Harley Quinn Romance 3

Chapter 12: Conglomerated Industries

Harley didn't know where the real janitors had gone. She also lacked the location of Drexel's office. Both Drexel and the cleaning crew could recognize her as an intruder if she ran into them, but she didn't see any other options but to start exploring and hope for the best.

According to the numbers above the elevators, they were all on different floors, so she picked one and pressed the call button. A normal person might have been nervous waiting in a hallway where they could get caught at any moment, but Harley hadn't been normal in years, so even if she had to flee the building in a hail of bullets, she knew it would be exciting.

The elevator arrived.No armed security men rushed out and leveled their weapons at her, and nojanitorial crew appeared and screamed they had an intruder. The elevator wasempty, and a part of her, in a dusty corner at the back of her mind, wasdisappointed. The other parts of her brain remained focused on the task athand. She entered the elevator and pressed the button for the second from thetop floor. She would've gone all the way to the top, but it required anexecutive keycard.

Pulling a rag out of her back pocket, she sprayed some cleaner on it and wiped down the control panel while waiting for the elevator to arrive at her chosen floor. She'd noticed the black bubble of a security camera in the corner when she'd entered, and kept the brim of her hat angled to block her face from view.

The elevator pinged as it stopped on the 29th floor. The doors parted, and Harley stepped out, turning immediately to the left and trying to remain casual as she moved to clear the line of sight of the janitorial crew at the opposing end of the hallway. As she neared a turn in the corridor, a woman in a business suit, looking the part of an executive, exited an office, used a keycard clipped to the belt of her drab grey slacks, and entered a private washroom.

Harley took several long and quick strides to reach the door before it closed, caught it just in time and followed the woman inside.

The executive, seemingly aware of Harley's presence, spun around and confronted her instantly. She was dark haired with even darker eyes. A fierce scowl was intensified by the sharp and angular features of her face. Her hair was swept back and secured so tightly at the back of her skull, Harley suspected it had required a wrench to put it in place.

"What are you doing in here?" the woman demanded.

"Just cleaning," Harley said innocently, holding up the spray bottle and rag she held.

The executive's suit couldn't hide the ready stance and her tensed muscles any more than those dark eyes could disguise their suspicion. Harley acted first, squeezing the spray bottle to send a cloud of chemicals into the woman's face.

Temporarily blinded, the executive didn't see Harley rush toward her and wrap an arm around her neck, but the woman felt it. What should have been a fast knockout suddenly changed when the executive slammed her elbow backwards into Harley's ribs in rapid succession, the impacts shattering through the pain suppression medication she'd been taking for her recent injuries. Harley's hold loosened slightly, but it was enough for the woman to slip free, twist around and get her own arm in position to put Harley into a headlock identical to the one she'd just used.

Harley attempted the same elbow jab, but the exec took the hits to her side without even flinching. Knowing she didn't have long before she passed out, Harley tried something else. Bending her knees, she dropped to the floor, almost hitting her head on the marble sink in the process. The executive hadn't been prepared for the sudden shift in weight and was dragged down too. Unlike Harley, she didn't miss the sink but smashed her forehead against it.

The arm around Harley's neck slackened, allowing her to break free. Twisting around on the floor, she tangled up the woman's legs, causing her to fall backwards. The sickening crack of the woman's skull against the tile floor echoed in the tight confines of the bathroom. Harley got back to her feet; her opponent didn't.

"Since when to desk jockeys know how to fight so well?" Harley muttered, pressing a hand against her injured ribs while trying to massage the pain away. Unzipping her jumpsuit, Harley reached inside to her pants' pocket and retrieved a pressurized canister. Placing one end of the canister against her arm, she thumbed the activation switch on top. A hiss triggered an injection, and the screams of pain from her ribs slowly silenced.

Harley took several deep breaths before putting the injector away and zipping her jumpsuit back up. Turning to check on her fallen foe, she found a strong heartbeat and steady breathing. Harley reached for the attached keycard but tilted her head to the side when she considered the size of the woman and realized they were fairly well matched. Moving with all the speed she could, Harley changed clothes with the executive, but when she put on the suit jacket, something felt odd, a heaviness in the material.

A fine seam, hidden within the folds of the lining, parted under her exploring touch and revealed a hidden pocket. Reaching inside, Harley extracted a pair of throwing knives. She put them back immediately. Other pockets were also located and searched. Blades of numerous varieties were concealed in the jacket as well as a silver box protecting syringe loaded with an unknown, dark fluid.

"Who are you?" Harley whispered toward the unconscious woman on the floor.

Using her discarded jumpsuit, Harley tied the woman up and stuffed her in one of the stalls in the hopes of finishing her work here before the executive awoke or was discovered.

Taking a quick glance in the mirror, Harley adjusted the position of her glasses and hooked a stray lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. A tug on the suit jacket removed a few wrinkles, and she felt herself ready. She exited the bathroom and headed for the door she'd seen the executive coming from. As she swiped the security card in the access reader beside the door, she suddenly hoped the woman hadn't been coming from her boss' office.

The lock clicked open, and Harley pushed the door in to find an unoccupied room. It was a dull room. Office furniture of drab colors matched the horrendously bland carpet as if a designer catalog had been thumbed through and the first of every item discovered had been ordered with no sense of style or cohesion. To Harley, trained in understanding behavior, the decorators either hadn't cared about doing a good job, or they had been trying too hard to make the room appear average. After the fight in the bathroom, she was more convinced than ever Conglomerated Industries was only the carefully crafted public face of something else. The blades in her jacket let her know whatever it was, it was certainly worse than just another money hungry corporation.