[Note from the Author: Hey guys! I'm really sorry about the delay on this chapter. I know I had committed to posting every week, but right now I'm going to have to put two week stints in between chapters. My goal is to have this story completed by the time the Dark Knight Rises hits theaters next year. Again, I'm very sorry for the delay. I will be posting again soon. Until then, please enjoy Chapter 48! Thanks again for all your great support.]
That the offices at Gotham City's Major Crime Unit were nearly empty so late at night was not an odd occurrence. There was no such thing as a desk job in the MCU. Everyone was out taking cases, patrolling the streets, keeping Gotham as safe as they could – though how effective they were now was anyone's guess. Every single officer who walked through those halls knew that they were just avoiding the inevitable...riding out the calm before the storm, so to speak. With the Joker out of Arkham, it was only a matter of time before something happened. It had been just over three weeks, and all of them had braced themselves.
Something was coming. Something very, very big was coming.
For Joe Callaghan, late night at the MCU had become his haven. It was quiet, dark, and the perfect place to bury his nose in an evidence file in an attempt to draw lines between the events of the last month. It had been over a week since he had promised Jim Gordon results, and so far, he wasn't having a lot of luck.
From the very start this case had been completely disjointed. Developing cases against the Joker and Dr. Harleen Quinzel wasn't the hard part – the hard part was proving that either of them would be fit to face the prosecution. It was easy for the rest of the world to point a finger at the Joker for the young woman's descent into hell, but Joe didn't think it was quite so simple. The question that rang repeatedly in his mind was how had this intelligent doctor, with the world as her oyster, given everything up for a madman? Insanity was one way to look at it – in fact it was the preferred way... but it was a pill he just couldn't swallow.
As Joe sat on one of the old oak desks that adorned the investigations department of the MCU, the ringing in his mind transformed into an actual, physical ringing. For a moment, Joe thought it might have been a figment of his imagination. Slowly, his eyes turned up from where they'd been resting on the convoluted findings of the case file, to the telephone as it all but rattled on its hook.
Confident that someone else would pick it up, he tried his best to ignore the persistent chiming and turn back to his work. But the phone kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing, until...
"Detective Joesph Callaghan," he answered the phone abruptly.
On the other end of the line there was a calm, cool voice. It was dark, melodic, but distorted, as though the call was coming from a cellular phone with a particularly poor reception. "May I speak to Jim Gordon, please?" the man asked politely, but Joe immediately got the impression that there was very little truth to his kindness.
"Uh..." Joe stumbled, looking for a piece of notepaper to take some notes. "No, I'm afraid he's not in the MCU office at the moment. Can I take a message?" he asked, brows furrowed, waiting to see if this call turned out to be anything besides creepy.
Suddenly he found himself wishing that the place hadn't been so dead quiet.
"Suuure," the voice said with a tint of thoughtfulness that made Joe dread what was coming next. "Tell Commissioner Gordon that the Joker is at the Old Creemore building in East Gotham, stealing explosives from the foundation, and that if he doesn't want to miss the party, than he might want to hurry."
"Who is this?" Joe asked, leaning over the desk with a determinant look on his face.
The only answer he received was the dial tone.
For a minute, Joe felt like a rookie again, and his hands fluttered across the table, unsure of what it was that he should immediately do. Quickly, he took a deep breath, and with the eraser of his pencil, he keyed in the number to Jim's cellphone number that he'd contributed to memory. It rang once, and again, and then suddenly there was a tired voice on the other end of the line.
"Hello...?" Jim asked groggily.
"Commissioner, someone just called in with a very urgent message for you..."
"You ready?" the Joker asked, as the two of them stood in the darkness on top of the building. They'd been here less than twenty-four hours before, and in that time, Harley had been briefed from head to toe on exactly what it was that she would be doing.
In actuality, she wasn't really ready, but she swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded, "As ready as I'm ever going to be, I suppose." She was lying, but the Joker knew that, and had everyone else heard it, they might have laughed; she half-expected him to laugh as well.
He didn't.
"You regretting this choice you made?" he asked in a gritty tone, enough for Harley to turn and glare.
"No!" she struck back at him, before looking down over the edge of the building. "I'm not regretting anything."
Behind her in his full regalia, she could hear him pace furiously through the gravel on the rooftop. By the time the two of them had arrived, the gates had been cut through, and the security personnel had already been killed. Their bodies had been pulled off into the long grass around the building, and their truck had been rigged with three barrels of gasoline, set to go with the strike of a match. Harley had seen the bloodstains on the ground from where they had been shot. She'd never been queasy at the sight of blood, and wasn't about to start. She'd seen the Joker's impressed expression as they two of them had strode past, and into the building. Maybe she was capable of dealing with the drama of such an escapade; she wasn't quite sure herself, but it was clear the Joker was having his reservations.
"You're not ready for this..." he growled, displeased by his revelation.
"You're not taking me out," she proclaimed, showing no signs of backing down, even when the Joker extended his squinted, dark-eyed, glare in her direction.
"What makes you so sure about that?" he asked, with a stillness in his voice which normally would have just done more to shake her, but this time, accomplished nothing.
"I can't be a hundred percent sure where the bullets will end up, or how successful I'll be, but that doesn't make me any less confident in my ability," she chirped, and although the affirmation might have done a little something to lower the fear, he still didn't seem all that convinced.
Crossing the arms of his dusty, violet peacoat over one another, he leaned back on his heels, leaning forward to question her again. "So are you ready or not? You got an axe to grind or something?"
"Just because I'm ready for this, doesn't make the fear of failure go away. I'm not looking to grind an axe, I'm looking to prove myself." Her heated glance penetrated him as she watched the cynical, doubting gaze that shot from his eyes like tiny lightning bolts. "The night I broke you out of Arkham, I was angry. I need to prove to you that I'm not just a flash in the pan, and I need to prove to myself that I'm capable of running along side you."
The Joker's face softened as Harley pulled the leather headdress out from under her arm, where she'd been holding it against her body. Using her free hand to twirl her long blonde hair into a loose french roll behind her head, she slipped the fitted jester's headgear on, making sure to tuck the black neck line into her white latex collar.
Turning to glance back at him, her dark, cat-eyed shaped makeup making the ultramarine iris pop, even in the night's blackness. She gave him a playful smirk. "...and doesn't this look like the kind of person you'd want to have with you?"
He tried his best to maintain a grimacing, unimpressed expression, but his scowl was no match for the excitement clearly drawn on her face. "Besides, what happens if I blow everyone's socks off and do a great job, hmm?" she asked. "Do I get a present?"
"Sure, you get the gift of life... because I won't kill you."
The two looked at each other for a moment before they both broke out into bemused laughter. "You keep joking around like that, sooner or later I'm going to start believing that maybe you'd never have the guts to do me in."
"Not today..." he said, eyes half-lidded as he dug some of the dirt out from under his fingernails.
She smiled and looked out over the view of Gotham that she so appreciated. "Well I'll make sure not to test you."
Suddenly the sound of footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs to the roof, and the two of them turned at the ready for whoever it was that should emerge. Harley was relieved to see Bosco at the top of the stairs a few seconds later, huffing and puffing from his frantic climb. "I just got off the horn with the fuzz," he exclaimed to the Joker before glancing over at Harley. "They should be on their way any minute."
Nodding, the Joker waved him off. "Alright, it's go time. Tell the Bear and Marky to meet me down in the basement, and I'll be down there in a few."
"You got it Bossman," he said in an affirmative before looking back to Harley once more. "Hol' tight, OK Chicken? I'ma be back up in a few minutes to set you up with your harness, a'ight?"
Harley smiled at his sweetly concerned street talk. Nodding an affirmative of her own, she watched him trot back down the stairs before looking back over at the Joker. "You better get going," she said to him, and he turned to give her a hard but oddly distressed glance. Sharply, she inhaled through her nose, couching down to open a case by her feet.
She spoke casually as she threw open the lid, clipping a loaded magazine into an AK-47, a skill the Joker had taught her not more than twelve hours before. "Just, be careful, would ya? I know you're generally not that concerned for your welfare, but I am. I'd like it if we could both end up going back in one piece," she explained, avoiding eye-contact with him as she clipped a neck-strap to the intimidating weapon, carefully sliding it over her headgear and around her right arm and shoulder.
"That's not usually the name of the game..." he told her flatly before the two of them were distracted by the sound of a distant police sirens, the flashing of multiple blue and red lights flickering against the sides of buildings.
Smiling, she waved him off. "Alright, well... I'll forgive you if you come back a little banged up."
Looking out over the city to gauge the sirens' distance, she heard the Joker's footsteps come forward. He took a firm hold of her arm.
Gasping as she took a couple steps back from the edge, that small fear in her heart expanding, wondering if the Joker might have been threatening to throw her off again, but instead he loomed over her, his presence made her feel as though she was tiny enough to scoop up in his jacket.
She'd brought her arm up, and glared at him in curiosity, as he continued to hang on. "What now? You don't have the time to fool around right now. Tell you what, you can throw me off the building if I do a shitty job, ok? But until then..."
"Harley?" he interrupted, stopping her sentence dead in its tracks.
She blinked in confusion a couple times, her large eyes staring up at him, searching his face. "Yeah?"
"Shut up..." he told her flatly, and she had every intention on protesting until his grip on her wrist tightened, and almost swiftly, as if he'd done it a half a million times before, pulled her in.
At once, every inch of protest left her body, and just like the time the two of them had been caught in her iridescent fishbowl of an apartment, the police sirens seemed to play the best mood music.
He kissed her, and though he hadn't rushed, it had ended much sooner than Harley would have hoped. In fact, the Joker must have appreciated the look of dull surprise it left on her face; his expression was smug as he turned and headed for the stairs.
"What was that for, luck?" she asked, a shy grin spreading over her face as she turned down to look at her shoes.
"Something like that..." he said, nonchalantly waving as he turned down the stairs.
Darkness cloaked the landscape as Jim all but flew through the streets of South Gotham. His tie had been hastily knotted round his pulsing neck, as his speeding car veered around one corner, and than another. Naively, he'd wished this day would never come, but by instinct alone, he knew it would only be a matter of time before the Joker brought his new 'Harley' out of the garage.
If he had been looking to simplify the Joker, he might have called him a showman. Everything he did seemed in effort to draw attention to himself. It was an idea that frightened a man like Jim, who usually tried to keep himself out of the limelight, and found himself incredibly uncomfortable once he found himself there. The Joker found so much pleasure in this high-powered media attention that he reminded Jim very much of a cat who liked to writhe and stretch in the sun. It was almost as if the actual crime itself was secondary to its entertainment value.
It didn't matter much if he was successful, so long as he had a good time.
Such mentality almost made Jim feel as though he was playing right into the Joker's hand. The suspicious call earlier in the evening had obviously been from one of his thugs, and anyone could see that they were just a bunch of pigs being led to the slaughter - but what could he do, let the Joker run Gotham like it was his own tailor-made playground?
The lunatic was doing a great job at keeping Jim's confidence at an all-time low. In the past, he'd let Jim believe they had captured him, only to outsmart the GCPD yet again. it seemed like every time they got the leg up on him, the Joker would pull the floor out from underneath their feet and send them tumbling back down to square one all over again. Even now there was a sense of stand-still futility in the air as Jim rushed forward to what could have been his doom.
It wasn't until he began closing in on the sirens that he felt the inclination to reach for the red Blackberry in his trench coat pocket.
Jim's voice was shrill as he left a voicemail after the introduced beep. "I hope you don't have any other plans tonight, because the Joker just announced that he'll be stealing three tons worth of explosives from the Creemore building in North West Gotham. Don't call me back," he said before tossing the phone across the dash, mounting the curb and driving through the already ripped chain link fence.
He'd just barely thrown the car into park before he tore off through the parking lot, gun in hand. Other police officers stood, guns drawn behind the armored plating of their squad car doors. Heavily armored SWAT team members were already securing a perimeter around the building. Now that the Commissioner had arrived, all authority passed to him, and all the senior lieutenants acknowledged him as he stepped away from the still open door of his car and toward the back of the armored SWAT vehicle.
"Sir, we've got twenty men forming a perimeter, and fifteen men waiting to go in on your signal," said the gruff voice of the masked SWAT commander.
Jim couldn't see his face, but that again, he really wasn't paying very much attention. He'd grabbed a bullet-proof vest from the back of the van and was busy pulling it over his head. "Have you had any contact?"
"No sir, the only thing we've got so far is a white unmarked van on the north side of the building. It doesn't appear to have been tampered with, but so far no contact has been made with the Joker of any of his henchmen," he explained to the commissioner.
Jim's heart dropped. "So what you're telling me is that Joker could be leading us on a wild goose chase, and that we have no real proof that anyone from his team is even here?" he asked in frustration, but watched as the suited man shook his head.
"No sir, we're pretty sure he's here. The two paid guards from the construction company were found dead, and our acoustic measurement devices are picking up sounds from the foundation." The man lifted his visor, seemingly confused by the commissioner's actions as the older man checked the rounds in his magazine before sliding the clip into the butt of his handgun. "Sir, I advise that you retain a strictly administrative role on this mission. There's a large amount of high-explosives down there."
"You obviously don't know the Joker very well if you think he's got the stones to blow himself up," Jim chirped, sliding his holster to the small of his back before clipping in his gun. "He loves himself far too much to do that," Lifting himself up into the back of the SWAT van, he casually selected an assault rifle from off the wall, throwing the strap over his shoulder. "Has there been any sign of the girl?"
The man shook his head. "No Commissioner, no sign of her yet."
Jim sighed; secretly, he'd been hoping somebody had spotted her. Somewhere deep in Jim's heart, he'd wondered if the girl was still even alive at this point, but since the video had cleared up any speculation, he'd been hoping that she'd make her presence known. "Keep an eye out for her. The Joker could be planning anything."
"Yes sir," he said with a bit of hesitation in his voice before stepping up into the van himself. "If you insist on going in, at least let me set you up with a helmet."
Jim felt submerged when he took those few first steps into the darkness of the building. It enveloped him the way one might disappear beneath the waves; first he faded from sight, and then he was gone - they all were. Carefully, Jim skulked along the front corridor behind a few of the other team members. Usually they'd be carrying flare charges, or something of the like to distract their target as they swept in. This time was a little different. A flash might set off an explosives that might still be in the basement, and surprising the Joker usually ended up being pointless.
He always knew they were coming.
With only one entrance into and out of the basement, the men moved slowly, guns out in front of them as they quickly made their way toward the stairs. Tactically, Jim realized how much of a nightmare this place was, and it was easy to see why the Joker might have been chomping at the bit to get into a place like this. The tight corners, the dark atmosphere, the dank scent that hung in the air...all of it just screamed his name, and reminded Jim so much of the last building he'd been in. Secretly he hoped that, just like last time, capture was eminent.
As the team silently shuffled to the entrance to the basement, he watched as the team leader held up his hand to initiate a countdown. He knew the drill... in the next few seconds the entire team would soar down the stairs in an attempt to catch the Joker and his gang of miscreants off guard. One by one, the leader pulled his fingers in, and once he'd made a fist, all fifteen of them trampled down the stairs in just a few seconds flat, forming a semi-perimeter around the Joker as the lights from their scopes trained on him immediately.
Jim was confused. The skids packed full of explosives appeared untouched, as the Joker stood before them. In fact, it very much looked like he had been standing in the dark waiting for them to arrive. A few flashlights swept vaguely over the rest of the room, and the absence of anyone else terrified Jim.
Why was he waiting in a basement, by himself, with very little probability of escape? The only reasonable explanation was that they had been lured, but for what reason, Jim wasn't sure.
With his visor down, it was difficult to see anything besides the violet-cloaked psychopath who stood square in the center of the room. His head turned up slowly, eyes squinted in the harsh light of their scopes. Beyond that he stood perfectly still and drew in a deep breath through his nose. "Ah... Commissioner Gordon. I wouldn't ever say you didn't have guts. You're always the first to trudge headlong into danger. I can always smell a liar... even the ones who try to hide the stench."
From behind his darkened visor, Jim's expression was purely shocked. How could he have possibly known that he had been among them without hearing so much as his voice?
"Get on the floor, scumbag!" one of the men had hollered to him, gesturing toward the dusty ground with the barrel of his gun. The Joker only gave the man an amused glance before turning his attention squarely back to Jim.
Lifting his visor, Jim spoke in his most commanding tone, though he knew it would do nothing to intimidate him. "Where's the girl?"
"The girl?" he asked, feigning offense. "And here I was thinking you'd thrown this little party all for me."
"I'm not playing around with you, Joker!" he commanded, pressing the stock into his shoulder to steady the aim of his rifle. "Where's the girl? Where's Harley?"
"She's fiiine... actually, she's better than I expected." Here he sucked his teeth and squinted his eyes as he shook his head, "But if I were you, I'd be more worried about those missing explosives than dear Dr. Quinzel."
The light on Jim's scope quickly scanned to the left and the right of the Joker where both skids remained untouched, wrapped and arranged neatly. "The explosives are right there."
The Joker turned to assess the skids, nodding an affirmative of Jim's observation. "Oh, yeah... well you're right, these one's aren't missing. I'm talking about the other ones." He paused, and his squinting gazed narrowed skeptically at Jim. "What? You don't think they would only place explosives in the basement, do ya?" he asked before bursting out into a fit of laughter.
Jim looked around the room, "Alert the rest of SWAT to sweep over the rest of the building, they're stealing explosives from the upper levels!" he hollered, and then came an ominous sound. It reminding Jim of a sound when a magazine clips into place, except this one was larger, hollow.
Lights bounced about the room as Jim called out his orders, and although their scopes still trained themselves on the Joker, he swore there had been something else.
"How long is it, Commissioner?" the Joker asked with a sinister smile, forcing Jim to keep his eyes on the madman, although he wanted very much to scan through the rest of the room. "How long is it until that whole house of cards you've built up for yourself comes crashing down around you, hmm?" he asked with such screaming confidence that Jim nearly made himself sick.
He wanted to book him right there...not for what he had done to all those people, to Gotham; not for justice, or any sense of morality – Jim wanted to take him down for everything he thought he knew about him, for everything he'd done to Harley... and if it hadn't been for those self centered reasons, Jim might have had the SWAT team rush him.
His hesitation was always his downfall.
Someone's scope, not his, scanned room behind the Joker once more, just as there had been a very ominous click. From behind a small cement partition where some ancient appliance might have been tucked, there was a young man seated on the floor with his legs spread -
- and a rocket launcher mounted on his shoulder.
"Dive, dive, dive!" their team lead yelled out to his crew, and to the left and right of Jim everyone scattered to avoid the blast. There was a deafening bang and within milliseconds, Jim could feel the cold air from outside rush into the dank basement. Cement dust settled everywhere, and faintly he could hear orders being shouted.
There was a distinct sound of scampering feet, and Jim had lifted his head in just enough time to the the Joker lift himself up out of the foundation and through a ten-foot-wide hole he'd blown through the side of the building.
Jim felt some relief as he watched the Joker run through the hole. He knew that the Joker wouldn't be able to make it more than a couple steps without being tagged by the SWAT team out there; even now as he tried to recollect himself, other team members who had been inside with him would be moving to emerge through the gaping hole the Joker had left behind him.
Then, gunfire. The sound of bullets rained down on the black top, but instead of stability, it sounded very much like more panic had spread throughout the squad. Everything seemed to happen so fast, and before he knew it, Jim was being held down by a SWAT member who had returned back into the basement only seconds after lifting himself out from the hole.
"What is it? What is it?" Jim asked, having to yell at the top of his lungs over the sound of gunfire.
"It's Harleyquinn, sir!" the man on top of him hollered back. "She's covering the Joker from the roof!"
