The plane was bound for Bessarovia. Its unwilling passenger would be regarded as the most dangerous woman in the country the moment it entered that nation’s air space.

“Are we finished?” the leader of the prisoner’s American guards asked.

“You can go. My associates and I will take custody now.” A Bessarovian official stepped to a house phone and lifted the receiver. “This is Boris. You may tell the American policeman the Kyle woman has been handed over.” Boris listened for a moment, nodded unnecessarily, and thanked his American contact.

It had taken over a year for extradition to be accomplished, once Catwoman had been re-captured by Batman in the Arizona desert. Now, in the interest of American foreign policy, Selina Kyle had been turned over from one of the U. S. state prison systems to another sovereign nation.

“Welcome to Bessarovia, Catwoman,” Boris said, taking her elbow. He lead her toward the waiting plane. “As you know, you are now technically in Bessarovia, as you were when you were captured at our embassy.”

“I know,” Catwoman flatly replied as Boris compelled his unwilling passenger to board the aircraft.

“Please relax, Ms. Kyle,” Boris invited once they were both safely locked aboard. “I want to talk to you about Olga, Queen of the Cossacks. She is on trial for conspiracy in the mother country. We are trying to determine whether she is also guilty of treason.”

“I see no advantage in telling you anything!”

Boris’ smile made Catwoman uncomfortable. “Once we are airborne, we will see.” He moved into the cabin while the plane took off. Shortly thereafter, Boris returned with two uniformed men.

“Shouldn’t at least one of your friends be flying the plane?” the American criminal queen asked.

“We have autopilot,” one of the aviators said, favoring her with a thin smile.

“It will give us plenty of time to enjoy our country’s customs in flight,” the other agreed.

“What do you mean?” she suspiciously asked. “I don’t understand.”

“You can’t escape, Catwoman! You have nowhere to go now,” Boris said, relaxing slightly.

“In that case, might you release my hands?” the strawberry blonde asked, offering them.

“You’re right. Their binding is not traditional,” Boris said, unlocking the Feline Fiend’s handcuffs. The pilots suddenly seized Catwoman’s arms and held them behind her back so her wrists could be tied with rope.

“Traditional?” Catwoman suspiciously repeated, making the word a question. “What’s going on?”

“You have participated in a traditional Bessarovian ceremony that was never concluded,” the pilot explained.

“We will finish what was started,” the copilot agreed.

“You don’t mean for me to finish that idiotic dance of yours?” Catwoman asked. She thought back almost three years to her capture at the Bessarovian Embassy in Gotham City. Batgirl had permitted various Bessarovians to force her to be the featured performer in a Cossack Sabre Dance. The Dominoed Daredoll had not, however, allowed the dance to become the traditional and brutal means of execution for which it had originally been developed.

Boris pulled on a pair of gloves before drawing a long cooler into view, from which he and his gloved companions retrieved sabres. “I apologize for these frozen weapons, gentlemen. I would never have been allowed to bring the usual frosted sabres aboard the plane. These, however, may permit a longer dance . . . although with so little room in the aisle . . . .”

Catwoman’s eyes widened.

“Start the music,” the pilot commanded.

“Vlozhky! Vlozhky! Vlozhky! Hie! Hie! Vlozhky!” the copilot enthused, heading for the sound system.

“I’ve been looking forward to this moment since I got this assignment,” Boris said, drinking in the sight of Catwoman’s understandable trepidation.

“What happened to questioning me about Olga?” Catwoman asked.

Boris shrugged as a grin slowly spread across his face. The copilot’s hand, meanwhile, had just reached the sound system controls when a loud drone and a metal clank sounded outside the aircraft.

“What was that?” Boris demanded.

“I don’t know, the pilot responded.

“Well,” Boris shouted, “look, you fool!”

“I must be dreaming!” the copilot exclaimed, staring through a passenger window.

“What is it?” Boris demanded.

As if in answer to the question, the door to the plane cabin opened to admit two blonde women, who seemed to expect the powerful suction drawing the pressurized atmosphere from the plane. Catwoman and her sword-wielding captors had not expected it and felt themselves pulled toward the aperture. Instinctively, the men let go of their weapons and clung to the nearest pair of seats. The rush of air was louder than Catwoman’s terrified scream as she was torn from her feet and flew across the cabin to slam painfully against some seats and to the floor before continuing her inexorable slide toward the open cabin door.

The Princess of Plunder’s fateful trip ended inches from the door when the closing metal hatch came into her view, separating her from the moonlit cloudscape into which she had nearly been drawn. Seconds later, someone was crouched over her, slashing at the ropes binding her wrists.

Both newcomers were armed with a pair of guns each, holstered at their well-rounded hips. The older woman’s ponytail descended past her right ear and over her shoulder, behind which a cowboy hat dangled from a string tied loosely around her neck. A red kerchief was also knotted at her throat, complimenting her pale, plaid blouse, over which a faded, leather vest molded closely against her upper body. Matching pants flared around her hips and sheathed her lovely, long legs. A pair of boots completed her Western-style outfit.

The younger blonde looked more typical of Catwoman’s employees. Her ponytail was arranged like her associate’s, except on the left side of her head, and she wore polished, knee-high boots; golden pants that fit her like a second skin; a black blouse; and a leopard-patterned jacket, which she had worn open to allow easier access to her guns.

“Thank you for coming after me,” Catwoman said.

The older gunwoman smiled and replied, “We should be goin’.”

“You three aren’t going anywhere!” Boris bellowed, brandishing one of the fallen swords.

Both gunwomen simultaneously drew weapons, pivoted and sent tiny darts into Boris’ chest. Seconds later, the swordsman collapsed, unconscious.

“Well done, girls,” Catwoman complimented. “It seems your trip out West ended at the purr-fect time. It also appears these boys brought their big knives to a gunfight.” She laughed without humor.

“Where did these women come from?” the copilot asked. “Who are they, and what did they do to Boris?”

The pilot stared fearfully at the Besserovian official. “Is he–”

Catwoman’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Purr-mit me to introduce Okie Annie and Soolin, a couple of my more adventurous and talented kittens,” the villainess said. “Show them what happened to that one, girls!” Catwoman indicated Boris' unconscious body with a gesture.

Instantly, the gunwomen turned in opposite directions and fired their still-loaded guns at the aviators, who reached for their swords as darts impaled them, rendering them unconscious in an instant.

“We have to hurry,” Soolin said. “We don’t want to draw the attention of the United States Air Force.”

“Let’s go then,” Okie Annie urged.

“One moment!” Catwoman said, checking her rescuers with an upraised hand. “I take it our ride out of here is both beside and above us?”

“Yep,” Okie Annie confirmed.

“It’s much easier using the cable to get between the planes when gravity is working for you,” Soolin explained.

“Purr-fect,” Catwoman replied nodding. "I don’t want these men to die unnecessarily. Put their seat belts and oxygen masks on while I execute an aerial maneuver.”

Okie Annie and Soolin obeyed while Catwoman stepped into the cabin. After gesturing to the other plane’s pilot to convey her intention, she manipulated the flight controls. Catwoman’s captors had been secured when the Feline Fiend returned to the cabin. “Let’s go!” she said, striding toward the door her rescuers had used. The other women followed, pressing themselves against the wall on either side of the door. “Ready?”

The simultaneous nod of her rescuers prompted Catwoman to re-open the door and reach for a cable running between the cabin doors of two planes. The Princess of Plunder slid down to the other plane and opened the door, stepping inside. Okie Annie followed before Soolin emerged from the Bessarovian plane, kicking both her legs back to slam the door shut behind her. Seconds later, helping hands pulled Soolin to safety and dragged the door to Catwoman’s getaway plane closed with considerable effort.

“I’d like purr-mission to come aboard,” Catwoman said.

“Purr-mission granted.” The speaker was a brunette wearing a flight suit that clung invitingly to her every curve. Although not petite at five foot, eight and a half, she was more than two inches shorter than the rescuee. “Welcome aboard Carson One, Catwoman. Ladies, you’ve done very well. Now, would you please leave us?”

“Yes, Lisa,” the gunwomen simultaneously said. They obediently hurried away.

“You’re amazing, Lisa.” Catwoman complimented. “I’m very grateful to you. The Bessarovian officials planned the most unpleasant, extradition flight for me.” She went on to describe the events transpiring as the gunwomen had arrived to rescue her.

“You know,” Lisa Carson thoughtfully said, “you are pretty recognizable.”

“All over the world,” Catwoman happily agreed, grinning. “This escape you’ve brilliantly engineered will raise my profile considerably. People might come to believe I can do anything!” The voluptuous villainess laughed.

“Thank you.” Lisa Carson became serious as she continued, “Under the circumstances, it might be reasonable to expect Bessarovian Cossacks to be waiting to cut you to pieces wherever you go in the world. It might be a really good idea to take a vacation from Gotham City. It’s too bad, though. I think I’ve found you the purr-fect victim.”

“Whom do you have in mind?” Catwoman asked interestedly.

“My ex-boyfriend, George Henry Lyons,” Lisa Carson said.

“Is this because he’s now your ex?”

“Well, in part, yes,” Lisa admitted. “There is more to it, though.”

“Lyons is a rich, international businessman, often called ‘The Lyon King’ because many of his companies cater to animals. He also has several environmentally-friendly purr-suits he calls his ‘pet’ projects. All of them are, of course, aimed at making money. I can understand why he would be admired.”

“That’s his public purr-sona,” Lisa Carson confirmed. “What is a lot less well known is how he has made some of his young animals available to unscrupulous scientists as experimental subjects. I think he was trying to make up for some setbacks he suffered in the sub-prime mortgage market, but the fact remains he profited from the suffering of animals.”

“I’m willing to look into your concerns. Did you go on dating him once you learned about this testing?”

“My plan was to make it worth his while to abandon the research. I could have done that easily enough . . . if he hadn’t noticed another woman in Londinium and dumped me after he brought her back to Gotham City.”

“You didn’t arrange my escape just so I would go after your ex for you, did you?”

“No, of course not,” Lisa Carson protested. “You know me well enough to understand I wouldn’t free you solely to pursue my own ulterior motive.”

“What did you use as a destination for this plane in your flight plan?”

“My father wanted me to get some sun on foreign shores. We’ve arranged for me to spend a few months on Semba Island. As far as the authorities are concerned, I’m simply flying to Kenya.”

“I’ve heard of Semba Island. It’s a fugitives’ paradise and luxurious doesn’t begin to describe it,” Catwoman purred.

“The term they use is ‘super swank.’”

“Super swank?” Catwoman queried.

“Super swank,” Lisa Carson confirmed, grinning.

“I take it Mister Lyons is still in Gotham City?” Catwoman asked.

Lisa Carson nodded.

“Then purr-suing him will necessitate staying,” the villainess decided, stretching. “On the other hand, when my body got back from the Spanish Main, my tan was purr-fect. Since my arrest, I’ve become horribly pale. Purr-haps some time in the desert would be well spent.” She ran her hands up and down her body, indicating her prison issue. “I can’t show up in this, though.”

“I have an array of summer outfits in your size.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” All of sudden, Catwoman’s expression changed, as if she had just thought of something.

“You know, I could really terrorize George in your body. You didn’t happen to borrow the Psychic Egg-change machine from Tara?”

Lisa Carson smiled like a Cheshire cat. “As a matter of fact . . . .”

Fifteen minutes later, a taller Lisa Carson helped the brunette Catwoman and the blonde gunwomen into Cat-chutes. “Happy landings, ladies,” she said.

“Back to one of my older lairs and we’ll begin purr-suing Lisa’s revenge.”

“Where exactly are we hidin’ out?” Okie Annie asked.

Catwoman glanced sharply at the senior gunwoman.

“Boss, you do have lairs all over town,” Soolin pointed out, sliding her arms through the straps of her Cat-chute.

Mollified, Catwoman relaxed. “You have a point. We’ll be laying low in comfort at The Gato and Chat Fur Company.”

“Won’t the cops be able to find us easily at one of your older hideouts?” Okie Annie objected.

“Finding the lair and finding us are two different propositions. The fur company is deeply catacombed, a fact that will enable us to scat long before any potential would-be purr-suer could possibly catch us. Of course, other possibilities could also arise.”

“Other possibilities?” Soolin inquisitively repeated.

“Never mind, tabbies.” Catwoman said, buckling her Cat-chute across her chest. “Ready?”

“If you aren’t goin’ to tip the authorities off to your escape,” Okie Annie posed, adjusting her Cat-chute slightly, “how will they even realize you’re on the loose?”

“I’ll be cluing in the authorities soon enough,” Catwoman promised. “Now, open the door and it's geronimo. We have a long night ahead of us and one more kitten to recruit.” Catwoman jumped from the plane.

“I guess the Catwoman’s spectacular escape in midair might let the authorities in on somethin’.” Okie Annie mused, following her mistress.

“Whatever,” Soolin murmured. She shrugged, finally comfortable enough in her Cat-chute to hurl herself from the plane.

The Games Catwomen Play

Later that night, a crowd seated around a torch-lit, cement-walled pit watched eagerly as two combatants circled one another and shadows danced crazily against its walls.

“She’s had it this time,” a bearded man breathlessly predicted. “The only question is what the big guy will do to her before the end.” A wicked smile curled his lips as he licked them expectantly. “She’d be smarter to use weapons. Everybody else does.”

“I’ll bet you’re wrong, mate,” a foreigner with a scar extending from his ear to the end of his chin replied, grinning. “That girl, Dayna, has been fighting here for almost a month and she is the most vicious competitor we’ve had the good fortune of being able to watch. Her opponents tend to give her weapons to use during the course of the fight. You just watch.”

In the pit, Dayna’s breath hissed through her teeth as her opponent shoved her hard into one corner, following instantly and lifting her slightly. He let the chain he had chosen as a weapon fall and nudged the girl’s legs apart slightly with a knee while his massive chest pinned her in place. “Now we have some fun,” the behemoth muttered, licking his lips and chuckling. “At least, I’m going to enjoy the rest of this contest.” The girl could feel her opponent’s hands come to rest on her thighs.

Dayna’s opponent had reason to be pleased. Long ago, blood and sweat had thoroughly soaked her tight, white shorts and the two-tone, studded top open down the middle of her chest. Except for her shoulders and upper arms, the outfit displayed her well-defined muscles to excellent advantage as they worked. Dayna's ebony skin glistened with sweat.

“Then, enjoy yourself,“ Dayna said, as her white teeth flashed before her head slammed into his. Her attacker took a step back, stunned. She raised a knee and pushed him away with her foot, rushing forward to dart behind him as he fell. Before he was fully aware of her position, she stomped on the back of the unfortunate man’s calf while he rolled over and began to recover his balance. His scream was louder than the cracking bone as he collapsed. Dayna crouched over him, smiling down as the puddle of blood forming beneath him grew larger.

“I give up,” the man clearly cried. “You win!”

‘The only question now is how long she draws it out,” the man with the scar told his neighbor. “She never lets a fight end quickly.”

Dayna shook her head so the crowd could see and moved her lips to within an inch of her opponent’s ear. “Not yet,” she whispered. “I haven’t had my fun.”

“Why you—”

The broken man’s reply was cut off as the girl’s fingers induced the first of many long, anguished cries.

A few minutes later, she retrieved his fallen chain. “Now,” Dayna whispered, “what were you trying to call me?”

An hour later, the girl straightened and let her hands settle onto her hips as her heel casually shattered her decimated foe’s ribs.

Dayna watched impassively as two men in white coats dropped into the pit and rolled the human debris onto a stretcher upon which he was carried away. She tossed the chain she had taken from her opponent onto what was left of him and moved to the center of the pit. “Is there anyone else?” The girl demanded, turning around to face everyone in the crowd.

Her keen hearing picked up a sound behind her. As she turned to face the men who had taken the injured fighter, she realized they had both removed their coats. One had slipped on a pair of knuckle-dusters and the other held a blackjack loosely in his hand.

“What’s this?” Dayna asked.

“Last week you put a friend of ours in the hospital,” the first man explained. “He still ain’t doing so good.”

“We decided to get a pound of flesh for him,” the second elaborated, “or at least pound yours to a pulp.”

Dayna seemed unimpressed to the point of boredom. “So, who’s first?”

The men rushed at her together and she jumped, spinning and whipping her extended leg at one man, knocking him down.

An old woman in the front row leaned over the pit to get a better view and shifted her cane forward.

One of Dayna’s arms was numb from a blow the blackjack had delivered, but she had remained relatively unscathed otherwise. The man with the knuckle-dusters had only grazed her flesh so far, but he was not alone, and Dayna, who had now been fighting various opponents for hours, was tiring.

She backed toward one wall, moving on the balls of her bare feet. She knew the two fresh men with their weapons might eventually take her, if they drew out the fight. Neither seemed to be in a great hurry.

‘I wonder if someone’s decided I’ve outlived my usefulness as the champion . . . and as the main draw for these fights?’ she wondered.

She knew speculation would not help. If these men beat her, they would do as they pleased and no one in the crowd would care. They would likely make quite a show of her ultimate defeat.

‘Would my final humiliation balance the glory I’ve enjoyed as champion? Probably not. Worse, losing earns me no money and would send me to the emergency room . . . at the very least.'

The man with the knuckle-dusters dove at her and she flitted aside, seizing his arm and wrenching it viciously. The man screamed as he went down and his partner stepped behind Dayna. The second man’s fist whipped over her head as she dropped a knee across the first man’s throat. The man behind her lunged and landed on her back. She collapsed between her attackers, whipping an elbow back and encountering only empty air. Her body became the meat in a human sandwich as her arms splayed and she exhaled, emptying her lungs. Suddenly, she was utterly helpless, unable to do anything but wait for the inevitable end.

‘I’ve made some money fighting, but will it be enough if I lose?’ Mentally, she shrugged. ‘Since I need the money, I can’t lose—and therefore I won’t!’

The woman in the front row settled back into her seat, letting go of her cane, which fell within inches of Dayna’s hand. The African-American fighter’s eyes widened as she saw the potential weapon clatter to the bottom of the pit. She reached for it and lovingly curled her fingers around the handle. Simultaneously, a hand gripped the back of her skull.

‘It’s a miracle!’ she thought, ‘and it’s time for me to take advantage, before they literally beat my brains in . . . and I’m going to have a lot of fun kicking their–’

The realization the man on top of her had risen to his knees, preparing to draw back her head and slam it against the ground, interrupted Dayna’s silent planning. She twisted and swung the cane backward hard, expecting it to crack against the man’s head and fall uselessly to matchsticks. Instead, the man swore and retreated. Dayna’s position was far from advantageous, but the man had delayed the punishment he and his partner had come to inflict upon her. She took advantage by getting her limbs beneath her and somersaulting back to her feet.

“Now,” the black woman said, “I’m going to arrange for both of you to spend a long time with your friend.”

Her ferocity, the men being trapped in the pit with her, and the superior weapon that had literally fallen into her hands, made her threat easy to carry out. By the time she had finished demolishing the men, most of the crowd had dispersed. Even the majority of the audience for such fights had their appetite for blood sated. The real fight had ended quite quickly.

The old woman who had dropped her cane was bent over, slowly shuffling toward the exit when Dayna climbed from the pit and into relative safety. A short man wearing a gray suit and silk tie stepped through a glass door upon which the word ‘PRIVATE’ was spelled out in ornate, golden letters. “Dayna,” he said. “You’ve had a busy and successful night. Congratulations.”

“All I want from you, McMahon, is my money,” Dayna said.

“I’ll get your money for you while you get cleaned up,” the man offered.

“I’ll take it now,” the girl replied flatly in a tone leaving no room for argument.

“I have it here in the office,” the well-dressed man said, opening the door and gesturing. Dayna moved through the door and sank into one of his comfortable client chairs without a word while wiping her face with a towel and inserting an earring she had concealed in her outfit into her right ear lobe.

“You gave quite a performance,” McMahon said, sitting down behind his desk after locking the door.

“Isn’t that what the audience expects—the reason they pay you?”

“Certainly,” Dayna’s employer said. “You know the rules, though. You pick your weapon before the fight.”

“I fight without weapons because I normally don’t need them.”

“Our audience loves that about you, but you were armed in the end.”

“That bout wasn’t on the original schedule. Besides, it’s not my fault the old lady dropped this cane,” Dayna said, absently twirling the weapon she had retained. “In the pit, there are no holds barred and you do what it takes to win. As you’ve said, the winner does as they please to the loser. I think if I ever lose, the slob who beats me will put on quite a show.”

“Perhaps,” the fight arranger said, licking his lips.

‘Pervert!’ Dayna thought. “Two armed goons went up against me after I was practically spent and they paid the price. If the old lady hadn’t dropped her cane, they’d more than likely have had me, probably in more ways than one. My performance in the last fight is worth at least an extra grand and probably more.”

“They lost. You won. You get to fight again tomorrow night. Those are the rules. You know them as well as me.”

“And I get paid—double for the last fight tonight.”

McMahon shook his head. “You get a grand for each fight. That was the agreement.”

“I think we used the word ‘opponent’ when we made that bargain. In the last fight, there were two opponents. You owe me an additional two thousand dollars for beating them up!”

“I beg to differ. Besides, what are you going to do?” The man laughed. “You can’t sue me over a verbal contract to which illegal fights are the subject. Since I am this business, you can’t touch me without ruining a very lucrative enterprise, from which you benefit quite handsomely - as long as you continue to win.”

Dayna stood and flung the cane into the wall hard before leaning forward, resting her hands on the desk in front of her. “I’ll bet you think you’re smart!” she said through clenched teeth.

“I’ve made a lot of money without sweating and bleeding in that pit.”

“Maybe I should give you an idea of how long you’d last down there.”

“You’re very formidable, Dayna, but doing so would be very stupid,” McMahon said.

“Maybe making me face two opponents moments after a series of fights was stupid of you.”

“You won and they’re still in the pit,” the man replied dismissively. “What’s the problem?”

The door opened and the old woman tottered into the room. “I might have something to say about your refusal to take proper care of a champion,” she said in a squeaking, shaky voice.

“Who are you and how did you get in here?!” McMahon demanded. 'I know I locked that door!’ the man thought. Aloud, he continued, “This is a private meeting!” He pressed a concealed button beneath his desk to summon aide.

“Not any more, it seems,” Dayna said. “She makes a good point. Maybe I should take my money and retire.”

“You’ll retire when I tell you!” McMahon harshly said, glaring at the comely competitor. He turned to the newcomer. “And it’s time for you, old woman, to go.”

“I think I’ll finish my business here first,” the old woman said. Her voice had changed considerably and now expressed a surprising amount of strength.

McMahon, though, didn’t seem to notice. He laughed. “Ma’am, I don’t know who you think you are–”

The old woman reached up and pulled at her veiled hat, to which her hair seemed to have been attached, and shrugged. Her shabby, leopard-patterned coat fell away from her shoulders. At the same time, she straightened, quickly passing a hand over her face. A domino mask settled into its familiar position. A dramatically younger, stunningly sexy brunette stood facing him with narrowed eyes. Her voluptuous body was sheathed in shimmering lurex and a golden belt was closely wrapped around her waist above her shapely hips.

“Purr-haps I’ve spent too long in the shadows and I’m very tired of those mousy clothes,” she said, strutting forward and resting her gloved hands, from which sharp claws extended, on her well-rounded hips. “I’m sure you’ll agree they do nothing for me. Now, I trust you recognize me in the guise of— the Catwoman!”

“Of course, Catwoman.” McMahon’s jaw had dropped in surprise, but he recovered quickly. The promoter spread his hands and shrugged. “What can I say? It’s an honor to meet you.”

Two large men McMahon had summoned were approaching from either end of the hall outside the office. “Let me explain. Although they’re very popular with the crowd, I have a great deal of trouble recruiting female fighters. In addition, none have ever been as eager as Dayna.”

“I know,” Catwoman coolly replied. “Since I’ve just seen Dayna demonstrate she has honed her fighting skills since her arrest, I’m here to ask her to return to my service.”

McMahon coughed uncertainly. “With all due respect, she has an arrangement with me, Catwoman. I really can’t let her go. She has a tremendous following.”

“Most of your sick audience is just waiting for her to lose, because what would follow would please them enormously. Besides, the retirement party you planned for her after her regularly scheduled fights tonight didn’t work out. I think Dayna is more than entitled to what you no longer plan to pay those broken idiots.”

Dayna nodded her assent.

“Wait!” Catwoman said, pausing and raising a hand. She continued speaking slowly, giving the impression she was thinking out loud. “Purr-haps I’m mistaken and Dayna’s opponents agreed to do the job because you told them their victim would be a woman they outnumbered and the fight would take place in a pit, from which escape would be impossible. If not, of course, it should have taken at least two thousand dollars to recruit those leg breakers.”

"I’m sure you know the market, Catwoman,” McMahon said. He saw the shadows of the men he was expecting through the glass in the door behind Catwoman as the villainess stood regarding him. The promoter leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Anyway, now that I’ve found a suitable replacement, I think it is time for Dayna to retire.” Loudly, he continued. “Boys, see to the ladies!”

Catwoman made no move except to say one name. “Soolin!” The Princess of Plunder’s gaze never left the man who had ordered the attack. “You’ll soon realize, you shouldn’t have done that,” she purred, smiling.

McMahon heard gunshots followed by screaming outside the room. The hulking shadows fell away from behind the glass.

Soolin opened and closed the door, stepped into view and leaned decoratively against the brick wall of McMahon’s office. She wore a teal blue dress and held a drink in her right hand and a small case in her left. McMahon had no idea where she was concealing her weapon, but had no doubt she was the one who had fired the shots.

“What just happened?!” McMahon asked, panic rising in his voice.

“Soolin has just dealt with the idiots you summoned to attack me,” Catwoman explained. “Now, how do you imagine I should deal with you?”

“You had my men killed?!”

“Oh, no,” Catwoman replied. “Killing them was not necessary.”

“This might be a good opportunity to make an exception, boss,” Dayna suggested, smiling sweetly. “Not for Mister McMahon’s goons, but for him!”

“No, Dayna. I’m sure a small horde of creditors will be coming to see him tomorrow. He assumed he’d clean up by betting against you in your last, impromptu fight. I’m betting he has enough cash on hand to cover his potential losses tomorrow. We’re going to find out and see you’re compensated rather handsomely for tonight’s unpleasantness. Tomorrow should prove quite costly for Mister McMahon, purr-haps in many ways.”

“No! Please! You can’t! I need that cash. You have no idea what my creditors will do to me!”

“What shall we do with him, then?” Soolin asked, gesturing toward McMahon.

“Well, we should leave McMahon’s creditors something to reward their trouble in visiting this vile place. Dayna, take him to the pit . . . and make sure he stays there.”

Dayna flashed the Princess of Plunder a grin and stepped forward. “Thank you. I’m going to enjoy this assignment.”

“Please . . . take your time,” Catwoman said. “Oh, and Dayna, I do want him alive when you’re finished.”

“Leave everything to me,” Dayna said, reaching for her former employer’s shirt and twisting it in one hand. “Let’s go!”

“Please, Dayna. Don’t hurt me.”

“Move!” Dayna said mercilessly, shoving him through the door while Soolin backed out of the way into the hall. “What I’m going to do to you will redefine pain, or teach you what it really is.” The black girl laughed.

The men in the hall had taken off their ties and wrapped their wounds. Each of them regarded Soolin with narrowed eyes. They reached a decision simultaneously and reached inside their coats.

In a flash, from seemingly out of nowhere, the gunwoman retrieved her weapon and leveled it at the goons’ boss before they could retrieve their guns. The young, blonde woman shook her head, smiling without humor.

“You shot my foot!” one man angrily exclaimed.

“My knee will never be the same,” the other complained.

“I sincerely hope you guys are smart enough to prevent me from having to shoot the gravy train, or perhaps one of you – again,” Soolin warned. “I can promise it won’t ever be the same with your lady friends again afterwards.” The men shifted their gaze between the girl and her chosen targets and realized a hint of amusement had appeared in her eyes.

“Soolin, come here,” Catwoman commanded, once Dayna had gone. “We have plenty of time for your first lesson is safecracking.”

“Stay,” Soolin told the wounded men before turning.

“We’re bleeding all over the floor, lady!” one protested.

“That’s not my problem,” Soolin coldly replied, glancing over her shoulder as she shrugged and stepped back into the office, where Catwoman waited.

The echo of McMahon’s scream preceded a smack as Dayna shoved him unceremoniously into the pit.

“I have a surprise for you, boss,” Dayna announced later, sliding her legs into knee-high, leather boots and buttoning a matching black coat over her scanty outfit.

“Really?”

“Remember Medea?”

“The cat Playgirl gave me when we had the Onyx Osprey?”

“That’s right. Avalon Hill, Playgirl’s assistant, told me her boss put a homing device and microphone in the cat’s collar. Anyway, after I got out of jail, I went to the lair to pick up some of my things and found the cat was still there. I’ve had her at my place ever since. If you’d like, we could stop and pick her up. I have some things I’d like to pack for myself, too.” The trio emerged from the fight venue as they talked.

Catwoman, Soolin, and Dayna approached a greenish-gold vehicle, garishly decorated with giant whiskers extending from the center of the front grill beyond the headlights, which resembled yellow eyes. A thick tail curled above the car’s two seats from the center of the trunk lid and the undersides of the vehicle’s modified, front fenders had been painted pink to resemble cat ears. Okie Annie reclined in the passenger seat with her hat tilted over her eyes. The gull-like, driver-side door opened as the leading lawbreaker drew nearer.

“So, I was right about the homing device,” Catwoman mused. “The microphone was a nice touch. I’ll have to give Playgirl my compliments before I punish her for trying to double cross me.” Catwoman’s mind returned to the present. “It was kind of you to take care of my cat, Dayna. Thank you. We’ll stop at your place so you can pack and get cleaned up. I have some thinking to do.”

“No problem. I have some plans for Playgirl’s henchwoman the next time I see her, too. I thought it might be nice to let Medea scratch out her eyes - for a start.”

“What do you have against this girl, Dayna?” Soolin asked, tossing her loot bag into the trunk of her employer’s distinctive vehicle.

Dayna shot a glance at the young, white henchwoman and relaxed. “There is no harm in telling you. This all happened a long time ago. Catwoman wanted me to question this girl after she broke into the lair and tried to rob us. Batgirl interrupted and caught me. The henchgirl, Avalon Hill, turned the tables on Batgirl and gave her to Playgirl. While we all waited for Playgirl to show up and take care of Batgirl, Ms. Hill and I had a very one-sided discussion of how I’d treated her.”

“What did you do to her when you were in control?” Soolin interestedly asked.

“I flogged her,” Dayna said simply.

“That sounds unpleasant,” Soolin, calmly remarked.

“For her . . . although it wasn’t half as unpleasant as what I’m going to do to her before she dies,” Dayna replied, smiling without letting any feeling reach her eyes. “I’m looking forward to that conversation.”

“She’s had her revenge, and it sounds like you’ll take yours in due time.”

“Precisely,” Dayna said, grinning with anticipation. “When the time comes, she will know pain, she will know fear, and then she will die — slowly.” The African-American hench-kitten’s eyes closed as though she were imagining her enemy’s fate as she chuckled. “I’ll use my bare hands.”

“Soolin,” Catwoman began, interrupting Dayna’s vengeful reverie, “do you know where the Animal Kingdom Pet Emporium is?”

“I think so?”

“Good. I want you and Okie Annie each to gather as many stray cats as you can possibly find before dawn. Meet Dayna and me there afterwards. It’s time I introduced myself to George Henry Lyons.”

Okie Annie nodded, adjusting her hat as she stepped from Catwoman's Kitty Car. “Animal Kingdom is George Henry Lyons’ company, and I’ve heard the Lyon King is notoriously tough.”

“What do you have against him?” Soolin asked.

“I’ve decided he is going to pay me a tribute – a very handsome tribute – and he may be guilty of cruelty to animals. We’ll determine the truth of this allegation in the course of our dealings and decide upon an appropriate price for any transgressions we may discover.”

“He may refuse to pay on the basis of his reputation,” Dayna remarked.

“He’ll soon learn I’m willing to scratch and scratch, until he comes up with the scratch,” Catwoman purred. “Let’s go reintroduce Medea to her intended mistress.”

The hench kittens nodded. Okie Annie paused. “How are we gonna gather them cats the boss wants without wheels?”

“Mister McMahon’s flunkies won’t need their cars anytime soon,” Soolin said, grinning and tossing the older gunwoman a set of keys McMahon’s wounded warriors had provided. “Besides, they’re in no shape to drive right now.”

“Hey!” Dayna exclaimed, brightening. “McMahon won’t be needing his luxurious ride either! Boss, you can follow me to my place as soon as I hotwire--”

“I’d been planning to use that one myself,” Soolin interrupted, holding up more keys.

“I want that car later,” Dayna admitted, as her eyes glittered greedily. ”McMahon always made me ride the bus, and he knows better than to report his ride stolen.”

“Let’s go, kittens,” Catwoman urged, pulling the Kitty Car into the parade her employees vehicles had formed moments later.

Hours later, the sun rose over the Animal Kingdom Pet Emporium as the Kitty Car led two others into the parking lot. At the store’s entrance, Catwoman stroked her pet lovingly and issued her instructions. “Dayna will help herself to anything she feels we’ll need for Medea. Soolin will see to the safe with my su-purr-vision. Okie Annie will keep watch out here. Take care of any early arrivals without killing them. Are there any questions?” There were none. “Purr-fect. We move as soon as Annie opens this lock.”

The Feline Felon and her burdened helpers returned to Okie Annie within ten minutes. “That didn’t take long,” the criminal cowgirl observed.

“The safe was a snap,” Soolin said.

“I’ve been taking good care of Medea,” Dayna bragged, packing a cartload of pet supplies into the Kitty Car’s small trunk with the second loot bag. “None of this stuff will come amiss. Now, what’s next, boss?”

“My calling card,” Catwoman said. “We have two carloads of stray cats cruelly abandoned among the mean streets of Gotham City and the back alleys that connect them. They might easily be starving or worse.”

“We’re going to turn them loose in the store?” Dayna asked.

“Purr-fectly correct,” Catwoman confirmed. “In the few remaining hours before the store opens, these stray cats will feast, trash the place, and trip the alarms we bypassed. Now, kittens, do my bidding – quickly!”

Two minutes later, several solid-colored, striped, and multi-colored felines poured from boxes the hench-kittens carried into the store. Seconds later, the tiny creatures scattered and the robbers heard the crash and tear of the havoc the animal invasion had begun to cause.

“Purr-fect,” Catwoman enthused, laughing. “Mister George Henry Lyons will have no doubt as to who left my note on the manager’s desk now. Soolin, Okie Annie, and I will retire to the comfort of the lair at the fur company. Dayna will join us there this afternoon with the newspaper and the fruits of another little job I’ll explain while we scat.”

Alarms sounded and spinning lights flashed as Catwoman and her cohorts retreated, purring happily and laughing loudly.

Later that morning, Barbara Gordon recognized the African-American hench-kitten as the girl carried a stack of financial reports to the library’s check-out desk. Dayna had never met the librarian, but had been briefly acquainted with the public servant’s crimefighting alter ego, Batgirl. “I can’t check these out?” Dayna asked, with concern etched on her face.

“I’m afraid not,” the lovely head librarian kindly said. “The companies provide only enough financial reports to the library system so each branch can have one copy. We need to keep them here so they will be available to our patrons. We do, though, have copiers.”

“Well, there could be a lot of copies. I don’t need all this stuff, but paying a quarter for each copy I do need will cost me a fortune.”

Barbara smiled. “I’d be happy to quote our bulk rates for copying. Also, if you have some idea of what you want, I’ll start making the copies while you get started on your research.”

“Thank you. That would be great,” Dayna enthused, relaxing.

“You’re most welcome,” Barbara said truthfully.

As she worked, Barbara made her own copies of everything Dayna wanted, noting the reports she was gathering on a separate sheet of paper. Barbara knew her customer had once worked for Catwoman and the Feline Fiend often sent henchpeople to gather information from public libraries. Of course, when Batgirl had helped Dayna after the torturous treatment Avalon Hill had administered, the African-American had seemed to be considering reform. Nevertheless, Barbara felt there would be no harm is doing some legwork since an opportunity to fight crime might have literally fallen into her lap.

“Here you are,” Barbara said later, presenting the materials to Dayna before the women completed their transaction.

“I really appreciate your help,” Dayna said. “I was afraid I’d have to be here for hours.”

“I’m glad I could be of assistance. I hope the data prove useful.” Barbara decided to try gathering some information since the flow of the women’s conversation had remained utterly natural. “May I ask whether your research is for school? I don’t mean to pry, and I apologize if I am.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dayna said. “It’s nothing like that, though.” She caught herself, pausing for what she hoped would not be an awkward moment while carefully considering her next words. “I’ve . . . just gotten a new job and I want to get all this info to my boss quickly. I want to make a good first impression.”

“I’m sure you will,” Barbara said, smiling.

“Thanks,” Dayna said. “Well, I need to get back to . . . the office. Thank you for everything.”

Barbara watched the black woman go, frowning. Most of her work for the day was done and she could not help wondering if Dayna was up to no good. She glanced at the list of the materials Dayna had gathered, but felt checking in with her father, Commissioner James Gordon, might give her more information faster than reading over her copies of the materials. She picked up the phone and put her assistant, Myrtle, in charge of the library, explaining she was going to lunch.

Barbara hurried to her apartment and spun her bedroom wall around as she shed her coat. Once Batgirl’s small, functional headquarters was revealed, she underwent her tantalizing transformation before making her way to the hidden freight elevator where the Batgirlcycle was parked. Within minutes, the voluptuous, lone law enforcement agent was racing to Police Headquarters at the top legal speed.

“This is an outrage, Commissioner!” George Henry Lyons angrily bellowed. “A hoard of cats was released in my store last night and made an enormous mess. They, however, neither raided my safe nor left me this note. Your department has done absolutely nothing!”

“Mister Lyons, I appreciate you’ve just had an unexpected – and perhaps shocking – experience. Nevertheless, I would point out you are only just now making us fully aware of the crime. We really cannot reasonably be expected to have arrested the perpetrator yet.”

Before Mister Lyons could respond, the Commissioner’s intercom buzzed.

“Excuse me for just a moment, Mister Lyons,” the Commissioner apologetically said, reaching for his intercom. “Yes, Bonnie?”

“Batgirl is here, sir,” the Commissioner’s secretary, said.

“Thank you, Bonnie,” the Commissioner answered. “Please send her in.” The Commissioner returned his attention to his visitor. “Mister Lyons, this development may be of interest to you.” The Commissioner stood and greeted Batgirl as she stepped through his double doors before performing introductions. “Your arrival is timely, Batgirl, though unexpected.”

“I have reason to believe Catwoman may be on the prowl, gentlemen,” Batgirl announced.

“I think you may be right, Batgirl,” Lyons said. He went on to describe the mess the cats released in his store had made and explained his safe had been looted. Finally, he described a threatening note left on the manager’s desk.

“May I see this note?” Batgirl asked.

“Certainly,” the man replied, handing it over.

The note read:

YOU HAVE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS TO PAY FIVE MILLION DOLLARS UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO SCRATCH YOU AGAIN.

ANNOUNCE ACCEPTANCE IN THE GOTHAM CITY TIMES PERSONAL PAGE, DIRECTING YOUR LOVELY NOTE TO ‘SECRET ADMIRER.’

I’LL CALL YOU WITH INSTRUCTIONS AFTER I READ OF YOUR ACCEPTANCE.

“Well, cats didn’t leave this note,” Batgirl declared. “Are there any other clues?”

“As he told you, several cats ran amok for hours in the store,” the Commissioner said. “We suspect they were all strays. We found a car in the parking lot and we strongly suspect it was stolen. I don’t think these avenues will lead us anywhere, but Chief O’Hara is checking just in case.”

“Running the personal ad may be the only way to draw out Catwoman,” Batgirl said. “Is there any doubt she is the crook responsible for trashing your store?”

“I don’t care who is responsible!” Mister Lyons exclaimed. “You don’t seriously expect me to pay?”

“No,” Batgirl firmly said. “Of course, paying the criminal off is out of the question. Nevertheless, if you’d be willing to work with the police and me, we may be able to intervene and prevent further attacks.”

“So, you want to listen in when I get my instructions?” the businessman asked, smiling. “I’m starting to like the way you think.”

Batgirl was nodding as the Commissioner suggested, “Why don’t I turn you over to Bonnie so you can file a formal complaint?” George Henry Lyons readily agreed.

Once the businessman had gone, the Commissioner returned to his desk. “So, you think it’s Catwoman, too,” he said, as Batgirl settled into a chair.

“I would, if I didn’t know she was in Besserovia,” Batgirl replied.

“She isn’t.”

“What!?”

“The plane was barely over the ocean before it deviated from its course. Apparently, two of Catwoman’s kittens boarded the plane – in midair – and got her. Shortly afterward, all three of them parachuted from a second plane.”

“There were two planes?”

“We don’t know where the second plane went after the parachutists jumped,” the Commissioner explained. “It dropped under the radar. The Coast Guard rescued the Bessarovian aviators and a government official after the first plane crash-landed in the sea.”

“Her latest escape is incredible! I would never have guessed Catwoman could organize such a daring escape while being a prisoner herself. Of course, it might have been engineered by one or more of her perspective replacements.” While Batgirl knew firsthand how formidable and resourceful the sinister, secret society of Catwoman’s admirers could be, she also knew Catwoman had historically coordinated escapes as well as crimes from inside the prison system.

“Your thoughts fit with another curious fact in our report,” the Commissioner said.

“Oh?” Batgirl queried.

“Apparently, Catwoman’s appearance changed while she was aboard the second plane.”

“How do we know that?” Batgirl asked.

“We have pictures from internal and external cameras installed on the original plane to combat terrorism.”

“May I see these pictures?”

“They’re still in the lab. Let me check on how the boys are doing.”

Batgirl waited while the Commissioner spoke to the forensics lab. Moments later, Bonnie walked in with a stack of pictures she had retrieved from the fax machine.

Batgirl began to go though them. “Catwoman came aboard with her Bessarovian guards and it looks like they were going to make her do a traditional sabre dance.” Batgirl frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt.

She had never told her father how she had found herself in a position to compel the Feline Felon to perform briefly in the deadly, foreign execution rite. Naturally, she would never have allowed the exercise to kill the dancer, but her decision had obviously inspired the Bessarovians, who likely did not share her view of when to stop the deadly dance. ‘I may owe Catwoman an apology.’ Her thoughts lingered on what might have been poor judgment on her part – until she recognized one of Catwoman’s rescuers.

“Okie Annie,” Batgirl said softly, examining a few of the pictures a second time. “She never struck me as a potential hench-kitten. Of course, if Shame has definitely committed to marrying Calamity Jan, she may have been looking for a new employer.” Batgirl shrugged.

“We recognized her,” the Commissioner said. “Her companion is not pictured in our database. Do you know who she is?”

“She looks a little like a wheelchair-bound gunwoman Robin described to me once. Apparently, this woman and Okie Annie tried to kill him and Dick Grayson’s girlfriend, Susie, while Doctor Cassandra used the Eta Beta Lotka sorority to begin forming her criminal coven a little more than a year ago.”

“I remember Robin talking about that encounter,” the Commissioner said. “Shortly afterward, Lieutenant Mooney organized a raid on the sorority house. The arrests we made and the evidence we gathered prompted Gotham City University to shut the sorority down. There are, however, rumors of the girls having gone underground and continuing to recruit.”

“So, Catwoman may have trouble openly recruiting hench-kittens in the future,” Batgirl thoughtfully said. “Such speculation won’t help us identify Catwoman’s unknown rescuer, though.”

“According to the men who took Catwoman aboard the plane, the second gunwoman’s name is Soolin and she is not using a wheelchair these days,” the Commissioner said. “Apparently Catwoman introduced her helpers before leaving.”

“This enlarged photo clearly shows Catwoman is using Lisa Carson’s body again,” Batgirl remarked, setting two pictures of Catwoman on the desk. One was a long shot of three parachutists and the other was a magnified copy of the Feline Felon. “Can we discretely check on Ms. Carson’s whereabouts?”

“Discretion will take time, but it’s probably worth it. I would hate to worry John E. Carson, the wealthy socialite, unnecessarily.”

“Thank you, Commissioner.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Do you have any current news on a woman named Dayna who worked for Catwoman during the Onyx Osprey caper?”

“I’ll send for her file.” Bonnie brought the file and a quick examination shed no light on Dayna‘s recent activities.

“Can you tell me why you think this woman, Dayna, may still be involved with Catwoman or this case?”

“I saw her earlier today at the library and had a hunch. I don’t really have anything concrete — yet.”

“I could have someone watch her apartment.”

“I may be chasing my proverbial tail. Dayna may be a dead end as far as this case is concerned,” Batgirl said. “Besides, if she really has turned her life around, the last thing we should do is harass her. For now, I’ll stick with Mister Lyons and see what I can learn.”

“More often than not, your hunches are right, Batgirl. You said Dayna worked for Catwoman at one time.”

“That’s true, but we could also be wrong about Catwoman being behind the threat against Mister Lyons.”

The Commissioner frowned. “She escaped from custody and several cats were unleashed in Mister Lyons’ store this morning. That’s quite a coincidence.”

“You’re right, but those facts are not proof,” Batgirl declared. “Catwoman herself has tried to send law enforcement officials pursuing the wrong track in the course of some of her past crimes. Other criminals have tried similar tricks.”

“That’s true,” the Commissioner thoughtfully said.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this case soon enough,” Batgirl said. “For now, our working theory is Catwoman is behind the threat against Mister Lyons.”

“I’m sure your investigation will unearth the truth, Batgirl . . . but might not Catwoman – or whoever is behind the threat – be expecting you or Batman and have a trap prepared?”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take,” Batgirl said.

The Commissioner regarded the woman he knew to be his daughter seriously. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Of course I will,” Batgirl replied.

Later that afternoon, in the center of the labyrinthine Gato and Chat Fur Company, a repetitive beep awakened the Princess of Plunder from a catnap.

“Boss, it’s the intruder alarm,” Soolin said.

“I know,” Catwoman snapped, stretching her arms as her body uncurled on a leopard-patterned cushion.

“Do you want me to go take a look?’ Okie Annie asked.

“It’s probably Dayna,” Catwoman reflected, extending her long legs and rolling lazily onto her side, “but turn on the camera anyway.”

Once Soolin had obeyed, the athletic figure of an African-American woman wearing tight, gold pants; an equally tight, leopard-spotted halter top; and black, elbow-length gloves became visible on a security monitor. Dayna wheeled a bag through a corridor carrying both a thick folder and a newspaper. Catwoman rose and strutted to the dais atop which her throne-like chair waited. She climbed, sat, and accepted Medea from Okie Annie. By the time Dayna arrived, the Princess of Plunder was lovingly stroking her pet.

“I got everything you wanted, boss,” the newcomer announced.

“Purr-fect. Let me see the paper.” Catwoman released the cat and practically snatched the newspaper from her employee, quickly turning to the appropriate page. “Lyons followed my instructions purr-fectly, kittens. Soolin, get me the phone. Okie Annie, I need the phone book.” As the henchwomen did their mistress’ bidding, Catwoman descended her dais and stretched out luxuriously on the extremely thick mat draped with a leopard-spotted cover where she had curled up for her catnap earlier. She reclined playfully before rolling onto her stomach and regarding her kittens with undisguised amusement.

“So, early tomorrow we’re going to make five million bucks,” Dayna said, smiling and picking up Medea, stroking her fur happily. “That was easy.”

“It was much too easy, Dayna,” Catwoman thoughtfully said, her eyes dancing mischievously. “That means a bat put him up to placing the purr-sonal ad.”

“If you’re right and a bat or two is involved,” Okie Annie began, “what are we gonna do?”

Catwoman paged through the book she took from Okie Annie and tapped an address, smiling. Soolin set a phone beside her. ”We’ll set up a meeting with Lyons; assume it’s a trap; and turn the tables on our hunter or hunters.” The Feline Fiend favored her audience with a wicked laugh in which they all joined. Then, she dreamily continued, “We may have as many as three purr-suers with whom to deal.”

“Who do you think will be after us?” Dayna asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Catwoman replied. “I think the three of you can handle either of Gotham City’s heroic duos and/or Batgirl easily enough. Each of you is an experienced, potentially lethal instrument of violence, and together, you purr-haps constitute the most effective and attractive arsenal I’ve ever assembled!”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, boss,” Okie Annie said. “It means a lot.” Soolin and Dayna both nodded vigorously, smiling.

“Not to worry, my treacherous tabbies. I have everything under complete control,” Catwoman purred. “I know none of you will disappoint me!”

“What do you want us to do between now and the meeting?” Soolin asked.

“You can all scat. I have to read over the data Dayna has helpfully provided and decide whether five million will be an adequate tribute from George Henry Lyons.”

“You’ll get more out of him,” Okie Annie said. “If he’s helpin’ set a trap for us, he ain’t gonna be ready to pay up.”

“That’s true,” Catwoman said, glancing through the papers Dayna had brought. “Look at this. Lyons will be getting a government grant first thing in the morning tomorrow and it’s being delivered by armored car.”

“In cash?” Soolin asked incredulously.

“Lyons is notorious for not trusting banks . . . and since IndyMac’s failure, he’s insisted on being paid in cash.”

“That grant money could tide us over nicely until we get Mister Lyons’ tribute,” Dayna said.

“I take it the grant won’t count toward the tribute,’ Soolin said, smiling and rubbing her hands together greedily.

“Of course not!” Catwoman agreed. “Academic purr-suits can be so rewarding, purr-ticularly when our crime is timed purr-fectly. Additionally, the venue to which the grant will be delivered offers opportunities to take care of anyone who interferes with my plans, once and for all! Nothing could possibly be more purr-fect.” She chuckled and picked up the telephone receiver before beginning to dial.

In an office across town, George Henry Lyons glanced at Batgirl when his phone rang and tapped the button activating his speakerphone when she nodded. “Hello,” he said.

“George, this is Catwoman. We need to talk.”

“I can think of some things I’d like to say to you after the stunt I assume you pulled this morning.”

“Why don’t you meet me a couple hours before dawn at your solar energy plant? I’ll give you delivery instructions for my money and you can have your say.”

Lyons seemed distracted. “You know, your voice sounds very familiar . . . .” he said suspiciously.

Catwoman coughed and lowered the register of her voice. “You must have heard me on TV.”

Batgirl made waving movements, trying to get Lyons back on track. The businessman glanced at Batgirl, who nodded again. “Two hours before dawn at my solar energy plant? I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Catwoman purred. “See you then.” The line went dead.

“I have no intention whatsoever of paying that . . . woman, and I have no desire to see her either!” Mr. Lyons said, slamming down the receiver with more enthusiasm than was necessary.

“I appreciate your willingness to help us capture Catwoman, sir,” Batgirl said. “Just leave her to me. I’ll meet her for you, and I hope when I’m finished, she’ll be back in jail.”

“Your idea sounds wonderful, Batgirl,” the executive said. He scratched the back of his head. ”I don’t know what I ever did to make Catwoman come after me . . . although I do: think I’ve heard her voice in person . . . somewhere.”

“Only she can answer that question,” Batgirl thoughtfully said. “After I catch her, neither the question nor the answer will matter.”

“Amen!”

Hours later, at the solar energy plant, Catwoman was curled comfortably in the plush, leather chair behind the reception desk on the executive level. Her head moved in response to a soft sound heralding the opening stairwell door. A shapely figure moved through the door and closed it. “So, the mouse arrives instead of the Lyon King. How purr-fect,” the Princess of Plunder softly said as Batgirl approached.

“I can’t imagine why you’re so happy to see me, Catwoman. I’m about to send you back to prison, where you belong, no matter who’s body you inhabit!”

“Not a chance! I know we’ve met since then, but I was recently reminded of our encounter at the Bessarovian Embassy. So, I’ve been thinking about how you forced me to purr-form that contemptible Cossack Sabre Dance. Tonight, I’m in the purr-fect position to thank your prop-purr-ly,” Catwoman leaned forward and set her feet on the floor, grinning. “I’ve been purr-ticularly anxious to do so.” She laughed.

“You danced well, Catwoman,” Batgirl said, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll recall, it wasn’t my fault I became the Cossacks’ queen. The dance appeased my new subjects, who seemed quite eager to slaughter you, and, of course, you know perfectly well I never would have let them.”

“You did not have to sic them on me in the first place!”

“You could have surrendered!”

“Never!”

“Not even now, when I’ve caught you red-handed?” Batgirl asked, approaching the villainess.

Catwoman stood, stretched languidly, and laced her fingers behind her head. “Oh, purr-ticularly not now,” the Feline Fiend purred. “I don’t see anyone backing you up, Batgirl, and you happen to be right where I want you!”

Catwoman began to laugh as her hench-kittens padded softly into the corridor behind the Curved Crusader. Batgirl sensed them and whirled to see the blonde hench-kittens brandishing a pair of pistols each. Dayna was unarmed, but experience had taught Batgirl how dangerous the African-American could be. The unarmed woman watched her cohorts advance, patiently waiting her turn.

“I see you’re not alone,” Batgirl murmured.

“Indeed not. It’s time to avenge my humiliation at the Bessarovian Embassy. Okie Annie and Soolin,” Catwoman said, chuckling and anticipating what would happen next, “make Batgirl dance!”

The beautiful Briton shot a questioning glance at her malfeasant mentor as Batgirl produced a pair of Batarangs she flung at her attackers. Two bullets fired, intercepting Batgirl’s missiles in midair and rendering them harmless. Catwoman made a sound that might have been a meow.

“That was Batgirl’s only shot at us,” the senior gunwoman observed, grinning with wicked glee as she holstered one of her weapons. “Now, watch me.”

Soolin nodded as Okie Annie grinned. Batgirl’s muscles tensed.

Okie Annie was suddenly firing at the carpet close to Batgirl’s feet and fanning one six-shooter.

The Caped Cutie rose to the balls of her feet and moved rapidly to avoid the gunwoman’s fusillade.

“Oh,” Soolin enthused, “shooting up Batgirl is going to be fun!”

“Wait until I’ve finished,” the Okie Annie instructed, changing guns. “You’ll have to reload quickly to keep Batgirl going, and don’t forget to aim near her feet.”

Batgirl moved to the side as bullets ricocheted. Her ongoing fancy footwork kept her legs from being grazed by flying, hot lead, but she knew she would not be able to maintain the rapidity of her movements for long. Maintaining her balance would become another issue very soon.

Catwoman motioned for Dayna to avoid the sinister scene and approach as both happily watched the gunwomen blaze away at Gotham City’s first distaff daredevil.

Batgirl was soon sweating profusely and rapidly tiring as her mind continuously processed the situation.

Suddenly, Batgirl darted forward, leaping and spinning around in midair. She gripped the molding on an overhead arch and swung back. As her legs came forward, she released her handhold and extended her body completely to slam purple boot heels into Okie Annie’s chest, sending the senior gunwoman sprawling. Soolin hesitated, but Batgirl did not. The heroine landed on the floor; dropped to one knee; and spun, letting her extended leg cut Soolin down.

“Attack, Dayna!” Catwoman commanded. “Destroy her!”

Instantly, the African-American henchwoman rushed toward the rising Batgirl, who saw her coming and dove. The heroine rolled aside, then took up a fighting stance, waiting. The first barrage of fists and feet Dayna flung at Batgirl were inconsequential. Batgirl seemed able to deflect her attacks tirelessly and landed a few lightning-fast and effective counterpunches.

Okie Annie and Soolin regained their feet and glanced hesitantly at their criminal mistress.

Catwoman pantomimed instructions.

The gunwomen understood and moved directly behind the Curved Crusader, attacking mercilessly with poised gun butts. Batgirl’s attackers pulled their groggy, vainly-struggling victim back, draping her arms over their shoulders, holding her firmly and helpless.

“Now, we play my way,” Dayna eagerly said, grinning wickedly and casting a questioning glance at the Queen of Crime.

Catwoman smiled, nodding with anticipation.

The African-American licked her lips. “I’m about to show you what real pain is!” she said.

Instantly, Batgirl realized she was to be methodically used as a punching bag. The first several, solid blows landed low down on Batgirl’s abdomen. Slowly, Dayna’s target sagged in the gunwomen’s unyielding grip. The African-American hench-kitten then changed tactics, backhanding her helpless victim across the mouth and followed up with an open handed slap. These blows turned Batgirl’s head from side to side as they were repeated mercilessly, over and over again. Once Dayna tired of slapping Batgirl silly, she jabbed the heroine in the ribs with a fist and turned to kick her hard in the chest. Batgirl expelled her breath and found it impossible to inhale again as the beating Dayna was administering continued. Soon, Batgirl’s battered body responded to every blow like an inanimate rag doll.

“That’s enough for now,” Catwoman decided. “Drop her.” The beaten Batgirl hit the floor like a sack of potatoes when her bearers released her. She moaned and remained utterly motionless, her body wracked with exquisite pain.

“That was fun.” Dayna wiped her lips, grinned and regarded her victim. After a moment, with hope in her voice, she asked, “Shall I continue?”

“I’d rather just shoot her,” Okie Annie disagreed, spinning one of her guns on her right index finger.

“She’d die too quickly,” Dayna objected.

“That depends upon where we shoot her,” Soolin pointed out, letting a wicked smile curl her pretty face. “She could remain alive for hours before the end, if we attend to our chores properly.” She knew from personal experience how slowly one could be worn down to almost nothing through prolonged, vicious torture.

“From my experience, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Batgirl is playing opossum and is just about to rise from the brink of death to go to work on all of us,” Catwoman said. “We’ll dispose of her according to plan, once we’re sure she is really helpless.”

Dayna put her hands on her knees and bent over the collapsed purple-clad heroine. “If she is laying low, she paid a heavy price.”

“I done heard about Batgirl doin’ some amazing things,” Okie Annie said.

“She isn’t going to defeat us after what Dayna just did to her,” Soolin predicted.

“We’ll see about that,” Batgirl said, pushing herself up to her knees.

“Indeed we will,” Catwoman agreed, nodding to her hench-kittens.

Dayna cut Batgirl’s legs out from under her while Soolin and Okie Annie swept her arms from beneath her shoulders. The Curved Crusader tried vainly to rise again and again, collapsing repeatedly as the hench-kittens tirelessly attacked and smiles brightened their pretty faces. Batgirl’s body weight soon proved too much for her weakened muscles to support and she settled to the floor, motionless as the terrible trio remained poised to pounce.

“Purr-fect,” Catwoman purred, throwing back her head and stepping forward to loom over her enemy, mocking Batgirl’s favored hands-on-hips pose. “The time has come to clip Batgirl’s wings purr-menantly.” The other women joined their mistress’ merriment and their bodies all quivered uncontrollably. Once their merriment had subsided, Catwoman continued. “Soolin and Annie, bring Batgirl. Dayna, attend to anyone foolish enough to interfere.”

“What are you going to do to me now?” Batgirl weakly asked.

“You’ll soon see,” the Feline Fiend said, crouching over her victim in a predatory manner. “Kittens, take her feet and follow me. Let’s shake a paw!”

The villainess straightened and turned away to strut through the halls of George Henry Lyons’ solar plant, exuding confident sexuality. Dayna followed, making certain they encountered no one. Okie Annie and Soolin dragged Batgirl unceremoniously behind them. Presently, they came to a sliding metal door.

The Princess of Plunder produced a plastic card she had taken from its owner and slid it through a reader. “Purr-fect,” the Feline Felon happily purred as she, her minions, and her prisoner were allowed past the sliding door.

“Where are we?” Batgirl softly asked.

“You’ll soon see, my little mouse,” Catwoman purred, glancing over her shoulder as she turned. “Get Batgirl’s belt for me.” An extended talon indicated Dayna, who nodded and moved forward to do her mistress' bidding. Soon the voluptuous villainess’ hands stroked Batgirl’s golden girdle lovingly.

“Now what?” Soolin asked.

“Now, it’s time to take care o' Batgirl,” Okie Annie enthused.

“Purr-manently.” Catwoman concurred, indicating a metal column resembling a compressed, metal spring squeezed between the floor and ceiling. She took two pairs of Batcuffs from the Curved Crusader’s utility belt and gave them to Soolin and Okie Annie. “Now, take the flying mouse to that pillar and shackle her.” Batgirl felt herself dragged backward until the pillar Catwoman had indicated stopped her progress.

Okie Annie lifted Batgirl, enabling Soolin to grab her purple boots; spread the heroine's legs wide; and pull her feet past the pillar. The younger gunwoman quickly fastened metal bracelets to Batgirl’s ankles.

“Good,” Catwoman purred. “Now, pull her arms up above her head and behind the pillar. Then, shackle her wrists!”

Okie Annie and Soolin obeyed. They then retreated to admire their handiwork as their mistress strutted forward, motioning for Dayna to follow.

Batgirl glared at her captors from her knees. “You’ll never get away with . . . whatever you're doing!”

“Well,” Catwoman replied, “if nothing else, I’ve put you in a suitably subservient position. Dayna, return Batgirl’s belt.”

The African-American cast a questioning glance at her mistress, who nodded. Dayna then obediently crouched beside the Curved Crusader and buckled the golden girdle into place around the heroine’s waist.

“Well done, Dayna,” Catwoman praised, reaching a clawed hand behind the pillar. “Now, let’s go!”

As the villainess and Dayna retreated, Batgirl’s body slammed into the pillar behind her. Momentarily breathless, she felt the Batcuffs at her wrists and ankles lock against the pillar as her waist was simultaneously drawn firmly back. Catwoman laughed and Dayna followed to where the other hench-kittens were waiting, watching Batgirl’s treatment with wicked anticipation.

“Now, Batgirl,” Catwoman said, smiling wickedly and giving her captive undivided attention, “stay!”

“I . . . can’t . . . move!” Batgirl said, after painfully inhaling. “Some incredible, unseen force has me in its gruesome clutches!”

“It’s magnetism and, ironically, you gave me the means to arrange for your own Batcuffs and the metal objects in your utility belt to hold you quite immobile for the rest of your seemingly su-purr-natural life,” Catwoman happily purred.

“My Bat-magnet,” the Curved Crusader weakly whispered, leaning forward.

“Precisely,” Catwoman purred. “It’s purr-forming purr-fectly.”

“Well, I knew it had nothing to do with your personality, Catwoman!” Batgirl replied, seeming to gain strength.

“You’ve got a pretty sharp tongue for someone about to say goodbye to this world.”

“Disappointed?”

“Not at all,” Catwoman purred. “I still win, regardless.”

“Let’s hear it, Catwoman,” Batgirl defiantly said.

“You find yourself insep-purr-ably attached to one of the conduits leading from this facility’s collection panels above us to the solar batteries below.” Catwoman’s glance indicated the relative location of the energy gathering and storage equipment as the Feline Fiend drank in the sight of her helpless, female captive.

“We’ll see how inescapable this trap of yours is!”

“You’ll see very well by the dawn’s early light, Batgirl,” the gloating villainess continued, chuckling. “As the sun rises, the panels above us will capture its energy-rich light and gather the power within, sending it through the conduit, and you, on its way to the solar batteries.”

“Catwoman, the human body cannot possibly withstand the amount of heat those conduits carry,” Soolin observed.

“I reckon Batgirl is way too close to the equipment,” Okie Annie concurred, grinning.

“She’ll be burned to a crisp!” Dayna added, knowingly smiling.

“Precisely, kittens,” Catwoman purred. “I do, however, purr-fer the term ‘incinerated’ to describe Batgirl’s ultimate fate.” She laughed and her hench-kittens joined in the merriment. “Of course, Batgirl, the process will not be completely instantaneous, and will seem far from it as unspeakable agony wracks your burning body.”

“No matter how quickly or painfully I die,” Batgirl cried, “you’ll never get away with my murder!”

“Purr-haps not. You’ll still be quite dead in the end, though. You see, the power this facility gathers is hot enough initially to melt flesh, blood, bone, and your outfit, as well as your famous toys,” Catwoman explained. “Everything will simply melt away, leaving nothing but ashes behind after you’ve been purr-manently transformed.”

“You have a perverted sense of the dramatic, Catwoman!”

“You’re absolutely right,” the Princess of Plunder agreed. “You have one hour of life remaining, Batgirl--and then a golden death!”

“You inhuman witch!” Batgirl fumed.

“Enjoy the sunrise,” Catwoman teased. “I know I will!”

Catwoman laughed delightedly as she turned around to address her minions. “Come on, kittens. It’s time we got paid for a good morning’s work.” She strutted back to the chamber door, exuding superiority and confidence before pausing to look over her shoulder. “Oh, I didn’t mention a cash grant will be delivered here in about an hour. Make no mistake. I will be purr-loining it, while you are literally going up in smoke.”

“Catwoman,” Batgirl began, “taking that grant money will force Mister Lyons to close this power plant. Everyone who works here will be laid off and energy prices will rise even higher in Gotham City.”

“So?” Catwoman turned to regard Batgirl, while claw-tipped fingers spread and came to rest on the villainess’ well-rounded hips as her legs spread to shoulder width. The Feline Fiend waited, mocking Batgirl’s favored pose.

“Look at the big picture,” Batgirl continued. “Don’t you think energy prices are high enough?”

“I don’t care, and I’ve heard enough!” Catwoman said. “No more pompous prattle from you — ever! Bye bye, Batgirl.” Touching the fingertips of one hand to her lips, the black-clad brunette blew her victim a parting kiss. Catwoman waved before taking her leave.

Soolin and Okie Annie grinned at the final arrangements their mistress had made for Batgirl. Dayna’s white teeth also flashed as she and the gunwomen turned to follow their leader and vanished. Moments later, the metal panel slid closed, separating Batgirl’s death chamber from the rest of the solar energy plant.

The Curved Crusader writhed helplessly against the metal power conduit, struggling and waiting to die, restrained with Batcuffs in her own magnet’s monstrous, invisible grip.

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