BAE Chapter 18

Barbara’s hand shoots in, drawing a startled cry from the onlookers. She snatches out the whale toy in the blink of an eye and twists it open.

“The north door!” she calls out, holding up the toy so Nygma’s camera can see it.

“Not so fast, my dear! I can’t let you live on sheer luck. Show your work,” Nygma chides.

“This is a gala for the environment,” Barbara snarls. “Daggett put it on, but he’s not fooling anyone. It’s all for tax purposes. The last thing Roland Daggett would ever do is save the whales. Isn’t that reference a little outdated, Nygma?”

Nygma snorts. “Very impressive, my dear. The North Door it is. I’ll call the police now.”

The broadcast ends.

Barbara’s patience is tested in the aftermath as she fends off the other guests trying to thank her and especially the reporters, who now have an especially rabid desire to talk to her. Once the game was over, Nygma didn’t stick around. Dad’s going to be busy all night, so he’s all too happy to see Barbara say that she’s going home and take off. Safely on the ground, Barbara pushes free of the crowd of traumatized rich people fleeing the hotel, dodges a police officer, and slides into the back of the Rolls.

Alfred hits it straight away, using the horn liberally to get them out of there.

“I trust you’ll tell me all about it later,” he says once they’re moving. “And you’ll be wanting to act now, Ms. Gordon.”

“Tint the windows. I’ll change back here and go mobile. Send the Car out on auto. I need you to get back to the cave and run my old program on this hotel.” Ages ago, Barbara wrote a piece of software for Bruce that analyzed any location in Gotham for nearby hiding spots. So many of their enemies liked to be nearby and watching when they pulled big jobs like this that such a program had seemed like an obvious thing to do. There was a good chance that Nygma was within a block or two of this spot.

“Consider it done,” Alfred replies. He raises the divider between the driver’s seat and the back as Barbara all but tears off her dress to begin the process of wiggling into her suit.

Soon she’s in an alley and Alfred’s driving off. Barbara grapples to a nearby rooftop and takes her bearing, turning up her earpiece and scanning. Time is precious and she needs to be seen. She has time to take down a mugger, stop a woman from jumping off a roof, and prevent a Gotham police officer from getting his head blown off before Alfred has the information that she needs.

He's done a lot in a short time: run the program, found the most likely spot and hacked the appropriate records to pinpoint it.

“The apartment belongs to one of the managers at the hotel. Perfect view. The man called in sick to work today,” Alfred reports. “The Car will be at your location in forty seconds.”

“Good,” Barbara says, patting the back of the sobbing woman in her arms. She got to this domestic dispute before the police could. The abuser is **** in the other room with a dislocated shoulder and a severely kicked groin. “I have to go. The police are coming. You should stay with a family member tonight,” Barbara says, then leaps out of the same window that she used to get in.

She grapples down to the street and leaps into the Car. The cockpit hisses shut and she blasts away back toward the hotel.

“Alfred,” she says.

“Yes, Ms. Gordon?”

“Set something up with Summer Gleeson. I promised her an exclusive.”

“Very good, Ms. Gordon.”

“Something intimate,” she adds.

“Following Master Bruce’s playbook for media control, I see.”

Barbara ignores that.

The building in question is more modern than most with big, flush-fit windows that don’t open. The lack of architectural detail makes grappling difficult, but Barbara does it regardless, quickly ascending to the thirtieth floor and running lightly along the outside of the building to find the right place.

Nygma is an idiot, but he’s not stupid. He’s escaped Bruce several times.

But Bruce isn’t here and everyone knows it, including Nygma. He’s not being as cautious as he used to. He’s not being very cautious at all. He’s not closing his curtains. Or using protection.

Barbara hangs outside the building, looking in at the modest celebration unfolding in the living room of the apartment that Nygma has taken over. The coffee table is covered with the laptops and cameras that Nygma used to make his appearance at the gala. Now his green suit is scattered across the floor, along with the lingerie presumably worn by his companion, a little blonde with her hair in a short bob and a perky little body that’s sporting some adorable tan lines.

Nygma slouches on the sofa with the blonde in his lap. She rides him vigorously as he runs his hands up her back, then down her to her firm buttocks. He squeezes her flesh, giving Barbara an explicit view of the blonde’s ass and Nygma’s cock slamming into her from below.

He’s still wearing his mask and bowler hat. The blonde leans into him, shoving her boobs in his face. Barbara is frustrated and that looks so appealing right now. She’ll be damned if she’s going to let Nygma have the satisfaction of finishing inside that pretty prostitute.

Should she smash through the window and ruin this party?

Or stealthily enter the apartment from inside the building?