47 sat in front of the monitors, the glow from the screens casting a dim blue light across the otherwise dark warehouse. The building was quiet, the hum of the computer fans low and steady. His gloved hand rested lightly on the keyboard as his eyes scanned the drone feeds.
Six monitors were active, each dispying a different view of the exterior of Hatter's Productions. One camera tracked the alley behind the building. Another covered the front entrance. Two watched the sides. The remaining two focused on the rooftop and surrounding streets.
He had been monitoring the scene for the st several hours. Guards on patrol—two out front pretending to be vagrants, one actually adjusting the position of a garbage bag as if it mattered. It didn't; it was part of the act.
Suddenly, movement on the garage feed caught his eye.
He leaned forward.
The garage door was rising, slow and deliberate. A bck limousine emerged from the interior, moving efficiently.
He tapped a key. One of the drones adjusted, its camera zooming in.
Driver: Jervis Tetch. Smirking. Focused.
Passenger: Alice. Calm, collected, her blonde hair tied back. She said something to him, but he didn't react.
He pressed the comm button on the computer console.
"Selina."
There was a slight dey, then her voice came over the computer speakers.
"Yeah."
"Jervis and Alice just left the building. Bck limo. They just pulled out of the garage."
Another pause, but shorter this time.
"You sure?"
"I have visual. It's them."
"Okay," she said. "This might be our best chance."
"My thought exactly."
"Give me a bit," she said. "Let me see where everyone is. I'll let you know when I'm ready."
"Moving assets to assist with extraction. On my way."
The limousine turned the corner and disappeared from the feed.
---
Harley sat cross-legged on her bed, braiding Tammy's hair while the older girl flipped through a worn magazine. The third-floor room they shared was small but comfortable enough—two twin beds, a dresser, and a window that looked out onto the street below. Tammy was chattering about something she'd seen on television when a soft knock interrupted.
"Come in," Harley called out.
The door opened to reveal Mr. J in his familiar green overalls, cleaning supplies cart beside him in the hallway. His kind eyes met hers across the room.
"Hi, Harley," he said with his gentle smile. "I need your help with something."
Her heart jumped. The signal they'd agreed on yesterday morning over pancakes. Today was the day. Tetch was at his meeting.
"Hi, Mr. J," Tammy said brightly from the bed.
"Hello, Tammy," he replied politely.
Harley finished the braid and patted Tammy's shoulder. "There you go, all done."
"Thanks!" Tammy checked herself in the small mirror above their dresser. "See you ter, Harley."
"What do you need help with?" Harley asked, standing and smoothing down her t-shirt.
"Just need someone to hold the dder while I change a light bulb upstairs," Mr. J said casually.
Tammy waved from her bed as they left, already turning back to her magazine.
The elevator ride to the fourth floor felt endless. Harley's palms were damp with nervous sweat, but Mr. J hummed softly under his breath, calm as always. When the doors opened, he led the way down the carpeted hallway to Tetch's apartment.
He found the right key without hesitation and unlocked the door.
Tetch's apartment was everything the third-floor rooms weren't—spacious, luxurious, decorated with expensive furniture and original artwork. The contrast still struck her every time she was here.
"Nice pce," Mr. J muttered, shaking his head as he took in the leather furniture and crystal decanters.
He began his cleaning routine, dusting surfaces while staying alert for sounds from the hallway. His movements were efficient but quiet, positioning himself where he could see both her and the apartment door.
Harley made her way to the far wall where the painting hung—a framed print of the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wondernd, her imperious face staring down with cold authority. She grasped the ornate frame and pulled it away from the wall. The painting swung open on hinges to reveal a small wall safe with a round combination dial in the center.
"Got it," she whispered.
Harley pressed her ear to the cold metal and began turning the dial. The skills came back easily—muscle memory from her days on the street when locked storage sheds had sometimes meant the difference between eating and going hungry. She'd learned from her father, who'd taught her to feel for the subtle clicks that indicated the tumblers falling into pce.
*Click.* The first number. She held her breath and continued turning, listening for the next sound.
Mr. J's quiet cleaning provided perfect cover, masking any noise she might make. Every few seconds, his eyes would flick toward the door, then back to her—a silent guardian keeping watch.
Years of pnning. Dreaming about this moment. Her fingers moved with practiced precision, coaxing the safe's secrets one careful turn at a time.
