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Witness Protection	By : AdultBat Category: DC Verse Comics > Batgirl Views: 17652 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, Batgirl, or any of the characters in the story. I have not nor will not receive any money for this story. It is for adults only.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Batgirl and Gotham City were created by and are copyrighted by and are property of DC Comics. Other characters appearing in this story are owned and copyrighted by other entities as well. This story has been written solely to occupy my free time. This story is purely for adult entertainment purposes and cannot be redistributed for the purposes of making money or profit.
This story takes place after “Batgirl Arrives” and “Batgirl’s Uptown Affairs”
Witness Protection   by T. Thatcher
Part 1: Friday and Saturday
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.

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