The Madness of Two

Sorry for the delay, HxJ fans—I've been one seriously busy and stressed out mol! But here at last is Ch. 9—enjoy!

Ch. 9: Tweedledum and Tweedledumber

It is a truth universally acknowledged that there is never enough hot water in Arkham Asylum.

I mean never.

That is why I stood hastily scrubbing my hair under the shower head in the women's bathroom. I was trying to get the last of the gummy soap the staff provided out of my hair before the hot stuff ran out.

For those of us in the high security wing the showers were only available once a week. Even then we were watched. A bored looking female guard was now propped against the door a few yards away, playing solitaire on her cell phone. But there was still enough steam in the room that I had a modicum of privacy.

I finally gave up and shut off the water with a heavy sigh. I would kill for a decent bottle of shampoo. The soap was wrecking havoc on what was left of my blond highlights. Pretty soon my hair would be as green as Mr. J's.

Ah, Mr. J.

I really missed him this morning.

"Harley."

I glanced up.

Out of the steam emerged Poison Ivy, her hair already beginning to curl from the damp.

"Hey, Red," I said half-heartedly. "Not much hot water left. You'll probably want to shower fast."

"Never mind that." She reached over and turned on several taps full blast, so that the room grew steamy again and the sound drowned out the bips and bloops from the guard's game.

Ivy leaned her bare back against the tile.

"We need to talk."

---

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---

As I sped through the Gotham City streets I had to admit that my new job wasn't so bad.

Working for Two Face was nothing like working for Mr. J.

For one thing, my job was a lot more straightforward. Two Face had own staff. They did all the cooking and cleaning. Or at least I think they did. I hadn't seen them much in the weeks I'd been with the organization.

This freed me up to spend more time on the professional side of things, relaying messages and collecting on debts. I was sort of a cross between a personal assistant and an enforcer, although I like to think I brought my own unique style to the position.

I'd given myself a new look to go along with it. I'd lightened my hair to platinum blond and I twisted finger waves into it every morning, a la Jean Harlow.

I'd buried my black and red outfit under my mattress in favor of a white, halter top dress.

I even finally had my motorcycle.

But I wasn't happy.

I missed Mr. J.

And, in case you're wondering, I didn't provide any, ahem, other services for Two Face.

He never asked, and I didn't offer.

Even if he had asked, I would have told him straight-up: Mr. J had, and always would have, my heart. And my other bits as well.

I pulled into the alley behind Two Face's headquarters, the old Janus Theater on 63rd. Back in the twenties it had been a popular first run movie palace, but now it was a grimy hulk no one wanted.

No one but Two Face.

I parked the bike and let myself in the back way. It was long past midnight, and there was no moon in the sky.

Two Face's favorite twin henchmen, the ones I called Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, were waiting for me. They were the two who had originally snatched me off Gotham's streets. Both were thick-necked and square-faced, like Midwestern farm boys who had traded in cows for crime.

For all I knew, that's what they were.

I didn't like them, and they didn't like me. It was all a bit awkward.

But we were careful to always be civil in Two Face's presence. Two Face tolerated no dissent in his ranks. Not ever.

"You're late. He wants to see you," Tweedledum told me.

"Now," Tweedledumber added.

"Of course. Lead the way."

I followed one of them (I'm not sure which) down the hall towards what had once been the stage. The space was now set up as a comfortable lounge that wouldn't have been out of place in a gentleman's club.

My new boss was relaxing in his favorite leather chair, a glass of scotch and a copy of the Wall Street Journal at his side. He definitely had a taste for the finer things in life. Pinstripe suits, hand-made wingtip shoes, crystal tumblers for his drinks—no luxury was spared. Not that any of it seemed to make him happy.

Two Face was never happy.

"You're late," he growled at me.

"So I hear."

The undamaged side of his face tipped towards me, the clear blue eye calm but curious.

He pointed at the closest chair. "Sit."

Once I had plunked myself down, I reached into my halter top and produced the roll of unmarked bills Two Face was expecting.

"A down payment?" He asked.

"Yep. Ten grand. I counted it, but feel free to count it again."

"The K Street gang cooperated?"

I leaned back with a smile.

"They did. I told them it was deal with me, or wait and deal with you."

"Wise choice."

He handed the roll of bills to his henchman.

I waited expectantly for him to say something, complement me on saving him so much of his valuable time. But he said nothing.

I sighed. "Do you need me any more tonight, boss? 'Cause, if you don't…"

"No. You can go." He picked up his glass of scotch, waving his free hand absently.

Behind him, Tweedledum smirked at me.

I was sorely tempted to stick out my tongue. But I didn't.

"Guess I'll turn in then."

Two Face didn't say good night.

Neither did I.

I went upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, a turn to the right would take me to the balcony, still complete with seats and the smell of stale popcorn. To the left was the rabbit warren of small rooms that had once been the theater's offices, projection room, and storage.

It was here I'd carved out a small space of my own, with a narrow bed and a grimy window that looked out over the alley. But it was dry, and there was a sturdy lock on the inside of the door.

With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go I pulled off my dress and climbed under the thin blanket.

I couldn't complain.

I wasn't unhappy.

But I wasn't happy, either.

I ached for Mr. J.

I pinched myself hard before I could start crying, and tried to sleep.

---

I woke a few hours later, disoriented and grumpy.

The sun wasn't up yet. While I slept the October cold had worked its way into the room, and I now shivered.

Below me I could hear thumping, and muffled voices.

Two Face hadn't said anything about guests.

I debated staying in bed, but decided that I wouldn't be much of a second-in-command if I did.

Reluctantly I got up and dressed again. I tried to grind the sleep from my eyes with my fists, but only succeeded in smearing what was left of my makeup.

Oh, well.

I tip-toed downstairs, hoping Tweedledum and his brother weren't about. They would like nothing better, I was sure, than to catch me creeping about and rat me out to the boss.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs, and slipped around the corner.

"This wasn't part of the deal," I heard a voice, male, say. It wasn't Two Face, and it wasn't any of the henchmen. So why did it sound vaguely familiar?

"I decide how the deal plays out," I heard Two Face respond. "You said you wanted her out of the way."

"Just until her father comes up with the money. But not like this."

I could hear the repetitive metallic clink I'd come to associate with my new employer. It was the sound of his coin being tossed in the air. Catch. Toss. Catch. Toss. It was how he kept his hands busy, the way other men smoked or bit their fingernails.

Sometimes it was really irritating.

"This is kidnapping, not a trip to Paris," the boss now said. "I'm calling the shots, and I said she stays here."

I sucked in my breath. Kidnapping. Wow. That was a new one.

And Two Face hadn't even seen fit to warn me ahead of time. Some partner.

I slid forward a bit, just until I could see the two men. Two Face was still lounging in his chair. The other paced up and down in front of him.

It was Jackson Jones.

No wonder I'd recognized the voice. When you wreck a man's engagement party you don't soon forget him. Last I'd heard he'd been released from the hospital just in time for his lavish wedding in Fiji. It had been on the covers of all the magazines for weeks.

He didn't look so glamorous now. His tie was askew, his face puffy and unshaven. This was a man on the edge.

The edge of what, I wondered?

Since I could only assume Two Face had his reasons for not involving me, I decided not to interrupt the conversation. Besides, I had a pretty good idea what must be going on.

I drew back into the shadows, and darted across the space that had once been the theater's grand lobby. At one end was the old janitor's closet. I could see a sliver of light beneath the door.

I opened it, careful not to let any of the hinges squeak.

As I'd expected, a woman was seated in a chair, her hands and feet bound behind her. There was a gag in her mouth, which was why I hadn't heard her make a sound.

"I gotta say," I told the heiress. "You have even worse taste in men than I do."

Veronica Vreeland Jones stared back at me for a moment, eyes wide with fear.

Then she burst into tears.

---

"I don't like it, boss," I told Two Face later that morning.

"I didn't ask your opinion."

"I know, but I still don't like it. Jones is a worm, and you can't trust a worm."

The scarred side of his face sent me a murderous look. I quickly looked down into my cup of coffee.

I'd slipped back up to bed after confirming that Veronica Vreeland was indeed our "victim." I'd come down again a few hours later, once the sun was up, and feigned surprise when Two Face told me what was going on.

"It's temporary," Two Face's calmer, saner voice told me. "If Jones is going to get General Vreeland to pay up, he needs the kidnapping story to hold water."

"And if her daddy doesn't 'pay up?'"

I held up my cup, and one of the henchmen refilled it. Two Face and I never shared more than drinks, not even at breakfast. I don't think he allowed anyone to see him eat.

"Then we renegotiate." This was his other personality speaking now, and the rasping words were ominous.

I tried to keep my tone as light as possible.

"I mean, I had heard Jones' company was in trouble. But if it's bad enough he's gotta hold his own wife for ransom…all I can say is I'm glad I don't own any of his stock."

"You and me both, sister." He pointed a finger at me. "And it's your job to keep an eye on her."

"What?" Profoundly insulted, I set my cup down with a clatter. "No way. Let one of the henchmen watch her."

"No."

"Look, boss, just 'cause I'm the one with the two "x" chromosomes doesn't mean I have to be the one who babysits!"

"Yeah, it does."

I chewed on my lip for a moment. This was bad. I didn't like the whole idea of a fake-ish kidnapping in the first place, and now it seemed I was being given primary responsibility for its success.

But I was powerless. Two Face might call me his second-in-command, but it was a very, very distant second.

There was nothing for it but to do what I usually did.

Keep my head down, and my chin up, until I could see which way things would eventually break.

And be ready to get out of the way when they did.

"Fine," I told him.

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than there was an ominously loud thump and a pained groan from the direction of the lobby.

With a heavy sign I set down my coffee. "I'm on it, boss."

I walked through the partition to the lobby, cursing men in general and Two Face in particular.

On the floor of the janitor's closet I found one of the twins doubled over on the floor, and Veronica Vreeland, one hand and one leg now free, frantically pulling at the gag in her mouth.

I sighed again, and pulled my gun out of the top of my stocking.

"Stop," I told her.

I had to hand it to her, she wasn't dumb. She instantly froze in place.

I stepped over the moaning henchman and refastened her arm and leg to the chair. Then I untied the gag.

"OK, what's up?"

She sucked in a deep breath, as if to scream. I pressed the gun against her forehead.

"Ah ah ah. I'll thank you to be civil, Miss Vreeland."

The other woman gulped and gasped. "He was trying to attack me," she finally managed to get out.

"Yeah?" I put away my gun and glanced over at Tweedledum."

"Two Face said to take her to the ladies' room, so I had to untie her," he protested from his fetal position. "She kicked me in the nuts!"

"Well, of course she did. I would have, too, under the circumstances," I said sensibly.

I turned back to the heiress. Her face was blotchy from tears and makeup smears ran down her cheeks. Her elaborate French twist was now lopsided, but the haughty glare she gave me still marked her as someone to reckon with.

"Look, Miss Vreeland," I said, "for a fake kidnapping you sure are taking this awfully personally."

"Fake?" She spat. "Fake? Are you stupid enough to believe I would actually go along with a plan like this? After the stock market collapsed last week…I told Jason he wasn't going to get any more money out of Daddy, but he just…he just…"

Her face crumpled like a little girl's, and she started to cry again.

I hauled Tweedledum to his feet and pushed him towards the door.

"Beat it," I told him. "I'm on the job now. Go get an ice pack or something."

He couldn't move very quickly, but finally he slunk out of the room.

I turned my attention back to my charge.

"Stop crying and listen," I told her.

She sniffled, but finally subsided.

"You're in a pickle here, Miss Vreeland. I get that. I really do. Your husband thinks he can fake a kidnapping and get some more money out of your family to prop up his business, you say no, husband goes over your head…it happens. Well, OK, not often, but it does happen."

She blinked her big blue eyes at me.

"So you're going to help me?" She asked hopefully.

"Nope. I work for Two Face, not for you. He's not the best boss in the world, but I owe him at least some loyalty. But what I will do is keep an eye on you. Nobody's going to lay a hand on you while I'm around, so just keep your head on straight and you'll come out OK."

"Really?"

"When it comes down to it, who really knows what will happen?" I shrugged. "So I'm not going to make you any promises. But you'll probably be OK. OK?"

She snuffled. "I suppose. But I'm still going to try and escape if you give me the opportunity," she vowed.

I grinned.

"Miss Vreeland, it would be an insult to womankind if you didn't try."

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"It's a plant."

"Look closer, Harl," Ivy urged me.

I squinted harder at the photos Ivy had laid out before me. As we had previously arranged, I had stopped by Ivy's cell during free hours. But I have to admit, I didn't see the big deal.

"It's, uh, it's…really green, isn't it?" I offered.

Ivy rolled her eyes. "OK, look."

She seized me by the upper arms and deposited me on the edge of her cot. Picking up the photos again, she held them out in front of her.

"This, Harley, is not just any plant. It's Carchaeridon bollosis, common name, zombie root. It was first mentioned in Rodriquez's journals in 1597. And it was believed extinct…until two months ago a sole specimen was brought back from the Amazon."

I nodded helpfully. "Cool."

"Zombie root is an very unusual plant. According to legend, and to Rodriquez, when ingested it produced a most unusual side effect."

"Yeah?"

Ivy sat down beside me. "I can see you're trying to be enthusiastic, Harley, and I appreciate it."

"You got it, Red."

Ivy glanced over her shoulder, at the video camera that was watching our every move. She leaned closer.

"When ingested," she whispered, "it makes the victim exceptionally susceptible to mind control."

"Hence the name."

"Sssshhh!"

"Sorry," I whispered back. "OK, I get why you're excited—everyone thought it was extinct, and it isn't. Wonderful. It's the feel-good story of the year."

Ivy got to her feet again. She began to pace back and forth.

"No, Harley. It's a lot more than a story. It's the botanical discovery of the century. And I'm not going to miss it."

I pulled my legs to my chest and rested my chin on my knees.

"I don't like the sound of that, Red. You're not gonna do what I think you're gonna do, are you?"

"You got it, Harley."

"Oh, no, Ivy. Don't."

"I have to."

I had known Poison Ivy for almost a year now, and I don't think I had ever seen her looking grimmer, or more determined. She regarded me steadily, seriously.

"I'm going to break out of Arkham."