Squad Stories: Columbina 1/2

Near the docks of Gotham, where the filthy grey water erodes away the remains of victims of long-drowned crimes, The Stacked Deck sulks between warehouses. An age-old refuge for the criminal element of Gotham, or those just looking for some life-ending excitement. Here, countless back alley brawls have been conducted, and countless windows have had to be replaced.

 

The air inside is smoky and stale, and smells of old blood and older booze. A mustachioed man sits in the corner. The local toughs call him Matches, and know him as a reliable informant and bruiser with a fixation on wearing sunglasses at all times. He’s been there for at least five hours, nursing Arnold Palmers, ever since he heard about the woman in the corner booth.

 

That Woman is Harley Quinn, and she is drunk.

 

Harley, singing sadly: Nn-nobody knoowwss . . . d’truffles I been through, nobody knows m’starros . . . C’mon, Bar-guy, sing along!

 

Bartender: I er uh, I dunno the words, Ms. Quinn.

 

Harley: Sure ya do! S’easy! Snowbunnies know . . . da turtles I been shoe . . . nobody noose da maestro…

 

Bartender: I uh, I don’t know if those are the right words. If you want, I can uh, hit the jukebox for you?

 

Harley: No-can-dooey, this is a karaoke bar, ain’t it? Can’t have any pre-recordings steppin’ on my lines! Now gimmie another!

 

Bartender: Uh, sure thing, Ms. Quinn.

 

Matches knows the man is scared, but the woman in the corner booth doesn’t seem violent tonight. She’s had a long history of convicted crimes, petty and grand, and an equally long history of violent acts, often committed in the name of the one who strikes fear into even the most stalwart of the nations’ heroes. Tonight, she’s just a broken woman.

 

The door swings open quietly, and in comes another Woman. At first glance, with her Prada business suit and pearl necklace, she absolutely doesn’t belong. At second glance, the look in her eyes and the bend of her scowl proves that she absolutely does. Matches meets her gaze. They know each other, but don’t acknowledge it. He stands up, places his money on the counter, says good night to the bartender, and heads out the door as the woman moves briskly towards the corner booth.

 

Matches: I hope you know what you’re doing.

 

Waller: Always, rich kid.

 

Harley: AMANDA! Oh my gawsh, I can’t believe y’came all this way to see me!

 

Waller: Harley, it’s been some time. May I sit down?

 

Harley: Are you kiddin’? You’re Amanda Freakin’ Waller! Y’can do whatever y’want!

 

Waller, sitting: I know this is probably a bad time, but I want to talk, Harley.

 

Harley: Sounds like yer doin’a pretty good job. Yer lips are movin’ anyways and noise is comin’ out. That’s a good start. Problem is every third word y’say is ‘blah’. Heeheeheee. Eheheheh. AHAHAHA

 

Waller: What’s so funny?

 

Harley: I jus’ realized. If ya shorten Bar-man, y’get B-Man! Y’know like . . . *she points two fingers up behind her head, miming bat-ears.* HEY B-MAN, WHERE’S MY DRINK

 

Bartender: Coming Ms. Quinn!

 

Waller, eyeing the glasses, cards, makeup, cocktail umbrellas, spilled bowls of peanuts and pretzels, and cherry stems strewn about the table: How many of those have you had, Harley?

 

Harley: Uh . . I wanna s-say six. They’re named after me! They’re called a ‘Harley Hammer”! Innit that sweet?

 

Waller: Harley . . . Why are you here?

 

Harley, knocking back another Hammer: Why’re YOU here, Amanda?

 

Waller, smirking: I asked you first.

 

Harley: Aw alright, you got me there. Can’t a girl just have a night out?

 

Waller: Harley . . . Harleen. Come on, I know you That All your crimes recently have essentially amounted to smash-and-grabs. That you and Miss Isley haven’t been talking. From where I’m standing, this looks like you drinking away a breakup.

 

Harley: Now holdonaminnit! First of all, you’re sittin down! Next of all, Pammy and I ain’t been together in a long time. Some things uh, just don' work out ya know? As for th'crime, I’ve just been feeling . . . uninspired lately. That’s all . . . That’s it. HEY B-MAN, why’s it so quiet in here? Crank up the tunes! Play that funky music!

 

Bartender: Uh, on it Miss Quin! Anything you wanna hear in particular?

 

Harley: JUST HIT A BUTTON!

 

Waller: Har-

 

Harley: Nu-uh, nope. I went, it’s your turn. Whatcha doin’ here, Amanda?

 

Waller takes a deep breath. She’s been preparing for this moment: Harleen, I want you back on the Squad.

 

Harley: You what?

 

Waller: Hear me out. This isn’t the same operation as before. I don’t want you as a convict, Quinn, I want to help you get back on track. I want Doctor Harleen Quinzel.

 

Harley: Y’want . . . y-y’want . . . *she bursts into tears* Amanda, I haven’t even heard that full name in so long I-I can’t even remember th’last time I heard it . . . Is that even me anymore? I don’t even know! *continues sobbing* I . . . I’b gotten to a point where I don’t feel like me. . . Y’ever get that way? Y’ever feel like whoever you were, whoever y’were p-proud of’s dead, and a-all that’s l-left is whatever you are now? *the sobbing intensifies. Waller thinks about this for a moment. Harley continues through tears* This isn’t a trap is it? Y’lure me in, treat me nice, then ship me out into a war z-zone and blow my head off . . .

 

Waller: No, Harley, none of that. No bombs, no field missions. Just you, and your new patients. I can even get you help for your . . . condition. Belle Reve has changed Harley. It’s no longer just a penitentiary, it’s a rehabilitation center. People like you can help, or get help.

 

Harley: Re-bih-ila-tashunn . . .

 

Waller: You don’t have to answer right away. Think on It for a few days, I want you to come to this decision on your own. . . Harley?

 

Harley, really blitzed now: Soree Wallee, I think iss m’beddy-by times . . . *She passes out*

 

Waller: Damn. *she turns to the Bartender* How much does she owe?

 

The Bartender: Please, just get her out of here.

 

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The taxi pulls up onto Finger Street. The streets are surprisingly empty, but that’s probably due to the hour being 3AM. Gotham streets are rarely empty, but when they are, it’s as though the entire ocean is calm. There is a soundlessness that’s almost haunting in how unnatural it is. The taxi cuts through the silence, and pulls up in front of the countless, run-down, intimidating buildings that inhabit this imposing town.

 

The cab driver keeps a steady face. He’s seen it all. He’s seen things you wouldn’t believe. Warehouses on fire while insectoid pyromaniacs fly overhead. He’s seen the entire city cut off from the rest of civilization. Hush once sliced the face off a victim in the backseat. Nothing fazes him now.

 

Especially not the Clown Girl in the back seat.

 

Waller: Thank you, keep the change.

 

Cabby: Thank you, ma’am *drives off*

 

Waller shoulders Harley, and carries her bodily up the steps towards her building. She goes to fish for Harley’s keys and quickly realizes she hasn’t got any pockets.

 

Waller, softly: Harley? Harley. Where are your keys?

 

Harley, barely audible: Th’in my’shoo . . .

 

Waller reaches down, steadily grabs Harley’s leg, and removes her shoe. Sure enough, there’s a key in the bottom. Waller inserts the key, and pops the door open.

 

Waller: Jesus Christ.

 

The apartment building is a shell, inside is an expansive space, built like a warehouse and filled with memorabilia. A museum of crime. Giant Jack-in-the-boxes, huge, defaced clown dolls and robotic dinosaurs. Hyena statues, A stack of Playing cards the size of billboards, a gigantic set of disembodied teeth, and endless mountains of indistinguishable boxes.

 

Harley: Izee back?

 

Waller, dragging Harley towards what she presumes is her bed: No.

 

She lays Harley down, pulls off her other shoe, and uses some nearby wipes to take off her hopelessly smeared makeup. Harley is already fast asleep, dead to the world. Waller writes her a note, and leaves behind a business card out of habit. Amanda Waller takes one last look around the hideout, drapes a blanket over Quinn, and leaves.

 

Harleen Quinzel sleeps the sleep of the dreamless.

 

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Done