Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.
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Nametag:rook
BATGIRL in THE BAY TOWER BRIDGE JOB
The night sky seethed. The dull yellow bug eye lights of the
city turning the erupting sky into brown-ish hues tinged in
anthracite gold sulfur highlights and murky black raven wing
shadows.
Gray granite and cobalt water stained worn concrete, mixed
with oily exhaust fumes and spewing sewer grate plumes, so
that the solid and the ethereal intertwined, with shadow and
sky, to become a swirling chaos to the senses.
Thunder peals and sirens. Lightning flashes and flickering
street lamps. Slow ebbing shapes and fast blurring metal.
Baking bread and rotting garbage. Sound and sight distorted
ruined and dissolved. The sense torn asunder by debase decay
and impoverished means. Gritty dark decadent. A rock wall
gypsy camp upon an open sewer brown river.
Dead cats and dead dogs feasted upon by rats.
Was there ever a city like Gotham.
From a perch next to a sparking transformer Batgirl peered
past the heaps of garbage snowdrifting up the side of the art
deco facade of The Belmont Hotel. It's marbled lower face and
brass crowned porch covered in inches of grime and soot. It's
proud raised thin letter name, once gold leafed, now pealing
and slimed by the acidic embrace of time.
At only ten years of age, the neglect of a few abandoned
seasons, had already tarnished its thin veneer of habitation.
Once a prosperous dwelling for weary travelers located just
off downtown the structure was now a flop house for the
downtrodden and destitute.
Batgirl noted that in the garbage piles mocking as shrubbery
lay an inert body. A homeless person, passed out or dead. She
looked up the ten story building at its fluted white steel
structure picking out the occasional lights of occupied rooms
until she found the one she was looking for; in a windblown
dry thunderclap of lightning she was gone.
*************************************************************
Batgirl entered the fifth story window cautiously. It had
been open to the night storm and its curtains billowed upon
the winds howling agitation.
Storms were frequent in Gotham. But it only seemed to rain in
the spring and fall. This was late summer.
So it was not unusual for a window to be left open even with
a storm raging overhead.
It saved her squatting on a decorative window sill not
intended to hold even a flower pot while she teetered on her
tiptoes working the shims in her lock picking arsenal.
But it also smelled of a trap.
Even a girl as limber as her did not relish the idea of
blindly working on a window five stories above the pavement
with her crotch pressed against the pane of glass and her
knees spread pressed against the jamb and her shoulders.
She could do it of course, every pervert boy in her high
school gym class loved to see her put her ankles behind her
head, but some pained stretching and breathless effort at a
locked window was better than entering boldly into a trap.
She slipped her young slender body into the room.
The room was dimly lit. A single lamp was turned on next to
the unmade bed. The lamp sat upon a small bedside night
stand. There was a wrist watch, a comb, a pack of cigarettes,
a Zippo lighter, an over flowing ash tray, and a wallet
covered in loose change, and a heavy black Bakelite phone
sitting on the night stand.
The phone handset was off the receiver. It's heavy furry
black and brown cord leading like a dogs tail to where the
handset could just be seen under the shadow of the bed.
There was a floor lamp. Not turned on, sitting behind a green
padded leather chair. It wooden arms and legs were badly
scratched.
Another chair, matching set, tucked in the corner. A low
coffee table covered in over-spilling newspapers. A radio sat
on the seat of a wooden desk chair which had been pulled
closer to the bed. It's cord ran back to the outlet above the
desk. The desk its self was cluttered with carry-out food
bags.
A second wooden chair had been wedged under the door handle
that led into the hallway. A jacket was hanging off the back
of a third and the last wooden chair which sat near the
window she had entered.
A dresser lay with its drawers open and dress shirts half
pulled out of one of the drawers.
The walls of the room had been originally painted in an off
white with a white molding.
The off-white had been made even more off-white by years of
cigarette smoke and now was a dingy yellow.
The only other door to the room was half open and from it
spilled a bright yellow light. She had no doubt it was a
bathroom from the glimpse she had of black and white tile
upon its floor.
Batgirl took all these details in with an eye blink and
whispered upon her rubber soft soled booted feet to the
bathroom door.
It was looking less and less like a trap and stopped looking
anything like a trap when she reached the bathroom door in
half a dozen lanky stealthy strides and found herself looking
down at a dead man.
He was face up in his belted brown slacks and white graying
undershirt. He was wearing brown dress shoes and black socks.
His eyes were wide open staring up at the single art deco
ceiling light. His throat had been slit from ear to ear and
apparently by the straight razor still clutched in his right
hand.
A few minutes latter batgirl slipped back out of the fifth
story window and disappeared into the churning lightning
whipped night.
*************************************************************
Her cape snapped in the angry winds and the two men hulking
into their hood-less cloth coats stopped shivering and
complaining to look up where she had been a second before.
Damn! She would have to watch that. The cape could be very
useful in combat but you had to remember it was always there.
She quickly circled back around keeping her ears peeled on
the two muttering men who did not wander far before returning
back to their oil barrel fire.
Late summer and already the bay winds were brining a chill to
their damp night air. Not enough to turn one's breath to fog
but enough to send a shiver up a young girl's spine when she
was wearing a skin tight latex body suit with nothing
underneath.
She would have to remember the long johns next time.
She liked the long johns. It meant a lot less baby powder
when putting on her costume and no gray grainy soup in the
joints and crotch when taking it back off again.
Men might sweat and ladies perspire but a super heroine
drenched.
Batgirl slide up into a warehouse shadow; ironically right
under a broken lamp post with a warning sign against any
trespassers.
The night storm had the bay waters choppy and the buoy bells
were adamant in their noisy sea sick upheavals.
The scrap of newspaper in the dead man's shoe had a phone
number written on it in pencil. The phone number had been
listed as located at the office of wharf 107 adjacent to pier
23.
Batman had a phone book made by Wayne Industries that listed
all the phone numbers in Gotham in numerical order along with
their physical address. He had given her a copy in exchange
for her cherry and she had no regrets.
She had been swapping sex with him and Robin for new gear
every since. Boys! It was like taking candy from a baby.
The young teenage girl slipped up to the wood and glass well
weathered door and after a few seconds with her lock picks
had slipped inside the small office.
The large corrugated sheeted warehouse was filled with bulky
shadows but all she cares about for the moment was the desk
with its duty log and the file cabinets of the office. She
pulled the little chain on the desk lamp.
In a few minutes she was clicking off the office desk lamp
and slipping back out of the office. A man with a dog took
that moment to pass around the corner of the warehouse. The
man did not see and perhaps the dog only scented her but it
was enough for the dog to begin barking and lunging at his
leash.
She was gone before he could even jerk his heavy flash light
around. It's beam falling only on the closed outer office
door where his dog now confusedly whined and sniffed.
*************************************************************
Batgirl hung upside down by one knee swinging slightly from
the horizontal flag pole of the Ajax Chemical plant before
dropping down before its side door. Out came her lock picks
and in seconds she was inside.
The chemical shipment which had arrived at the docks had been
sent here. And she quickly found the office where the books
told her what she had already guessed.
The shipment had never made it to the plant but had been high
jacked and stolen in route.
That had been three days ago. With so much crime in Gotham
that could have taken her an entire day to find the police
report in the logs. In Gotham, it was often faster to bypass
the police and go straight to the victims or criminals.
She had found the victims and now it was time to find the
criminals.
*************************************************************
What did she have?
She had whispers of something big going down. Informants had,
after the usual trade of sexual favors for information, led
her to one dead unemployed chemist.
A scrap of paper had led her to a chemical shipment for Ajax
Chemicals. Which had been robbed and never made it to Ajax.
She knew the shipment had been stolen three days ago. In
several more hours that would be four days ago.
The invoice of the chemical shipment showed it to be diverse.
Her smattering of chemistry suggested the stolen chemicals
might be used to make just about anything! If only she
stopped blowing her teachers, instead of studying to pass her
classes!
But it was highly likely it was going to be an air born short
lived toxin. Or toothpaste. It could be toothpaste.
But she was leaning toward poison gas since the driver had
been shot and hospitalized in the robbery.
Batgirl stopped tapping her chin in thought and raised her
head in a broad smile.
*************************************************************
An hour latter saw the young red headed waif slipping into
the hospital room of one Edward Billings. The delivery driver
for Ajax Chemicals. He had been shot in the arm during the
hold up.
He must have been still feeling ill from the gun shot wound
because all he asked for was a tity fuck in exchange for his
story. Luckily, her batgirl costume came with a stretchy bat
symbol cutout on the chest so she could slip out and work her
ample double J-cups without having to strip down. Striping
down was always a hassle which also explained the zipper
crotch on her costume.
According to the driver the gang of thugs who had attacked
him were with the Backwater Street gang.
*************************************************************
It was after mid-night when batgirl made her way to the
rooftop apartment buildings of Backwater.
She tried to remember if she had fucked anyone here before,
er, that is, she tried to remember if she had any informants
in the immediate area.
It didn't matter three hours latter she had fucked all twenty
seven of the members of the Backwater gang and they happily
if tiredly told her that they had been hired to hit the truck
and take it and its contents to a garage on Hoyt and Tenth
Street.
Her costume a little squishy from all the spooge, Batgirl
beat a hasty retreat back across town to the garage in
question. It was in fact, not a garage, but a storage shed
for cars.
It took her several minutes with the lock picks and a number
of ducking back in the shadow to avoid being seen by
passerby's before she managed to pop the lock.
She cursed slightly under her breath at the oddness of people
having such simple locks on their homes and businesses but
much more resilient locks on anything dealing with their
automobiles.
Even bat man and Robin had more complex locks on their
vehicles than on their encrypted tech.
"Must be a guy thing," she muttered under her breath and
sighed.
She was starting to feel just a little tuckered out. She had
been chasing leads all over the city and tomorrow was a
school day. There would be tests. There would be fucking.
Still poison gas! She set her teeth and ventured into the
garage.
The truck was still here as well as several tarp covered cars
in various states of being altered. There were tools lying
about and a hoist. The place looked like a chop shop.
The contents of the truck had been removed. Naturally. All
the chemicals were gone. But no, not all of them. For on one
of the work shop benches the usual mechanics tools had been
replaced by a chemistry lab.
Several of the industrial chemicals were still sitting in
their original unopened containers on the floor.
Seeing what was left versus what must have been used via the
manifest lead her to conclude that it definitely wasn't
toothpaste they had made here.
Still it would seem that she was at another momentary dead
end. The chemicals they had made here were obviously removed
from the shed and it was unlikely they would be coming back
here before they used them, if they ever chose to come back.
She scratched at her nose. Her cowl smelled like semen. They
were always cumming on her cowl. Whipping their spent dick
tips on her cowl. What was up with that?
She searched a little more thoroughly through the refuse of
the chemical bench. And found an ash tray full of cigarette
butts as well as a half empty pack. The brand was far from
common in Gotham. Bingo. Her boy back at the Belmont Hotel
not only supplied the inside information of the shipment but
then helped them make their poison gas. Some guys just
shouldn't be fired.
Pushed off a cliff maybe, but not fired.
Still he wasn't going to be doing much talking with his head
half sliced off. Her pussy was good, but as far as she knew,
it couldn't raise the dead.
Smoking while working on chemicals. Guy was more than a bit
sloppy. No wonder he was shit canned by Ajax. She picked up
his half crumpled cigarette packet. There was a small folded
up piece of paper inside of it.
The scrawled note read, "Tower Bridge Job. 3 G's one way.
September 3rd. Gate Seven. Six AM. "
Seemed he was also rather absent minded. Always writing
himself notes.
Well, the date and gate and time seemed to suggest an
airport. And if three grand was the ticket price his one way
was going far indeed.
Perhaps not as far as his shave in the Belmont had taken him.
If that was supposed to look like a suicide it was done by
rank amateurs. The guy was obviously left handed! The tan of
his wristwatch. The callous on the inside of his left hand
index finger from holding a pen. And a dozen of other
glaringly obvious signs.
It was September 3rd today. Nearing four a.m. Looks like the
guy was going to miss his flight.
He hadn't a plane ticket on him or in the room. Was he going
to buy it at the gate? That was a bit risky. Or maybe that
was him trying to discretely skip town.
At the last minute? Was today the day they planed to use the
gas?
The Tower Bridge Job?
The Tower Bridge was a bridge that was built in the 1800's.
Gothic in architectural style. A suspension bridge spanning
the Lower East side across the Burning River cataracts
debouch into Gotham Bay to the largest of the Gotham Bay
island chains. Ferry Island, so called due to the neuromas
ferries that had docks and stations there.
Called the Burning River because of the oaks trees in the
fall with their flame covered leaves towering over it and
being reflected by it. Those oaks were long gone and the
river could be more rightly called, The Brown Oily Sludge
River, nowadays.
The bridge was not closed but no longer heavily used. When
the city bought up most of the islands from privet ownership,
including Arkham Asylum, the need for privet citizen access
to the larger Ferry Island diminished exponentially.
There was still a large seasonal amusement park situated upon
the large Ferry Island but most people used the modern
downtown access bridge to get there.
It was called the Tower Bridge because at the halfway point
of its crossing it had a large tower built to hold up the
suspension cables.
As far as she knew she could not think of one single way in
which poison gas could be used on Tower Bridge except to kill
a few dozen motorists at any given hour.
Still it was her only lead. She headed toward the storage
shed's door only to stop suddenly. For she had remembered one
other almost forgotten detail about Tower Bridge.
It was supposed to be haunted.
*************************************************************
By many ghosts. Batgirl looked around her as she parked her
unlicensed motorcycle in the parking spots at the foot of the
tower of Tower Bridge.
She had earned that motorcycle from Batman. Many, many, hours
of sweat and blood, and she would never ever do anal again.
One of the ghosts was supposed to be one of the many who died
building the bridge. She picked the lock on the outer door
and slipped her motorcycle and then herself inside.
Another ghost was supposed to be one of the many suicides who
had jumped off the bridge over the centuries. She picked the
lock on the inner iron bar gate and slipped inside that.
Still another ghost was supposed to be a coast guard's man
who had died in a terrible fire inside the tower back before
she was born.
The police and then the coast guard use to keep stations in
the upper tower. The tower was even built on a small island
and had its own dock. But budget cuts and practicality had
the entire tower shut down decades ago.
Even the once popular tours had ceased five years back with
the budget short falls of the city emptying its offices of
all unnecessary employes and functions. Which by apparent
definition meant anyone not in control of their own
employment.
She reached the iron gated elevator. It was powered off. Of
course. She looked at the wrought iron spiral staircase and
sighed. It stretched up into the shadows. She shook her head
and opened the elevator and stepped into its cab. She then
opened the roof hatch and shimmied her busty skinny form
through it. Once on the top of the elevator car she pulled
out her grapple hook and shot it up into the elevator shaft.
A second latter she was speeding upwards to the upper offices
of the deserted tower.
*************************************************************
Her Batgirl costume was incredibly cute and drop dead sexy!
That is what worked for her. She wasn't going to spend three
to six hours every day pumping weights in the gym like Batman
and Batboy. She was a world class gymnast until her boobs
kicked in and then just kept kicking in and as far as she
could tell were STILL kicking in; little overachievers!
Hard to work the rings or uneven parallel bars when you got
chest melons that almost double your upper body weight.
So getting beef-y or going apeshit with the acrobatics was
just not in the cards for her. She could hold her own in a
fist fight and she could still give wonder boy a run for his
money on the whole roof top aerial acrobatic patrol races.
But for what really worked, was that she was sexy ass hot and
knew how to abuse it.
Her costume reflected that. No armored bullshit. No molded
fake muscles or fake nipples. She had her own nipples thank
you very much.
She wore a skin tight neck to toe cat suit that even Cat
Woman was in envy of. It had a large bat symbol cut out to
let her choice weapons breathe. It looked glued on to her
full round ass and camel toed so deeply she swore if she
inhaled too fast or too deeply she could taste her own pussy
juice.
She wore a cowl and cape and elbow length gloves and a pair
of stiletto heeled boots that came up almost to her ass
crack.
The cowl was cut at the back to let her butt length red hair
fall out and her eye mask holes were large enough to show off
her huge green heavy eye liner eyes. She kept her body pale
white as milk and her lips cherry red.
And every male on the planet popped wood as soon as they saw
her; if she let them see her. For as visually hot and sexy as
she was she was indubitably second only to the Bat Man
himself in stealth.
Her surprise wedgy attacks on Robin now numbered twenty-seven
to none!
As such she did not have an all black suit but instead wore a
purple suit and instead of black gloves and cape and boots
she wore bright yellow. Hey, if Robin can pull off the neon
disco vibe of his outfit while riding shot gun with Mister
Shadows himself, then she could definitely call some
attention to her own talents and attributes with a little
color of her own.
The only downside to wearing rubber ducky yellow vinyl cape
and thigh high boots and gloves is that once you ARE spotted
it IS a little hard to blend back into the shadows.
She must have triggered some motion detector in the elevator
shaft as she whizzed by for they were waiting for her even as
she pried open the upper office iron lattice elevator doors.
Unfortunately they weren't ghosts.
*************************************************************
"So look what's we got here," crime boss Harold Talbot tapped
his cigar ash onto her ass and then set the cigar in her butt
cheek cleft of her suit turning her suits camel toe into an
ashtray.
Batgirl wrestled against her bonds. Tied up. Tied up upside
down. Why do they ALWAYS insist upon tying her up upside
down. Was it because of the bat motif thing? Do they even
realize how hard it is to give a decent blow job when you are
tied upside down with your hands behind your back?!
Despite the awkward position batgirl was sucking furiously on
Talbot's dick hoping her nostrils wouldn't fill up with his
back blast sperm when he erupted down her throat.
When he finally did empty his balls down the teenagers throat
he sat down in an office chair his pants still down around
his ankles and sweat stains on his boxers. He tapped his
retrieved cigar ash onto the floor and slumped in the chair
as he was he looked across at her eye to eye.
"So tell my bat boobs why you nosing about in my business
this time?"
"The Tower Bridge Job," batgirl coughed and wheezed as she
blinked through a face full of spunk. Talbot always shot the
biggest wads in Gotham as any super heroine could attest.
Which is why he was called, Harold 'Wads' Talbot, though the
super hero men thought it referred to his big spender nature.
Talbot took a deep drag on his stogie and then blew it out in
thought. "Ain't got a clue what you are yapping about bat
bitch."
He wasn't going to kill her. No one in Gotham wanted to kill
the best kinky fuck around. Well, except maybe the Joker. Who
was obviously gay as a blind fruit bat.
Talbot may have been a dirty backstabbing thug dealing in
drugs and prostitution and racketeering, but he was also
known for being rather up-front with law enforcement and that
included the ones in tights. He saw himself as a businessman
and not a threat to the community. He was old school. He made
sure to put back something into the communities he stole
from.
And if he was saying he had no idea what she was talking
about then... things had just gotten a whole lot more
complicated.
"You referring to my new digs here?" He scratched his head.
He was as concerned that he had no idea about she was
referring to as she was.
"I set up temporary shop here when the Chang decided to go
full blown triad shit on everyone's ass. Keeping your head
down is 90% of staying alive these days." He tilted his head
sideways at her, "of course you already know that. Don't cha'
bat breasts."
"I was referring to a dead chemist named Marty Simons."
Batgirl frowned; and yes an upside down frown still looks
like a frown and nothing like a smile, so next time some
tells you to turn that frown upside down into a smile, kick
them in the fucking balls. "You really don't have any idea
what I am talking about?"
"Sorry, bat tits, no idea." He went back to blowing smoke
rings. "Keeping things quiet here." He tapped the oil lantern
on the desk and the open lap top which showed a few security
camera views including the elevator car's interior. "Keeping
off the grid as much as possible."
"I followed a trail of stolen chemicals, that were converted
into poisonous gas, that were then brought here." Batgirl was
licking off as much of the sperm off her face as she could so
it wouldn't dry and stain her mask.
"Only job I got going other than staying alive through this
tong warfare shit; is the usual day to day grind. Pussy and
pushers. I don't do the banks or jewelry stuff. Let the
younger generation pull those. I sit at a desk most days.
Hell, I could almost go legit. If the police bribes weren't
so expensive; too much overhead."
"The Backwater Street gang were the one's who stole the
chemicals. You use them," batgirl blinked against the sting
of the sperm seeping down under her mask into her eyes.
"All the time." Talbot paused at that. "And they know better
than to work for anyone else," he lowered his cigar to his
knee and sat brooding. "Maybe we should talk to this chemist
of yours?"
"The chemist is dead. Someone is already tying up lose ends.
I tracked the chemicals to a chop shop on Hoyt and Tenth
Street. Yours?"
"No. But..." Talbot stood up and yanked up his slacks. He was
still buckling them when he reached the office door. Outside
batgirl could see through the frosted glass his men bustling
around.
She could hear him barking questions out the door. He
returned and reached into his pocket and pulled out a long
ugly looking folding knife and snapped it open and started to
cut her down. "Jimmy ain't here." He helped her out of the
ropes and to her feet.
"Who's this Jimmy?"
"An Asiatic. Don't know his real name. Just call him Jimmy.
Showed up about a year ago. Good kid. Works hard. Dependable.
Moved up in the ranks. I have been using him... a lot. He
runs some chop shops on his own in the area you mentioned."
Talbot stepped away from her as she gained her feet and
rubbed his chin as she rubbed her wrists.
"You think he's planing some job using the gas?"
"No. I think he's planing on killing me and all my loyal guys
and taking over my businesses with the blessing of the
Chang."
Even as he said this the lights flickered on and then the air
conditioning unit rattled and a thick vapor started pouring
out of the ducts.
*************************************************************
Batgirl's utility belt came with a lower face mask filter
which clipped onto her cowl. She quickly snapped it into
place and she still had her goggles, which she wore when she
rode her bike, tucked into her boot tops. These too she
slipped on keeping the gas from her sperm stung red eyes.
No one else had such gear and in seconds no one else was left
alive in the tower upper rooms.
By the time she had made her way to the staircase gas mask
wearing men wielding Tommy guns were rushing up it.
She back-stepped to avoid the first spray of bullets and back
flipped to avoid the next. Chicago typewriters chattered
death all about her as she shot from behind one desk to the
next; her batarangs smacking faces and hands and buying her
enough time to shatter through one of the towers famous
Gothic long arch windows.
She flipped, spun, rolled, and fired her grappling hook.
Whizzing down its line to the base of the tower in a long
controlled upper arm and shoulder burning arc.
The guy who was trying to figure out how to start her
batcycle lost most of his teeth when she kicked him off the
bike and took his place.
She was speeding away moments latter, tossing a few smoke
bombs over her shoulder for good measure, the sound of gun
fire dimming behind her as she slipped through gears and
traffic.
*************************************************************
The storm raged through much of the day matched in its peals
of thunder by Barbra Gordon's snores.
When she awoke in time for lunch she found her head covered
in sticky notes for detention.
The young girl whined and sighed, "I guess that's karma. All
I managed to do last night was add some more ghosts to the
Tower Bridge and break a nail. I hope Batman doesn't hear
about this or he will banging my ass for a week!"
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