Batgirl: Witness Protection - Part 1

Friday

Dinner with her father was always a special event for Barbara Gordon. She must have been out with him hundreds of times in her life but the excitement and nervous anticipation of each date never seemed to wane. It did not matter where they went – formal banquets or greasy diners – or how old she was – from her first formal meal with him at 10 years old or tonight’s date at 26 – Barbara was smitten with the man who raised her and loved her unquestionably. Her devotion even warped her normal pragmatic sense of events: his celebrity and importance usually meant several interruptions during their meals to either accept praise from well-wishers or make decisions on life-or-death matters but she always remembered their nights as times when all his love, pride, and attention was focused on her.

“Barbara, you really should be out on a real date and with someone much younger than me on a Friday night,” Jim Gordon opined over appetizers and cocktails.

“Oh Daddy, this is better than any other date I could have had and besides, why wouldn’t any girl want to go out and be seen with the most handsome man in Gotham City?”

“Well thank you, darling, but I gave up hope of being handsome years ago. I try to work on ‘distinguished’ now. Really, I would not have minded if you had other plans.”

“Stop it! I’ll have you know that I am a very good evaluator of the men in this City who try and flaunt themselves off as ‘all that’, Daddy, and I am telling you, ‘You are still a catch’ and I would not want to be anywhere else this evening. Besides, at least I date – okay, occasionally – but I have put myself out there a few times. Why aren’t you out on a real date with someone older – eh, more mature than I?”

“I can never win an argument with you,” Gordon retreated, “just like your mother.” Barbara loved it when he compared her to his long-time departed wife. She felt levels of validation she never felt from any of the other ventures in her life. Her mom remained one of the most significant people in her life both in presence and absence. Somehow, over time, her reflections on her Mom had transformed from fading memories to an ideal. Both sat there in brief, parallel stupors, the father reminiscing and the daughter basking.

A waiter cut short their indulgences to boast about some of the evening’s specialties.

The meal was delightful. Barbara noticed that her father was especially animated this night out and wondered if maybe her father had in fact hooked up with someone new. When she realized he wasn’t going to reveal anything without prompting, she decided to ask him directly.

“Daddy, what is into you this evening? I haven’t seen you this happy since – well – ever. Is there someone I should know about? Will I be calling someone else ‘Mom’ soon?”

“What? Of course not. No, I guess if I am anxious, it’s because the damning testimony in the Soprano Mob trial starts this week and this time, I feel we’re really going to nail that son of a, eh, gun.”

“Doesn’t Commissioner Gordon always get his man?” Barbara asked coyly. “I mean are not the Joker, the Riddler, and the Penguin all in jail?”

“Yes, but the Caped Crusaders brought all those to justice. This is one big fish the GCPD caught all on its own without their help.”

Barbara understood. For all the good that Batman, Robin, and she(!) did for Gotham City, their success diminished the achievements of her father and his Force. It was almost as if public opinion silently blamed his men and women for not being up to the task to fight the most evil villains, so mysterious superhero crime fighters with all their weaponry needed to be brought in. This perverse logic never once dampened her father’s support for his caped deputies but at some level he needed victories like this. Dealing with the Mob was also his forte. His success in bringing down the big players was what raised him through the ranks and brought him the Commissionership. Its continued existence was also the prodding reminder to his seething loneliness.

“For as excited as I am, I am also cautiously nervous. I know Tony Soprano will not go down without a fight. The fact that we got his son to turn on him and be the key witness for the prosecution must have him in fits. All we need to do is to keep his son alive during the trial. After that, he goes into the Witness Protection Program. The problem is Tony’s influence is deep. I know he has infiltrated my Force. I have a few men that I trust as much as I trust O’Hara, men who have invested their lives in bringing this Family down. The problem is I am still short. I need one more body. Tomorrow, I am going to ask Batgirl for help.”

Barbara almost choked on her water. Was her father was finally willing to acknowledge that Batgirl was in the same league as her fellow crime fighters? Was her resume of putting perpetrators in jail finally being recognized as matching the levels of her masked colleagues? Her father always was her best supporter but this was better because here he was saying how fantastic she was without knowing it was she he was praising. She almost exploded with pride. “Batgirl?” Barbara gushed, “why not ask Batman and Robin?”

“Oh, those boys are out of town on assignment.”

Saturday

The morning began when Batgirl received the call she expected, however much earlier than anticipated, from the Commissioner. Her voice betrayed the shock of the early summoning.

“Batgirl, I’m sorry if I woke you but I need you in my office right away. Can you come?”

Of course, Commissioner, I’ll be there in 20 minutes,” she struggled to say with clarity and confidence.

The brief but intense shower cleared her head from the wine she consumed with her father the night before. She quickly dressed and by her clock was on her bike and speeding to Police Headquarters a mere 10 minutes from the call. She parked her bike at her usual front allotment of street and bounded up the stairs. She was surprised to see her father’s secretary at her desk and working on a Saturday but she did not stop for idle chat. She announced her intention to see the Commissioner as she walked past and opened his highly varnished oak doors precisely 20 minutes from when she hung up her phone.

She allowed the Commissioner to re-tell the background of his need. He explained the top-secret nature. Her mission is to protect Joey Soprano, the son of the Gotham’s most powerful Godfather. In exchange for a free pass and a new identity he had agreed to testify against his father in the organized crime trial of the century.

Barbara Gordon was still thrilled to be helping out her father but as Batgirl she was irked at being considered the second team. She forced the issue. “Why ask me? If you want to ensure his protection why not ask Batman or Robin?”

“Well, Batgirl, last night someone asked me that same question but I thought about it and decided your skills are better suited for this task. I thought you were best for the job.”

Batgirl posture deflated a bit. It hurt her that her father was lying. “Sure, and it has nothing to do with them being out of town.”

Gordon was tuned into her tone and came clean. “You know what, Batgirl? It’s true, I originally decided on you after I found out Batman and the Boy Wonder were away. But last night after talking to my daughter and thinking about it, I decided even if they were here, I would still ask you.

“Batman, for all his skills, is too obvious. Sure, he gets the job done but his presence creates too much commotion and this case requires stealth. We need to keep Joey Soprano’s presence a secret.”

“But Commissioner, your Force has made this case. Why not use your own men to protect him?”

“Batgirl, unfortunately, there is a breach and I don’t know where it is. Only myself, O’Hara, the DA, a very few select men, and now yourself will know where he is. He’s being transported to the hotel now. I’d like you to take the first shift.”

After discussing a few more logistics of the scope of protection and scheduling. Batgirl prepared to leave. “Don’t worry Commissioner, Tony Soprano will never step a foot outside of a prison again.”

Batgirl pulled her bike into a parking garage adjacent to the hotel. The ride over left her cheeks stinging from the cold November air that suggested autumn had passed. Nevertheless, she spent the journey delighting in the validation her father gave her. It was brief but sincere. Following the Commissioner’s instructions, she located the secret passageway that connected the garage to the hotel’s service elevators so she would not be seen entering the building. Striding through the connecting corridor she felt strange twinges of nervousness. “Calm yourself, girl,” she coached herself, “this is just a baby-sitting assignment.”

In no time she was standing in front of the hotel room door, several minutes ahead of the scheduled witness transfer. She used the time to review a downloaded floor plan of the hotel and conjured up a few plausible excuses if anyone passed her in the hallway and wanted to know why she was there. Exactly as scheduled three male figures appeared from around the corner and walked casually but attentively toward her. From a distance she marked the two in street clothes as the officers and the one in the middle clad in an athletic warm-up suit as the witness. A few more strides confirmed her assumptions as she recognized the detectives’ faces. As she zoomed in on the third face, she was surprised with the familiarity she felt. Of course, she had seen his photos occasionally in the papers and in her briefing with the Commissioner but this was a recognition that was personal. “I know him,” she thought as she racked her brain. Before she had her answer the three had reached their destination.

Batgirl took the initiative to address them formally, “Detectives, Mr. Soprano.”

Despite her above average stature, all three men were considerably taller than her. Finally, Detective Guzman offered his greeting, “Hey Batgirl, what’s up?” Batgirl had met Guzman several times before in both her worlds and knew how much faith her father had in him. She liked that when he talked about his family his face lit up and that the cadence of his voice seemed to break towards a chuckle near the end of his sentences. It signified a sense of genuine ease.

The other Detective, Sprague, matched the Caped Crusader in decorum as he handed her a clipboard, “Batgirl, please sign here acknowledging your receipt of the witness.” Batgirl scanned the form and hesitated before signing. It did not happen often but she always felt awkward when she had to sign something – even autographs – as Batgirl. The signature seemed too short and she was always afraid the years of repetition and conditioning would unconsciously compel her to sign her true name. She knew that when signing her name there were no do-overs.

As if suddenly switched on to what was happening Joey Soprano blurted out, “Hey wait a minute, do you mean my only protection is going to be Batchick?”

Guzman immediately slapped the back of his head and said, “First off, knucklehead, her name is Batgirl. Second, she can cover you better than anyone else.”

“Well, I don’t mind her covering me, if you know what I mean. That’s prime smacking ass, you know.”

Guzman slapped his head harder whipping his neck forward. “Listen, fuck-face, this Deputy is going to protect you better than you will ever deserve. Respect her because she is going to keep you alive today.” The charm had left his voice.

Sprague used his key to open the door to the room. Guzman entered first, followed by Soprano, and Batgirl. Sprague looked up and down the hallway in both directions before entering the room and letting the door close behind him. Guzman and Batgirl checked each room of the suite. “All clear,” Batgirl announced.

Guzman nodded in agreement, “Me, too. Alright, we’re out of here. We’ll see you again, mañana. Don’t let this asshole bore you to death, Batgirl.” Batgirl turned and walked toward one of the back rooms as the detectives made their way out the door. She heard Guzman talking about going home to his potty-training puppy. The laughter was back in his voice.

Joey Soprano stood alone in the living room of their suite. He didn’t really understand what was going on. The cops seemed to have all these procedures for protecting people but it was something they did all the time and he was only experiencing it for the first time. He did not like being out of the loop. He felt alone.

Batgirl re-emerged after a few minutes, grabbed him by the elbow, and said, “Come on, we’re switching rooms.” This just confused Joey more but it was part of Gordon’s plan. Even though he trusted the Detectives more than others in his force, he was not taking chances. Batgirl led him down the hall to the stairs, looked both ways, and disappeared with him into the stairwell. They reappeared in a similar looking hallway two floors higher.

Joey had to speak, “Hey, I was digging that suite. Please don’t tell me it was a tease and that we are really low rent.” Batgirl didn’t respond but after passing three doors in the hallway she produced another key from her utility belt and guided him into a room identical to the previous one. “Okay. Sweet. I’m cool,” Joey said approvingly.

Batgirl performed the same routine as in the previous accommodation and emerged back into the main room stating, “All is clear. Why don’t you sit down and relax?”

“I could really relax if you come and sit down next to me,” the mobster offered. The line was so lame that Batgirl was stuck momentarily as to how to rebuke his proposal but she also noted that he was so unashamed in its delivery as if it had actually worked before.

“It will be best if we stick to the business at hand, Mr. Soprano,” Batgirl replied firmly.

“Hey, I like the words ‘stick’ and ‘hand’ in that sentence, Batsy. Why don’t you come over here and find out why they call me Joey Sausage?”

Batgirl needed to be more direct. “Mr. Soprano, just to be clear, I am not here for you. I am here for the Commissioner because he feels that what you will do next week is important. Instead of worrying about how you can ‘score’ with me because – just to be clear again – you won’t, why don’t you focus on the testimony you need to deliver. That is the only reason you and I are in the same room right now or in the immediate future.”

“Ah forget about it,” Joey began as he bent over to reach for the TV remote on the coffee table and switched it on, “fucking lesbian cunt.” Before he could fully straighten himself, Batgirl was in his face, seething.

“I am not sure which part of your ignorant demeanor I find more revolting, Mr. Soprano, but rest assured, my job is to keep you alive. No one cares if you testify in a cast.”

“Oh, and who’s gonna fuck me up? You?” With surprising speed he grabbed both of her wrists and pulled her arms outward as he rose to his full height. Batgirl immediately surmised that if they were fighting, he would hold his own. As he forcefully expressed himself, she calculated his approximate strength and weight. He continued his outward twisting of her arms and it began to hurt. With even quicker speed than he displayed and infinite more agility Batgirl’s leg swept under the support that his legs were giving him, causing him to release his hold and land on his butt into the cushion of the sofa.

“Yeah, it will be me, just me,” Batgirl said coolly into his face. “And trust that if you cross me, the last nickname you will ever be given is Handsome Joey.”

Batgirl performed an about-face to create distance between them. Joey’s eyes scanned the TV but his mind was still on Batgirl. He glanced over at her and half-smiled. To her, it looked like he was saying ‘you got lucky’ but what it really meant was he was smitten.

At Police Headquarters Commissioner Gordon was giving an update on the Witness to Chief O’Hara. “Are ya sure you be wantin’ to trust this entire case with that lass, Commissioner. I know you think better of her than I do but if it were up to me, I’d be callin’ in a special favor to the Dynamic Duo to have them return.”

“No, O’Hara, this case is ours, ours – not the masked vigilantes – to win or lose. If you can find me another one of your men to trust, I’ll take Batgirl off assignment.”

“Well, I hope Batman has trained Batgirl well enough. That Joey Soprano is a crafty one, I tell ya. There is more to him than meets the eye. I’ll only fully trust him when his old man is locked away and he is shipped off to wherever they decide to lose him in our great country.”

For a supposed sly and cunning mobster, Batgirl was at her wits’ end with the steady stream of salvos Joey Soprano was trying to pass off as insightful or seductive. ‘He really is an idiot,’ she thought. Look at him in his white warm-ups and gold jewelry. ‘What kind of girl is impressed with him?’ The only semi-redeeming quality she noticed about him was that he preferred fruit to junk food as he wasted the day screaming at the TV or her. Half the time she wasn’t sure whether he really wanted a response or just needed to hear his thoughts expressed out loud. If the research she read was accurate and men do indeed think about sex about every seven minutes, this guy was hyper-man. He was good for a comment about every 60 seconds.

“Yo, Batgirl, what’s it like to do it with a mask on?”

“That costume is so tight. You know if you’re raped, it’s your own fault, right.”

“Dat booty, dat booty, dat booty.”

“Who’s the better fuck, Batman or Robin…or the Joker?”

“Hey Batbabelicious, you look tense. How about I give you a nice relaxing massage?”

“You are much hotter than these Victoria Secret models on TV.”

“Please tell me that at least once you and Catwoman have kissed.”

It was non-stop. Several times she invented the need to conduct surveillance rounds throughout the suite just to get away from him. Yet, it did not seem to faze him. She could be on the complete opposite end of the suite and he was still shouting out inane sexual commentary.

Finally, after enduring the daylight hours with him, relief in the form of Detective Guzman arrived. “How was it?” he asked with a smile that knew the answer.

“He’s a piece of work, Detective. I didn’t hear a thing all day that will help at the trial though.”

“Trust me, he knows plenty, Batgirl. He really could bring the whole thing down. That’s why we have to go to these lengths. We have to keep this guy alive.”

“Why is he doing it? Why is he willing to give up his father?” It was a real question that Batgirl pondered as she blanked out his outbursts.

“You know what; I don’t think anyone really knows. I mean he gave some reasons but I think there is something deeper there. All boys want to beat their fathers. Maybe he just didn’t have the guts to kill him like others have done. I don’t know.”

“Thanks, Detective. I’ll see you soon, I am sure.” Batgirl and Guzman ended their briefing at the door and the Dynamic Damsel vanished into the hallway.

Guzman turned to Soprano to say hello but before he could speak a word, Joey blurted, “What the fuck kind of torture is that letting me look at that ass all day and then hold it away just out of reach.”

“Shut the hell up Soprano,” Guzman pleaded.

“And those tits…”

Standing next to her bike and alone in the parking garage, Batgirl tried to expel her frustration and disgust with a primal scream. It simply was not enough to provide relief from the aggravation Joey Soprano managed to burrow under her skin. Batgirl needed an outlet to unwind. The streets never seemed disappointed her. There she knew she would have fresh air and a chance to kick some butt. There some poor slob was going to pay for the Joey’s of the world.

The tires on Batgirl’s motorcycle shrieked in complicit irritation as they sought a grip against the slick concrete floor. The bike found its hold and quickly escorted her to the garage’s exit where Batgirl was left to decide which direction offered her the best chance for release. The percentages guided her handlebars uptown with an ambitious polarity. The autumnal darkness already beckoned as she slalomed up the Avenue avoiding the yellow gates of taxis.

Commissioner Gordon was catching up on some administrative paperwork when he suddenly felt he needed to call his daughter. He really enjoyed their dinner the other night and thought Barbara would appreciate his acknowledgement. He checked his watch to see if she would likely be around and the position of the hands of time alerted him that Batgirl would be ending her shift. He trusted her to handle the assignment. He worried more about justifying his decision to use her if something went wrong than her culpability in preventing it. Thinking about Batgirl he never made the call to Barbara.

The funny thing about crime fighting is that sometimes the crooks take the night off. Batgirl reckoned she had been hunting for action in the most notorious DMZ’s nearly three hours without any sign of trouble. Her only civic engagement was literally helping an old lady cross the street. She chuckled at her bad luck against such favorable odds and concluded that with her needing to be back at the hotel room in the morning she would retire for the evening with her feeling of scorn and hope that the next day would be better. She re-mounted her bike and headed downtown.

As the Batcycle sped down the avenue toward her apartment the Caped Crusader approached a popular strip club located a few blocks from her building. She didn’t like that the establishment was so close to her home but in her bohemian part of downtown zoning rules allowed for a wide variety of businesses. A fortuitous glimpse at the club entrance revealed two men, one tucking a sawed-off shotgun into his overcoat, about to enter. As Batgirl zoomed past, she clutched and hit her brakes nearly sliding her bike as she tried to defy the laws of momentum. Maintaining her composure and balance she executed a neat spin and was soon heading back towards emporium of lust.

Although she wasted no time in returning to the scene of the anticipated crime, Batgirl decided to enter the building through a discreet side door that the girls used for their exit since she wasn’t sure how far the crime has progressed. Striding through the dimly lit hallway she could not believe her good fortune: a chance to finally bust a few heads of delinquent goons after all. The constant beat of the sound system bass seemed to sync with her pulse as she neared two doors. Through one she could hear the raucous chatter of women’s voices. She turned the knob and crossed the threshold into the room of most men’s dreams.

“Batgirl,” she heard in almost unison as both an exclamation and a question. Before speaking, she performed her customary scan assessing her surroundings and formulating a plan of action. She was a bit surprised at the number of girls in the room (how many should she have expected?) and noted costuming ranging from slutty to clever to none at all. Most of the women were stunningly attractive. A flurry of questions which she did not process continued.

“Please excuse me ladies,” Batgirl began, “there might be some trouble brewing out front that I would like to look into if you don’t mind.” Although she personally did not approve of the establishment, she avoided any condescending tone with the girls as she realized that these women were people drawn here for dozens of reasons and at the end of the day, they were just trying to earn a living. “Can anyone please tell me what is the best way to make my way out front, discreetly?”

The girl positioned next to her suppressed a laugh and replied for the group, “There’s only but one way to go to the front and that’s by way of the stage. You go girl!”

Although not her ideal access Batgirl understood it was her only route to get out there quickly. She left the dressing room which flowed rather quickly into the stage. She tried to peek through the curtain to see where the men were but the lights blinded any visual acuity. Fortunately, she could see that no girl was currently on stage. At least that would be one less person’s safety to worry about. “I’m going to have to just burst out there,” Batgirl thought, “and hope that the element of surprise will allow me to reach them before they notice me. The bar is probably located against the back wall, that’s where I’ll head.”

Batgirl took a deep breath and sliced through the curtain opening just as the DJ was announcing over the microphone, “Gentlemen, next up for your enjoyment is the bodacious Babs!”

Hearing her true name called out – the one used only by people who knew her well – caused her to stop in her tracks and left her standing alone on stage in front of a very full and very anticipatory crowd. The DJ continued his incitement, “it looks like bodacious Babs is dressed up as Batgirl tonight, gentlemen, what do you think? A forceful roar emitted from the audience and suddenly Barbara understood the power and adulation rock stars feel when performing. Before she could even complete the silent question “how do they know who I am,” Batgirl reasoned that this was just a remarkable coincidence. She had work to do and her adjusted eyes could now see the potential perpetrators back by the bar shifting nervously but they had not yet commenced with their felony.

The music kicked in and Batgirl could see the thugs talking and pointing at her, asking each other if that was the real Batgirl. She surmised they would wait it out until they were sure. Still standing there awkwardly, Batgirl resigned to the reality she had to carry out her own ruse in order to have them commit to their plan. She listened for the beat and reservedly began to rock her weight back and forth at the hips. The seemingly inconsequential movement drew an enthusiastic response from her crowd of admirers but the robbers hadn’t budged. Batgirl applied a bit more swivel in her hips and let her shoulders join the party. In no time she and the music were one as she strutted in full dance on stage. Eying the languid guys and then the pole on stage, Batgirl sprinted to it, leapt, and swung vigorously around it. She remembered using a pole back in her days as a gymnast as part of the muscle development exercises and balancing tools. Now as an adult, a pole class was offered in her gym but she repeatedly declined. It was mostly subscribed to by her married social friends who saw it as either as a tool to spice up their dreary husbands or a quick escape into forbidden fantasy. She did not need either. Nevertheless, now holding on and suspended upside down, she was actually having fun.

With her feet replanted on the floor, Batgirl continued to keep an eye at the back of the bar as she danced but alas, there was no action. She needed to step up her ploy. Hearing calls to remove her costume she realized that until she offered something, the men would hold their ground. Rationalizing which part of her costume was most disposable, Batgirl raised her hands to her shoulders and unfastened the clasps of her cape. She slid it back and forth on each shoulder as if drying her back after a long, hot shower. Finally, with a coy and mimicked ‘whoops’ she let it slip from her fingers to the floor. The rifle was still concealed in the trench coat but at least they were shifting around again giving her confidence that with a bit more entertaining encouragement they would begin and she would end it.

The problem Batgirl now faced was what to give up next. Her utility belt was her offset to their weapon, her boots she used for fighting, and her gloves were as important as her cowl for concealing her true identity. Batgirl often had to strategize as she fought but she never before had to develop a game plan while dancing in front of one hundred horny men. The men wanted flesh and the criminals probably needed to see some skin for them to believe she wasn’t who she really was.

It dawned on Batgirl that the crime fighting costume she had selected that day was a two piece. The suit’s deft tailoring made it nearly impossible to tell but Batgirl was attired in form fitting pants and a separate but body-hugging top. Trying to move with the music Batgirl brought her hands which were swinging above her head, down across her chest, touching each bosom, and sliding down her belly to her waist. Fumbling slightly for a grip on the slick and clinging fabric, Batgirl leisurely pulled up her shirt to just below her generous breasts and treated her spectators to her awesome abs.

Barbara Gordon was no different than any other woman when it came to wishing various parts of her body looked better than they did, even if most women would take her whole package, no questions asked. Her butt bubbled out too much for her liking and her breasts often got in the way plus she worried about later years when they would invariably sag. But she had no problem with her taut stomach muscles. At times, she cosseted narcissistic moments in front of the mirror admiring the definition of her washboards and the flatness they held at all angles. Now instead of her singular approval from a reflection, she was receiving a hysterical mass appreciation of the full dimensional view.

Her performance transitioned to a measured belly dance with a few grinding thrusts that had the audience howling as they emptied their pockets and covered her stage with green. Trying to keep in character she stuffed some bills into her utility belt.

Batgirl was surprised at the level of affirmation she felt. Intellectually, she knew it was wrong but the exaltation and control she felt was seductive. She leaned her torso backwards, continuing until her hands met the stage floor and her body was a resplendent arch. Pulling herself back up, she ever so briefly flirted with the idea of flashing one of her boobs and then convincing herself that it was an accident. Her rational modesty promptly straightened her and fortunately, her vista now zeroed back on the men who realized that every eye in the bar was focused on stage thereby invigorating them with the courage to re-commit to their crime. The gun was revealed and the bartender was feverishly emptying the register.

Lawrence Louis Glick was sitting upstairs in his office watching the matrix of monitors that canvassed all the activity in his club. It was making out to be a good night. The club was reasonably crowded, people were buying high margin drinks, and so far, none of his girls had stormed into his office to complain about any of the hundreds of things they always seemed to find loathsome about their job. He liked the sense of control he felt from the video surveillance. He had almost every corner of the club covered even though his employees only knew about the six or so cameras he positioned in obvious places. It was an unfortunate by product of his situation, he concluded, that no one could be trusted.

Despite views to everything he didn’t always have the sharpest clarity from all angles so when he heard the volume level on the floor appreciate significantly, he elected to go out and investigate. Success in his business, he would boast to whoever would listen, was measured in profits, not benefits to employees, and Glick therefore was supremely triumphant. He ran a tight operation that included a strict schedule of who was performing and who was entertaining guests on the floor. Even though turnover was high, he knew the girls that worked for him. He had to: when he wasn’t trying to weasel some of their tips out of them, he was trying to weasel his way into their pants. Unfortunately for him, very few actually provided him access. His focus now was what he saw looking down on the floor. It confused him.

Based on his program Lucinda whose stage name was Babs should have been dancing. Not only was Lucinda AWOL, Batgirl was filling in for her. He had seen Batgirl in person a few times before on the streets and after the experience he could tell the real from the pretender. He could see Batgirl’s cape on the floor close to her and that she had rolled up the top half of her costume to expose her midriff. What was going on? His confusion bred suspicion as he scanned across the whole club and his heart skipped when he saw the bartender giving two armed men his money, not only money from the register but also from the short term-safe box holding the gate from the door. “What is that coward doing?” he thought with the sensation of wanting to pee in his pants.

“Why is Batgirl dancing on stage? There is a crime being committed!” were the dominating impulses in Glick’s brain. However, before the thoughts were fully contemplated he saw Batgirl reach into her utility belt and shoot some sort of cable from the stage to the back wall of the bar. In practically the same motion her body was jetting above the audience along the cable at a fantastic speed. The thieves did even have time to react to the noise of the anchor of the cable piercing the wall before Batgirl came hurling at them feet first. Her boots struck the hands of the armed bandit and the shotgun flew out of his grasp and hit the wall with enough force to discharge the gun into the ceiling. Fortunately, the noise of the blast was stifled by the loud music or pandemonium could have ensued. Instead, the pack of wolves in the club had their frenzy encased in watching Batgirl demonstrate her ass kicking technique.

The force of the collision propelled the armed robber over the bar. To Batgirl it provided a brake so she could let go of the zip and deliver a series of shots and a body flip that left the second thief soaking up the spilled beer with the back of his coat. Batgirl spun around anticipating the recovery of the first criminal and she was right – he hurled himself over the bar in an attempt to tackle her. She stepped to the side to avoid the brunt of his weight but he was still able to upset her balance. It allowed the supine bandit to grab her ankles first with his hands and then wrap his arms around them. Batgirl was about to deliver a shot to tendons in his elbow which felt like they snapped when the second, who was the larger of the two, lowered his shoulder and drove into Batgirl’s bare midsection. His momentum and the clutch of her body caused the man on the floor to surrender his grip as the brute carried Batgirl back towards the stage, plowing through spectators along the way. He somehow was diverted to the right of the stage and reached an interruption in the form of the railing surrounding the mud wrestling pit. His bear hug was tight but Batgirl had freed herself from these embraces before with devastating blows to the temples. Before she could administer his pain, the smaller of the two offenders came running across with his own diving attempt at tackling but unlike the lunge of his mate, his effort was a bulls-eye and the three collapsed uniformly over the rail and into the mud.

Batgirl was not prepared for the sensation that wrapped itself on her exposed skin. This mud had some sort of consistency that seemed pasty as it attached itself to her skin yet slippery on the surface. It was difficult to describe in any other way than gross. The collision of their three bodies with the floor of the mud pit created a separation that each used to try and prop themselves back up into fighting position. Both guys fell twice trying to get up while Batgirl maintained an unsteady balance. Remembering her fight training on ice she took tight measured steps to keep up a good fighting angle. Take them down one at a time, one at a time, she coached herself. For the most part they made her job easier because they did not coordinate their attack thus allowing her to work on one while the other watched. Even though she scored a lot of points on contact her lack of sure footing denied her any knockout punch. Batgirl was beginning to feel a bit more comfortable fighting in the muck but the effort was tiring. She decided to try and eliminate the next one who chose to be the aggressor. As the smaller of the two charged at her she introduced her foot to his chin with a deft kick sending him sprawling back. The contact however, imposed its own will and Batgirl’s sole leg lost traction and she fell into the mud. The larger goon wasted no time diving on top of her and pushing her face into the boggy mess.

Batgirl quickly assessed she was a very dire situation. Having her face buried in the mud was not as familiar as fighting under water. She had to keep her mouth shut very tightly and she was unable to open her eyes or the mud would have made it impossible to see once free. Her efforts to tightly secure her eyes shut was made more difficult with the grinding clutch on the back of her neck. With each drive down mud seeped up her mask and filled up her eye holes. Worse, she could no longer hold her breath and felt her consciousness flitting away. She tried to push up with her arms but to no avail. His weight on her back was too great. She started squirming and felt herself almost breaking free when the oxygen depletion caught up and her efforts collapsed.

Sensing victory and enjoying the excitement of the crowd cheering for him the larger assailant turned Batgirl over and lorded over his prey. Breathing very heavily he inserted his large hand under her raised tunic and dragged her to the back rail. He could feel the cushion of her breasts on either side of his hand and in a cry of complicity the audience cheered for him to “Show us more! Show us more!”

Immediately understanding the pleas of his fellow xy-ers he sat down behind Batgirl, straddled her limp body with his legs and place both hands under her top and began to pull the material up to expose her magnificent tata’s to his new army of friends. The shirt was terribly tight and the Kevlar woven into the fabric actually made it difficult to raise but slowly he was making progress. He had managed to expose the sexy underside of each bosom and surmised, “as soon as I clear the nipples, the whole top comes off. Then I’ll work on the pants. That’ll teach this meddling busybody to mess with us.”

With a deep gasp of oxygen Batgirl burst into consciousness. She felt his legs around her ribs and his hands pulling up on her top and immediately she understood the enormity of the humiliation she was about to face. If she slid down she could be free but it would also ensure he was successful in putting her breasts on display to a packed bar of men. Time was on his side though and he gave a two-fisted yank that pulled the Batsuit up to her armpits. For many years after, the patrons at ringside would describe and embellish how much they saw but in reality Batgirl minimized the revelation of her flesh by spinning face down in the same motion that her top went up and burying her tits in the mud. While on her stomach Batgirl realized her face was in his crotch. She contemplated biting him but instead grabbed his nuts and twisted. As he screamed at the unexpected agony invading his groin, Batgirl sprung up and head-butted him out cold. Slowly, she stood up and again the crowd was treated to a vision of her tits although this time they were obscured in mud. She pulled her tunic back down and shook her head disapprovingly at the animals. As the crowd now cheered her, she dragged the other perp next to his partner and cuffed them both to the rail.

Seeing Batgirl in a mud wrestling match was an opportunity of a lifetime. For the patrons, it was a chance to placate their otherwise pathetic romantic lives. For Larry Glick the dollar signs were flashing. The bar already entitled him to heaps of unreported cash that furnished his apartment in the neighborhood as well as a condo in Florida and a unit in a retirement community for his mother. Tonight was going to be the record of all records. He ran down to his DJ and asked, “What is the maximum amount the ATM in the club dispenses at a time?”

“I think $400, why?”

Glick was already pushing his way through the crowd to his enormous bouncer who was standing at ringside wondering if he should enter the fray and help Batgirl. “Hey, Boss, should I go in and help?”

“Of course not, Aristotle, what kind of thinking man are you? Batgirl can take care of herself. No, here’s the deal, spread the word around the ring: for 400 bucks – cash – these yuppie suckers can spend four minutes in the pit trying to take down Batgirl. If someone actually beats her you can give them a bottle of champagne, but not the good stuff. You got it? 4 minutes, 400 bucks and Aristotle, only go in and stop it if some loser takes his dick out and tries to rape her. I don’t want to lose my liquor license.”

Aristotle shook his head. He was always surprised by the new levels of sliminess and greed he saw in his boss. “Okay chief, whatever you say.”

Rarely had Batgirl been so exhausted after a fight. She still felt a bit woozy after securing the criminals. The added element of the mud really seemed to take its toll. She was relieved to see a man in a suit with his tie off and sleeves rolled up coming into the ring. With his broad smile she was sure his intention was to escort her out. With her guard down, she was totally unprepared when she found herself airborne again as he buried his shoulder into her ribcage. Despite disorientation and fatigue she managed to regain her standing position rather quickly but she was soon headed for the mud again as the young businessman cross-blocked her at the knees. “What are you doing, you fool?” Batgirl demanded.

“For the next four minutes, you’re mine,” and he lunged at her again. She managed to side step this attempt but he was quick on the rebound and this time wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her down. He swung his leg around her to position himself on top and implored, “c’mon give me your best.”

“What are you talking about?” Batgirl was beginning to think this whole weird night might be a bad hallucination. Regardless, with her legs, she thrust her hips upward and pushed him off her. She sprang back to her feet quicker this time and when he regained his stance she seized his arm, spun him around, and let go causing the Assistant Vice President from the First Commercial Bank to fly over the rail and into the crowd. A cheer erupted.

By habit, but finding it difficult to believe her instinct, Batgirl spun around and, sure enough, another pared down “suit” was on the attack. Not waiting for an explanation, Batgirl used a few moves to flip him several times over her shoulder and crashing him on his back. After the third time, he laughed and said “okay, I give – uncle.” Immediately, a third yuppie was on pressed on her and was trying to grab the material of her Batsuit but it was too tight and too slick. He was finally able to bring her down by accident as he lost his footing and reached for her shoulder for support. The odd angle of his clutch caused her to lose equilibrium. Once on the ground with him he was a bit tougher as he actually knew some wrestling maneuvers. Not playing by any particular rules Batgirl elbowed him in the diaphragm and dragged him to the edge of the ring before pushing him out. The next to approach was not wearing a suit. He was true blue collar and Batgirl decided not to take any chances with the man who would never know a manicure. The moment he was close enough to her she released a right cross that hit him flush in the chin and sent him down. Another suit ran haphazardly at her to fill in and she disabled him as well with a single blow from her martial arts repertoire. She didn’t want to hurt these guys but she felt she had no choice.

Next, as if to increase the degree of difficulty, two young bucks entered together with the determination to attack her together from two different angles. Concerned with her limited mobility, Batgirl moved closer to one of the aggressors to try in order to take one at a time. Their running momentum was too great and they hit her high and low like two linebackers targeting an unprotected quarterback. She almost completed a flip and hit the ground hard despite the buffer of mud. The two had a bit of a sadistic streak and with Batgirl on her back each grabbed a leg and pulled in different directions. Her flexibility allowed for an almost total Russian split and the crowd cheered the sight of Batgirl in a spread-eagle position. Their teamwork was remarkable because without even talking to each other they formed the idea to start spinning her around the ring with each holding an ankle. Batgirl did not like the lack of control she had over these two so she tried to kick violently until one of the men lost his hold on her ankle and she went sliding across the mud into the two handcuffed robbers. As the tag team was whispering to each other their next attack in the four minute allotment, the now risen Batgirl smashed their heads together forcing a synchronized collapse into the mud.

Not wanting to experience another round, Batgirl glared at Aristotle and held his return look. Her eyes were saying, “What gives? Please stop this nonsense,” and his return had sympathy but said, “It’s out of my control, I’m not calling the shots.” A few more desperate men came her way and she dispatched them all, some easily, some with extra effort. The last two were able to get in serious groping action before Batgirl was able to subdue them. Her fatigue was forcing her to desperately gasp for oxygen and she was near her breaking point. Larry Glick sensed that, too, and decided he would be the final combatant. In her weakened state, surely he could be victorious over Batgirl. Just as he was about to enter the ring his stable of beauties pushed by him and went over to Batgirl and surrounded her, protecting her from facing any more wrestling hopefuls. Their motivation was a mixture of female camaraderie and jealousy that Batgirl’s presence was taking away from their tip pool. Either way, they escorted her backstage.

Once in the dressing room Batgirl needed to sit down. Most of the girls still surrounded the Caped Crusader asking her questions. Glick charged in frustrated at his missed chance but still committed to his revenue. “What going on back here? Everyone, out front – all hands-on deck, sell drinks, there’s money to be made.” Then walking over to Batgirl he said to her with a bravado more imagined than real, “Batgirl, thank you for your assistance tonight, you saved my business and made many a man very happy. You are welcome back here in any capacity, anytime.”

His broad, self-righteous smile gave Batgirl the energy she needed to stand up. “Listen you pencil dick. This is what you are going to do. Two times every dollar you made tonight from your little stunt with me is going to be donated to the Gotham City Woman’s Shelter in a very public display that I will be expecting to see on TV.” She was seething, “if I don’t see this donation, I will be back, Glick, but you will not like it.”

“You know my name?” He felt self-important again.

“Yes, I know you, twerp, and I will break you if you don’t comply.” Surprisingly slow on the uptake Glick realized eventually the seriousness of Batgirl’s threat. She continued with a menacing, “are we clear?”

Suddenly, he didn’t think wrestling her was a good idea anymore. “Yes, Batgirl, but –”

“Now get the hell out of here!” Glick left meekly, his initial bluster having failed him.

Batgirl slowly sank into one of the chairs lined up in front of the long mirror. She was sore and caked in mud. Despite Glick’s order, one of the dancers stayed behind to tend to the Maiden of the Night. “Do you want to take a shower? We have one back here that we use after we wrestle in the mud.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Batgirl declined.

“Are you sure?” Lucinda persisted, “there’s something in that gunk that when it dries your skin really tightens and your nipples become super erect. I think that’s why Larry uses that type of mud.”

“Thanks for the info, but I think I’ll still pass.”

“Well, let me clear some of this mud off your face,” as she wet a couple of washcloths. “My name is Lucinda, or Babs when I’m on stage.” She started wiping Batgirl’s neck with deliberate sensitivity.

“Oh, you’re Babs,” Batgirl said softly as Lucinda’s washcloth now carefully slid just under the collar of her tunic, “here, this is yours,” as she removed two fistfuls of 10s, 20, and 50s from her Utility Belt and placed them on the table. “I’m sorry I interrupted your slot.”

Lucinda was going to tell her to keep it but realized a woman like Batgirl probably would be insulted earning money that way. “Thanks,” as she continued gently washing away the mud on the Dark Night’s cheeks. “Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt? I’m really sorry about that asshole, Larry. He’s good to us and all but when he gets an idea about money his thinking sometimes goes out the window.”

“I’m okay, I’ve been through worse,” Batgirl offered. Lucinda’s soft cleansing touch was the first comfort she felt all day. She was a pretty girl; guessitmated to be in her early 20’s who was probably prettier without being all made up. Through the sheer nightie she was wearing there were no doubts that her body was certainly curvaceous in all the right places. Her tender touch made Batgirl feel so immediately relaxed that she didn’t flinch when Lucinda slightly parted the front of her mask from her skin to run the washcloth underneath it by her eyes.

Lucinda liked caring for people and attending to the famous Batgirl was something she never would have dreamed of six months ago before she came to Gotham. “Do you mind if I take of your mask to finish cleaning you properly?”

Batgirl hesitated for a moment. She was tired and dirty and having someone pamper her would make the past day slightly less horrible. Lucinda was just a kid, it probably wouldn’t matter. Then she answered, “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Oh, are you famous? I wouldn’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Batgirl smiled softly, “No, I don’t think of myself as famous and I do trust you. However, I don’t trust your boss and he probably has hidden video cameras recording everything in this dressing room.”

Lucinda was going to defend Glick but then thought about the type of person he was and concluded he probably did have them under surveillance. She felt a bit sad. It would have been nice to share a secret with Batgirl. “I understand,” she said, “well, let me at least straighten your mask for you.” She performed a slight tug of the cowl in one direction and then another and held Batgirl’s face in her hands. “You really have beautiful eyes. Do you want a massage?”

Batgirl was touched by the girl’s genuine kindheartedness. And the massage sounded lovely. “Thanks, sweetie, but not tonight. Don’t worry; I’ll come back again to chat with you.” She then propped herself up out of the chair and feeling refreshed enough to make it home; she left via the way she entered. Lucinda’s eyes tracked her out hoping Batgirl meant her words.

Sunday

All cops regardless of rank have some deviation, some profane side that they hold as a counterbalance to the demands of their job. Good cops try to keep these secrets from their adoring families and admiring colleagues. Bad cops do not care. For most of his career one of the best cops, Jim Gordon, was different. No damaging kink haunted him. While he was tough and demanding, he was sincere. And one trait that would be expressed by anyone describing him was what you saw was what you got, even if he was transparent to a fault, even as his job became more political as he moved up the blue ladder. They were characteristics he would choose to describe himself as well and he felt that at the end of the day, they made him stronger.

Lately though he had developed a habit that he would not express nor confide to anyone. It wasn’t a terrible secret - one that would affect the lives of others - but it was one he would rather keep to himself.

After the rape and murder of his wife by the Mob he was singularly focused on bringing as many members of organized crime to justice as he could. Whatever little energy was spared in that pursuit he saved for his daughter Barbara, his only remaining memory of his wife. After his crusade weakened the Mob to such a degree that he had more time and more energy, his career filled the gap.

He and his wife had always had a healthy sex life and despite it only resulting in the birth of Barbara the romance remained strong. After her death, the element of sexual desire in him seemed to depart with her. He thought his cravings simply disappeared.

However, his encounters with Catwoman and the Siren unleashed the sexual feelings he had been suppressing for so long. Not one for probing self-analysis, he could have dismissed the sex with the Siren as almost drug induced. Her song held such power over men that it simply could not be resisted. He had no intimate knowledge of any of her other relations but assumed even someone as conditioned as Batman would have succumbed to her song.

Catwoman was another story. In that situation he was not attracted to the villainess or any of the elements of evil but her ploy, disguising herself as Batgirl, proved too much for his manhood to contain. He willingly gave into the fantasy and if given the opportunity to be with the real Batgirl, he would probably break his celibacy again.

The alarm clock in Barbara Gordon’s bedroom was shocked at how long its piercing timbre needed to wail before a hand finally fumbled around the night stand to silence it. The tightness in her shoulders and thighs told Barbara that the previous night’s escapades were not an elaborate nightmare. I can’t believe what a bastard that Glick was, is there anybody worse? Then her day’s agenda flashed in her mind. Oh, there is: Joey Soprano! Immediate revulsion swept through her body as the thought of spending another day with the creepy misogynist started to sweep in. Daddy, can you please give me a pass on this one? The idea of subjecting her bone-sore body to hard labor was more appealing but protecting Gotham City didn’t always offer choices and her determination to win her father’s approval was stronger than any negative emotion she may have been feeling.

As she lumbered out of the bed Barbara’s nakedness provided a sketchy reminder of her actions after leaving the club. She recalled peeling off her costume and weakly throwing it into a corner of her hidden closet. Heavy footed, she labored to the shower where she didn’t even wait for the water to warm before she stepped in and let the spray rinse her body of the oil and dirt mixture. Lucinda was right; the caked-on mud was tight on her skin. Her fabulously erect nipples might have at another time been arousing but now, with her drained batteries, it was mildly uncomfortable. Putting on pajamas last night seemed like too much effort so she slinked into bed naked and succumbed to the exhaustion. When she had the sense to set her alarm was a mystery to her.

Her second shower in eight hours was much more effective in rejuvenating Barbara’s body and mind. She was more deliberate in cleaning herself this time after discovering that the mud was as pervasive as water. She dislodged dried remains from her ears and butt even though they were shielded from direct contact by the cover of her costume.

Fortunately, Barbara had more time this morning before she needed to get ready for her shift. She decided that she might be able to tolerate Soprano more if she knew was better informed about him but the file her father had given her was surprisingly thin. In fact, there were really no details about him just notes, photos, and summary evidence about his father. She decided to refer to the internet but when she could not connect she remembered the notice she had received about a disruption in service over the weekend to upgrade the network. She briefly tortured herself with irrational thoughts that her intuitive familiarity, when she first met him, should be giving her better insight.

Jim Gordon’s ‘cleaning his rifle’ started innocently enough on a routine business trip. As Commissioner of the most famous city, he often visited other urban sites to discuss tactics. For a constant innovator it was a chance to preach and learn. After one formal dinner honoring the retirement of one of his peers Gordon found himself in his hotel room after more drinks than he normally allowed himself and with a stack of photos of Batgirl that he promised to have signed and sent back. Browsing through the stills he began to think about the Daring Damsel and what it would be like to be with her. Before he knew it he was in the hotel bathroom, naked, looking at himself in the mirror. His body was not what it used to be, but he reasoned he was still in pretty good shape. His skin sagged a bit and his pubic hair was generously salted but for his age he liked what he saw. I’m sure Batgirl could choose whomever she wanted. What about it Batgirl? How does the Commissioner look now? Almost unconsciously he started pulling on his dangling member. The first few jerks produced nothing. Suddenly he inverted his hand and crowned the head of his penis, rubbing it back and forth. Stirring commenced and he felt the first signs of hardness surging. He alternated looking at himself and his cock as it grew. Suddenly, he was pulling on a full erection, not standing as upright as it used to but certainly proudly perpendicular. For some reason looking at his face in the mirror made him a bit ashamed but not too ashamed to quit. He stayed in the bathroom and turned away from his reflection and towards the bathroom tub. With his free hand he grabbed one of the little bottles of crème rinse and opened it, emptying the contents over his engorged rod. His hand now glided over his Johnson and he began to stroke faster and faster. He forgot how commanding it felt to be in erect glory. His mind focused on thoughts of Batgirl sucking him off and he tried to imitate how her mouth would feel on his meat. With his arm churning and his mind imagining, the first pitch before ejaculation invaded his wood. Still faster, he stroked more until wham! His cum gushed out, years of retrenchment finally over. His legs almost failed him and he had to reach back to the sink to steady himself. It hurt to continue stroking but he felt the need to deplete himself of any remaining semen.

After determining he was finished he matter-of-factly turned on the shower and rinsed away the evidence. His body felt a release even though his mind harbored traces of guilt. The guilt did not last and the following night, in a different hotel, in a different city he was in the bathroom again.

Batgirl arrived at the hotel around noon. On the trip uptown she mentally went over questions to ask him, non-threatening questions that were deceptively probing. She was determined to end the day knowing more about him and that result should lead her to answer why she kept having notion that she knew him from somewhere.

Guzman was alone with Soprano and he explained that Sprague, who she met yesterday, would relieve her. She signed the transfer form and again checked out each room for any changes or points of infiltration. Obtaining clear signals all around, Batgirl did a double take at the coffee table. Three books stood out, all three hardbacks, representing a discerning literary palate. “It appears Detective Guzman left his books here,” Batgirl stated knowing Soprano would have no interest.

“What makes you think they are Guzman’s?” Joey reacted.

“Because they hardly look like the type of reading material I imagine you enjoying. Let me guess you are a Daily News man?”

“Batgirl, the books are mine.”

“Oh, are you trying to impress me?” she asked with sarcasm.

“No, they are just good reads,” Joey replied with sincerity and calm, “if I wanted to impress you why would I choose books?”

His earnestness momentarily put Batgirl on an apologetic defensive.

“I always read three books at a time: one is a re-read of a classic, another is non-fiction, and the third is a current novel. And yes, I do read the Daily News but I also read the Economist, and the Times. What do you read?”

Again, his naturalness was disarming. Batgirl, in fact, always read three books at a time, too, one classic, one current novel, and one non-fiction. She stuttered admitting to Joey she shared the same pattern.

“Cool,” was his response. For someone determined to break the Soprano code, her pre-arranged strategy was not working to well. Nevertheless, her goals were being met as she learned that just listening to him provided a wealth of information. Right before high school he was sent away to a boarding school in Switzerland close to the Italian border. He hated it a first. He hated the feeling of being torn from his family. He blamed Jim Gordon for the war he raged on his family and his father sending him away, making him feel like he was a coward. Later, he learned that it had been his father’s plan all along. His father was successful not because of his juice in the Family but because of his vision. He knew the business was changing and its future leaders needed a worldly view that the close-knit neighborhoods of Gotham couldn’t offer. Now Joey admitted he looks back on the schooling as a great cultural boost but he still cannot overcome the disconnect it left between him and his family, a detachment that lead to his blowing the whistle.

Batgirl sat in utter amazement. This person was not the same one she could not escape from early enough yesterday. It was evident now that his schooling had imbued him with knowledge and an appreciation for cultural heights even if his language still slipped into occasional crudity. “So, Mr. Soprano, I guess your Swiss schooling has made you into the reader you are today.”

“Naw, not really,” he began. “Well maybe it provided me with a tour de force reading list but the love of reading actually started when I was at P.S. 14.”

Alarm bells shrieked in Batgirl’s mind. P.S. 14 that was my school! “I’m sorry, what did you say your full name was again?”

“Are you serious? Well, my friends call me Joey Sausage but I was christened Anthony Joseph Soprano, why?”

Oh my God, how could I have missed this? Anthony Joseph – A.J. – no wonder he looked familiar. I went to school with him! As Barbara Gordon she had such a crush on him but he was so cool and that he barely knew who she was. Suddenly, somewhere around the time her mother died, he disappeared and no one really spoke about him again. He was so smart in school, brilliant really. She only moved into the top academic spot in her class when he left.

With her agenda blown but fully receiving the briefing she desired, Batgirl engaged Joey to tell her more. Not surprisingly, he had opinions about everything. She tried to focus him on books and pushed him to see if he shared any of the insights she gleaned from certain books. In some cases he had developed deeper perspectives than she.

The shift was on hyper-drive. She wanted it to last but knew Sprague would be relieving her soon. She decided to push on one area that she felt was unaddressed. “Why are you so unhappy?”

“What makes you think I’m unhappy?”

“Well yesterday you seemed so agitated and even though today there were no raised voices there seemed to be a rage always close by.” Batgirl knew she wasn’t accurately describing her feeling but without thinking it through that’s how it came out.

“Did you ever consider the pressure I am under? I mean, c’mon, I’m fucking turning on my family, don’t you think that would have an impact?”

“Yes, but it’s something else,” she persisted. As she questioned him further his demeanor changed and the combative Joey faded and another man emerged: one who was charming, thoughtful, and suddenly very attractive. His attraction for her moved from lust to intrigue as she emerged in his eyes as an intellectual equal and a person of uncommon insight to his psyche. It was if she was probing his soul.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” as Batgirl introduced her thought, “but how could you be such an ignoramus at times when clearly you are a generational man beyond the Renaissance?

“Often, I am conflicted. You see, I have to live a dual life, you wouldn’t understand–

“Hellooo, check out the woman with the mask at your 12 o’clock.”

“ Yeah, okay, but around my boys I need to act like a goodfella even though sometimes, a lot of times, I would rather be at the Museum of Modern Art. Sometimes the job requires that you do things that your ethical studies tell you are wrong. Sometimes having the power and putting a hurt on someone feels good. Sometimes I don’t know which Soprano I really am, Anthony Joseph or Joey Sausage?”

How to be adjusted while living two lives was an answer Batgirl was still trying to figure out for herself. “All I can tell you is how I have coped with my duality. You have to know what your core is. You have to decide what you are willing to accept and what you reject as wrong and you need to remind yourself each day of this right and wrong. In our own ways each of us is a public figure. Know that the public is going to see you a certain way no matter what you do. So do what you want, make yourself happy first then worry about others.”

“That’s it, that’s your advice?”

Batgirl wasn’t sure if Joey was kidding or not, “That’s all I got so far.”

Joey broke out a wide grin. “Thanks, it’s a good place to start.”

Sprague broke up the conversation with a loud knock on the door. Alarmed at the force of his salutation Batgirl sprang to the door. She asked the person on the other side of the door to identify himself. She recognized Sprague’s voice but followed up with the security safe phrase as a precaution. Sprague answered correctly so she opened the door. He passed through the doorway and looked at her as if to say ‘what’s the problem?’ She looked back at him hoping her opened mouth expression conveyed the sentiment of did you have to knock so loudly? Whatever misunderstanding they might have had evaporated immediately.

Sprague asked if everything was okay and Batgirl assured him of an uneventful day. Before leaving, Batgirl turned her head back over her shoulder and said, “Bye, Joey.”

The officer smiled mockingly at him and repeated the ‘Bye Joey’.

Soprano hissed, “Shut the fuck up.”

Batgirl exited the hotel from the lobby and not through the passage. She wanted a breath of fresh air to match the exhilaration she was feeling. Reconnecting with an old flame, okay that was an exaggeration, but finding out that someone you knew turned out so well…maybe that wasn’t the best way to describe it either. Nevertheless, Batgirl felt giddy and she couldn’t hide her smile from the jostling crowd roaring by her.

Her good mood was enhanced by an unseasonably warm November day. The sun was shining and the usual drab city ceiling was blue. Not wanting to be too Mary Richards, she decided to celebrate by taking the night off. As she turned to head to the garage where her bike was parked, her trained eyes caught a purse snatcher in action across the avenue. Taking a quick note of the location and victim for identification later Batgirl bolted into the street, craftily dodging the oncoming cars, pursuing the perp at an angle to cut him off by the next street corner. What Batgirl did not anticipate was the speed that the boy had in his kicks. Ten yards from the interception point the youth found another gear and Batgirl realized she would have to chase him down. At his motoring pace she anticipated he would tire within five city blocks so she focused on keeping him in sight until he slowed. His velocity was impressive and Batgirl knew in a footrace there was no way she could compete, so she had to wear him. Fast legs usually tightened sooner and her supreme conditioning would prevail but she had to pace herself faster than she would have liked because at his rate she would lose him in the crowd. As it was, his darting moved him in and out of her sights.

At the ninth block he still appeared strong and Batgirl realized she had a race on her hands. At the 20th block – the one mile mark – she still had not gained on the thief. He was within a barely trackable distance and his stamina was defying normal chase standards. The unseasonably warm temperature combined with the construct of her costume was now beginning to affect Batgirl. She tasted the salt around her mouth and after every few strides she had to wipe the sweat out of her eyes. She was not winded but neither was he. By the 28th block of the chase Batgirl had halved the gap between them but his determination kept her from gaining any more range. Oxygen replenishment was difficult but Batgirl kept pushing on knowing he had to break down at some point. At the 35th block he stumbled and Batgirl fought through the burning in her legs to close in on him. She thought she had him at block 36 but again he pulled ahead just enough to stay out of her grasp. The prolonged chase afforded Batgirl time to consider many options once she caught him and at block 38 – just two shy of two miles – she had him. It was easy to take him down; at last he had no more fight in him. As she stood over him and applied her Bat-cuffs, she panted with abandon trying to reclaim normal breathing. Fortunately, the long pursuit drew the attention of cops on foot patrol and they soon caught up with her and completed the arrest.

The men in blue drove her back to her bike. The quick trip back mocked the effort of the pursuit. As they arrived she was grateful for the leather seats in the car because her drenched body would have saturated regular car upholstery. The quickness also did not give her time to cool down and she continued to perspire through her outfit.

The bike ride home caked the sweat to her body and when she made it back to her apartment she stripped the foul smelling Batsuit off her body where it joined the previous nights’ mud outfit in the closet corner.

After a refreshing long shower, Barbara wrapped herself in a plush robe and wrapped a towel around her head as she headed for her computer. She was able to connect and immediately visited her favorite search engines to find out more about AJ Soprano. The searches did not provide any additional insight so she decided hack her father’s home computer for information not available publicly. Her father was really an easy mark, straightforward to infiltrate and unimaginative in hiding files. She had even done it in the past while he was using his computer. She was sure he had some records on his hard drive that would give her the information on Joey Soprano she needed.

Unfortunately, she encountered the only flaw to her plan – his computer needed to be on! She normally flicked it on every time she was at his house just for situations like this but he must have turned it off at some point. Undaunted, it just meant getting dressed and heading over.

A quick cab ride from her apartment building dropped her at the stoop to his brownstone, the house she grew up in. Using her key, Barbara announced herself and hearing no response made her way to his study. Several times, she had offered to give him his key back for privacy but he wouldn’t hear of it. In turn she had given him one of her keys as well. Given her secret lifestyle it could have been a dangerous move but she knew her father and that he would never use it for fear of interrupting something he would rather not see his grown daughter do.

His old computer took an eternity to boot up and when it finally did she had no problem locating the files she needed. He also had two hardcopy files on his desk, one reasonably thick one about Joey and another double sized with her mother’s name written on it. She touched it to open it but decided against it. The information she needed to know tonight was in the first one.

Out of the blue Barbara heard a noise coming from her father’s bedroom. She immediately shifted her posture into a stealth position to investigate – he had been broken into before despite being Commissioner – and, if necessary, apprehend. This time they will not get away. With the folder still in her grasp Barbara moved with a soundless gait to the source of the disturbance. Slowly and quietly, she nudged the door. Thankfully, the door did not betray her with a creak and as the room was revealed the first image she saw was her father standing by the edge of his bed, in his boxer shorts, and looking away from her. She began to relax when suddenly she noticed he was holding a large, framed picture of Batgirl in one of his hands. The full scene registered when she realized the front of his shorts was pulled down and he was throttling his firm manhood to Batgirl’s image, her image!

Barbara screamed, “Oh my God!” but she was she not sure if she said it out loud or to herself. She didn’t know if he saw her but in any case she was headed for the front door and would not turn back for anything. Just as she reached her escape she heard him grunt in ecstasy, rendering her embarrassed, disgusted, and confused. She didn’t want to think about it because she now knew that at the end of it all, this, and not the Joker or some other super villain, would force her to abandon her career.

Monday

”Sometimes I am just such an ordinary girl,” Barbara Gordon complained to her pet parrot, Charlie, who was one of the few holders of a secret that proved her anything but ordinary. “I haven’t a thing to wear.”

Barbara awoke with the added vigor of recharged batteries. The night off succeeded in replenishing her energy levels. After a good hour of replaying and analysis once she arrived home, her awful intrusion to her father’s privacy was pushed to the recesses of her consciousness, a trait surely inherited from her father to keep her functioning and moving forward.

She surveyed her secret closet and the rack of mostly empty hangers. She briefly paused to assess some of the variations to her Bat uniform that she showcased over the years. Some brought back memories of excitement and achievement. Some she kept to remind her of the need to keep learning. For a variety of reasons she had decided to keep the relics but one thing they were not made for was the type of fighting she now engaged in. Unfortunately, those relics were all that remained in her closet. After a week and a half of intense battles her current outfits were either impaired or offensively odored. What remained was a very limited choice.

Batgirl actually had a scheduled day off from her vigilance of AJ. However, she was in need of an outfit because she was scheduled to receive an award from the Gotham City Fire Department for Bravery and Civic Duty. It was a nice gesture by them and she did not want to cancel as it might upset the harmony between the Best and the Bravest.

She pulled a purple lycra Batsuit off the hanger and held it up to her body. Of course it still fit. Barbara smiled even though it offered no protection, it would have to do. This is only a ceremonial function and besides, there are some very cute firemen, it wouldn’t be a crime to give them a treat. She remembered how form fitting it was. “Charlie, let’s give the men and woman firefighters a Batgirl to remember, they deserve it.”

The ride to Fire Headquarters was enlivening. A rare daytime cruise through Gotham’s streets always brought out her supporters from their stores and out into the street to cheer the Caped Damsel. She acknowledged as many well-wishers as she could. She also lucked out with the weather. The Indian summer that began yesterday continued in earnest this day as well and if not for the lycra outfit she would have been one hot cruising Batchick. She arrived at her destination, on time, and proceeded to the reception area where the Department’s handlers briefed her on the details and agenda of the ceremony. The format was fairly standard. All she really needed to do was think about her remarks.

Normally, her father would be at a ceremony like this. It was part of the mutual admiration the City needed to see from their Police and Fire Departments and, after last night, she now knew other reasons why her father made appearances at these events when she was included. Scanning the audience, she noticed his absence. She was sure it was on account of the first day of Joey’s testimony. He would want to ensure everything went smoothly.

When it came time to receive her award, the battalion of firemen roared. Walking up the steps she could see all the men’s eyes follow each stride. When she reached the podium their anticipation was so palpable she wasn’t sure if they wanted to hear her or see her shake her booty. She thought back to Saturday and the power women like Lucinda must feel each night.

Batgirl was a gifted speaker. Even though her speech followed a template she was blessed with an ability to make each presentation of it sound as if crafted for the very first time. She knew where she could go off script and she knew how to return once she had. She liked the forum of public speaking and the audience obviously welcomed her as their voice. During her acceptance speech she felt the vibrating of the Commissioner’s hotline. She did not let it affect her talk but she was conscious not to ramble too long.

After the applause and during the meet and greet of many of the City’s fire fighters, Batgirl felt the vibrating alarm of the Commissioner’s beckoning again. She politely excused herself from three very attractive and well-conditioned heroes who happened to represent the summer months of the Firefighter’s calendar. One good thing about this audience, they understood that an emergency summoning meant something.

Batgirl dialed the Commissioner’s number. “Commissioner, it’s me, Batgirl. How can I help you?”

“Batgirl, a situation has arisen and I need to see you immediately.”

“This is a secure line, Commissioner. Can’t you just tell me here?” The events of last night were being pulled back into her immediate consciousness.

“I’m afraid not, how quickly can you make it to my office?”

Not wanting to make her reluctance obvious Batgirl agreed to meet him. After hanging up the phone and with all the memories still fresh she regretted wearing the costume she had on. Unfortunately, there was no time to change before seeing him. She would just have to keep the meeting as brief as possible.

Jim Gordon liked the layout of his office. As a cop rising through the ranks he was never too enamored with ego rooms. He just needed enough space to do his work, no more. Now as Commissioner the demands were different. Often, he needed to size up a person before a word was spoken. The walk from his oak doors to his desk offered enough space for an assessment. In those extra seconds, he could change tactics and come up with the right questions and the right statements to push the right buttons.

That leverage changed when he saw Batgirl walk through the door this late autumn afternoon. Instead of organizing his words, her approach totally made him lose his thought control. Her body pierced the professionalism he used to shield himself from lust. Each lively stride was a picture he wanted to behold. She simply looked amazing. In his mind he was stripping away her clinging purple body suit piece by piece when Batgirl disrupted his fantasy, “Yes, Commissioner, you wanted to see me?”

“Er, yes, Batgirl, please sit down or remain standing. Yes, standing is good, unless, of course you need to rest. Do as you wish.” He knew he was spouting gibberish.

“I’ll stand if that’s okay.” Her voice had a trace of bewilderment. He needed to get his act together. He wisely decided to remain seated behind his desk to hide any potentially embarrassing tenting in his trousers. Focus. Why did you call her in?

“Batgirl, thank you for coming in today on such short notice and on your day off, to boot. Soprano’s testimony went very well today, as good as we could have hoped. We feel he provided some very damaging remarks that really sunk in with the jury. If he can keep this up we are in excellent shape.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Commissioner, but surely that can’t be the reason you called me in today.”

“No, of course not, Batgirl. The problem is when the DA took Soprano back to the hotel safe house, Guzman never showed up. Not only did he not show up but we have been unable to reach him at all. I spoke to his wife and she said that he left a while ago, certainly enough time to be where he should be. I am concerned for his well-being.”

“Guzman is a fine man. What would you like for me to do, Commissioner?”

“He’s a fine family man and a damn good cop. I will be praying tonight. Anyway, I need for you to take his shift until I can find a replacement in the morning. Will you do that for me, Batgirl?”

“Of course, Commissioner, let me go change and I’ll be at the hotel and ready to do my job.” Batgirl was thinking to herself which of the filthy costumes she would have to don for this impromptu assignment. She would choose the mud over the funk, no need to assault Joey’s senses. While contemplating her choices she noticed the Commissioner’s eyes tracing her outline and contemplating her. Oh Daddy!

“Unfortunately, Batgirl, I need you right away. The DA is with him now and he needs to leave for very important proceedings related to tomorrow’s testimony. O’Hara and I are concerned we are being followed so we cannot replace him now. I need your services immediately.”

“Alright then, I won’t let you down, sir.” Despite the dirty feeling she held right now being ogled by her own father; she also did not want to let him down. Plus, the opportunity to see AJ again kind of excited her. The Commissioner went on further to detail the new hiding place they had secured – a mansion apartment in a very well-heeled City neighborhood. It had been reclaimed for back taxes and now the City needed it. The location was discreet and no one would suspect the City would have a holding place in that high of a rent district. The DA would deliver Soprano to her.

As Batgirl left, he was treated to another long view of the Mistress of the Night and the mistress of his fantasies. Her cape was just above her butt and he marveled at each cheek - poured perfectly into her outfit – flexed with each step. It was his perfection. Batgirl sensed his eyes were glued to her backside and did not turn back to say goodbye. She could not get out of there fast enough. When she closed the solid doors and finally was out of the room, Gordon took a deep breath and savored the memory of her purple hued body. He glanced at the other door in his office that led to his private bathroom. He pressed his secretary’s intercom button and said, “Peggy, please hold my calls and don’t interrupt me for the next fifteen minutes.”

On the motorcycle ride to the new safe-house Batgirl mentally retraced the contents revealed to her in the file she found in her father’s home office. The boy she knew as AJ was indeed the Joey Soprano she was now assigned to protect. While the documents did not make clear why he chose to turn on his family there were enough facts in his file to put aspects of his life in perspective. He was a top student in her school – the top, in fact – besting Barbara’s academic excellence by a few decimal points. That was not surprising to her. As a kid, she was never obsessed with grades. She only tried to do the best she could to make her parents proud. She recognized early on that Joey’s grades were right up there with hers only he always seemed to achieve his scores with less effort. On top of that everyone liked him. He was the king among boys and the heartthrob for the girls, including Barbara. She never enjoyed popularity as a kid. Taunts started early when an eye condition forced her to wear corrective glasses and she inherited the nickname “Four Eyes”. Even after she did not need the glasses anymore, other kids seemed to delight in still calling her that. While the teasing never progressed to taunts she withdrew and the other kids moved on without her.

AJ was never mean to her but he also did not seek her out either. He was always polite (and never used her dreaded nickname) but his interest was mostly collegial. Nevertheless, each time he did speak to her it made her day and she would spend the night fantasizing about being his girlfriend. At other times she would create fantastic scenarios where she was in danger and he would step in and protect her.

Barbara read about Soprano’s father and where he fit into the mob hierarchy and how the depletion of the ranks by Gordon’s crusade provided the scenario for his ascendancy to become a powerful leader. The police work that was crushing the mob created a vacuum that sparked behaviors that were dangerous to the survival of their system. All family members were targets and that threat compelled Tony Sr. to abruptly take his son out of school and ship him to Switzerland. His motivations were protectionist and visionary. He saw how the money-making system was changing and how it was shifting from muscle to intelligence. A strong boy was useful but a smartly educated boy would dominate. His drive would make Tony Sr. a boss but his son would create a dynasty. Tony Sr. kept his plan within a tight circle of confidents and justified the moving of his son to others by telling them that sharing a class with Gordon’s daughter was too risky.

As Batgirl approached the apartment building where she would spend the night with Joey, she noticed a change in barometric pressure signaling that cold weather would quickly sweep out the rare November warmth.

She parked her bike a bit away from the building to avoid telegraphing their location. Upon entering the building she took the private elevator up to the penthouse. The doors opened to an opulence rarely experienced by average Gothamites in their lifetime. Even stripped down of much of its furniture, the magnificence of the structure and the fixtures told a story of incredible wealth. The thought of living here was more daunting than envious. It was simply too impressive for her tastes.

That being said, its size presented many challenges to prevent breaches in security. Batgirl proceeded to inspect each room and determine where the best place to camp out for the night was. More than once Batgirl had to shake her head in disbelief that people actually lived in a place this grand. Even more odd was that the City actually owned the residence due to tax levies. They were looking for opportunities to sell it but buyers for this type of luxury did not materialize every day. One of the more spectacular features was the pool on the top floor of the duplex. In addition to its size – suitable for a serious lapper – it had a majestic glass ceiling that illuminated the room from the light of the moon or even the glow of the City’s lights. This was a special property.

Despite the allure of spending a night in such extravagance Batgirl determined that the servants’ quarters would be the safest location in the apartment. She could rig traps in the bedrooms and other access points that would allow them to prepare in the case of attack. Plus, it had separate egresses, one to the hall and another to the pool room upstairs. Not knowing what to expect from this night, this section of the house offered the most security and privacy.

Joey arrived with his usual bravado posture and athletic warm-ups. His chin immediately lifted to a higher angle to take in the specter of the apartment. He nodded approvingly. “Finally, some first-class accommodations,” he tried to joke. The DA was very nervous and cold as if he could not wait to be away from the contagion that was Joey Soprano. Batgirl assured him that she had already secured the premises and that he could leave to prepare the next days’ work. She didn’t have to say goodbye twice.

“Well, Joey, soak up as much of the entrance as you can now because it will be the last time you see it tonight,” Batgirl instructed. Soprano looked confused but followed her, mimicking the tricky stepping around traps, into the servants’ section. The quarters were actually a larger studio apartment than many could afford in Gotham City. It was also the most furnished of rooms in the whole mansion. They had a kitchenette, bathroom, convertible sofa, and a chair. On the coffee table Batgirl had placed a few books she picked up on her way to the safe house. They were books she greatly admired and wanted to share with Joey either as an introduction to the literature or as a discussion topic for later.

Alone, Batgirl and Joey Soprano immediately returned to discussions about books and art. Batgirl uncharacteristically offered personal details about her life that explained why she felt certain ways about certain things and Joey presented insights into himself that she was sure he never shared with others. More than once, he commented that she got him and although not expressed he was sure she felt some level of identification in him, too. The afternoon light had long since faded when they realized they were speaking to each other in the dark. Batgirl rose to turn on the floor lamps that they had for light. After bringing light to their space, Batgirl paced around a bit to stretch her limbs. She realized more than a few hours had passed. In the light, Joey noticed how ridiculously hot she looked in her Batgirl costume. The predator words of a player almost slipped out of his mouth but he was able to catch himself and say with a bit of forced non-chalance, “That’s not your usual costume, is it?”

With her arms stretching to the ceiling and her breasts perfectly perpendicular Batgirl replied, “This? No, this is not my usual coat of arms. Let’s just say due to some technical difficulties, I broke this one out of retirement. Why do you think it makes me look bad?”

Joey was caught off guard. Was Batgirl asking him like a girlfriend or a male admirer? He gambled on the former, “No, not bad just different. It doesn’t look as reinforced as your other costume from the other days.”

“Well, you are right, it isn’t. It’s more of a show Batsuit – and not a costume – I don’t wear this to parties. Hopefully, tonight will be like the other days and it won’t be put to the test.”

“Batsuit, of course, no offense intended. Hey I’m hungry is there anything to eat?” Joey stood up and headed for the kitchenette.

Just before he reached the refrigerator Batgirl was flooded with a sense of imminent danger. “Joey, quick, hide in here,” she commanded as she opened up the cabinet door of a long, antique table-high cabinet that used to be used to store dinner service sets.

“What? What’s going on?” and seeing the opening she was offering, “I can’t fit on there,” he complained but with Batgirl forcing his head and shoulders through the aperture he was soon concealed.

Batgirl spun around to investigate the ominous premonition when suddenly a ninja clad body burst through one of the windows and three more warriors stormed down the staircase from the floor above.

Switching from conscious thought, her eastern training and street combat experience guided her to battle mode. She targeted the window crasher first as he was isolated from the group. She needed to attack rather than defend but his skills were good and it took her several glancing hits before she found an opening to connect with the force to take him down. By that point the others were on top of her and she performed two back handsprings to create some space for her to operate. The ninjas rushed her and she fought them off valiantly but she was only able slow them, not disable them. Their skills varied but combined it presented a difficult opponent. Several times she needed gymnastic escapes to compensate for the limited space to fight multiple persons. She used the sparse furniture for separation and as shields from multiple attackers. Her confidence never waned and that determination allowed her to slowly assert herself as she kicked, punched, and wrestled her way towards control. Finally, her momentum had resulted in four bodies on the ground, three in one corner and one apart. She turned to scan for rope to tie them up when she heard the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. She turned and saw the lone ninja who was the best fighter standing with a gun pointed directly at her.

The fragility of her lycra outfit was now devastatingly evident to her and after a quick assessment of the distance from the shooter and the confinement of escape options she thought with stern seriousness, “This is it. I’m dead.” Her only thought was will I feel pain or die right away?

Behind his mask Batgirl could detect a smile as he said in a voice that was not Asian like his attire, “Goodbye, Batgirl.”

She saw the explosive flash emanate from the gun. Expecting also to see the actual bullet erupt from the revolver she was surprised when her vision was suddenly obscured by the flying body of Joey Soprano in front of her. His body landed on the floor with a thud and she rushed to him. “Why did he do that?” she screamed to herself.

“Joey, Joey!” Batgirl shouted to him as she tried to turn him over onto his back. She could hear the ninja patrol filing up the staircase to escape. Finally succeeding in flipping him she looked to his face. His eyes were open and he was smiling. Puzzled, she looked down his body to the place where his body absorbed the shot. However, in place of a wound Batgirl saw him holding a bullet-dented, silver serving tray over his chest.

“Amazing the things you find while hiding,” he commented wryly.

“You idiot,” was all she could manage as a comeback after now understanding the sequence of events fully. Her mind immediately switched back to the intruders. She released her grip of his shoulders and darted up the stairs in pursuit.

Upon entering the pool palace her senses immediately picked up on the bright illumination of the room from the moonlight as well as the deafening noise from above. A cable was secured from the floor to the ceiling of the skylight and the ninjas were quickly boarding a black unmarked helicopter. Without any consideration for the danger Batgirl reached into her utility belt and shot her own line to the top of the roof and zipped up in time to grab the leg of the last ninja to embark.

He first tried to shake her off. When that failed he planted a direct kick to her temple that was so forceful it twisted her cowl so it partially covered her eyes. Woozy, Batgirl somehow managed to retain her grip on his leg but the second strike of his foot to her head sent her free falling on a twenty-five-foot, semi-conscious descent.

Joey reached the top of the stairs to see Batgirl collect the brutal blows. He watched helplessly as her body plunged from the spectacular glass roof. She fell quickly and he lost sight of her as her costumed form hit the pool with a loud splash. He rushed to the pool’s edge to inspect. All he could see on the surface of the water was her cowl and red hair, no body. Confused, his thoughts produced, “Oh my God, Batgirl’s been decapitated!” His train of reasoning was further confounded when a woman with short brown hair pierced the surface, quickly grabbed the floating accessories, and plunged back down out of view. Joey stared at the water, unable to see anything underneath, and tried to process what had actually happened. Eventually, the reality of what he witnessed started to come together. She was too quick for him to grab any discernable image of her face. Then it dawned on him that several minutes had passed and Batgirl had not resurfaced from the depths of the pool. He dove in determined to save her life again.

A fairly good swimmer, Joey eased is way to the bottom of the pool. Even though the moonlight lit up the room it was not strong enough to make the pool transparent. Joey used his limited vision and probing hands to try and find Batgirl’s body. Every moment counted and he systematically covered quite a bit of the bottom but without success. With his lungs burning for oxygen he reluctantly moved toward the surface to refuel.

Cresting the water plane he gasped for breath. Before he could descend again his eyes spotted Batgirl standing on the edge of the pool, fully attired, looking down at him, “What are you doing in the water?”

“I thought…” he began but before another word could form, his brain froze at the sight lording above him. The moonlight flooding into the penthouse directed its entire beam on figure on the perimeter. In the spotlight he had eagle like clarity of Batgirl majestically standing in her drenched lycra costume. From his vantage point the costume could have been mistaken for body paint. Each breast was his to behold. So detailed was his view that he could easily see the formation of her areolas and the pertness of her nipples jutting out in response to the cold air that now invaded the pool room. He continued his scan down to her pussy where the darkness of her costume could not hide the Bat-camel toe. There was no mistaking it, what he was seeing was as good as Batgirl naked.

“Are you okay?” she interrupted, “do you need help out of the water?”

“No,” he replied with his eyes still fixed on her, “I’m all good.”

“Why on earth did you jump in the water?” she inquired.

“I didn’t see you come up. I thought I was saving you,” (and his bravery was now being rewarded).

“Why would you think I need saving?” Batgirl shook her head as if he acted foolishly. He didn’t care. He wanted to stay in the frigid water forever. Batgirl had other ideas, “Come on,” as she held out her hand, “let’s return downstairs where it is warmer.”

Batgirl had Joey wait in the servants’ quarters as she re-inspected the mansion. Walking through the dining area and kitchen she tried to call the Commissioner to inform him of the attempt and to see if a different hideout was available. Unfortunately, the plunge in the pool rendered her communication device inoperable. In the bedrooms she noticed the light switches were also now inoperable - so the assailants had cut the electricity. Any abandonment of the site meant trekking down many flights of exposed staircases. The library, the one room she really envied in this mansion despite being barren of books, was a suitable size but with only one egress, it was a trap. Assessing her options she still felt that staying in the quarters until relief came in the morning was still the safest place for them.

Re-entering the service section she felt an intense chill jetting in through the broken window. The November cold was re-asserting itself after the brief reminder of summer warmth. Both of them would freeze, wet and exposed as they were. As it was, Batgirl could feel her nipples straining to pierce through the lycra. Batgirl remembered she saw at least one bathrobe in the washroom of their quarters. Noticing that Joey was standing and dripping by the sofa she suggested, “Put yourself to good use and build a fire.” This place was so posh that even the staff had a fireplace in their room.

Batgirl figured she would let Joey have the robe since his health was more critical than hers during the trial. However, when she went in the bathroom she noticed that it had two robes. Closing the door she stepped out of her boots and peeled off the lycra body suit, keeping on her cowl. She re-slung her utility belt around her bare hips and wrapped herself in the thick white robe, tightly tying the sash to cover as much or her body as possible. It immediately felt more comfortable.

As she walked out of the bathroom she saw the hearth blazing and saw Joey do a double take when he saw her. Cutting him off before he could comment, she threw him the other robe and instructed him to change in the bathroom and hang his wet clothes by the fire.

The lack of electricity limited their options for food and drink. Joey opened a bottle of wine but Batgirl declined to join him. She opted for water. They cheered their discovery of a tin of Jiffy-Pop popcorn and inserted it into the fire to watch the foil expand with kernels of fun. Sitting on the sofa together with a reasonable separation between them they each forced a bit of conversation starters but the memory of the invasion and their irregular costuming stilted most dialogs.

The popcorn wasn’t filling but at least it addressed some relief for their empty stomachs. At one point, Batgirl accidentally dropped a kernel down her robe. Temporarily forgetting the decorum of her role she reached in slightly parting the top of her robe. Joey lecherously eyed at an angle as she exposed a very small and lightly freckled bit of her cleavage. It was innocent and she quickly re-covered herself but it was enough for Joey’s brain to almost short circuit. Soon afterwards Batgirl noticed that the voice and mentality of the “other” Joey Soprano re-emerging. Not realizing that she was responsible for sending a flood of testosterone through his body and mistaking it for the effects of the wine, Batgirl got up to excuse herself and let him calm down. As she passed him in the tight space between the sofa and coffee table she brushed by his leg. The plush material of the two robes adhered and as Batgirl pulled forward, she accidentally opened the bottom of Joey’s robe.

The action revealed the “Joey” he was most proud of. Batgirl couldn’t help but notice that in addition to a very admirable size his penis had an extreme curve. It almost was a right angle. “Oh my God, Joey, did you get hurt during the fight?”

“What are you talking about, Bat-sister?” Joey made no move to cover himself up.

“Your, your,” and she lowered her voice for the word, “’penis’ is all bent like it is broken.”

“Why do you think they call me Joey Sausage?”

Batgirl felt naïve and stupid, “I thought it was because you liked meat products in a casing.”

Laughing, Joey said staring down at himself, “Nope, this is fine piece of animal protein is the rage that girls across Gotham crave.”

“Well, it looks like it would hurt you.” Batgirl couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.

“Trust me, the last this thing does is hurt. It brings pleasure. Extreme pleasure. Maybe you’d like to try it?”

Sensing that she wouldn’t be able to bring the Joey she liked back if she continued with this discourse, Batgirl said, “Well I think it has aired out enough. Let’s put it back where it belongs.” As she grabbed the edge of his robe to place it back over him she accidentally brushed her hand against it knocking the curve to the other side. When she tried to close the other half of the robe she grazed it again but successfully covered him up.

For about three seconds.

Before she could walk away she heard Joey say, “Oh boy, now you’ve done it. You’ve gotten Joey Sausage all agitated.”

Turning, she saw Joey now largely erect with his dick splitting the closure of his robe. Panicking, she said, “Maybe you should go into the bathroom and do something about that.”

With increasing confidence Joey replied, “Me? I’m not the one who started this. I think it would do you good to come and pay me some attention.”

“Are you crazy? I am here to protect you, not service you. Go back to your neighborhood if you are too lazy to whack yourself off.” Batgirl’s voice held anger but for some reason she wasn’t walking away.

“Batgirl, all I’m saying is we are in an unusual situation – high stress – we both were almost wiped out tonight, I saved you, we should celebrate. C’mon no one has to be the wiser.”

“Joey, it wouldn’t be right.” Batgirl couldn’t believe she was letting herself be on the defense.

“It’s just us, Batgirl. C’mon, I like you and I think you like me a bit, too. We’re not too far apart. We like a lot of the same authors. I bet we’re the same age. Are we, Batgirl?”

“Yes, but...” Batgirl couldn’t believe she just released a piece of personal information to him. “Joey, really.”

“Just touch it, just once, that’s all.” In his pleading, his charm was in full swing.

“Joey…” then Batgirl looked around as to see if someone was watching and then to their mutual amazement, her gloved hand reached out to his bowed appendage.

At first touch his gland jumped but she secured it with a firmer grip and gave him a short stroke. Joey responded with a moan and Batgirl continued to hold him for a moment, not doing anything, and then she stroked him again much longer – all the way down his shaft – and continued caressing his tool.

It was odd not to move her arm straight up and down. She had seen curved penises before but he was certainly extreme. The curiosity alone was what brought her to this point. She wondered if his shape would be difficult to take in her mouth.

Joey could not believe Batgirl was giving him a rubdown. For someone who routinely broke boundaries with his friends this was something even he could never have imagined. With each stroke Batgirl seemed to get more into it. It was good for a bit but Joey realized that she actually held him too tightly and sometimes pulled instead of glided. Hey Batgirl’s not too good at this…but it’s Batgirl! She also tended to bend his dick towards his legs which actually hurt. Did she not know or was she trying to exert control over him. It was pain and pleasure.

She was at angle to him and he could not really see her face or her hand on his cock. He decided to up the ante. He tried to remember which part of her robe overlaid the other and he reached around her back and cupped the underside of one of her breasts. As he searched for her nipple, she paused her stroking for a moment, glided her hand up and down him two more times, and then removed his hand. He thought he blew it but a few seconds later she began to stroke him again at a faster pace.

Eventually, the pain of her hand job was dominating the gratification. He wasn’t sure he could come so Joey took another chance, this one bolder than the last, “Batgirl, take me in your mouth. It’ll feel so good.”

Without protest or even a word of comment Batgirl adjusted her position and placed the tip of his penis in her mouth. He was surprised. He knew that his shape created a lot of inquisitiveness in women but this was Batgirl. Her hand moved to his balls as the up and down was now smoothed by her supple tongue and mouth. It felt unbelievable. Really unbelievable.

What made the blowjob even better was that he could see her face now, her lips over his dick, the hollow of her cheeks as she slid down him. He knew he had confidence and that gave him license to many things but this was new territory for him. The way that Batgirl was working his dick made him think she was really into it. He hoped she was because he was really into her. Yeah, she looked great but the giddiness he felt after talking to her and exchanging ideas made him feel fresh and a better man. She was special. Unlike the hundreds of girls he bagged before, he wanted to know her.

Joey then began what he thought was the next natural step in their intimacy. He placed his hands on the side of her head and guided her up and down on his shaft. He then began to gently pull up on her mask to lift it off.

With lightening quickness Batgirl straightened up and said, “Whoa, the mask is not included.”

“C’mon,” Joey reasoned, “I already know you are not a redhead.”

“I have already released too much information and broken enough boundaries for tonight. If you want me to finish, the cowl stays on.”

Joey thought for a second as if Batgirl was giving him a choice between a blowjob and unmasking. Batgirl ensured he knew there was no option when she went back down and began holding his balls in one hand, stroking him with the other has she kept her mouth on his tip. His nuts constricted a bit as the combination was bringing him to an unavoidable explosion. Batgirl’s hand moved faster up and down as her tongue licked around his head. He wanted to come in her mouth but after an initial squirt she moved her head at the last second and his gism deposited itself on different parts of his chest. The release was too intense and continuous for him to be grossed out about coming on himself. Uninterrupted Batgirl still skated her hand up and down and gently squeezed his jewels. Normally, he did not let girls do that. After he came it was over. However, with Batgirl anything to prolong the sensation was permitted. The rush of danger and a blowjob from Batgirl: this was the best night of his life.

A few minutes after Joey came, a new stream of consciousness enveloped Batgirl. The romantic fire light, the natural affection for her savior, and her rebellious response to her father’s depravity all evaporated as reasons for her behavior. She excused herself, stood up, grabbed the Batsuit propped by the fireplace, and headed for the bathroom. As she re-assembled her still damp outfit she refused to look at herself in the mirror. She had a job to do. She came out of the bathroom sat on the sofa at a safe distance and said “This never happened.” She wasn’t sure if she was directing her command to him or herself.