Theme: Kim Petras - 'Massacre'
The Pantomime.
19.
To stop a new Reign of Terror, Dinah needed to find out why Harley and the Joker were protecting Daggett—how they benefited from covering up whatever corruption he was being accused of. She and Bruce were having a heated debate about what a discussion with John Daggget might look like; the straightforward way in Bruce's capacity as playboy billionaire, or a more vigilante-style approach.
Dinah had not been aware that Daggett was so interested in Wayne Enterprises, but boardroom politics were hardly her MO.
Then they got the call from Lucius.
"Let me put you on speakerphone," Bruce said hesitantly, glancing at Dinah as he set the phone on the table between them.
Lucius started off expressing concern for Vicki's well-being before moving on to concern about the questions Vicki asked him. Even for a star investigative reporter, she seemed oddly well informed, but more importantly, Lucius got the sense that she had an ulterior motive. That she was warning them about an imminent cyber attack. Though why she wouldn't just come out and say as much, or just tell Bruce instead of going to Lucius, he couldn't understand.
While Lucius spoke, Dinah's mind started to race, piecing together a puzzle that had been shifting and moving for weeks.
"It's Harley," Dinah insisted as soon as Bruce hung up on Lucius. "Vicki knows what's going on."
He frowned at her, almost pityingly. "Not everything is about—"
"This time it is, Bruce!" Dinah threw her hands up in an uncharacteristic show of anger.
Bruce eyed her warily for a moment, looking concerned, making Dinah want to scream.
"There's a connection between Harley and Daggett," she insisted. "A hostile takeover via anarchist hackers? Come on! That isn't something John Daggett would come up with!"
"If Harley is working with Daggett, why would she send Vicki to warn us?" Bruce pushed back gently.
"There has to be something bigger," Dinah countered. "Whatever she's planning, Vicki knows what it is. She's tangled up in this Bruce. She has to be."
"Vicki is a reporter investigating Daggett," Bruce pointed out. "It could be as simple as her investigation parallelling ours."
"Then why did she try to manipulate Lucius?" Dinah snapped. "Why not tell him or you outright about this cyber-attack? Why is she being sneaky and acting like she has something to hide?"
Bruce folded his arms, his expression grim as he listened more intently, and Dinah tried to calm down, to lower her voice, but she couldn't quite manage it...
"Lucius said Vicki looked exhausted, Bruce. Imagine the toll it's taking on her to be dealing with Harley." Dinah huffed impatiently. "Harley's got Vicki hiding behind her job to do her bidding just like last time!"
"Alright, stop," Bruce held up a hand, conflicted. "I promise I'll talk to her."
"You promise you'll talk to her?" Dinah demanded incredulously. "She could be with Harley right this minute—we need to find her now."
"I'll call her now," Bruce tried to placate, picking up his phone and swiping the screen. "See?" he held his phone to his ear as if that was supposed to be reassuring when it was just exceptionally patronizing.
They both waited, the tension in the cave reaching a fever pitch the longer the phone rang, neither of them saying anything.
"It went to voicemail," Bruce admitted.
Dinah scoffed in frustration and spun around, storming out.
If Bruce wasn't going to do anything, then Dinah would just have to do it herself.
Pam was beaming, her green eyes glittering mischievously as she stepped into Lee's apartment, dragging a giant suitcase behind her. Harley's face split into a stupid grin, and she gave in to the uncharacteristic impulse to grab Pam and pull her in for a hug, making Pam laugh as she squeezed her back.
They hadn't seen each other for two months, not since they spent a week together in Peru, and as it always was, Harley had forgotten just how much she missed her friend. Basically, her only real friend, ever. Just as Harley was the only one who could keep up with the Joker, Pam was the only person who could keep up with Harley. And not just because of her abilities, but her similar personality type. Brash, unapologetic, fearless—those were the traits that led her to do those weird-science experiments on herself in the first place. Those were the traits that made her strong.
Harley suspected this was the main reason why the Joker loathed her so intensely. He didn't like anyone but Harley, and he didn't have space for anyone but Harley, and he couldn't fathom why she would feel any differently.
"Oh, my God!" Ed nearly shrieked, ruining the moment. "Poison Ivy!"
Pam pulled away from Harley to squint at him, her pretty features shifting into something more cautious as she examined Ed across the room. Meanwhile, the Joker stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
"Come on," Harley muttered, inclining her head down the hallway. "Let's go talk."
"Yeah, okay," Pam agreed, following Harley but shooting Ed a wary look over her shoulder.
Once sequestered in the spare room where they could get some privacy, Harley collapsed on the twin bed while Pam pushed the door shut, her expression weaving between suspicious and concerned as she lowered herself onto the bed. They both sat cross-legged, facing one another, Harley shifting uncomfortably thanks to all the spanking she'd demanded in the bathroom.
"Alright," Pam started, her face serious. "Who the fuck are those people? You hate people."
"Well," Harley sighed. "Lee's the doctor who did my birth control implant, so when J got hurt, I tracked her down and she saved him. This is her apartment."
"Okay," Pam's eyes widened, Harley's answer giving her even more questions.
"The guy is Ed, and Ed is..." Harley rolled her eyes before she looked at Pam again. "Ed's the Riddler," she said flatly.
"Oh...kay... " Pam looked over her shoulder at the closed door like she was reassessing Ed's place out in the living room.
"Pam," Harley waited for Pam to look at her, wanting to get down to brass tactics. "What are you doing back in Gotham?"
They had only communicated very briefly over text the night before after Alexandra Kosov gave Harley a phone number for one Lillian Green, Pam's pseudonym. According to Alexandra, Lillian Green sought her out a day earlier, saying she was looking for Harley Quinn.
Harley and Pam exchanged a few coded messages, and Harley gave her Lee's address. Without Lonnie keeping tabs on things, it seemed too dangerous to communicate any more than that.
"Let's see," Pam deadpanned. "The last I heard from you, you're depressed and breaking up with J. Next thing I know, you're on a crime spree killing judges and shooting up City Hall." She held her hands up, offering Harley a wry smile. "No judgment, obviously. But then I try to call you and your phone says it's out of service. That phone doesn't do out of service, and you always have it on you. So after a couple of days when I still couldn't reach you, I figured something really fucking bad must have gone down and I hopped on the first flight back to Gotham."
Harly folded her arms over her chest, trying to hide the swell of affection she felt for Pam at that moment, determined to be productive instead of sentimental.
"Did you drone Alexandra Kosov?" she demanded.
"No," Pam rolled her eyes. "Just some of her thugs temporarily so I could find her and talk to her."
"What the hell did you tell her?" Harley asked, bewildered.
"I said I was Lillian Green and I had a job for Harley Quinn," Pam shrugged. "Alexandra basically took my number and told me to fuck off. Then you texted me last night, and here we are."
Harley nodded slowly, releasing a breath as she scrolled through possible scenarios that this was a larger plot by Roman. That he would outmaneuver her again by allowing her to have Pam now, only for it to lead to something worse later.
"Harley," Pam leaned forward, her hand closing around Harley's wrist, and Harley only just stopped herself from flinching away. She'd seen Pam touch too many people that casually only to take away their free will. "What the fuck is going on?" Pam demanded, looking worried.
Harley sighed moodily and looked down at the bedspread, which was dotted with little purple flowers.
"Let me just start from the beginning," she said.
From there, she told Pam the whole story, getting many disgusted scowls and dismissive scoffs as she explained the ins and outs of the situation, Pam absorbing all of it like a sponge. But when Harley got to the Wayne Foundation fundraiser, she felt herself run out of steam. Not just because of what happened in the crypt, but because of what she'd seen before that, which she had yet to tell anyone.
The Joker wouldn't care or understand. But Pam would.
"What is it?" she asked, watching Harley struggle to find the right words.
"So… I'm walking down a hallway, and a girl is walking toward me," Harley said slowly, meeting Pam's eye. "And… I'm pretty sure it was Dinah."
Pam's eyes nearly bulged out of her skull.
"Dinah?" she hissed. "Our Dinah?"
"Yeah," Harley nodded, just as bewildered now as she'd been then. There were more than a few pressing issues that had pushed Dinah's reappearance to the back of her mind, but it was still one of the more startling. "Her hair was the same," she recalled. "But she was wearing a fancy dress and pearls and she looked… healthy."
Pam chewed on her top lip, blinking hard as she tried to find an answer.
"Maybe," she faltered and made a face. "Maybe she snuck in to rob the place?"
"Maybe," Harley agreed weakly. "I was sure she'd leave Gotham."
"I haven't thought about her in… so long," Pam admitted, shaking her head.
"I was just glad she got out," Harley agreed, running a hand through her damp hair. "And didn't end up like, you know..."
"Like Roxy," Pam murmured, her face falling.
Harley sighed, recalling how upset she'd been when Victor took Roxy from her. Roxy had been her friend to protect, and he'd cut her into pieces. With time, those feelings of outrage over her death had faded, maybe because Harley had moved on and replaced Roxy with other things, other people.
Or maybe because it was obvious Victor had since suffered something satisfyingly horrific too.
Victor didn't like the blood, she remembered Roman saying, reminding her of what came after...
"Let's put Dinah aside for now," Pam suggested, gesturing with her hands like she was moving an object out of her way. "Dinah's in Gotham, she looks healthy, and she's either… dating a member of the trust fund brigade or robbing mansions." Pam shrugged gregariously. "What happened next?"
Harley laced her fingers together, feeling subdued.
"Someone knocked me out before I could go after Dinah," she explained woodenly. "And when I woke up… I was chained to the wall in Roman's family crypt, and J was across from me..."
Pam covered her mouth with her hand, too shocked to come up with a better reaction as Harley recounted what happened in the crypt and everything that had happened since.
"Jesus fuck," Pam said when Harley finished explaining about Alexandra Kosov flipping on Roman and Vicki giving Wayne Enterprises a head's up about a cyber attack from Lonnie, calling him Anarky for the sake of keeping circles closed. "That really is taking over the whole fucking city," Pam agreed, her eyes widening.
"No national guard, so he gets all the perks with none of the bullshit," Harley agreed, feeling drained. "I just want him dead."
"Yeah," Pam said thoughtfully, playing with her necklace, a long gold chain with a large emerald pendant. She looked up at Harley. "So, your plan is to kill everyone who works for Roman?"
"Hill's first," Harley smirked. "He's getting elected Mayor today, and tonight they're having a big party at Wayne Hall to celebrate."
"And you're just gonna walk into the middle of this party guns blazing and kill everyone?" Pam asked, her eyebrows rising.
"Yes," Harley squinted at her. "Why?"
"It just seems a little," Pam wrinkled her nose. "Short-sighted to get rid of Hill so quickly."
"We'll find out what he knows first," Harley insisted.
"Sure," Pam agreed, still playing with the pendant on her necklace. "But wouldn't it be better to make him more… useful?"
Harley's eyes widened, realizing what Pam was suggesting.
"You aren't seriously saying we drone Hill, are you?" she demanded, feeling an old flicker of annoyance mixed with dread over Pam's abilities and their negative effects on her mental health.
It had been like dealing with a drug addict. One addicted to the power she derived from controlling men's minds, nearly driving herself insane the longer she used—abused—her abilities.
"No," Pam smirked, her eyes glittering. "Inception."
"You want to use inception on him?" Harley's eyebrows shot up. "I thought it takes weeks?"
"It used to take weeks," Pam corrected smugly, leaning forward. "Remember, I told you the perfume helps me plant the idea in their subconscious?"
"Yeah," Harley glanced down at the pendant, watching Pam twist it on the chain. She realized it was a tiny perfume bottle.
"This is pretty much like anesthesia," Pam explained, holding up the small bottle so Harley could see the liquid sloshing around inside. "I made a few changes with the flora I found in Peru. They still do the googly-eyes thing at first, but then they go into more of a trance. Like they're sleeping but awake so I can talk to them and plant the idea in their psyche while they're relaxed."
"And that's it?" Harley looked up at Pam. "That's inception?"
"They never even realize what's happened," Pam smiled, flapping her hand. "They think this brilliant idea just came to them in a dream, and why hadn't they thought of it before." She sighed happily. "I just came from Brussels. I was there for a week, and now I have two members of the European parliament, a vice-chancellor, and a prime minister all ready to fight to save the planet."
Harley sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered Pam's offer.
Pam had a wonderfully flexible moral compass, something Harley had watched evolve in real-time when they first met. The more Pam used her abilities, the less concerned she became about what was 'good' and 'bad.' Now, she could shrug off mass shootings simply because Harley was the one pulling the trigger. Still, she would probably never take part in one herself… unless it was a party full of big-oil bosses. But in general, violence for violence's sake just wasn't Pam's style. Everything she did was for one purpose: saving the planet. Or at least that was how she framed her actions.
There was a little more to it, in Harley's opinion.
So, while Pam could easily justify using inception on powerful people, Harley wouldn't have expected that group to include Gotham's greedy new mayor, who couldn't instigate the kind of change Pam wanted.
And setting aside Pam's feelings on the matter, Harley had already learned her lesson about taking shortcuts through Pam's abilities.
"It's not like before—I'm not connected to them, and I can't get them to do whatever I want," Pam insisted, seeing Harley's reluctance. "It's just one powerful idea that takes root and guides their actions." She leaned forward again, catching Harley's eye. "Harley, I just want you to be safe."
"We get Hill to betray Roman," Harley said slowly, remembering how useless and stupid she'd felt having Ed and Crane turn on her.
She definitely liked the idea of giving a Roman a taste of his own medicine.
Backing him into a corner.
Taking away all his options.
"J isn't going to like it," Pam predicted drily, and Harley hummed her agreement.
"He's itching for a fight," she agreed, flashing Pam a smile. "So am I."
"So… you two are all made up now?" Pam asked warily.
"Yeah," Harley sighed, fighting off a dreamy smile as she thought about that morning—first in bed, then in the bathroom. "Please don't fight with him," she begged Pam. "For my sake."
"Hey, I'm not the one you need to worry about," Pam protested. "He's the one with the problem."
"Oh, yeah," Harley shot her a dubious look. "Because you're so good at hiding your feelings."
"I'm not going to hide my feelings," Pam scoffed. "Why don't you tell him not to be a dick to me, huh?"
"Because he's…" Harley trailed off, knowing every argument she could make rationally explaining the Joker would be pathetic in Pam's eyes.
"Because he's an asshole who can't be reasoned or negotiated with, and who only wants to destroy things for his own stubborn nihilistic reasons," Pam rolled her eyes. "But you love him anyway, and he makes you happy, and it's not like he's hurting you. I know, I know."
"Please, Pam," Harley made her best pleading face. "Play nice? For me?"
"Playing nice doesn't come naturally to me, Harley," Pam said wryly, standing from the bed. "But, I'll try not to antagonize him for your sake."
"Thank you," Harley grinned, following her out of the spare room and back down the hall.
Lee was in the living room, smartly making herself scarce, while Ed and the Joker were huddled in the kitchen, talking. Gossiping was probably more likely, both of them promptly shutting up when Harley and Pam returned.
Shit. If the Joker was making nice with Ed over Pam, that didn't bode well.
"Hey, J," Pam said slyly, smothering a smirk because she knew how much he hated her. "I like that suit."
The Joker ran his tongue over his teeth and strolled across the kitchen until he was toe-to-toe with Pam, looming over her. His head tipped to the side as he looked her over, from her Birkenstocks to her denim dungarees, to her blunt, practical haircut, his face souring.
Pam held her ground, raising an unimpressed eyebrow while Harley watched anxiously.
"Red," he greeted her bitterly, his eyes rolling to Harley. "Lemme guess... She's gonna use her uh, voodoo and everything's gonna be peachy keen before we know it."
"It kinda feels like cheating to mind-control everyone back to how things were," Ed observed, wrinkling his nose. "Don't get me wrong, Ivy," he added, flashing Pam a smile with the nickname. "Love your work."
"This isn't about making things how they were," Harley countered. "It's about taking away Roman's toys. It's about making him weak." She looked at the Joker directly, needing to reassure him. "I have no interest in running the city."
He hummed quietly, mildly appeased but not quite happy.
"And this isn't mind control," Pam added, holding up the pendant for them to see. "This is about planting an idea in Hill's subconscious to guide his actions. I won't be controlling him."
"Torture works pretty good for getting people to do what ya want too," the Joker drawled, his voice thick with disdain.
Pam dropped the pendant so it swung back under her dungarees. She folded her arms over her chest, fixing the Joker with a scowl.
"Harley told me what Roman wants to do to her," she said. "I don't know about you, but I'm not letting that happen. If we use this on Hill, he will be plagued with a deep and permanent desire to destroy Roman Sionis."
The Joker scoffed through his teeth - "Psht" - his lip curling.
"And what's gonna stop you going off the deep end again, huh?" he sneered.
"This is different," Pam insisted, indignant.
"Oh, yeah? Cause you're pushin' this awful hard, Red," he shot back, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Like maybe you're getting something out of it too."
"I just want Harley to be safe," Pam snapped. "Something you've proved you're not capable of multiple times."
"Harley can look after herself," the Joker scowled, low and sinister. "She doesn't need you, Red."
"Oh, and she really doesn't need—"
"Okay, stop it," Harley stepped in, prompting them both to glare at her. Harley chose to look at the Joker. "Do you think this is a bad idea?" she asked him point-blank.
She could see he was remembering their conversation at Ed's apartment when she'd told him she would listen to him if he thought she was making a bad move. His eyes darted around her face as he thought it over, focusing on her as his brain rolled through possible outcomes. Then he sighed unhappily and pitched sideways to lean against the fridge, digging into his suit jacket for - you guessed it - his cigarettes.
"Is that a yes?" Pam asked, her voice dripping with disdain.
"It's a yes," Harley confirmed, still watching the Joker as he lit a smoke and met her eye. With that one look, he managed to express his unhappiness with the situation, which Harley recognized came down to suspicion of Pam more than anything else.
"So, what's the plan?" Ed asked, a dark twinkle in his eye. He looked around their small group. "Are we gonna kidnap Hill? Because I've got a really good idea if we are."
"We don't need to kidnap him," Pam shot Ed a smirk. "I'll just change into something more Midtown-y and swing by his office later."
"I'm coming with you," Harley said immediately.
"Me too!" Ed jumped in.
"No," Harley said emphatically, her eyes narrowing at him. "You're staying here, Ed."
"Why shouldn't Eddie come along?" the Joker drawled, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Let him get out and uh, stretch his legs."
Harley folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at the Joker.
He gazed back at her impassively, his tongue slipping out to skate over his bottom lip.
"So you're coming too?" she asked him flatly.
"Oh ho," he chuckled throatily, offering her a nasty little smile. "You better believe it, puddin'."
Oldtown was one of the more derelict districts on the Eastside, populated by long-abandoned warehouses and factories, remnants of Gotham's pre-depression prosperity. The city-owned most of the land these old properties sat on, but Roman had recently re-purchased his father's factory, which the family lost along with the rest of the business in Janus Plastics' bankruptcy and Wayne Enterprises' subsequent liquidation of it.
Crane had many thoughts on the subject of Roman's attachment to his deceased father's company… None of them particularly flattering for his new benefactor….
Over the week since their partnership first manifested, Roman kept Crane close at every turn, giving him a room to sleep in, clothing him, bringing him on errands and meetings. Crane was given the distinct impression that Roman was clinging to him. Not because of his value as a colleague, but because the person Roman truly wanted had slipped through his fingers.
There had been a tantrum the night Harleen and the Joker escaped. Roman returned to the penthouse, limping and bleeding, and promptly flew into a rage that left Crane feeling decidedly uneasy. Uneasy about Roman's sanity. With zero other options, Crane attempted to redirect that fit of fury into something productive, guiding Roman to Lonnie and giving him a demonstration of the fear toxin.
But instead of sparking a conversation about Crane's work, Roman continued to fixate on Harleen.
It was extremely disappointing.
Crane wasn't stupid. Over the past week, he'd seen more of Victor Zsasz and Arthur Reeves to understand what Roman truly wanted from Harleen. Both men showed accurate signs of trauma, their loyalty to Roman coerced, not freely given. Conditioning. Torture. Brainwashing.
Crane chose not to reflect on his feelings on the matter.
Then there was Bruce Wayne. Another obsession, but longer-simmering than Roman's fixation with Harleen. Roman's loathing of the Wayne family was bone-deep, in his very DNA, sparked by a resentful, neglectful father who'd blamed the Wayne's for their troubles. Roman was methodical in how he planned to take down the Wayne empire, not emotional. This was the cold calculating of a plan that had been years in the works, a dream finally seeing fruition.
And Crane helped Roman find the crucial piece he needed to make his move.
Lonnie Machin.
It was late afternoon when they arrived at the Janus Plastics Plant. Roman's Rolls Royce was flanked by two black BMWs carrying henchmen, their presence near-constant since the Joker and Harleen's lucky escape. The extra men were a security precaution, but they were increasingly making Crane feel kept. Not quite imprisoned, but not quite free either. And with the promise of his work being dangled in front of him, the situation was steadily growing alarmingly similar to the setup Crane found himself in with the Joker, but with far more discussion of Harleen. It made Crane feel cheap, knowing he was feeding a psychopath's obsession.
Crane stepped out of the Rolls into a gravel lot surrounded by a high brick wall topped with barbed wire. In the middle of the lot sat the Janus Plant, a large red brick building with huge smokestacks, which would have belched noxious black clouds half a century earlier.
Arthur Reeves was loitering beside the factory's main entrance, waiting for them. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, his suit rumpled and shirt stained. His face was haggard, in need of a shave. Reeves was holding his hand close to his chest, a dirty bandage wrapped around it. He looked sick, unsteady on his feet.
Crane glanced sideways at Roman over the roof of the Rolls, watching him gaze up at the factory, a smile spreading across his face, nostalgic.
"Let's go say hello to Lonnie," Roman suggested.
"Lonnie is here?" Crane raised an eyebrow.
Lonnie had been well within the grips of the fear toxin when Crane last saw him, carted away screaming, thrown in the back of a black BMW. That had been a week earlier. He'd not heard a word about him since.
"Lonnie was unresponsive to our first discussion," Roman explained, circling the Rolls to meet Crane beside the hood. He looked up at the building again, smiling. "This is where I like to bring people who need more of my… attention."
Crane felt a lump form in his throat at that statement.
"Arthur," Roman greeted Reeves good-naturedly. "How is Mr Machin?"
"He's on the cross," Reeves explained, sounding strained.
"Very good," Roman reached into his blazer to pull out an orange prescription pill bottle.
Crane watched silently as Roman uncapped the bottle and shook a pill into his palm before shooting Reeves an expectant look. Reeves, who was built like an athlete, tall and broad-shouldered with a good half-foot on both Crane and Roman, dropped into an undignified squat, his head tipping back and mouth opening wide so Roman could deposit the pill on his tongue.
Reeves swallowed it dry and straightened back up again, blinking hard.
Crane watched this exchange anxiously, his intestines twisting in knots. But he kept his mouth shut all the same, sticking close to Roman's side as they followed Reeves into the plant's ground floor and up a staircase pinned to the wall.
"Do you know much about the CIA's conditioning program, Jonathan?" Roman asked as they climbed the rattly stairs, Reeves staggering ahead of them.
"I do not," Crane admitted warily.
"Project MKUltra, a fascinating case study," Roman explained. "Much more ruthless and far more effective than anything the KGB or North Korea could hope to come up with." He offered Crane a soft smile. "That's American innovation for you."
"Indeed," Crane agreed flatly.
"It's a process I like to use as a kind of warm-up act," Roman continued. They reached the top of the stairs and passed through a set of fire doors into a long hallway lined with offices. "White noise, contortion, induced exhaustion."
"I see," Crane replied tautly, bracing himself.
Reeves pushed open an office door and held it for them to pass through. It was a small room that smelled of urine and human waste. One wall was lined with shelves hosting various tools and devices, some antiques, some new and more advanced, all of them designed to carry out torture. A well-curated collection that Roman had clearly dedicated time and devotion to.
There were three heavy wooden crosses in X-shapes against another wall, and a small cage in the middle of the room, its door open. It seemed to be the source of the urine smell, and Crane could only assume Lonnie had been kept in that small cage for an extended period of time.
But now he was tied up on one of the wooden Xs, naked apart from a soiled pair of briefs. He looked delirious, his eyes rolling, his blonde head flopping from side to side.
Undressed, he was almost painfully thin, sharp ribs and ropy muscles, his body littered with more black anarchist tattoos like the ones gracing his neck and hands. Some were small and looked home-made with a needle and pen ink, others large and bold, wrapping around his left thigh, and proudly printed over his heart.
"How has dear Anarky been holding up?" Roman asked, shrugging out of his suit jacket and handing it off to Reeves, who hurried forward to assist him.
"He hasn't said anything yet," Reeves admitted, skittish.
"Thank you for keeping an eye on him, Arthur," Roman smiled, rolling up his shirt sleeves. "You've done very well."
Crane hung back by the door, out of Lonnie's line of sight, he hoped.
"Hello, Lonnie," Roman greeted him, drawing closer. "How are you feeling?"
"Lemme—lemme—" Lonnie slurred, struggling to keep his head up. "Lemme go."
"How about we make a deal instead," Roman suggested mildly. "You can end all of this now. I just need you to do a job for me."
"Psssht," Lonnie scoffed weakly.
"Hear me out first," Roman coaxed, looking amused. "I want you to help me destroy Wayne Enterprises. Bankrupt the company and the entire Wayne family."
"Psssht," Lonnie scoffed again, his head bobbing.
"Wouldn't you like to see Bruce Wayne penniless and humiliated," Roman pressed, moving closer. "Wouldn't you like to see him reduced to nothing, forced to sell his beloved material possessions? He's an oligarch, Lonnie. You could bring him to heel if you wanted to."
Lonnie shook his head, his jaw working.
"Fuck you, man," he croaked at length. "You're so fulla shit... I can smell you from here."
Roman's face soured.
"You're loyal to the Joker, I understand." He turned toward the wall of torture devices, considering them before he settled on a long, curved blade, the steel glinting under the fluorescent lights. "But you're less fond of Harley Quinn. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement on her."
"You're fuckin' crazy, dude," Lonnie shook his head weakly. "I ain't telling you shit."
"So, you're loyal to her, too," Roman glanced over his shoulder at Crane, looking displeased. "Interesting."
Crane shifted uneasily, unsure how to respond. Unlike Lonnie, he'd told Roman everything he knew, including about Lonnie's visceral hatred for Harleen.
Luckily, Lonnie saved Crane from having to explain himself.
"They're gonna fuck you up, man," he slurred, blinking hard. "You're so screwed."
Roman sighed, examining the curved blade before he laid it against the tattoo in the middle of Lonnie's chest, a jagged A in a thick black circle.
Lonnie's thin chest heaved like he was bracing himself.
"This is your first chance to submit to me, Lonnie," Roman explained calmly, tracing the inky black circle with the knife. "Tell me where Harley is hiding. Help me take down Wayne. Help me do the right thing."
"I don't give a shit," Lonnie spat, the most clear-eyed he'd been yet. "I ain't a squealer like that pussy Scarecrow."
Crane's nostrils flared, indignation rippling over his shoulder blades.
But also… helplessness.
"As I said, this is your first chance," Roman reminded him good-naturedly. He pressed the curved blade to Lonnie's breastbone, its razor-sharp edge slicing along the line of black ink.
Lonnie hissed as a few fat beads of scarlet rolled down his chest. But he didn't talk. He swallowed and clenched his jaw, refusing to give anything away.
Roman met Lonnie's eye, offering him a soft smile. "You let me know when you're ready to stop."
Lonnie scowled outright. "Fuck you, man."
"We'll see about that," Roman smiled.
And he continued to smile as he flayed the tattoo off Lonnie's chest.
Lonnie didn't talk, but he did scream. He screamed until Crane's ears were ringing. Cortisol and adrenaline flooded Crane's brain, telling him to flee or to fight. But he did neither. Instead, he stood back and watched the carnage unfold, his heartbeat throbbing in his neck.
After a quick powwow to put together a plan of action, Pam changed out of her dungarees and Birkenstocks into a black pencil skirt and red patent leather pumps, applying a quick flick of eyeliner and mascara to transform herself from hippie environmentalist to professional PR woman.
Harley had taught Pam quite a few tricks, but costume changes hadn't been one of them.
Pam had been very busy in the year since she left Gotham.
The Joker and Ed pushed Lee's garage door open, revealing the dusty hatchback and the blood-soaked Mercedes sedan Harley and Ed stole the night of the fundraiser. After some minor disagreement—only a death threat or two—over the practicalities of the situation, Pam slid behind the wheel of the Mercedes with Harley in the passenger seat. The Joker flopped into the back, unbothered about sitting in his own blood, while Ed laid down a deck chair cushion and perched on top of it.
It was a bizarre car ride. Harley and Pam discussed the European MPs Pam used inception on, and Ed forced his way into the conversation with facts and figures about Brussels and the European Union.
"He has a photographic memory," Harley explained, unamused.
"That's amazing," Pam squinted at Ed in the rearview mirror. "Do you have a mind palace to store everything?"
"Nah," Ed drawled smugly. "I just pull it out when I need it."
The Joker scowled and started muttering under his breath, looking like he was being subjected to the worst kind of torture having to listen to them converse, inspiring a pang of sympathy in Harley.
But he perked up by the time they got to Midtown. Harley could feel him vibrating with excitement from the backseat, anticipation over all the possibilities growing as they drew closer to the Flatiron Building, where Hamilton Hill's office was on the top floor. Harley felt it too, her toes curling in her slouchy cream boots, her skin prickling like it always did before a job.
"This my favorite part," Ed announced, prompting Harley to look at him over her shoulder.
He'd shed the attention-seeking childishness he normally projected in favor of something far... sneakier. There was a glint in his eye Harley recognized, and a familiar sense of understanding she'd felt for Ed the first few times she met him reared its head again, replacing the irritation he normally inspired in her.
The corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk, and Harley mirrored it, her excitement over events forthcoming blotting out everything that had happened between them.
Ed understood.
By the time Pam pulled the Mercedes into the parking garage beneath the Flatiron Building, the tension in the sedan had built to a fever pitch. Even Pam, with her loathing of entitled men and her fierce protectiveness of Harley, she was positively buzzing.
They slowed to a stop beside a parking garage attendant, a fat man with a full head of gray hair, and Pam offered him a big smile as she pretended to drop her wallet out the window.
"Oopsie," she beamed sweetly. "You couldn't grab that for me, could you?"
"Of course, ma'am," the attendant bent to pick up her purse with a grunt.
Pam grabbed his wrist when he passed the wallet back to her, making his eyes widen in alarm before his face melted into a lovesick smile.
"Thank you," Pam simpered, plucking her purse out of his hand. "Now, you're going to let us park over there by the stairwell, and if someone tries to get close to our car, you're going to distract them." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "Sound good?"
"Yes, Ms Green," the attendant agreed dreamily, pressing a button to lift the gate.
"Thank you," Pam cooed, while Ed released a low whistle.
"Craaaaaaap," he hissed to the Joker, who rolled his eyes, unimpressed and twitchy.
Pam parked near the fire exit, and they all piled out of the car, taking the stairs back up to the street. Harley was hyper-aware of how odd their rag-tag group looked as they strolled up to the front entrance of the Flatiron, but for a glorious change, she wasn't worried about it. She and the Joker were an unstoppable force on their own, and with Pam alongside them, and Ed pitching in too, they would be virtually indestructible.
This was going to work, she realized, feeling nearly giddy as she stepped through the gold plated revolving door into the building's lobby.
Harley was very familiar with the Flatiron Building and its ridiculous gold-plating and pink marble columns. The penthouse on the top floor belonged to the Falcone family, and Harly had lived there for a short time while working with Sofia. But she'd never had a reason to go through the front lobby before, always using the private penthouse elevator through the owners' entrance on the other side of the building.
Pam took the lead while Harley and the Joker kept their heads turned toward each other not to attract attention, and Ed pulled up the rear, a bounce in his step as his eyes darted around for perceived threats.
"Hi there," Pam greeted a receptionist behind a gold-plated desk. "That's a beautiful ring," she gushed, eyeing the girl's diamond engagement ring.
"Oh, thanks," she beamed, holding her hand up for Pam to see it in the light.
"So beautiful," Pam sighed, grabbing the girl's forearm, making her eyes widen before her face slackened into a dreamy smile.
"How can I help you, Ms Green?" the girl asked sweetly.
"We have a meeting with Hamilton Hill," Pam explained, the receptionist nodding along eagerly. "It's completely off the books. No one ever will ever know we were here. Do you understand?"
"Of course, Ms Green," the girl smiled and picked up a stack of visitor's passes, handing them over without reservation. "Take elevator F to the sixty-third floor."
"Thank you," Pam lifted her eyebrows at the girl. "And don't forget… you won't remember us either."
"Of course, Ms Green," the girl grinned. "Anything for you."
The Joker scoffed noisily as Pam turned around to hand them their visitor's passes.
"Yeah, yeah," she rolled her eyes, pinning her pass to her shirt. "I almost forgot about your whole entitled, man-child—"
"Pam," Harley hissed, nudging her toward a bank of elevators and shooting the Joker a glare over her shoulder. "Focus."
An attendant was waiting in front of elevator F, who checked their passes then used a key to let them into the private lift, which would take them straight to Hamilton Hill's office.
"Forget us," Pam chirped, giving the attendant a pop on the cheek as they filed into the elevator.
"Of course, Ms Green," the attendant winked, the gold-plated doors sliding shut.
The ride up was quiet at first. When Harley glanced at Pam, she saw her eyes were brighter than they usually were, almost feverish. Another old flicker of dread raced through Harley as she tried to decide if Pam was still connected to the people she'd just influenced, however briefly.
As if she could feel her staring, Pam turned to meet Harley's eye squarely and held out her hand. It was a test, Harley could see that. Pam was asking her to trust her, and after two long beats, she took Pam's hand and squeezed it, exhaling a slow breath when that awful wave of emotion that came with Pam using her abilities didn't come crashing over her.
She could trust Pam to keep herself in check.
This was going to work.
"Hey J," Ed said slyly as the elevator shot upwards, the floors ticking past. "Has Ivy ever used her powers on you?"
"Oh, she tried," the Joker growled. "Turns out they don't uh, work so well on a guy like me."
"A psychopath like you," Pam muttered darkly.
"Labels," the Joker shot back with a sneer, just as the elevator reached the sixty-third floor.
The doors dinged open, revealing a large reception room and a young receptionist, her attention on her phone. She looked up when they trooped out of the elevator, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the Joker, who had apparently decided he was finished pretending to be anything other than what he was for the day, his dark eyes gleaming dangerously.
"Don't worry," Pam said breezily, striding up to the desk and circling one side of it while Harley took the other, blocking the panicking receptionist's escape. "This won't hurt a bit," Pam promised, grabbing her by the elbow. "Why don't you take a seat," she suggested.
"I—I—" the receptionist's eyelids fluttered for a moment before that predictable lovesick smile slid onto her face, and she promptly flopped back into her chair, beaming up at Pam.
"There's two CCTV cameras," Ed announced.
"That's fine," Pam pulled the receptionist back to her desk and leaned against it while she held the girl's hand. "I'm just having a chat with my friend here," she added mildly.
"That's right, Ms Green," the receptionist agreed eagerly.
"What's on Mr Hill's diary this afternoon?" Harley asked, watching the Joker across the room. He was running his tongue over his teeth, eyeballing the door to Hill's office, his shoulders rolling like he was trying to work out a cricK in his neck.
"Mr Hill is taking calls from his advisors and friends this afternoon," the receptionist explained cheerfully. "The election results aren't in yet, but it's looking like a sure thing from the exit polls!"
"Advisors and friends, huh," the Joker caught Harley's eye, a nasty smirk on his lips.
"What perfect timing," she grinned back at him, then looked over her shoulder at Ed. "Keep watch," she ordered. "Don't kill anyone unless you have to."
"Oh, boo," Ed huffed, settling in to keep an eye on the elevator.
"I want to get a sense of Hill before we use inception," Harley told Pam, who nodded once, her attention on the receptionist. "Give us five minutes," Harley added as she joined the Joker, skipping the last few steps before she reached him.
He was smirking, his eyes glowing wickedly.
"Alright," Harley said slyly, gesturing to the office door. "Let's try it your way."
"Oh, after you," he growled, putting a little show of allowing her to pass and opening the door for her.
She shot him an amused look over her shoulder before she stepped into Hill's office, her eyes sweeping the room quickly, taking in the opulence and finery before they landed on the man himself.
Hill was reclining in his desk chair, guffawing boorishly on the phone. He'd put on some weight since Harley last saw him, but his mustache was just as grey and bushy, his skin just as tanned and leathery. And of course, on the wall behind him, there was a golden mural depicting the story of King Midas, the greek myth about a man who turned everything he touched into gold.
Harley snorted in disbelief, drawing Hill's attention as the Joker pushed the door shut behind them with a loud click.
Hill's eyes widened, his guffawing promptly ceasing as his baggy eyes darted between them. He would have remembered Harley from their conversation at his fundraiser and the Riddler attack that followed it. And the Joker… he was simply unmistakable unless he chose to be, even without the warpaint.
"I—you—" Hill started to stammer into the receiver as Harley strode forward with the Joker on her heels.
She leaned across the oversized desk and slapped two fingers down on the phone cradle, ending the call before Hill could say anything incriminating. Then she yanked on the phone chord hard, pulling the receiver out of Hill's hand just as the Joker swooped down and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, hauling him out of his desk chair.
"Hey there, Hammy," he sneered, baring tobacco-stained teeth as Hill struggled and blustered.
"What are you—! I—! What do you think you're—aghh!" he cried out when Harley cracked him across the side of his head with the phone receiver, dazing him before the Joker threw him down on the desk so he was flat on his back, his legs flailing off the side.
"We're just here to have a little chat," Harley informed Hill coldly, hopping up on the desk beside his head while the Joker held him down.
"A… a chat?" Hill stuttered, his eyes wide. "Listen, I can get you whatever you want! Whatever you want!"
"We want Roman," Harley scowled.
The Joker pulled a switchblade from his suit jacket, flicking it open with a threatening Swick!
"Where is he?" Harley demanded, gritting her teeth as she stopped herself from hitting Hill somewhere people would notice.
"I don't know!" he gasped, his eyes on the knife. "I—I have no idea!"
"Interesting," the Joker purred, stabbing the tip of the blade into the desk beside Hill's head. "We hear he's like a son to you. You wouldn't be uh, lyin' to us, Hammy, would ya?"
"I'm not lying, I swear!" Hill pleaded, blinking furiously. "I don't know where he lives, where he works. He just calls me when he needs me!"
"And you go running whenever he does, hmm?" the Joker growled, passing the knife to Harley before he pulled Hill up by his lapels and slammed him back down again, hard enough to make the entire desk rattle, making Hill cry out as his head hit the wood.
"Listen, you basically have two options," Harley crossed her legs daintily. "You tell us how to find him, or we kill you." She cocked her head to the side as she looked down at Hill. "What's it gonna be?"
"I swear, I don't know," Hill begged, squeezing his eyes shut. "He used to have a phone I could call, but it's been out of service for days. He calls me from an unknown number. I swear—I swear, I have no idea how to find him!"
"Oh, Jesus," the Joker grumbled, shooting Harley a pointed look before he pulled Hill up and slammed him back down again, the whole desk quaking while Hill moaned. "Lemme give ya a little…. advice, Hammy."
Harley held the knife up to Hill's eyeball, letting it hover there for a moment before she dragged the tip of the blade down his weathered cheek.
"You may think Roman's the right horse to bet on," the Joker planted his elbow on Hill's chest and leaned in close. "But you'd be wrong about that."
"I, I don't know what you're talking about," Hill panted. "Roman works for me…he... "
"Hill, you really don't want to lie to us again," Harley growled. "We know all about the False Face Society and who you are. You let Roman dress you up in a cloak and a mask when he promised he'd make you the Mayor…"
Hill floundered, breathing hard through his nose as he tried to think of an excuse, still protecting Roman. "I…" he trailed off helplessly.
"You're a puppet," Harley snapped. "Hell, he even made you morons think it would be a good idea to bring me into the fold. As if that was going to end well for any of you."
"I just—he, he just…"
"He made you very rich," Harley sneered, holding the knife to his neck, just shy of cutting him. "And you're greedy enough to think that means he can do no wrong."
"You don't understand," Hill insisted, panting through his nose. "You don't understand what he can be like… he's… he can…"
"Convince you he's the only one to give you what you want," Harley suggested coldly, passing the knife to the Joker.
She pulled back for a moment, a shiver of disgust racing through her as she remembered just how intensely she'd felt that sentiment. That flicker of dark eyelashes, that soft voice, promising her...
"What do you want from me," Hill sobbed, closing his eyes as the Joker took over with the knife, a much more frightening prospect.
"Like, I said, Hammy," the Joker purred, shoving the blade into the corner of Hill's mouth. "You're bettin' on the wrong horse."
Hill whined pathetically, his whole body trembling, knocking photographs and papers off the desk.
"Ya know, we're not that different from Black Mask... are we Harl?" the Joker purred, glancing up at Harley.
Harley's eyes widened in surprise, a little taken aback by this admission. She'd thought about it before, that Roman had a messiah quality that drew people into his orbit just like the Joker did…
She just wouldn't have expected J to recognize it, or admit it even if he did.
"Aside from a few very key differences," the Joker added, squinting down at Hill, who was staring at him incredulously. "Ya see, Roman's a paint by numbers kinda guy. Everything he does makes sense. But Harley and I? Mm…"
The Joker bent down so he was right in Hill's face, the knife still pulling his mouth out to the side. Hill stared back at him in wide-eyed terror.
"Harley and I… we are... chaos," the Joker growled, his eyes rolling back like he was savoring the word. "You don't see us comin', and you don't know what we'll do. Oh, sure, Roman's sneaky, and he knows what he's doin'. But he had a head start, Hammy. And now… now we're catching up…"
The Joker let his words hang in the air for a few long moments, the only sound in the room Hill's ragged, wheezy breathing. Then J pulled back, rolling his head in a circle, making the bones in his neck pop disconcertingly before he looked at Harley, who fought back a stupid grin.
"What do you want me to do?" Hill pleaded weakly.
The office's door opened then, and Pam slipped in with Ed following close behind her.
Harley smirked. "We just want you to be Gotham's Mayor."
"What?" Hill demanded, bewildered, watching the Joker flop down in his desk chair, and examine the switchblade like he'd lost interest. "What—what do you mean?" Hill sputtered.
"That sounds pretty obvious to me," Pam said drolly, leaning against the desk beside Harley so they were flanking Hill's head.
"Ed," Harley shot Ed a loaded look as he lowered himself into one of the armchairs facing Hill's desk. "Go keep watch," she instructed.
"Sorry, mommy," Ed smirked, crossing his legs. "I really wanna see this."
"What—what's happening?" Hill warbled, looking between Harley and Pam frantically, his eyes lingering on Pam as she pulled the emerald pendant out of her blouse and unscrewed it from the gold chain.
"Life is about to get much easier for you, Mr Hill," Pam informed him breezily, dabbing her wrist with the miniature perfume bottle while everyone watched closely, all of them intrigued to see inception in action.
Pam held her wrist under Hill's nose, watching impassively as he twitched away, blinking rapidly until he got a whiff of the perfume. Then he started sniffing like a bloodhound searching out a fox, rubbing his nose against Pam's wrist, his eyes rolling back in his head like he was drunk.
A dreamy, dazed look came over Hill's face, no longer struggling or trembling, no longer fearful or confused. He was relaxed, completely docile, and at ease.
Pam laid her hand on his cheek.
"Hamilton Hill," she said cooly, clearly. "What you think you know, and what you think you believe… those things are about to change..."
After meeting with Fox, Vicki called in sick to work and went back to her apartment, where she promptly got back in bed and fell asleep, fully clothed. When she woke up it was dark outside, and she was starving and dehydrated. She had five missed calls and multiple worried texts from Bruce, but just one message from Harley in response to Vicki's many texts letting her know how it had gone with Fox.
Nice.
Nice? That was all she had to say?
Vicki tried calling Harley, but the phone just kept ringing and ringing, no answer.
She took a shower, accidentally conditioning her hair twice because she was so distracted. Knox weighed more heavily on her conscience, that wonderful numbness Harley inspired in her slowly wearing away as she accepted that by leading Knox to that alley, even unintentionally, she had sealed his fate.
Vicki needed Harley to take the guilt away again. She needed Harley to tell her what to do.
The only thing that could fix it, to make Vicki feel like she'd done something good, was to knock Roman Sionis off his pedestal. The story Harley told her in the alley about his girlfriend had been running through her head with increasing frequency. Maybe because it was easier to be horrified about a woman having her free will taken away via torture than to think about Knox gurgling on the ground with his throat cut.
Vicki tried calling Harley over and over again, pacing around her small apartment and growing more distraught that she might not be able to reach her.
On the verge of a panic attack and desperately in need of a cigarette, Vicki pulled on sneakers and a hoodie and headed for the bodega down the street. The fresh air helped clear her head, making it a fraction easier to reassure herself that Harley was not ignoring her, that Vicki needed to trust that Harley was just busy and would get back to her when she could.
The bodega owner shot her a concerned look as she paid for a pack of Lucky Strikes and a lighter, but Vicki was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice. Most of her attention was on the burner phone tucked in her back pocket, willing it to ring.
She stepped out of the store, pulling the wrapping off the Luckies with shaking hands, then shoved a cigarette between her lips and fought with the lighter until it finally sparked to life. The first hit of nicotine was like a soothing wave crashing over her, and she closed her eyes as she exhaled a cloud of smoke, reassuring herself again that Harley would call.
Heading back to her apartment, she forced herself to focus on Sionis and what she could do to take him down with or without Harley's help. If there was a way she could check in with Fox to make sure he was taking action… Maybe plant a story in the paper using herself as an anonymous source. Or tweet about it. It wasn't ethical, but Vicki's journalistic integrity was the last thing on her mind now.
Only a block away from her apartment, she passed a dark alley, the lamp post that usually lit the street there extinguished. Wrapped up in her thoughts, she hardly noticed it was out.
Then a hand curled around Vicki's arm, yanking her into the alley and making her shriek as she dropped her cigarette.
She was slammed up against the alley wall, her breath hitching as a gloved hand closed over her mouth and shoved her head back against the bricks. Not hard enough to hurt her, but more than enough to make her heart start thundering wildly, her legs turning to jelly.
And then a masked face appeared in her line of sight.
Black Canary.
Vicki whimpered, too shocked to form a coherent thought as Black Canary's grip on her arm tightened, and she leaned in close.
"Where is Harley Quinn?" she demanded in a low hiss, her hand shifting from Vicki's mouth to her jaw, holding her head in place. "Where is she!" she barked, her voice rising into something more girlish.
"I—I—I don't know," Vicki panted weakly.
"You've been working with her," the Canary insisted. "You know what she's planning. Now, where is she!"
She squeezed Vicki's jaw and held her head against the wall, and Vicki could only stare back at her wide-eyed, too stunned to reply.
The moonlight was just bright enough for Vicki to see Black Canary clearly. She wore a cowl that covered most of her face, only a small mouth and a pointed chin visible. Her eyes were ringed with black beneath the cowl, the whites standing out starkly. But even in the darkness, Vicki was close enough to see her eyes were a tawny brown fringed with short lashes.
Vicki's breath caught, her eyes widening incredulously, her heart leaping in her throat.
"Dinah?" she whispered.
A/N: This is where you might insert the Parks & Rec Chris Pratt making a shocked face gif.
Ooooh, Dinah… you in trouble nowwwww.
Something we see a lot in this series is people getting away with unbelievably flimsy disguises. It's Batman's fault. Bruce is super famous. People should realize who he is, even with the cowl on. Harley doesn't recognize Ed or Roman when they have their masks/paint on, and NO ONE recognizes Harley & J when they're out prancing around in broad daylight. No one but Vicki…
PAM. I'm so much happier with Pam. I can't even tell you. I would love to hear your thoughts on Pam. That little line she delivers to Hill at the end of the scene in his office actually gives me chills, but I wrote it so, ya know. Perhaps that's just me.
I had to delete so much dialogue of Ed being all "OMG THE SQUAD IS HAPPENING" Because it was too ridiculous. At one point, he was 'looking around furtively, his eyes wide with delight. "It's happening!" He squealed. "It's happening!"' You bet your ass Ed loves a meme. That's from the director's cut, lol.
There's some amazing Ed & Harley fan art on my Tumblr, knit-wear-it, FYI.
Next: With more cards up her sleeve, events forthcoming begin to play out for Harley.
Please comment and review!
xo