up her cell phone. “We’ve moved on to stage two, your Majesty,” she said, watching and listening as the well-dressed, criminal trio moved off to do her employer’s bidding. “Yes. I’ll review and assess their findings tonight and tell you all about it when you call.” After putting the phone aside, she stretched and laced her fingers behind her head to wait.

Later, a cloak of darkness had completely enveloped Gotham City by the time Jack O’Shea, Queenie, and Spade followed the gesture of the doorman at the Hyde Towers into the elevator, which promptly began to ascend.

“Have either of you ever been here before?” Spade asked.

“You realize this residence apartment is the most exclusive home for the well-to-do in Chelsea or any other part of Gotham City?” Jack O’Shea said.

“I understand the location of the underground garage here is known only to residents and employees. Also, nobody who lives here uses the main entrance,” Queenie said.

“That’s right,” Jack O’Shea confirmed. “Management is obsessed with protecting residents’ privacy here. Their movements become a lot harder to observe when the front entrance is reserved for guests.”

“Now, I understand why the limo dropped us off in front,” Spade remarked. “The rules at this place make it practically impossible for anyone to learn things they shouldn’t. I’d say our employer has chosen an ideal headquarters for our purposes.”

As Spade spoke, the elevator doors opened to reveal an attractive, brown-haired woman dressed in a conservative, gray skirt, a matching jacket, and a pale, pink blouse. What the men could see of her legs was sheathed in dark nylons and her shoes were polished, but had heels short enough to make wearing them comfortable. “I’m Rhea Walters,” she said. “Please follow me.” She led them to a door she unlocked before gesturing for them to enter. Rhea followed and closed the door behind her, locking it.

“Nice place,” Jack O’Shea said, taking in the tastefully decorated room with a sweeping glance. “Is it yours, Ms. Walters?”

“First things first,” Rhea said, ignoring the question. “Spade!” The former feline henchman turned toward her, walking into an open-handed slap that turned his head and made him bend at the waist.

“What the–”

“Shut up!” Rhea angrily snapped. Her voice grew soft, but maintained its intensity as she went on. “You know better than to mouth off in public! I heard what you were saying when the elevator arrived. These walls are thinner than one might think, and what honest person refers to their home as a ‘headquarters’?” She gestured at her well-appointed surroundings.

“You’re being oversensitive,” Spade protested. “I chose my words carefully and it’s not my fault you have a guilty conscience.”

“I’m talking now!” Rhea said, pausing and letting the deafening silence hang, establishing her authority unequivocally. “You are all supposed to be experienced criminal assistants. Otherwise we would not have gone to the considerable trouble of recruiting you.” She walked past him and moved to the sideboard.

“I’m sure it would have been easier to let us rot is prison,” Spade said, rubbing his jaw.

“You have no idea,’ Rhea said. “Now that the initial unpleasantness is behind us, sit and we’ll get down to business.” She poured a measured amount of cognac into a crystal pitcher and topped that with chilled champagne. She then stirred the beverage before bringing it to where four glasses were arranged on a table in the middle of the semicircle the trio of criminals had formed.

“I have questions,” Jack O’Shea announced while Rhea poured the drinks. “First, how did you get us out of jail, and second when will we meet the boss?”

“Who says you’re not working for me?’ Rhea asked coolly.

“If you were in charge, you would not have used the word ‘we’ when talking about getting Spade and me out of prison.”

“Very good, Jack,” Rhea said, gesturing with her glass. “The boss will decide whether to reveal himself after I report on what you three learned about the Kronos Building. Shall we begin?”

“You didn’t answer Jack’s first question,” Queenie pointed out, sipping her drink. “This king’s peg is very good, by the way.”

“She’s right,” Spade agreed, sampling his beverage and nodding. “How did you get us sprung?”

“Well,” Rhea conspiratorially said. “Before I met Doctor Walters, I was a professional . . . um . . . entertainer.” She paused and smiled. “One of the people I entertained has subsequently become a judge, who must be elected again if he wants to keep his job. When it was decided we needed you, I called up my old friend the judge and suggested he release you. Since I was able to convince him I could back up any slanderous claims he might force me to make if he refused to cooperate, he readily agreed.”

Jack O’Shea stated the obvious. “You blackmailed him.”

Rhea grinned wolfishly. “Naturally.”

“Do you have any other burning questions before we earn our keep?’ Queenie coolly asked her inquisitive companion.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Jack O’Shea answered.

Rhea pulled a thick file from a drawer and spread photographs of the Kronos Building, as well as architects’ drawings, on the table in front of her. “So,” she began, “let’s start by figuring out just what parts of the building you’ve all seen.”

Following the perfidious planning session, Rhea relaxed in a warm bath; dried herself; and slipped into a silk robe before glancing at the caller identification screen in response to the telephone call she was expecting. “Hello, your Majesty. I’m not surprised you’re right on time. Half past the witching hour, on the dot.”

“How did it go, Rhea?” the man at the other end of the line cheerfully asked.

“They did very well. I can fax everything to you if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary. Do you think they can handle the job?”

“They’ll do, your Majesty. I think the team may have a little trouble dealing with electronic security, unless, of course, you’re coming on the job personally.”

“I’ve anticipated that eventuality, my dear Rhea. My assistant and I will be collecting an Ace for you presently. We’ll put your recruits through their paces early tomorrow morning. If all goes well, we’ll all be millionaires by the end of the month.”

“I warned them work would start early tomorrow. Oh, and I’m already a millionaire, thanks to you.”

“You earned every cent of it, Rhea. I’m only sorry you were in prison so long.”

The girl had been arrested five years ago, after she directed Batgirl’s efforts to rescue Mrs. Harriet Cooper, Dick Grayson’s aunt, whom Rhea’s employer had kidnapped. In the initial stages of the criminals’ plans, Alfred, Mrs. Cooper’s driver that evening, had chanced to discover Rhea and been kidnapped himself for his trouble.

Rhea laughed. “It was almost worth it to see their reaction to my disappearance. No one has the slightest clue how you got me out of there. Of course, I know we escaped in your . . . unusual . . . ship.”

“The TARDIS is hard for the mere mundane mind to even begin to comprehend.”

“Well, I really can’t thank you enough for your kindness. Setting me up here at Hyde Towers was good of you, too.”

“Well, you’re quite welcome. I’m sure you’ll earn your keep.”

“Would you give me a hint as to how?”

“I could, and our operation needs some financing. So, to confound the police and our caped foes, I’ve decided to collect some pocket change.”

“I know you can pick pockets, but I wasn’t aware any of the other help could.”

“You don’t comprehend the scope of my plan, my dear Rhea. Tomorrow, your recruits will steal a lot of pocket change—a small fortune in fact.”

“The loot sounds heavy.” Rhea commented.

“Another factor I’ve anticipated with your Ace. Sleep well, Rhea.” The white-haired man in the frilled shirt put the phone down and stood, reaching for his velvet smoking jacket. “Liz!” he called, “It’s time.”

A leggy, young woman stepped into view, regarding him with serious eyes. “Where are we going?” she asked, brushing aside a stray strand of the blond hair she had pulled back and let spill over her shoulders from behind her ears while it framed her pretty face.

“We’re picking up an Ace from the evidence room at Police Headquarters,” the well-dressed rogue announced, “to compliment the hand of wild cards Rhea has put together.”

“Are you sure you want to rob the police evidence room? You already have a Jack, a Queen, and a Spade.”

“With the TARDIS, our acquisition will be simplicity itself. I assure you, Liz, the robbery will go like clockwork.”

“Appropriate,” the girl said, letting a smile curl her lips, as she pulled on a white, lab coat over her stylish, red turtleneck. “You are, after all, the Clock King.”

“The one and only, my dear Doctor Shaw. Come along.” He wound an arm around her slim waist and guided her into a tall, blue box resembling a telephone booth that impossibly disappeared with a loud wheezing groaning noise a moment later.

Officer Finch was on the desk at the evidence room when the strange noise reverberated through the corridors beneath Police Headquarters. She looked up from the report she was reviewing and pulled her pistol from its holster as she went to investigate.

“Impossible!” she muttered as light pulsed behind the locked door from which the din emanated. She pulled out the key, unlocked the door, and burst into the room. “What’s going on in here?”

Only silence answered Officer Finch’s question. She reached for the lights and stood stock still, staring at the tall, blue box with the words ‘POLICE BOX’ emblazoned in white, block letters above the door. The telephone box had not been there at the beginning of Officer Finch’s shift!

Inside the box, Clock King reached across the hexagonal console in the center of an impossibly large room and shifted his gaze from the white, circle-covered wall to the scanner screen, upon which a beautiful, young woman wearing a police uniform could be clearly seen. The tall, athletic officer tossed her shoulder-length, black hair and scanned the room with determined, green eyes. She felt her muscles tighten as she watched, waiting--ready for anything.

“I thought you said we’d slip in quietly and take what we wanted without anyone being the wiser,” Doctor Liz Shaw commented.

“Right! Obviously, my plan didn’t come together properly,” Clock King admitted.

“Obviously,” the criminal’s assistant repeated. “What shall we do?”

“Well, I’m inclined to wait her out,” Clock King replied.

“Won’t she call for more officers?’

The Clock King stroked his chin meditatively. “I suppose that’s likely. This situation may call for stronger measures. Before we decide about that, let’s make sure what we came for is here.”

“You mean it might not be?” Doctor Liz Shaw incredulously demanded.

“Well . . . no–”

“Your Majesty–”

“Listen, Liz. I’ve never set foot in the police evidence room. It’s just the most likely place to find the Ace we’re looking for without starting the work from scratch.”

“What is this Ace for which we’ve come?”

Clock King was moving the scanner around to view the contents of the room. He stopped and focused on three dark-haired, male figures. “There!” Clock King said. “They’re robots the Joker made nine years ago while he was in prison.”

“Will they still work?”

“We only need one. Between the parts on all three, the two of us should be able to make one work.”

“Probably,” Doctor Liz Shaw thoughtfully said. “I seem to remember reading the Joker made more robots a couple of years ago, but they were destroyed in a chase with police.”

“Interesting. Joker may have upgraded his creations on his second attempt,” Clock King said, shrugging. “Still, only the alpha models are available. We’ll have to settle for those.”

“First we have that officer with whom to deal,” Liz said practically. ”According to my research, several years ago Nora Clavicle took over the police department–

“Ah, Nora Clavicle. Fascinating woman. I'm going to have to drop in on her some time.”

“What?” Liz said, confused.

“Never mind. Go on.”

“Well, she had the mayor’s wife fire all the male police, demote the existing female officers and hire as many unqualified women as possible to replace the men.”

“Oh, yes. I remember,” the Clock King said. “Clavicle’s police force looked very good, but did little in the way of law enforcement. In fact, anyone with a police scanner could learn what was on sale at every store in town.”

“Sadly, those days are long gone,” Doctor Liz Shaw lamented. “Anyway, Clavicle tried to destroy Gotham City to collect on an insurance policy she had taken out on it. After the Terrific Trio foiled her scheme, Commissioner Gordon was re-instated and initiated a recruiting drive for competent female officers. Therefore, I think we can assume that woman out there is quite capable.” She manipulated the scanner so that it focused on the officer once again. “So, what is she doing?”

“See what you can find in the medicine cabinet,” Clock King directed. “Our officer seems to be calling for backup.”

Liz was smug as she began, “Didn’t I predict--”

“I believe you did,” Clock King conceded smiling appreciatively at her. “So, Doctor Shaw, what do you prescribe?”

Doctor Liz Shaw strutted across the room and rummaged in a compartment behind one of the circles on the wall. She closed the cabinet grinning ear to ear. “It’s too bad she brought her cell phone. I found some chloroform and a rag. If you’ll open the doors, I’ll see that she takes a little nap,” the Clock King’s companion brightly suggested.

“It will be my pleasure,” Clock King said.

Outside, Officer Finch’s back was turned to the blue box as she put away her phone. Doctor Liz Shaw tipped the chloroform bottle into her rag and let a liberal amount of liquid soak into it. She then stepped softly through the door.

The telltale footstep came seconds too late for Officer Finch, who felt an arm wind around her shoulders before the chemical soaked rag clapped over her nose and mouth. Doctor Liz Shaw chuckled as her startled victim inhaled involuntarily. Officer Finch realized what was happening and began to struggle, but felt her weapon pulled gently from her fingers as her weakening body was held in a grip more than equal to the task of subduing her. After a moment, the blonde henchwoman lowered the 6' 3" police officer gently to the floor and wiped her fingerprints from the officer’s gun.

As Officer Finch had vainly struggled, the Clock King had crossed the room and picked up the first of the three robots. Doctor Liz Shaw straightened and moved to the second, dragging it back to the strange blue box by the arms. Clock King collected the third robot, as the sound of approaching footsteps became audible and grew steadily louder.

“Right, Liz. Dematerialize,” Clock King commanded as he stepped into the TARDIS.

The wheezing, groaning noise sounded again as the squad of officers swarmed into the evidence room. They were just in time to see the TARDIS vanish.

“How do you feel?” Lieutenant Diana Mooney asked the recovered Officer Finch. Finch sat across the desk from the person in charge of the Gotham City Police Department night shift most of the time.

“More embarrassed than I have since I fell under the Siren’s spell.” Both Officer Finch and her partner, Officer Reese, had been unwittingly placed in the sinister songstress’ power shortly after Siren's return to committing crimes.

Diana Mooney sympathetically smiled. “That episode is all in the past. At least you didn’t nearly kill Batgirl.” The Siren had lured the Lieutenant into her power and used the pretty policewoman to trap and try to kill Gotham City’s Dark Angel. “Now, how do you feel physically?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Tell me what happened.”

“Someone chloroformed me after I reported the mysterious appearance of a blue box in the evidence room. When I regained consciousness, the box and the Joker’s robots were gone.”

“You didn’t see anyone?”

“No, Lieutenant. I’m sorry.”

“You found no other clues?”

“None.”

“Okay, the Joker was not on my current status report on known supercriminals not currently in prison. Despite that report getting steadily shorter over time . . . ”

“You get that report every night?”

“That’s right. Criminals, especially supercriminals, prefer plying their trade under cloak of darkness and it seems tonight is no exception. Let me see what this file may tell us.” Lieutenant Mooney pulled a manila folder from its place on a handy shelf and began to go quickly though it. Presently, she showed Officer Finch a grainy, black and white picture of a 1960's-style Londinium police telephone box. “Is that what you saw in the evidence room?”

“It looks a lot like what I saw if it isn’t,” Officer Finch said. “It’s not the best quality picture.”

“This photo is from a camera at a traffic light and was taken at night when this thing literally appeared on the campus of Gotham City University near the Eta Beta Lotka sorority house.”

“I’m glad we have it. You might never believe my report otherwise.”

“Relax, Officer Finch,” Lieutenant Mooney said gently. “After a little prompting, a few guys on the squad you called said they saw an object like the one in this picture disappear into thin air before their eyes. I can only conclude we’re dealing with that conniving crook who uses time for crime, the Clock King.”

“Does this mean you’ll call in Batman?”

“No. He’ll be involved in his nightly patrol at this hour. I have a much better working relationship with one of our other caped friends. I’ll contact Batgirl.”

Officer Finch grinned at her superior and Lieutenant Diana Mooney smiled, too.

Batgirl’s cell phone interrupted Barbara Gordon’s sleep. At first, she was annoyed her latest attempt at getting over the jet lag from her trip to New Zealand had ended, but her attitude quickly changed when she realized the call was for Batgirl. She had recently changed the ring on Batgirl’s cell phone so it was different from that of Barbara Gordon’s cordless phone. She spun her bedroom wall, gaining access to Batgirl’s small, but functional headquarters, and answered the call.

At that early hour, Barbara assumed Lieutenant Mooney and not her father would be calling. That suited Barbara just fine. She well knew he functioned better when following a traditonal sleeping pattern. Babs felt she had every right to encourage him to keep one, particularly now that he knew all about her secret, dual identity and naturally worried about her when she was off fighting crime as Batgirl.

“Good morning, Diana,” she said. “What’s up?”

The Lieutenant got right to the point. “I think the Clock King just stole Joker’s original robots from the evidence room downstairs.”

“I’ll be right there,” Barbara said. Moments later, she had undergone her tantalizing transformation and raced toward Police Headquarters at the top legal speed on the Batgirlcycle.

“Thank you for coming, Batgirl,” Lieutenant Mooney said. “I might have waited to inform the Commissioner and the Chief, but if I’m right about it being the Clock King, there’s no time to lose.”

“Right. He plans his crimes with the precision of a Swiss watch and always uses a timetable. We can expect him to make use of those robots sooner rather than later. Let’s go over what facts we have.”

Someone knocked on Lieutenant Mooney’s door and delivered a file. “Thank you,” the policewoman said. “Now, we have more than Officer Finch’s report.”

Batgirl looked at several pictures of the incident her friend spread over the desk, which had been taken by the building’s security cameras. “That man is definitely the Clock King,” she said, pointing to one picture.

“Good. You’ve just confirmed our observations about Clock King’s . . .” Lieutenant Mooney paused to think of the right word, “craft.”

Batgirl pointed at another picture. “That looks like the device Clock King used to save me from a trap Riddler left me in the last time I faced him. He left me tied up in a seaside cavern to drown as the tide came in.”

Mooney repressed a shudder at the thought of yet another of the diabolical deathtraps her friend routinely faced, but in seconds that reaction was superceded by surprise. “Clock King saved your life?”

“That’s right.”

“You let him go?”

“Riddler’s gang was still in play. Also, I owed Clock King my life and he promised we’d meet again. Besides, he had taken on a new appearance as well, which would have made it most difficult to prosecute him for his previous crimes.”

Lieutenant Mooney frowned and shrugged. “Well, it seems your next meeting is imminent. Do you recognize the woman who attacked Officer Finch?”

“No, I’ve never seen her– Wait a minute!”

“What is it?”

“Do you have a copy of yesterday’s Gotham City Times?

“I’m sure I can find one somewhere . . .” Lieutenant Mooney made a couple of calls on her intercom. In a few minutes, an officer came in and handed the previous day’s edition to his superior.

“Look in the Science section,” Batgirl suggested.

Mooney did so. “Holy smoke!”

There was a large color picture of the woman who had attacked Officer Finch!

Mooney read. “Doctor Liz Shaw. Recently opened a privately financed lab in Gotham City called P. R. O. B. E., part of an international unit concerned with aliens – from outer space!”

The Lieutenant looked up from the paper, disgusted, then tossed the section on her desk. “She sounds more like a kook than a criminal threat.”

Batgirl picked the article up and glanced at it. “I thought that's what I'd read. Her resume is interesting. She came to the United States as a visiting professor at Gotham City University. Since she opened her lab, she cut back her teaching schedule to practically nothing.”

“Do you think her lab is a front for Clock King’s activities?” the Lieutenant asked.

“Probably,” Batgirl said. “Do you remember how Riddler raved about having found Viking treasure?”

“I remember the cave to which he directed us was empty.”

“Well, it wasn’t when he left me to die in it. The only people besides me who knew about the treasure in the cave were Riddler, his gang, Clock King, and his girl at the time. I didn’t remove all that loot and Riddler and his people were shocked it had disappeared.”

“Riddler has been in a psych ward ever since his arrest. Are you saying you know he doesn’t belong there?”

“Until Clock King resurfaced, there was nothing I could have done for Riddler. I’ve had no idea what Clock King did with those historical artifacts until just now.”

“Unless we can prove your theory . . . . "

“I know,” Batgirl said. “Part of me is a little sorry for the Riddler. Of course, if he benefits from his treatment . . . .”

“Well, Batgirl,” the Lieutenant said, “setting Doctor Shaw and the Riddler aside, are you certain this man is Clock King?” Lieutenant Mooney asked. “I understand what you mean about his appearance changing. I’ve been reading his file.”

“That man looks like Clock King the last time I saw him, but I saw his craft once briefly another time before he saved my life.”

“When was that?”

“As he escaped after his kidnapping of Mrs. Harriet Cooper,” Batgirl answered. “He literally vanished into thin air, right before my eyes.”

“I thought a woman was acting for Clock King on that occasion, directing your movements as you delivered the ransom money for Mrs. Cooper?”

“You’re right, and that fact may not matter in terms of Clock King.”

“Just a minute,” Lieutenant Mooney said, scanning her file quickly. “Yes. The woman who was working with Clock King at that time calls herself Rhea. She was arrested and literally disappeared from prison in the middle of the night a couple of years ago.”

“Was Clock King’s craft involved?” Batgirl asked.

“We don’t know. When a man with a changeable appearance spirits someone away, literally vanishing into thin air, there isn’t much for an investigator to pursue, not even you or Batman.”

Batgirl frowned. “Well, Clock King’s appearance has changed in the past, at least three times. I know I’d feel better right now with any clue to his plans. Why would he need those robots?”

“Good question, Batgirl. I wish I knew. What’s your next move?”

The Dominoed Daredoll smiled conspiratorially. “Well, I think I’ll pay an early morning call on Doctor Liz Shaw. She and I are going to have a little talk about Clock King and her private source of funding for her lab."

“Promise me you’ll be careful, Batgirl.”

“I always am,” Batgirl said innocently.

The Lieutenant playfully rolled her eyes. “Good luck.” Batgirl spun toward her friend’s door and raced from the office with her cape fluttering behind her. After she was gone, Mooney spoke aloud to the empty room. “I hope your care is enough to keep you safe.”

Meanwhile at P.R.O.B.E., Doctor Liz Shaw’s independently financed, private laboratory, the Clock King and his comely companion worked on the Ace Clock King had promised his criminal wild cards.

“You were right,” Doctor Liz Shaw said, grinning broadly. “These three robots give us more than enough spare parts to construct a superior single robot.”

“Quite right, my dear Liz, but we have a few other preparations to make before that job. We’re about to have uninvited company.”

"It’s almost two in the morning,” Doctor Shaw objected, regarding her employer with a steady, inquisitorial stare. “How do you know?”

“Our raid on Police Headquarters was taped automatically.”

“If you knew that, why didn’t we do something about it?” Doctor Liz Shaw demanded.

“The woman in charge of headquarters at this hour is Lieutenant Diana Mooney. She will summon aide as soon as she realizes with whom she is dealing.”

“So, Batman, and perhaps Robin, will arrive on the double to recover these robots?”

“Not them. Lieutenant Mooney has a much better working relationship with our lovely opponent, Batgirl.”

“Didn’t you tell me she is the world’s greatest detective?”

“Well, history will regard her as such, but that assessment won’t be accurate for some time. Still, she poses a fascinating challenge.”

“I’m sure,” the shapely scientist said. She smirked. “Your interest is, of course, strictly professional?”

“Naturally.”

“Does her brain power really warrant the measures you’re employing to defeat her?”

“As a matter of fact, it does. Besides, Liz, I like to be thorough. You are having fun, aren’t you?” Clock King’s eyes glittered mischievously.

“Well, I have some tests to conduct for which I’ll need a human guinea pig. She’ll do nicely,” Doctor Liz Shaw said, shedding her lab coat and hanging it on a coat tree as she regarded her employer, her eyes sparkling.

“No one could ask for a more motivated assistant,” Clock King said, smiling.

“Let’s get ready for our guest,” she suggested.

“Once we’re ready, I’ll leave Batgirl to you and attend to our Ace personally. When you’ve finished with Batgirl, she might make an excellent, unexpected test for our new recruits.”

“If they fail–”

“Batgirl will save us a considerable amount of trouble.”

Doctor Liz Shaw considered the Clock King’s strategy, smiling thoughtfully. “As you wish, your Majesty.” Together the perfidious pair moved off to begin their preparations.

Shortly thereafter, outside Doctor Liz Shaw’s laboratory, Batgirl noted the darkened windows of P.R.O.B.E. as she drove past. She dismounted the Batgirlcycle and moved around the low building, seeking a means of ingress. The windows were glass block and she decided there would likely not be a skylight. “May as well try the front door,” Batgirl muttered. She reached for the handle and pulled tentatively. The door opened!

Batgirl hesitated momentarily before stepping through. She was instantly aware of a ticking clock. As Batgirl moved deeper into the building, more ticking became audible. Louder and louder it grew, until each tick seemed more and more ominous. Batgirl could imagine the inexorable ticking heralding Doomsday or something equally horrific, but much more personal. She moved more slowly through the oppressive, loud ticking and found many clocks hanging on the walls. Eventually, she felt compelled to cover her ears, despite the muffling effect of her cowl. After a few minutes, she slipped on a pair of Bat-Earplugs.

“She makes such a lovely lab rat,’ Doctor Shaw softly said, grinning and noting the heroine’s reactions. “I could drive her mad with that amplified ticking, but I have other experiments for her to perform for me.” The blonde scientist reached for a switch and threw it.

Suddenly, the ticking around Batgirl stopped.

“What’s going on?” Batgirl demanded, whirling and letting her gaze quickly sweep the room. She could not see her tormentor smile, but lights blazed around her, growing more and more intense. Batgirl shielded her eyes, shrinking back and pulling a Bat-Eyeshade from its place at her hip.

Doctor Shaw noted more reactions and began to dim the lights and introduce stimuli such as color and movement to gauge Batgirl’s reactions.

“How are your observations going?” Clock King asked, stepping into the room and pouring himself a cup of Lapsang Souchong tea.

“The sound was more effective than the lights, so far,” she replied. “It would be interesting to compare these readings and notes to a mundane woman.”

“I’ve just recruited someone.”

“Such a control should not be an experienced henchwoman. Criminal assistants, like superheroines, could be a fascinating aggregate upon whom to experiment, but would be unsuitable for the needs I’m pondering addressing now. We can easily afford a maid and the University has many young, mundane women among whom I could choose." Doctor Shaw smiled and made a separate note in the margins of her pad.

“What about supervillainesses?”

“Excellent point,” Doctor Shaw said, making another note in the margin of her pad. “Now, I’ll need a filter mask for the next step. Batgirl is well prepared for these attacks and I won’t let her gadgets interfere with my experiments!” Doctor Shaw turned a number of valves.

With her Bat-Earplugs in place, Batgirl was not aware of the hiss the gas made as it was pumped into the room. Her first sign of the new danger was a yawn she stifled and the need to shake her head.

“Sleeping gas!” Batgirl said, suppressing another yawn, as the familiar symptoms told her what was happening. “I’ve got to get out of here.” Her vision blurred and her balance faltered as she began retreating.

“Almost,” Doctor Liz Shaw said, as Batgirl reached the doors she had entered through. They were now locked!

“It was such an obvious trap!” Batgirl mournfully muttered, pulling a gas mask from her hip. Once the mask was in place, she glanced at the door blocking her escape. “It’s just made of glass.” She stepped back, stumbled, and regained her balance. She crouched and lunged, but pitched forward to the ground instead of crashing through to freedom and safety. She tried to rise. “Too late!” she savagely said, collapsing again, and giving up as she felt herself enveloped by blackness.

“Very impressive!” Doctor Liz Shaw said.

“Indeed,” her companion agreed.

“As long as you’re here, help me get her set up. Time is money, and I want to monitor her recovery closely.” As she spoke, Doctor Shaw slipped on a heavy black shirt with thick stripes at the cuffs.

Later, Batgirl felt a chill as she revived and looked around the room in which she found herself. The chill may have had nothing to do with the temperature. Batgirl realized she was strapped to an operating table with several monitoring devices adhering to her body. It seemed her medical condition was being monitored constantly. “What’s going on?” she asked. She did not feel unusual, except for a weariness likely lingering from the sleeping gas. ‘Am I really more helpless than I seem?’

“Welcome back, Batgirl.” Doctor Liz Shaw said, stepping into view and swabbing the skin of the heroine’s face with a clean cloth before sealing it in a plastic bag she labeled.

“You’re Doctor Liz Shaw, aren’t you?” Batgirl asked.

A nod from the Englishwoman confirmed her identity. “You’ve been invaluable in helping me quantify the effects of my newest blend of knockout gas.”

“What are you talking about?”

Doctor Liz Shaw laughed shortly. “You’ve no doubt noted the instruments monitoring your vital signs. It seems you’re quite healthy. Which means I should have prepared to use you in more experiments.”

“You’re using me as a human guinea pig? That’s monstrous! Wait a minute. This is a lab. No wonder it’s so cold in here!”

“If you’re unhappy, do something about it!”

“Let me off this table and I’ll give you a good idea about how I feel! I promise to make my feelings as unambiguous as possible!”

“I can see your blood pressure reading. Oh, don’t worry. I’ll let you go free after one more little experiment. I need the effects of my improved liquid knockout drug quantified. It’s quite potent, I assure you. Intravenously, its effect would be instantaneous, but that’s not unusual. This drug is designed to be absorbed through the epidermis. Your descent into unconsciousness and return from it will be automatically monitored, as well as its effects during the duration.”

“I’m sure your colleagues and some kind of ethics board would have something to say about these experiments,” Batgirl said. “Your victims–”

“I prefer to think of them as subjects, Batgirl!”

“Your victims are obviously given the same choice offered by such renowned scientists as the Nazi Angel of Death, Joseph Mengele, or Rihab Taha, the Iraqi woman known as Dr. Germs!” Batgirl declared. “Your experiments sound worthy of either!”

“I’m in private practice to avoid having to explain and justify my methods to idiotic imbeciles who are too weak-minded or stupid to appreciate what I’m doing. I had hoped you, at least, might understand the real benefits my work offers humanity!” Doctor Liz Shaw angrily explained, pulling a test tube from a rack and removing the cork.

“In other words, you would rather not hear about the barbaric torture to which you subject your victims,” Batgirl quietly said.

“This conversation is becoming tiresome, Batgirl.”

“Just what are you doing here at P.R.O.B.E., Doctor?” Batgirl demanded. The way Batgirl said Shaw’s title left no doubt how the heroine felt about the worthiness of the woman.

“You know, Batgirl, I don’t suffer fools gladly and I’ve had just about enough of you! The next test will involve a concentrated, liquid knockout formula, applied to the skin.” As the Doctor spoke, she used an eyedropper to extract some the contents of her test tube. Batgirl felt a drop hit her cheek.

Doctor Shaw guided Batgirl’s faltering attention to an alarm clock beside the victim’s head. “When this alarm goes off, you will be free. The Clock King has also authorized me to give you a clue to his plans. Think of it as a token of his affection.” She held up a piece of paper so Batgirl could see it. “Now, Batgirl, goodnight. While you snooze, I have a robot Ace to finish building.”

Batgirl watched Doctor Liz Shaw’s face fade into a murky haze of color and was unaware of anything else her captor may have said. The shapely scientist smiled as unconscious enveloped her subject before setting the paper she held beneath the clock and closing the door behind her as she left her evil experiment to proceed.

An obnoxiously loud bell, sounding loudly and continuously, brought Batgirl back from her unconsciousness. She turned her head and reached for the clock beside her head, which she turned off decisively.

Slowly, Batgirl realized she was not in Barbara Gordon’s bedroom. Memory returned and Batgirl realized the straps that had bound her during Doctor Liz Shaw’s cruel experiments no longer were in place. She swung her legs over the edge of the operating table and stood. A wave of dizziness almost overwhelmed her, but she leaned against the table upon which the alarm clock had been set. There was a piece of paper beneath it.

“Five o’clock is the time for Gotham City to pay the toll,” she read aloud, thinking, ‘What can it mean?’

Batgirl’s mind was working with the speed of a supercomputer, analyzing the phrasing of Clock King’s note, awaiting an inspiration.

“Gotham City pays the toll,” she repeated. ‘It could be toll gate or toll bridge,’ she thought. ‘What was it that devilish doctor said before she left me? “Think of it as a token of his affection.”’ Batgirl slammed her fist into her hand. ‘Tokens are the clue. Gotham City’s bus and rail passengers used to pay with tokens, and the Gotham City Transit Authority sends its daily cash receipts to the bank each day at five o'clock in the morning!’ Batgirl glanced at the clock that had awakened her.‘The rest of my business here can wait!’

Batgirl raced to the Gotham City Transit Authority Headquarters at the top legal speed as her conscious mind caught up to her inspiration. She knew Clock King was intimately familiar with the public transportation schedules for Gotham City, therefore, she reasoned, robbing it was a logical extension. The problem would be the weight of the loot, but Doctor Liz Shaw had said something she had barely heard which would address that difficulty.

‘She said she was building a robot Ace,’ Batgirl recalled, pulling that recollection from the murky fog her memories had become as a result of the knockout formula. “Clock King’s crime isn’t as crazy as I first thought,” she muttered. “I wonder why he’s practically invited me to stop him?” She pulled into position to watch the headquarters.

The appointed time was only minutes away.

Earlier, Rhea had picked up Jack O’Shea, Queenie, and Spade in the Clock King’s limousine. The car stopped in an alley across from the Gotham City Transit Authority garage. “Your target,” Rhea succinctly said.

“You want us to steal yesterday’s revenue?” Spade asked.

“They’ll be transporting it to a bank with an armored car in less than an hour,” Rhea said. “We would like you to acquire all of it.”

“Doesn’t a job like this require some planning?” Jack O’Shea objected. “We should learn the truck’s route and set up some kind of ambush.”

“The boss has given you time to plan your approach,” Rhea said.

“This car is a little conspicuous for this kind of job,” Queenie thoughtfully said. “Of course, all we really need to do is get the truck to stop and lure everyone in it outside.”

“Do we have weapons with which to stop the truck?” Spade asked.

“Stopping the truck will be simple enough,” Queenie said. “We’ll need to incapacitate the guards once they’ve been drawn out.”

“Killing them would be needlessly violent,” Jack O’Shea said, "unless there are simply too many guards. Do we have tranquilizers or gas?”

“I think it would be better if we used our intelligence,” Rhea remarked.

“Right,” Spade said. “I’m not sure how Queenie plans to stop the truck, but we’ll have to decide where as a first step of any plan we form. We need information.”

“I believe I have what you need,” a male voice said from the intercom. The partition between the front seat and the rest of the car came down and the limo’s interior lights came on. A white-haired man in the passenger seat handed Rhea a map. “The route the armored car will follow is marked here. There will be two guards with whom you’ll need to deal.”

Everyone bent over the map and Spade jabbed one particular spot. The rest of the criminals readily agreed to the placement of the ambush. The man spoke to the figure behind the wheel and the limousine pulled away.

“Now that the plan is complete, we have a couple of other questions.” Jack O’Shea said.

“Of course, old chap,” the man who had revealed himself said. “I believe you’ve earned the answers.”

“Good,” Jack O’Shea said, nodding. “First of all, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I asked Rhea not to tell you. I’m the Clock King.”

“You don’t look like the Clock King,” Queenie protested. “I’m going to be especially upset if we’re being set up.”

“Wait a minute,” Spade said. “I heard a story while I was inside about the Clock King’s appearance changing. The Clock King knows the bus and train schedules better than the drivers and look what we’re doing.”

“Okay, your Majesty. You’ve done pretty well by us so far,” Queenie said. “What is our cut from this job?”

“Each of you, including Rhea, gets twenty-five percent.”

"What do you get out of this?” Jack O’Shea asked suspiciously.

“Oh, I have plenty of money.” The Clock King smiled enigmatically. “You needn’t concern yourself with my other objectives.”

“What about our Ace driver, Your Majesty,” Rhea asked. “Doesn’t he deserve a cut?”

“He’s just a perfectly ordinary, radio-controlled robot,” the Clock King explained. “My assistant and I were up all night making sure he was in proper working order.”

“Who is your assistant and where is he or she?” Jack O’Shea asked.

“My assistant is a young woman named Liz, and she is concentrating on our Ace.”

“Then who’s driving, this girl or the robot?” Spade asked.

“Ace is driving and Liz is observing from another vehicle. She can override Ace if it should become necessary.”

“Why would overriding Ace become necessary?” Queenie asked.

“Liz’s presence is merely a precaution,” Clock King said. Suddenly he smiled. “Ah, we’ve arrived at the place you’ve selected for the ambush. The three of you, along with Ace, can proceed with the job while Rhea and I retire to observe. There will, of course, be a critique afterwards.”

The armored car driver had been on the road for the better part of an hour when he rounded a corner and hit the brakes. His headlights revealed a blonde woman, wearing nothing but a royal blue bikini, standing in the center of the road with her hands on well-rounded hips and her breasts thrust forward, straining against the thin fabric of the upper portion of the gorgeous garment. She stood utterly immobile as her surprised, delighted audience thoughtfully leaned on the horn. She still did not move as the truck stopped with a screech of tires a mere inch from her position.

“What do you think you’re doing, lady?!” the driver demanded, climbing from the driver’s side door. “It’s the middle of January and you’re barely wearing a thing!” As he stepped toward the woman, she promptly collapsed.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, crouching over her with concern etched on his face. The guard noted the rise and fall of the woman’s chest as he reached for her wrist.

The woman’s head turned to one side a second before a plume of smoke issued from her hand, making the guard bent over her fall helplessly to the street. “I knew I would have no problem stopping traffic,” Queenie said as she returned to her feet and dragged the hapless man to the side of the road, where a few strands of rope had been prepared.

“What’s happening?” a second guard called from the back of the truck. When no one responded, he began to climb out and felt an arm encircle his waist and slam him to the street. Spade set upon him mercilessly and left him unconscious.

“So far, so good.” the former feline henchman said, noting Queenie had slipped on her victim’s coat and was sliding his valuables into the pockets. “Time to go, my dear.” Spade slid an arm through Queenie’s once they had finished binding and robbing the guards.

“Not yet, it isn’t! We’ve got company!” Queenie pointed out, indicating the single, rapidly approaching headlight of the Batgirlcycle. “It’s Batgirl!”

“Of all the dratted luck,“ Spade complained.

“This is an opportunity,” Queenie said “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Batgirl was tipped off about this caper. Our performance is being evaluated. Remember?”

“Maybe you’re right. It doesn’t matter. Jack has this problem covered,” Spade said, grinning and glancing at the man acting as their lookout. “We’ve got a little surprise for her, anyway.”

“You’re right,” Queenie agreed, her eyes glittering. “She just drove past our robot. He’ll be behind her from now on.”

The gossip columnist was speaking into the robot control microphone. “Ace, seize the woman wearing the mask and the cape. Then render her unconscious.” As Ace stepped into the street to carry out his instructions, Jack O’Shea joined his comrades behind the armored car.

“It seems I’ve arrived just in time to stop you!” Batgirl said, as she pulled to a halt, dismounted the Batgirlcycle, and posed with her hands on her shapely hips.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Batgirl!” Jack O’Shea said. The heroine was concentrating so hard on the treacherous trio, she never noticed Ace approaching. The robot had no trouble slipping his arms under Batgirl’s and encircling her shoulders. Batgirl tried to raise her arms, but robotic hands had already clapped onto the back of her neck and begun exerting tremendous pressure.

“No!” Batgirl cried, thrashing helplessly as her head bowed and her attackers stepped forward to enjoy her defeat. She continued struggling vainly in the robot’s grip, but had no success slipping away from Ace or counter attacking him with blows from her elbows or legs.

“What’s wrong, Batgirl?” Queenie asked mockingly.

“Under a little pressure?” Spade added, grinning wickedly.

“That robot is strong enough to pop your head like a balloon,” Jack O’Shea said.

Batgirl’s knees began to buckle and she felt her head begin to swim as the blood flow diminished and her brain began to suffer from oxygen deprivation. She went on vainly squirming as her captors laughed.

There was something about her ordeal that was trying to impress itself upon her as her vision blurred. ‘What could it possibly be?’

“This is great!” Spade enthused.

“Enjoying the show?” Queenie asked, noting Batgirl’s desperate movements slowing and the victim’s eyes narrowing behind her mask.

“Maybe we should let Ace kill her?” Jack O’Shea suggested, glancing at his comrades.

Jack O’Shea’s voice had given Batgirl the memory cue upon which she was trying to focus. He had said something. Batgirl’s elbows impacted her attacker’s chest and were rewarded only with pain. “That’s it!” Batgirl gasped. “This thing is a robot. Doctor Shaw built it. It’s not alive.”

The implications of Batgirl’s revelation were beautifully liberating, to say the least. She often needed to worry about using excessive force against criminals. Because she faced a robot, a nonliving, mechanical man, Batgirl did not need to concern herself with restraint. No means of attack could possibly be off limits because killing the robot was utterly impossible.

Desperately, Batgirl’s hand clawed at a compartment of her utility belt. This pouch for which she was reaching held a small cylinder of fluid she had drained from Mr. Freeze’s freeze gun. This ammunition had saved her in the past and might save her now—if she could reach it. The pouch tore open and Batgirl twisted, enabling her fingers to grip the capsule. She let herself relax, collapsing against Ace as her hand holding the capsule slipped it into a pocket of the robot’s coat.

“Shouldn’t the boss decide her fate?” Spade asked concernedly.

“Clock King whipped Ace into shape,” Jack O’Shea reminded them. “If the robot kills Batgirl, his Majesty gets the credit.”

Batgirl’s body had grown still in the robot’s fearsome grip. Only her heaving chest told her captors she had not yet perished.

“Ace wouldn’t have to kill her,” Queenie pointed out. “There is a period of time for which Ace could hold her just like that which would leave her alive, but a vegetable. Maybe you guys would find such a fate appealing for Batgirl?”

“Ace,” Jack O’Shea said into the robot control, “take Batgirl to the truck and keep hold of her.” Ace began to obey as Jack leered at the helpless, comely captive until Ace had passed. Then he turned to Queenie. “You raise an interesting point.”

Batgirl was still conscious, but hung limply in the robot’s crushing grip. Once the Ace had begun climbing aboard the truck, she slammed the heel of her hand against the pocket containing her capsule of frigid fluid.

As the capsule shattered and the fluid began to freeze Ace solid, Batgirl raised her legs and kicked backward off of the parked truck. Ace hit the ground, shattering and Batgirl rolled from his grip, away from the puddle of frigid fluid transforming the deadly robot into a fragile heap of scrap metal. She was free, but disorientated.

“Batgirl wasn’t as helpless as we thought!” Jack exclaimed.

“I don’t believe it!’ Spade added, pointing at the rapidly freezing robot.

“Believe it!” Queenie ordered. “Now, snap out of it, both of you, and get her!”

Batgirl’s capsule finished off the robot as she groggily regained her feet. The henchmen charged at her. Two shoulders slammed the heroine into the side of the truck before Spade and Jack O’Shea went to work on her abdomen with a series of powerful body blows. The resistance Batgirl put up was weak at best, and she soon fell to her knees.

“It looks like Ace took most of the fight out of her,” Spade said, clipping Batgirl’s jaw with his fist and pressing his advantage.

“Just savor the fact that you and I are the ones who will finally defeat her,” Jack O’Shea said, bouncing her head off of the truck and stepping forward to intercept the rebound.

Batgirl knew she would only be able to resist a little longer. The men closed in on her, cutting off her escape. As pain clouded her vision, she realized she would have only one chance to overcome her enemies. She leaned forward and rested her shoulders against the men’s thighs. As they each raised an arm to slam a fist into the back of her head, Batgirl brought both of her fists sharply upward.

Spade and Jack O’Shea gasped in pain and fell to their knees, clutching at their groins. Batgirl pulled her fists back and extended her arms to grip each man’s head. A second later, she slammed the henchmen’s heads together with an audible crack. As the men slumped, Batgirl used their bodies to support herself as she regained her feet. She watched her victims with her hands on her knees, regaining her own strength as she determined who would recover first.

The unlucky winner was Spade, who straightened to feel a knee rise into his groin once again. He doubled over in pain and felt Batgirl’s other knee straighten him. The ball of her foot smashed his chin and took him out of the fight. As he hit the ground, the same technique dispatched Jack O’Shea.

“You’ve done pretty well, Batgirl,” Queenie said, shrugging out of the stolen coat. “It looks like the task of laying you out has fallen to me.” The scantily-clad woman stepped from Batgirl’s field of vision, forcing the heroine to turn and follow her.

“I don’t remember you being a fighter, Queenie.”

“In your condition right now, I don’t have to be.” Batgirl continued turning as Queenie circled her, probing her fighting defenses.

“You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you touch me?”

“I can take my time,” Queenie said, feeling a probing jab slapped aside as she moved to one side, and Batgirl turned to keep her in sight. “The boys will recover from your handiwork eventually.” Suddenly, Queenie changed directions and Batgirl felt her balance falter as she turned toward her opponent. “Feeling dizzy?”

As Batgirl’s gaze followed her opponent, she realized what Queenie had been doing. The blue-clad beauty’s attacks had not been serious, but she had been moving around Batgirl constantly, keeping the heroine slowly turning to keep the fight going. Indeed, had Batgirl let Queenie out of her sight, the battered heroine would have surely lost, but by turning constantly, she was steadily growing more and more dizzy. Batgirl knew how to counter this technique, but now it was far too late. Queenie slid from Batgirl’s field of vision again!

A tap at Batgirl’s shoulder made her turn, walking into a right cross that staggered her. “I should never have been able to hit you if you won’t let me touch you,” Queenie teased. Batgirl turned, searching for her enemy in the semidarkness. Laughter behind her made her spin quickly. “Behind you,” Queenie said, chuckling. Batgirl whirled around. Still her enemy eluded her. “This is fun,” the blonde enthused. Batgirl whipped around to Queenie, who had moved away yet again. “I’m sure this is frustrating for you.” The blonde henchwoman giggled delightedly.

Far away, a clock chimed once.

Batgirl felt her balance falter as she tried to turn toward the mocking voice of her enemy. She spread her arms to remain upright and felt something impact her as the world tilted and Batgirl hit the ground. She tried to regain her feet and found Queenie regarding her. Waiting.

“This is not over!” Batgirl said through gritted teeth as she shook her head to clear it.

“Oh, yes it is,” Queenie said, swinging both arms, "for you!" Something heavy bashed into the back of Batgirl’s head, felling the heroine and leaving her lying still on the pavement.

The distant clock chimed a second time.

Clock King’s henchmen had recovered from their treatment at Batgirl’s hands in time to see the heroine dispatched and both smiled at Queenie as she set a heavy loot bag back inside the truck. “An excellent use for cold, hard, cash, I’d say,” the girl said happily.

Before the men could congratulate Queenie, they could hear the sound of an engine. Illuminated by the lights of the armored car, an open yellow roadster pulled into view and Doctor Liz Shaw stopped beside what was left of Ace. “How did Batgirl destroy the robot?” she demanded. “I don’t understand!”

“It was weird the way Ace suddenly became so ineffective,” Queenie thoughtfully said, reaching to touch the robot’s frozen remains.

“Wait!” Doctor Liz Shaw commanded. “Put on some gloves and put Ace in the car. I’ve got to figure out what Batgirl did and devise a defense against it for the next model.”

A third clock chime echoed over Gotham City.

“You must be Clock King’s assistant, Liz,” Jack O’Shea said, slipping on one of the pairs of gloves the woman took from the glove compartment before shaking her hand.

“Doctor Liz Shaw,” the scientist said. Despite the cold, she had changed into a short-sleeved, white tennis dress that put her lovely legs on display for a well-deserved inspection. Jack O’Shea’s eyes returned to them repeatedly as he performed introductions.

“I have to say, I like your outfit,” Jack O’Shea said, favoring her with a genuine smile. “Isn’t it cold though?”

“The car has heated seats. I’m not stupid and I’m quite comfortable for the moment. Thank you.” The sexy scientist’s spontaneous smile became a frown as she returned the conversation to business. “Ace looked as if he had just about taken care of Batgirl before this happened.”

“That was how it looked to us,” Queenie said.

“You really did a job on her, though," Spade complimented. “Nice work, Queenie.”

“I’d hate for you boys to sell yourselves short,” Doctor Liz Shaw said. “You softened her up magnificently.”

Jack O’Shea nodded and smiled as he regarded the victorious henchwoman, noting the sweat glistening on most of her visible flesh despite the cold morning air. “Let’s give credit where it is really due,” he said. “You really look great, Queenie.”

“Thanks, guys. Spade, would you please get my fur coat?”

Spade, who had already retrieved and slipped on the loot-laden coat stolen from the truck driver, did as he was asked. He found the girl’s garment where Queenie had left it, neatly folded off the side of the road. As Queenie slipped into it, she continued, “We’ll have plenty of time for compliments after we arrange a little tribute to Clock King. Batgirl’s condition gives us a chance to show some initiative.”

“I’d appreciate your avenging the damage to the robot,” Doctor Liz Shaw said. “Unfortunately, I won’t have time to enjoy whatever plans you have in mind for Batgirl.” As if to punctuate the delectable Doctor’s words, the chiming clock sounded a fourth time. She shrugged. “We’ll be needing a new Ace soon.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” Jack O’Shea inquired of Queenie.

“Tie Batgirl up and consider the possibilities.”

“Won’t whatever you have in mind be discovered too soon here?” Spade asked, winding a rope around the fallen beauty’s ankles.

“Not here, Spade,” Queenie said. “Pick her up and take her.”

“Where?” Jack O’Shea asked, drawing Batgirl’s wrists together and pulling her arms behind her.

“There,” the fur-clad beauty said, pointing at the horizon. Six eyes followed Queenie’s pointing finger and grinned wickedly. Expectantly. The fifth ring of the echoing clock sounded. “Now, let’s take care of Batgirl once and for all!”

The street was utterly deserted when the echoes of the clock’s sixth and final chime died away.

Hellish, predawn light illuminated the sky as Batgirl felt Spade and Jack O’Shea cinch tightly-drawn bindings more closely around her body, thus reviving her. She moaned and assessed her position, looking through the cleft between her breasts, across her flat abdomen, and along her lovely legs. Ropes bound her ankles; knees; and waist securely against a cable. More ropes crisscrossed her chest pressing her cape against the cable while securing her upper body. Her arms had been drawn behind her back before her wrists were secured on the other side of the cable.

Suddenly, Batgirl became aware of the most distinctive feature of her predicament. Her body had been positioned upside down!

“What the–” she began, but stopped as her voice echoed loudly. She moaned again and shook her head, which suddenly ached intolerably.

Darting glances in all directions, she slowly discerned her grim suspicions, as well as her dire fears, were well founded. Even so, she resisted believing what the telltale clues gathered in the first few seconds of consciousness implied. Could she have properly pieced them together, forming an accurate picture of her perfidious, perilous predicament?

Perhaps. Her head did rest on a polished, metal ball from which a long tassel dangled, and an equally well-polished, metal dome was suspended above her.

Obviously, her voice had echoed in this unusual chamber. She hoped the blood rushing to her head had induced the headache and being more aware of her position would make the consequences of asking questions more tolerable. She needed answers.

Therefore, she demanded, “Where am I?”

Instantly, she closed her eyes against the renewed throb of her headache and gasped.

“You should speak more softly, Batgirl,” a quiet, female voice admonished. Batgirl opened her eyes again, darting a glance downward to discover Queenie chuckling and looking up at her. The blonde henchwoman had let her fur coat hang open, revealing the skimpy bikini, displaying every comely curve of her fantastic figure in its pulchritudinous, proportional perfection. “I’m sure you’re finding the noise up there quite excruciating,” she continued, letting a wicked grin spread across her face. “Your breathing may not sound like thunder, but still . . . ”

“I asked where I am,” Batgirl repeated more softly.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Spade advised, climbing down from where he had been putting the finishing touches on Batgirl’s bindings. “You won’t be around much longer.”

“I’ll answer your question in due time,” Queenie said. “While you’re up there, Jack, fetch Batgirl’s belt. She won’t be needing it.”

“No problem,” the crooked columnist said, reaching for the buckle. Spade caught the trophy once it had fallen from Batgirl’s waist.

“There is a homing device in this belt,“ Spade warned, presenting it to the girl, who seemed to have taken charge. “Batgirl has a backup utility belt with a tracking device with which she can pinpoint its location.”

“Don’t worry about it, Spade,” Jack O’Shea said, joining his comrades on the platform beneath Batgirl. “She won’t be able to use any of her toys when she’s dead.” The terrible trio laughed.

“Now, Batgirl,” Queenie said, tucking the utility belt into a coat pocket, “the time has come to welcome you to the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clock Tower, where Big Benjamin will ring you out of existence at sunrise. How soon will that be, guys?”

“She has less than twenty minutes left,” Spade said, consulting his watch. “I had imagined her fate would have dawned on Batgirl already, so to speak.” The thug shrugged.

When the villains stopped laughing at Spade’s pun, Batgirl said, “Bookworm tried to do this same thing to Robin about a decade ago and failed.”

“That’s right,” Jack O’Shea confirmed. “Bookworm gave Batman clues he should have followed to a nice, out-of-the-way location, if the police had not been working so closely with him. Chief O’Hara flagged Batman down and kept him from wasting the trip. Batman managed to put Bookworm’s puzzle together and raced to Robin’s rescue. He immobilized the bell with a magnetic field, saving the Boy Wonder. Honestly, Batman’s performance is pretty impressive, considering Robin had a minute to live when Bookworm left him.”

Spade and Queenie frowned.

“I’m just giving credit where it’s due,” the crooked columnist protested.

“The cops did something right?” Spade asked.

“It seems miracles never cease,” Queenie observed. “Of course, no miracle will save you, Batgirl. We decided to do away with you quite spontaneously and haven’t told a soul.” She giggled.

“Right. Nobody will come to save her,” Spade agreed. “She can take no comfort from the history of this clock tower.”

“We’ll tell Clock King, of course, but I doubt he’ll lift a finger to help,” Jack O’Shea said. Then he shrugged. “The vehicles on the street won’t alert anyone to our presence. Will they?”

“It’s early enough that they shouldn’t,” Spade reasoned.

“I pulled the Batgirlcycle inside the tower.” Queenie said. “There’s no point leaving stray clues lying around for the cops. Her bike is even more conspicuous than the truck or the limo. Still, we should be going. Goodbye, Batgirl. Your everlasting end will be music to our ears.” She turned and hurried from the clock tower as her male associates blew Batgirl parting kisses and drank in the sight of her helpless form bound to the bell’s clapper for another long moment.

“You’ve never looked better to me, Batgirl,” Spade said, turning to follow Queenie.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay for your finale. It should be quite spectacular . . . if a bit messy,” Jack O’Shea predicted, before descending the staircase himself.

“You foul fiends!” Batgirl raged. She closed her eyes as the echoes of her frustrated shout assailed her. An involuntary muscular tremor twitched the cable from which the bell’s clapper hung and it began to move back and forth in a deadly arc with which Batgirl was powerless to interfere. Echoes of the murderous trio’s laughter lingered far below, compounding her anguish, as the clapper’s deadly arc grew inexorably larger.

Once those evil echoes had died away, Batgirl was left alone, with only the measured tick-tock of Big Benjamin sounding as her final seconds on Earth passed, one by one.

Back to the Batgirl Bat-Trap Homepage!