Comics: The Batgirl
By C.W. Blaine (email@example.com)
DISCLAIMER: Tangent Comics™, Batgirl™ and other related
characters and situations are ©2001 by DC Comics Inc. and are used here without
permission for fan-entertainment, non-profit use only. This original work of
fiction is ©2001 by C.W. Blaine and may not be reproduced, posted or archived
Some people will tell you I am the
Others will tell you I'm just a
But none of them will ever say I'm
Deanna "Trixie" Smith had lived a long, hard life for a woman of
At thirteen, when the first
indications of womanhood caused her to begin wearing two shirts to school, he
uncle had decided to teach her the meaning of "family love". When she tried to
tell her parents about it, they had convinced her that she had imagined
A month later, her uncle had
invited a friend over to demonstrate her newfound abilities. Again, her parents
never believed her and the invasions to her privacy, both physical and
emotional, began to take their toll on her. At 16, she left home and moved in
with a man who promised to make her a star and treat her like a queen. Instead,
he had treated her like a doorknob: everybody got a turn. Finally, she had
moved to the inner city of Gotham, the great urban Mecca, where she decided
that if men were going to poke, prod, slap and drool all over her, she might as
well be getting paid.
For four years now, she had
successfully worked the streets, both as an independent entity and as a member
of Diamond Jim's prostitution ring. Working under "Small" Tony Caprelli (the
"Small" was in reference to many of his attributes it was joked), she usually
satisfied four or five men a night, taking Sundays off to rest. Occasionally,
she was "rented" out for various internet ventures or small-press publications,
but, for the most part, she was simply a young woman made old before her time
and participating in the world's oldest profession.
Being part of a prostitution ring
generally meant a trade-off of sorts. While she would have to surrender 75% of
her take, she was able to work areas she otherwise couldn't and she also had
the protection of the young men in the employ of Diamond Jim and "Small" Tony.
It also prevented her from being forced into servitude for one of the
organizations run by some of the more vicious crime bosses. It did not,
however, keep her from coming in contact with customers who had a violent or
Tony Wells was not a bad looking
man, or a poor man or even a particularly dull man. In fact, in conversation,
he had often remarked that he was exactly the kind of man most women wanted. He
had a good job, was honest and clean, good in bed and loved children. He never
bothered to mention that he also had a tendency to fantasize about having sex
with corpses of pretty young girls, but nobody ever cared to ask either.
It was amazing how many times he
had actually gotten away with making his fantasies a reality. He had honestly
thought that he would have been caught by now, but then had to consider the
type of people he was using to fulfill his dark desires. Prostitutes, runaways
and "swingers" (though he merely killed any make companions to the women and
left their corpses alone. It wasn't like he was queer or anything!). Tonight, e
had spied the pretty little blonde with the cheerleader's body, but the eyes of
his grandmother. While an obviously experienced whore, she still had firmness
in the right spots and that was what turned him on.
Besides defiling a corpse…
He suppressed a shudder as he
checked the ropes holding his victim fast to the tree. It had taken him no time
whatsoever to come to Grand Park in the center of Gotham City; it was so close
to the trade routes of flesh peddlers. A bigger surprise during his crime spree
had been had easy it had been to do what he did out in public, especially here.
Gotham City was becoming a two-sided municipality. On the surface, in front of
the press cameras, there was this air of sophistication and refinement;
underneath, once you got past the breading and into the meat, you found a
modern day Sodom or Ghamora.
"Where else can you kill and screw
a girl in public view and nobody even cares?" he mumbled to himself.
The truth was that he was in a
very remote section of the park, which was actually 15% bigger than New York's
Central Park, and there was virtually no chance of anyone spotting him. Hearing
was something else, which was why he had to gag her. It would have made more
sense to take her someplace remote, but the thought of getting it on with her
still-warm body, so close to being able to be caught, added something…beautiful
to the moment.
"Well, I guess its time we got on
with it," he said, pulling a condom out of his wallet. ""Got to be
careful…don't know what diseases you might have."
Deanna closed her eyes and prayed
to a God whom she figured had abandoned her so many years ago. She tried in
vain to remember something from her youth, before she had been "damaged" as the
term went, from her times in church. All she could think to do was pray for an
angel to come and save her. She didn't want to die.
A dark, man-like shape fell from
the trees below, landing behind Tony. He didn't so much hear the intruder, as
sense their presence behind him. He whirled around and saw blackness against
the darkness of the night: an ebon beacon that seemed to absorb the surrounding
"So," came a grave-like, yet
undoubtedly feminine voice," you like to hurt little girls, do you big boy? Do
you think you can hurt me? Can you make me scream? Will you make me cry?"
Tony's arms began to shake and he
willed them to stop, but his willpower was slowly evaporating from his body.
The woman was a good head shorter than him, clad in a black body stocking. She
had on equally black boots and gloves, a cape and a cowl. The cowl had slightly
pointed ears. She looked like a dark, human-like rat. Or bat.
Tony's mind went into overdrive as
rumors, whispers and innuendo came together, gathered over the past few months,
to give him a name for the defiant woman who stood before him. "Batgirl," he
said, a slight quiver in his voice.
She smiled. It was a knowing
smile. A cocky smile. Much like the one he had on his face a few minutes ago. He
did not like the way it made him feel to be looking at it. "Guess you aren't as
dumb as you look." She stood up a little straighter, but even so, she came
nowhere near Tony's approximate two-meter height. "I bet you're wondering what
happens now, aren't you? Do you think I'm going to beat you up and then leave
you for the police?"
His hand started to move slowly
down to the hunting knife he had in a sheath on the side. He wasn't sure what
this freak's game was, but he figured her could take her if he got the jump on
her. Then he could have a threesome, he thought viciously. "You're a fruitcake,
lady," he said.
Batgirl did not respond to the
remark. "You've been a busy little boy, you know that? It's taken me forever to
track you down, much longer than I would have liked, but you've been very good
at covering your tracks. I don't care too much for guys who take advantage of
people down on their luck."
Tony paused for a moment and then
gave her a quizzical look. "What the hell are you talking about, freak?"
Batgirl began to slowly move to
the left, closing the distance between her and Deanna. "Its really easy to take
and tie up a girl who's been on her hands and knees all day, literally, but how
well do you do against someone who can fight back?"
"Bitch!" he cried, pulling the
knife out and rushing towards the costumed woman. Batgirl made a snorting
sound, in utter contempt of the attack upon her person. The knife slashed at
her and she reached out and grabbed Tony's wrist. With a shifting of her weight
and twisting of her own arm, she used Tony's momentum to put his arm up behind
He was a lot bigger in mass and
weight than her, and she had to push to keep up the attack. Normally, she would
have used a move to break the arm, but she had a strange desire to prolong
ending the battle. Tony swung back a ham fist with his free arm, but Batgirl
ducked the blow and put more power into the arm lock. The knife finally dropped
to the ground and Batgirl pushed forward, sending Tony falling to the ground next
He growled in primal rage and was
soon up. Again, he rushed the strange woman, who made no attempt to dodge. Just
as he was about to make contact, he saw a flash of metal and then his thigh
began to burn intensely. The leg muscles immediately gave up responding to his
commands and he started to fall. The Batgirl-woman whirled, her arm slicing
through the air and saw that his knife was now in her had. The other leg burned
with a stab and he went down to his knees.
Batgirl seemed to dance around
him, a ballet of dark seduction mixed with split second splashes of hot pain.
The knife struck again and again, never hitting anything vital, just poking
into his meat. When he fell onto his face, a double-stab to the buttocks
signaled then end of the dance. Batgirl laid a mud-encrusted boot onto the back
of Tony's neck. "Aw, what's the matter, big guy? I thought you were an expert
at this? Don't poop out on me now."
He was bleeding from several
wounds, but from his extensive experience, he knew that he was far from
bleeding to death, but something kept nagging him about the placement of the
wounds. His mind went back to the anatomy books he used to read and fantasize
with as a teenager. He tried placing his wounds on the muscle groups.
"Not much of talker now, are you,
big guy?" Batgirl said, wiping the bottom of her boot on his neck. He could
smell the dirt and could tell it was laced with doggie-poop.
Batgirl lifted the boot and walked
over to Deanna, whose make-up was running in rivers of tears down her face. In
the starlight of the dark Gotham night, she looked to be no more than a child,
and Batgirl shook her head. "Are you okay?" she asked, removing the tape that
was across the prostitute's mouth.
Deanna took in a deep breath of
the cool night air, and, despite the desire to do so, did not scream. "I'm
fine, thank you," she said, looking into the masked face. It was a beautiful
face, she could tell, with soft skin and even some light lipstick applied to
it. The eyes, however, standing out against the darkness of the cowl, were
familiar. It was not that she felt she knew the woman dressed in black, it was
more like there was a common bond between them.
Batgirl cut the bonds that were
holding Deanna to a tree and checked her wrists to ensure that there was no
permanent damage. "You need to go get checked out at a clinic, just to make
sure no infection sets in on these abrasions."
Deanna nodded and Batgirl helped
her up. "What about him? Aren't you going to call the cops?"
Batgirl shook her head. "Believe
me, he won't be hurting anybody from now on."
As the two women disappeared into
the darkness, Tony tried to get up. He wanted to go after them and break their
bones. He wanted to throw their dead bodies onto rocks down by the lake and
spend the entire night ravaging them. His body simply wouldn't respond to his
Again, he though back and realized
that every place he had been struck was where key muscle groups came together.
The accurate stabs and slashes had separated the groups, some of them from
He had been filleted.
"Another eventful night?" Alfie
said, inclining his head at the Batgirl as she entered through the window.
The woman smiled at the large,
muscular black man and reached up to remove her cowl. Short, spiky blonde hair
shown with sweat and a red band where the cowl had set too long in one spot. "I
finally got that S.O.B. ! Damn it felt good!" She threw down her gloves onto
the floor. "Three weeks, and I finally got him."
"Is he dead?" Alfie asked,
reaching down to pick up the gloves.
"No, though I don't see why you
care," she said, removing the cape and cowl.
"Indeed," was the only reply she
got from her friend.
She walked into her bedroom within
the spacious apartment and closed the door to continue undressing. As she did
so, she considered, as she often did after a hard night, her situation and how
she came to be what she was.
The answering machine across the
room was blinking and she saw that it showed at least five messages. Clients,
no doubt, wanting her particular services for the right price. She sighed and
removed the last of her clothing and stepped into the adjoining bathroom. As
she started the shower, she went over her schedule for the next week.
Outside her bedroom, Alfie,
Alfonso Roberts in full-name, collected the dropped garments in the dining room
and put them in the special hamper he kept hidden for washing such things. For
five years now, since he had been paroled, he had been employed by, officially,
by Cheryl Montgomery, the young woman in the Batgirl suit.
The name brought a smile to his
normally somber face, as he recalled how she had started out on this vocation,
of being Robin Hood in the urban areas of Gotham City. She had wanted to be the
Black Devil, but her costume's tail had fallen off without her knowledge and
her appearance than seemed more akin to a bat than something supernatural. She
still hated the name.
He, on the other hand, did not
like her doing what she did, either in or out of costume. They had grown up in
the same city, though a good ten years separated them in age. He had been
friendly with her mother, but like in his own situation, never knew her father.
When he had gone to prison for armed robbery and assault, he figured that his
life was essentially over. Yet, on the day he had exited Blackgate, she had
been there with a limo, ready to offer him a job.
She had never explained her
reasons for doing so; maybe it was because he was the only man she had ever
known that hadn't tried to take advantage of her. It wasn't a physical problem,
but more of a psychological one. He remembered her as a child and looked at her
at the sister he never had, and she looked upon him as a brother.
At first, he had no idea where she
had gotten her money from, but he soon found out. His employment was contingent
upon his oath of secrecy and loyalty.
The loyalty was not the problem;
it was the secrecy.
Cheryl rubbed the soap over her
firm body, enjoying the feeling of the hot water spray on her backside. It
seemed like forever since she had washed, but she knew it had only been six
hours, ever since that Hollywood producer had left. She had five hours until
the basketball player was to come by.
She smiled, thinking back to a
time before all of this, when she was struggling to get out of the low-income
housing projects of Gotham City. She had finished high school, despite the
overwhelming pressure by her peers to give it up and fall into the circle of
drugs, sex and gangs. Working hard, she had managed to get a scholarship to
Gotham University, where she had majored in business.
After college, she had tried to
make it in the cruel, male-dominated world of big business. However, while she
was easily able to get hired on at the prestigious WayneTech Company, she had
to deal with the constant harassing behavior of the senior executives. Despite
all of that, she tried to play the game, follow the rules and attain the
She stopped washing as a very
unpleasant memory assailed her. It had been another night as any other, where
she had to work late into the night because she was given five times the
workload of any other female employee in her division. She knew why, of course,
but she refused to compromise her principals for anyone.
The memory came in flashes, that
seemed to cause actually physical pain to her and she nearly doubled-over in
the shower. She remembered Lucious Fox, CEO of WayneTech coming in and closing
the door. The attempt at small talk. The request for sex. The demand for sex.
The hands on her shoulders. The tearing of her blouse. The sweaty hands all
over her body. Her face forced down on her desk. The intrusion. The sounds of
heavy breathing. The ending. The attempt at small talk. The promise of a raise.
She never spoke of it to anyone,
so ashamed she had been. She wanted to quit, but then that would have been
running away. Instead, after the first few tearful hours of shame and grief,
another feeling began to burn in her breast.
No man would ever force himself
upon her again. Never, ever would control be taken away from her. She swore a
vow to God, not caring whether or not he approved of it, that she would defend
all those who would be preyed upon those who felt they were the wielders of
She would show them power.
The idea for the costume and cryptic
act would come later, after she had secured employment that allowed her free
movement and plenty of money. Her first act of revenge was to have sex with
every executive at WayneTech. She became the company whore and reveled in it as
the hidden cameras she had put in her office and apartment caught the acts of
perversion that self-styled men of culture participated in when they thought
nobody was looking.
For six months, she played the
role and then she sprang her trap. Seventeen parcels of photographs and
videotapes went out to seventeen wives, including a certain Mrs. Fox. Sixteen
marriages ended in divorce, with many top executives waving good-bye to their
retirement nest eggs and investments. One ended in suicide.
Cheryl had not even bothered to attend
Lucious Fox's funeral. By that time, she had already resigned and had begun
life as a professional escort.
Some would have said that such a
thing was ridiculous, but she reasoned that those were generally people who
didn't have the correct assets to sell on the flesh market. She turned off the
shower and grabbed a towel. Her attitude, essentially, had become that men were
going to try and sleep with her, she might as well put it to use.
Of course, she had a very select
clientele; only the most wealthy and safe people could rent her time. Man or
woman, it didn't matter, though she had developed a preference for women after
Lucious Fox. Every client and potential client had to submit to an extensive
medical and background check, which was monitored by Alfie, her friend and
As she put on a robe and began
brushing her teeth, she listened and heard him in the kitchen, preparing her a
meal. He was a godsend, and the only man in her life that ever treated her with
respect. She remembered him from her teenage years, when he had tried playing
the street tough, but never had the heart to put into it. A botched gang
initiation landed him in prison, but he was never far from her thoughts.
He was handsome and articulate,
not the common dummy you found on the streets of Gotham City. He was a fine
catch for any woman, but she knew that any chance of romance between them was
impossible. While she might have had a crush on him at one time, he never
thought of her in that way.
The Batgirl identity had never set
well with him (even though that it was supposed to be the Black Devil!), as he
said that with her intelligence, she could start up a company and make money in
a legitimate way. Just being a whore was not enough to get her arrested by the
local police, a monthly service call to the commissioner ensured her freedom,
but if she were identified assaulting would-be rapists and other forms of scum,
pushing her need for vengeance to the limit, then even her considerable bedroom
skills would not save her from doing hard time.
The Black Devil idea had come from
a 1950's horror film, and would have worked if that damn tail had not fallen
off! Thankfully, the witnesses that had made statements to the police had
called her a bat-girl and not rat-girl. The bat inspired more fear in men; rats
inspired fear in women. At least, they inspired fear in her.
She exited the bedroom, clad in a
fluffy pink robe with matching slippers, the smell of eggs and bacon in the
air. Alfie was working hard, humming a tune she couldn't quite place and she
stopped for a moment to reflect upon the man once more. There was still that
tingle on the back of her neck as she watched his muscled back work the frying
pan, and deep inside her, she wished, just once, that he would show her the attention
the teenager in her craved.
That, however, would make their
working relationship difficult. Alfie had trained in the martial arts while in
prison, and had passed on his knowledge to her. The intent had simply been to
try and find a way to channel her aggression, but she had instead used it to
further her efforts and agenda.
"Smells good," she said, sitting
at the breakfast counter. Alfie laid down a plate covered with eggs, bacon and
potatoes. That was followed by a large glass of orange juice. "Trying to make
me fat?" she asked.
"That, I believe, would be quite
difficult to do," he replied with a sly grin, "however, if you like, I'm sure I
can up your fat content to your liking."
"I'll pass," she said, stuffing a
forkful in her mouth, "nobody likes a fat hooker."
"Most people don't like any kind
of hooker," he said, pouring him a glass of juice.
She continued to stiff her face,
getting egg on her chin. "Well, it pays the bills."
He took a drink. "So do many other
things. Maybe I'm just a poor old black boy from the wrong side of the tracks,"
he said, his accent slipping into that of a street hood, so different from the
relaxed calm of his normal one, "but selling your body is not only illegal, its
"And like I've said before, its my
body and I'll do what I want with it," she said. "You don't know what its like,
out there in a world without a…"
"Penis?" he asked, his eyebrow
arched. He liked to emulate a certain professional wrestler in his facial
movements. "I suppose that it's my magic wand, with which I can rule the
She smirked. "Most men think so.
Here, I'm in control. You really don't understand, Alfie, because you're a
decent man. The things I talk about…the things that have been done to me…they
are so alien to you. And why? Because you're a good man."
"If I'm so good, then what am I
doing working for a costumed vigilante hooker?"
She downed the orange juice.
"Because you're a good man, and good men always help the damsel in distress."
"Indeed," he said, his accent back
to the norm. "I suppose you'll be going out again tonight. I wish you would
invest in some better material for your costume. Perhaps something bulletproof.
You do know that many criminals these days carry guns."
"Indeed," she said, mocking him.
"Did you ever stop to thin that these," she indicated her breast, "do more to
intimidate a man than a gun? My costume is see-through for a reason, it takes
my attackers off-guard."
"Well, I'm sure that is true, but
I would think that such a weapon would come in a larger caliber."
It took only a second for her to
get the joke and she responded with a forkful of egg at his handsome face.
"Bitch!" screamed "Small" Tony for
the fourth time in a minute, the exclamation accented by the resounding slap he
laid in again across Deanna's face. "You're holding out on me!"
Deanna put her hand up to her
bruised check and felt that it was wet, which was no surprise. For the last
twelve hours, she had done nothing but cry. After her rescue by the mysterious
Batgirl, she had made her way back to the nightclub where her employer, or
pimp, ran his business. He had been furious with his take of her action, and
didn't believe her story about the mysterious woman in the bat costume.
He had been hearing rumors about
such a person for months, though neither nor his boys had ever seen such a
person. He finally figured that it was some story that the whores were using to
justify their laziness. There was one thing "Small" Tony could not stand and
that was a lazy whore. "Good God, all you have to do is lay on you back, or
bend over or just open your damn mouth, but that's too much work for you, ain't
She tried to say something, but
another crack across her face sent her sprawling across the floor. She landed
at the feet of one of the many bodyguards "Small" Tony kept around him. The man
made no attempt to help her up.
"Who takes care of you, bitch?
I'll tell you who, I do! I make sure that you're okay so you can gang-bang all
night long. And how the hell do you repay me? Some goddamn story about a woman
dressed in black stabbing your john."
He was red-faced and the veins
were sticking out on his forehead. His doctor had told him that his temper
would be the death of him, but his profits were down on the whores and for some
reason, a lot of the young ones were disappearing. Not dead. Not quit. Just
vanishing, like someone was giving them a bus ticket home.
The demand for young girls was
high in Gotham City, and he was especially upset at the loss if two fourteen
year olds he had lined up for the local state senator. That had resulted in a
big loss of face for him within the family and he had to go to Metropolis, that
stinking uppity-up city, to get the merchandise he needed. That put him in debt
with the boss there.
Someone was going to pay for his
embarrassment. It wasn't like he had anything against Deanna in particular; in
fact, back a few years ago, before she started…aging…she had been the life of
the party in many private functions. He was still generating money from her
exploits on the internet. But, the whores had to know that they were expected
to do what he said. That was there purpose. They were the cattle and he was the
He turned to a rather tall man
with slicked back hair. "Mark, you and the boys, take her out and have a little
fun with her and then…let her go."
Deanna nodded before Mark did, for
she caught the meaning. She would be forced to sexually satisfy as many as ten
men before they let her go home. It would be filmed, of course, and she would
be expected to act as if she were enjoying it.
Mark, however, caught the true
meaning by way of the pause in the command.
Deanna would have sex with them.
All of them. Maybe twice. It would be filmed.
Then she would die.
"Have you ever thought about
giving up this life, Cheryl," the Gotham City police commissioner asked as he
watched his entertainment for the night get up to step into the shower.
She turned and winked at him.
"What? And miss these lovely after-the-encounter discussions?"
He laughed a hearty laugh that
sounded much more youthful than his body portrayed. He was old and he knew it.
Another few months and he wouldn't be able to keep up with Cheryl and then it
would be over. That was the way of things, the circle of life. He would have to
make room for someone younger and stronger, just as someone had to move on when
he came of age.
Every month, at the same time, he
visited the expensive apartment of Cheryl Montgomery, a prostitute who posed as
something more. She called herself an "escort" or "professional companion", but
in the end, she was the exact same thing as the nastiest whore on the street
corner. That was what bothered him.
He was old enough to be her
grandfather, and since his wife had died, she had been the only woman he had
been with. He did it more out of nostalgia now, this cloak and dagger stuff,
hiding in shadows as he approached the building that housed her apartment. It
added a small thrill to a life that was closer to the end, much closer, than to
"I'm serious," he said, sitting up
and reaching for the pack of Marlboro on the nightstand. "Look, it's not that I
don't enjoy being with you…"
She popped her head out the
bathroom door. "You better enjoy it for what you pay."
He thought about it for a moment.
"But, I don't pay…"
He said no more until she came out
again, with only a towel on her head. "Commissioner," she began, "if I didn't
do this, what ever would I do?"
He finished the cigarette and
offered her one, which she took. She rarely smoked, but when the commissioner
was in the mood to talk, she always felt better with a cigarette in her hand.
She often remarked on the symbolism behind it. It was like wielding a smoking
penis and she sometimes understood the small rush of adrenaline a man must get
when he was excited. "Cheryl, our arrangement is good, but I'm going to retire
soon and there will be a new person in my place. I can't guarantee that they
will be as…understanding to your situation as I am."
"Ha! Understanding my fat behind!"
she laughed. "So, I'll have to pay a bribe with actual money…"
"No, it's not that. Look, sleeping
with a girl one-third my age doesn't exactly make me the voice of morality, I
understand that, but you don't belong in this line of work. You would make
someone a fine wife one day."
"Of course, give in to the
male-dominated society, follow the course…do what you're told, no matter your
personal feelings on the subject. I can sell my mind, my sweat and my back in
any job in this country, but I can't sell my genitals! Why? Because that's
something a man can't control."
The commissioner remained silent
at the outburst, feeling like a child that just cursed in front of a parent.
"Oh, yes, be a good wife," she said, taking a long drag off of the cigarette,
"lay on my back and get pregnant while the husband runs around doinking the
secretary. Then after a few years, he leaves you with the kids and no money so
he can start his second childhood with Bambi and Buffy!
"I'm sorry, commissioner, but
there is no way I'm going to fall into the status quo. I tried that once, I
really did, but let's just say things didn't work out. There is no equality out
there, no matter what the government surveys say. Here, in this business, I'm
in charge, I have the control, I have the power." She leaned in close to the
commissioner and winked again. "Here, I'm raping them and they just don't
"She's in denial, Alfred," the
"I prefer 'Alfie', sir; and yes,
she is in denial. I have asked her repeatedly to seek out professional help."
The commissioner shrugged. "I wish
I knew what had happened to her; honestly. Maybe I'm just a dirty old man, but
I would like to really help her out. This hatred she has against men…"
Alfie cut him off with a finger.
"She does not hate all men, sir; in fact, it is only those who seek to dominate
only because they believe they are powerful that she has a problem with.
True power comes from within, through hard work, willpower and dedication."
"You sound like my dear wife's
yoga instructor," the commissioner said as he exited the apartment. Alfie
turned to see his employer standing there in a bathrobe, a look of anger on her
"What do you mean I'm in denial?
I'm not in denial…"
"So, you deny that you are in
denial?" Alfie asked.
She screamed and threw up her
hands. "Why is it that everyone is so worried about me, but nobody cares about
the girl with two kids to feed that is out there selling a little piece of her
soul every night? Can you tell me that?"
"That is just it; nobody cares
about them. Like it or not, there are people who care about you."
Cheryl turned and walked away.
When she got to the doorway to her bedroom, she paused and looked back at her
faithful employee. "You're wrong; somebody does care about them. Me."
The air was not particularly cold,
but the see-through fabric of her costume forced the Batgirl to wrap her cape
around her to keep her comfortable. She had never been one for staking things
out, which was why it had taken so long to nail that corpse-screwing bastard.
She just didn't have the patience to be a manhunter. She found it to easy to
lay a trap and wait for the prey to come to her.
And it wasn't like all she did was
hunt men, either. She didn't particularly hate men as she did the idea
that society was based upon the rules and practices laid down by only one-half
of the race. They even went so far as to call God male, when, obviously, God
was something far beyond anything people could pin a sex to. Ships were called
female, only because they were filled with seamen a friend used to joke to her.
In fact, there were many men she
admired, especially Alfie for being strong enough to point out to her the flaws
of her life. It was true, she had considered giving up the call girl life. She
had the money now and had made substantial investments. In truth, she didn't
need to be doing such a thing. It did not bring her closer to those on the
streets she was trying to protect; in fact, it did the opposite. Her clients
paid top-dollar and went through exam after exam after exam, and she and Alfie
both were skilled in various ways of incapacitating an over-anxious client.
Down on the streets, you hopped into a car and hoped against hope that you got
out of it alive. Sometimes, you were lucky to get paid.
It was that contrast in lifestyle
that was eating away at her as she watched the medical examiner zip up the body
bag that contained the corpse of Deanna Smith. The other night, when Batgirl
had saved her and sent her on her way, she simply thought the woman would go
home or back to her neighborhood. How naïve!
The woman had a pimp, something
the Batgirl would never have dealt with, and she had to answer to that pimp. A
little bird, in the form of a transvestite named Miguel, had told the Batgirl
that "Small" Tony was getting really upset with the dent in his business the
Batgirl was causing. In his mind, so long as his girls got the money, he didn't
care if they were hurt.
Batgirl had been considering
taking "Small" Tony out for quite awhile now, but had always held back. What if
he was simply replaced by someone even more ruthless or heartless? Then it
became a never-ending circle. No, there had to be a way to convince them that
it was time to change the way the prostitutes were being treated.
Prostitution, next to religion, was
the oldest institution known to man. When Eve bit the apple, one hooker had
told her, she learned the true value of what she had. People had actually gone
to war over the right to get into bed with a woman!
It would never go away, and that
was a fact. It wasn't like drugs, where you could go after the importers and
exporters. Oh sure, they talk about how male hookers are treated the same way
by the law, but it wasn't really true. Everyone knew it, but didn't talk about
Batgirl felt herself get angrier
and angrier as the heat of her argument built up inside of her. It was a debate
that had raged within her for years, ever since that night. It's okay to
take it, but I can't sell it. Again, memory flashes assailed her as the
night of her changing, of the shedding of her outer skin, played again in her
mind's eye. A male-dominated society and culture, where the only way a woman
could get ahead was to bend to the will of a man!
The twenty-first century was the
result of over four millennium of male arrogance towards the "weaker" sex. Even
money was genderized. The almighty dollar was big, long and large; while the
equivalent coin was a small, dull rounded coin. Prostitution was called
everything in the book from immoral to evil, but that was only because somebody,
a man, had not come up with a proper way to legalize. Tax it. License it.
Regulate it. Then the men could come up with standards for positions, mouth
placement and foreplay!
Then, she looked down and saw the
orderlies unceremoniously dump the body into the back of the waiting ambulance,
and she suddenly had a revelation.
The first twinges began to break
through her brow, and the shaking began. There would be nothing more she could
do this night, as the tremors would only worsen as the night wore on if she
didn't get some sleep. It was a slight inconvenience that she had developed
ever since that night.
It was almost like another
personality was trying to break out.
Alfie set down the morning paper
and a cup of steaming black coffee, as Cheryl looked out at the skyline of
Gotham City. The sun was just beginning to rise and already, the pollution had
turned the crimson rays into a brown with orange highlights. "I may need help,"
she said without looking at him.
He nodded, suppressing a smile. Ever
since the death of Deanna Smith, his employer had been contemplating something.
She had canceled all of her appointments, which was a first and had not
bothered to go out as Batgirl either. "Should I call a doctor?"
She looked at him and smiled, and
for the first time, he suddenly realized what a beautiful woman she had become.
"No, but I am getting out of the business. Being a hooker doesn't make me an
expert on the streets and I was fooling myself to believe that. Maybe it was
something more. Maybe by being a hooker, I allowed my rape to continue, which
gave me the fuel to seek out revenge. It was a cycle that was killing me. I
realized that the other night when I was looking down at her body. A woman had
just been killed and all I cared about was rehashing some old ERA debates."
Alfie was silent for a moment
more. She continued. "I do want to help those who can't help themselves; people
like "Small" Tony cannot use people like garbage and just throw them out when
they are done. It's going to take dedication because there is only two of us
and hundreds of them."
"Two? Oh, then I get a costume,
too?" he asked with a wry grin.
"No, but I get a better one. I
still believe that the world is unfair…but allowing it to control my life as it
has is going to get me killed. I will make a difference."
"Of course you will, Cheryl, of
course you will," Alfie said, enjoying the sunrise with her and knowing that
the future was looking brighter than ever.