Theme: The Comet Is Coming - 'Summon the Fire'
The Pantomime
20.
Bruce sighed as he gazed down at Gotham, the penthouse's balcony affording him a view of most of the city. He ran a hand through his hair, watching the car headlights bob along the street below as he tried to decide if it was too soon to text Vicki again. He hadn't been able to reach her all day, and the longer he sat with Dinah's suspicions about Vicki and Harley, the more worried for Vicki he became.
He was also starting to regret not putting a tracker on her phone. After that day at the Lake Restaurant, he'd considered it when she'd aggressively questioned him without an explanation. It had seemed a little heavy-handed to keep tabs on her at the time, but now…
The terrace doors suddenly flew open, and Dinah stomped out wearing her Black Canary armor. Her cowl was in her hand, her blonde hair plastered to the side of her face with sweat. She looked frantic in a way Bruce had never seen her before, making his eyes widen in alarm.
"I messed up," she gasped, her eyes wide, distraught. "I messed up, Bruce."
Hill was not, as Harley had suspected, a wealth of information. Harley suspected he was especially out of the loop compared to the other False Face Society members because, despite his business acumen and successes, he was a fucking moron. The perfect political puppet for Roman to stand behind.
According to Hill, Roman even suggested they had a shot at the presidency one day, and Harley didn't doubt for a second that that had been a serious promise.
But thanks to Pam, Hill was now just as dedicated to bringing Roman down as they were. She'd planted that idea deep in Hill's subconscious, and even though he'd been terrified by their presence in his office, he'd been all too enthusiastic about helping them find the chinks in Roman's armor. He'd also managed to deliver one very key thing—easy access to John Daggett.
With one more victory in the bag, Harley, J, and Ed headed east to meet Alexandra and her thugs while Pam returned to Lee's to sleep off her jetlag. That made Harley happy — Pam was powerful, but she was useless in a fight, and things were likely about to get dicey and violent.
They made a quick stop to rob a party supply shop for greasepaint and a plastic bowler hat Ed insisted he couldn't live without, then hopped on the freeway toward the Bowery, one of the Eastside's more abandoned neighborhoods where Alexandra held court.
Once parked down the street from the Odessa hideout, Harley and the Joker applied their warpaint while Ed fussed over getting the rectangle of black paint around his eyes and nose perfectly straight.
"I have an aesthetic, Harley," he informed her briskly when she snapped at him to stop wasting time. "Sloppy and chaotic may be a time-saver for you, but it isn't my look."
Truth be told, Ed was far less irritating while they were working, and Harley had come to believe his whiny little schtick was an intentional distraction from what he was really capable of.
She just wasn't sure it was a conscious choice on his part.
The old Bowery station had been closed for decades, its many entrances boarded up or closed off. It didn't feel like a hideout so much as a fortress befitting a queen, with numerous thugs dressed in black bloc armed with automatic rifles guarding the building like sentries.
After allowing themselves to be patted down, Harley, the Joker, and Ed were allowed inside, which remained unchanged from the last time Harley had been there. Loud music fought to be heard over dogs barking as Alexandra's minions led them through the swell of anarchists, punks, and muscle waiting for work.
There was a platform outfitted with a few dilapidated sofas and armchairs at one end of the massive room; Alexandra was waiting for them there, her muscled arms folded high over her chest, a sour look on her face.
On the ground below her, a group of thugs had crowded around a crate of weapons. Frost was with them, somehow managing to blend in and stand out at the same time, almost like he'd positioned himself as a point of authority in their ranks despite working for the Joker. Plenty more thugs were hovering on the peripheral, some of them looking eager to join in.
Alexandra's lieutenants were positioned on the couches behind her: Sweetie, the black girl with a shaved head who was always at her side. Molly Sullivan, the matronly new leader of the Irish mob. And Sergey the Russian, a scruffy tobacco-stained arms dealer who used to work for Harley.
When Harley saw Sergey beside Alexandra, she had to fight back a grin, thrilled that he hadn't betrayed her or been killed.
"Fifteen men to attack our new mayor's party," Alexandra greeted them sourly, stomping to the edge of the platform so she was looming over their small group. "Do not kill these, or we will have problems," she added bitterly.
"We've uh, had a change of plan," the Joker informed her, playing coy.
Alexandra scowled. "What change?"
"Hill flipped," Harley announced cheerfully.
"And you believe him?" Alexandra demanded.
"You flipped," Ed pointed out. "And we didn't even threaten to kill you."
"I am nothing like Hill or Sionis," Alexandra spat. "You said it yourself; Hill believes Black Mask is the only one who can get him what he wants."
"Have you met Harley Quinn?" Ed butted in before Harley could speak for herself. "Do you know how sneaky this former behavioral psychologist is? And lord almighty, look at that face. She could convince a tiger to change its stripes."
Harley shot Ed a dirty look, feeling mocked, but Alexandra seemed to take him seriously, eyeing Harley cautiously.
"And um, hello, have we all forgotten about Harvey Dent?" Ed jerked his thumb at the Joker. "One minute he's Gotham's white knight, then he has a little chat with Mr J here, and poof he's a serial killer?"
Alexandra's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and eventually, she looked over her shoulder at Sweetie, who nodded her approval.
"Fine," Alexandra snapped, swinging back around. "What do you need from me?"
The Joker swayed forward a few steps while Alexandra watched through narrowed eyes. He squinted back at her, then abruptly, and very ungracefully, hopped up on her queenly platform, raking his hair off his face as he straightened up to his full height like a preening peacock.
Harley glanced at Ed, who wasn't bothering to hide a delighted grin. He caught Harley's eye and wiggled his shoulders like he was unbearably excited.
Harley had to fight back a grin of her own.
Stupid Ed.
Alexandra narrowed her eyes when the Joker drew closer to her, folding his hands behind his back like he was speaking to a child.
"Well, uh, Eddie and I are gonna have a chat with Daggett. Ya know, straighten this whole," he waved his hand mildly. "Anarky business out."
"A chat," Alexandra sneered. "What does a chat mean to a terrorist clown like you."
"Oh, who can say," the Joker sing-songed evasively, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. "Some things just can't be planned, know what I mean?"
"So, you don't need my men?" Alexandra scowled, looking annoyed. "You've been wasting my time."
"Actually," Harley piped up. "I was thinking you and I could pay Miss Lucy a visit." She smirked when she saw the surprise on Alexandra's perpetually steely face. "I don't know about you," Harley continued slyly. "But in my book, it's been a long time coming."
Ed was so happy.
It was coming up to midnight when he and the Joker parked the still-bloodied Mercedes sedan near the old shipyard beside the ferry terminals. They'd parted with Harley and Alexandra, who were having a girls' mission of their own while Ed and the Joker dealt with Daggett.
"You know, I heard about a place called the murder dock where Falcone used to kill people," Ed grinned at J. "I wonder if it's around here?"
But the Joker just ignored him, lighting a cigarette and cracking his window to exhale a plume of smoke out into the warm night.
That had pretty much been the theme of the day, J ignoring Ed and Pam—or Ivy as Ed liked to call her. Ed could understand; J wasn't really a teaming up kind of guy, and it was only the practicality of a dire situation that stood between their working together and him killing Ed, probably in quite a sexy and messy way. But ever since Pam arrived, J had been radiating an almost violent resentment toward her, finally giving Ed a leg up on the pecking order. Now he wasn't the most hated person in the Joker's book, not by a long shot.
It was kind of cute watching him get all snarly at Pam. Ed could see it wasn't quite jealousy that sparked all that vitriol — it felt a lot more like suspicion.
Once Harley and Pam disappeared into Lee's back bedroom for some girl talk, the Joker grabbed Ed's arm hard enough to make him yelp—hard enough to leave bruises—and growled a few words of advice: "Don't let her touch you."
"Why?" Ed gasped, enthralled even though J was about to break his arm.
"Trust me, pal," the Joker sneered. "You don't wanna be one of her weeds."
Ed was then haltingly given some information while they stood in Lee's kitchen waiting for the girls. That information included that yes, Harley's friend Pam was the Poison Ivy the Chinese gangs still whispered about. And if she touched you, she could control you, which was how she and Harley took over the mob a year or so earlier with Sofia Falcone. Ed had been expecting some kind of ethereal glowing goddess, maybe with green skin or vines for arms or something wild like that, but Pam just gave off a nerdy-in-a-hot-way hippie vibe which was kind of a letdown, as so many things were.
Right up until Ed saw her in action in Hill's office.
Hooooooooo boy.
No wonder J didn't like having her around.
"So," Ed said slyly. "Do you think Pam ever used her powers on Harley?"
The Joker raked a hand through his hair, which he'd stained green with a washout spray-dye from the party store.
"Yep," he eventually growled, looking sour.
"Jeez," Ed tisked disapprovingly, thrilled that he'd finally gotten the Joker to talk. "And Harley's still friends with her after that?"
"Yep," the Joker growled again. Then he turned to look at Ed, his eyes gleaming in the darkness, making Ed's heart leap with excitement. "Red did it the first night they met."
"Woah," Ed widened his eyes as incredulously as possible. "Wait… you don't think she's been controlling Harley this whole time, do you?" he gasped, projecting the most intense kind of pearl-clutching he was capable of.
J hummed unhappily and prodded the scar splitting his bottom lip, again staring at the lamp post in front of the car.
Ed had no idea what was going through his mind, but god, was it fun to look at that painted face in repose.
"She's gotta be touching them," J muttered at length, his eyes narrowing. "Otherwise, things get… messy."
"Messy how?" Ed asked eagerly. "Is that what you meant about going off the deep end? Like she goes crazy if she isn't touching them?"
This time the Joker just shrugged evasively, and Ed knew he wasn't going to get an answer, but only because J didn't plan on giving away free information about the limits of Poison Ivy's powers. That didn't mean there weren't other answers to be found.
"Has she ever used it on you?" Ed pressed, undeterred, and the Joker chuckled drily, shooting Ed a sidelong look.
"It doesn't work on me, Eddie," he smirked. "Red tried once."
"Really?" Ed's eyes narrowed—that was a pretty key piece of information he'd just given up. "What was it like?"
The Joker released a low, thoughtful growl that sent a wonderful shiver racing up Ed's spine.
"Like havin' your brain whipped up in a blender," he said, his head flopping toward Ed. "And sucked out through your ears."
"Wow," Ed drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Is it weird that I kinda want her to do it to me?"
The Joker snorted, amused, and slumped down in his seat, not saying anything.
"You don't trust her, do you?" Ed asked cautiously.
"Oh, Eddie," J purred, flicking the butt of his cigarette out the window. "You can't trust anyone."
Ed sighed, wondering how this little drama would play out for them. Would the Joker kill Pam? Would Pam kill the Joker? Would one of them get Harley killed first, just as they both feared?
Or would they all live happily ever after?
"So," the Joker continued, sounding kind of sneaky. "Whaddya gonna do about good ol' Dr Thompkins once this is all over?"
"What do you mean?" Ed frowned.
"She knows an awful lot about you," the Joker observed coyly.
It had occurred to Ed that Lee would make a fantastic gangster moll for him. Not that he qualified as a gangster—the gangsters he had brushed up against were heartbreakingly dull. But if a life of crime and media attention was on the cards for Ed, he would need to put some protective measures in place like Harley and the Joker—safe houses, henchmen, loyal minions, resources.
He hadn't asked Lee how she felt about it yet, but obviously she would say yes.
"And you never know when she may turn on you," the Joker continued.
"Lee is my friend," Ed shot back haughtily. "We were there for each other. We bonded."
"I know, I know, she was a real trooper," the Joker drawled in a deceptively light purr. He shot Ed another loaded look. "But Eddie… what if someone used her against you."
Ed's eyes narrowed to an annoyed squint.
One day, his truce with Harley and J would be over, and the squad would break up. Ed didn't know where that would leave them… though he did like the idea of having a few frenemies to tango with on occasion. But not ones who threatened his Lee.
"Well," Ed said tartly, with a mind to the future. "I imagine Harley would be super pissed if Poison Ivy's real name leaked to the media." He caught the Joker's eye and saw he was listening with one eyebrow raised. "You might even say that tasty little secret would stop a person using or hurting Lee."
The Joker looked out the windscreen for a moment, then made a thoughtful purring sound that was both sexy and terrifying, but maybe also: impressed.
He rolled his head toward Ed again, meeting his eye.
"Deal," he agreed, flashing him a smirk.
Ed's heart fluttered happily, but before he could comment on the nature of frenemies, a black Jaguar rolled into the shipyard behind them, drawing the Joker's attention over his shoulder.
"Showtime," he growled, running his tongue over his teeth.
The Jag slowed to a stop, pulling up right next to Ed's window, prompting him to pull his new Smith and Wesson from the holster under his suit jacket—Day Two Givenchy, still better than Kirkland Brand—and check the clip.
"You aren't gonna ask about the uh… plan?" the Joker asked wryly, watching Ed hold down the button to open his window.
"I prefer to improvise," Ed countered breezily, waiting for the glass pane to roll all the way down before he shot out the Jag's passenger window, then killed the driver with a second bullet.
The Joker wheezed. His face crumpled and his head flew back against the seat, an ungodly howl ripping out of his throat, making Ed's ears ring.
"Oh, Eddie," J snickered, kicking his door open. "I needed that."
He hopped out of the car and loped around the hood toward Daggett's car, and by the time Ed caught up with him, J had dragged Daggett out of the Jag and slammed him up against the side of the car, holding him there easily.
"Get off me, you animal!" Daggett seethed, craning his head away.
There was little illumination on the dock aside from an old lamp post a few yards away, but even in the darkness, Ed could see Daggett wasn't as scared as he should have been. Pride and arrogance were propping him up, even in the face of Gotham's most terrifying clown-terrorist.
Daggett looked between their painted faces, equal parts enraged and bemused before he huffed disdainfully.
"Where the hell is Reeves?" he snapped.
"Ooh," Ed grinned. "So, that's who Hill told you you were meeting."
"What are you talking about?" Daggett spat.
"Our new Mayor realized he wasn't playin' for the winning team," the Joker explained slyly, adjusting his grip on Daggett's shirt. "Seems he's got a better sense of self-preservation than you do… John."
Something about the Joker growling Daggett's first name made him recoil, his nostrils flaring.
"What do you want?" he hissed, his face darkening.
"Ohhh, I want lots of things," the Joker purred. "But let's start with an easy one, hmm?" he leaned in close, making Daggett rear back. "Where's Roman keeping Anarky?"
Daggett's mouth puckered and his eyes darted between them again, visibly unnerved that they knew Roman's name.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.
"Oh, sure ya do," Ed flapped his hand at Daggett playfully. "I mean, you're the one who's been shipping those poppies in for Black Mask!"
"Mm, you raise a good point, Eddie," the Joker narrowed his eyes. "Maybe John here can tell us how Roman found those poppies in the first place…"
"I'm not telling you anything," Daggett seethed. "Freak."
Ed threw a hand over his heart, gasping. "Rude!"
But the Joker just released a rattly chuckle, his tongue slipping out to swipe over his scarred bottom lip. Then, moving so fast Ed almost missed it, a jackknife slipped out of his sleeve, and with little more than a flick of his wrist, he slashed Daggett's face, making the older man yelp and lurch away.
He didn't get very far. The Joker caught him by the shirt and slammed him back up against the side of the Jag.
"Oooh, daddy!" Ed whooped, prompting the Joker to shoot him a quick, amused look.
Daggett was breathing hard through his nose, his eyes wide, perturbed. There was a shallow gash stretching from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone, a few scarlet drops of blood rolling down his cheek.
"Now," J continued, his voice lower, decidedly less amused. He crowded Daggett up against the car. "You were telling us where the BO comes from… hmm?"
Daggett ground his teeth, his eyes on the knife twirling between the Joker's fingers before he finally relented.
"There's a man named Strange," Daggett admitted, sounding strained. "A psychiatrist we hired to our R&D department. We brought the poppies in for him and financed his research. In exchange, he made Roman a product."
"Mmm… Black Mask musta promised you something good for all that trouble, huh?" the Joker prodded Daggett's cut cheek with a sharp, paint-smeared finger, making him wince. "Guy like you with all your money… it had to be worth the risk. It had to be something you wanted bad."
"Ya know, J, I heard a rumor," Ed butted in flirtatiously.
"What's that, Eddie?" the Joker purred, smooth as anything.
"I heard Mr Daggett's just dying to get his hands on Wayne Enterprises," Ed gushed, his smirk growing when Daggett turned to stare at him, shocked and super pissed off.
"Wayne Enterprises, huh," the Joker patted Daggett's face to get his attention. "Now that does sound like a lotta money."
Daggett glared at the Joker, his teeth grinding together as he came to the very accurate conclusion that they knew more than he thought, and he was going to need to play ball.
"It was a calculated risk," he insisted resentfully. "And Roman always delivers."
"Mmm," the Joker growled, low in his chest, all rattly. "Not this time, pal."
Ed whooped again when J wrenched Daggett away from the car and tossed him to the ground. He landed gracelessly on his belly and scrambled to push himself up, his graying hair flopping forward over his eyes as he sat back on his heels and glared up at them.
Ed pulled the Smith and Wesson from its holster and took aim at Daggett's head, and the Joker dropped into a sumo squat in front of him.
"Where's he keeping Anarky," J asked quietly, intent. "Hmm?"
"I—" Daggett faltered, his gaze swinging between the long barrel of Ed's gun and the Joker's painted face, calculating the risk. "I don't know," he admitted. "That wasn't something I needed or wanted to know about."
"Now that's not very helpful," the Joker cocked his head to the side like a curious cat. "Is it, Eddie?"
"Nope," Ed smirked, pulling back the Smith and Wesson's hammer with a threatening click. "I think we should probably kill him, J."
"Look," Daggett insisted, getting desperate. "All I know is you managed to hack Wayne during the Thanksgiving Riots. Roman believed you had someone valuable working for you, someone who could solve our problem with Wayne. He called them Anarky. I don't know anything else about it."
"Oh, dear," the Joker tisked. "I think he's tellin' the truth." He hummed throatily. "He doesn't know anything."
The word hung between the three of them like a threat, a last chance for Daggett to come up with something worthwhile.
"I can get you money," Daggett started cautiously, trying a different tact. "I can get you a lot of money if you'll disappear…"
Ed's ears perked up at that, but before he could ask how much money, the Joker was speaking for both of them.
"It's always about the money to you people," he purred, leaning in close while Daggett tried to cower away. "But ya see, for me and my buddy Eddie here, it's not about the cash..."
Daggett yelped when J slashed the other side of his face, creating another shallow cut from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone to mirror the other, the impression of a Chelsea smile.
"It's about sending a message," the Joker continued in a sinister sing-song, tapping Daggett on the nose with the blade.
Ed felt downright giddy as he watched the Joker work. The message—the Joker's ultimate weapon, even more so than his hacker or his minions or even Harley Quinn. His message was what made him dangerous, what made the entire city fall to its knees in front of him, repeatedly. It was what made him the biggest bad in Gotham.
Not just rhyming words and coy calling cards, but a purpose.
"I'll give you Roman," Daggett spat. "Just let me go."
"Oh, yeah?" the Joker snickered. "You're just gonna hand him over?"
"The Tobacconist's Club, you can find him there," Dagget insisted, starting to sound nervous. "Or—"
Ed impulsively pulled the trigger, putting a bullet in Daggett's brain and nearly taking off the Joker's ear in the process.
He half expected J to jump up and get in his face, scream at him, or even murder him. Instead, the Joker simply looked over his shoulder at Ed, his eyebrows raising as he prodded his ear, which must have been ringing after having a bullet pass so close to his head.
"He was gonna make it too easy," Ed explained weakly, watching the Joker rise to his feet. At his full height, Ed still had a few inches on him, but for some reason, the Joker always felt so much bigger. "Maybe we shouldn't tell Harley," Ed added, cringing.
"Mm," J seemed to agree, nodding mildly as he squinted down at Daggett's body. Then he shot Ed a sidelong look and slapped him hard on the back.
That slap would have knocked a weaker person over, but Ed stayed firmly on his feet.
"Easy is boring," the Joker agreed, one butchered corner of his mouth twitching up like he was pleased.
He loped back around to the car while Ed ducked down to steal Daggett's wallet.
There was a black AMEX inside that wouldn't be canceled for at least a day, making Ed squeal happily.
Ooh, Daddy. What a night.
Crouched in the back of an electrical van surrounded by anarchists wearing black bloc and punk kids with brightly-colored mohawks, Harley stuck out like a sore thumb. She was still wearing the bubblegum-pink dress and slouchy white boots, which Alexandra felt entitled to sneer at as they crossed the Uptown bridge onto Gotham's main island.
"This is how you dress to fight?" she scoffed.
"That sounds like something someone who doesn't like a good fight would say," Harley replied breezily, checking the magazine on the new modified automatic Sergey outfitted her with.
He'd handed it to her back at Alexandra's hideout, offering Harley a sly smile and quiet greeting: "You're still alive, Harlequin-lady. Good news."
Oh, Harley was feeling good. The Joker texted her about his and Ed's discussion with the now-late John Daggett. He may not have had anything especially helpful to add, but Harley could still enjoy knowing Roman had lost one of his favorite supporters.
It was just past 3 AM when the van full of armed punks and anarchists arrived at the Iceberg Lounge. As per usual, there was a line of fashionable young people looping around the block, a handful of handsome bouncers hovering near the front and back entrances. They wouldn't be a problem. Harley was more concerned about Alexandra, a remarkable spoiled sport considering her gangster pedigree and the fact that she ran the entire Eastside of Gotham with an iron fist.
"Ground rules," Alexandra announced as the van rumbled up the narrow street the club sat on, slowing as they approached the alley where the back entrance was located.
"Rules?" Harley scoffed, making a few of Alexandra's punks chuckle.
"Do not kill unless you have to," Alexandra snapped, glaring at Harley, who made a 'who me?' face. "We are not terrorists," Alexandra insisted. "We are here for those piece-of-shit fascist Falcones, not to take innocent lives."
"And what about the bouncers?" Harley asked, raising an eyebrow. "They're armed with pistols. What do the rules say about them?"
"Do what you must," Alexandra sneered, her gray eyes narrowing as she held up a baseball bat riddled with rusty nails. "We go in through the old kitchens," she continued, looking around at her minions, who were armed with a litany of weapons; bats, wrenches, tire irons, knives, brass knuckles. They seemed a lot more fun than their boss. "We grab the Falcones, and we leave."
"Sounds pretty boring," Harley observed blithely, looking around at the young people packed into the back of the van, catching a few eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be anarchists, huh? Where's the fun in playing it safe?" She threw her hands up. "Come on, guys, let's show these aristocratic Uptown fuckers what life on the Eastside is really like!"
There was a rumble of agreement, and Alexandra ground her teeth unhappily, looking at her right-hand woman, Sweetie.
"Take four and block the backdoor," she instructed. "We will meet you there."
Sweetie nodded and pushed the van's sliding door open, a handful of thugs following her out into the alley.
"Great," Harley smirked, prompting Alexandra to scowl as the van pulled forward to stop beside the main entrance, where four bouncers were checking names on the guest list. "Let's get this party started," Harley added cheerfully.
"You have a strange idea of a party," Alexandra observed gloomily.
"You've never been to one of my parties," Harley pointed out, pulling the modified automatic from her holster, which looked very strange contrasting with the bright pink dress.
Alexandra rolled her eyes and barked something at her goons, who were getting visibly excited. Harley could feel some of them staring at her, curious and intrigued, and probably more inclined toward her version of anarchy and violence than Alexandra's.
Because Harley's was much more fun.
She yanked the sliding door open, revealing herself to the Iceberg Lounge bouncers and clientele. With her black warpaint already smeared down her white cheeks and the modified automatic in her hand, the screaming started immediately.
"Run! It's Harley Quinn!"
Harley snorted and raised her weapon, mowing down all four bouncers and a few clubbers on accident.
Pandemonium broke out on the street as Harley jumped out of the van with Alexandra's anarchists on her heels. People started screaming and running for their lives as the Odessa thugs rushed into the club, wielding their blunt-force weapons and roaring enthusiastically.
"Let's party," Alexandra growled, making Harley laugh as she jogged after her into the Iceberg Lounge.
The cloakroom attendant was slumped over their desk with a baseball bat like Alexandra's nailed to the side of her head. Harley was instantly drawn to it, holstering her automatic before she pried the bat off the attendant's skull. She gave it an experimental spin and took off after Alexandra, feeling a rush of adrenaline that was so damn satisfying.
That sensation of floating swept over her when she darted through the prohibition era door and found herself in a scene of mass panic. The club was as packed as it usually was, though now there were punks and anarchists swinging bats and tire irons at the dancers' heads, forcing them to run for cover behind the bar or otherwise try to force their way out through the front door.
Harley instantly joined the fray, swinging the nail-ridden bat at anyone and anything that got in her path, forcing her way through the crowd toward the birdcage. She caught up with Alexandra, whose face was tense, her steely eyes sweeping the room as her people gave into their healthy desires for deep, primal violence.
There were a few Pop!… Pop!… Pop!… Pop!s From the birdcage as Victor attempted to fend them off, unable to escape out the back door with Sweetie blocking the exit. Harley could see Victor from where she stood in the rolling crowd of terrified people, his bald head standing out white against the pink cheetah print and glitter.
Harley pulled her automatic and squinted out of one eye as she aimed, holding down the trigger to eventually hit Victor. She emptied the magazine, accidentally killing a few clubbers in the process, but only managed to hit Victor's right arm. He dropped one of his guns, but he didn't pause or show any sign that he was in pain, his injured arm hanging limply by his side as he continued picking off Alexandra's thugs with his left hand.
Out of ammunition, Harley scowled and holstered her piece.
At least the Joker wasn't there to taunt her about her godawful marksmanship.
"What happened to let's party!" she shouted at Alexandra, who turned to squint at her.
For a split second, Harley thought she saw something like a smile on Alexandra's lips, but it was gone just as quickly. She nodded and started swinging her bat mercilessly, forcing her way across the dance floor regardless of the bullets flying toward them.
Clearing a path for themselves, Harley and Alexandra fought their way up the birdcage, beating the screaming Iceberg Lounge clientele aside. Then Alexandra rushed forward with a mighty roar, swinging her bat at Victor and knocking the Glock out of his hand. She dropped her bat, and Harley watched in awe as Alexandra slammed both her fists against the sides of Victor's bald head with such force that he immediately collapsed to the floor.
Harley grabbed one of Victor's abandoned guns and dodged into the birdcage, finding Lucy and Mario cowering behind one of the pink chaise lounges. Harley kicked the couch aside and pointed Victor's gun at Mario's head.
"What the fuck are you doin'!" Lucy yelped, her green eyes wide. "Ya crazy clown cunt!"
"Where's Alberto?" Harley demanded, grabbing Mario by the front of his shirt and pressing Victor's gun to his forehead.
"Get that gun outta his face!" Lucy screamed, her face red and blotchy, while Mario blubbered helplessly.
Harley realized they weren't going to get any answers there and then, and besides that, the cops would be on their way any moment. She glanced over her shoulder at Alexandra, whose eyes were darting around suspiciously.
"We must go," she announced grimly, squatting down to haul Victor over her shoulder, grunting with the effort.
Harley cracked Mario across the side of the head with Victor's gun, knocking him out so a pair of anarchists could lug him out through the kitchens. Then she turned to Lucy, who had herself pressed up against one of the shiny gold columns of her stupid fucking birdcage.
"Get away from me!" she squawked, kicking out with her heel and missing Harley completely.
Harley didn't even bother to point the gun at Lucy, who was possibly the least physically threatening person she had ever encountered. Instead, she grabbed Lucy's elbow and yanked her to her feet.
"Time to go, Lucy," Harley snapped. "We need to have another girl talk."
Lucy tried to wrench away, screaming indignantly and generally being uncooperative. Exasperated, Harley grabbed a handful of Lucy's long dark hair and spun her around, slamming her face-first into a golden column, which was solid steel beneath the paint. Lucy slumped into Harley's arms, unconscious, her button nose gushing blood.
Harley looped one of Lucy's arms over her shoulders while Sweetie did the same with her other, and together they dragged her into the kitchens.
"I love teamwork," Harley grinned at Sweetie as they hauled Lucy out into the alley.
The sun was coming up, and Vicki was sitting stiffly in the corner of her squashy pink corduroy couch, staring numbly at the door across from her. She was waiting for someone to come crashing through that door. Maybe Harley with an ice pick, furious over something Vicki couldn't predict, finally ready to kill her. Maybe the other version of Harley, desperate for Vicki's help and compassion. Maybe it would be the police, having learned that Vicki conspired with known terrorists.
Or maybe, it would be the Batman.
Though whether he'd be there to save Vicki or drag her away in handcuffs was anyone's guess.
For almost twelve hours, Vicki had been sitting there, trying to decide what to do. She had a phone in each hand, her iPhone, which had numerous missed calls and concerned texts from Bruce, and the old Nokia she used for communicating with Harley Quinn. According to the news, Harley had her hands full shooting up nightclubs at the moment, no doubt for some bigger purpose that no one would understand until it was too late.
But if there was anything that would get Harley's attention, Black Canary's real identity was sure to do it.
There was no getting around that if Vicki outed Dinah, she was firmly siding with Harley. There had been just enough ambiguity to hide behind so far, ambiguity to justify Vicki's actions. But not this time. Especially not when Vicki was forced to confront the bewildering reality that if Dinah was Black Canary, there was a very… very strong possibility that Bruce was…
It made a laughable amount of sense with hindsight. Bruce was a man with secrets, a man with a tragic past who hid who he really was behind a facade of smug elitism. He had the financial resources, the physicality, the gravitas, a sense of morality that rose above what was strictly legal. And Dinah, his butler's 'niece' with a backstory that would have fallen apart with the lightest of prodding… she wasn't his ward or a charity case. She was his protegee.
Bruce Wayne was the Batman, and Vicki had foolishly believed she was the one who needed to protect him from Black Mask.
"Fuck," she whispered, throwing the Nokia aside in favor of the iPhone.
She tapped out a quick email to the Globe's HR department to let them know she would be off sick again. The idea of going out in public with this weighing on her seemed impossible. Waiting for someone to come punish her felt far more reasonable.
The iPhone beeped with a text message—another one from Bruce.
Let me know when you're ready to talk.
Vicki pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard as she squeezed her eyes shut. By now, Bruce would know that Vicki suspected who he really was. If Black Canary… if Dinah knew Vicki was working with Harley, then Bruce would too, an idea that made her heart ache with shame, building exponentially on her guilt over Knox's murder, and the knowledge that there was nothing rational about wanting Harley Quinn to be the one to protect her from whatever was coming next.
Of that, Vicki was sure. Something was coming next.
Then the burner phone beeped—a message from Harley that made Vicki want to scream.
Act normally. I'll be in touch.
Vicki set both phones aside and rubbed her hand over her face. Her world had been turned upside down, but one thing was incontrovertibly clear. Choosing between Bruce and Harley was not going to help her out of this mess.
She could only rely on herself now.
The Hulu Meats Warehouse was an ideal meeting spot, a creepy, big old building that had been cleared out in anticipation of demolition so the Crowne Group could develop the land with more high rises and 'luxury' condos. But then Bertie Crowne got thrown off the top of his own skyscraper after the Joker revealed his dealings with the mob. Since then, no real estate developer had come anywhere near Gotham's meatpacking district, which made it the perfect part of town to lay low in Harley's estimation.
After some diversionary driving to shake off the cops, they'd regrouped at the warehouse, Harley sprightly and excited for what was to come, Alexandra tense and impatient to get it over with.
"You need to relax," Harley advised, tapping out a message to Vicki, who was lying low at her apartment by the sounds of it.
Harley was tempted to check on her, but her instincts—which she was beginning to trust again—told her Vicki would not be a problem. She couldn't go to the police, even if Harley had killed her colleague in front of her, and she had enough skin in the game to keep her mouth shut.
Vicki played her part well, just as Harley knew she would.
"Relax," Alexandra sneered, waving off the flask offered to her by a thug with a set of neon green dreadlocks.
"Yeah, relax," Harley accepted the flak and took a draught. "Haven't you ever heard of the waiting game?"
"Why do you wait?" Alexandra demanded, gesturing to the small supervisor's office tucked into the corner of the warehouse floor, where Victor, Mario, and Lucy were currently tied up. "Zsasz and Lucy will know where to find Roman. Mario will know where to find his brother."
"Alberto's skipped town, and Mario doesn't know shit," Harley drawled, passing the flask to another thug. "Victor is Roman's puppet; he won't talk. And Lucy…" Harley pointed at the laptop charging on the floor beside her. "Lucy just needs some inspiration."
Alexandra sneered and wandered off to converse with Sweetie, both of them shooting Harley suspicious looks as she settled in to wait with the other Odessa thugs.
A few of them were of the homeless teenager variety, just looking for something to believe in and someone to take care of them. A few more were good old fashioned muscle there for the payday. But a large section of the group were genuine anarchists, and in her brilliant mood, Harley didn't have to dig deep or pretend too hard to engage in a robust debate with them to pass the time.
The sun rose and the hours ticked past, and then finally, Harley got the text she's been waiting for on Lee's old blackberry. She booted up the laptop and started typing while Alexandra eyed her warily.
"Separate Zsasz from Lucy and Mario," Harley ordered, not looking up until she realized Alexandra hadn't moved to do as instructed. "What's the problem?" Harley asked, raising an eyebrow.
Alexandra scowled but still snapped at two of her bigger goons to retrieve Victor nonetheless. He didn't struggle as they marched him out, his hollow eyes glued to Harley's paint-smeared face once he spotted her. She stood up and tucked the laptop under her arm, returning his stare impassively as the thugs stopped in front of her.
"Huh," Harley mused, her eyes drifting over Victor, from his shiny bald head to his black-on-black suiting, up to his red-rimmed, lashless eyes. "It's weird, but I just don't feel like killing you anymore," she shrugged and offered him a saccharine smile. "Now that I know you're nothing but Roman's kicked puppy, I just don't… care."
Victor's eyes narrowed to slits, but Harley had already lost interest in him, waving a dismissive hand to signify she was finished.
"Let's make this fast," Alexandra insisted as she followed Harley to the small office.
"Hey, it's not up to me," Harley countered, pushing the office door open to reveal a small, dirty room with a desk and three folding chairs. Two of the chairs were currently occupied by Lucy and Mario, tied back to back, gagged with duct tape.
They both looked around furtively when Harley pushed the door open, observing that neither of them was holding up very well under stress. Mario's suit was torn at the shoulder, his shirt dirty, untucked, and missing a few buttons, and he had a dark pink bruise spreading across his temple where Harley hit him. Lucy's long, pink-sequinned dress had lost a strap and gained a tear running up her thigh, and it looked likely she'd broken her nose when Harley slammed her face into the birdcage. It was swollen and cut, and she had blue-black bruising growing across and beneath both of her eyes, a thick, magenta mark crossing her face where she'd hit the pole.
Harley set the open laptop down on the desk and turned it away from their hostages while Lucy immediately began struggling against her bonds, her green eyes livid. She tried to shout past her gag and rocked against Mario, who was craning his head around to see what was happening.
"Oh, stop it," Harley grinned, giving Lucy a wide berth as she squeezed past her and squatted down in front of Mario. "I've had much worse," Harley informed him, ripping the duct tape off his mouth.
"Ah!" he gasped, recoiling when he realized how close Harley was. "What you want!" he stuttered.
"Money," Harley flashed him a grin. "I just want your money. Then I'll let you go."
"Wha-what?" Mario stammered while Lucy began bucking furiously against her restraints, her muffled threats loud and hoarse behind the duct tape.
"You really are just a big teddy bear, aren't you," Harley sighed, rising to her feet and circling back to Lucy, who glared at her with such loathing Harley had to laugh.
"I get it," Harley said, smiling. "Penguin leaves you with the club and no money. Then one day some handsome businessman with a kink for masks and cemeteries swoops in to save the day." She squatted down so she was eye-level with Lucy but didn't take off her gag. "I mean, what were you supposed to do? Say no to all the money and power?"
Lucy glared back at her, indignation and resentment flashing in her green eyes.
"But it's not really about power for you, not like the others, is it Lucy?" Harley mused, searching Lucy's bruised face a moment longer before she ripped the tape off her mouth, making Lucy hiss through clenched teeth. "For you, it's about safety," Harley observed. "And respect."
"You psycho bitch," Lucy scowled, watching Harley rise to her feet before her eyes darted to Alexandra. "Jesus Christ, have you got a fuckin' death wish?" Lucy demanded, bewildered. "Partnering up with her? The boss is gonna be—"
"Roman Sionis is a capitalist scumbag, just like his friends Hill and Daggett," Alexandra sneered. "I cannot work for a man like that."
Lucy's eyes widened. As far as she was aware, Alexandra was in the dark about Roman's identity and the other False Face Society members.
But it seemed Lucy wasn't.
"Alright," Lucy nodded, looking between Harley and Alexandra resolutely. "Ya know his name, fair enough. You think that'll stop him flaying you alive? Huh? He ain't gonna put up with betrayal like this! Especially not for this clown cunt!"
"John Daggett is dead," Alexandra informed Lucy coldly. "Hamilton Hill handed him over of his own free will. You should reexamine where your loyalty lies." She glanced sideways at Harley. "And you should understand this clown cunt is showing you mercy."
Harley nodded enthusiastically.
"Don't listen to em' Lucy!" Mario jumped in. "They been brainwashed by the Joker!"
"Oh, please," Harley rolled her eyes and reached for the laptop sitting open on the desk.
She spun it around, revealing a woman with heavy-lidded eyes and high cheekbones, her long black hair draped sleekly over one shoulder, her scarlet lips composed in a sneer.
Sofia Falcone was Skype'ing from Milan.
"Brother," Sofia snapped, her voice crackling over the laptop speakers. "You've done a brilliant job of fucking everything up, haven't you?"
"Sofia?!" Mario yelped while Lucy lapsed into stunned silence, staring at the laptop incredulously.
"What did Father always tell you?" Sofia demanded. "Do not fall for teachings of demagogues, and never listen to your brother."
"Dad's in fuckin' the nuthouse, Sof," Mario countered emotionally. "He ain't exactly around to give advice these days."
"I thank God Mother isn't alive to hear you say such things," Sofia huffed imperiously.
"You think she's ain't rollin' in her grave knowing you're taking sides with a terrorist over your own family?" Mario sounded on the verge of tears.
"Mother understood that human beings are flawed and complicated. How else could she love Bertie?" Sofia shot back immediately. "And I trust Harley Quinn's judgment far more than yours, Mario."
"Then you're fuckin' crazy!" Lucy jumped in viciously.
"Lucy," Mario hissed, horrified while Sofia tisked impatiently.
"If you do not understand the influence Harley Quinn wields in Gotham then you are nothing more than a little girl playing games," Sofia countered, making Lucy's face fall. "Now you are losing a game that will end with both of you at the bottom of the East River if you are not exceedingly careful."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Lucy snapped, unimpressed. "You want us to team up with the Joker and Harley fuckin' Quinn?"
"I want you to be smarter," Sofia narrowed her heavy-lidded eyes. "This isn't about teaming up. It is about navigating Gotham's ever-shifting alliances. Clearly, this is a concept Ms Kosov can comprehend better than you children."
Harley shot Alexandra a smirk but she just rolled her eyes, unaffected by the praise.
"Black Mask's days are numbered," Sofia continued. "As yours will be if you do not heed my advice."
Lucy flopped back in her chair, looking conflicted, her mind obviously racing. Meanwhile, Mario argued with his sister about dynastic regime change and past transgressions. Sofia shot down all of it with the utmost disdain, suggesting their father would be horrified to learn how weak Mario was, which promptly shut him up.
"Now. You will have to excuse me," Sofia sniffed once she'd said her piece. "The Clooney's are visiting from Lake Granada, and I have had more than enough of your blubbering."
Suitably chastised, Mario and Lucy sulked in silence while Harley stepped forward to address Sofia.
"Darling," Sofia sighed. "How dreadful for you to be surrounded by such incompetence."
"Lucy's not incompetent," Harley caught Lucy's eye across the room. "She just trusted the wrong people."
"Fool me once, as they say," Sofia agreed, raising her chin. "Look after yourself, darling."
"I will," Harley promised just as Lee's Blackberry beeped in her hand. She glanced at the screen then shot Sofia a smirk. "Pam's here."
"Thank God for that," Sofia huffed, looking relieved. Then she took a deep breath, her expression hardening. "Brother," she snapped, drawing Mario's sullen gaze. "I love you. Do not make me return to Gotham for your funeral."
And with that last platitude, Sofia disappeared, replaced by a black screen as she ended the video call.
"That was a dirty trick," Lucy scowled while Harley ducked down to retrieve the knife in her boot, holding it up for Lucy to see.
"What's it going to be, Lucy?" Harley countered. "Are you going to keep letting Roman use you?" She raised her eyebrows appraisingly. "Or are you going to take control of your life?"
Lucy pressed her lips together, her eyes darting between the knife and Harley's face, probably trying to work out if she was going to end up dead regardless of the answer she gave.
Deciding a concession was in order, Harley stepped forward and cut the zip ties binding Lucy and Mario. They rolled their shoulders forward and rubbed their arms, Mario turning to Lucy with wide eyes, leaving it up to her to decide their fate.
Lucy slowly pulled herself out of the folding chair on shaky legs, her expression shifting from outright hostility to something more uneasy.
"You really think you can take Roman out?" she asked warily.
"Yes," Harley said immediately, glancing at Alexandra. "Can you give us a moment?"
Alexandra nodded moodily and grabbed Mario by one thick arm, hauling him out of his chair and marching him out of the office.
Lucy watched silently, not protesting her boyfriend being manhandled.
"You don't know what Roman's capable of," she warned Harley once the door clicked shut.
"He doesn't know what I'm capable of either," Harley shot back. "He underestimated me… Just like everyone underestimates you."
"Are you tryin' to manipulate me?" Lucy demanded, her bruised eyes narrowing. "You think you can run the mob through me, huh? Like you did with Sofia?"
"I can't think of anything I want less," Harley sneered, exasperated.
Lucy's eyes darted to the floor, her jaw working as she struggled with her thoughts.
Then she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath like she was bracing herself.
"He lives in the Falcone Penthouse at the Flatiron," she finally admitted, determinedly avoiding Harley's gaze. "If he's not there, he's at the Janus Plastics Plant in Oldtown. That's where he…"
Where he makes his toys, Harley realized.
Lucy looked up at Harley, her face tense. She was trying to project strength, but she was terrified about what Roman would do to her if he found out she'd betrayed him.
Well, that was disappointing.
"You can go to the Falcone's safe house north of the city and wait this out," Harley offered, eyeing Lucy curiously. "It's not like either or you would be much help here," she added drily.
Lucy's nostrils flared, suspicious and indignant about such generosity coming from Harley Quinn.
"What the fuck is goin' on, huh?" she demanded, once again animated and full of life, not cowering, not afraid. "What do you want from me? Why are you showing me mercy?"
"I want you to stop fucking around and do what you want for a change," Harley insisted, exasperated. "Don't be Roman's puppet. Don't be anyone's puppet. Show everyone how dangerous you can be."
Because that was what this mercy really came down to for Harley. Not just getting one up on Roman, and definitely not installing someone weak she could control. Harley was curious to see what Lucy was capable of if given a little push in the right direction. She'd always sensed that blossom of power was there inside Lucy, suppressed by the men who leaned on her, and now Harley wanted to see that power come to fruition. She wanted to see what Lucy was truly capable of; what lengths she would go to, and how far she would push the envelope.
Seeing an opening, Harley pulled Victor's gun from her holster and offered it to Lucy, whose eyes widened.
"So what's it going to be?" Harley raised one eyebrow as Lucy took the gun from her, hesitant, processing some feelings of her own. "Are you the boss or not?"
A shiver of anticipation rolled over Harley's shoulders as she waited to see what Lucy would do.
Lucy stared at the gun a moment longer, then lifted her green eyes to Harley's. Her arm swung up, her face resolute as she pointed the gun at Harley's forehead and pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked uselessly, the chamber empty.
Lucy's eyes widened indignantly when Harley started to smirk, thrilled to see Lucy had the balls to shoot her in the face if given the opportunity.
Scowling, Lucy pushed past her and stormed out of the office while Harley followed, grinning triumphantly.
Pam was waiting outside, looking sleepy in a Sunrise Project hoodie with the sleeves pulled down over her hands, her red hair tied back in a stubby ponytail. Her eyebrows rose as she watched Lucy stomp across the warehouse toward a clunky old Buick where Mario and Victor were waiting, both apparently on board with the plan to hide out at Falcone's old safe house until Roman was dead.
"That seemed to go well," Pam observed, shooting Harley a smirk. "I had a little chat with Zsasz."
"Oh yeah?" Harley grinned. "Is he Lucy's pet now?"
"Yeah, and he told me what Roman did to him," Pam widened her eyes, looking delighted. "Let's just say Zsasz is missing one of his more significant 'parts.'"
"Aww," Harley cooed, grinning. "Poor little creature."
They burst into laughter together, doubling over and leaning on each other until Alexandra stormed up to them, grim-faced as usual.
"I must return to my people," she announced, her steely eyes darting between Harley and Pam suspiciously.
"Come on, tell me you didn't have fun," Harley ribbed her, to which Alexandra scoffed and marched away without another word, making Harley and Pam snicker together.
"How's Lee?" Harley asked once Alexandra was far enough away.
"She seems fine," Pam admitted, stifling a yawn. "J dropped Ed off a few hours ago, and she was genuinely relieved to see him."
"That's so weird," Harley frowned.
"Why's it weird?" Pam made a face. "She's lonely and bored, he's needy and exciting, and he has friends like you."
"I'm not friends with Ed," Harley countered moodily.
"Someone better tell him that," Pam snorted, looking amused. "He wouldn't shut up about you."
"Oh, God," Harley groaned, running her hand over her face.
"Stop it," Pam laughed. "Ed's hilarious! You just don't like the idea of having competition once this is all over."
"Competition?" Harley scoffed incredulously. "When this is all over I'm putting a bullet in his head."
"Sure you are," Pam smirked, looking so smug Harley actually scowled. "Want me to drone him for you? You can make him wear flares and Ugg boots."
"Mm," Harley's scowl eased. "That would be his idea of hell." Then something occurred to her. "Did you use inception on Victor?"
"Nah," Pam yawned and stretched her arms over her head. "I just poked around a little bit and reorganized his priorities."
"How does that work?" Harley frowned, something uneasy tickling the back of her neck.
"His emotions were very… obvious," Pam explained. "Broken, maybe. Like Roman reduced his emotional range to the most basic reactions, and he was openly waiting to be influenced."
"Jesus," Harley muttered, her curiosity piqued. "So you can sense peoples' feelings now?"
"Kinda," Pam wrinkled her nose. "I know it's their emotions I'm hooked into. I can feel that. It's all a lot more visceral than it used to be."
"But 'poking around,'" Harley used her index fingers to make quotations. "That's different than droning them like you used to?"
"It's like when I tell someone to forget my face," Pam shrugged. "I can leave that one instruction and let go. Inception is like a bigger version of that with a bigger idea. Like the difference between forgetting you're hungry and forgetting you have a kid, you know? But with a drone, I'm hooked into them. I can sense them and call them to my side. I wouldn't be able to do that with Victor or Hill."
"Huh," Harley murmured. What Pam said made plenty of sense, but the idea of her over-using her abilities still made Harley's shoulders tense.
Pam released another epic yawn, twining her arms together over her head and blinking hard.
"You should go back to Lee's, get some more sleep," Harley suggested, distracted.
"You're not coming?" Pam raised an eyebrow. "You should get some sleep too."
Harley tried to fight back a smirk.
"J and I have a little… Pied a Terre nearby," she admitted.
"A Pied a Terre?" Pam made a face. "God, you two are obsessed with each other's genitals."
Harley cracked up at that, but she still couldn't shake that sliver of dread scratching at her spine.
It had not been a good night for Crane.
After being subjected to… hours of watching Roman torture Lonnie, Roman suggested they go for dinner at the Ritz Gotham. He'd been in a cheerful mood, explaining over foie gras and caviar that he didn't just want Lonnie to tell him what he knew about Harleen and the Joker—which Lonnie had not yet done—nor was Roman only interested in using Lonnie to take down Wayne.
Roman wanted Lonnie to be his.
"Some people are worth my full attention," Roman explained, smiling as he piled a spoonful of caviar onto a delicate toast.
During dinner, the election results were announced: Hamilton Hill would be Gotham's new Mayor, giving Roman even more power over the city once he installed his own District Attorney and Police Commissioner.
Rather than celebrate with Hill, cocktails followed dinner at the Tobacconist's Club with a group of Chinese bankers, business Crane would say fell under the header of Roman's 'Day Job.'
Crane stuck close to Roman's side throughout it all, silent and fearful, nauseous over the idea that Lonnie might replace him in the pecking order, just as Crane had replaced Reeves as Roman's companion and confidant. It made Crane feel competitive for Roman's attention, wanting to please him so he wouldn't end up by the wayside.
Back at the penthouse, Crane lay in bed obsessing over how he might make himself more useful, feeling small and pathetic comparing himself to Lonnie. And when Roman inevitably brought Harleen under his wing, he would surely be cast aside then. Harleen, who Roman spoke of as if she were a goddess of war, ruthless and beautiful and capable of giving Roman everything he wanted. Where would that leave Crane?
Then, in the middle of the night, he awoke from a restless sleep to Roman... screaming.
Another tantrum, directed at a Reeves and a pair of well-dressed henchmen this time. Crane walked into the kitchen to find Roman in his dressing gown, beating one of those henchmen with a fire poker, the other already dead on the floor. Reeves was cowering in the corner, holding his mutilated hand close to his chest. It was turning gangrenous beneath the dirty bandage, the antibiotics Roman had been dolling out as rewards not enough to stop the spread.
Crane and Reeves waited for the fit of fury to play itself out, Crane growing increasingly nauseous as he watched the man he was so eager to please behave as if he were… deranged.
Crane raced to a bathroom decorated in geometric prints and potted ferns, emptying his guts of the caviar and foie gras. When he returned to the kitchen, he was greeted with a new disturbing scene: Roman in Reeves' arms, being soothed. Reeves looked pained and sick, trembling and broken as he smoothed Roman's curling black hair from his face, murmuring reassuring things while Roman buried his face in Reeves's shoulder.
It was obvious this was not the first time Reeves had provided this kind of comfort.
Eventually, it was explained that the Iceberg Lounge had been attacked by Harley Quinn and Alexandra Kosov, who had taken Lucy and the Falcone brothers with them, probably killing them after interrogating them. Kosov controlled all the muscle in town, and she had far more men at her disposal than Roman could hope to. Her partnering with Harleen and the Joker, and with Lucy and the Falcones removed from the equation, the underworld Roman spent so much time cultivating was essentially lost to him.
It only grew worse as dawn approached. Roman's contact at the MCU, Lieutenant Grogan, called to inform them that John Daggett had been found dead at the old shipyard, his face cut like the Joker's.
Another tantrum ensued, another pair of henchmen were viciously murdered.
Crane remembered the Joker's words, just weeks earlier.
If I were you, Crane, I wouldn't get on her bad side. You got no idea what she's capable of.
He ran to the toilet again, vomiting up green bile and dry heaving until there was nothing left.
Time seemed to move both very fast and very slow after that. Despite Reeves's obvious illness and the fact that Crane was wanted by the police for a litany of crimes, they accompanied Roman to the MCU to view Daggett's body.
Lieutenant Grogan was tall and muscular with a bushy ginger mustache and a thick head of hair, an imposing man who stank of cigars and was no stranger to corruption. He'd been promised to be named Police Commissioner under Hill, and he watched uneasily from the corner of the morgue as Roman stared down at John Daggett's corpse.
"Oh, John," Roman sighed, examining the shallow, bloodless cuts marring Daggett's face. "I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it."
Grogan cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing Roman's attention.
"Mr Sionis," he rumbled. "I can only keep the crew outta here for so long."
"Thank you, Peter," Roman offered one of his mild smiles. "Hamilton will be in touch shortly to discuss your… promotion."
"Thank you, sir," Gorgan nodded stiffly, looking uncomfortable.
"Jonathan," Roman turned away from Daggett's body, finding Crane's pale blue eyes in the dimly lit morgue. "Go to the plant and keep an eye on Anarky for me. We still have work to do."
Crane nodded, feeling nauseous again, unable to see what other choices he had.
"Arthur," Roman continued, and Reeves staggered forward eagerly, shakey on his feet. "Go to Ms Kosov," Roman instructed softly. "Tell her I have a message for Harley Quinn."
A/N: OHHHHH SHIT, ROMAN YOU FUCKED NOW!
If you can't tell from Harley's pied a terre comment, next week opens up with smut before we head into the third act.
There was an itty bitty name drop I think some of you have been waiting for but may have given up on, lol—because it's really a plot hole I've had to fight my way out of. Let's see who picked up on it.
Next: the Joker helps Harley work through her control issues, Reeves delivers Roman's message, and everything finally comes to a head.
Please comment and review! They're what keeps me going.
xo