Gotham did not fall silent with the arrival of night. If anything, it grew louder.
Gone were the neon glow and pumping bass of nightlife, but the occasional gunshot and scream more than made up for it. Sleep came hard, if at all.
In the master bedroom on the second floor of the apartment, Harley Quinn lay awake in Jack Kadere's arms. His breathing was slow and even—fast asleep. On the nightstand, well within her reach, sat his gun.
After dark, he had told her to shower, then pulled her into the room to rest. She had expected him to take advantage of her. He didn't seem like the type to stand on ceremony. Instead, he had simply held her and drifted off.
She had never been in a relationship, but she understood the sequence: shower, bedroom, what comes next. And yet… nothing. Was she just a human pillow to him? Even if she had a runway for a chest, the rest of her wasn't bad. He could have done whatever he wanted. He hadn't even touched her. And he had left his gun right there in front of her.
An unpredictable madman, she thought, and closed her eyes.
---
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunshots jerked her awake.
Light spilled through the window. Morning. The bed beside her was empty. Harley Quinn threw off the covers and hurried downstairs.
The front door stood wide open.
Jack Kadere sat sideways on the sofa, gun raised, aiming outside.
Several bodies lay in the street, clearly his handiwork.
"Morning," he said with a smile, glancing back at her. "Sleep well?"
"Morning. I slept well." She hesitated. "You?"
"Not bad." He gestured toward the kitchen with his chin. "Made breakfast. Want some?"
"You—you made breakfast?"
It wasn't that she doubted his cooking. It was that no matter how she looked at him, he didn't seem like the type.
She went to the kitchen and ate. It tasted good. Between bites, she watched him hold the gun steady and fire at anyone on the street who tried to approach.
Very accurate.
One shot, one kill.
Every round found the head.
"Thank you," she said softly, returning to his side after finishing. "Breakfast was great."
Jack grunted and handed her the gun. "Your turn."
"Me? Why? My aim isn't—"
"Lost interest." He pouted. At first, shooting had been fun. A few rounds later, it felt like target practice from a fixed position. Tedious.
"Going for a walk." He patted her shoulder, vaulted over the back of the sofa, and leaped outside.
Gunfire erupted immediately.
Harley ducked behind the sofa on instinct, then remembered—he had just jumped out there. She raised her head.
Jack Kadere strolled down the middle of the street. Bullets cracked through the air around him, but he dodged at strange angles, as if he knew where each shot would land before it was fired. One lazy sidestep. A slight lean. A half-turn that carried him past a burst of automatic fire. The gunshots grew sparse, then stopped entirely. By then, he had already disappeared around the corner.
This is insane.
She stared for a moment, then vaulted out after him.
She couldn't move like he did. She had to duck, roll, return fire. By the time she reached the corner, he was long gone. Regret hit her immediately. The streets were chaos. She had no idea where he had wandered off to, and she didn't have enough bullets left to fight her way back. All she could do was find somewhere nearby to hide and wait for him to return.
---
A day and a night of violence had left the street looking half-abandoned. Trash littered the pavement. Hardly anyone in sight. Occasionally, a head would peek out from a window in one of the residential buildings, then quickly retract. Curtains snapped shut.
Ring, ring, ring… Ring, ring, ring…
About ten meters ahead of Jack, a telephone booth began to ring.
The sound was unusually clear on the quiet street.
Step. Step.
Jack walked toward the booth at an easy pace—then walked right past it and kept going, as if he hadn't heard a thing. He didn't even glance at it.
The ringing persisted, stubborn, until he was far enough away that it finally gave up.
When he passed the next booth, it rang.
He ignored that one too.
The third.
The fourth.
Every telephone booth he passed began to ring the moment he drew near. He never picked up. Eventually, he left the road entirely and turned into a narrow alley.
A dark figure dropped from the rooftops above, landing in the alley ahead of him.
Batgirl.
Thud.
Her boots hit the pavement. The grappling line retracted into her gauntlet. Behind the cowl, her eyes looked distinctly annoyed. Was this guy deaf? She had called him from half a dozen booths. He hadn't answered a single one, and now she had chased him across several blocks of rooftop just to catch up.
She drew a breath to speak—
Jack pointed at her and chuckled.
"Want to rest for a bit? You sound like you're about to pass out."
"…"
That shut her down completely.