Hang Around A while
Characters: Harvey Bullock, The Ventriloquist, The Mad Hatter, Rhino
Word Count: 2666
Summary: Bullock should leave the snooping around to Rookies or the Batman.
Getting nosy, Harvey Bullock finally decided, wasn't worth the broken nose.
He wasn't even sure what had fertilized the wild hair which had sprouted in his ass when he'd figured getting out of his cruiser -- leaving a nice box of hot hole's just sitting there in the passenger seat -- to investigate why the gated door of to a run down junkyard was off its hinges. Look like a damn animal had bullied its way through it.
With a single cruller hanging from his mouth the portly detective had made his grumbling way inside, kicking a few rusty cans and odds 'n' ends out of his way. It was probably nothing, he told himself, just some wanna be punk kids messing around. Probably looking for a place to get high. It wasn't the GCD's freaking problem to be rounding that kind of mess up. Parents needed to discipline their snot-nosed kids. He wasn't some damn babysitter!
Bullock figured a lot of Gotham's problems would be solved if other people did something about it.
But still – he pressed on, swiveling his flashlight between mountains of tires and piles of back seats (of which had probably seen more action then this dump, he bet!) There wasn't nothing here. Wait. He turned down another weaving path through the trash and noticed the office/garage in the way back had a very dim light on. Someone was working a little late weren't they? Bullock pulled the brim of his dusty fedora a little further down over his face, stuffed the rest of the donut into his mouth and shut off his flashlight.
I'm too old fer this rookie bullshit.
And a little overweight to be sneaking around – but he crept up to the place and over to the only window looking in. Reaching inside his trenchcoat, the detective pulled out his gun and readied himself for trouble. You really gunna scare the pants off some punk kids just for a lil breakin' 'n' enterin'? Maybe the shits won't do it again.
Harvey grinned to himself as he leaned and looked through the dust covered window. Couldn't see much of anything – no, there! A couple of silhouettes moving back and forth. Scuffling, Low mutterings of some sort. Bullock squinted. The shadows couldn't be kids. One was defiantly too big and the other – could of been a woman, seemed like she had some sort of child her arms.
Transient family perhaps? Fine. He'd just go in there and take em down to the shelter. They'd be grateful when the junkyard owners didn't show up in the morning and bust a cap in their heads for trespassing. You know how junkyard people are. So Bullock shouldered off the wall of the building and turned to find the door.
"G'night pig!" Bullock scarcely had time to glance up before something slammed into his face.
"Sunnabitch," he groaned.
Bullock woke snorting blood from his busted nose to find himself suspended by his arms inside the garage of the office. Someone had taken the time to bind him with what appeared to be discarded fanbelts and jumper cables, along with an assortment of chains and ropes to make it long enough to loop over one of the beams of the ceiling and them back down to the bumper of an old truck. Someone enjoyed their arts 'n' crafts. But knowing the materials didn't explain why he was hanging here feeling like an elephant had slapped him one good.
Not an elephant he came to find out. But a Rhino.
"Ah fuckin' hell shoulda know," Bullock groaned out as a very familiar over sized man came lumbering into the garage. Woman carrying a baby? Of course it was... Argh, stupid!
"'Ey there tall dark 'n' stupid – you come to tuck me in?"
Charles "Rhino" Dayle flashed his beady black eyes up at the detective. The man was enormous. Bigger then the damn Batman. Hell, bigger then a freaking bus! Probably could take out a bus! He'd given Bullock a lump to remember him by at any rate. Rhino choose to ignore the portly cop in favor of calling over to the door that lead to the office.
"Boss! E's awake! You want I should sock em again?"
"..'n' forgo em t'pleasure of our company? Rhino, yah gig lunk'ead youse got not sense O'hospitality!"
"Y'know if you was wanting me to join you for tea, you could have at least left one of my arms untied!" Bullock snorted.
"No tea for you! You've grown most unmistakably round."
God dammit – not him too!
Bullock rolled his eyes as the criminals filed there way out of the office. The Ventriloquist tottled out first carrying that ugly piece of timber he called a puppet. The small man with the white hair and thick glasses, that could get really creepy looking with the dim light caught them just right. turned his head toward Bullock and merely wrinkled his nose. The Mad Hatter, his stocky shouldered form less stiff -- dressed to the nines in nothing that matched, followed. To add insult to injury he was wearing Bullock's ratty fedora. He matched the smaller man's gaze up toward the cop and grinned widely.
"The walrus has come to join our dance, my dear! I'm afraid we've no oysters for you, you great greedy beast!"
"You mess up my favorite hat, Tetch – and Imma mess up your face if that's any more possible."
"Shud up, fatso!" Scarface jawed, "youse in no position tah ge makin' any threats 'ere! So jus' shut dat donut munchin' trap O'yers 'n' ge lucky we's didn't feed yah to t'crusher yet."
"Do you think he'd fit?" The Hatter chuckled.
"Only one way t'find out!"
"Hey.. let's not make any hasty decisions here," Bullock could feel sweat starting down the back of his neck. Yeah, this was how I wanted to die – force fed to a car compactor by a couple of nut cases who should still be locked up in that nursery school they call an asylum. "You can crush me – but I've already called for backup 'n' I don't think the commish is gonna take to kindly to findin' me in a neat lil square."
"We'll tell 'em it was a new radical diet we's placed youse on!"
"Smaller than sugar cubes, wot?"
Dammit these two (three?) were freaking crazy, but they knew damn well he was bluffing. Bullock grimaced. His number might have finally been up.
"But..um.. Mr. Scarface... Mr. Tetch? I don't think we have the keys to the car compactor. I mean.. Rhino had to break all the doors down and we didn't locate anything in the office."
The puppet slapped up at the little man. "Shud up! I didn't ask yer opinion, dummy!"
"He has a point," the Hatter sighed, raising a gloved hand to scratch at his chin, "We could always just shoot him."
"Nah... youse sees – we's not stayin' here for more den one nights 'n' I've never ice'd anyone wit a car crusher! We's could always 'ave em hang 'round till dah owners shows up in dah morning – get tah keys 'n' then squash t'lot of them. Youse got a few of dem cards don't yah, Hat? We's dun want anyone goin' screamin' for help."
"I was saving them for later – but I suppose we could have a little unexpected party."
"Yep.. 'n' squash all t'univited smoes!"
Bullock whistled. "I'd hate to break up the wedding plans, ladies – but the place doesn't open till morning. You really gonna wait 'round that long just to start me on an emergency diet?"
"Youse really could stand to loose a few pounds, fatty, Even Rhino 'ad trougle gettin' yer tuggy ass up dere!"
"Hope the big idiot pulled something."
"You're not being a very polite guest," Hatter scowled and waggled a finger, "tho I do suppose you're just cranky – with the having to get up early for your starring moment. Best we put you to bed early."
"Yeah, I'm tired of listenin' to e's guggerly mouth anyway – RHINO!"
"Shit." Bullock winced as the big goon picked up a tire iron.
Ugh. He felt all cramped. Was he dead? Had he been compacted already? The detective groaned as he felt the muscles in his arm thudding from having to hold up his weight. Nope not dead yet – and judging by the fact that the window was still dark, morning hadn't come either. Maybe there was still a chance he could free himself. With a groan, Bullock started to wiggle and writhe – attempting to get his bulk swinging. But after several tries he just hung there panting.
Maybe he really did need to loose some weight.
A small mouse like sound drew his attention toward the office and he turned his neck toward it. He was greeted by the dim lights reflecting off the Ventriloquist's glasses. Shit he woke up Scarface.
No..wait. He doesn't have the damn puppet.
Bullock narrowed his eyes as the small man made his way from the door to the center of the room. The inside of the garage was ill light, but he could still see that the criminal was puppetless.
And pantless too.
It appeared he'd woken the man from sleep and in these random bed location he had just stripped down to his white button up and underwear. Musta not wanted to get his tuxedo wrinkled. Oh man. If ever he wished his hands were free so he could gouge out his eyes with them.
"Shit, puppet-boy. Couldn't yah at least put yer freakin' pants on?"
The Ventriloquist shushed him, looking panicked at the office door, "y-you're going to wake Mr. Scarface..or Jervis.. or alert Rhino. You r-really don't want that."
"Like I woke you? They gonna come out in their scivvey's too?" So what? Hatter and the Ventriloquist were sleeping in the same room together? The notion kinda made Bullock's brain want to go into relapse.
"I w-wasn't sleeping," Arnold said quietly, "C-couldn't."
"The puppet a bed hog?"
"No but Jer--" The Ventriloquist flurried his brows at the suspended cop, "N-never mind. Do you really think you should be cracking jokes hours before you're going to be fed to a car compactor?"
If Harvey could of shrugged his shoulders, he would have, "you just want me to hang 'ere and scowl like the goddamn Bat?"
"At l-least he's quiet about it," the criminal adjusted his glasses, "I'd be worried. I'm worried enough about you as it is. You know...we're... well we're not even up to anything right now – just passing time between working on g-getting Mr. Scarface's lost turf back since we got out of Arkham. And here you go.. coming blundering along when all we were doing was camping and looking for some equipment. It's junk. It's not worth a life. And now not only are you g-going to be killed – b-but innocent people as well."
Craaaaaaaazy. Bullock would have liked to point out that it was the Ventriloquist himself that was going to be killing him and the workers in the morning, but had to remember, the nutjob's brain didn't work like that. He sighed and kept his voice barely above a whisper.
"Just doing my job, pipsqueak."
"I'm really s-sorry."
"Not sorry enough to cut me down 'n' let me go, huh? Then no one has to die."
The Ventriloquist's shoulders drooped and he let out his own sigh. "Y-you know I can't do that. Mr. S-scarface.. he'd murder me if I let you go."
"Could always make it look like I got loose. C'mon, Wesker. If all this really is some fuckin' bad place-bad time bullshit you oughta at least let me die some other way with a little more dignity! For fucks sake – the Bat has gotten outta less ironic situations."
"I'm sorry.. really I am," Arnold wheezed and turned to go back to the office.
"'Ey can you at least do me one favor then?"
The Ventriloquist paused. "..yes?"
"My hat goes with me, Indiana Style okay? I don't want Tetch adding it to his creepy collection."
The small man padded out of his view and Bullock groaned, hung his head. In the silence that followed he just hoped he'd make the front page – knock the Batman off it for onc-
Bullock let out a small yelp as he suddenly came crashing down onto the floor and landed (thankfully) on his ass.
Swiveling on his buttcheeks the portly cop turned one-eighty to find the Ventriloquist standing over by the truck bumper holding a pair of rusty sheers. He'd cut one of the ropes holding up Bullock's makeshift suspension. Wesker carefully put down the item back in the tool pile and then came toward Bullock – he had his dusty fedora under his arm.
"The hell? What made you change your mind?" Bullock was rather flabbergasted as he began to wiggle his chubby hands out of the binds, once the strain was off them, they came surprisingly loose.
"Dignity." The Ventriloquist said, dropping Bullock's hat next to him, "N-now.. get out of here before –AH!"
"Dignity! Ha!" Harvey growled as it hurt to snag his hands into the older man's shirt and haul him off his feet. There! Had the pipsqueak. As long as he had Wesker he doubted Rhino would do anything to harm him. Hatter he wasn't sure about, but they had some kind of weird thing going on .. just maybe. "You think Imma just waltz out of here 'n' let you nutcases squash some other poor smuck in the morning after stringin' me up like last years Christmas lights?"
"B-b-b-but we're not up to anything! When Mr. Scarface g-g-get's up in the morning and you're gone, he won't stick around to hurt anybody! Please! I'm letting you go! Do the same!"
Bullock sneered and tightened his grip in the older man's shirt. The bad cop in him wanted to tie him up with fan belts and drag him out to his cruiser for being a crazy lil shit who'd had him hanging for half the night. Like hell he was going to just let him and the rest of the Brady Bunch --
Bullock froze when he heard Hatter's voice. His eyes shot toward the office, but there was no figure in the doorway. He looked back to the dangling Ventriloquist and gritted his teeth.
"Arnold? The moon's still making the billows smooth and bright! It's not time to be up! What ever are you doing?"
The small man shivered in Bullock's grip and then lured his head toward the door. "N-nothing Jervis.. just checking on the c-cop. Please be quiet you'll wake Mr. S-scarface."
"How is our overweight chandelier? Do you need me to get up and put out his lights?"
Bullock drew in a breath – crap. He didn't have his gun and Hatter probably had six of them.
"N-nono, Jervis. He's j-just hanging around, no need.. I'll be in – in a moment!"
"Don't dawdle so or your feet will be cold and there's no putting up with cold feet."
Oh god – they were sleeping together. Bullock winced. Should that really be your top concern? He looked down at the older man he had in his grip, grumbled and dropped him. "Don't make me regret this."
The Ventriloquist backed off quickly fixing the front of his shirt, "A more p-proper time and place -- maybe." And he turned and scampered back into the office.
Bullock didn't wait around to hear any more of the two criminals conversation. He bolted out the side door, looked out for the Rhino, and then booked his way toward the front of the junkyard and his car.
Rats had gotten to his donuts – but considering what sort of crushed food they could have had later. Bullock wasn't in any position to be complaining.