Batgirl: Sex Bomb Ch. 06

This story is the sixth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures, mainly based on characters in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series but with the timeline brought up to the present.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal use. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl: Batgirl: Sex Bomb

Chapter 6: The Great Escape!

Friday, 9:57 am

Batman turned to the uniformed policeman seated alongside him. "You're SURE about this, Chief O'Hara? If the new Commissioner ever finds out you've been helping us, it could mean the end of your career AND your police pension. Don't forget you're nearing retirement age, old friend."

"Bejazus, Batman! Somebody's gotta pay for that young security guard's brutal death," the slightly overweight Irishman declared vehemently, as he expertly swung the black and white into the parking lot of the Bank of Trust, its suspension wallowing under the sudden centrifugal forces. The car screeched to a halt, with the front bumper a mere six-inches from the wall of the building. Robin, who was sitting in the back, was glad he'd remembered to put on his safety belt.

"There's somethin' decidedly fishy about that Commissioner Schmitt? I have no confidence in him getting to the bottom of this case," the Chief continued, stepping out of the patrol car and savagely slamming the driver's door shut. He calmed down and checked the time on his gold pocket watch, a recent long-service award. "The bank manager is expecting us at ten, Caped Crusader!"

Batman nodded and followed the Chief of Police into the bank, with Robin trailing along behind.

-oOo-

The three men shook hands with the bank manager, and then settled back into their seats in his office. The Manager of the Bank of Trust branch, Arthur Cranbury, was a slim, bespectacled individual, in his early fifties, with thinning hair and slightly rounded shoulders. He was wearing a smart grey business suit and exuded an air of quiet, reassuring competence.

"Gentlemen, this is indeed a great pleasure," he declared, when the formalities had been completed. "I have long been an admirer of Gotham City's finest upholders of law and order."

Batman gave him a slightly embarrassed smile. "Thank you, sir, we do our best. It was good of you to make time for us in your busy schedule, on such short notice."

"Not at all, Batman. So, what can I tell you about the security truck robbery, that you gentlemen don't already know?" Mr. Cranbury enquired, politely.

Batman leant forward in his seat. "I understand from Chief O'Hara here, that the vehicle was fitted with some sort of emergency button that, when pressed, instantly set off an alarm in the bank?"

The bank manager nodded, soberly. "That is correct, Batman, although we don't like to advertise that fact. It still failed to prevent a tragic loss of life, in this case, of course. When it went off, we immediately put in a call to the police, using the special hotline that was installed for just such an eventuality. We informed the GCPD that a robbery was in progress and told them exactly where the crime was taking place."

The Caped Crusader's eyebrows shot up at this. "How were you able to accurately know the precise location of the armored vehicle, sir?" he enquired.

The bank manager smiled, smugly. "We use the very latest satellite tracking technology, Caped Crusader. At any given instant, we can pinpoint the position of the delivery truck to within roughly 5 feet."

"Holy Spy in the Sky!" exclaimed the Boy Wonder, wide-eyed with astonishment.

"Very impressive," agreed Batman. "How long do you estimate that it should've taken the police to arrive at the crime scene, sir... from the moment the alarm first went off?"

The bank manager placed the tips of his fingers together and tapped his chin with them, while he considered the question. "No more than 3 or 4 minutes, at the most," he replied.

"Yet, according to the official crime report, almost 15 minutes elapsed before the first black and white appeared at the scene. The robbers were long gone by then and the injured guard was already on his way to the hospital, in an ambulance!" Batman turned to the senior law officer alongside him. "How do you explain such a significant delay, Chief?"

The Irishman blinked and looked momentarily flustered. "My officers were dispatched to the scene of the crime as soon as I was informed," he retorted, going a bright red in the face. "I have no explanation for any delay that may have occurred prior to my receiving that information, Batman."

"Hmm? I wonder where that call was originally routed?" the Caped Crusader mused aloud.

Arthur Cranbury was unable to supply any further pertinent details, except to inform them that the thieves had stolen over 5 million dollars in cash and securities, during the raid.

The Boy Wonder let out a long low whistle.

That was the signal for Batman to bring the discussion to a conclusion. He rose to his feet and, once more, shook the bank manager's hand. "Thank you for your valuable time, sir! You've been most helpful."

The bank manager smiled. "The pleasure was all mine, Batman. I hope you catch the murderous villains... and recover the missing money, of course."

Batman was deeply worried about the escalating gun crime throughout the city. He suspected that this was a further incident of weapons being used that had been stolen from the police arsenal, but he tried not to show his concern to those present.

"We shall do our utmost, sir!" he replied, grimly.

-oOo-

Chief O'Hara drove the Caped Crusaders back to the GCPD HQ parking lot and dropped them off next to the parked Batmobile. "It does explain one thing, Batman," O'Hara said, taking off his cap and scratching his thinning scalp, as the costumed duo exited his car and leapt into their own vehicle, as soon as the security shielding had fully retracted.

"Oh, and what's that, Chief?" enquired Batman, looking over at him, as he fired up the powerful engine, with a roar of flame from the exhaust.

"The older security guard, claimed that the robbers seemed to be perfectly relaxed throughout the robbery. He said they seemed in no great haste to transfer the contents of the armored truck to their SUV. It was almost as if they KNEW they had plenty of time, before any of my police officers showed up at the scene?"

Friday, 11:05 am

The slow moving, unmarked police vehicle, made its way along the meandering driveway, heading for the ugly cluster of old and new buildings that comprised New Arkham Asylum. Acting Commissioner Schmitt was behind the wheel. Sitting next to him, was Harley Quinn, dressed in her familiar skintight, black and white harlequin costume, which revealed every curve of her slim, otherwise nude body beneath it. She was also wearing garish white clown greasepaint on her face. Bull and Shorty occupied the rear bench seat. Both hoodlums were suitably armed with automatic pistols, courtesy of the GCPD.

Peter Schmitt swallowed, nervously. The staff of the asylum would be expecting him and him alone and it didn't help any that Harley had insisted on dressing up in her sexy but garish jester outfit.

"Stay cool, Sweetie!" murmured Harley, reaching over and gently caressing his cheek, with the back of her left hand. "If Mistah J says this will be a breeze, then it will be. I can't wait to see my handsome Puddin' again!" The rigid state of her nipples, beneath the clinging confines of her costume, merely confirmed her state of high excitement.

The unmarked vehicle cleared the last of the trees and cruised up to the front of the main building, passing between the large, well tended lawns, before rolling to a halt by the uniformed and armed guard, who stood in front of the main entrance steps awaited the visitor's arrival.

The guard stepped up to the driver's door and was about to open it for the lawman, when he noticed the three other occupants, through the open window. His hand automatically moved to the butt of his holstered pistol, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.

"I'm sorry sir, but you are not authorized to bring along any other visitors," he warned, even though he was aware that the police officer had just been promoted to Acting Commissioner of Police.

Harley brought her arm up and placed the muzzle of a snub-nosed .38 mm pistol against the side of Peter Schmitt's head, before cocking it. "Please DON'T try anything silly," she requested the young security guard, with a disarming smile, as he went to draw his pistol, "or I shall be forced to splatter the Police Commissioner's brains all over that lovely, pristine uniform!" Her finger visibly tightened on the trigger.

The youthful member of the security staff froze. By now, both Bull's and Shorty's automatic weapons, were clearly trained on him. He swallowed nervously, slowly released the gun handle and reached for the sky.

"Better do what they tell you son, or we'll BOTH end up six feet under!" muttered the Acting Police Commissioner, with a grim expression on hid face.

The guard nodded. "Yes, sir!" he agreed, shuffling his feet, nervously.

"Take us to the Joker's cell!" Harley ordered the security guard, once all four occupants had alighted from the vehicle. "And put your hands down and try to act naturally. Just remember, there's a bullet with your name on it, if you try anything stupid."

The guard swallowed hard and complied.

The three criminals concealed their weapons (Bull had to hide Harley's gun, since her skintight costume couldn't have concealed a lipstick holder, let alone a thirty-eight). They then followed the guard up the stone steps.

They entered the building and went through the usual routine of signing the visitor's book, before they all crammed into the small elevator that would carry them up to the correct level.

As they walked along the corridors, passing through several sets of sliding, electronically controlled and barred security doors, on their way to the High Security Wing, Harley was on the receiving end of numerous puzzled or appreciative, often lingering glances, from members of staff, but none of them made any audible comment.

As they entered the High Security Wing, the jailor rose to his feet, from the seat behind his desk. "Hey, Hank, what's with the crowd?" he enquired, looking slightly bemused.

Bull pulled out his automatic pistol and pointed the muzzle at the man's chest. "Shut the fuck up and get your hands in the air," he snarled, with a dangerous glint in his eye.

The jailor raised his hands above his head, a look of wide-eyed horror on his face. Hank and Peter Schmitt followed his example and raised their hands toward the ceiling.

"What the fuck's going on. Hank?" he gasped.

"Shut it!" snapped Shorty.

"Sorry, Joe," murmured the young security guard, with an apologetic shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Take us to Mistah J's cell!" Harley commanded, waving her shiny pistol at the warder, having just retrieved the thirty-eight from Bull.

"The Joker's cell," Schmitt clarified, noting the warder's confused expression.

The prison officer gulped and nodded, then walked ahead of them between the two rows of identical cells, until they arrived at the one containing Prisoner 143. He overrode the high-tech door lock with his electronic key fob and the barred steel door slid aside, smoothly and quietly, on well-lubricated runners.

As the Joker arose from his cot, Harley rushed over and embraced the gruesome inmate, possessively wrapping one shapely leg around the green-haired clown. "Oh, Puddin', I have missed you sooooh much," she cried, before showering his pasty white features with hot passionate kisses.

The Clown Prince of Crime dragged her entwined arms from about his neck and brusquely pushed her aside. "Time for all that later, Harls! First, we gotta get outta this dump."

He exited the cell, to be replaced by the warder, who was then handcuffed and gagged by Shorty, before being locked inside the cell, using his own electronic key fob.

"Now take us back to the car!" growled Bull, pointing his gun at the forehead of the frightened Hank.

The young security man nodded, then he was prodded forward, toward the exit.

"An' put your hands down, you idiot!" hissed Shorty.

They made their way back to the elevator without any problems but, just when they thought they were going to get away with it, one of the other prison officers, who just happened to be walking along the hallway toward them, spotted the green-haired prisoner among the small group, just as the elevator arrived at their floor.

"Hey! Where d'ya think you're going with that prisoner?" he called out, starting to draw his pistol from his holster, at the same time running toward an alarm button fixed to the wall, intent on alerting the rest of the security staff to a possible breakout.

Those were his last words, as Shorty's bullet took him in the chest, flinging him backward, like a rag doll, to lie in a crumpled, motionless heap. Luckily, the gun was fitted with a silencer, so there was only a soft but deadly 'phut' as Shorty squeezed the trigger.

"What have you done?" gasped Harley, her blue eyes widening in shock and horror. "You... you've killed him!"

"Get in the fuckin' elevator," snarled the little man in the Hawaiian shirt, turning and herding Harley and everyone else inside, as soon as the door had swished aside.

As they descended, no one spoke a word, but Harley looked as if she was about to burst into tears. Killing one of the prison officers had definitely not been part of her Puddin's plan.

When they reached the automobile, Bull ordered the policeman and the security guard to turn around. As Shorty's and Bull's gun butts descended on the backs of their skulls, the two men crumpled to the ground, with low groans of pain. The blow to Peter's head, had been fairly light, but he still sank to the ground, feigning unconsciousness, just as they had planned. The young guard had received the full force of Bull's blow. He would later be rushed off to hospital, suffering from severe concussion.

Harley slid her tight ass behind the wheel and fired up the engine, as the Joker tumbled into the seat beside her, and the two hired thugs clambered into the rear. With spinning tires and a shower of loose gravel, the car accelerated down the drive, heading for the cover of the woods, at high speed. The sound of the Joker's maniacal laughter could still be heard, even above the roar of the powerful motor.

"Mmmmwwwwhhhaaaaaa!"

Friday, 12:02 pm

Joker let out a cry of delight, as they entered the abandoned warehouse, shortly after noon. The cavernous interior was crammed with a motley jumble of old carnival discards, colorful drapes and other circus trappings. Toward the far end, was an enormous papier mâche clown's head with a wide demented grin, that had once graced the entrance to a carnival ride. The mouth led into a small, partitioned off area. This was a garishly decorated boudoir with a king-size bed as its centerpiece, a hand of giant playing cards in the one corner and a lavish, gold-coated throne in another.

"Wonderful, Harls!" he chortled, clapping his hands together, in child-like glee, and dancing around in a circle. "This is a real home from home!"

He ducked through the mouth and entered the bedroom, and quickly discovered what he was searching for, in a large mirrored wardrobe.

-oOo-

When he emerged from the clown's mouth again, a few minutes later, the grey prison garb had been replaced. The six-feet tall jester, was wearing a loose fitting white suit with purple edging, together with a matching top hat, kid leather gloves, red silk shirt, green tie with purple spots, and polished black shoes with white spats. He had also taken the opportunity to comb his spiky, bright green hair and touch up his clown make-up, but no one seemed to notice this.

"That's better!" declared the Harlequin of Hate, repositioning his bow tie slightly and executing a graceful pirouette on the tips of his toes. "Now I feel more like my old self!" He crooked a gloved finger and beckoned Peter Schmitt over. "How are our plans progressing, partner?" he enquired.

Schmitt smiled at the Ace of Knaves. "The security truck robbery went off like clockwork this morning. We should soon be receiving our twenty percent commission for guaranteeing that the cops kept out of their hair."

"Good, good! How are the gun sales proceeding, Shorty?"

"Fine, boss! At this rate, we'll have to rob another armory real soon to keep up with the demand. Har, har, har!"

The gruesome clown nodded, then turned back to Schmitt. "And what of Gordon, partner?"

"Suspended, under suspicion of being involved in the gun robbery."

"Excellent! I think a few assorted weapons planted about his home should help convince any remaining doubters of his guilt and help speed up his approaching demise. Shorty, Bull, take care of it!"

"Sure, Boss!" Shorty replied. The 'little and large' of the criminal underworld beat a hasty retreat.

"Come, Harls, time we utilized that comfortable looking bed in there," Joker declared, holding out a limp hand, foppishly.

Harley smiled and took it, demurely, before allowing her Puddin' to lead her toward the boudoir.

"We can talk more, later," the Joker added, almost as an afterthought, turning back to his partner in crime.

Peter Schmitt experienced a brief pang of jealousy, but nodded. He had just been summarily dismissed.

Friday, 2:08 pm

As the Batmobile roared up to the front entrance of Arkham Asylum, the diminutive figure of Jeremiah Arkham, director of the institute, hurried down the stone steps to greet the Caped Crusaders. He had arrived back from a fact-finding mission in Europe, some two hours earlier, to learn of the prison breakout that had just occurred.

Batman had been informed of the Joker's breakout by Chief O'Hara, in a terse telephone conversation on the Bat-phone, a short while earlier. Apparently, Commissioner Schmitt had been kidnapped at gunpoint just as he was about to climb into his car in the headquarters parking lot, then forced to aid the abductors in the prison breakout. O'Hara had just got off the phone to the Acting Commissioner, who'd been calling from the Gotham City General, where he had been taken, along with the still unconscious security guard.

Jeremiah hurried up, wringing his thin wrinkled hands, as the Dynamic Duo leapt out of their vehicle and loped over to him. "Thank goodness you're here, Caped Crusaders!" he exclaimed. "Please follow me to my office, where we can discuss this unfortunate matter in private."

Once they were comfortably settled, the elderly man recounted all he had learned since his arrival back at the asylum.

"Apparently, Officer, er, I mean Commissioner Schmitt's car arrived at about 11:00 this morning, for a pre-arranged visit with the Joker," he explained, clenching his fists together.

A brief look of surprise crossed the Dark Knight's features. "Wasn't that rather unusual?"

"No, not at all! The officer has visited the Clown Prince of Crime on several prior occasions over recent weeks. I understand that he was trying to get the ghoulish inmate to admit to several other unsolved crimes that had been committed during the last few years."

"Hmm? Did he have any notable success?"

"Not that I am aware of, Batman."

"Hmm? What happened next, Jeremiah?"

"The car was met, as usual, by an armed member of the security personnel, who discovered that Commissioner Schmitt was being held at gunpoint, by three hoodlums, two men and a woman. They threatened to kill the police officer unless the guard co-operated fully. We already know who the blonde woman is, by the way! She was a former inmate of Arkham, currently out on probation, named..."