THE MOST DEADLY DEEDS HAVE YET TO BE DONE!

Batgirl Takes Aim

Batgirl strained against the ropes binding her forearms to the prison bars as she stared fearfully at the circle of gun barrels aimed at her abdomen. The slowly burning candle measured the moments before the deadly fusillade would erupt.

Shame’s henchwomen had left no slack in her restraints and had tied the knots expertly. They had also been generous with the wrappings that lashed the heroine’s hands in place against the bars and had wound additional rope around the bindings. In her mind’s eye, Batgirl could picture them both pulling at the bindings with shapely legs raised and feet pressed against the cell bars to tighten the ropes with the added leverage such a position would afford.

Even if Batgirl were free from her restraints, she would still be locked inside the cell, targeted by the gatling gun with the slowly burning candle well beyond her reach. “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Batgirl sourly muttered.

A loud, sharp crack from outside made Batgirl’s heart skip a beat. The bang repeated several times, accompanied by the sound of booted feet pounding rapidly along the wooden sidewalks. Silence had lease once these sounds receded.

When last Batgirl had faced the Conniving Cowboy of Crime, he had bound her to a flatbed wagon and sent her on a one-way trip toward a washed out bridge. He had begun her fateful journey with a shot from his trusty six-shooter and Batgirl had imagined he and his gang firing off several additional shots to celebrate her impending demise. This time, the frivolous expenditure of firepower was real. Batgirl understood the outlaws’ excitement over Calamity Jan’s release, but the reason behind the running feet was a mystery.

Suddenly, Batgirl realized the answer. “Of course!” she exclaimed. ‘Shame’s quick getaway necessitated abandoning his horses. If I get out of this I’ll have to check with the police after they locate the animals.” Her smile faded. “One problem at a time, though.”

Batgirl feared the sounds of the celebratory gunshots might spell her doom, because the slim chance that Shame would discover his henchwomen’s handiwork and order it undone was fading fast. Batgirl was completely alone!

She knew any attempt at freeing her hands would be hopeless. If she were to survive, another approach would be required, and she would have to rely on herself to discover it.

As this realization assailed her psyche, Batgirl watched smoke curl toward the ceiling and candle wax drip to the floor. These natural processes demarcated her remaining time on Earth.

Her mind worked furiously as she looked around the cell. She braced her feet and tried to shift the cell door to the left or right. It didn’t budge. Her attempt to lift it failed, as did the feat of wrenching it from the ceiling. “That didn’t work, “ Batgirl muttered. She took in some air and exhaled.

Her knees bent and she hung briefly from the ropes restraining her arms. If the horizontal bars on the cell door had not been present, Batgirl might have tried to slide her ropes to the floor and lay flat, thus allowing the impending hail of bullets to pass overhead.

‘Wait!’ Batgirl told herself. She reconsidered the thought she had just rejected and straightened. She focused on the candle and realized the rope in its notch was about to catch fire.

If her plan were to work, she would have to hurry!

Batgirl stepped back and extended her arms as far as the ropes would allow. Then, she raised one leg, extending it toward the barred window behind her. She was just short of her goal. “Got to stretch,” she softly told herself. The effort enabled her to touch the bars in the widow with her booted toe. “Almost there!” Batgirl encouraged. She pressed her hands hard against the bars and pushed until the top of her boot passed the bar. At last, she could slip her ankle through the bars and hold her position. “Good,” she murmured, relaxing. She had to hang on! Failure would mean death!

Glancing at the gatling gun again, Batgirl inhaled. The rope in the candle had nearly burned through and the crank on the weapon was moving forward.

Batgirl quickly raised her other leg, resting her ankle on her already suspended leg. The additional weight strained her body and tore a tortured cry from her throat. She tried to relieve the strain by wrenching her forearms downward, simultaneously trying to inhale. To fill her lungs, she was forced to clench every muscle in her body. The strain of inhaling quickly became too much, and she relaxed with a gasp.

She had just prepared to clench her body and take another labored breath, when the gatling gun began spitting death accompanied by a sound reminiscent of rolling thunder!

The Shapely Sentinel suspended in the wooden-walled cell emptied her lungs slowly as bullets ricocheted crazily beneath her. Batgirl felt her arms begin aching and her chest descend a bare inch. She inhaled fearfully as the air displaced by the fiendish flying lead became discernable. She exhaled and bravely braced her arms. If she were to descend any further into the flying lead beneath her—or worse–to fall from her perilous position above the sinister, deadly swarm, she would be finished almost instantly!

It seemed an eternity before the hail of bullets halted and the deafening thunder ceased. Batgirl carefully lowered herself and relaxed visibly, leaning against the cell door for support. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Experimentally, she tried to move her hands and found they were still tightly bound in place. Now, though, she could concentrate on freeing herself without having to be worried about being ripped to pieces at any moment.

To this end, she turned to one side and kicked one foot up above her head. The hilt of a sharp knife protruded from her boot. Bending her knee slightly, she brought the knife into easy reach. Extracting the blade, she turned the knife edge to slice the bindings away from her forearms.

It took time, but Batgirl was soon tucking her knife away after the severed ropes lay at her feet. Her next problem was the cell door. This, she knew, would quickly surrender to the lock picks she carried in her utility belt. Once outside the cell, she extinguished the still burning rope and blew out the stub of the candle.

‘The crooks have gone, but might have left me a clue, she surmised. A quick search yielded no trace of the villains or their whereabouts. As Batgirl drove back to Gotham City, she was happy to still be alive, but angry she had allowed Shame and his gang to free Calamity Jan.

Batgirl’s anger motivated Barbara Gordon to shut herself away in her office and crank out work at a pace that would have staggered a new librarian. It was almost time for lunch when Myrtle came in and blinked.

“Barbara, you’re a machine!”

“It’s the quiet and the privacy of my office that help me stay focused on the job, Myrtle. How can I help you?”

“Oh, you have a phone call on line one.”

“Thank you.” Barbara picked up the phone while Myrtle withdrew, closing the door. The voice on the other end of the phone cheered her instantly.

“Hello, pumpkin. I’m used to getting right through to you.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I had a lot to do this morning. I must have turned my phone off and forgotten. What’s up?”

“Well, if you aren’t too busy for lunch, I’d like to meet you at the police stables. They are closer to the library than headquarters and I want to see the horses Chief O’Hara’s men found this morning near the scene of Calamity Jan’s escape.”

“Calamity Jan escaped?!” Barbara said with mock surprise.

“I’m sorry to say she has . . . especially after all the help you gave us to put her back behind bars.

“Well, don’t worry about that. Lunch sounds great, Daddy. I’ll meet you there in about half an hour. ‘Bye.”

Barbara’s mind was racing as she hung up. ‘Finally! Something that will further Batgirl’s investigation. I love being a librarian, but I would have greatly preferred to be on the street, beating Shame out of the proverbial underbrush. Though I had nothing concrete to work on, it never hurts for Batgirl to send a few ripples of terror through Gotham City’s underworld. Instead of scaring lowlife scum into witless, gibbering informants, I’ve spent the morning here. Leading a double life, while absolutely essential, sometimes sucks!’

Inevitably, Barbara’s thoughts returned to the case. Shame, who was only comfortable around horses, had been forced to abandon his entire gang’s mounts that morning when they fled. Previously, Calamity Jan’s love for her steed, White Stallion, might have drawn the villains to try stealing the henchwoman’s equestrian companion from the stables where police had cared for it since the pigtailed blonde’s arrest. Now that police held all of the gang’s horses, Barbara knew the Conniving Cowboy of Crime would be spurred into action. He would strike that night—at the latest!

The newly corralled horses were Batgirl’s only lead on Shame and Barbara Gordon was meeting her father at the stables almost immediately. She finished the task she had set for herself before the phone call and opened the locked drawer of her desk, where she kept her purse. She needed to stop at her apartment before lunch.

“I see you have some new tenants, Clayton,” she said to the stable hand, once she arrived at the stables.

“Hi, Barbara,” the young man said cheerfully. “I’d introduce you, but I’m sure I’ll just be giving your dad the same tour. I hope you don’t mind me keeping you in suspense.”

“Not at all.”

“I haven’t seen you around here much lately. You still ride, don’t you?”

“Not as much as I’d like.”

“You’ll have to come by some evening.”

Barbara looked into the face of the rugged, handsome, well-tanned man. “Maybe I will.”

“Barbara, Clayton.” Commissioner Gordon called from outside before Clayton could draw a more concrete commitment from his beautiful, occasional riding companion.

“In here,” Clayton called. A car door slammed and the Commissioner appeared, looking as out of place in the stables as his daughter.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask Clayton to show us around before we eat,” the Commissioner said.

“Not at all, Daddy. You know I love horses.” During the short tour, Barbara found an unobtrusive place to plant one of Batgirl’s microphones.

That afternoon, she listened to activities in the stable through a tiny earpiece as she worked, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. She went on monitoring the potential criminal venue after Clayton went home.

She had just finished eating a light dinner when the telltale sound she had been expecting triggered Barbara’s journey across her bedroom, past her spinning wall, down the secret freight elevator, and into the streets on her Batgirlcycle—as Batgirl.

Meanwhile, in the nearby stables, Shame; Okie Annie; Calamity Jan; and their men were evaluating the available horseflesh by lantern light.

“It’s great to see White Stallion again,” Calamity Jan said, feeding her mount a carrot. “I knew he done missed me.”

“Everybody got their horse, or a better one?” Shame asked. His gang responded in the affirmative. “Good. Let’s saddle up and hit the trail.”

“You’ll all be hitting a rock pile when I’m finished with you,” a feisty female voice announced.

“Aw Batgirl, yer ‘spose to be in jail where we left you!” Shame said incredulously.

“She’s ‘spose to be dead,” Okie Annie muttered.

“I reckon we can remedy that right enough,” Calamity Jan whispered, pulling one of the pistols from her hip.

A Batarang flew through the air and snatched the gun from the pigtailed gunwoman’s hand.

Shame ran an eye over the contents of the stables. “Drive her under the loft,” the Wicked Westerner ordered. Lead spat at Batgirl, who leaped behind the available cover and soon realized her flight had taken her exactly where Shame wanted. “Right,” the Criminal Cowboy continued, nodding. “Now, boys, take them axes and chop away them loft supports. Girls, get all the horses outta here.” He laughed maniacally as his gang did his bidding, and put a cigar in his mouth, which he lit.

Soon he was puffing away at the stogie happily. He watched for Batgirl’s attempts to depart her retreat, which he stopped with poorly-aimed shots, thus pinning her down effectively until the loft collapsed, dropping its contents on top of her. ”Right, boys, git outta here and mount up. I’m gonna finish this here smoke in Batgirl‘s honor, before I send her to that great cow pasture in the sky.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Shame!” Batgirl lectured. “Smoking is unhealthy, both for you and those around you.”

“Yep,” the Dangerous Desperado agreed, “’Specially fer you, Batchick.” He laughed and wheezed before firing a bullet at the lantern, which fell to the floor, shattering and spilling its fuel into a pool that caught fire almost instantly.

“Now, you’ve sunk to a new low!”

“Ah, Batgirl, at least I saved the horses! Now that these here stables are on fire, it’s time for me to mosey and leave you to feel the heat. There’s only one door, and my whole gang will be right outside—ready and waitin’ to fill you chock full of lead, if you set foot outside. So, I reckon you’d better stay here. ‘Course, it’s gonna get real warm, real fast.” Shame tossed his cigar at a stack of hay bales, which caught fire as he walked to the door of the stable. His retreating figure was silhouetted against the flames, which engulfed the dry wood building in seconds. Shame pulled out another cigar. “I guess we’ll both be smokin’ when this is over!”

“Did you shoot her in cold blood, Shame-honey?” Calamity Jan interestedly asked, as her man swung into his horse’s saddle and lit his second smoke.

“Nope,” the ghoulish gang leader replied after a satisfied puff.

“Then, she’s still in there?” Okie Annie asked, shuddering.

“Yep.” Shame blew a smoke ring.

“That ain’t human, boss.” Doctor Valentine Valentine said. The flames had engulfed half the building.

“Nope,” Shame agreed. “If she tries to come out, I want her body filled with more lead than a forest of pencils. Get it?”

“Got it,” Bartholomew Black, Crazylegs, and the Kid said simultaneously.

“Good,” their leader drawled.

The mounted gang waited, watching as the stables were engulfed completely in flame.

“Shame-honey, are we gonna stay here ‘til the smoke clears?” Okie Annie asked.

Perhaps mercifully, a siren sounded in the distance.

“You’re right, Okie Annie. We ain’t got time to fully enjoy Batchick’s fiery fate. So, we better take a few potshots at them stables, just to make sure.”

“You know, Shame-honey,” Calamity Jan said. “Annie’s right. I like the idea of Batgirl being dead when the fire fighters get here a lot better than thinking she’s breathing in there, waiting to be rescued. Let’s git this over with now and git,” Calamity Jan grimly suggested.

“Right,” Shame agreed. For a moment, the thunder of guns drowned out the roar of the flames and the wail of the approaching sirens as the line of outlaws fired, fanned their guns, reloaded, and repeated the procedure twice.

“Boss, I’m outta ammo again,” the Kid complained.

“Never mind. Let’s git!” Shame said. With Shame in the lead, the death-dealing desperados wheeled their mounts and galloped off into the night.

The fire burned unchecked for several minutes before the Gotham City Fire Department arrived. Immediately they swung into action.

“Get those hoses going!” their commander cried. In seconds, arcs of water cascaded over the blazing stables and clouds of steam began to rise from the charred debris. “Do you think there’s anyone in there?”

“We’re ready to go in and look,” the rescue party leader reported.

“Okay. Go! I want those paramedics ready . . . and where are those vets?” The commander looked at the horses Shame’s gang had left behind. “These skittish horses are making me nervous.”

The rescue team leader walked through the flaming door, flanked by her team. At first, the inferno seemed devoid of living creatures. Then, a shadow arose, dripping from the horse trough. The figure stepped to the ember-strewn floor and staggered toward the rescuers, motioning for them to retreat. Ignoring the gesture, the leader reached out and yanked the shadow forward.

The rescue worker darted a upward glance as a sickening groan and a loud crack heralded the crash of a stout, flaming timber to the floor and the resultant shower of sparks. The timber had landed precisely where the figure had stood one second earlier!

“All the animals are gone,” the figure said in a muffled voice. “There’s no one else in here. Get your people out! In any second the whole place will collapse!” The rescue team leader motioned for the firefighters to lead them out.

“Thanks,” the leader said breathlessly when they had all emerged and gotten out of the other firefighters’ way. “Who are you?”

“I’m Batgirl,” the Gorgeous Guardian of Gotham said, pulling a breathing filter away from her nose and mouth. She wiped a streak of soot from her golden belt and put the device away.

“How did you survive in there, Batgirl?” the crew commander incredulously asked as he walked forward.

“Shame set this fire to kill me. I knew he and his gang were waiting outside to gun me down and the main door was the only point of egress.”

“So, you had to stay inside.”

“Right, despite the fire. To keep from being roasted like a marshmallow, I settled down in the trough and turned the water on. By the time I’d devised that plan, stopping the fire was impossible. Fortunately for me, the trough was made of metal, because Shame and his gang shot the stables up trying to make sure I was dead when they realized you were coming.”

“The metal trough shielded you from the bullets?” one firefighter asked.

“That’s right.”

“I’m glad, Batgirl. What he tried to do to you was horrible.”

“Yes,” Batgirl quietly agreed. “I won’t forget it.” She cleaned as much soot from her costume as she could and profusely declined to be examined by the paramedics.

The Batgirlcycle quickly brought her to Police Headquarters. Her friend, Lieutenant Diana Mooney, was on duty and in charge.

“I heard you were at the stables tonight and that they had burned to the ground,” the Lieutenant said. Batgirl gave her friend a questioning look as she hovered over a chair. Despite the heroine’s best efforts, her costume was still covered with soot. “Go ahead, it cleans easily,” Diana said with a smile. Batgirl gratefully plopped into the chair.

“Your reports on the fire are correct,” Batgirl confirmed. “Shame tried to fill me with lead and make sure the fire took care of my body for him. I was lucky the firefighters arrived so quickly.”

“I agree . . . wait a minute! Did you say lead? I thought Shame typically uses platinum bullets.”

“I don’t know what his bullets were made of tonight. I had other things on my mind, but Batman told me only Shame uses the platinum ones. He has his reputation to maintain . . . and better things to spend his stolen money on than precious metal for his entire gang.”

“He has two henchwomen now. I’m sure they’re very demanding where his budget is concerned.”

Batgirl laughed. “You’re probably right, Diana.” Then Batgirl suddenly brightened. “You know, you’ve given me an idea!”

“What?”

“Tell the news media the stables were riddled with lead bullets. It’s probably mostly true and an unusual enough aspect of the story for the reporters to highlight.”

“What will that accomplish, Batgirl?”

“Shame wants credit for my death. He’ll also want credit for stealing his mounts from the police. The presence of lead bullets will deny him that publicity.”

“The public will never suspect he is responsible for the crimes because everyone knows he uses platinum bullets! With his ego and short-temper, he just might try to get more platinum from somewhere!”

“Precisely,” Batgirl confirmed. “Because no one makes platinum bullets, he won’t be able to simply steal them. He’ll need raw materials.”

“The only place in Gotham City where he could possibly get enough platinum on short notice . . . would be the Gotham Precious Metals Exchange!”

“Right,” Batgirl drawled in a fair imitation of one of Shame’s stock phrases. Diana smiled in response. “He’ll strike tomorrow night; and when he does, I’ll be there, waiting.”

“It sounds like a plan, Batgirl. Do you want backup?”

“Shame and his gang have a well-deserved reputation for shooting first and asking questions later. Let me try to apprehend them first, without anybody getting shot.”

“Whatever you say,” Mooney said somewhat skeptically. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Batgirl took her leave and retired to a luxurious bath and a rare night of blissful sleep.

Moments after Batgirl left, a uniformed officer stepped into Lieutenant Mooney’s office. “We’ve received what I think is an important phone call, ma’am.”

“Who is it?”

“Basil Bowman’s butler.”

“I’ll take it, Goldberg.” She picked up her phone and tapped a button. “Yes, sir, this is Lieutenant Diana Mooney.” She listened for a moment. “No, Commissioner Gordon and Chief O’Hara are off-duty. I’m in charge. How can I help you?” There was more talking on the other end. “I’ll contact Batman at once! Thank you for calling!”

Mooney looked up at her one-time partner. “Come on, Goldberg! To the Batphone!”

Minutes later, she was speaking to Batman. “The Archer; two thugs called Mr. Silver and Artie; and a woman he called Leggy Lass broke into Basil Bowman’s home, pinned his butler to a wall with arrows, and kidnapped the millionaire!” she excitedly reported.

“I’m on my way, Lieutenant,” the Caped Crusader said.

“The Golden Bowman,” Batman said when he arrived. “Robin and I managed to prevent the Joker from kidnapping him in the course of his Zodiac crimes seven years ago. This time, the Archer seems to have struck without warning.”

“It looks that way, Batman,” Officer Goldberg agreed.

“Do you think he’ll demand a ransom?” Lieutenant Mooney asked. Her phone rang again as if in answer to the question. She picked it up and said, “Yes?” A moment later, she covered the mouthpiece with one hand. “Batman, we may have a lead. Someone wants to speak to you.”

“By all means,” the Caped Crusader said. Lieutenant Mooney handed Batman the phone. “This is Batman. How may I help you.”

“I can like, totally help you, Dark Knight, you know?” a female voice announced.

“How would that be, miss?”

“Well,” she began conspiratorially, “I kind of heard you lost the Golden Bowman. I can, like, point you in the right direction, if you’ll meet me at the Stacked Deck. That’s a bar, you know?”

“I know. It’s the most notorious bar in Gotham City. When shall we meet?”

“I’m, like, here now. Can I expect you?”

“I’ll meet you as soon as possible.”

“Cool. See you soon.” The line went dead in Batman’s hand.

“The woman said she has a lead on Basil Bowman. I’m going to meet her.”

“Could it be a trap?” the Lieutenant asked.

“Probably. It’s too obvious,” Officer Goldman agreed.

“A life is at stake, my friends. I have to go. In fact, there may not be a moment to lose!”

“Good luck, Batman,” the officers said simultaneously. Batman raced from the room.

“He’s an inspiration, Lieutenant.”

Officer Goldberg’s commander nodded with a smile. “Agreed!”

“Can I get you a table near the stage, Batman?” a host wearing a dinner jacket and a bow tie asked, grinning slyly. “The show will start in a few minutes and it’s usually pretty spectacular.” Batman regarded him and noticed the bulge beneath the shoulder of the jacket. “Some of our customers even find the performers breathtaking.”

“No. Thank you. I’ll head for the bar. I wouldn’t want to attract attention.” The Caped Crusader followed the man’s gesture and slid onto a barstool.

“Can I get you something, sir?” the bartender offered.

“I’d like a large, fresh orange juice, please.” The bartender moved away and returned with the glass of OJ, for which Batman paid.

“Anything else?”

“I thought I was expected.”

“In the billiard room,” the bartender said, pointing. Batman ignored his drink and moved to the closed door.

Inside the billiard room, Batman could not help immediately noticing the blonde woman in the short, belted dress seated on the rail of a pool table. Her arms were sheathed in elbow length, black gloves that matched her sandals. She let her cue rest against her right thigh as she spread her arms and revealed her well-rounded upper chest, which her scarlet dress did little to conceal as she leaned forward. “Batman,” she said softly as she a hot breath passed her lips. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” Batman watched her fingers splay atop the rail beside her hips, making them look like a pair of spiders scuttling about their predatory business.

“Playgirl. Just as I suspected.” Batman said calmly.

The woman perched on the billiard table rail looked disappointed. “You aren’t surprised to see me?”

“No,” Batman explained, “Commissioner Gordon advised me you had been released from prison.”

The blonde grinned and giggled delightedly. “I hope to persuade you I’ve been making good use of my time, Batman. You arrived quite promptly.”

“You said you could point me to Basil Bowman. It is my duty to aid the victim of a crime.”

“Perhaps I can help you. Tell me. Would you be very grateful?”

“It is every citizen’s duty to share knowledge of a crime he or she may chance to gather.”

“I’m, like, not so interested in my duty as a citizen as I am in you, Batman. Don’t you ever provide citizens with motivation to do their duty? In this case, you really could, you know?”

“I’m flattered, Playgirl. You are a very beautiful, very enthralling woman, but my crime fighting leaves me little time for social pursuits.”

“Perhaps I could persuade you to, like, make time or maybe one teeny-weeny little exception. I think you’ll find my proposition worth the trouble,” Playgirl said with a beguiling smile.

“Playgirl, a man’s life is in grave danger.” Batman’s tone transformed from a desperate appeal to Playgirl’s humanity to a guarded admonishment. “I fear there is a distinct possibility your knowledge of Mr. Bowman’s whereabouts did not come about by mere chance. He was kidnapped and I suspect you know it!”

Playgirl regarded Batman coolly for a moment and made a face. “Like, totally, Batman. You’re no fun. I was so looking forward to an awesome game of hide and seek with Mr. Bowman, but you come in here and, like, get right to the point. Worse, I can’t distract you from your crime-fighting quest for even a second! It’s, like – humiliating! You know?”

“Please don’t think I’m not tempted,” Batman said, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Now, if you want to help me, this is your opportunity.”

“You just, like, did it again! This situation is, like, intolerable! I knew Catwoman; Marsha, Queen of Diamonds; Britannia; the Siren; and some of your other female adversaries had utterly failed to turn your head in the past. I was not, however, expecting to be treated in exactly the same way!” Playgirl raged. “I mean we are, like, totally talking about me here—Playgirl!” She controlled herself with a visible effort and took a deep breath. “Okay. The game just totally changed, Batman. You’re, like, totally right. We wanted the Golden Bowman and we have him. He proved to be the perfect bait to catch you.” She paused and giggled. “Of course, we, like, knew he would be, you know?”

“We?”

“Oh, so you are paying attention to me, after all.” She giggled again. “That’s very nice.”

“You’ll let him go?”

“As soon as I have you.”

“I’ll not play along with your social agenda, although, as I said, you are tempting me.”

Playgirl turned to three men who had been unobtrusively leaning on pool cues behind her. “Stanley; Ralph; and Ross, you’re all clear on the rules.”

“You leave with whichever one of us subdues Batman for you?” the man on the right said.

“Totally.”

“Hey, Stanley, what if two of us gang up on him and he goes down?” the second man asked.

“Well, Ralph, if one of those men is me,” the third said, “I eliminate the competition.”

“That sounds good,” the questioner responded.

“So,” Ross summarized, “it’s every man for himself, once we deal with Batman.”

“You got it,” Stanley confirmed.

“May the best man win,” Ralph said. They all shook hands.

“You appear to have been prepared for this contingency,” Batman observed.

“Totally,” Playgirl said. She slid from her perch and wiggled her way out of the area that was about to become a battle zone. Batman prepared to defend himself, as the well-dressed thugs emerged from behind the pool table. “You’re a liar, Batman. If you really found me that interesting, you would have never refused me. All right, boys, adjust his attitude!”

Ross reached Batman first and swung his pool cue. Batman gripped the weapon and spun, pulling the man off balance and in the direction he was already moving. The thug spotted an elbow flying toward him and raised a feeble block. The cue splintered as the man landed hard on the floor.

A sixth sense told Batman another thug had moved behind him. A movement noticed with peripheral vision told the Dark Knight his enemy was raising his cue and holding it in both hands. Stanley lunged and stopped as the top of Batman’s gloved knuckles collided with his jaw. The cue fell from the fallen man’s hands, into Batman’s waiting gloves.

Ralph swung his cue at Batman’s knees. The Caped Crusader leaped into the air and swept the weapon aside with one end of his cue. The other hit the thug’s shoulder with bone-shattering force.

Ralph retreated while Ross regained his feet. Batman’s first opponent glanced at Playgirl who was following the fight with a frown. She tossed Ross the cue she had taken to her safe vantage point and took a drink from a passing waiter’s tray. The waiter stared at her incredulously and retreated under her unhappy gaze. Playgirl sipped her just-claimed drink.

Ralph had renewed his attack and stood with both hands pressing his cue against Batman’s similarly held weapon. Ross slid behind Batman and slid the cue he had gotten from Playgirl into place against the Dark Knight’s throat. Then he pulled back. Playgirl set her empty glass aside with a smile.

Batman tensed, waiting as Ralph prepared to take advantage of the position in which Ross had placed Batman. As Ralph unleashed an uppercut, Batman wrenched the cue, choking him downward and dropped to one knee. Ralph’s punch impacted Ross and Batman twisted to send the hapless thug over his shoulder. Ross plowed into Ralph and they fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

Batman was waiting as the men released one another. He quickly finished dispatching them.

“That went well,” Playgirl said to no one in particular, a look of disgust on her face. Her expression changed to a congenial one as Batman approached her. “I, like, don’t suppose they changed your mind?”

“No. They did not, and you should know better than to have thugs attack me when you are only out of jail on a temporary pass. Warden Crichton will rightfully revoke your privileges when you abuse them. I am now more convinced than ever that I was right about you, Playgirl. You are a truly vicious woman.”

“Moi?” Playgirl said innocently, putting her right hand fingers to her ample chest. Then, again, her attitude changed like quicksilver. She snickered. “Why, thank you for the compliment, Batman. I suppose it’s time to quit playing around. The boys were pretty pathetic, weren’t they?”

“No comment, Playgirl. Will you come quietly now? The police will have questions about Basil Bowman’s kidnapping.”

“Methinks, Batman, thy questions shall remain unanswered,” a new voice declared loudly.

Batman whirled to see the Archer and two henchmen raising bows to aim arrows at him. “Archer! You kidnapped Basil Bowman . . .” Batman’s mind worked with the speed of a supercomputer. He went on, speaking slowly, ”. . . with two goons and a woman called Leggy Lass. That would be Playgirl, whom you described quite aptly.”

“Verily,” the Archer confirmed. “Thy powers of observation do thee credit, Dark Knight.”

“Totally,” Playgirl said, “Thanks again, Batman.” She discreetly moved out of the field of the Archer and his fellow bowmen’s fire.

“Shall we perforate this knave for thee, my Liege?” one of the Archer’s men asked.

“Let us hasten elsewhere to perform this fell deed,” the Archer’s other archer disagreed. “There is a lady present.”

“Verily, Mr. Silver, her Ladyship has lured this rodent before our bows,” Archer said. “Whilst the sight of his blood wouldst make most ladies swoon, methinks our sport would be of great interest to our compatriot, Playgirl.”

“It is well then, we shall fire upon thy command,” Mr. Silver declared.

“Let the deed be done!” the other henchman urged.

“Nay, my friends,” the Archer said. “Lower thy bows. This pleasure shall be mine alone.” With that, an arrow struck the floor at Batman’s feet. A plume of powder engulfed him and he began to sneeze so violently that he doubled over. The four villains watched gleefully as he fell to the floor, clutching his belly and convulsing helplessly.

“You got him, you smooth talker,” Playgirl said, striding past the downed detective and leaning against the Archer. “It looks like I’ll totally be leaving with you.” Her fingers stroked his shoulder gently. “So, tell me. Like, what did you do to him?”

“My sneezing powder arrow hast harangued his nostrils, rendering him helpless and at our mercy,” the Archer explained with a slight bow. His henchmen applauded.

“That is, like, so awesome, you know!?”

“As our counsel foretold, so the deed was done.” The Archer slid an arm around Playgirl’s waist and began to lead her from the billiard room, squeezing her gently. “Men, seize the prisoner and bring him forth. Make haste.” The Archer’s henchmen quickly obeyed as Batman continued sneezing.

When Batman recovered, his body had been splayed across a circular platform to which his limbs had been shackled. The platform extended a yard beyond his extremities and was steeply angled so that he could see Playgirl bent over some apparatus that resembled an enormous crossbow. Straps supported his shoulders and hips, keeping him from sliding to the bottom of the slope. The Archer stood beside Playgirl speaking to her in tones Batman could not overhear. Turning his head, the Caped Crusader realized he had been transported to a secluded beach and the surface to which he had been fastened was painted with red and white concentric circles. “It’s some kind of target,” he mused.

“Verily, Batman,” the Archer confirmed. “Once my leggy lass has concluded the preparations, we shall enjoy a bit of sport whilst testing this wondrous machine.”

“You haven’t, like, taken ownership of me yet, Archer,” Playgirl said with just a hint of menace.

“Verily, my Lady, doing so shall be a profound pleasure.”

“Hey, we are, like, totally partners, you know?”

“Verily. What of the machine?”

“It’s ready,” Playgirl announced, straightening and stepping to the Archer’s side. She had changed into an outfit more appropriate to the setting, namely a red top and matching shorts with lime green sandals. “When you turn on your crossbow, it will automatically use light rays with the diameter of a pinhead to aim at our prisoner. Shots will be selected randomly. Whenever they match the preprogrammed parameters, the light will intensify to form a laser beam and punch a tiny hole in Batman. It will take time for this perforating to prove fatal, but it will . . . eventually.” She giggled delightedly and let her fingers dance swiftly and playfully against the Archer’s body.

‘Thou art ingenious, my dear.”

“Totally,” Playgirl agreed, resting her head on the Archer’s shoulder and giggling.

“Playgirl,” Batman said, “with your beauty and intelligence, you could go much further helping your fellow man rather than harming him. Why must you be so destructive?”

“It’s Archer’s laser crossbow, Batman. I just made it work for him. Besides, you called me a vicious woman,” she reminded him with a wicked grin and a chuckle, ”and I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“Why would you help such a vile fiend?”

“He’ll let me use the machine after it’s fully tested. Surely you remember when Max Chessman tried to kill you . . . and me?”

“Yes,” Batman said, “I also recall Batgirl saying you tried to kill Chessman shortly after he came into Warden Crichton’s facility.”

Playgirl smiled, recalling the sight of the self-important businessman standing in nothing but a pair of shorts as he tried to avoid the potent contact poison she had applied to a fast-moving, bouncing ball in an empty cell. “Oh, Batman, I’m afraid you’ll have to get over the fact that my lucky lawyer had my alleged attempt on dear Max’s life virtually dismissed. He called it criminal mischief and the court went along.” She laughed. “Since you’re about to die, I’ll overlook your slanderous remark. Anyway, I’ve been scheming to get even with Max ever since he tried to kill me. Now, with this device, once it’s perfected, I can terrorize him; ruin his reputation around the entire world; and pad my retirement fund in the process.” Her voice began to exude delight as her hands began to massage Archer’s shoulders and her body pressed closer to him.

“Nay, my Lady, let us not forget the purpose of our enterprise. I shall use this wondrous machine to deprive profiteers, particularly those who deal in guns, of their livelihoods, thus enabling marksmen everywhere to take up the arms of a simpler age.”

“It’s just a prototype, Archer,” Playgirl cautioned. ”It’s intended for testing purposes. Neither of our plans can be fully implemented until the next stage of the project.”

“Hence the acquisition of Goodman Bowman’s generous donations,” Archer said laughing and letting his arms encircle his companion’s waist.

“Totally. Why don’t you to turn on your lovely laser crossbow? We’ll get on with the experiment and be on our way.”

“With pleasure.” The criminal couple released one another and the Archer stepped toward his contraption. “Wouldst thou care to make a final statement, oh Caped Crusader?”

“Only this, Archer. In the end, good always triumphs over evil. Even if you kill me, your plans and Playgirl’s will both ultimately be shot down.”

“A noble sentiment, Batman. Thou wert truly a worthy opponent. I bid thee adieu.” The Archer bowed and began to approach his murderous technical marvel.

“While you’re being pin-pricked into oblivion, Batman, Archer and I will develop an airtight alibi.” Playgirl turned away and moved to a white motorbike parked some distance away from the deadly contraption. “Hey, Archer, why don’t we put a little wager on this process, to determine whose plans for that gizmo we’ll pursue first?”

“Tis a good idea, my Lady. What wouldst thou propose?”

“One of us takes the even numbered shots, the other takes the odd numbered. The winner will be determined by what number shot kills Batman.”

“Agreed. Ladies first. The first shot and the subsequent odd ones shall be thine,” the Archer declared. “The rest shall be mine.”

“You’re a poet, Archer.”

“I had no idea.”

“Whatever! You are totally a gentleman.” Playgirl turned her attention to the pinioned hero. “You see, Batman, he knows how to treat a lady.”

“Your credentials in that regard are very much in question,” Batman replied.

“Humph!” was the only response Playgirl could manage. “Archer, hurry up!” She started he bike as the Archer activated the laser crossbow.

Batman saw the tiny red circle on his foot and managed to just turn his ankle before a tiny, black circle was burned into the target where his foot had been. The next red circle appeared on his thigh and his eyes narrowed while he waited for the machine to recharge the laser and fire. ‘Can I avoid the shot?

Batman cried out in sudden, searing pain as the light beam lanced into his muscle. As the Archer reached Playgirl and their getaway bike, the laser aimed at its next target: Batman’s shoulder.

“I hope you enjoy my . . . light touch, Batman. Ha, ha! Had you made a different choice when I offered, I would have given you very special treatment. After all, I’m not called Playgirl for nothing, you know?” the blonde baddie called. Then she stopped and acted as though she had just realized something. “Oh, you don’t know . . . and now, you never will. Goodbye.” She shrugged and blew him a parting kiss before driving away, with the Archer clinging to her waist. Both villains laughed delightedly, casting glances behind them at their helpless victim.

The Caped Crusader raised one shoulder and lowered the other. He just managed to avoid the next hot shot, which singed his cape.

Batman squirmed to move his elbow away from the deadly red eye of Playgirl and Archer’s laser. He had determined the time lag between the weapon aiming and firing. Despite having been hit, the hero felt fortunate that most of the shots fired at him so far had been aimed at his extremities or limbs.

The situation was similar to the time the Sandman had strapped him to a mattress beneath a gigantic needle, which had been intended to impale him randomly, repeatedly, and, ultimately, fatally. One key to his escape on that occasion had been the needle piercing the straps restraining him.

The scant slack in the straps binding Batman’s hips and shoulders had thus far allowed him to evade most of the laser shots aimed at him. The process took concentration, iron will, and muscle control. The machine threatening to perforate him was relentless and, unlike him, would never tire.

The shackles at each of Batman’s wrists and ankles would eventually yield to his touch with the tiny tools he carried in his gloves Reaching these, while not impossible, would be problematic. A bigger and more urgent problem was the pace of the shots fired at him. Batman clearly knew he could not afford to divide his attention between dodging the laser shots and freeing himself.

The deadly red eye focused on Batman’s hip and the Caped Crusader wrenched his waist to the side and smiled as the strap binding him began to smoke, melt, and snap. “Good,” he murmured.

The shot that focused on his breastbone was impossible to dodge and he winced as the laser penetrated his flesh, burning a tiny, black circle around the entry point. Fortunately, the laser was not powerful enough to penetrate the bone to the vital organs below. The wound had been cauterized in the process of being inflicted. So, he did not bleed, but the pain lingered. Continuous pain, Batman realized, would be another factor hampering his escape in the very near future.

He easily evaded the next shot, but inhaled when he saw the laser crossbow’s next target. The tiny red light centered on his crotch!

Desperately he bent his knees, trying to draw his polished belt buckle into the path of the laser beam. Such a maneuver had saved his life before.

He held his position as the deadly, red eye focused on his belt buckle. Batman had to carefully turn his hips to aim the beam back at its source. The laser fired and was reflected back toward the conniving crossbow.

‘Has the deadly beam been reflected accurately enough to destroy its source?’

Seconds after the beam began to recharge, the machine began to smoke. No deadly eye was focused on any part of Batman’s body. Once the time had come for the next shot to fire, the prototype weapon exploded. Batman relaxed, closing his eyes.

He was conscious of being alive as he opened his eyes and felt strength surging through his muscles. He turned his head and stretched his fingers toward the concealed tools in his gloves. Once he had managed to retrieve one, he quickly freed his hands, slid his arms from the shoulder straps, bent to free his feet, and pulled his legs from the remaining strap at his hip.

Batman slid to the sand and stood—free and alive. It was time to pursue the Archer and Playgirl.

The next evening, Batgirl waited for Shame and his gang at the Gotham City Precious Metals Exchange. The security guards were unaware of her presence as they made their rounds, but stopped in their tracks as they entered a darkened garage and heard several loud clicks, which indicated revolvers had just been primed.

“Reach for the sky!” Shame drawled.

The guards raised their hands and lights suspended from the ceiling began to illuminate the scene. Shame and his sextet of assistants surrounded the guards. “Who are you? What is the meaning of this?”

“Listen, fella,” Shame said, “I’m the hardest, meanest, roughest, toughest hombre to have ever put together a low-down gang of yellow-bellied, side windin’ varmints on either side o’ the Mississippi; so, you best do like I tell ya--or else! Get it?”

“Got it,” the guards answered as they were relived of their guns.

“Good.” Shame paused to consider his next words. When the accidentally dramatic pause concluded, he went on, “Now, you all got platinum in your vault, and I want it. So, move it out!”

Batgirl followed the criminals and their unarmed escorts, moving like a purple shadow, close enough to touch them at times. She considered dispatching them one at a time, but rejected that idea when she realized Shame would not hesitate to kill the guards. The corridor they were following opened into a chamber dominated by a vault door.

“Ya’ got yer stethoscope, Doc?”

“Right here, boss,” Doctor Valentine Valentine said.

“Then git crackin’! Safe crackin’, that is!” Shame smiled at his own pun.

“You got it!” The white-coated thug withdrew his stethoscope from his pocket and held it against the vault. “Mr. Black, would you kindly manipulate the dial?”

“Sure,” Bartholomew Black agreed.

“You’ll never open that door,” one of the guards predicted.

“That’s right,” the other seconded. “That vault uses state-of-the-art technology.”

“Hesh up!” Calamity Jan ordered, prodding the speaker with her pistol. “Doc is tryin’ to listen to the tumblers.”

“While Black Bart and Doc work on that door, I reckon we can make sure you two don’t bug us when we start loadin’ up the platinum,” Shame decided. “Kid and Crazylegs, take care of ‘em.” The young thug and his Native American colleague drew their guns.

Batgirl inhaled.

Okie Annie, who had been helping Calamity Jan mind the prisoners, looked critically at the Bloodthirsty Bushwhacker. “Shame-honey,” she said, “I don’t mean ta tell ya’ how to pull this off, but do we really need to kill these two?”

The two guards stared fearfully at one another. “Did she call him . . . S-Shame?” the first asked, his voice quavering slightly.

“I-I think she did,” the second confirmed. “Does Shame ever take prisoners?”

“Whaddya mean?” the Wicked Westerner demanded of his woman.

Batgirl pulled something from her belt and tensed her muscles.

“Well, it ain’t like they’re Batman and Robin,” Calamity observed. “They’re certainly not worth hangin’ over.”

Shame considered Calamity’s observation and nodded. “Hold it, boys. Just hit ‘em over the head.” The men turned their guns around, raised them, and brought the back of the handles down on the backs of their victim’s heads. The guards slumped, unconscious.

“Pull!” Doctor Valentine Valentine suddenly ordered. Bartholomew Black pulled and the huge vault door opened.

“Now, you may all step inside and I’ll call the police,” Batgirl said, stepping into the light and lobbing an object into the criminals’ midst. The object exploded dazzlingly, blinding everyone but Batgirl as guns clattered to the floor, torn from their holders’ fingers and ripping holsters free from their wearers’ belts.

The Kid stooped to retrieve his six-shooter. “Hey! My gun is too heavy to lift,” the thug complained.

“What did you just do, Batgirl?” Doctor Valentine Valentine demanded, his scientific curiosity aroused.

“I exposed your weapons to a Bat-chemical Batman gave me that makes metal 20 times heavier,” the Curved Crusader explained. “Disarming, isn’t it?”

“I’m really startin’ to hate chemicals!” Shame said, scowling. “I shouldn’t never have accepted that fear gas from that swindler Scarecrow!”

“I’m afraid you’re right,“ Batgirl philosophically said, shrugging. “As a crook yourself, you should have known what to expect.”

“Enough! There are six of us and one half of you!” Shame observed. “We shouldn’t need our weapons–”

“Seven to one sounds fair to me,” Batgirl said, dispatching the outlaw chief with a showgirl kick. Shame fell.

“Alright boys–” Okie Annie began, catching the falling fiend.

“Get her!” Calamity Jan finished, supporting one of her fiancé’s shoulders. Together the rival rogues retreated from the battle zone, dragging Shame’s body between them.

Doctor Valentine Valentine, the Kid, Crazylegs, and Bartholomew Black advanced on Batgirl. As the henchmen surrounded her, she set her arms defensively, turning toward Doc. The purple-clad heroine hurled herself at him, launching a merciless combination that left him moaning at her feet.

Calamity Jan frowned.

The Kid and Bartholomew Black approached from opposite directions and Batgirl chose to deal with the Kid, since he would draw her further from Doc’s fallen body.

Spinning, she sent a leg over his head and backed him toward a wall. Her second rotation seemed to the Kid to be the time to counterattack. He retreated and changed direction in the split second Batgirl’s back was turned. He lunged, jabbing a fist at her, but suddenly realized her leg was longer than her arm when a pointy purple heel slammed into his chest, knocking the wind from him.

Behind Batgirl, Bartholomew Black was moving a little faster than she had anticipated and gave her a shove toward Crazylegs, who waited, twitching with anticipation.

“Come on, come on!” Okie Annie softly said, watching the fight breathlessly.

Crazylegs stepped to one side of Batgirl and brought the inside of his rigid arm across her chest, slamming her to the floor hard. Overconfidence kept the Native American henchman too close to her, posing triumphantly – perhaps for Calamity Jan and Okie Annie. He became suddenly aware of his miscalculation when Batgirl swept one calf forward him at the level of his ankles and her other calf in the opposite direction at the level of his waist. Crazylegs hit the floor with a smack.

Meanwhile, Bartholomew Black stooped, wrapped his arms around Batgirl’s upper body, and began to drag her backwards, away from Crazylegs. Batgirl squirmed helplessly in the man’s grip, as her legs inexorably came free. Then, she suddenly counterattacked, sitting down on the floor and drawing her legs to her chest, before shooting them upward and clapping Bartholomew Black’s head with the back of both boots, stunning him. She then bent her knees and crossed her ankles to securely clasp his head. Batgirl lowered her legs and sent Bartholomew Black tumbling head-over-heels over her head.

Batgirl looked for someone else to hit as she regained her feet. Bartholomew Black, Crazylegs, and Doctor Valentine Valentine were finished, but the Kid was up on one knee breathing heavily. He spotted Batgirl regarding him and straightened, facing her on both feet. “This is going to be fun,” he said.

“Take care of her, Kid,” Okie Annie encouraged.

The Kid approached Batgirl warily. He jabbed at her and was dismayed when she sidestepped as he fired his power punch. The Kid pivoted to follow her and jabbed again. This time he felt his wrist seized and his arm yanked forward. Batgirl slid her lead leg in front of the Kid and lifted his arm with her free hand. With a pivot and a triumphant smile, she sent the young thug spinning to the floor where the back of her boot impacted his face.

The crack of his skull hitting the floor was immensely satisfying. “Now, that was fun!” Batgirl declared. She did not spare the others a glance, but stepped over the Kid’s body and approached Okie Annie, Calamity Jan, and Shame, who had recovered from the kick that had taken him out of the fight before it began. ”Now, it’s your turn!”

Okie Annie sank dejectedly into a crouch behind one of the guards they had taken hostage earlier. She draped her arms over his shoulders and looked forlornly at Batgirl. Calamity Jan leaned against the wall and sullenly folded her arms.

“Well, Shame-honey,” the criminal’s pig-tailed paramour said, “It was fun while it lasted.”

“I reckon it’s time to mosey on,” the Conniving Cowboy of Crime said.

“All right,” Batgirl said, relaxing. “On your feet, all of you.”

Okie Annie pulled the captive guard in front of her as she rose. “I think it’s time for you to reassess this situation, Batgirl.”

“Let him go, Okie Annie!”

“I don’t think so!” Batgirl opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again when the pony-tailed henchwoman went on. “If you take one more step toward us, I’ll break this man’s neck. I’m stronger than I look. I’ve done a lot of steer rassling. Once you consider his fate, I’m sure you’ll unconditionally surrender. Failure to obey will cost him his life.” Okie Annie’s voice began to drip with feigned sweetness. “I do hope I make myself clear.”

“Okie Annie, you are one heck of a woman!” Shame said happily. “I think I love you!” The pony-tailed henchwoman cast a triumphant glance at her rival for their boss’s affection while he stood laughing. “Ain’t she somthin’, Batchick?”

Batgirl looked at Okie Annie through narrowed eyes. The way her arms were wrapped around the guard convinced the heroine she wasn’t bluffing. “You leave me no choice,” Batgirl said resignedly.

“Calamity, find Batchick’s Bat-cuffs and use ‘em on her.” As the henchwoman with free hands obeyed, Shame addressed his fallen warriors. “All right you men, get up! I ain’t never seen a sorrier show! A bunch of hombres got their butts kicked by a girl! Maybe you’re good for somethin’. Load the platinum into the truck!”

Moments later, Batgirl stood, watching, with her hands shackled behind her and Calamity Jan gripping one of her elbows. Bartholomew Black, Crazylegs, the Kid, and Doctor Valentine Valentine loaded the platinum from the vault onto a flatbed cart.

“All right, gang,” Shame said, “let’s get these here prisoners into the vault and mosey on down the trail so we can git some ammo for roundin’ up the transportation we’ll need for what I like to call ‘the Plan,’” Shame said, lifting the bound guard from the floor and shoving him into the vault. “After we do the job I got in mind, the rest of the metal in this here vault is gonna look like a penny-ante poker pot.”

“Won’t they just get out of there, Shame-honey?” Calamity Jan asked.

“I ‘spose they will, but not until we’re long gone.”

“Move!” Okie Annie ordered after waking the guard she had threatened, hustling him toward the vault.

“Shame,” Batgirl said, “leave me in the vault, but release these two men. There’s only so much air in there. You don’t have any real quarrel with these guards. Please let them go.”

Shame regarded her for a moment and laughed. “I hadn’t thought about that. Once you’re all in there together, you’ll have a better reason to git out and more important things to worry about than comin’ after us. Calamity, put her inside.”

Batgirl stumbled as the pig-tailed henchwoman propelled her into the darkened vault. Annie woke the other guard and marched him inside as well.

“You know,” Shame said, as he closed the steel door on his prisoners. “That was a better idea than I thought—puttin’ Batchick in the vault with the guards for safe keepin’. Hey! That’s a pretty good joke. Get it?”

“Got it,” his evil entourage responded.

“Good. Let’s git.”

Inside the vault, Batgirl had pulled the key to her Batcuffs from her belt and quickly released her hands. Her next task was to check on the other captives using the dim illumination of her tiny Batlight.

“Were you serious about us running out of air, Batgirl?” one guard asked.

“I’m afraid so. Bank vaults have emergency air supplies, but this vault wasn’t designed with the general public in mind. We have to get out of here!”

“Call to have someone come down and let us out,” the second guard suggested.

“That’s a good idea,” the first guard said, pulling out his walkie-talkie. Static hissed when he switched it on. He circled the small room and put the device away disgustedly. “The metal lining of the walls is blocking the signal. I should have realized that would happen.”

“I’ll try my cell phone,” Batgirl said. She dialed a number the guards provided and frowned. “I think we’re in a bad cell.”

“Are we going to die?” the first guard asked.

“No,” Batgirl said. She examined the inside of the vault door. “I’m going to have to cut my way to the tumblers, though. The problem is, my torch uses the emergency oxygen supply I carry in my utility belt.”

“What can we do to help?” the first guard asked.

“Sit down and try not to move around too much.” She smiled at the men, “and try not to worry.”

Batgirl’s smile made the guards feel much better than the situation warranted. They sat on the floor and Batgirl put her light away. Seconds later, the chamber was illuminated by the tiny flame of a cutting torch. Batgirl set to work on the vault door.

Long minutes later, Batgirl pressed the top of the circle she had cut in the vault door and smiled as a metal disc detached. “I’m making progress, guys. How are you doing?”

“We’re fine, Batgirl.” the second guard said.

“Thanks for asking,” the first guard concurred.

A couple of minutes passed in silence. Then Batgirl sadly reported, “I can’t budge these tumblers. I’ve even tried using my Batmagnet. Our only chance now is to cut through.”

Neither of the guards responded as Batgirl returned to work. She was beginning to feel light- headed as her cutting flame sliced through another of the metal rods comprising the inner workings of the vault lock. Shame, who had admittedly not given Batgirl’s imprisonment a great deal of thought, might have accidentally placed Batgirl in a trap which would finally succeed.

Batgirl shut off the torch. “We . . . are . . . not . . . going . . . to die!” Batgirl said through clenched teeth, as she wrenched an enormous gear from the vault door and set it on the floor. “Okay. I should be able to open it now.” She set her feet and pushed. The heavy door did not budge!

She tried a second time and heard the metal begin to groan in protest. “Okay,” Batgirl decided aloud. “Guys, I’m going to need some help here.” When she turned to the men seated behind her and flashed her light on them, her eyes widened in horror. Both men’s heads were slumped.

She stepped toward them and felt herself stumble. Ordinarily, she would have caught herself, but this time she hit the floor with a loud smack. Neither of her companions reacted.

“Oh, God!” Batgirl muttered. “All of the air is gone.”

Her hand seemed to move at the rate of a slow crawl as she pulled an oxygen mask with a trailing tube from her utility belt. She attached the other end to the tiny canister of compressed oxygen she had been using with her torch, making sure not to connected it with the acetylene. ‘There’s just got to be some air left!’ she prayed.

She turned the nob, put the mask to her face and inhaled. She was rewarded with a dose of pure oxygen! Feeling enormously better, she found the guards with her tiny Batlight and moved to the nearer. She let him breath through the mask until he seemed recovered, for the moment. She repeated the procedure with the other guard.

“Okay, guys,” Batgirl said encouragingly. “I can’t open the door by myself. I need you two big, strong men to help me.” She hoped appealing to their macho side would give them the shot of adrenaline necessary to save their lives.

“Okay, Batgirl,” the first guard said, standing unsteadily.

“We’re with you,” the second concurred.

The captive trio lined up on the end of the vault door, opposite the enormous hinge. “Okay, guys. Push!” Batgirl cheered.

Together, slowly, the trapped trio shoved the door. The metal groaned in protest, but finally, it swung open!

Batgirl and the two men emerged . . . and promptly collapsed.

“Are you alright?!” someone asked, catching Batgirl. Her eyes slowly focused on the uniformed man with a golden chord decorating his shoulder.

“I am now, Captain,” Batgirl said, her chest heaving. “I take it Shame and his gang got away with your platinum.”

“That’s right. The police have already located the stolen truck . . . empty, of course. Apparently, the gang escaped on horses from a public stable.”

“Probably in Gotham Central Park,” Batgirl said thoughtfully. “It’s a short drive from here. The question is: where did they go?”

“That’s your department, Batgirl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. My concern is for my men.”

“Well, they did great,” Batgirl complimented. “I’m sorry about what happened to them. Shame and Okie Annie used them as hostages. I should never have allowed them to be put in danger.”

“Don’t worry about it, Batgirl,” the first guard said. “A little danger makes our job interesting.”

“It justifies our hazard pay,” the second guard. “So, if you ever get tired of working with Batman and Robin . . .”

“. . . we’re available!” his partner concluded.

“Thanks guys,” Batgirl said, favoring them with another dazzling smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now, that’s enough of that,” the captain said. “You guys have had a rough night. After you file your reports, go home. The police are here. They’ll protect the remaining metal until we get the vault fixed.”

“Who’s in charge of the police detail?” Batgirl asked.

“A Lieutenant Mooney.”

“I’d like to see her.”

“Good. She said, she’d like to see you, too,” the captain said. “You can talk in my office.”

The captain led Batgirl on a short walk. A minute later, the two women were alone in the captain’s office.

“I thought it went something like that,” Lieutenant Mooney said, once Batgirl finished ruefully relating her story.

Batgirl slammed her gloved fist into her palm. “If I’d taken steps to protect the guards in advance, we’d have Shame in custody now!”

“Don’t blame yourself, Batgirl. Okie Annie threatened that guard. You didn’t.”

“I know. I just wish I knew what that Ghoulish Gunslinger was planning.”

“Didn’t you say he said something about his plan?”

“He said he called it ‘the Plan,’”

“That’s not much help.”

“Agreed. I’ll keep in touch if I figure anything out.”

“Thanks. We’ll keep your apprized of our progress as well.”

As Batgirl started her Batgirlcycle, she recalled a remark the Conniving Cowboy had made before he had sealed her in the vault. She considered her inspiration further until she reached Barbara Gordon’s apartment. “He spoke of ‘rounding up the transportation’. What could that mean, Charlie?” she asked her pet bird. Barbara paced her living room. “Shame has used slang in the past to clue us in on his crimes. He called a diamond ‘a rock’ and a large sum of cash ‘a roll’ once. So, the question is: what kind of transportation could possibly be ‘rounded up.’”

Charlie the parrot offered no suggestions.

“A car is sometimes called a ‘horseless carriage,’ so Shame won’t be stealing a car.” Barbara suddenly stopped, whirled, and crossed her bedroom once again. “Motorcycles, like trains, are sometimes called ‘iron horses!’ I’ll bet that’s what he meant! Now, from whom will he steal motorcycles?”

Barbara’s mind went on working as she transformed herself back into Gotham City’s Delectable Defender. “Heaven’s Devils’ gathering started today, and with Shame’s chauvinistic opinion of women, he won’t be able to resist that source of iron horses. Besides, where else would he be able to find motorcycles at this time of night? Seconds later, Batgirl was racing toward the Harbor Light Motor Lodge nearest to the Central Park stables.

Batgirl was a little surprised to find her way into the parking garage blocked by a line of motorcycles. “How can we help you?” a female figure on the lead motorcycle asked.

“I’ve come to warn you that an arch-criminal may be coming here to steal several of your bikes.”

“You’re Batgirl, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re probably serious. Let me see if Leather will see you.” A gesture sent the rider on one end of the line up the ramp on her motorcycle. Moments later, two mounted riders returned.

“Welcome, Batgirl,” the rider accompanying the messenger said, removing her helmet and shaking a mane of shoulder-length, red hair out to frame her face. “I’m Leather. You’re welcome to join, but I warn you, there is an initiation.”

“I’m not here to be recruited,” Batgirl said seriously, but respectfully.

“Oh,” Leather replied, shrugging. “Then, what do you want?”

“I think a super-villain called Shame will try to steal some of your motorcycles.”

Leather laughed. “That would be a really bad idea. You see, Batgirl, we treat touching our bikes like touching our bodies. Trying it without permission would be . . . a mistake.”

A whiney heralded Shame and his gang’s arrival. Before addressing the assembled riders, Shame and his six companions drew and aimed their guns. “Evenin’, ladies, ” the arch villain said. “I need all of you to dismount them iron horses of yours, less’n y’all wanna be filled full of lead.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Leather said quietly.

“Women!” Shame muttered. “Right!” The mounted outlaws thumbed the hammers of their six-shooters back.

All of Heaven’s Devils produced guns of their own, but stopped short of pulling the triggers when Leather raised a hand. “Shame, you’ve got about six seconds to put your guns away, before I permit you and all of your associates to be blown out of your saddles.”

The outlaws shifted their aim to Leather. “Go ahead and shoot me,” she sweetly invited. “I’m the only reason any of you are still alive. So, if you kill me, you’ll all be quite dead before my body hits the ground.”

Shame and Leather locked eyes. Slowly, Shame began to perspire. Leather’s gaze did not waver. Shame felt a trickle of sweat stream along his spine. He blinked and saw Leather’s mouth twitch into a smile.

“You’d best be going,” Leather said.

“Right.” Shame put his gun away, flicked his reigns, turned his mount, and dug his spurs into the stallion’s flanks. The rest of the outlaws sullenly followed.

“Let’s get him,” one of Heaven’s Devils urged, rising to start her bike.

“Hold it!” Leather said. “We have our own business to which to tend. Besides, Batgirl is a bona fide crimefighter, and I doubt she’ll let Shame get away. Thank you for warning us, Batgirl. I think we, like you, can take care of ourselves. You’ll know where to find us if you change your mind about joining.”

“Thank you. I’ll get after Shame, right now.” Batgirl kick-started her cycle, then turned to look over her shoulder. “By the way,” she said, not unkindly, “If I see any of you following me, I can promise Chief O’Hara will have some questions about the firearms I’m sure you ladies are all legally carrying.”

Leather laughed sardonically. “Good luck, Batgirl. Hit him a few times for us.”

Batgirl took her leave. Following the retreating horses was not difficult. Once she came into sight, Shame and his companions galloped up a ramp of another parking garage at top speed. Batgirl followed. She chased them level after level, rising steadily until they all reached the roof.

“Give up, Shame!” Batgirl commanded. “You’ve run as far as you can.”

“I don’t’ think so, Batchick!” Shame cried. “Watch this!” He spurred his horse once again and charged, racing for the edge of the roof at top speed. Just before reaching the guard rails separating the rooftop from the drop to the street far below, Shame’s horse leaped into the air, cleared the guard rail, flew across the intervening space between the rooftop from which Batgirl watched and the one ahead of it, and landed on the top level of an adjacent garage with a clatter of hooves. Half a dozen horses duplicated the equestrian feat. “Bye bye, Batgirl!” Shame cried loudly, cackling and leading his gang’s retreat.

Batgirl had no hope of following them on her Batgirlcycle, which would need a ramp to clear the distance. If she were to cross the gap without her vehicle, she would have had no way of catching the criminals fleeing on horseback. Frustrated, Batgirl turned her Batgirlcycle around and roared down back toward the street, knowing the chance of picking up the criminals’ trail was slim.

Yet, as Batgirl descended to the street, she was unaware Shame and his evil entourage had regrouped on an upper level of the parking deck onto which their horses had leaped. Having realized they had made good their escape, Shame was already considering a rapid counterattack against Batgirl.

“Batgirl has followed us as closely as ticks on a hound dog, Shame-honey,” Okie Annie said. “I can take care of her for you easily, if you’ll let me.”

“Just like that?!” Calamity Jan demanded incredulously. “What are you gonna do?”

“I thought I’d just blow her away.”

“From this distance, in the dark?” Doctor Valentine Valentine skeptically asked. Bartholomew Black glanced at the rifle Okie Annie carried. “It’s going to be a tricky shot from here.”

“If you no kill her with first shot,” Crazylegs warned, “you get no second chance.”

“I think an ambush would be more effective, closer,” the Kid advised.

“The distance and the light ain’t gonna be problems,” Okie Annie insisted. “We can see the entrance to the garage Batgirl is about to leave perfectly from up here and the driveway up to it is lit up beautifully for security.”

“Maybe,” Calamity Jan said. “Batgirl will be comin’ into sight in a few seconds. If we’re gonna shoot her up, we’d best be ready.”

“All right,” Shame said. “Simmer down, all of you! Blastin’ the Batchick to Kingdom Come wouldn’t be sportin’.”

“But Shame-honey–!” his women protested simultaneously.

Shame raised one hand and dug something from a vest pocket with his other hand. “Besides,” he continued, pausing until he was certain he had their full attention, “I got a better idea. Annie, shoot her with this.” Shame handed his pony-tailed gunwoman something.

“What is that?” Calamity Jan wanted to know.

“A tranquilizer dart. I got me a little plan.”

“Look!” Crazylegs said, pointing a trembling finger at the street below.

“That’s her,” the Kid said.

“Who did you think it would be?” Doctor Valentine Valentine asked derisively.

“She’ll have to stop at the end of that driveway before merging into traffic,” Bartholomew Black said.

“If you boys would get out if my way, I could prevent that.” Okie Annie said. “If I time the shot right, she’ll go unconscious as the bike pulls into the street. I can get her before that happens, though, if you want.”

“Good. Once we have her, we can take care of her once and for all,” Calamity Jan dreamily said, anticipating. “Watching her smeared all over the street might have some appeal, but . . . .”

“Right,” Shame drawled. He watched appreciatively as Okie Annie, who had loaded the tranquilizer dart into her rifle, lined up her target.

“Night night, Bat–”

The sound of the rifle masked Okie Annie’s reference to her target.

“Did ya git her, Okie Annie?” Shame impatiently asked.

As predicted, Batgirl had stopped at the end of the driveway. The gleeful gang watched as Batgirl’s body slumped over her handlebars and the Batgirlcycle toppled over. Okie Annie triumphantly turned to the others, smiling broadly. “Got her.”

“Good,” Shame complimented. “Now, we got Batgirl and this time we’re gonna take good care of her—for the last time!” Cackling maniacally, he led his criminal cohorts to retrieve their victim.

Batgirl never felt the dart impale her. She just suddenly went utterly limp and collapsed, shortly before the outlaws surrounded her. Still conscious, she was too weak to resist as Okie Annie and Calamity Jan lifted her from the Batgirlcycle and perched her in their leader’s saddle. Her ankles were tightly lashed into the stirrups and her wrists were drawn behind her and secured to the back of the saddle.

Shame swung onto the Batgirlcycle, took the reigns of his stallion, and led his horse; his captive; and his minions along a circuitous, virtually deserted route shrouded in darkness. The spectacle of the bound beauty on horseback, while striking, went unreported due to the early hour and the armed entourage guiding the pulchritudinous prisoner. The journey proceeded slowly and Batgirl hoped the effects of the tranquilizer would diminish enough for her to try escaping before Shame’s doubtlessly sinister plans for her unfolded completely.

Unfortunately, the captive’s muscles were still unresponsive when the party arrived at the well house behind the Adobe Hacienda Motel and Eats, the source of that establishment’s line of bottled spring water. The outlaws picketed their mounts and dragged their captive unceremoniously from the saddle.

Crazylegs fiercely gripped Batgirl’s shoulders, steadily staring at her for a long moment. “The Batgirl’s totem will soon be as rising smoke,” the strangely-still Indian intoned.

“That’s right, Savage.” the Kid said to his companion, grinning appreciatively at the helpless heroine. “Crime ain’t gonna be the same without her chasing us.”

“You got a point, Kid,” Bartholomew Black said. “I think if Batgirl were my prisoner, I could find a few things to do with her before the end.”

Batgirl tore her gaze from the Native American and regarded the blackguard coldly. She had recovered sufficiently to respond. “You’re sick.”

“Come on, Batgirl. Show some enthusiasm. I can give you references, if you’d like.”

“I’m sure you can,” the captive cutie replied. Her voice was still flat, totally unimpressed.

“I don’t think Batgirl is really the boss’s type,” Doctor Valentine Valentine observed, glancing past the Wily Westerner who was speaking quietly to his two blonde henchwomen.

“Hush up, all o’ you!” Shame ordered, disengaging himself from his women. “Git her inside there and hang up her hide.”

“What exactly was it you wanted me to do, Shame-honey?” Okie Annie asked, as the henchmen disappeared inside the well house with Batgirl vainly struggling in their grip.

“I wanna add some more iron horses to our herd, ‘cause speed is an important part o’ ‘the Plan.’” Shame explained. “Now, Okie Annie, you know Laughin’ Leo, the used car salesman who helped us build our truck eight years ago?”

“I remember ‘im.”

“Good. Go talk to him and get us some motorcycles to go with the one Batgirl done gave us and take the men with you to help do any convincin’ Leo might require.”

“You know, Shame-honey, I might be even more convincing without them men.”

“Take ‘em anyway.”

“Well, what are you and Calamity gonna be doing while I talk to Laughing Leo?”

“We’re gonna see that nobody here at the Adobe Hacienda Motel and Eats disturbs Batchick while she dies.”

“Wouldn’t the men be of more use to you?”

“I don’t reckon they would, Okie Annie. Don’t worry. I got it all figured out. Take the men and leave the situation here to me.”

“Now that we got our plans settled,” Calamity Jan said, “how ‘bout we step inside and see to Batgirl’s final arrangements.”

“Now, I like the way you are thinking, Calamity Jan,” Okie Annie declared. She led the way into the well house while Shame appreciatively watched her ponytail swing from side to side. He noted how its movement both contrasted with and complimented the rhythmic movements of other body parts.

Inside, Shame’s henchmen were busy with preparations for their voluptuous victim’s demise. She was seated on the edge of the stone and mortar cylinder surrounding the well. Bartholomew Black wound a short rope around Batgirl’s knees and knotted it while Crazylegs straightened her legs, gripping her ankles tightly, making them available for Bartholomew Black’s second strand of rope. Once Doctor Valentine Valentine had bound Batgirl’s wrists above her head, the Kid began retracting her bindings with the winch above the well, from which the bucket had been removed. The devilish doctor did not stop until he saw her wince. This response to her vile treatment signaled Crazylegs to lift her bound legs until her hips hovered above empty space. Then, he let go of her and the gang grinned with demonic delight as she straightened, gasping as her wrists took the strain of all her body weight.

Batgirl gritted her teeth as her body was wracked by pain. Once that excruciating explosion had ebbed, she realized her entire lower body now hung below the level of the floor. The stone circle surrounding the well concealed her lower chest, but the Kid had wound the winch until her breasts were parallel with the top of the circular barrier. Since her head and shoulders were above the stone cylinder, she could easily see her enemies, but she was having a hard time deciding whether they were focusing more on the ropes that bound her hands or the spectacle the Kid had made of her.

“I reckon you won’t be hangin’ around too long, Batchick,” Shame said smugly. “See, my plans fer you got two parts. My boys done hung up your hide so I kin shoot it down in a minute. After that, you’re on your own, ‘cause we’ll be leavin’ you all by your lonesome.” Shame laughed. Then he went on, “Look here, girls. Part one of my plan done got done already.”

Shame regarded his prisoner with a broad grin and spread his legs to shoulder width. Thoughtfully, he let his gun hand settle on the handle of his six-shooter. “You know, Batchick,” the Suntanned Scoundrel observed, lowering his chin and looking down at her. “To my way of thinkin’, you ain’t never looked better.”

“Hey!” the outlaw’s women protested simultaneously.

“You’re very brave, Shame.” Batgirl said sarcastically. “Killing me in cold blood while I’m utterly helpless.”

“Cold blood or warm blood, don’t make no difference to me,” Shame replied. He turned his head toward Okie Annie, cast a glance at Calamity Jan and cracked a leering smile. “Hot blood is different.”

“Putting a bullet into her now will be as natural as topping a sundae with a maraschino cherry,” Okie Annie said.

“Delicious,” Calamity Jan agreed.

“You don’t understand,” Shame said. “The second part o’ my plan for her is more complicated.”

“What do you mean?” Calamity Jan asked.

“Just blowin’ her to Kingdom Come wouldn’t be sportin’. I coulda let you do that to her at the garage, remember?”

“Shame-honey,” Okie Annie said, “who cares?”

“Me! That’s who. Now listen, Batgirl. I am gonna shoot you, but it ain’t gonna be the bullet that kills you,” the Dim-witted Desperado explained, laughing. Presently, his entire evil entourage was laughing with him.

“The way you shoot, Shame,” Batgirl warned, “you’ll probably end up hitting one of your harem!”

Anger flashed in Calamity Jan and Okie Annie’s eyes, but Shame just put up his hand, refusing to become nonplused. “Look here,” Shame said. He approached and pulled a loose stone from the short wall surrounding the well. He held it before Batgirl’s eyes for a long moment while silence reigned. Then, he let go of the stone. In the breathless silence, the soft splash was clearly audible a long moment later. “See what I mean?”

“You won’t get away with this, Shame. I advise you to let me out of this at once!”

“Not hardly, Batgirl.”

“You’re off to a watery grave,” Calamity Jan concurred happily.

“Going down,” Okie Annie joked, laughing. “Never coming up again, though.”

“Don’t count too heavily on that prediction!” Batgirl warned.

“I better tell you about this here well,” Shame decided aloud. “I’ve checked it out. The top is too narrow to throw a Batrope through, and it gets wider after goin’ down a few yards. See, after I drop you into the well, if you survive the fall, you’ll be trapped and tread water ‘til yer too tired to go on. I s’pose you’ll get your legs out o’ them ropes easy enough, but in the end, it won’t matter none. You’ll drown. Get it?”

Batgirl said nothing, but stared sullenly at her captors, who had clearly begun to enjoy themselves.

“Good,” Shame drawled. He pulled his gun and aimed carefully. The gunshot echoed as the rope binding Batgirl’s hands severed. The Petite Pillar of Pulchritude plunged downward.

A moment passed, before she crashed into the water below with a mighty splash. The pain she had felt in her wrists and shoulders was suddenly overwhelmed by an impact that left her momentarily breathless. If she survived, the bruise the experience would leave would cover most of her body. Batgirl gazed upward at the circle of dim light high above her as she extricated herself from her bindings. The light diminished as seven figures gathered above her to look down.

“Did she survive the fall?” Calamity Jan asked.

“I can’t see her,” Okie Annie complained. Their voices echoed.

“Get a lantern,” Shame ordered. One of the figures retreated. Soon, the smell of burning kerosene heralded the descent of a lantern. “Thar she is,” Shame continued. “How’s the water, Batgirl?”

The water was, in fact, cold and deep. Batgirl was immersed in it up to her neck and could feel the scant amount of body heat her costume retained ebbing quickly away. Soon, she knew, she would begin to shiver and her teeth would chatter. With her muscles involuntarily responding to the hardwired commands, it would become increasingly difficult for her to tread water and remain alive. Once keeping her head above water became too hard . . . .

“I don’t hear you saying much, Batgirl,” Shame taunted. “Never mind. We’ll be goin’ in just a bit and before we leave town, we’ll stop by Gotham City’s biggest stage and pick it cleaner than a carcass in a buzzard’s nest. Meanwhile–”

“The waters claim Batgirl,” Crazylegs cut in excitedly.

“Right,” the normally-oblivious outlaw agreed.

“Do you want me to tie this off?” Doctor Valentine Valentine asked, referring to the rope from which the lantern now dangled.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Bartholomew Black suggested. “As long as the rope remains wound around that winch, everything will be fine. If, however, Batgirl tries to climb out o’ there using this here rope, it will run out of the winch long before she reaches the top of the well.”

“I hope you understand how dangerous the lantern rope is, Batgirl,” the devilish doctor advised. “Cause if you unwind all of it, you’re gonna have a flamin’ puddle on top o’ the water down there.”

“She’s hot enough already without that happenin’,” the Kid said.

“Well, Batgirl, I reckon it’s time for me and my gang to git,” Shame said philosophically. The outlaw tipped his hat and favored Batgirl with a farewell nod. “‘Course, you ain’t never going nowhere ever again–”

“Nowhere ‘cept the rest o’ the way down,” Okie Annie said. Shame and his gang laughed.

“Hasta la vista, Batgirl!” Calamity Jan said.

As Batgirl continued to watch, the outlaws disappeared and the circle of light behind the blazing lantern returned. Grimly, she wondered whether she or the lantern’s fuel would last longer. The first of many shivers suddenly seized her.

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