By this time screams and paniced voices were raised though out the room.
Bruce let go of "Katherine" and looked around the room alerted. He couldn't quite see the clown anywhere. He was hoping it was only someone in a costume and not really the Joker. But as he turned back to the young lady he had been dancing with he realized this was all to real.
Harley laughed with a machine pistol aimed at Bruce's face, "How did she know?" her accent had returned, "Put chya hands up sweetheart,"
He reluctantly did as she said. His position was a difficult one, if he reacted to the situation people may suspect that Bruce Wayne was the caped crusader. Still, he had to do something. If he could just slip out of the party for a moment he could return as Batman. However it didn't look as though the clown girl was going to let him go anywhere.
Just than a shot gun sounded from what was apparently one of the Joker's men. The deafening gun shot silenced the guests.
"Well, well, well," Bruce heard Joker's voice echo through the room, "It seems like everyone remembers meee,"
The henchmen who had been hiding among other guests began to emerge, dressed in mime suits. Each of them handling a gun, they forced the crowd into groups on either side of the room. Then Bruce saw him, the Joker was now in his view. Standing there in a dark straight jacket, his mask tossed aside revealing his trade mark face paint and twisting facial scars.
Bruce glared at him. Hate burned within him towards that man. For what he did to Gotham, for what he did to Dent. But most of all Rachel. Bruce made a promise to himself that he would never become an executioner, but no one made him consider breaking that rule more than the Joker. He practiced every ounce of restraint he could and looked towards Harley.
The clown girl blew a kiss towards Joker. Bruce Wayne was even more disgusted. As well as somewhat disappointed in this girl. She was probably the one who broke him out of Arkham the second time.
"So I'll uh get right to the point," Joker began speaking again, "I'm obv-ious-ly not here because uh Bruce over there throws such great parties. I'm here looking for a bat-uh,"
For a moment Bruce tensed.
"Not that I think any of you people are the Batman," he added, "I just figured if anything he'd show up heeere. So you can all relax, sit down, I'm simp-ly using you as bait," he removed his straight jacket, his signature purple suit beneath it.
This was going to be bad, Bruce knew the Joker's reaction would not be a good one when Batman failed to appear. But what could he do, he was trapped here. If he could have gotten to his "Batcave" he would have in a heart beat. Instead he knew he'd have to stay and watch homicidal clown's mood worsen.
All the guests began to slowly sit down on the floor, including Bruce. Harley sat beside him.
"Sorry I lied ta ya," she whispered, "I just couldn't tell ya who I really was for well obvious reasons. Ya undahstand right?" she waved her weapon around, "Ya know I don't care what the tabloids say you are a nice guy Bruce Wayne,"
He didn't respond.
"So that's it?" a man in a pirate costume spoke up.
"You're wearing an eye patch, do you honestly expect me to take you ser-ious-ly?" Joker sighed.
He yanked of the eye patch, "You crashed a party so you could get Batman to notice you? How childish is that?" the younger man said frustrated, "And are we just expected to sit around and wait patiently,"
Joker stared at the man sitting on the floor and tilted his head to one side. He wondered what kind of man was stupid enough to talk to him that way. Especially a man who was unarmed and surround by men who were.
"Oh, are you bored? Hmm?," he stepped closer to him, "Maybe I could provide some enter-tainment for ya. Hm would you like that?" Joker asked nodded as if talking to a child.
Bruce quietly cleared his throat and leaned closer to Harley, "Would it be possible for you to let me leave?"
Harley giggled, "No silly, didn't chya here Mistah J? We're waitin' for Batman,"
Joker leaned on one knee so that he was eye level with the man, "I'm a magician of sorts. I bet that I can make your little uh frown disappear," he waved his hands around.
"Yes I heard him," Bruce replied to Harley trying to look at her and trying watch the Joker at the same time, "It's just that I'm Bruce Wayne," he caught a glance of a large knife Joker held behind his back, "I can give you and your boyfriend what ever you want," he said with a little more urgency.
"Mistah J ain't interested in money," she shrugged.
Bruce looked towards the clown and the man who had dared to mouth off, "I know," he said quietly.
Joker roughly grabbed the man's face and slid the knife he held into his victim's mouth, "Abracadabra," he whispered.
With that he sliced into the man's face into a gorey smile. Blood splattered out of the cuts and onto the surrounding guests. Screams rang out among the crowd. The Joker's victim passed out quickly from the pain, he slumped over on the women next to him, his eyes rolled back in his head.
Mr. J wiped the thick, crimson blood of his knife and onto the soon-to-be dead man's costume.
Bruce let out a frustrated sigh and ran his fingers through his gelled hair. The death of that man was his fault, he could have stopped that. No, Batman could have stopped that. But it was his fault the Batman was not present. He had been to busy being Bruce Wayne. He felt sick as he watched the bleeding man and the horrified women who screamed beneath him.
He looked around the room, most of the people around him would fall victim to the clown tonight. And the only thing he could do was watch. Batman wasn't coming and the Joker would only become angrier as time passed without the arrival of a giant bat.
He felt guilty. He wanted to protect these people, despite Gotham's hatred of the Batman. They needed his protection but what could he do. The Joker didn't want Bruce.
Harley still aimed her gun towards Bruce. He looked at her, she was clearly paying to attention to him, her hostage. The clown girl watched the Joker. Her eyes following his every move, an affectionate smile on her lips. It bothered him somewhat how careless the women was while holding a weapon. What a twist of irony that would be if she slipped and shot him. The Joker would have had Batman killed without even knowing it, something he said he didn't want to do. Though it would not be the Clown Prince of Crime directly shooting, just his girlfriend. Bruce had assumed they were a couple. Judging by the look of love and adoration in Harley's eyes. He had seen that look before… from Rachel.
Commissioner Gordon looked over the report on Harleen Quinzel's apartment once again. He had been there personally over seeing things. It had been a disturbing scene. Blood was painted across the walls, Dr. Quinzel's belonging laying every where, most of them broken or slashed apart with a knife. There appeared to have been a defiant struggle in the apartment.
He flipped through the file. He came to the reports on the other rooms in the apartment. Quinzel's bedroom had been a mess as well, much like the living room and kitchen. Furniture in disrepair, blood and... other substances in the bed.
At the moment the Commissioner had no idea what to make of the situation. He knew the doctor was gone and the Joker was loose on the streets of Gotham. Those were the only things he could be sure of. As for what Joker was plotting or what he was going to do with Harleen Quinzel (assuming she was still alive), Gordon was at a loss. And this time he didn't have Batman to work with. He was supposed to be searching for the masked vigilante as well.
Gordon looked at a picture taken at Quinzel's apartment. It displayed her bloodstained bed. The test results had not yet returned but Commissioner Gordon assumed it was Dr. Quinzel's blood wiped across the sheets. He regretted not doing more. Not trying harder to assure her protection. He had called to warn her about the Joker but calling obviously wasn't enough. He knew he should have sent officers to guard the building. However he didn't know who he could trust and the clown still may have made it into the building.
Just then Detective Ramiraz hurried into the room, "Commissioner," she began, "We just got a 911 call, the Joker is at Bruce Wayne's penthouse,"
"Where the hell are you," Joker growled staring out one of the large windows in the pent house, "Come and save the innocent people, damn it,"
"M-maybe he gave up. The p-p-police are af-after him you know," one of the henchmen stuttered, "Maybe we sh-should lea-leave,"
He was a new guy, fresh out of Arkham with that annoying speech impediment. Joker hated it. The new employee hadn't known any better. He did not know that the Joker wasn't about to take suggestions from one of his lackey's. He cocked his head to one side and stared at the man. His gaze was cold animalistic. With that he walked towards him and stabbed him in the chest with the same large knife he had used to kill the pirate. Joker shove the henchmen to the floor, knocking the shot gun out of his hands. Then he continued to stab the already dead man repeatedly in the mid-section, taking some pent up aggression out on his former employee.
He sat back on the floor, breathing heavily as he looked at the mutilated body. He wiped some little blood splatters of his forehead making a pink smear of paint and blood stain the back of his hand. Why isn't Batman coming? The question tormented him. He had been holding these people here for almost an hour now. He had already killed six people not including Patchy the pirate and his stuttering henchmen. Was it possible the Bat had given up? NO, he refused to believe that. That man was to committed, to obsessed with justice. He would never let the police stop him. So where was he?
A women in a sleazy costume sobbed uncontrollably beside him. Joker grabbed her blond hair, twisting it in his fist forcing her to look at him, "Wanna hear a story?" he asked in a low voice.
"So ya sure," Harley said in a low voice now knelling beside Bruce, "I think I should tell Mistah J,"
Amidst the crowd of costumed guests she had caught sight of a man with a cell phone. He was wearing a bright red super hero costume, kind of a funny coincidence to her since she assumed he was calling for help.
"No, don't tell him," he whispered back, "The Batman has a scanner that will pick up that man's 911 call. It's a good thing for, um, Mister J,"
Harley nodded believing Bruce's every word. She watched the man finish the call unnoticed by the Joker or any other clowns. Then it occurred to her, if the call would lead Batman here she should tell Mr. J. He'd be so excited and proud of her for letting that tattle tail finish his phone call.
"I think I should let Mistah J know," she argued, "Look at im' over there. All sad and disappointed that Batsy ain't comin'," she said.
Bruce looked toward Joker. He was now straddling a victim, inches away from her frightened face with a blood knife prodding her inner cheek. He didn't seem to crushed. More like pissed.
Bruce shook his head, "NO don't-," Harley stopped him in mid-sentence.
"Hey Mistah J, that guy over there just called the police," she stood up and tattled, pointing to the man.
Joker's gaze snapped towards Harley, "Which guy?" he barked as he climbed off of the terrified girl and grabbed the fallen henchman's shot gun, "That one," he swung the gun towards a different man sitting in the direction that Harley was pointing to.
"No puddin', the one in the super hero costume,"
He casually shot both men anyway causing another chain reaction of shrill screams, "Did he manage to call before ya caught him?" he asked sucking on his scarred, bottom lip.
"Yes, yes he did," Harley smiled triumphantly.
"Why the hell are you smiling Har-ley," he gritted his teeth.
"Cuz Mistah J, now Batman will know we're holdin' these poor, innocent people hostage and he'll come,"
His grip tightened around the gun in his hands. He was going to shoot her, that's it, blow her pretty, little brains all over the room. No. No, she didn't deserve that. It was much to simple of a punishment.
Harley looked around the room, "I may look like a dumb blond but I ain't, nope, nothin' gets past Harley Quinn,"
Joker quickly advanced toward her. She seemed surprised by his hand roughly grabbing her around the throat, "Batman isn't going to come ya little whore. The police are, that's what happens when you call nine one fucking one," he threw her to the floor.
"But," she whined as he turned away.
"Shut up Harley," he yelled then looked down at her, "If I hear one more word out of that mouth of your's I'm gonna slice it open, " he explained in a calmer manner, though it was still enough to frighten Harley.
She nodded weakly and remained on the floor.
Joker chewed on his lip, his mind working rapidly on his next move. He had to be quick about it, the wails of police sirens was beginning to grow in the distance.
"Thiiis looks like the end of our uh performance-uh," he announced trying to save some dignity and leave the penthouse in a scary and theatrical manner, "Though I assure you I will be putting on many more shows in the near future," he waved his hands around as he backed towards the exit, "And uh don't try anything stupid, no one move till we're gone, blah, blah you know the drill," he kicked the door open and disappeared through it.
The henchmen quickly followed, there guns still aimed and ready to fire should anyone who dared to disobey the Joker and move. Harley reluctantly rose to her feet with tears in her eyes and scurried out amongst the other clowns.
She made her way to the van, now letting the tears stream freely down her painted cheeks. She pulled the van door open and rushed into the backseat with her Mr. J.
"I am so sorry," she squeaked.
He stared straight ahead glaring at nothing in particular. From his trench coat pocket he produced a hand gun, cocked the weapon and pressed it to Harley's exposed neck.