Chapter XXXVI- Memory Serves
"Jesus Christ, Harvey, slow down!"
Harvey resisted the urge to chuckle—he'd never seen Pam so rattled. Granted, she had a reason. He'd run three red lights, hopped two corners, and nearly t-boned a minivan on the way to the docks. Harley hadn't said anything, but he could see the psychiatrist's mouth open in a silent scream every time they neared an intersection.
"If we slow down, we risk Batman getting to the scene before us," he shrugged, whipping his Lexus around a corner so fast it threw Harley against the other side of the car.
"If we don't slow down, we're dead." He was tempted to shake her off, but as he narrowly avoided being crushed between two cars in an attempt to pass a line of traffic, Harvey finally hit the brake pedal.
Much as he hated to admit it, they were right. He couldn't help Ava from a hospital bed. Despite the temptation to be rash, patience was key. Joker was as slippery as he was cunning, and Harvey wouldn't jeopardize the entire search based on the stupid decision to crash on the way to a potential lead.
Luckily, his crazy driving had paid dividends. They were only five minutes away from the underpass where GCN reported the Slaughter truck incident. While he didn't expect to find a map with "X marks the psychopath" written on it, Harvey was hoping for anything that could lead them in Ava's general direction.
If she even wants to see you, rained the voice of doubt, inconvenient as always. He'd avoided thinking of it since he saw the GCN video of Ava and Joker. It made him cringe to put both their names in the same sentence, like they were a team. And while he never thought Ava would stoop so low as to collaborate with a mass murder, part of him couldn't help but wonder what she'd done to stay alive—if she'd be able to stomach it. If he'd be able to stomach it.
"Holy shit, it's just like they said," gasped Harley, pulling Harvey from his thoughts. He looked ahead to see the underpass all but destroyed. The median separating both sides of the road was obliterated, the cement load-bearing pillars crushed. The infamous Slaughter truck was leaned up against the tunnel wall at a precarious angle, like a single breath of air on it would send it onto its side.
Harvey was silent, scanning the area for signs of what'd happened. Sure, the news said Joker crashed the truck. But how? Why? Was Ava in the truck with him? Shots had been fired. Were some of them from her gun?
He stopped the car about fifty feet from the scene, listening for the sound of any GCPD sirens. There were none, which would've been startling save for the fact that Gordon had just apprehended Joker. Come hell or high water, no cop in this part of the city would be anywhere but the precinct. They'd led an inquisition and Batman, their Grand Inquisitor, had led them straight to their prize. Tonight they would revel—jeer and interrogate and treat one imprisonment like it meant the world.
He hopped out the car and grabbed his gun from the trunk. "Pam, Harley, search the crashed cars for any clues. There's gotta be something around here."
Pam started off, a plant tucked behind her ear so she could do...whatever it was she did with plants. Harley tried to explain it to him, said the poisoning from Scarecrow and Pam's asshole ex gave her the ability to adopt plant DNA; Harvey only knew that Pam could make things grow with her mind.
Instead he concerned himself with the broken moan that rang out from the truck itself. The cries were miserable, warbles like the sound of a dying deer. Did he leave one of his men here? Harvey drew near enough to see the figure of a man—or at least what used to be one. This guy resembled a ragdoll, his legs mashed into the pavement like roadkill.
"You alive?" called Harvey when he was within earshot. The man nodded, wheezing through another breath. "Good, 'cause I've got a few questions for you. Where's your boss holed up?"
"Police department...got captured."
Harvey realized he hadn't asked the right question. "No dumbass, where's he stay? His base, his lair—where he sleeps at night?"
"Why, so you can go rescue your princess?" laughed the goon, shaking his head. "You're too late, y'know—Joker's long since tapped that. I only met her today and I can tell ya right now: she ain't yours no more, man."
Harvey's stomach lurched at the idea of Ava surrendering herself to Joker—of him on top of her, in her. He cocked his gun.
"Shut up before I put two in your skull. Look, I know you didn't want to die like this—tossed aside under a bridge while that maniac stockpiles more money and guns than you can dream of. You wanted money, power, maybe a little pussy on the side. Not this," said Harvey, gesturing to the man's broken body. "So why don't you do us both a favor and tell me where he his so I can get revenge for you?"
"...fine. I dunno where he kept his main base, but I do know where his stash is. He don't keep all his guns and bombs in the same place—that's what me and the others were hired to keep an eye on."
"Okay, where is it then?"
"By the West side docks, heart of the Butcher District," said the goon, groaning loudly when he tried to sit up. Harvey looked the guy over, saw the blood loss and exposed bones. Before the goon could question it, Harvey put a bullet in the henchman's head, happy to silence the man's cries.
"Harv? You alright?" shouted Pam from her end of the crash site.
Alright. Though Pam was asking about the gunshot, Harvey couldn't tear his brain away from the henchman's last words. On one hand, he was inclined to call bullshit—he didn't believe Ava would ever go near the Joker willingly. Sure, the two of them had their differences, but he was confident that Ava loved him, wanted to be the public Lady Dent as soon as circumstances allowed. But there were unmistakable oddities about the woman he'd seen on the news that day. She had red paint smeared across her chin corresponding with Joker's own missing makeup; she was in different clothes, clean like she'd figured out how to take a shower and go shopping.
Worst of all she looked at Joker with shame, as if she'd done something unspeakable he could haunt her with. Harvey wanted to get her, wanted to hold her close and forget that he'd ever lost her at all. Still, the question prowled at the back of his brain, pawing at his eyes every time he tried to sleep. Even now he could hear it, a frightening roar: What did you do? Dear God Ava, what did you do?
A tap on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts—it was Harley. "Harvey?"
"I'm good," he said, putting the gun back on his belt and nodding at her. "Let's go—I've got a lead."
"Where to?" asked Pam, nearing them.
Harvey scrubbed a hand across his face, aware of what he was asking of them. "We're going to the Butcher District."
-X-
As soon as the lights went out, Joker knew he was in trouble. Gordon left the interrogation room and before he could quite blink, Joker's forehead was imprinted in the stainless steel table. He clutched at his ringing head and giggled out a garbled response.
"Never start with head, the victim gets all...fuzzy," he said, smacking his lips. Batman was instantly in front of him, gritting his teeth like a chained, rabid dog. Joker's vision had just started to clear when a Kevlar-gloved hand slammed onto his own. Ouch.
"You wanted me, here I am," growled Batman, taking a seat across from him. Joker was struck by the urge to laugh, if only for the absurdity of it all. Here was Gotham's biggest mascot sat before its biggest monster like two friends out to tea.
"I wanted to see what you'd do...and you didn't disappoint," said Joker, wagging his numbed finger. "You let five people die, and possibly even more tonight. Even to a guy like me, that's cold."
"What do you mean, 'possibly more'?" demanded Batman. Joker watched the steely brown eyes beneath the cowl narrow into slits, watched the vigilante's fists clench and his jaw tighten: Someone's pissed. Lucky for him, that's just how Joker preferred his hypocritical vigilantes—furious and off their game.
Redirect, mused Joker, in no mood to let his prey go so easily; not when he'd worked hard to secure Batman's audience.
"Those mob fools want you dead so they can get back to the way things were. But I know the truth: there's no going back. You've changed things. Forever."
And there wasn't. Whether Batman was aware of it or not, the balance of Gotham had been permanently tipped in chaos' favor. District attorneys were killing people on the streets, Arkham pyschiatrists were making toxin strong enough to induce mass suicide, and reporters were sleeping with psychopaths. There goes the neighborhood.
"Then why do you want to kill me?" The question bounced off of Joker, if only because it was so stupid. Maybe he isn't as smart as he looks, thought Joker bursting into peals of cackling laughter.
"I don't want to kill you. What would I do—go back to ripping off mobsters? No. You complete me."
Apparently Batman was through with philosophical conversation because he yanked Joker by the tie and pulled him across the table.
"Where are the other hostages?"
No nonsense I see. Joker felt the eclipse of unconsciousness scratching at his vision, but didn't care if Batman knocked him out.
In that interrogation room, they were the purest forms of themselves: an unstoppable force and an immovable object. The only question that remained was how long it'd take Batman to realize that the unstoppable force had a buttress just as stubborn behind it? That even if Batman somehow broke his code (which Joker guessed barred the Dark Knight from murder), Ava was just behind—a creeping, hapless, unwitting kind of evil. That she'd already killed, had started down a path that would tug even the prettiest doe-eyed reporter into the mire?
"You think all these rules will save you, but you'll break your one rule if you want to save all those people..."
"I'm considering it," said Batman before shoving Joker's head against the observation window. Sparks popped across his vision, and Joker felt a warm trickle of blood on the back of his neck. That'll scar.
"Oh what, because I killed Dawes and corrupted Dent? You knew there was a price to pay, that the weak would get thrown out before—"
Joker never finished that sentence because Batman threw him against the hard tile wall where he slid down onto the floor. His spine took the brunt of the damage, protesting with a knife of pain that threatened his vision once more.
"WHERE'S THE DETONATOR?" screamed Batman, gripping Joker by the lapels of his vest.
Joker howled, laughing despite the exceeding pressure of his tie around his neck. "You have nothing! Nothing to threaten me with. Nothing to do with all your strength. But don't worry. I'm going to tell you where they are. And that's the point—you'll have to choose between the convicts and the good ol' people."
"The detonator for the citizens is at 532 78th Street and the one for the convicts is at Avenue L and Chestnut."
Batman dropped him, regaining his steely composure. Joker coughed for breath, rumbles of a laugh echoing in his chest. The door had hardly closed—the tail of Batman's cape struggling to keep up with his furious walk—before Joker raised himself, swiping at his bloody lip with a bruised hand.
Detective Gordon didn't know it, and Batman sure as hell didn't either, but the boats would be in absolute tatters by the time they arrived on the scene. It'd take no more than fifteen minutes before they realized they'd been played, and it just wouldn't do for Joker to be caught in Major Crimes precinct past midnight.
Joker gazed lazily at the glass shards of mirror were strewn around him, then at the pissed cop who was entering, likely to "keep watch."
A vicious smile spread his lips, revealing yellowed teeth. "How many of your friends have I killed?"
-X-
The only place felt Ava at home was in a car. Free from the noise of Joker, she could focus on the monotony of things—the solid yellow lines on the highway, the clicking indicator as Parker swerved through lanes toward the Butcher District. She could feel the cool window glass against her cheek, clear her mind.
Or at least attempt.
He's in you, he's in you, he's in you...over and over as her thoughts jumped to 9 months later, bloated with the devil's spawn. Ava could see herself, Rosemary's Baby style—great purple bags under the eyes, skin pale, mad with thirst, crying because she was having Joker's child. The sheer possibility was enough to make her shudder.
"Take me to a pharmacy," she blurted.
"What? Curly, we're only ten minutes away and you wanna stop for makeup?"
"It's not for makeup. Now take me to the damn drug store," growled Ava.
"For what then?" argued Parker. You're in a mood. She knew he was probably still upset about the Joker incident, but Ava didn't have the patience to spare his feelings tonight.
"For none of your fucking business, that's what." Ryan must've heard the urgency in her voice because he clapped a firm hand on Parker's shoulder.
"Listen, Ava's in charge until Boss gets back, and so far she hasn't fucked up. So if she asks you to drive her to a pharmacy, you take her. Understood?"
He punctuated his point by jabbing the nose of his pistol into the driver's side seat. Parker gave a begrudging nod and took the next exit off the freeway.
They were there in a matter of minutes. Ava hopped out the car, grateful to see the neon sign and tacky fluorescents inside. She wasted no time, navigating to the ladies' section and plucking the pink box of pills from the shelf. Ava stared at them for a moment, implications punching her in the gut. Emergency contraception, she mused, wondering how many "emergencies" these drugs had really averted—girls who were too young, partners who'd split up. But had they ever stopped the birth of an abomination, rocked someone back to their senses, shown them just what they were gambling with?
"You gotta be more careful with him or you're gonna end up Mrs. J real fuckin' quick," said Ryan, appearing at her side with a pack of cigarettes.
"Believe me, I'm trying. But it's a little difficult when he's got his fingers dug into your bones," she said, futilely trying to conceal the box at her side.
"TMI, Curly. All I know is he's only had you once and you're scrambling to play defense. What happens when he comes for you again?"
"There won't be a next time, Ry," she answered, pocketing a handful of candy bars on her way to the counter. Ryan caught her shoulder, staring at her with a mixture of pity and disbelief.
"Are you serious? Ava, he likes you—don't you see that? He's had a taste and he's gonna want more. You're not going anywhere without a fight."
Much as she didn't want to admit it, Ava knew Joker wasn't going to let her alone. He saw something in her, wanted to make her his partner in crime or some twisted equivalent. All she wanted to do was go home, see what'd become of Harvey and Pam. She wanted to get sushi and hear the D.A. election results and watch old movies with Pam, wanted to bring her Aunt Hazel out and show her just what a good job her niece had done—she wanted normal.
And that was worth fighting for.
Ava gave the cashier a 50, told him to keep the change, and made her way back to the car. Cracking the box and popping a pill in her mouth, she felt that same quiet fury settle over her again. Thinking of the weapons stockpile, of the turning tide amongst his men, of the cash she'd made plans to get her hands on, Ava couldn't help the malicious smirk that spread across her face.
You'll get your wish, J.
-X-
The Butcher District's nickname had absolutely nothing to do with meat. It had everything to do with the extremely high body count and pervading stench of rotting flesh, compliments of all the poor souls lost to the Gotham Bay. Harvey only had the pleasure of visiting once, when he got in too deep with a few dealers who had connects to a gang in this neighborhood. He tried his best not to remember the pervading dread that crept up his spine when they threatened to cut off his fingers if he tried to stiff them again.
"You better be right about this," said Pam, glaring at him from the corner of her eye. Harvey could hear the fear in her voice, the slight waver as she stared out the window at the excess of dark alleys.
"I am."
Harvey knew Joker's man had been telling the truth about the armory. He didn't know what he hoped to find (Ava, ultimately but there was a slim-to-none chance of that), only that he had to know what he was up against. How many bullets, how many guns—how much destruction Joker was willing create in order to break him.
Or how many people, he thought, unable to stop his thoughts from veering to what the goon had said before Harvey put a bullet in his head. "She ain't yours no more, man." Somehow he thought seeing one of Joker's hideouts would rectify that, give him a lifeline through all the chaos. Maybe he'd find a scrap of her shirt or a lock of hair on the floor—something to ground him.
Because as much as he didn't want to admit it, Harvey Dent didn't trust that the woman he'd seen on television—in Joker's clutches—was still his Ava Madden.
"I take it the guy didn't actually give you an address, huh Dent?" asked Harley, trying not to ruffle his feathers. He'd been making circles for the past five minutes, mind miles away from the car or their destination.
"No, but he did say it was down by the West Side docks. Shouldn't be too far ahead."
And it wasn't. Call it intuition, but he navigated largely based on memory. The day he and Raf had almost died, they were dragged to the water's edge, heads pressed against the dock planks. Harvey remembered the sharp scent of the sea and the sewage stench of decomposition. Following that, he made turn after turn until warehouses began to pop up around the Lexus.
Harvey ignored the malicious stares from windows and alleys as he parked the car on a corner. It wasn't that he didn't know someone could (and likely would) attempt to steal his car; it's that he wanted them to, if only so he could have an excuse to vent some of this nervous energy.
"It's...here?" said Pam, warily eyeing their surroundings.
"Yeah, somewhere," he answered, popping the trunk. "Now come on, I don't wanna be here looking for it all night."
Harvey took three guns from the trunk, handed one to Pam and one to Harley who accepted them without a second's hesitation. Throwing a few clips in his pockets for good measure, he shut the trunk and hurried ahead. Where are you, asshole? he thought, scanning the block for the most likely prospects. There were two blocks of smaller ones and a bay-facing street full of sprawling dilapidated structures. There. Joker had a penchant for the dramatic, and all that gasoline and C4 simply couldn't be housed in a small space.
"It's gotta be on Bay Ave. He needs easy access for his trucks and cars—can't be anywhere else," he said, pointing up ahead.
"Whatever you say, Golden Boy," said Pam, slight smile on her face as she nudged past him.
Getting to up to the warehouse was easy enough. The dealers and gang members were out and about, but no one paid them more than a casual interest. Whether it was because they didn't pose a threat—they didn't look junkies, nor did they have the predatory eye of a rival gang—or because they had guns, Harvey didn't know. He was just happy that he didn't have to waste any ammo prematurely.
There were five warehouses on the block, but something told him that the one with the overwhelming scent of gasoline was his best bet. And it was. He, Harley, and Pam hustled toward the building, careful to remain as hidden against walls or between street lamps. He heard the sound of voices as they grew nearer, then saw the outline of guards posted by the door entrance, guns in hand.
"Bingo," he said, nodding at the guarded warehouse. "That's it."
"And what, we're just gonna bust in and say 'gimme your shit?' Don't think that'll go over to well," whispered Harley, hand trembling.
It occurred to him that neither her nor Pam were suited for an armed stakeout. Pam was a doctoral resident with a specialization in botany; Harley was a junior Arkham psychologist—two professions that didn't lend themselves for reconnaissance and combat. But here they are. Harvey knew they were liabilities, that he was responsible for their safety. And though that idea was terrifying, he couldn't help but admire how much Pam loved Ava, how much Harley loved Pam (even if she hadn't admitted it to herself yet).
"Of course not. We're gonna sneak up there, get the drop on 'em and double tap 'em before they even know what hit them. Understand?"
The plan was risky at best, reckless at worst. But this was the only shot he'd have at this. Tomorrow, the day after—Joker didn't seem like the type to get himself caught without an escape plan, and Ava seemed to be at the top of his hit list. Still, he wasn't keen to see either of his friends hurt in the process.
"I guess so. You just point and shoot with these things, right?" joked Pam, trying to make light.
Harvey was about to answer—"hell no Pam, you don't just point and shoot, dear God"—when the screech and scent of burnt rubber halted all trains of thought. A black car came wheeling around the corner not ten feet from where they were hiding. Harvey put out a protective hand in front of Pam, coughed at the dust that kicked up.
Something stirred in the pit of Harvey's stomach as he watched the car screech to a halt by what was presumably Joker's armory. Queasy hope, darker hesitation and overall confusion as he squinted against the dark, saw the outline of curls in the car window.
It wasn't, couldn't be—his eyes were playing tricks on him, making miracles where there weren't any. But as he saw the goons pile out, his breath caught as he saw a slimmer, more feminine figure emerge. His voice died in his throat, and he fought back the tears that threatened his eyes.
Pam asked the question he couldn't manage to voice. "Is that...Ava?"
A/N: Psssst, you can watch me write this live on Twitch (brwngirlgames). You can also yell at in real time when I go too long without an update.
~L.L.