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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel	By : Risen86 Category: DC Verse Comics > Suicide Squad Views: 6735 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
16
To say that WEK did not take lightly to having the leaders of their organization blown to bits because of some tight squeeze would be an understatement; the streets were buzzing with whispers of impending retaliation and the gang's sworn motto of blood for blood. I had mentioned this to Mr. J but, much like I had expected him to be, he was unconcerned. So, while I remained on full alert and made sure the boys were armed to the teeth with every weapon available in our arsenal, Mr. J was sequestered in his office. Devising God knows what to do to God knows whom.
As little as I saw him, I had no doubt that he was plotting something; I'd worked with him long enough to be able to smell the shit he was concocting before it actually hit the fan. I wasn't in the least bit shocked two days ago when he came down the stairs from his office and into the common area of the Joker Gang hideout with an air that I could only describe as 'bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed'. I stood to attention immediately, dropping the skeleton of the dismantled pistol I had been cleaning onto the table in front of me.
"Boss?"
"JonnieJonnie! Just the person I wanted to see." He hopped over the few remaining steps and leaned backward into he railing "I want a gift delivered to Gotham Zoo before it's opening."
His smile widened and I felt the apprehension sink into my gut. "A gift?"
He grinned at me "We need to have 100,000kgs of nutmeg delivered to the Gotham Zoo… mmm…no make that 200,000kgs. Better more than not enough. I also need you to acquire all the unlock codes to the animal pens and have them programed into my phone." He paused grin still wide, eyes still fixed on me as if daring me to ask the question that any sane person would have wanted to throw out.
'What in the fuck do you want 200,000kgs of nutmeg for and where in the fuck am I supposed to get it.' The question resounded in my head but I didn't dare ask; another thing I've learned about Mr. J is never, ever under any circumstance question an odd request. A motherfucker would 100% get maimed for that. Careful not to let my bewilderment show on my face I responded, "Yea Mr. J. will do."
He his face fell briefly then he flared his arms out "Excellent! Killer Croc is hiding out in the zoo he must be feeling right at home haha,… set up a meeting with him will you?" I nodded "Oh and Jonnieboy get me a Double Big Mac with fries… I'm famished." I watched him make his way back up the stairs before I found my voice.
"Did you want to upsize the fries boss?" After all a hungry Joker was a moody Joker.
"We all set Jonnieboy?" Mr. J's voice snaps me back to the present and I look at his reflection in the rearview. He's got his trademark snifter of whisky in his hand and his eyes fixed out the window; I nod even though I know he's not looking. Yea, we are all set and he knows we are. Mr. J isn't the kind of boss who barks orders, he likes to get his hands dirty and he was much more involved in organizing this little trip of insanity then I was.
"Yea boss," I reach over to the front passenger seat and pick up his phone then pass it over to him. He smiles at me as he takes it out of my hand.
"And that's why you are not dead JonnieJonnie."
I smile at him.
Stepping down from the Denali I glance quickly at Frost, the man's complexion has changed drastically since we left home base a little while ago. Poor, poor Jonnieboy; between you and me, I don't think he likes Killer Croc very much. I'm not sure what it is, but I wouldn't be too surprised if it has something to do with the cannibalism (humans yumyum) and Killer Croc's choice of décor (carcass chic). Even the most hardened criminals can be very sensitive about things like baby toe canapés and cadaver cushions.
"You're looking rather green Jonnieboy… Is everything alright?"
He grips the lapels of his jacket and straightens them then he pats at the revolver I know he has concealed in his pocket. "Ha… that make you feel better Jonnieboy?"
He half nods and swallows thickly "Uh… yea. Sorry boss. Croc just gives me the hibbie jibbies."
Watching Jonnieboy's growing anxiety I'm briefly unsure whether to be flattered or insulted that he's obviously more at ease with me than Killer Croc.
"Croc gives you the hibbie jibbies?" He pauses in his walk around the car and I can see the metaphorical light bulb come on in his head. He knows he's said something wrong but he's not quite sure what; his eyes scour my face and when I continue to stare at him unblinkingly he shifts uncomfortably (much better). He gathers his courage and continues to make his way around the car; having already decided to give him the benefit of the doubt I smile and pat him on the shoulder when he passes by me.
"Heh…Just kidding! " I walk towards the large metal door, lean my head onto it and laugh loudly as I bang against the frame.
The peephole swishes open and a pair of large brown eyes widen as they take in my chalk white face and blood red lips (peek-a-boo). Wordlessly, he closes the peephole, and when he yanks the door open we are blasted with the sweet fragrance of decay.
"Eau de death anyone? You smelt it here fiiiirst." I jest as I step in, JonnieJonnie retches behind me and, surprised by a gag of my own (no mean feat I assure you), my snorted giggle is cut short. I take a second to get my body (the traitor) under control, as we are lead farther back into the simmering cesspool of fetor.
We turn down a long dank hallway; the only source of light is the glow shinning through the crack at the base of a closed door on the other end of the passage. The stench gets thicker the closer we get and when the flunky opens the door I'm prepared for it this time. I chuckle at the putrid smell even as Jonnieboy starts heaving again. Killer Croc's green skin comes into view; he is picking his extremely sharp teeth (slightly jealous) beside the scraps of what seems to have been a young woman (mmm mmm good).
"Ah Croc! I love what you've done with the place…" I gesture around at the various bodies hanging off meat hooks "it has a certain je ne sais quoi about it."
"NrrrrNrrrr." His chuckle is a growl deep in his chest as he comes towards me still picking at thick pieces of young girl stuck between his teeth (pucker up ladies) "Joker, we got your shipment of nutmeg. "
"Ha! Great! And?" I flop down on the worn couch in the corner of the room and push away a partially eaten corpse that tips over on me.
"Done, mixed into the food… I gotta ask though - "
"Why the nutmeg?" I finish for him; he nods at me. Yes, I'm certain you are all wondering the very same thing. Well, let me ask you, have you ever heard the expression nuttier than nutmeg? No? …Yea, me neither... I lean back in the couch, stretch out my legs in front of me and pet the blond hair of the corpse beside me. JonnieJonnie stifles another wretch and I snort.
Well, my captive audience, you may be surprised to know that nutmeg is quite a potent hallucinogenic (insert gasp/shock/dismay) and can be the root cause of some seriously nasty trips (trust me, I know). So a few days ago, while I sat down twiddling my thumbs wondering how to best piss off / exact my revenge on Batsy (bestest buddy evar) I came up with the most wonderful idea.
I'm sorry? Did you just ask me what that could possibly be? Well, friends you just ask yourself what Joker could possibly want 200,000kgs of nutmeg, uncaged animals and 80,000 excited visitors.
"Hehe. Because nutmeg is funnier than bath salts." Both JonnieJonnie (still very green) and Croc (also very green) look confused.
I get up and walk towards him pulling a bundle of cash from my pocket and handing it to him "You interested in adding some meat to your locker along with the Gs in your pocket Croc?"
"Eh?" he responds
I smile wide at him "Ever heard of the West End Killers?"
The Mayor is up on the podium making some ridiculous speech about the 'importance' and 'significance' of having such a large Zoo open in Gotham. I roll my eyes; Bruce Wayne had received an invitation to be a guest speaker but he knew he was only being used to attract more media attention to the event. He refused to attend; the last thing he wanted was to be forced to mingle with insipid, vacuous debutants or chest thumping, pompous assholes just to keep up appearances. I showed up as Batman though, I told Jim Gordon that I would, I also told him to expect the worst because Joker would be here too.
I've been looking everywhere for him since I arrived, I know he will be here, I can feel it in my bones. I adjust my footing on the window ledge, crouch down and tweak the strength of the high-tech binoculars in my mask. The sun is beating down on me and the thick impermeable material of the batsuit isn't doing much to diminish the stifling heat. My discomfort doesn't matter though because there is nothing that I am surer of than Joker's presence at the opening of the Gotham Zoo. It makes me my skin crawl to think that I could be so in tune with a man, if he could still be called a man, like Joker.
It's my fault, I'm too distracted trying to spot Joker in the crowd to notice the animals; when I finally do notice them it's already too late. Their cages simultaneously swing open and all hell breaks loose.
Gordon and the Mayor are still standing up on the podium when Joker appears beside them; my heart immediately starts to race and my eyes narrow in on him.
"Hello Gotham, where are you all going?" He sprays bullets "Don't you wanna watch? It's feeeeedddiinnnggg time."
My fists ball in anticipation of the coming beat down, his laughter sends my adrenaline skyrocketing and I jump from the ceiling using my cape to glide down towards him.
Taking another quick glance at the news coverage of the opening of the Gotham Zoo I reach down, locking my knees and easily placing the palms of my hands on the floor. I've been given a few days off of work to help promote the healing of the bullet wound and to allow me enough time to 'manage my emotions' after my 'traumatic experience'. I roll my eyes and relax into my stretch; at least I haven't had to deal with Dr. Schumer.
I haven't seen my puddin' in a few days though and, well, I miss him. A lot. Those cunning blue eyes, that pale tattooed skin and that wide wicked smile; what's not to miss? Exhaling, I shift over to my right, ignoring the sharp pain in my abdomen and placing my forehead on my right knee then I shift over and do the same with my other knee. Standing up I glance at the muted TV and pause, staring in awe at the pandemonium that has erupted on the screen.
The people who had, just seconds ago, been milling around or amassing around the podium to listen to the speakers are stampeding aimlessly in all directions. The animals, free somehow, have gone crazy; and anything in their way has become a target. They are knocking people over, attacking each other and tearing people apart; it's like a scene from a horror movie. That's when I see him, Mr.J, he uses his machine gun to knock the Mayor over as he climbs up the steps of the podium towards Commissioner Gordon.
I can't hear a word of what he's saying put the camera gives me a close up of his face. He's in the classic Joker war paint that I've seen online so many times; pale skin painted paler the 'damaged' tattoo barely visible, lips the color of blood and his green hair slicked back. His lips move silently as he waves the machine gun, spraying bullets into the crowd. When the camera pans out once more to show the surrounding area, I'm again struck by the utter mayhem puddin' has thrown the world into.
In the middle of it all, there he is, standing on his podium, raining down death, untouched like a God among men. An understanding comes over me then, he belongs with the animals; he is one of those large predacious beasts that clamp their jaws down on the throats of their prey and lie carelessly as the their helpless victim kicks out it's final breaths. He's a born predator imbued with the strength, resilience and utter brutality of a nature that feeds off the lives of others. He's terrifying. He's horrifying. He's obscene; he's an obscenity so excessive, so extreme that it ascends beyond obscene and metamorphoses into beauty.
My heart skips a beat as I'm overcome with the realization of where my attraction to him has been leading me. I've needed nothing more than to be around him since the very first time I set my eyes on him. The little time I'd spent trying to put distance between us had been painful and every moment we've spent together since actually being together has been… indescribable. Even the little discomforts he's put me through have been a twisted kind of pleasure. I place my hand on my racing heart as I watch him cackling silently, gun still firing wildly.
He is beautiful and I am falling completely, undeniably, maybe even madly, in love with this beautiful fucked up man.
The large shadow of a bat falls across Mr. J's face just as I reach my hand over to run it along the screen; the bat tackles Mr. J to the ground and I leap up to my feet. Ignoring my itching, aching stitches I make a mad dash to my front door; I stop dead in my tracks and run back past the sitting room and into my bedroom. I pick up my newly acquired baseball bat from where it's leaning on the wall beside my bathroom door and dash out again. I make sure to grab my car keys off the counter as I run out the front door; it'll take me 15 minutes to get to the zoo if I break every single one of Gotham's traffic laws. That's alright; I'll make my puddin' proud.
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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel