Squad Stories: Squad Patrol 3/5

Thayer Jost loves owning things. Over the course of his 33-year-old-life, he has acquired both wealth untold and items bordering on the ludicrous. A seventy-five thousand dollar hunk of meteorite from another world, the tail-fin of a long-destroyed Batmobile, and an engine from the previously-crashed invisible jet.

 

Thayer Jost has owned sports teams, he’s has stock in all the major companies from Lexcorp to Kord Industries, he’s purchased suits of armor and relics of wars long past that cost more than entire college body tuitions combined.

 

But there’s one thing Thayer Jost has never owned. . .

 

Jost: Hello, there old sport, is this the copyright office?

 

Clerk: Er uh, yes it is, how can I help you?

 

Jost: Splendid old boy, splendid! Now that I have you here, I’d like to purchase a patent! Acquire a copyright?

 

Clerk: Um, sorry sir, but I’m new here. I’m not sure we can sell the rights to something outri-

 

Jost: Nonsense, boy, don’t you know who I am? Why I’m Thayer Jost! Collector of curiosities! And there’s one particular curiosity I’ve got my hears just set on.

 

Clerk: Well we’ll see what we can do. What is it you’d like to buy the copyright of, sir?

 

Jost: Why, the Doom Patrol of Course.

 

Clerk: Hm. Yeah I’m going to hand you over to my manager, please hold.

 

In The Monitor room of Belle-Reve Penitentiary, The Answer hands a receiver to Black Orchid.

 

Manager: Yes, hello sir, I hear you’d like to purchase the copyright to the 1960’s television sh-

 

Jost: No no no, you don’t understand, my man. I don’t want to buy the show, I want to buy the team itself!

 

Manager: Well you see sir, The Doom Patrol isn’t a real team, they only exist on televi-

 

Jost: Ah see that’s where you’re mistaken, son, my sources tell me not only is The Doom Patrol real and kicking, but their licensing deals are up for grabs! So tell me, how may I acquire it. Money is no matter.

 

Manager, grinning: Well, sonny Jim, let’s get down to brass tacks.

 

-----------------------------------------------------

 

Harleen Quinzel would be lying if she said she wasn’t uncomfortable. In the old days, she’d have lived for this kind of event, but the game had changed, and so had she. Instead, she wandered through the bow-tie-adorned crowd, hoping the lawmen and government officials she recognized wouldn’t recognize her. It’s everything she has not to rip the pearls off a nearby woman’s neck and cartwheel away.

 

Instead, she brushes past Digger Harkness, chatting loudly with some uncomfortable-looking gentlemen and drinking straight from the bottle. At a glance, she catches what looks like Doctors Bright and Evans, kissing in the corner. She blinks, and a man in a colorful suit’s grin twists up to his ears, his face white as a sheet, and his eyes mad and yellow. Her heart skips a beat and she blinks again, and the face is gone as the band begins a swelling waltz.

 

On her shoulder, she feels a gentle tap.

 

Flag: Er, madame, may I have this dance?

 

Harley: Heh, sure, why not.

 

Flag and Harley stand face to face, her hand meets his, while his other rests itself gently on her hip, respectfully, almost not even making contact. They wait for the right moment, then step into the dance.

 

Harley: Oy Vey, Ricky, you’ve never done this before have ya?

 

Flag: admittedly dancing wasn’t part of boot camp.

 

Harley: Clearly. Alright, here, Lemme lead. we’re gonna get some funny looks, but at least I’m used t’that. Heh. Now If ya knew how to cut a rug, you’d have your leg. . . here

 

she moves her leg tight between his. He makes a concerned face.

 

Harley: Relax, army boy, the “privates” are safe.

 

Flag gives her a look of un-amusement.

 

Harley: Alright, now lean inta it. Ya sweep, then you’ve gotta move in time t’the music: One two three, one two three, one two three . . . now you’re gettin’ it!

 

Flag: How do you know how to do this?

 

Harley: I took a dancin’ class durin’ my college years. That and I used to dance pretty frequently with . . .

 

She sees him again, over Flag’s shoulder. She tears her eyes away from him and locks them into Flag’s instead. She sees for the first time what a clear shade of grey they are.

 

Harley: Y’know, I’m not used to coming to these things just as myself. I’m not gonna lie, there’s a real real strong voice in my head that wants me t’stand on that big table over there and declare this a robbery.

 

Flag: Between you and I, most of these people here are worse than you ever were. I look left, I see war criminals and drug-dealers. I look right, and see crooked politicians, men who bend backwards for those on the left to operate. If I could, I’d take down nearly every person here.

 

Harley smiles: I admire the moxie, Rick, but I dunno if you can take all these guys by yourself. It’d be a hell of a thing to see you try though.

 

The waltz slows to a halt, the last few notes dissipating in the air. The dancers all take leave of each other, and bow once, then return to the herd as a new tune starts up, and new dancers take their place. Flag and Harley move to the side of the room, where a waiter stands, a plate of hors d'oeuvres in hand. Harley, in one graceful motion, sweeps most of them into her arms and begins to shovel them into her mouth. Flag looks at her and tries to grimace, but there’s the hint of a smile, trying to crack through.

 

Harley: Heh, I see that look. I can only do this formal thing for so long. Pretty soon I’m gonna have ripped this dress to pieces and I’ll be swingin’ from the chandeliers.

 

Flag smile really begins to show, despite himself.

 

Harley: Y’think I’m jokin’, but it’s happened before. Course that was the college days too. God, it’s weird that my entire life post-doctorate has been spent in tights. An’ short-shorts. D’ya ever kinda feel like you’ve wasted ya life?

 

Flag: . . . I didn’t used to, but . . . yeah, I’ve been getting that feeling a lot lately.

 

They stand in silence for a few minutes as a whirling tango swirls before their eyes. Harley crunches down on the last of the appetizers, and casually, almost demurely, wipes her hand on a nearby curtain.

 

Harley: So, who do ya think could take on this entire room, includin’ our two crews, with only their bare hands?

 

Flag: What other answer is there?

 

Both: Amanda Waller!

 

Together, they stand amidst the well-dressed criminals, and laugh.

 

Done