BAE Chapter 5

Amelie is a tall, voluptuous French beauty. Everything about her screams femme fatale almost to the point of cliché, right down to her sultry way of speaking, her accent, and the exaggerated sway of her hips as she walks.

That is especially apparent when she’s sashaying around her opulent home in a sheer robe.

In Amelie’s vast bedroom, a fire crackles in the fireplace, its pretty light gleaming on the oiled-skin of the petite, tanned girl on the bed. She is clearly a victim of Ivy’s Seed attack: her cock is fat and covered in veins. She reclines on the bed, stroking it to keep it hard as Amelie approaches the bed with a glass of wine in her hand.

Amelie pauses at the foot of the bed, taking a sip and then licking her lips. She looks down greedily at the waiting girl’s thick cock as a drop of shiny precum rolls down the underside.

She and the girl jump in surprise and look up as the skylight shatters.

Barbara lands in the middle of the room with a flourish of her cape, which is not for show. She’s protecting herself from the falling glass.

Amelie throws her glass aside and lunges for the bedside table.

The door bursts open, but Barbara is there, punching the guard in the face, then grabbing his arm and throwing him over her shoulder. The huge man slams the ground with a cry.

Sparks fly as Barbara’s batarang hits the pistol that Amelie just pulled out of a drawer. It fires, making the girl on the bed shriek. Barbara cartwheels across the room before Amelie can try another shot, kicking the gun away and grabbing the taller woman’s hair. Barbara jerks her to her knees and takes her place behind her, laying a fresh batarang against Amelie’s pale throat as more guards enter the room, all of them armed with Thompson guns.

“Tell them it’s nothing,” Barbara says pleasantly. “We’re having a business meeting. Bodyguards shouldn’t interrupt business meetings.”

“Go,” Amelie croaks, terrified.

“And they shouldn’t remember what they see, either. It wouldn’t be good if word got around that Amelie Araignee was having business meeting with bats. It should be a secret,” Barbara suggests.

“They see nothing!” the French beauty hisses.

“You sure, Boss?” one of the guards asks uncertainly. A couple of the other guards are distracted by the girl on the bed.

“Go!”

They reluctantly back out, closing the doors behind them.

Barbara lets go of Amelie and turns to the girl on the bed. She points to the bathroom.

“Go take a shower. That stuff isn’t good for your skin,” she says.

The girl scurries into the bathroom and slams the door. Barbara hears the lock click.

Amelie gets uncertainly to her feet.

“You are not the bat,” she says warily, beginning to pace. She clutches worriedly at her robe.

Barbara stands where she is, one hand on her hip. “Watch your step,” she says. Amelie stops, pausing with her bare foot above the shard of glass that she was about to step on. She looks up in frustration at the broken skylight.

“Will you pay for that?” she asks.

Amelie is cool. She got her composure back quickly. That’s good.

“I have a proposition for you,” Barbara says, holding her gaze. “You can take it or you can leave Gotham. Or you can go to the Blackgate if you really want to.”

Amelie halts, haughtily mimicking Barbara’s pose. She places her hand on her hip and cocks her head. She’s about to sneer, but doesn’t get the chance. A dark form erupts from the shadows. Barbara sees a frightening gray mask and a blade flashes. Amelie doesn’t even get the chance to scream. Blood flies and smoke bursts from the handful of smoke bombs that the killer just threw.

Barbara shields herself with her cape and puts on her respirator, but the smokescreen is thick. The sound of Amelie’s body thudding to the floor will be more than enough to summon the guards, and Barbara doesn’t want a fight for nothing. She can’t see anything in the smoke. Heavy footsteps are audible in the hall, covering any sound the killer might make.

The doors bang open a second time. Barbara has **** but to grapple out through the skylight. She removes her respirator and looks, but there’s no sign of the killer. Lights are coming on everywhere. The guards don’t even get a glimpse of Barbara, but she knows they’ve seen enough. Within an hour, every criminal in Gotham will have heard about this, and the last person seen in the room was Batgirl.

It happened so suddenly. Barbara’s head is still spinning as she drops into the driver’s seat. The cockpit closes with a hiss and she fires up the engine, putting her foot down and blasting away from Amelie’s property.

“Alfred,” she says, and she doesn’t love the hint of panic in her voice.

“Yes, Ms. Gordon? Was your meeting productive?”

“You could say that,” Barbara says, glaring at the road ahead. The city glows in the night. “Amelie Araignee is dead. Andrea Beaumont just murdered her.”

“My word!”

Barbara couldn’t have said it better herself.

“But Andrea Beaumont is dead,” Alfred goes on, sounding shaken.

“Apparently not,” Barbara replies. Her heart rate is slowing back down and she’s trying to organize her thoughts about what just happened.

Amelie is dead; whatever score her outfit was running tonight will proceed. Amelie will be replaced. The new syndicates will continue to tighten their grip. Andrea made a clean getaway, but Barbara is more difficult to escape than the mob. Andrea has Barbara’s full attention now, but she hasn’t forgotten one of Bruce’s earliest lessons: it’s impossible to be everywhere.

Prioritize Andrea?

Or get back to patrol?