Chapter Seven


Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon

February 23rd

I ran a chemical analysis of the Switch … sample … Huntress picked off Little Ricky. It matches the post-mortem toxicology profiles of the last four OD cases; it would seem that we have our Switch.

Huntress reminds me a great deal of Batgirl in HER prime -- bold, daring, devil-take-the-hindmost. Not one for following rules and regulations. A maverick. Even though I've told her time and time again that I have no meta-human abilities whatsoever, Huntress swears that I can read her mind. I know how she thinks for the simple reason that I used to BE her -- Batgirl in her day was every bit the ass-kicking, devil-may-care hell-raiser that The Huntress is now.

Every day, I pray that The Huntress -- well, both of my girls actually -- aren't killed or put in a wheelchair … like Batgirl.


The Rocking-J Bar was one of the few -- if not the ONLY -- country-western bars in New Gotham. There were crushed peanut shells on the floor, hardwood paneling on the walls, and Garth Brooks was playing on the jukebox.

All of the cowboys/cowgirls in the bar -- clad in blue jeans, cowboy hats, boots, and Western shirts -- stopped and stared as The Huntress walked in wearing her trademark black leather. Tonight, she wore a pair of black sunglasses with a tiny video camera mounted in the bridge.

"Oracle, do you copy?" asked Huntress, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Loud and clear, Huntress," came the reply over the comm.

"Dinah, you back there?"

"Right here," replied Dinah at the other end of the comm.

"Good," said Huntress. "If this creep's Family, I'm gonna need YOU to identify him."

"Ready when you are, Huntress."

"All right, let's go." With that, Huntress walked over to the bar and asked to see Cowboy Bob. The bartender gestured towards a stocky man with double chins sitting near a pool table at the back of the bar. He wore boots, blue jeans, a navy blue silk western shirt, and a white felt Stetson cowboy hat.

"Dinah, you recognize him?" asked Huntress, her voice barely above a whisper. The jukebox had now switched from Garth Brooks to Alan Jackson.

"It's Earl … one of the brothers," came the reply over the comm.

"You sure?"

"I'd know that fat face anywhere!" Dinah ejaculated.

"Oracle, you want me to move in?" asked Huntress.

"No," said Oracle over the comm. "Just get out of there."

"You sure?"

"I know where he lives."


" 'Cowboy Bob?' " asked Dinah incredulously back at the Clocktower. "Where did THAT come from?"

"His full name is Earl Robert Pitts," replied Oracle. "Hence … 'Cowboy Bob'."


Earl Pitts unlocked the front door of his modestly furnished apartment and went inside. It was truly a "guy's" apartment -- the furnishings were cheap and non-descript. He put his car keys on the kitchen counter, went into his bedroom, and turned on the light.

He took off his starched-white Stetson and hung it on a wooden coat tree that stood in the corner next to his bed. He stood with his back to the door, took off his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his pants -- revealing a white cotton undershirt and a pair of baby-blue silk boxer shorts.

"Nice shorts!" said a voice -- The Huntress's.

Earl quickly pulled up his pants and turned around, searching for the voice. The Huntress -- in all her black-leather-clad glory -- stood directly opposite Earl in a far corner of the room, her arms folded across her chest.

"Who are you?" Earl drawled. "The hell you want?"

"I've come for you, Earl," Huntress replied.

"What'd I do?" Earl whined.

"STOW IT, PORKY!" Huntress snapped, not missing an opportunity to attack Earl's portly physique. "I know about Dinah Lance."

"Who?"

"Don't lie to me," Huntress shot back. "YOU know who I'm talking about."

"WHO?!"

Huntress sighed and rolled her eyes. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" she said, exasperated. "You, Darryl, Jeff, Ronnie, Dinah Lance … the Reverend's House … four years ago … the Saturday before the Super Bowl…"

"The hell you talkin' bout?"

"Where was the Reverend in all this?"

"He wasn't home!"

"So you WERE there that night!"

"Mebbe I was … mebbe I wasn't."

Huntress uncrossed her arms and walked over to Earl, closing the gap that stood between them. "How could you know he wasn't home … unless YOU were at the house?"

"He went to Joplin with his wife, K?!" ejaculated Earl, exasperated.

"That's not what the victim says," Huntress shot back. "She said the Reverend's wife went to Joplin alone. Now … who let you in?"

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna say it one more time … REAL slowly … so your puny brain can understand me," taunted Huntress. "Where … was … the Reverend … that night?"

"He wasn't home!" A look of fear flashed in Earl's eyes.

"You're lying," Huntress shot back. "The front door was locked. Dinah was asleep … and neither you, Darryl, nor your pals Beavis and Butthead had keys to the house. Who let you in?"

"Where you gettin' all this?"

The Huntress re-crossed her arms and said with a smug grin, "The Oracle knows."

"Who?"

"The Oracle knows … and that's all YOU need to know."

Earl made a sudden run for the door. Huntress blocked his path, causing him to plow right into her.

"Going someplace?" said Huntress with a grin. "Now … where was the Reverend that night?"

"All right," said Earl, confessing. "He WAS there."

"What happened after he let you in?"

"Dunno," said Earl. "Talked … then he went to bed."

"Did he leave you first? Or did he walk with you to Dinah's room?"

"He walked with us to Dinah's room. Jus' as we was goin' in, he went to his bedroom, told us he was goin' to bed, turned out the light … and that was that."

" 'He went to bed'," mocked Huntress. "His daughter was being raped at gunpoint not more than ten feet away from him … and HE WENT TO BED!"

Oh, Lawd, thought Earl. She knows. I dunno HOW she knows … but she knows! "The hell does it matter?" he shot back. "It was four years ago … IN MISSOURI!"

"It matters to ME," Huntress replied quietly. "It matters to The Oracle … and it matters to the victim."

"I think you'd better leave," said Earl menacingly. With that, he threw a punch at Huntress, missing widely. Huntress responded by kneeing Earl in the groin. With all the meta-human strength she could muster, she then landed a right jab/uppercut combination to his jaw that sent him to the floor, unconscious.

One down, four to go, Huntress thought. "Huntress to Oracle, come in," she said into the comm.

"Oracle here. Over," came the reply over the comm.

"Call Reese," said Huntress. "Tell him I've got a child molester."