Into the Nebulous Night

“Holy Fatal Fizz!” Robin exclaimed, once he had revived and Alfred had explained how the Penguin had arranged for them to die.

“I fear I’ve let you both down,” Alfred confessed.

“Nonsense, Alfred,” Robin replied. “What could you have done?”

“I allowed the young lady to distract me and didn’t even see the Penguin. He snuck up behind me and put one of his umbrella blades to my throat. I was only able to trigger the alarm in the Batcave before he used me to capture Mrs. Cooper and turn the house over to his ruthless ruffians. You see, Master Robin, had I not allowed the young lady to capture my attention . . . .”

Batman’s calming voice began to console the butler. “Penguin would not be the first of our arch-enemies to employ a beautiful henchwoman as a devious decoy . . . Undine is certainly hard to ignore. Allay your fears, Alfred. You are blameless.”

“Gosh, yes!” Robin concurred. Absently he began to recall some of the lovely henchwomen who had been of particular interest to him. Pussycat sprung instantly to mind. He had once nearly kissed her while in Catwoman’s power and had later realized Catwoman’s diabolical drug had less to do with his actions then he might have wished at the time. Then there was Susie, the Joker’s one-time cheerleader assistant, who had reformed to become Dick Grayson’s classmate and occasional companion.

Batman spoke again, tearing his partner from his pleasant reverie. “Our task now is to extricate ourselves from this fiendish predicament.” He turned his head and noted the angrily hissing bubbles surrounding his air mattress as acid slowly ate away at its underside. He also took the time to fix Alfred in his gaze, favoring the Englishman with an encouraging smile.

“Do you have any ideas, Batman?” Robin asked.

“Sir,” Alfred said, “couldn’t we simply wade to the edges of the pool when these air mattresses finish dissolving beneath us?”

“Perhaps. While Robin and I have acid resistant costumes, Robin’s leaves his legs bare and you have no protection at all. We’ll keep your suggestion in mind, if we can’t come up with a better idea. The acid is, after all, continually being diluted.” As Batman spoke, he pulled his arms upward and sent them downward rapidly, allowing water to wash over the air mattress around his arms. At the same time, he bent his legs and allowed water to wash up to his knees.

“I’d feel better if we still had our utility belts,” Robin said.

“Oh my!” Alfred exclaimed. “I’d forgotten the young lady took them.”

“Undine is hardly a lady, Alfred,” Batman cautioned. “She’s worked for Joker on five occasions of which we’re aware and has now gone into the Penguin’s service.”

“She was also part of Legs Parker’s wedding party,” Robin added, ”as well as that ambush Madame DeBase devised when we first encountered her.”

Batman thought back to the twisted trap in which the fiendish femme fatales of their greatest enemies had bound them and used them as playthings while Madame DeBase filmed the kinky goings-on. Undine had indeed been a key player in the trap, using the Caped Crusader’s abdomen as a pillow while her mouth and fingers played eagerly against his exposed skin. Batman’s mind briefly wandered to the still unanswered question of the whereabouts of the videotape upon which the mildly erotic encounter had been recorded. A moment later, Alfred returned the caped crime fighter’s thoughts to Undine.

“Of course, sir. I did not mean to imply the woman who threatened Mrs. Cooper was at all virtuous. The remark was the result of a habit I have of referring to visitors.” Alfred decided to change the subject. “I must say, this liquid cement is quite effective,” he remarked.

“Penguin is twisting its intended purpose,” Robin remarked.

“Typical behavior for he and his criminal ilk,” Batman agreed. “I’ve taken steps to take advantage of the acid in the water. If it proves to be effective against the cement, we may all get out of this unscathed.”

They waited as the acid kept working on the air mattresses.

“Batman,” Robin presently said, “I think the acid penetrated my air mattress, it’s deflating. I’ll be in the acid in a matter of seconds!”

“The moment of truth has arrived,” Batman said. He opened a fist that had been closed since he had been secured and flicked a handful of pellets into the water, setting them adrift.

“What was that?” Robin asked.

“A few Bat Super-Base pellets I pulled from my utility belt before I gave it to Undine. I’d have used them sooner, but I needed the acid to free my arms from the air mattress.” Batman pushed at the acidic water, propelling Robin and Alfred toward opposite edges of the pool. “Roll when you reach the edge.”

“What about you, sir?” Alfred asked as he rolled to the safety of the patio. He saw that Robin had duplicated his maneuver and was also safe. Batman was still floating in the center of the pool.

“I’ll be right with you,” the Caped Crusader responded. Batman was slipping out of his cape, which the cement held against the rapidly deflating air mattress. Once free of the cape, the Dark Knight waded to the edge of the pool and stepped to the safety of the patio. “Now, a quick trip to the Batcave and back . . . .”

He vanished and returned with an aerosol can of Bat-solvent, which dissolved the remnants of the liquid cement.

“Now, we go after Penguin!”

“No, Robin, we dare not. Your Aunt Harriet will need Bruce and Dick to help her deal with the police and I believe our calendar is already rather crowded today. We have double lives to lead and Penguin will be off his guard if we let him suspect his macabre, murderous machinations have succeeded.”

“Holy Social Obligations!”

“I’ll see to Mrs. Cooper while you change, sirs.”

As Alfred moved into the living room to free Dick Grayson’s Aunt Harriet, Betty Kane was embarking on a rescue mission of her own. She had called on her aunt at work and heard Jeffery’s explanation of her absence.

“So, Aunt Kathy left the office to research something in Arizona early this afternoon and you haven’t heard from her since?”

“I’m afraid so, Ms. Kane. Your aunt asked me to convey her apologies for the consequences of her sudden decision.”

“Don’t worry, Jeffery,” Betty Kane said encouragingly. “If her research weren’t really important, she would not have left. We both know how demanding her business can be. Believe me, I understand completely. It’ll be okay. Thank you.”

Very well, Ms. Kane,” Jeffery said automatically.

The codeword ‘Phoenix’ had told Betty Kane Flamebird might be needed. So, instead of heading for the mansion, she made her way to the corporate Bat Cavern at Networld. There, she exchanged the athletic wear she had put on following tennis practice for her v-necked, orange-fringed top and her cheerleader skirt. These were red. The hose she slid her legs into were orange and matched the fringe on her top. The orange cape she clipped to her shoulder after putting on her red boots and matching choker fell to her waist before dividing and continuing to fall along the backs of her thighs. Narrow triangles of cloth extended from the cape’s edges to create the illusion of flames dancing down Betty’s back. She had not finished dressing until she covered her eyes with a pair of yellow goggles that complimented her curly blonde hair and slid on her elbow-length, red gloves.

Thusly attired, she took her motorcycle to Police Headquarters. The first police official she recognized was Lieutenant Mooney. “I’m looking for Batwoman,” Flamebird said. “Do you know where she went?”

“Come with me, Flamebird,” Lieutenant Mooney invited. As they walked, the policewoman continued, “Earlier today, she was after the Bookworm, whom we believe kidnapped a librarian’s daughter. We have what we think is the location of his hideout and his bookmobile. I think Batwoman went to the bookmobile.”

“That sounds like a good place to start.”

“Come on. You can follow me to where the bookmobile was last reported.”

When Lieutenant Mooney and Flamebird arrived at the street in the Mercey Island district of Gotham City, where the Bookworm had captured Batwoman, the street was even more deserted than it had been earlier in the day. Batwoman’s Bat Cycle was nowhere to be seen.

“Wait a minute!” Flamebird said. “Batwoman’s bike has a Global Positioning Satellite Locator. Finding it will be a snap. If Bookworm took the bike along with her, we’ll also find him.

“Which way?” Lieutenant Mooney asked.

Flamebird pulled out a GPS locator. “Now, you follow me!”

Batwoman knew the scalding steam surrounding her was obscuring Regina’s view of her impending fate and suspected the other captive was terrified for her. Sweat slicked the brunette beauty’s body between her skin and her costume and would keep her flesh from blistering under Bookworm’s intensified heat lamps, at least for awhile. A wan smile curled her lips as Batwoman realized the sweat soaking her costume was sparing her additional discomfort, since her mask had absorbed sweat that would otherwise have streamed into her eyes and stung. Could the blessing of clear vision be the key to her survival?

Saliva kept the interior of her mouth from being scalded by steam she inhaled. To a lesser extent, cilia safeguarded her nose. Her throat, however, lacked such protection. Exhaling was also problematic. Air coming from her lungs was warm and did nothing to cool the interior of the bookcase. The effects of breathing on her situation could not be helped. All she could do was try to take shallow, regular breaths.

The dryness in her throat and the sound of her rasping breath made her abandon the idea of matching the sympathetic vibration of the chamber, thus shattering the glass around her with her voice. Batwoman imagined the leaded glass would require a more sustained note to shatter than the simple panes of glass against which the technique had been effective in the past. She also worried her voice would crack in the middle of the attempt, thus foiling it.

Batwoman looked through the cleft between her breasts and along the length of her body to examine the shackles that bound her ankles. She tried to shift her weight to test the strength of the bonds and found her shackles and the chord wound around her hips and shoulders held her utterly immobile. She could, however, stretch to bring her wrists and ankles into closer contact with her shackles, which had warmed more quickly than the air around them. Thankfully, her gloves and boots protected her wrists and ankles from burns. Also, tilting her head enabled Batwoman to look more closely at the shackles binding her wrists. Might the sweat glistening along the length of her arms enable her to slip her hands through the shackles?

Suddenly, her eyes widened in surprise. One screw in the panel to which the shackle was attached was not flush with the chamber wall. Could she reach it with her fingertips?

Concentrating, she stretched her arm toward the screw, locking her elbow as well as the joints in her wrist and fingers. The tips of her gloved fingers touched the head of the screw. She gasped, exhaled, and tried to extend her finger the crucial additional millimeter. Once she had a firm hold of the screw head, she tried to twist it. Nothing happened!

She relaxed and closely examined the shackle binding her other wrist. After a moment, she concluded the screw she had tried to move was her best avenue to safety.

Extending her fingers again, she tried to wiggle the screw. Infinitesimally, it shifted. Batwoman twisted her wrist and felt another tiny shift of the screw. More wiggling and another tiny turn loosened it further. It seemed to take an eternity to persuade the screw to retract further, but it happened. Batwoman now had to be extremely careful to avoid dropping the loosening screw. There were three other screws she would have to attack, once this one was free. She had a slim hope for escape, but a long way to go before attaining her freedom.

“Yes!” Batwoman excitedly said long minutes later as the screw she had been trying to retrieve came free. The breath hissing through her teeth as she spoke the single word refocused her mind on the remaining, monumental task.

Batwoman pressed the tip of the screw into the screw beside it and began to turn it in her fingers. The embedded screw did not budge. She tried the screw beneath the one she had not moved with the same result.

The tip of the screw was never designed to slip into the slot in its head. Batwoman hardened her muscles and pulled fiercely down on her wrist shackles. The sound of cracking wood rewarded her efforts. Had the missing screw weakened the restraint enough for her to pull it free through brute force?

Batwoman wrapped her fingers around the chain extending from the weakened anchor and inhaled. She pulled fiercely downward with a shout as adrenaline powered the force applied to the shackle. More wood cracked. With a final wrench, Batwoman pulled her wrist shackle free from the chamber wall!

She exhaled and panted in the hot air as her fingers sought her Bat Kit. The item she wanted was a baton, the ends of which would telescope outward with tremendous force. She pressed the baton vertically into the corner of the chamber she could most easily reach and activated it. This strategy had to work!

The cabinet creaked, as the top and bottom were pressed outward. Batwoman augmented the effects of her baton by thrusting her shackled arm upward and her other arm to the side. Glass shattered and wood splintered as a cloud of steam was released from the cabinet. Two of the reading lamps warming the cabinet were forever darkened as the plates to which Batwoman’s wrists were still shackled shattered their bulbs. Batwoman’s falling body destroyed two more lamps.

It was then that Flamebird and Lieutenant Mooney burst into the bookmobile. Flamebird bent over Batwoman with lock picks while the lovely lieutenant freed Regina.

“Are you all right?” both newcomers asked.

“I’m fine, now,” Batwoman said, panting. “Thank you, Flamebird.”

“I’m okay,” Regina said. “I need to let my mother know I’m safe immediately. Bookworm is trying to wring money out of her by holding me for ransom.”

“Why don’t I take you back to Headquarters? We can call your mother and get a statement,” Lieutenant Mooney offered.

“Good thinking, Lieutenant,” Batwoman said. “Flamebird and I will pay a call on Bookworm.”

“Right. After we cream his gang, a judge can throw the book at him,” Flamebird enthused.

Meanwhile, Batgirl shivered, lying on her back in Catwoman’s cream bowl propped up on her elbows, as cream continued falling – drop by deadly drop. Her muscles shivered involuntary as she realized she would soon be desperately trying to keep her nose and mouth above the rising cream, which already covered her legs.

Her aching shoulders would go on bearing the weight of her upper body awhile before collapsing, but the cream was rising inexorably. To make matters worse, moisture had swollen the ropes binding her hands and severely restricted their circulation. The chilling cream was dulling the pain her bruises had caused and simply standing would make her position considerably safer. She had, however, been trying to stand when she received many of her bruises, and her quivering muscles were not responding well to her mental commands.

Batgirl momentarily feared she might have finally been beaten, but shunted that though aside, determined to carefully reconsider her position.

She was cold. One technique for warming her legs would be to vigorously rub her gloved hands against them. For that course of action to work, her hands would have had to be free, which they were not, and the other flaw in this approach was the refrigerated cream making her hands violently shiver like her legs, thus rendering them virtually useless.

The Curved Crusader had reached her feet once since Dayna’s devastating kick had landed the heroine literally in the deadly dilemma the Felonious Feline had devised. Batgirl knew she had to stand if she were to survive. The most obviously available means of raising herself Batgirl knew would be torturous. Every muscle in her lower body was quivering with cold, but she was still in charge of her upper body’s movements and could will herself to focus on the task of standing, since she had decided it was absolutely necessary.

She sat up; pulled her knees toward her; and was dismayed when her back reclined, immersing her shoulders in the cold cream behind her once again. She took in some air and let it out as she thrust her shoulders forward and turned her feet so they were flat on the bottom of the bowl. At last, she was in position to thrust her body upward.

As her legs quivered beneath her, Batgirl teetered, trying to gain her balance on the curved, cream-slicked, greased surface of the bowl. She was somehow aware of splash after tiny splash that drop after drop of falling cream softly made smacking onto the surface of the cream all around her. She bent her knees and spread her legs wide, trying desperately to maneuver into a standing position she would be able to maintain.

Balanced and feeling rivulets of cream sliding along her legs, she became aware of a torturous sensation her previous discomfort had enabled her to ignore. She could feel the pins and needles of oxygen deprivation lancing into her hands. The pain elicited another gasp. The knots binding her wrists had kept blood from reaching her fingers. Now, the nutrients that blood had carried to her fingers needed to be replenished. Her hands twitched as a cold-induced shudder traveled the length of her legs. She stumbled, pitching forward and landed with a splash in the cream. She inadvertently swallowed some and began to cough uncontrollably.

Once her focus was concentrated again, she gripped the end of her cape and tugged, delighted that action did not induce choking. She clenched every muscle in her body and used her cape to draw her hands slowly upward. With a relieved exhalation, she felt her weight align above her hips and her buttocks settle uncomfortably onto her hamstrings. She could breath freely now, and let her muscles relax, but could feel cream spattering her upper body once again. The surface of the cream was just above her hips. Batgirl’s new position would delay her impending death considerably, but escape remained almost as far away.

She felt her body relax and gratefully closed her eyes. She would open them again in just a moment. The level of the cream was close to her elbows when she realized her head had nodded and her eyes reopened. “Rest is good,” she whispered, “but I’ve got to get out of here!”

A slight movement of her hands brought pain, which Batgirl welcomed. The pain indicated circulation had returned to her oxygen-starved extremities. She curled and extended her fingers before straightening and bending her elbows experimentally. “Now,” she murmured, feeling for a knife she carried in her utility belt.

When her fingers encountered her knife, she gripped it and slowly pulled it free, concentrating on maintaining her grip as she dragged it through the slick liquid. Batgirl turned the sharp blade toward her bindings and rested before drawing the blade back and forth across them. Slowly, it sliced into the ropes. Strand after strand of rope was severed until the bindings finally parted. Batgirl put her knife away and began to massage her hands.

The cream had risen to the level of her breasts and she used her hands to help slide one knee forward and position her foot to support her weight. “Here goes,” Batgirl said, taking a deep breath. She tried to use her legs to raise herself to a standing position. The muscles hardened and her waist rose. Gradually, she pulled her back leg forward. Once her feet were beside one another as far apart as her shoulders, she relaxed and tried to let her legs support her weight. She wobbled unsteadily and extended her arms. Blood surged painfully through her legs and Batgirl felt herself balance on her feet.

Moments later, she began quivering with cold again and grinned, as the thick cream around her legs seemed to somehow lend them previously absent support.

Cream was on the verge of engulfing Batgirl’s hips. Her next move would be to try a step. She lifted one foot and moved it forward, before setting it down and feeling it slide forward. “The grease is still working very effectively,” she darkly muttered, once she had recovered her balance.

She bent forward, spread her arms, raised her legs and was relieved when she found she could float. She cupped her hand and pulled it back as her other hand cupped. The second hand pulled back as the first shot forward and retracted, pulled her body through the cream. She reached the side of the bowl and pulled two objects from her belt.

Batgirl activated the objects and took one in each hand. She slapped one hand and then the other against the side of the bowl and was delighted when her hand remained in place. “These Bat-magnets might allow me to climb out of here,” Batgirl encouraged herself aloud, “I hope.”

She pulled one of the magnets free from the wall, stretched her hand upward and hit the side of the bowl again. Moving hand over hand, she reached toward the top of the bowl’s curved surface. Once she had pulled herself free from the cream, she felt both magnets begin to slide down the side of the bowl toward her.

Batgirl knew magnetism would keep the grease on the bowl from making her hands slide toward its center. The magnets’ descent, therefore, had to mean her magnets were not adequately powerful to allow her to escape Catwoman’s trap.

She would need another approach.

Desperately, Batgirl looked around the room above her for something to which to clamp her Batrope in preparation for climbing to freedom. She saw nothing, and swam across the bowl. Her second look yielded results identical to the first. She spotted the faucet Pussycat had turned to activate the dripping cream, but noted her kittenish killer had closed the glass panel put in place to protect it. Batgirl reclined on her back and pulled her rope and Batarang from her belt. Once prepared, she flung the projectile at the protective panel in front of the valve. The Batarang bounced harmlessly off of it. The nozzle from which the cream fell was visible above her and formed a smooth cone to which she would never be able to attach a rope. The Batarang was useless!

At the rate the cream was falling, it would take a long time yet for the bowl to fill adequately for her to swim to safety. Meanwhile, keeping her head above its surface would certainly sap her energy. If Catwoman or her kittens returned while she was exhausted, they would be able to finish her easily. That unlikely eventuality would have to be guarded against.

‘Catwoman seems to have thought of everything!

‘Or has she?’ Batgirl suddenly wondered.

“I’ve got it,” Batgirl said. She pulled a pair of goggles from her utility belt and put them on. Then, she took a mask that fit over her nose and mouth and attached a tube to the front. After fitting the mask to her face, she began to extend the tube and allowed herself to sink below the level of the cream.

As her body sank, swallowing her in darkness, she continued extending the tube, which allowed her to go on breathing. Beneath the surface of the cream, she could hear the cream continue to drip, filling the bowl. The thick, white rain went on inexorably and continuously. Batgirl’s mind wandered.

The chilling temperature of the cream reminded Batgirl of the caviar in which Olga’s cruel Cossacks had cast her to keep her and the Dynamic Duo from preventing Egghead and the royal Bessarovian rogue from escaping on one occasion. Quickly she resolved to ignore the cold and imagine how her temporary burial compared to some of her colleagues’ experiences.

The Mad Hatter had once entombed Batman in Super Fast Hardening Plaster and the Joker had arranged for both Batman and Robin to be encased in foam blanks, the initial step in turning them into human surfboards. On another occasion, the Clown Prince of Crime had filled every pore of Robin’s skin with wax, but it had been the Riddler who planned to turn he and his mentor into human candles. Batgirl herself had been in a similar position when Catwoman had tried to entomb her in wax.

Thinking of the Princess of Plunder brought Batgirl back to the present, where utter silence awaited. The implications of the silence slowly impressed themselves upon her. The cream had stopped dripping, which meant the tank holding it was empty and the bowl should be almost full. Happily, Batgirl stood, swam to the surface, and grinned as she realized she could now easily drag herself to the safety of the floor, after reaching the bowl’s edge.

Standing safely on the floor, Batgirl glanced at the pool of cream in which she had briefly been entombed. Catwoman had intended for the process to kill her, but once again Gotham City’s most delectable daredevil had come through the experience unscathed. She grinned, imagining how miraculous the enticing evildoer would consider her escape. “Time to find Catwoman,“ Batgirl said. She left the chamber and began her search for the villainess.

Elsewhere in the catacombed Catlair, Catwoman presented the Onyx Osprey to Dayna. “Put this in the safe.” The voluptuous villainess turned to Pussycat. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I think we all got what we wanted,” she replied, locking a large suitcase. “Don’t you?”

“You’re purr-fectly correct.”

Pussycat put the key to her suitcase away and handed the money-stuffed luggage to Marlowe. “Would you please put this in the car?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

As Marlow left, Catwoman once again addressed her protege, “As I’ve told you before, you can either be a singer or an arch criminal. You can’t be both.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it was my association with you that made me a hot recording artist in the first place. Now, I’m doing rather well back in the crime biz.”

“Your singing is nice,” Catwoman admitted uncharacteristically. Perhaps her association with Tara had made her more appreciative of what it took to succeed in the music industry. Or maybe, as she was getting older, she was having second thoughts about encouraging the younger woman to pursue a criminal career. Selina Kyle had no regrets about her life, but still . . . .

“Why, thank you,” Pussycat replied, surprised at the compliment. “Say, why did you take up crime in the first place, Catwoman?”

“To get rich.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Catwoman thought for a moment and slowly began. “Well–”

“I knew it!”

“What?”

“Crime is a cat and mouse game you play with Batman.”

“Well, I do think it’s incredibly worthwhile when his rich, manly baritone caresses my ears with, ‘Catwoman, you’re under arrest.’”

“I feel exactly the same way.”

“You?!”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Pussycat cautioned, holding up a mittened hand. “You can have Batman. I would never step on your paws.”

“Then what are you talking about?” Catwoman demanded.

“I’ve been daydreaming about Robin since the two of us were arrested together.”

“Robin?!”

“Listen. If your were not so obsessed with Batman, you’d see he really is somebody special.”

The last time Catwoman had encountered Robin, he had captured her without Batman’s help and she had complimented him on his intelligence and finely developed physique. “He has grown, hasn’t he?”

Pussycat glanced at her former mistress with imps dancing in her eyes. “Yes, he has,” she purred. “Marlowe is nice, but Robin has grown even stronger, smarter, and dreamier.” Pussycat sighed. “Impressive.”

“Sorry to interrupt, boss,” Spade said, stepping into the room. “Playgirl wants a meeting and has sent you a map and a time for you to meet her representative.”

“Very well,” Catwoman said, accepting the offered papers. She returned to her guest. “Pussycat, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I’m afraid my attention will be required elsewhere now. Mr. Spade will show you out.”

“Thank you for everything, Catwoman. It all went purr-fectly.”

“I love it! It worked!” Paige Turner delightedly shouted, as a telephone receiver in her home settled into its cradle. She wrapped her arms around Bookworm and crushed him to her. “Regina’s mother is going to pay our price. Between that money and what we’ll make from the auction, we’ll be rich!”

“‘Look on my works ye mighty and despair,’” Bookworm quoted. “Unlike in Shelley’s poem Ozymandeus, my pretty Paige, those words are absolutely applicable. We are about to become extremely rich and I’ll take great pleasure in making all of your wildest dreams come true.”

“You’ll be well rewarded for doing so,” Paige Turner replied, glancing at him with a sly light in her eyes. “Shall I collect the librarian’s money?”

“By all means,” Bookworm replied. “What are the arrangements for returning the girl?”

“I told the mother I’d be in contact about where to pick her up.”

“Very good. I’ll send the men to fetch her and check on our stewing Batwoman.”

“I’ll see you when I get back.” Paige Turner lingered to kiss him hard on the lips before sweeping out of his presence.

Bookworm summoned Dashiell and Hammett. “Boys, I need you to get the girl from the bookmobile. Her mother is about to pay up, so I’ll need her brought back here intact so we can safely return her, in accordance with the terms of our agreement.”

“That’s a little disappointing, boss,” Hammett said.

“We were hoping to have a little fun with her,” Dashiell lamented.

“Those are the slings and arrows of making an illicit fortune,” Bookworm philosophically said. “There is, however, the potential bonus of watching Batwoman’s final moments, assuming she isn’t done already.”

“That’s something,” Dashiell conceded.

“Let’s go,” Hammett urged. “Batwoman was already hot even before the boss started cooking her.”

“There’s no need for any of you to go anywhere, if you’re looking for me,” the authoritative voice of Batwoman announced. Commissioner Gordon had relayed Paige Turner’s addresses from Batgirl to the Distaff Duo.

“She’s right, Bookworm,” Flamebird added. “You just found someone who’s been looking forward to punching you out for over a year!” Flamebird had worked with Batgirl to track Bookworm after an old house Batwoman had been searching for him had collapsed around her, rendering her temporarily out of commission. The younger heroine was also still angry about having been sealed behind a hastily constructed brick wall. Edgar Allen Poe’s writing had inspired both of those attacks, as well as the entire crime wave of which they had been a part.

On that occasion, with Batman and Robin also present at his capture, the Bookworm had given up without a fight. This time, however . . . .

“It’s Flamebird!” Dashiell exclaimed.

“Batwoman is with her,” Hammett fearfully announced.

“That’s impossible!” the Bookworm declared. “Annihilate those apparitions!”

Batarangs flew through the air and wrapped around an overhead rafter. The Distaff Duo drew their Batropes taut and swung across the room, kicking Dashiell and Hammett into bookshelves that showered them with heavy books. Once they stood on the floor beside their dangling ropes, each plunged a fist into Bookworm’s gut, doubling the villain over. The follow-up blows straightened him and put him down on his back.

The fight was far from over, as Flamebird learned when she turned her attention to the henchmen and found several books flying toward her. She slapped a few tomes away, but one caught her on the chin and dropped her.

Batwoman dodged the books flying toward her and reached Dashiell in two running steps. He slapped the ankle rising toward him down and was dismayed when Batwoman turned her hip and slapped his jaw with her foot, knocking him back into another bookshelf.

Hammett dove at Batwoman’s feet, taking them out from under her. Unprepared, Batwoman hit the ground with a grunt and felt Hammett’s hand settle on top of her as he knelt beside her fallen body. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.

“Enjoy this!” Flamebird said, stepping behind him and bringing a heavy bust crashing down on top of his head. Hammett slumped to the floor, unconscious.

“Thanks,” Batwoman said, as Flamebird helped her to her feet. “What happened to Bookworm?”

Flamebird glanced around the room and swore. “I’ll get him,” she promised, dashing to the single door.

“Flamebird, be careful!” she called, striding after her partner. An arm winding around her neck from behind halted Batwoman’s pursuit.

“It looks like the pretty bat is all mine,” Dashiell whispered.

Batwoman twisted at the waist as she sent a battle-honed elbow backward into the thug’s gut. She felt his hot breath on her neck as she heard him gasp and gripped the hand and elbow of the arm around her. Then she dropped to one knee and slammed Dashiell to the floor. She leaned forward and took his shirt in one fist, lifting him. “I hope it was good for you, too,” she said, smiling and thrusting him downward hard. Dashiell’s head hit the floor with a resounding crack and the fight was over.

Flamebird darted from the room and paused as a door at the opposite end of a hall slammed. She charged toward the fleeing villain and spotted him dashing across the front porch and along the walk. Flamebird turned on the porch and ran parallel to the Bookworm until he tuned toward the garage and she vaulted to the porch railing. The Bookworm glanced toward his pretty pursuer as she leaped at him.

The Bookworm’s cry of surprise and dismay heralded the collision as Flamebird swooped upon him like an avenging angel. She knocked him to the ground and rolled to her feet. “Get up!” she said, standing over him.

Bookworm raised his hands defensively.

“I told you to get up!” Flamebird said, reaching down and yanking the villain to his feet.

“What are you going to do to me?” the criminal asked fearfully.

“What do you think?” the teenage athlete asked ominously, wrenching the arm she was holding behind his back.

“Have mercy!” the Bookworm wailed.

“To whom have you ever shown mercy, Bookworm?” Flamebird pitilessly asked. She snapped a Batcuff on his wrist and reached for his other arm, wrenching it back painfully.

“Please!” the Bookworm screamed.

The other bracelet encompassed the Bookworm’s free wrist. “Now,“ Flamebird whispered, “I’m going to–”

“Help!”

“Place you under arrest,” Flamebird finished.

“Thank you,” the Bookworm said gratefully. A siren sounded in the distance and began to get louder.

“We'll get back inside,” Flamebird decided, moving the Bookworm forward with a shove.

“Good work, Flamebird. I’m proud of you,” Batwoman said once her protégé had rejoined her.

“The police will be here soon,” Flamebird reported.

“We’re here already, Distaff Duo,” Lieutenant Diana Mooney said.

“I’d have been here sooner, but I was helping coach Myrtle as she spoke to Bookworm’s henchwoman. We’ll be waiting when she shows up to get the ransom money.”

“I’m glad,” Batwoman said.

“Bookworm and these thugs are all yours,” Flamebird said.

“Thank you.” A squad car stopped in front of the house and Lieutenant Mooney summoned officers to Mirandize and arrest the crooks with a gesture. She watched them hustled into the cars and turned back to two of her caped allies, but Batwoman and Flamebird were gone.

Later, the Kitty Car pulled to a stop in the appointed place at the agreed-upon time. A curvaceous strawberry blonde wearing tight jeans, a Gotham City University sweatshirt molded to her upper body, tennis shoes, and sunglasses stepped to the passenger side of the car. Catwoman pushed a button, raising the passenger-side window. “Tag,” the shapely coed said, “you’re it.”

“You can tell your boss I’m not in the mood for games,” Catwoman said.

“My boss is all about games,” she replied. “Now, if you’ll let me in . . .” Catwoman activated the passenger-side gull-wing door. The coed climbed into the Kitty Car. “I’m Avalon Hill. You must be Catwoman.”

“How soon will I see Playgirl?”

“We’re pretty close to her now. Turn right here,” Avalon Hill directed. The Kitty Car roared into motion.

It wasn’t long before they made two more turns. “Why is that car behind us playing Follow the Leader?”

“There is no honor among thieves, Avalon. Playgirl would understand. Shall we keep that appointment now?”

“As you wish.” Presently, they pulled into a parking garage. “There are some rules for the meeting. Playgirl recognizes she’ll have me assisting her. Accordingly, you may bring only one of your hench-kittens along.”

“Purr-haps you’ll explain why I shouldn’t just do as I please with you and bring all of my people to chat with your boss?”

“The reason is simple. Playgirl set up this meeting. That means if you don’t play by her rules, you don’t get to see her.”

The car that had been following them pulled into the space next to the Kitty Car. Catwoman activated the DeLorean-type doors and she and her passenger climbed out.

Catwoman motioned to her gang. “Dayna will come with me. The rest of you stay with the cars. Okay, Avalon, let’s go.”

Avalon Hill led Catwoman and Dayna through a maze of underground passages and into a garishly decorated chamber with hanging beads and zebra-striped carpeting, where she announced the Feline Felon.

“Welcome, Catwoman,” Playgirl said, stepping from behind a curtain of beads and moving to a chair behind another. “Thank you for coming.”

“Nice décor,” the Feline Felon replied, “and I like your outfit. It flatters both of us.” Playgirl wore glasses, heels, hose, a skirt that bunched beneath one hip when she sat, a half-top featuring a cartoon cat, and a headband sporting pointed ears. She picked up a ball of pale, blue yarn and from her cushioned, high-backed chair and dropped it to the floor, while wrapping and unwrapping a single strand around her fingers as she spoke.

“Please sit down. I have a gift for you and some information you may, like, find totally interesting, you know?” Playgirl said, gesturing toward an empty chair. “Avalon will get your gift.”

Dayna cast a questioning glance at her mistress, who nodded. The hench-kitten followed Avalon Hill from the chamber.

“You said you had information,” Catwoman prompted.

“I’ve learned more about how the Onyx Osprey was originally stolen.”

“Really?” Catwoman attentively leaned forward.

“Bookworm bought a hologram from a third party and stole the Onyx Osprey a few days before we tried for it the other night.”

“How do you know this?”

“I tracked down the third party.”

“Who is the third party?”

“I cannot say. I’ve been, like, sworn to secrecy.”

“So?”

“Okay, the third party rewarded me for future silence.”

“I could offer you more money.”

“I wasn’t bribed with money,” Playgirl said salaciously, “and you can’t do what he did for me.”

“Well, we both know how curious we cats can be. Fortunately, curiosity is my only real interest. So, why are you telling me this?”

“Bookworm will auction the Onyx Osprey to the highest bidder. I’m trying to see who I’ll be up against, you know?”

“I can categorically promise you I’ll be at that auction,” Catwoman said.

“You’ve, like, totally researched the Onyx Osprey’s history, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve become aware of its more recent history, relatively speaking. Garsone Maltese, the famous French crook from the time of the French and Indian War, once fell in love with an escaped slave. Unfortunately, a slave catcher caught her. Maltese promised the man who caught her a favor in exchange for her freedom. The slaver had seen a golden statuette on an English ship in the Captain’s cabin. Apparently, it had been a prize of war taken from a captured Spanish galleon.” Catwoman paused in her telling of the story. She had Playgirl’s rapt attention.

“Maltese stole it for the slaver and the girl was released, but Maltese had also become an Abolitionist. He made a bargain with the Barberry Pirates, revealing details of the slaver’s planned course down the Mississippi River so the pirates would have an easy time capturing his ship, looting it, and leaving nothing behind. The story is a real tragedy, because while Maltese was negotiating with the pirates, the woman he loved died of smallpox.

“At the mouth of the Mississippi, the American Navy captured the pirates and the golden bird wound up in New Orleans. There, a voodoo priestess realized it had a curse on it. Apparently, anyone who tried to steal it from its rightful owner would suffer tragedy. To combat the curse, an onyx covering was applied to the golden statuette. As soon as the Onyx Osprey was thus created, it dropped out of sight.”

“Thank you for, like, sharing,” Playgirl said. “Listen. Maybe I can make it worth your while to leave the Onyx Osprey to me. All you want out of it is money, right?”

“So,” Catwoman said, “you’re offering to pay me not to attend the auction. That will cost you a lot of money!”

“Well,” Playgirl explained, “Some time ago, I was Max Chessman’s partner in crime. He has no idea how totally well I arranged to be compensated for that partnership. Money is not a problem, you know?”

“That’s very good news,” Catwoman said. “Purr-ticularly since I bought the black bird from a different third party this morning. Without me, there won’t be an auction.”

“That’s incredible!” Playgirl said. “Maybe I can persuade you to, like, just sell it to me?”

“I doubt it,” Catwoman said. “I’m curious about the black market of the item. So, details of the auction’s location will be forthcoming. I’m sure I’ll see you there.”

“Count on it!”

“Purr-fect.”

“Ah,” Playgirl said as footsteps sounded across the room. “Avalon has returned with your gift.” Dayna also re-entered, as Playgirl’s shapely sycophant crossed towards Catwoman and presented a black cat with a silk collar. “This is Medea. I understand your pet Hecate is no longer with us.”

“You’re well informed. Batgirl made Hecate charge into a telephone pole at top speed. After that, my poor pet wasn’t the same.” Catwoman’s explanation for her kitten’s fate omitted the creature’s growth to five feet tall and that the Feline Felon had torturously conditioned it to chase the beam of a laser pointer, which had been directed at the heroine. “You’re very kind, Playgirl. Thank you.” As Catwoman spoke, she took the kitten from Avalon Hill in her arms and began to stroke it slowly.

“Not at all,” the Gangster Gal of Games modestly replied. “Can I offer you, like, anything else?”

Before Catwoman could respond, Dayna interrupted. “Boss, you may want to take a look at this.” Dayna was staring into a closed-circuit TV monitor. The screen displayed the garage where the Kitty Car was parked.

“What is it?” Playgirl asked, anticipating her guest’s question.

“Your henchmen seem to have taken exception to our boys.” Dayna smirked. “I’d say, however, that your side is losing the game.”

Playgirl rose to her feet, glanced at the screen and swore. “If you’ll, like, excuse me–”

“Oh, I think we should all go and sort this out.” Catwoman got up, still holding Medea, and she and Dayna followed Playgirl and Avalon Hill back through the labyrinthian passages.

When they arrived in the garage, Beaumont and Nick were clenching Milton and Bradley, while Spade meticulously aimed blow after blow at Playgirl’s men’s ribs.

The pummeling stopped upon the women’s arrival. “What happened to you two?!” Playgirl demanded of her beaten bruisers.

“Not what,” Milton sorrowfully said as he wiped his bleeding lip.

“Who,” Bradley concurred, holding his side.

“Well, that seems obvious,” Playgirl persisted.

“They ambushed us after we left your first message for Catwoman,” Milton explained.

“We’re sorry, boss. It went a lot like this then, too,” Bradley said.

“I see,” Playgirl said. “You let them get the better of you – twice! You’re both pathetic losers . . . and you’re both fired!” She turned to Catwoman’s men. “Please throw them out when you’ve finished entertaining yourselves! Come on, girls. We’ll leave the boys to play.” She led the women out of the parking garage.

Once they were out of earshot of the men, though, Playgirl whirled on Catwoman. “Would you care to explain just why your men attacked mine?” Playgirl demanded.

“I think Dayna implied it was the other way around,” Catwoman replied as she petted Medea.

“I meant the first time!”

“Oh, that. You know what they say happens when the proverbial cat’s away. Boys will, like, so totally be boys, you know?” Playgirl glared at Catwoman for imitating the younger woman’s sometime way of speaking.

“You’re only complaining because your henchmen took the brunt of the punishment,” Dayna pointed out.

“Who asked you?” Avalon Hill retorted.

“Never mind,” Playgirl said, visibly calming.

“You know–” Catwoman started to say. Playgirl began to protest. Catwoman smiled sheepishly and continued, “this situation provided a good test for your men. It’s probably better for you to know whether you can rely on your help now, instead of when Batman and Robin are invading your headquarters.”

“Milton and Bradley’s replacements will be much better,” Playgirl said.

“Hopefully,” Catwoman cautioned. “Good help is hard to find.” This remark earned the Princess of Plunder a wide-eyed look from Dayna. “Male help, that is,” Catwoman quickly added.

The victorious cats caught up with the women and Spade reported to their mistress. “We’ll dump them behind a hospital on our way back to the lair.” He turned to Dayna. “Pretty impressive, wouldn’t you say?”

“Huh,” Dayna grunted in reply. “You surprised them the first time and outnumbered them on both occasions.”

“So?” Beaumont asked.

“You haven’t proven you could beat even them in a straight-up, fair fight.”

“It shows we’re superior planners,” Nick ventured.

‘That is the greatest load of crap I’ve ever heard in my life!” Dayna exclaimed. “Boss, why don’t I take your new cat back to the lair?”

“A purr-fect idea, Dayna. Shake a paw.” As soon as she left, Catwoman realized Dayna would need a ride. Only the Queen of Crime drove the Kitty Car and there wasn’t room in it for all of her men. Catwoman addressed them. “Boys, Playgirl and I need to talk. Go see that Playgirl’s ex-employees don’t disturb Dayna.”

“Not much chance of that,” Nick muttered.

“Out!” Catwoman ordered, pointing. Her henchmen took their leave.

“What did I do to Dayna?” Spade demanded, once they had left their employer.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nick advised. “She hates everyone.”

“Do you suppose that’s why she took up crime?” Beaumont asked.

Nick shrugged. They climbed into the car in which they had loaded Playgirl’s injured minions.

Catwoman and Playgirl returned to the latter’s inner chamber. The Feline Fiend began the conversation. “I should probably apologize for that incident.”

“Forget it,” Playgirl said. Her mood became philosophical. “If those fools attacked your men, they got what they deserved. After all, if they can’t take your tabbies, how would they do against any one of the Batforce? You were right.”

“It may be for the best, but I’m still sorry about it. I should be going. You have henchmen to recruit.”

“Keep in touch, Catwoman.“

“What a purr-fect idea. I will.”

Once Catwoman had gone, Avalon Hill remarked, “Well, her Dayna is a two-faced bitch.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She was so proud of how Catwoman’s men kicked ass when she was talking to us, but she practically spat in their faces when they fished for compliments.”

Playgirl stretched contentedly. “You’ll be happy to know your friend Dayna is giving away the location to Catwoman’s current lair as we speak.”

“I thought her hideout was at The Cage.”

“That’s one of them. She has several.”

“You think she moved after the boys’ visit,” Avalon Hill said, stating Playgirl’s conclusion.

“You and I need to find a new place, too, now that Catwoman knows this one.”

“Sounds smart.” Avalon Hill realized there was something she had missed. “How is Dayna helping us?”

“I hid a tracking device and microphone in Medea’s collar.”

Avalon Hill chuckled. “You are a winner, Playgirl. So, it’s time to let the games begin.”

“The games are already well underway, Avalon, and you and I both are playing to win,” Playgirl replied. “Listen while I tell you exactly how we’ll proceed.” Both women laughed when Playgirl had finished speaking.

“Batwoman and Flamebird arrested the Bookworm early this morning–” the news report began.

“He can’t auction the Onyx Osprey now,” Undine complained, switching the radio off. “We hit stately Wayne Manor for nothing.”

“Not for nothing, my dear,” the Penguin disagreed. “First of all, we still have the money Bruce Wayne unwisely kept at home. Second, don’t forget the Dissolved Duo and that bubbling butler’s bleached bones! Wak, wak, wak!” He turned the radio back on and switched it off immediately when he heard music on the station Undine had chosen the previous night.

“Okay, but our investment capital won’t do us much good if the goods we were after are in the police evidence room.”

“Wak, wak, wak!” The Penguin crowed, ”You’re brilliant, Undine.”

“I am?”

“Absolutely! You may have located a rare art object that has been lost for centuries.”

“Great! How do we get our hands on it?”

“The first step is to verify your theory. I’ll need you to get a newspaper. The police would announce they had recovered the Onyx Osprey if, in fact, they had.”

“Why wouldn’t they have, if Bookworm stole it and now he’s under arrest?”

“I don’t know, but before we break into the police evidence room, I want to be certain that what we’re looking for is really there.”

“That sounds smart, Pengy.”

“While you hit a news stand, I’ll check with my underworld contacts to see what has happened to Bookworm’s auction.”

“It should have been canceled.”

“Indeed. Once we have the statue, though, it will be on again, and there’s no reason not to take advantage of Bookworm’s advertising campaign.”

“Now, that idea is smart, Pengy.”

“Naturally. Now, get me the phone and then get your cute butt in gear, so I can read the paper.”

“Right, Pengy. Whatever you say,” Undine said, departing slowly and casting a sultry glance over her shoulder.

“Business before pleasure, Penguin,” the Waddling Master of Fowl Play reminded himself. “Wak, wak, wak! We criminal geniuses need to restrain ourselves constantly.”

“Did you hear the news, boss?” Dayna asked.

“I did,” Catwoman answered, stroking Medea’s fur lovingly. “It’s a pity. I had hoped Bookworm would be around to bid on the bird he stole. That irony would have been purr-fect.”

“The auction is still on?”

“Of course it is! We, however, will be running it. The statue is secure in the safe?”

“I put it there myself.”

“Good. That means nothing can stop us,” Catwoman purred. She set her new cat on the floor and watched it stalk from the chamber.

“What’s going on?” Dayna asked.

“Silence! Keep your eye on the security system.”

“What for?”

“We’ll be welcoming a visitor soon.”

“You’re expecting company?”

“We have invited no one, yet someone will come.”

“Shouldn’t we summon the men?”

“No. Playgirl no longer has any to send. You can handle her lone henchwoman.”

Dayna licked her ruby-red lips. “It will be my pleasure.”

“I thought you’d feel that way.”

“Look!” Dayna exclaimed, pointing an ebony finger at a flashing light on the security panel.

“Sooner than I’d thought,” Catwoman mused. “Turn on the cameras.”

Dayna obeyed and the image of Avalon Hill creeping around the catacombs materialized on the monitor before them. The intruder was moving silently through the rooms with the aid of a tiny light.

“She’s penetrated fairly far,” Dayna observed.

“Indeed. Let’s show her there are consequences for delving into our secrets.” Catwoman picked up her cat ‘o nine tails and led the way through the catacombs until she and Dayna could watch from around a corner as the strawberry blonde listened to the tumblers of Catwoman’s safe.

After a moment, Avalon Hill stepped back, manipulated the handle, pulled the door open, and inhaled. “She was right! Catwoman does have the Onyx Osprey.” A smile curled the henchwoman’s lips “Well, finder's keepers, loser's weepers.” Avalon Hill chuckled and reached for the prize for which she had been sent.

“Now, you’ve really gone and done it!” Catwoman announced. “Get her, Dayna!”

Avalon Hill whirled at the sound of a whip cracking beside her hand. She inhaled as Catwoman’s hench-kitten charged at her and pounced.

Avalon Hill’s body slammed into the door of the safe, closing it. Dayna hit her in the gut with a well-executed combination that made her victim’s knees buckle.

The intruder pushed herself off of the safe door and bowled her attacker over. The white girl was a few inches taller and several pounds heavier than the black one. “I was hoping I’d get a shot at you!” Avalon Hill said, panting. She kicked at the fallen hench-kitten and connected. “Oh, I am going to enjoy this.”

As Avalon Hill kicked at the fallen woman again, she felt her plant ankle pulled out from beneath her and hit the floor hard. Dayna nimbly rose to a crouch and dove at Avalon Hill as the intruder began to rise. Dayna’s shoulder impacted the center of Avalon Hill’s chest, knocking the wind from Playgirl’s employee. The hench-kitten quickly took a grip of the other woman’s hair and yanked backwards. She slammed the woman’s face against the floor and was rewarded by a moan. Avalon Hill gasped and tried to squirm free, but found her head smashed into the floor again and again. Soon, Avalon Hill lay utterly still.

The henchmen had heard the commotion and come to watch. “You got her,” Spade said.

“Nice work,” Nick complimented. “I wish we had more opportunities to watch you in action.”

“This time, we get a chance to play, thanks to Dayna’s fine performance,” Beaumont said, eyeing Avalon Hill hungrily. “We’ll have to decide who gets the first turn.”

“Down, boys!” Catwoman said, cracking her whip to get their attention “Dayna, take her to Playgirl’s old hideout, the one we visited, and find out what she knows about Playgirl’s plans. I’m also curious about how she learned about Bookworm.”

“I doubt she’ll tell me willingly.”

Catwoman coiled her whip and handed it over. “Use this and get all the details.”

“What about us?” Beaumont asked.

Catwoman sneered at her men. Then she had second thoughts. ‘Playgirl is an upstart who needs to be taught a lesson . . . and maybe the boys do deserve a reward. After all, there is something to be said for engendering loyalty among the hired help . . .’

“You three can hogtie the girl.” Catwoman flicked her head sideways at Dayna. “It will make the package easier to transport.”

Beaumont bent Avalon Hill’s legs and Nick pulled her right wrist to her left ankle and bound it in place. Spade did the same to the prisoner’s left wrist and right ankle. They then wrapped the slack in the rope around the knots. ”I think we have some more elaborate plans for her, once you have your information, boss.” Spade said hopefully.

“That is,” Nick hastily added, “if you have no objections.”

Catwoman glared at her men. They cowered before her. Then she smiled sweetly. “Very well, boys. Whatever may be left of dear Avalon once she’s talked, is all yours. Dayna, let them know when you’re done.”

“I suppose I should leave you something, then,” Dayna said disappointedly, as the picked up the hogtied prisoner and began to carry her away.

The men followed Catwoman back to her audience chamber. “All right, cats! It’s time to go over our security measures for the auction. The cat and mouse game I’m playing with Playgirl is going purr-fectly.” She laughed. “You dismantled her henchmen, and Dayna can be relied upon to take her girl apart piece by piece. That leaves their mistress to me and when I’m finished, everyone will know that Catwoman is top cat in Gotham City.”

“When did issues arise between you and Playgirl, boss?” Spade asked.

“When she and I both went after the Onyx Osprey on the same night.”

“You’ve decided to dismantle her organization?” Nick inquired.

Catwoman laughed. “I’ve done precisely that, boys. I hate competition!”

“She’ll be getting new henchmen now,” Beaumont predicted, grinning wolfishly.

“Naturally. Playgirl will soon be the only remaining obstacle between us and a life of splendor and plenty. We’ll have to make her see the folly of standing against us. If she purr-sists, we’ll have no choice but to eradicate her!”

The men waited patiently as Catwoman described the duties they would soon undertake.

Unknown to the criminals, a shapely shadow had detected Avalon Hill’s intrusion and followed her to the safe, avoiding the Catwoman’s cameras. The shadow moved silently through the cavernous catacombs, as Dayna carried the bound prisoner, bumping the body against the walls frequently. In the parking garage, Dayna tossed the captive unceremoniously into the trunk of a car seconds before a tiny device flew through the air, landing beside Avalon Hill just before the trunk slammed shut.

Batgirl laughed quietly and delightedly as she spotted the Batgirlcycle seconds after the car pulled from the garage. She checked over her vehicle and began to follow minutes after Dayna and Avalon Hill’s departure.

‘When I discover Playgirl’s hideout, I can report its location, as well as that of Catwoman’s lair to the police,’ she thought as the blip from her homing device guided the heroine to her destination.

Commissioner Gordon was not in his office when Batgirl’s call came in. He; his secretary, Bonnie; and Chief O’Hara had met Warden Crichton at the auditorium of the Gotham State Penitentiary to enjoy the fruits of another of the prison official’s progressive penological programs.

“I’m glad both of you were willing to escort me to this event,” Bonnie said to her superiors. “I feel much safer with both of you here. Of course, I would not have missed this performance. I love chamber music.”

“Sure an’ there’s potential danger any time the Parker family is involved.”

“I respectfully disagree, Chief O’Hara,” the Warden said. “They all started out on my Family Plan and stayed until Ma Parker went to the Old Criminals’ Home. Until then, they dormed together and reformed together.”

“I had always been under the impression your slogan about dorming and reforming was a line you made up to save Batman’s life when he inspected the prison while Ma Parker had taken it over,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“I’m sorry to have misled you all these years, Commissioner,” the Warden said. “Once Ma Parker retired, I decided to move her daughter, Legs, into the rest of the female prison population. She earned a parole and launched her crime wave two years ago. After Batgirl brought her back in, I put her back on the Family Plan. She and her brothers, Machine Gun; Maddog; and Pretty Boy, have all taken up music and will perform for us today. I’m very proud of them.”

“I think your pride is about to be justified, Warden,” Bonnie said.

The Parker family marched onto the stage and took their seats. They organized their music, and opened their instrument cases. The audience looked on expectantly as the Parker brood glanced at one another and laughed. Legs stepped to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentleman,” she began, “I’m delighted to be able to announce that our performance will be a little shorter than the program indicates. In fact, we’ll be on our way immediately.”

As Legs spoke, her brothers pulled machine guns from their instrument cases and covered the audience!

“I assure you, any attempt to follow us as we leave will be met with flying lead. So, stick ‘em up; stay put; and behave yourselves. We don’t really want to hurt any of you—yet. Now, good people, we’ll leave you. Goodbye.” She pulled her own machine gun from her instrument case and slung the strap over one shoulder. Then, she led the way from the stage picking up the sleeping toddler strapped into a portable carrier as she passed. The audience crouched behind the seats in front of them.

“Mother McKree!” Chief O’Hara exclaimed. “How did those guns get in the instrument cases?”

“I don’t know,” Warden Crichton said. “I assure all of you, I mean to find out!”

“I’ll look forward to hearing about your findings,” the Commissioner said. He began to rise and felt a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Sir, the Parkers are terrible shots,” Chief O’Hara said. “The audience will be safer if we stay put.”

“He’s right, Commissioner,” the Warden agreed. “The Parkers are tough in hand-to-hand combat, but when they shoot, they seem to hit everything but what they aim at.”

“Very well. Get after them once they’re outside.”

The fugitives passed shackled, gagged guards on their way to the parking lot. Once outside, a honking horn attracted the Parkers’ attention.

“Hey! Need a ride out of here?” Playgirl asked, pulling up in a red convertible. The driver, wearing a yellow halter top despite the chill in the air, was just as noticeable as the car.

“Did you get us the guns?” Pretty Boy asked.

“Naturally. Hop in. The cops will be after you any second.”

“Boys, shoot out the tires of those police cars,” Legs ordered, plopping into the passenger seat next to Playgirl. As Playgirl pulled the car away, bullets perforated the bodies of the police cars, two of which exploded.

Looking in the back of the car, Legs complained, “Hmm, I see you don’t have a car seat!”

“Sorry,” Playgirl said apologetically.

Legs busily calmed the upset toddler as the gunfire ceased.

As the police began to pursue the Parker family, Batgirl’s chase was concluding. She slowed as she drove into a parking garage and parked, dismounting and glancing at the location of the blip on her tracking system. Cautiously, she approached Playgirl’s lair through the maze of underground passages marking her path with bat stickers she took from her utility belt.

“Please . . . stop,” Batgirl heard a voice plead. “What do you want?”

“Answers,” a woman’s harsh voice replied. There was a scrape, a creak, and a gasp of pain. “I’ll get them, too.”

“Please . . . .” the prisoner begged.

“What was Playgirl planning to do with the Onyx Osprey after you stole it from Catwoman and how did she know Bookworm had it in the first place?”

“She’ll kill me if I tell you.”

Dayna leaned into Avalon Hill’s face, her nostrils flaring. “Now, you just have to know what my answer is to that one – I’ll kill you if you don’t!” Dayna slapped Avalon Hill across the face with the back of her right hand. Her long, sharp, fire-engine red fingernails made four scratches across Avalon Hill’s cheek. Thin lines of blood began to ooze. “Right now, my dear, you are mine! So, do you want it slow, or will you take your chances with Playgirl?”

The prisoner’s reply was so soft Batgirl could not hear it, but the crack of a whip and a scream spurred her into action.

Batgirl froze, staring in horror as she took in the scene in the chamber ahead of her. Avalon Hill hung suspended by her wrists from a hook in the ceiling. Her shapely body twisted slowly, letting her bindings tear into her flesh. A vertical tear had been sliced in the back of her top.

Dayna laughed. “This is going to be fun,” she said, beaming at her intended victim. She raised her whip hand again.

“Why don’t you pick on someone who can defend herself?!” Batgirl demanded.

“You!” Dayna said, pointing at the approaching paragon with eyes as wide as saucers. “You’re dead! This is impossible!”

“Wrong!” Batgirl said, grinning as Dayna retreated. “Not feeling so brave, now, eh?” she sweetly asked.

“Leave me alone!” Dayna begged, backing away.

“Not a chance,” Batgirl replied quietly, approaching inexorably. Mercilessly. Dayna reached the wall and began to move along it fearfully. Batgirl followed her progress.

“Have it your way, Batgirl,” Dayna resignedly said. “I’m not going down without a fight!” Dayna moved to crack the whip at Batgirl and felt her wrist seized in a gloved hand and twisted painfully. The torturer gasped and dropped the weapon.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Batgirl said. “I’m glad you did, though.” Batgirl’s lips curled in a smile as her fist hit Dayna in the mouth. The glove holding Dayna’s whip hand wrenched downward, exerting additional pressure on the twisted hand.

Dayna opened her mouth again, but only a pained breath came out. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Maybe,” Batgirl said. “Catwoman sent you here to torture this woman. Why?”

“She works for Playgirl and came to steal the statue.”

“The Onyx Osprey?”

“Yes.”

“What were you supposed to find out?”

“Whatever she knows about Playgirl’s plans for the statue.”

“What makes you think she knows something?”

“Playgirl trusted her to steal it.”

“And,” Batgirl prompted.

“Catwoman is systematically dismantling Playgirl’s organization. This woman and her boss are all that’s left for now. Playgirl’s original henchmen are in the hospital.”

“You were to see that your prisoner joined them once she talked?”

“I kind of had the morgue in mind,” Dayna admitted.

Batgirl let go of Dayna’s arm. “Thank you for your help.”

“It isn’t like my cooperation will ever do you any good, Batgirl!”

Dayna’s hand flew toward Batgirl’s throat and the glint of metal flashed in the light. The Svelte Sentinel stepped back and intercepted her attacker’s hand, slamming it against the wall with bone shattering force. A sharp metal claw clattered to the floor.

Batgirl shook her head as she thoughtfully brought her raised elbow into the side of the woman’s neck. Dayna began to sag and the heel of Batgirl’s other hand drove her head hard into the wall. The hench-kitten moaned as she slumped to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. Batgirl bent over her briefly and pulled two pairs of Batcuffs from her belt.

Avalon Hill was grinning from ear to ear as Batgirl stepped toward her and reached for the ropes chewing into her wrists. “She deserved that.”

“I know some of what she believed is true because I saw the Onyx Osprey in Catwoman’s safe when you tried to steal it.”

Avalon Hill’s face paled. “What are you going to do with me?”

“That depends,“ Batgirl answered matter-of-factly. “Do you work for Playgirl?”

“Not any more. She won’t keep me on after I failed to get the Onyx Osprey.”

“Okay. When you worked for her, what exactly did you do?”

“I was a lookout . . . and I was her messenger. That was about it.”

“So, she sent an errand girl and lookout to steal the statue, the statue for which half the supervillains in Gotham City are looking?”

“You saw me,” Avalon Hill replied tartly. “I’m also a safecracker. I had earned Playgirl’s trust.”

“And now you’ve lost it.”

“She’ll probably kill me. It all depends how mad she is.”

“I won’t let Playgirl kill you.” Batgirl helped Avalon Hill down from the hook and took a med pack from her hip to begin treating the woman's wounds. “What would you have done with the statue, if you’d stolen it?”

“I was to keep it safe until the auction.”

“What auction?”

“As you said, lots of crooks around Gotham want this statue. So first Bookworm, then Catwoman, and, if I’d managed to steal it, Playgirl would have sold it to the highest bidder.”

“When and where is this auction?”

“I don’t know. I think Catwoman is going to take advantage of the arrangements Bookworm made for it.”

Dayna moaned. Batgirl decided, “We should leave. The police will come and get her soon enough.”

“Where are we going?”

“Police Headquarters.”

“Are you arresting me?”

“All I’ve seen you do is try to rob Catwoman. I doubt she’ll press charges, considering you were trying to steal stolen property. I had hoped you would turn yourself in.”

“Wait a minute,” Avalon Hill said coyly. “You’ve got nothing you can use on me. Why should I confess to anything?”

“You don’t have to, if you really feel you shouldn’t,” Batgirl answered just as coyly. “If, however, you surrender, confess to any crimes with which you were involved, and cooperate with the police, you might get off with just community service–

“Life under the cops’ thumbs doesn’t exactly sound tempting.”

“Oh, by the way, my continued protection from both Playgirl and Catwoman is contingent upon your cooperation. I doubt you’ll last long on your own. Remember, you know where the Onyx Osprey is.”

“Catwoman’s probably moved it.”

“Without my protection, you might have to convince your next torturer she did.”

“You’d let that happen to me?”

“I won’t facilitate your torture . . . but if I’m not around, I can’t really be responsible for what might happen. Maybe I’m overstating the danger you face . . . but I’m not the one who said Playgirl would probably kill you.”

“So it’s cooperate or take my chances.”

“That’s about it. As you said, I don’t have anything on you I can use.”

Dayna moaned again as Batgirl and Avalon Hill locked eyes. The shackled hench-kitten began to struggle. “I’m hogtied!”

Avalon Hill tore her eyes away from Batgirl and glanced at the vainly struggling prisoner. “Shall we be going?” she asked sweetly.

“As long as you agree to cooperate,” Batgirl said. Her gaze had not wavered.

Avalon Hill thought for a moment, stared at Dayna, and nodded. “I like the way you’re leaving her bound, the same way she brought me here.” Avalon Hill winked at Batgirl. “Playgirl told me you were vengeful and had a pretty wide mean streak.”

Batgirl was taken a bit aback. ‘Is that what Playgirl really thinks of me?’

“Where are you going?!” Dayna demanded. “You can’t leave me like this!”

“Watch closely,” Avalon Hill said, opening the door for Batgirl.

“Wait!” Dayna screamed.

“Why?” Batgirl asked. “You seemed to enjoy leaving me to die. Catwoman’s trap failed. You wouldn’t deny me my turn. Look on the bright side. I’m only leaving you to be arrested. Playgirl probably has something here she was going to use to try to kill me. Given what Avalon believes about me, you wouldn’t want me to take the time to find it, would you?”

“Why you lily-white little @%$*#–”

“Such language,” Batgirl said once the door closed between her and the cursing captive.

Avalon Hill laughed. “Listen. Would you mind if I spent a minute powdering my nose. If I’m going to spill my guts to the cops, I want to look my best.”

“I don’t see a problem there,” Batgirl replied. She smiled warmly at Avalon Hill. “Take your time.”

The Parker family’s escape brought the Batmobile and the Distaff Duo’s Bat Cycles roaring to Police Headquarters. The crime-fighting quartet climbed the stairs and made their way to Commissioner Gordon’s office.

“It’s a dark day for Gotham City,” Chief O’Hara remarked, shuddering. “Ma Legs Parker and Playgirl are working together.”

“That’s an odd pairing,” Robin remarked.

“Why do you say that?” Flamebird asked.

“I would think Legs would try to team up with a male supervillain,” Robin explained. “Her last caper was essentially her wedding.”

“Interesting,” the teenage heroine said, glancing at her idol.

“I didn’t know Legs Parker was married,” Batwoman said.

“She isn’t,” the Commissioner responded. “Batgirl, Robin, and a police strike force arrested her, along with her wedding party, before the ceremony was completed.”

“Who did she try to marry?” Flamebird interestedly asked.

“French Freddy ‘Touche’ the Fence,” Robin answered. “You know. I’m starting to doubt my own theory. He isn’t exactly what I’d call an arch- criminal.”

“Her choice may have depended upon other goals, old chum,” Batman hypothesized. “Legs, as I recall, was trying to establish herself as a supervillaness in her own right.”

“Would that have been because her mother has retired to the Old Criminals’ Home?” Batwoman asked.

“Possibly,” Batman said. “If she has given up on her wedding plans, she may deign to be a Playgirl’s top lieutenant. Yet, she is still a very capable, very dangerous woman in her own right.”

“Holy Versatility! You can say that again!” Robin slammed a gloved fist into his palm.

“Help me understand exactly what you mean by that, Robin,” Flamebird said.

“Well, when we first encountered the original Ma Parker, Legs was rumored to be the most dangerous member of the gang,” he explained. “Since then, she’s lived up to that reputation.” Robin recalled not only Legs’ bid for super-criminal supremacy, but how eagerly she had participated in the trap Madame DeBase had set for him and Batman. He recalled how her hands had stroked and her tongue had licked and her hot breath had seared him. She had offered him much more than the treatment she had been ordered to provide. The shudders he still experienced when he recalled his memories of that occasion and Legs’ indecent proposal were not entirely induced by fear.

“Is it warm in here, Robin?” Flamebird persisted mercilessly. “Your looking as red as your pseudonym.”

“Perhaps we should return to the topic of established super-criminals,” Batman suggested, coming to the rescue. “The last few times Playgirl has surfaced, she has been teamed with another arch-criminal.”

“Holy Unholy Alliances! She worked with Max Chessman a couple of years ago and recently teamed up with the Archer.”

“I thought she tried to kill Max Chessman,” Chief O’Hara said.

“She did,” Batman confirmed. He was about to elaborate when the Commissioner’s phone rang.

“Yes, Bonnie,” the Commissioner said. “Fine. Put Batgirl on speakers.”

“Hello,” said the disguised voice of the Dark Knight Damsel, “I have one of Catwoman’s hench-kittens in custody, I’ve convinced Playgirl’s henchwoman to surrender, and have a pretty good idea of what is going on.”

“Great work, Batgirl!” the Commissioner said.

There was an uncomfortable pause. The Commissioner looked a bit flustered as he continued, “So, what is going on?”

“Catwoman plans to auction the Onyx Osprey to the highest bidder.”

“Didn’t the Bookworm steal that statue, Batgirl?” Batwoman asked.

“I’m told he did. Catwoman has it now. How she got it is a long story. Anyway, she’s keeping it in a safe at her current Catlair,” Batgirl explained, providing the address.

“I’ll send a squad there to collect the statue, Catwoman, and the rest of her gang,” Chief O’Hara said.

“One moment, Chief,” Batman said. “Batgirl, do you have any idea when or where this auction will be?”

“Apparently, Catwoman is going to use the same time and place Bookworm had scheduled.”

“Batgirl, do you know who will attend the auction?” Robin asked.

“I understand it has aroused wide interest in the underworld,” Batgirl answered.

“Precisely,” Batman said. ”If we wait until the auction to strike, we can bag a significant number of at-large arch-criminals at the same time!”

“Great!” Flamebird said slamming her fist into her glove. “Batgirl, exactly where and when is the auction?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t found that out,” Batgirl admitted.

“I have an idea,” Batwoman said. “When Bookworm left me to die, he had a captive who had been in his custody for some time before I was captured. Her name is Regina. She might have picked up a clue to Bookworm’s plans.”

“Good thinking, Batwoman,” Batman praised. “Robin and I will talk to her and see what we can find out.”

“Flamebird and I will hit the streets and see if we can scare up some information.”

“Sounds good,” Batgirl encouraged. “I’ll talk to my prisoner and see if she knows anything else. We’ll coordinate our efforts through Commissioner Gordon’s office.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Commissioner Gordon said enthusiastically.

“Begorra! You’ve gone a long way to straightening this mess out, Batgirl.”

“Thank you, Chief O’Hara. I’ll see all of you at the auction, once we figure out when and where it will be.”

“Talk to you soon, Batgirl,” Flamebird said.

“Goodbye.”

Batgirl was putting her cell phone away at her hip when Avalon Hill reappeared. “I’m ready to go, Batgirl. After you,” she said, gesturing toward the door to the street.

“I’m afraid I have to ask Dayna a few more questions before we go,” Batgirl apologized.

“Can I watch you make her answer them?” Avalon Hill hopefully asked, grinning.

“Sure. You may be disappointed, though. I have no intention of torturing her,” Batgirl confided. Then her tone became mischievous. “Of course, she may not figure that out right away.”

“A pity,” Avalon Hill said, following Batgirl back to where Dayna lay shackled. “I’ll have to attend to her torture myself.”

“What?” As Batgirl began to turn, she felt an electrical shock impact the small of her back. Within a second, the shock had traversed her nervous system, disrupting her equilibrium. She pitched forward, twisting in midair to look at her attacker, who held a sparking taser and smiled wickedly. Batgirl hit the floor hard and tried to get up. Her muscles refused to respond to her mental commands and she collapsed under her own weight.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Avalon Hill asked, laughing. “Set on high, this little device delivers several hundred thousand volts of power. I really think I could take down Godzilla with it. Just imagine what it could do to you.” The henchwoman crouched beside her fallen rescuer.

“Why?” Batgirl weakly asked.

“There’s been a change of plans, Batgirl,” Avalon Hill explained. ”Instead of surrendering to the police and later getting horribly killed, I decided to give you to Playgirl. She said she was, like, totally looking forward to seeing you again, you know, and she’s on her way here now. In the meantime, I have my captive, former torturer with whom to play.”

“Lucky me. I miss out on all the preliminary fun,” Batgirl darkly said.

“Playgirl seemed delighted I’ve captured you. I think she’s forgiven my failure to steal the Onyx Osprey.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” Batgirl warned.

“You worry about the wrong things. You’re the one in jeopardy now, Batgirl,” Avalon Hill said. She laughed and touched the center of Batgirl’s chest with her powerful taser. Batgirl felt a sudden, painful jolt that ushered her into black, velvety oblivion.

When Avalon Hill straightened, she turned to regard Dayna with a wicked smile. “Batgirl isn’t the only one in trouble,” she said. “Now, I think the setting on this device is a little high for you. After all, I want you conscious . . . for awhile.”

Avalon Hill crouched inexorably over her former torturer and touched the taser to Dayna’s flesh. The African-American henchwoman screamed.

“Greetings, Batgirl. Welcome to my playpen.”

Batgirl’s eyes fluttered open. She was vaguely aware of a voice speaking to her and turned her head toward it.

Slowly, her captor came into focus. She was a barefoot, blonde woman regarding Batgirl from outside the three-sided chamber in which the heroine found herself. The woman wore belted, torn jeans and a three-colored, long-sleeved shirt. Her abdomen and forearms were covered in pink fabric. A wide, scarlet stripe adorned her lower biceps and the center of her chest, while the rest of the garment was red, matching her lipstick and toenail polish.

Before Batgirl could confront her captor, a slight pressure against her neck distracted her. She slowly realized a collar of supple leather encircled her throat and that a rope stretched upward from the back of it to a smooth eye bolt screwed into the ceiling of Batgirl’s prison. The collar, however, was only her first dastardly discovery.

Her left arm was tightly lashed to one wall of her prison, while her right arm stretched behind her out of sight. A gentle tug was all that was required to reveal her hand was securely fastened to the back of her prison.

Looking through the cleft between her breasts; across the hollow of her stomach, her glittering belt buckle, and her narrow waist; and along one long, lovely leg told Batgirl another rope held her booted foot firmly against the floor. Batgirl’s remaining leg had been lifted, straightened, and tightly tied to the remaining wall with yet another rope. The bindings had had all been cinched repeatedly until every trace of slack had been removed and her body was held rigidly in place, her toned, well-defined muscles standing out prominently.

Batgirl moaned and tried to get her bearings, knowing she would need to steel herself for her forthcoming ordeal. She tried to shift, but relaxed immediately as pain made her gasp. Avoiding the feeling of the leather collar against her throat would be possible, but could easily cost Batgirl a painful price. She felt her head bow against the collar and realized it was not designed to choke her. 'Curious.'

Now that she had questions, it was time to confront her captor.

“Playgirl?” Batgirl softly asked.

“As I recall, Chief O’Hara freed you from between those wheels Max Chessman planned to have grind you into tiny pieces. I watched the highlights of your arrest on television — several times.”

“That bumbling Irishman only caught me because you left me in that embarrassing position after turning those wheels off. Chessman tried to kill me because he knew I was poised to take over his entire organization. He fled after leaving me to die, so achieving everything I wanted would have been, like, a cakewalk! But, no! You had me arrested!

“Naturally,” Batgirl said.

“I tried to make that, like, intolerable situation bearable by arranging a perfectly good trap in which Chessman would have slowly, painfully perished. He was helpless and utterly at my mercy.” Playgirl paused to laugh and then made a face. “Then, you released him! Why, Batgirl? He tried to kill you, too. Why couldn’t you have just let him die?” Playgirl paused to inhale, but did not give Batgirl a chance to respond before shouting, “Why? Why must you always meddle in my affairs?!”

“You tried to murder Chessman,” Batgirl lectured. “Imprisonment, not death, was to be his punishment. Citizens cannot take the law into their own hands.”

“You don’t practice what you preach, Batgirl,” Playgirl smugly pointed out.

Batgirl visibly stiffened, quite a response considering her predicament. “Although I’m not officially affiliated with the police, I always cooperate with officers of the law . . . and I don’t determine guilt or innocence nor mete out sentences."

The beauteous blonde stared at Batgirl darkly. “Rationalize it any way you want. It, like, really doesn’t matter. Your time of playing at being a crimefighter is totally at an end, you know?”

“You’ve tried to get rid of me before.”

“Well,” the villainess philosophically said, giggling, “if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

“Playgirl, you are one of the most brilliant women in Gotham City and maybe this country. The President needs people like you to help combat terrorism. You would be well-suited to that line of work and you’d be very good at it. Not only could such a position pay you handsomely, it could save countless lives.”

“I don’t know, girlfriend. I think I’ll become a lot richer a lot faster freelancing. Besides, who wants to be a lame do-gooder? I mean, you can just totally take that idea and like gag me, you know?”

“Your insatiable thirst for vengeance makes me ill!” Batgirl declared.

“Hey, that is, like, so cool! The conversation has come back to my revenge against you.” Playgirl laughed and dreamily continued, “Once you’re out of the way, I’ll buy the Onyx Osprey and sell it to an unscrupulous collector for megabucks. When that transaction is complete, I’ll be able to perfect the technology to compel everyone to play by my rules. Absolutely nothing, and no one, will be able to stop me—you least of all!”

Batgirl used Playgirl’s reverie to reassess her predicament. The pins and needles sensation the tight bindings holding her extremities had induced was partially responsible for her revival. Another factor was her immobility. This effect of her binding lent irony to her utility belt remaining slung around her waist, and Batgirl knew her rigid position would never offer an opportunity to reach it. Beyond the restraints, her three-sided death chamber seemed to be built from gigantic playing cards. Batgirl found this fact odd.

“You noticed the cards around you, I trust?” Playgirl asked.

“Yes,” Batgirl replied, trying to sound disinterested.

“Well, your cell is situated atop a structure constructed from the rest of the deck. I call it my Bat-Doll House, since Avalon caught a living Bat-doll for me to play with. You see, Batgirl, you will play in my Bat-Doll House by my rules, and the stakes in this little game are life and death . . . specifically, yours!”

“You don’t say.” Batgirl’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Oh, but I do,” Playgirl said, laughing. “Now, what inevitably happens to every house of cards?”

“Any house of cards will collapse, just like your criminal plans, Playgirl. You may win this round of your dangerous game. In the end, though, you will lose, as evil always does.”

“We will so totally see, Batgirl! When the Bat-Doll-House of oversized cards collapses beneath you, your body will plunge into the center of the wreckage and be pulled in five different directions. There is a very real chance your neck will break as you’re drawn and quartered. The cards, of course, will be reduced to toothpicks after they stretch your joints, making them snap; crackle, and pop.” Playgirl paused to laugh. ”Whatever may be left of you is very likely to be deeply impaled. Assuming nothing totally vital is pierced, your bloody remains will be squashed like a grape,” Playgirl continued. Her laughter had transformed into delighted giggling. “Neither all the king’s horses, nor all the king’s men, will ever be able to put you back together again!”

“You have no idea what will happen,” Batgirl chided. “You’ve just described four fates I might suffer.”

“Oh, you’ll suffer alright, Batgirl. I planned your fate quite meticulously, don’t worry,” Playgirl replied, chuckling.

“Why worry?” Batgirl asked absently. “You won’t get away with . . . whatever it is that will happen anyway.” Batgirl was proud her effort to sound bored was succeeding.

“Nonsense!” Playgirl nearly shouted. “I wouldn’t move, if I were you, Batgirl. The slightest tremor in this structure could trigger its collapse.”

“If you’re relying on me to trigger my uncertain fate, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“I don’t think so,” Playgirl quietly said, shaking her head. “As much as you may wish to remain motionless, held tightly as you are, your muscles will eventually start cramping. When they do, they’ll tremble involuntarily. Those vibrations will reverberate throughout the Bat-Doll House. As the tremors become more pronounced, the walls will shift and gravity will have its woeful way with you. In the end, my cards will shut you up in a sepulture beside the sounding sea.”

“Poetic,” Batgirl commented dryly as she recognized the quote from Annabelle Lee, “and utterly diabolical.”

“Why, thank you, Batgirl. That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me while I was dressed in years. Bookworm was going to have his auction, so I thought I’d catch up on my reading. Confidentially, he told me I was poetry in motion several times while we were in prison together. I would think he would, like, know, if anyone did. Right?”

“Don’t do this, Playgirl!” Batgirl warned, ignoring the question. “I’ll be out of here and after you in no time.”

“Whatever,” Playgirl absently replied. She rose and elaborately yawned, stepping toward her victim as the scaffold upon which she stood swayed. Playgirl carefully unbuckled Batgirl’s utility belt, laughing softly. “I think my assistant’s good work has earned her a little souvenir. This will do nicely."

“Avalon won’t escape justice, either,” Batgirl predicted as she struggled to stay still.

Playgirl just smiled at Batgirl's statement. “By the way, you can yell all you want, if you dare. No one will hear you.” Playgirl paused to laugh. “Goodbye . . . forever,” she said. Playgirl stepped back to her swaying scaffolding and waved. Before the villainess was carried away, she had one more inspiration. “I know Nora Clavicle has made this suggestion in the past, but I think it’s quite applicable here."

Batgirl frowned, knowing what was coming.

"Don’t . . . move!”

The caped captive watched the sea foam against one of Gotham City’s many deserted beaches without seeing it. Playgirl’s dying laughter echoed around Batgirl, as the heroine's muscles began to ache intolerably.

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