"Adam!" a sharp voice came through the phone. "I told you before—if you ever call me during daylight again, I'll kill you."
It was Selina Kyle.
Adam glanced at his watch.
It was 5 p.m.
...Still technically "day"—at least according to Selina's internal clock, which apparently didn't reset until the sun had completely disappeared.
"My bad," Adam said with a strained chuckle. "Forget I called you this early. I owe you something shiny next time we meet."
He took a breath, then said carefully, "Actually… I was calling about the bar. You remember that little Korean joint you helped me grab a few months back? Yeah—been trying to run it more seriously lately, but business is... slow."
"Let me guess," Selina interrupted, already sounding amused. "You want to 'hire' me to walk around in hot pants and pour drinks?"
Adam froze. That wasn't how he meant to phrase it, but she'd cut straight to the point.
"Of course not," Adam replied quickly. "You? In my bar? Please. You'd bankrupt me in one shift."
There was a beat of silence before he added, "But I was hoping you could, maybe, refer some people? Women with experience. No street hustlers—I want professionals."
Selina didn't answer right away. Adam knew she wasn't easy to charm, and when it came to protecting other women, she had strong opinions. But this wasn't about sleazy exploitation—he had a struggling business to run.
"You want women to work for you," she said finally, "but you're setting up real work—not sleazy corner stuff."
"That's the idea," Adam confirmed. "Real pay. High tips. I'm even offering commission on liquor sold."
Now she sounded a little more interested.
"Alright," Selina said, her voice cooling. "I'll send a few girls your way. But you take care of them, Adam. Full payment. No late wages. If I hear otherwise, I'm taking a crowbar to that fancy coffee machine you like."
"Deal," Adam replied instantly.
After Adam hung up, Jason peeked in from across the bar, holding a flyer in one hand and looking confused.
"Wait… That's your big plan?" he asked. "Hire a few pretty waitresses and the place will just magically fill with customers?"
Adam smirked. "Not quite. That's only half the plan."
He handed Jason a pile of freshly printed flyers.
Jason glanced down.
WELCOME TO GOTHAM'S FIRST SWIMSUIT BAR!
⚫ High heels.
⚫ Tight outfits.
⚫ Cold beer.
Jason blushed and asked, "What… what even is this?"
"It's called marketing," Adam said, deadpan. "Go hand those out. Tell your skatepark buddies we're doing a soft launch tonight. Free shots till 9."
Jason stared at the flyers again, deeply skeptical—but didn't argue.
Later that evening, just before sundown, the women Selina had recommended started arriving—confident, stylish, and game for the job once Adam explained the terms: high tips were personal, commission available on drinks, and the work hours were up to them.
Add to that: a Gotham bar during prohibition's rise? There was opportunity here.
As the sky darkened, the city changed. Police sirens echoed in the distance. Streetlights flickered to life. Gangs prowled back alley corners and tired souls wandered toward dim-lit neon signs offering brief comfort from the rottenness of Gotham nights.
But Adam's bar was booming.
Bronze Tiger—exhausted after another day training the new recruits—headed toward the bar as he often did, expecting quiet, maybe a drink, some space to think.
But when he turned the corner and saw the crowd?
"Wait... what is this?" he muttered.
The bar was glowing. Music pulsed softly through the walls. Inside, waitresses dressed in form-fitting outfits moved confidently between buzzing tables. Laughter and cheers filled the room. People actually looked like they were enjoying themselves.
Tiger made his way in—carefully navigating through the crowd.
He spotted Adam at the bar, drink in hand, grinning like a cat that caught all the mice.
"I leave for one day… and the place turns into a nightclub?" Tiger deadpanned.
Adam passed him a cold soda over the counter. "Relax. It's not what it looks like. Everyone's dressed—barely—and no one's being forced into anything."
"Honestly," Tiger muttered, glancing at the crowd. "I thought you were opening a bar, not auditioning for Gotham's sleaziest parade."
"That," said a new voice, "is exactly why it's genius."
Deadshot slid into view, drink already in hand.
"I've been watching. Just one of the girls made nearly two hundred in tips in under two hours. And she still had her clothes on," he added with mock admiration.
Tiger's eyes widened.
"I swear," he muttered, shaking his head. "If you don't end up running for mayor, you'll probably buy the city outright."
"We'll see," Adam said with a sly grin.
Adam raised an eyebrow when a waitress came over to him and whispered, "Someone's asking for you—says it's important."
He wasn't expecting anyone, certainly not during the bar's busiest night since opening. For a second, he thought it might be Nygma again—probably back to brag about another riddle-themed cocktail name or complain about being charged full price.
But the look in the waitress's eyes said otherwise.