BAE Chapter 45

“The Iceberg Lounge is no place for Barbara Gordon. But I’d like to be discreet. I don’t want a repeat of the last time,” Barbara says as the car zooms through Gotham’s streets. “Is there still a backdoor?”

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Gordon. Mr. Cobblepot recently undertook renovations.”

The Iceberg Lounge is an actual business, not explicitly a criminal hideout. All the same, the Penguin owns it for all intents and purposes. Bruce had made a point to plant a device that would give him access to the computers and security feeds inside the club so that he could keep an eye on things if he chose. But if things have changed in there, it won’t be as simple as taking a peek.

“Can I sneak in?” Barbara asks.

“We have blueprints for the structure, but that would be from before the recent alterations,” Alfred reports. “I don’t know how much good they would do you. The building is old. I don’t think it lends itself to that sort of behavior easily.”

“I guess I’ll use the door.”

“Do be careful, Ms. Gordon.”

BAE

The Iceberg Lounge is by the water, which is as cold and dark as ever tonight. Muffled music from inside can be heard as one approaches the building, along with the horns and noises of the docks, which are never silent. This place is exotic, and despite its poor reputation is still a draw on certain quarters of Gotham’s elite who like to live dangerously, or at least appear to. A steady stream of luxury cars pulls up in front, and the wealthy are let past the line to enter the club.

A woman in a clinging red dress and spectacular spikes emerges from her sports car, handing the keys to the valet. The bouncer ahead unhooks the velvet rope to let her through.

The woman lets out a shriek as Batgirl lands in front of her and holsters her grapple gun.

The people in line start taking pictures. Barbara faces the bouncer.

“I want to talk to him,” she says. “It’s a friendly conversation, but I’m not waiting in line.”

The bouncer is already talking into his wrist. In seconds, more bouncers appear, but they don’t go for any weapons.

Nervously, one of them beckons. Barbara follows him into the deafening music. The club is lit in cool blue and white. Blonde, short-haired waitresses in skimpy silvery outfits serve drinks while people mingle, all overseen by even more bouncers.

The Penguin’s office is tucked away from the action. It’s lavishly appointed and uncomfortably cold. Two of the bouncers remain, standing behind Barbara. The Penguin is behind his desk with an umbrella close at hand. He looks wary.

“Welcome to my nest,” he says without preamble. “Little bat. To what do I owe this pleasure? I hope you haven’t come to ruffle my feathers. I’m a businessman, not one of the pigeons that you should be chasing.”

“I need whatever you know about Elite Pride,” Barbara tells him bluntly. “You heard about what happened at the docks. It’s only a matter before they show up in your business.”

The Penguin shrugs. “What do I, a respected bird of means, have to fear from that riff-raff?”

“Ever hear of a duck shoot?”

“This duck shoots back,” the Penguin growls in response. Then he relaxes, looking thoughtful. “If you think I have secret knowledge, I do not. I only know that if I were a band of… hawks and there were another bird in the sky, a red and blue bird, I might go looking for a tree to perch in that wasn’t quite as crowded.”

“You think they’re ducking Superman? And they came here because Batman isn’t around?” Barbara considers it. “That’s as good a theory as any.”

“I’m glad you approve. Was there anything else?”

“Hold that thought.” Barbara turns her head and touches her cowl over her ear. She has one of Bruce’s devices on her belt that should let Alfred take a look around any computers nearby. “Anything?”

“I have the cameras, Ms. Gordon. I don’t see Ms. Riley Beaumont anywhere. There does, however, appear to be a sort of transaction occurring one level below you. The computer was able to identify one of the parties. He works for Carmine Falcone.”

“The sort of transaction that I’d care about?” Barbara asks.

“The sort that the Batman would take an interest in, at any rate.”

Barbara grimaces. It’s not what she came here for.

“And who are you speaking to, my sweet?” Penguin asks, chewing his cigar and looking intrigued. “Could it be Batman? How about we exchange information?”

“I thought you didn’t have anything for me,” Barbara tells him.

“Not about those flightless animals. Perhaps something more interesting.”

Barbara isn’t here to trade information. Riley is here, but she must be somewhere that isn’t covered by cameras. That’s not damning; the restrooms aren’t covered, for example. Or it could mean that she’s in some other part of the club. Penguin is bound to have a few secrets in this building. Barbara should stick around and give Alfred more time to snoop. Dealing with this transaction feels obligatory, although she doesn’t like it. How should she go about it?

Go and stop it herself?

Or order the Penguin to put a stop to it?