Chapter 8: Digging
A faint whisper is heard…"Night has fallen, and the clock tolls midnight. All is quiet as a lone figure stealthily makes its way through the many twists and turns that are shadow swept Gotham. Slowly, in a nimble cat- like manner our hero sneaks up to the lone guard, and BAM!"
A sickening thud follows as the flat end of a shovel introduces itself on the about faced police officer's head. He falls to the ground, face first.
"Oh, that's gotta hurt!" the Harlequin says in typical comedic fashion. "Hello? What's the matter, don't you like film noir? Hello? Is anyone in there?" she asks the unconscious cop while knocking her fist on his forehead. He doesn't move. "Ah, you'll be fine by mornin'."
The Harlequin steps across the police barricade and into the midst of the rubble that once was Joker's warehouse. She breathes in deeply the smell of explosives and Joker venom that she's grown so accustomed to. "Heavenly," she whispers as she makes her way up the pile. "Mr. J, Mr. J," she shakes her head, "always with the poison."
"Don't worry Mr. J, your ever loving and reliable girl Friday is here!" Harley calls into the pile while trying to keep quiet enough so no one else would hear. Lifting up the shovel she notices a large indentation where the metal scoop struck the officer's skull. Shrugging her shoulders she tosses it aside and removes another collapsible shovel from her costume (again, don't ask where she hid it). "I tried the tunnel, puddin', but it was collapsed and wedged in tight," Harley continues as she starts to dig. "This was a good one Mr. J. I mean, you always did like to bring the house down."
As Harley continues to dig her patience begins to wear thin, "There's no way I'm letting you off the hook! I gave you 5 years of my life and I'm not giving up when some stupid rocks are in the way!" She calms herself and continues her dig, "Sigh, this reminds me of the time we went and dug up some corpses to dump on police headquarters. That was a beautiful night. Full moon, stars, your smiling face as you tossed Mr. Henderson's head about and kicked dirt in my eyes. Come to think of it, I did most of the digging then too. No, wait, actually I did all of the digging. And I'm still doing the digging!" Harley pauses for a moment and frowns angrily. She then shakes her head and continues digging with her teeth clenched in anger, "Nuts! I'm going to give you such a pounding when I get you out of there!"
…
Bullock hates this. It's one thing to be called in to investigate a murder with the body still fresh and its eyes still staring at you, but to have to come in at 3 in the morning really irks him. 'Why'd they call me in anyway? These are posh apartments, where the well-to-do live who don't have to bother with crime, unless it's corporate. Damn waste of time, simple break and enter for sure.'
Bullock enters the crime scene and sees a well dressed body lying face first in the hallway of a luxurious apartment. 'Well,' thinks the detective, 'at least I won't have to worry about the staring part.' Next to the body are some scattered papers lying on top of a pool of blood. 'The coroner still ain't here,' thinks Bullock, 'but it's obvious this guy's a shooting victim.' He bends down and picks up a few of the sheets of paper in his gloved hands and hears a voice call him as he begins to read.
"Bullock!" It was Detective Allen, one of the regulars in homicide. 'An okay guy,' thinks Harvey, 'if a little stuffy.'
"Joe," Bullock answers, "why the hell did you call me in on this?"
"Gee Harv, no how do you do? You're breaking my heart. Seems the body had a caller at about 2:30, says her name is Candi and works the corner. Anyway, seems the body asked her to stop by at the usual time, seems he's a regular. She comes a knockin' and finding the door unlocked she enters and finds him like this. She screams, the neighbours wake up and here we are."
Allen always had a way of hearing a question and spewing a bunch of answers that didn't really answer anything. "So WHY am I here?" Bullock asks with a little more rancour in his voice.
"Easy big fella'! I'm getting to that. When we arrived I initially took it as your usual break and enter gone awry, with the body coming in and scaring the thief, bang, bang, bang, he's dead, the thief panics and beats a hasty retreat. Seems there's a broken window at the other end of the apartment…" Bullock looks up from the papers he's reading and makes a note of it. "We're on the fifth floor Harv, seems the perp must've been a decent climber. He/she certainly had the right footwear, we got a shoe print in the blood pool…" Harvey again peers over the papers he's reading and notes the boot print. It was familiar.
"Are you beginning to see why I called you in?" Allen asks.
"Yeah, I'm beginning to see the light," Bullock replies tersely. "Three shots would suggest the perp really wanted this guy dead, namely this was a hit, not accidental. Next, these papers were moved AFTER the guy was killed since they're smeared in blood while those in the satchel are bone dry. Finally, this guy was a doctor at Arkham, which can link it to my vigilante killer who may be broadening his horizon to the crazies."
"Bingo."
"Tell me Allen, why would a psycho vigilante killer go after a shrink?"
"I don't know. Disgruntled former patient? Whatever it is, it's no longer my problem. I'm heading home."
Bullock gives a faint snarl and continues to read the papers in his hands until he comes upon an interesting one, "Before you go Joe, what time did we get the APB on Quinn?"
"About midnight. Seems no one at Arkham noticed she was missing until lights out. Idiots. Why?"
"This guy was Dr. Marcus, the guy Joker had hypnotized in his breakout 3 weeks back, and also Harley Quinn's psychiatrist!"
"You mean Quinn's the vigilante killer?"
Bullock sneers, "You're real dense sometimes, ain't ya? I mean that Quinn may be the killer's next target. Knowing Quinn like I do she'll at least want to see her boyfriend once before moving on. Is there a sting on at the rubble pile?"
"What? It's the middle of the night. You think anyone on the force is up to speed on anything?"
"Damn."
…
Harley's been digging for almost an hour under the cover of darkness. Her muscles are beginning to ache, the sweat is pouring down like rain and her heart is pounding like a jackhammer. For the first time she begins to have doubts about digging up her beau, 'He probably would smell real ripe by now, and his complexion might be a lot paler than normal. Maybe Red's right. Maybe it's better if I just pay my respects and go back to Arkham and be a good little girl. My Red's certainly been much mellower since her complexion changed. Then again…'
She begins to bite her fingernails, wondering what to do, 'What if he's down there, still alive? What if I just walk away and he dies with my name on those loving ruby lips of his? I could be his maid in shining armour, and he'll be my little knight, and we'll live happily ever after…'
'But he can't be alive, can he? It's been too long, hasn't it? Damn, why didn't I pay attention in physiology class? Oh yeah,' she smiles lovingly as the thought crosses her mind, 'it was HIM.'
"Aw, to heck with it," and she continues digging.
Then it happens. She feels her strength wane as a breeze passes through her chest. Dropping the shovel she becomes light headed and falls to her knees. From there she continues to plummet face first into the hole of her own making. Head spinning, she can feel the eternal night embrace her as her life's blood spills out onto the earth below.
On a nearby rooftop a smoking rifle can be seen, its metallic hide eerily glistening under the pale moonlight, the silencer keeping it quiet as the weapon did its deadly task. Lowering the rifle the figure reveals a black covered face with two small slits revealing a pair of haunting eyes.
"I guess, Ms Quinzel, that you weren't immune to lead poisoning," the shooter murmurs in a low growl as he turns, his black cape flowing with the wind.
TO BE CONTINUED…
A faint whisper is heard…"Night has fallen, and the clock tolls midnight. All is quiet as a lone figure stealthily makes its way through the many twists and turns that are shadow swept Gotham. Slowly, in a nimble cat- like manner our hero sneaks up to the lone guard, and BAM!"
A sickening thud follows as the flat end of a shovel introduces itself on the about faced police officer's head. He falls to the ground, face first.
"Oh, that's gotta hurt!" the Harlequin says in typical comedic fashion. "Hello? What's the matter, don't you like film noir? Hello? Is anyone in there?" she asks the unconscious cop while knocking her fist on his forehead. He doesn't move. "Ah, you'll be fine by mornin'."
The Harlequin steps across the police barricade and into the midst of the rubble that once was Joker's warehouse. She breathes in deeply the smell of explosives and Joker venom that she's grown so accustomed to. "Heavenly," she whispers as she makes her way up the pile. "Mr. J, Mr. J," she shakes her head, "always with the poison."
"Don't worry Mr. J, your ever loving and reliable girl Friday is here!" Harley calls into the pile while trying to keep quiet enough so no one else would hear. Lifting up the shovel she notices a large indentation where the metal scoop struck the officer's skull. Shrugging her shoulders she tosses it aside and removes another collapsible shovel from her costume (again, don't ask where she hid it). "I tried the tunnel, puddin', but it was collapsed and wedged in tight," Harley continues as she starts to dig. "This was a good one Mr. J. I mean, you always did like to bring the house down."
As Harley continues to dig her patience begins to wear thin, "There's no way I'm letting you off the hook! I gave you 5 years of my life and I'm not giving up when some stupid rocks are in the way!" She calms herself and continues her dig, "Sigh, this reminds me of the time we went and dug up some corpses to dump on police headquarters. That was a beautiful night. Full moon, stars, your smiling face as you tossed Mr. Henderson's head about and kicked dirt in my eyes. Come to think of it, I did most of the digging then too. No, wait, actually I did all of the digging. And I'm still doing the digging!" Harley pauses for a moment and frowns angrily. She then shakes her head and continues digging with her teeth clenched in anger, "Nuts! I'm going to give you such a pounding when I get you out of there!"
…
Bullock hates this. It's one thing to be called in to investigate a murder with the body still fresh and its eyes still staring at you, but to have to come in at 3 in the morning really irks him. 'Why'd they call me in anyway? These are posh apartments, where the well-to-do live who don't have to bother with crime, unless it's corporate. Damn waste of time, simple break and enter for sure.'
Bullock enters the crime scene and sees a well dressed body lying face first in the hallway of a luxurious apartment. 'Well,' thinks the detective, 'at least I won't have to worry about the staring part.' Next to the body are some scattered papers lying on top of a pool of blood. 'The coroner still ain't here,' thinks Bullock, 'but it's obvious this guy's a shooting victim.' He bends down and picks up a few of the sheets of paper in his gloved hands and hears a voice call him as he begins to read.
"Bullock!" It was Detective Allen, one of the regulars in homicide. 'An okay guy,' thinks Harvey, 'if a little stuffy.'
"Joe," Bullock answers, "why the hell did you call me in on this?"
"Gee Harv, no how do you do? You're breaking my heart. Seems the body had a caller at about 2:30, says her name is Candi and works the corner. Anyway, seems the body asked her to stop by at the usual time, seems he's a regular. She comes a knockin' and finding the door unlocked she enters and finds him like this. She screams, the neighbours wake up and here we are."
Allen always had a way of hearing a question and spewing a bunch of answers that didn't really answer anything. "So WHY am I here?" Bullock asks with a little more rancour in his voice.
"Easy big fella'! I'm getting to that. When we arrived I initially took it as your usual break and enter gone awry, with the body coming in and scaring the thief, bang, bang, bang, he's dead, the thief panics and beats a hasty retreat. Seems there's a broken window at the other end of the apartment…" Bullock looks up from the papers he's reading and makes a note of it. "We're on the fifth floor Harv, seems the perp must've been a decent climber. He/she certainly had the right footwear, we got a shoe print in the blood pool…" Harvey again peers over the papers he's reading and notes the boot print. It was familiar.
"Are you beginning to see why I called you in?" Allen asks.
"Yeah, I'm beginning to see the light," Bullock replies tersely. "Three shots would suggest the perp really wanted this guy dead, namely this was a hit, not accidental. Next, these papers were moved AFTER the guy was killed since they're smeared in blood while those in the satchel are bone dry. Finally, this guy was a doctor at Arkham, which can link it to my vigilante killer who may be broadening his horizon to the crazies."
"Bingo."
"Tell me Allen, why would a psycho vigilante killer go after a shrink?"
"I don't know. Disgruntled former patient? Whatever it is, it's no longer my problem. I'm heading home."
Bullock gives a faint snarl and continues to read the papers in his hands until he comes upon an interesting one, "Before you go Joe, what time did we get the APB on Quinn?"
"About midnight. Seems no one at Arkham noticed she was missing until lights out. Idiots. Why?"
"This guy was Dr. Marcus, the guy Joker had hypnotized in his breakout 3 weeks back, and also Harley Quinn's psychiatrist!"
"You mean Quinn's the vigilante killer?"
Bullock sneers, "You're real dense sometimes, ain't ya? I mean that Quinn may be the killer's next target. Knowing Quinn like I do she'll at least want to see her boyfriend once before moving on. Is there a sting on at the rubble pile?"
"What? It's the middle of the night. You think anyone on the force is up to speed on anything?"
"Damn."
…
Harley's been digging for almost an hour under the cover of darkness. Her muscles are beginning to ache, the sweat is pouring down like rain and her heart is pounding like a jackhammer. For the first time she begins to have doubts about digging up her beau, 'He probably would smell real ripe by now, and his complexion might be a lot paler than normal. Maybe Red's right. Maybe it's better if I just pay my respects and go back to Arkham and be a good little girl. My Red's certainly been much mellower since her complexion changed. Then again…'
She begins to bite her fingernails, wondering what to do, 'What if he's down there, still alive? What if I just walk away and he dies with my name on those loving ruby lips of his? I could be his maid in shining armour, and he'll be my little knight, and we'll live happily ever after…'
'But he can't be alive, can he? It's been too long, hasn't it? Damn, why didn't I pay attention in physiology class? Oh yeah,' she smiles lovingly as the thought crosses her mind, 'it was HIM.'
"Aw, to heck with it," and she continues digging.
Then it happens. She feels her strength wane as a breeze passes through her chest. Dropping the shovel she becomes light headed and falls to her knees. From there she continues to plummet face first into the hole of her own making. Head spinning, she can feel the eternal night embrace her as her life's blood spills out onto the earth below.
On a nearby rooftop a smoking rifle can be seen, its metallic hide eerily glistening under the pale moonlight, the silencer keeping it quiet as the weapon did its deadly task. Lowering the rifle the figure reveals a black covered face with two small slits revealing a pair of haunting eyes.
"I guess, Ms Quinzel, that you weren't immune to lead poisoning," the shooter murmurs in a low growl as he turns, his black cape flowing with the wind.
TO BE CONTINUED…