The Stacked Deck's is notorious throughout Gotham as a common gathering ground for the city's abundant population of ne'er do wells. The owner, Thomas 'Tommy' Crookshaw, a war veteran dishonorably discharged for starting one too many bar fights with his fellow officers had bought the business for the very reason the previous owner had sold it; the insane variety of characters that could walk through the door. Tommy enjoyed danger, he enjoyed violence, and he loved having a front seat to the madness that was Gotham City.
In times gone by, many a supervillain has used the dive bar as a recruitment centre, and while it was good for business and his entertainment, in recent years, Tommy had grown a little weary of the unwanted attention it attracted to his establishment. Namely from the cops and biggest headache providers, the Bats. Oh sure, Tommy understood they were the good guys and that without Batman and his band of merry sidekicks there probably wouldn't be any of Gotham City still left standing, but did they really need to kick down his door so often?
However, tonight had already provided something new that would amuse Tommy for several evenings to come, but it seemed the night wasn't over when it came to surprises. Two unfamiliar capes had decided to enter his humble establishment, both females to boot and the seasoned bartender couldn't deny he was tempted to join in with drunken wolf-whistlers. Although, from the teenage ninja's annoyed roll of her one good eye and the downright threatening hiss from the literal catwoman (only in Gotham would such a distinction be necessary), Tommy was rather glad he had a little more self control than his regulars.
"Next one to whistle becomes my dinner!" Cheetah growled, raising her clawed hand menacingly to the drunken scum around her and Ravager. The whistling stopped, though a few of the idiots were intoxicated enough to keep grinning at the two athletic women.
"I'm guessing you two aren't here for drinks," Tommy spoke up, not letting himself be fazed by Cheetah's bared claws.
"No," Ravager replied in monotone, "I'm underage and my companion has no desire to stay longer than necessary."
"No shit." The barkeep muttered, a little surprised by the girl's bluntness. Not every day an assassin would give out information on herself for dry sarcasm. It probably meant she considered her age irrelevant and given the fact he now recognized the colours she was wearing as those of 'Deathstroke the Terminator', Tommy figured she was right. "So," he said, placing both hands on the counter as the two women approached, "what do you ladies want?"
"Harley Quinn." Rose answered. To her surprise, the bartender let out a snort of disbelief before chortling to himself as if she'd just told the funniest joke he'd heard all night.
"Really?" Tommy laughed out, "Harley Quinn?" His merriment was cut short, however, by the now very irked Cheetah stepping between Rose and the bar. The veteran quickly raised his hands in surrender as he felt five razor sharp points against his throat.
"Something funny, you piece of filth!?" Tommy reigned his mirth down to a smile as he gauged the feline woman's bright yellow eyes. If anything, the villainess' body language was more protective of the young woman behind her than aggressive towards him.
"As a matter o' fact, yeah," he gulped despite his joke, "hilarious even, but that's neither here nor there." Looking past the angry feline, Tommy appealed to the indifferent 'good cop' of the duo. "Listen, can we put the kitty claws away? The intimidation's really not necessary, I'll tell ya what little I got. The sooner this ends, the sooner I can have a laugh about it all."
"Cheetah," Ravager's tone was more suited to a request than a demand, which the deity-cursed doctor did appreciate.
"Fine," Cheetah growled in acceptance before lowering her hand to her side, though she made no effort to soften the threat in her voice, "now talk."
"Well," Tommy began, straightening the collar of his shirt, "ya see, you two ladies aren't the first to ask after Quinn tonight." The veteran couldn't help smiling again as it became clear he'd piqued the unlikely duo's interest.
"Who?" Ravager asked, her tactical mind wanting to identify any possible new element to the job at hand.
"Another dame, actually," Tommy replied, "Not a cape though, just a civ, which made her showing up in joint all the more strange, even more than yourselves." The veteran chuckled as he remembered the experience.
The redhead had been a looker, her attire more suited to a formal dinner or at least it might have been when she first suited up that evening. Her jacket had been open and the top of her blouse unbuttoned, her hair a ruffled mess and her neck had been stained by lipstick that wasn't her own. Her vacant, blissful look in her hazel brown eyes certainly hadn't helped Tommy dispel the notion something was off with the young woman, but then in his profession he'd learned not to judge.
"She came in looking might've been high on something," he continued, "and asked after Quinn, all breathy and just... not all there, ya know? Happy and, well, carefree, I guess."
"So," Rose's brow furrowed as she tried to picture this mystery woman, "what did you tell her?"
"Me? Nothin'," Tommy replied honestly, "Like I said, I don't know where Quinn's at, but she got all puppy eyed when I told her that. Like the happy bubble in her brain just popped. So, not wanting her to break out the waterworks, I shouted out to see if anyone else might know."
"And someone did." Ravager stated rather than asked. She was working on the hopeful assumption that the man's story was coming to a close, Cheetah certainly didn't look like she could wait much longer.
"You got it," the ex-solider confirmed before walking down the bar while gesturing for the pair to follow him, "lad by the name of Carl Finnegan. He's one of the smarter grunts who keeps a low enough profile to be able to switch bosses when it suits him." Tommy then paused to point down a wall of tables and booths than ran down the side of the establishment, with the bar counter acting as a corner it provided relative privacy from the other occupants. Both Ravager and Cheetah we quick to notice the silhouette of large male figure sitting in a private booth at the end of the dimly lit and otherwise deserted isle. "He claimed to know where Harley might be and the girl was down there like a shot."
"So, he's our source?" Cheetah huffed in annoyance, to which Tommy nodded, "Then why didn't you just say that?"
"One, 'cos I'm a storyteller, and two, 'cos I figured you wouldn't take kindly to the surprise of finding the other lass down there," he smirked at feline vilainess' irked expression. "She hasn't come back yet, is all," he shrugged.
"It doesn't matter," Ravager cut in curtly, "thank you for the information." Rose then proceeded forward, cutting between Tommy's cocky grin and Cheetah's glaring eyes. The break in eye contact was enough for Barbara to decide it would be best to move on from venting her anger at the bartender as the quicker she & Ravager got the intel they needed, the sooner they would leave.
"Anytime," Tommy added to their backs. Wiping down the counter, he kept a watchful eye on the pair as they walked purposefully into the secluded section of his establishment. Letting out a breathe of relief, Tommy turned away and allowed himself to relax. His focus soon returned to the impatient drunken rabble waiting for their drinks to be refilled, many of whom only now finding the gumption to voice their complaints with the departure of the deadly duo. "Alright, settle down! Order up!"
"Pathetic," Cheetah grumbled at the intoxicated chorus ringing in her ears.
"Carl Finnegan?" Ravager inquired to the muscular goon sitting in the corner booth as they approached. He was a tall man, Rose trained eye observed, 6'8'' was her guess, and, while he didn't possess the bulkiest of frames, Ravager knew better than to underestimate an opponent. There was no obvious sign of their aforementioned rival, but that didn't concern Rose, a civilian bystander wasn't something she particularly wanted added to this scenario. Coming to a stop at the booth, Ravager realized the man hadn't acknowledged either her own or Cheetah's presence yet. "Finnegan?"
"Huh?" Finnegan grunted indignantly from his position, leaning back in the centre booth's circular seat. Ravager frowned as it appeared she still hadn't gotten his full attention. His head & arms were resting over the back of the seat while he only opened one eye briefly to look at her dismissively before closing it again, "Kinda busy, babe... Mmm, can ya come back in say... 10?"
"No," Ravager replied, her own patience beginning to be tested, "we're looking for--"
"Everyone's looking for something, kid," Carl interrupted, opening his eyes to frown impatiently at the unlikely pair before him. The hired gun was unfazed, however, lowering a hand to his lap underneath the table and letting a sigh of unmistakable satisfaction, "and right now I'm just looking for some privacy."
"That's it!" Cheetah announced. Her patience was at its end with the combined sensations depravity she'd experienced since entering this scumhole, but the sheer nerve of the dirty look this creep had just given both her & Ravager was the last straw. Wasting no time, the feline woman hauled the table out from in front of Finnegan and tossing it into the wall behind her without a second thought. Barbara had had every intention of then unleashing all her pent up frustration for the environment on the arrogant bastard's face, but she stopped dead in her tracks as she realized what she'd just exposed.
Tommy had been wrong in claiming he'd saved them from the surprise of finding their rival in the hunt of Harley Quinn. She was there, for certain. However, after finding her kneeling between Finnegan's legs, her bright bob-cut of shoulder length red hair bouncing up and down with her lips wrapped firmly around his unzipped erection, while her painted fingernails teased his balls with expert precision... The surprise was still there and stunned both Ravager and Cheetah to absolute silence.
"Mmm--oh, hello," the woman spoke, muffled by the meat in her mouth, as she noticed the two other females. Replacing her mouth with her hands, the formally dressed redhead turned her vacant, hazel eyes to Ravager, a soft giggle escaping her wet lips, "My name's Vicky Vale, are you one of Harley's Angels?" she asked with an uncanny childlike innocence. Having never had a normal childhood, Ravager couldn't speak from experience, but Vicky's tone made it sound like she'd just asked the ninja if she were the Tooth Fairy. Yet, all the while, she could see the woman's hands pumping Finnegan's shaft as if it didn't require thought, the large man beginning to breathe more sharply with each stroke. "Can you take me to her? I need to prove myself by finding her."
"Prove yourself...?" Rose spoke slowly, an unfamiliar feeling of dread and confusion taking root in her gut. She knew of the reporter Vicky Vale; read her award winning report on Gotham's class divide, as well as some of her exposés on criminal gangs and police corruption. All those pieces spoke of a strong minded and hard hitting reporter who possessed a strong code of ethics and conducted herself with dignity, not... not this mindless and carefree sexual deviant before her.
"Yeah..." Vicky sighed dreamily, her vapid stare passing straight through Ravager like she wasn't even there, "I need to prove I'm worthy of her love."
-------------------
A/N: Well, this took a while and it's probably gonna need years of editing, but please lemme know what you think
~solddate
Next Chapters
Or add your own