“Stop here!” commanded Harley, the joy of flight still very much evident in her voice. Truth be told, Dick was still riding the wave of excitement somewhat himself. Doing tricks on a motorbike was a very different thrill to acrobatics, somehow more visceral but less satisfying. A bit like stuffing yourself full of junk food compared to a finely cooked meal; both left you full but the experiences were very different. Now and then, however, a guy just needed some junk. Having her along for the ride had been an excuse and, to hear her ecstatic screams, an added bonus.

He brought the bike to a gentle halt so she could jump off and started looking for a place to put it. He liked to leave the bike mostly out of sight, even if it did have security measures and armour. Any sufficiently determined delinquent with access to a molotov cocktail (or something stronger) could still do some serious damage to it and probably would, too. The vehicles of Gotham's guardians were not exactly popular sights in district where the mob provided a significant percentage of the jobs and almost all the entertainment.

Dick was stopped from looking around by Harley draping herself across the handlebars. Her expression was hard to read, part excited, part wary. Before he could say anything, she leaned in to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. Not much to his surprise, she moved her lips to meet his, making it less innocent. Before he could respond again, she span away with a wink and a saucy swing of her hips, readying her chosen weapon and leaving Dick with a semi-confused grin and a slight lipstick mark on his cheek.

“Ya don't need to say anythin Bird-brain, I think you've showed me enough already.. I gotta hand it to ya, that's gotta be the best motorin experience I think I've ever had.. Not like your head was in the.. game or anything, but ya know.. the engine really kicks, so sometimes it kinda felt like it.." He opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off. "Dun look at me like that, I ain't some floozy.. I was talkin about the engine weirdo.. Feels nice to kick back and break the rules a bit though don't it? Ya coulda killed me.. but ya don't see my complainin.. do ya's?”

As Harley sauntered away, Dick rolled the bike into a side-alley and behind some dumpsters before hurrying back to catch up with her. She explained her plan, though that might be giving it airs and graces, to him and clearly stated in no uncertain terms that he was to trust her judgement and not play hero. Not even if she seemed to be in real danger, not unless she screamed blue bloody murder. Not exactly a good sign... he thought but kept it to himself.

"Alright Harley, I'll sit tight until you call for me or you scream. Or both. Don't make me regret it, okay? I'd hate for our partnership to end here."

Dick's parting words rung amidst in her mind the further down the street she went. Once or twice along the way Harley couldn't stop herself from peaking over her shoulder in light curiosity. Was he really going to trust her? She felt doubtful of the idea only having her attention turn to the presence of shadows and empty streets, force her to reconsider the thought. He wasn't following her.. Or at least not through obvious approach anyway.

Feeling somewhat relieved that Nightwing had left her to uphold her end of the bargain also made her feel a bit worried. Since when had Nightwing or any of his conniving friends trusted her before? Would he stay true to his word? Harley tried to brush the nervous wondering thoughts away by the turn of the corner just up ahead. Several steps further down the empty street formatted through the alignment of old buildings and structures that had long since seen much more glorious days, Harley approached a much more lit corner of the street that lead to a dead end. To the naked eye, one might see only old buildings left unkempt, unvisited, though still intact and any evidence of inhabitant long forgotten in Gotham's history on the edge of Amusement mile and the bigger quarter of the area being known only formerly as Park Row. This particular corner of the street seemed unattended with most of the buildings having bricks lining their former door frames and wooden planks across the dark dusty windows. Only old makeshift apartments, long forgotten shops and smaller establishment rest here all disclosed by an old tattered glass ceiling that stretched all the way down the street and to the neighbouring ones nearby and attached to this section of old Gotham.

To someone not knowing where to look, they'd only see qualities of an old Gotham city that had been left to decline to elements and nefarious meddling of various criminals over the years that had visited these places, but to Harley Quinn there was much more then met the eye. Harley paid no mind to the shallowness of her surroundings instead only poking her attention to an old marquee sign that used to list the names of very old cinematic films and show times now long left forgotten or out of date. While everything else in this section of Park Row seemed defunct or inanimate of any hint of occupation, the old marquee in front of her was left active and shining out like a light among the darkness surrounding it.

Coming to a stop at the front of the old and now barred doorways of the theatre (with an over arching and unlit sign depicting the words “Red Room”), Harley would only peak over her attention to the marquee and slowly reach for one of the bright dusk coated light bulbs. At first her fingers only carefully graced over several bulbs as if to slowly recall the secret access process of obtaining entry to the hidden hideout that had been left unknown for years to anyone outside of Joker's gangs. In the process of feeling the warmth of one of the light bulbs gently idle beneath her fingers, Harley would take a slow peak over her shoulder as if to check for prying unfriendly eyes. For a second she'd gaze down the empty silence of the street only wondering if her newly obtained protege was paying any attention at all, before slowly poking her cautious gaze up and behind the higher buildings and shrouded archways of the street above. She really hoped Bird-brain was paying attention.. wherever he was..

Turning back to the lit sign in front of her she'd twist the bulb her hand idled on and slowly spin it from the illuminating arrangement of the rest. Beneath there'd be a small button. She pressed it, which would cause a former nearby barred off alley corridor to come from free and accessible, while only tossing the old light bulb in hand behind her with a careless flick of her wrist. It wasn't like this place needed to be a secret any more.. Plus she just really felt a sudden urge to be a bit brash in all the menacing qualities of her character. Turning and walking into the narrow dark alley she'd turn on her heels to a small dip in the crammed box excuse for another very short and dead end pathway that lead to an old brick wall with various green and purple graffiti littering it. Joker's men's hand no doubt. A statement of their presence or possibly even ownership kept hidden away from the rest of the world. Overlaying all the much older vibrant shades of 'Ha..ha's' and nonsensical statements sat a much more recent addition to the art that came in the form of a poorly drawn cartoon themed Harley Quinn and Joker embracing in a sweet loving hug with a single heart with an 'x' in the middle coming as if to depict the thoughts of the two cartooned versions of the infamous couple.

Seeing that old thing again only made Harley roll her eyes in distaste. She couldn't tell what she disliked more, whether it was the art or what the art depicted. Clearly the circumstance of the drawing had hardly aged well with her. Annoyed by what she knew she couldn't avoid seeing again, Harley caught a brief peak of herself reflecting in an old dusty mirror left in the enclosed corridor, only to catch a glimpse of a smudge in her lipstick. Must have been caused by kissing Bird-brain? Or so she thought anyway, as she'd only become temporarily distracted by the infraction in the rest of her exquisite physique. Whatever the reason for the smudge was not so important, as much as fixing it were. Reaching into her back pocket she'd pull a small cap of murderous red lipstick free and gently fix the lapse in her dangerously racy façade.

Couldn't go stormin in there lookin like a tramp! Harley only near coo'd at the devious thoughts of what she were about to do to the unlucky handful of Jokers men hidden away on the other side of the secret door. She was gonna paint the place red with Harley Quinn in a way these boozo's have never seen-! Oh wait a minute, Bird-brain was still tailing her.. The brief thrill of turning her party crashing into a much more destructive event folded on the subject of remembering she had made a promise. A light huff of impatience sung from her lips, eyes rolling in agitation before she'd be stricken by an idea. Nightwing might have seen her at the first door.. but he wouldn't have any idea how to get in the second.. unless.. The ripe end of the lipstick left her lips as she quickly began to scribble a little message on the brick walls for Nightwing to follow. A second or two of scribbling the words 'Cross my heart and hope to die' beside the small Harley Quinn doodle would have her seal the cap and put the stick of make-up away. She'd then reach forward and gently press her hand down on the large heart with the 'x' in the middle and a small shift in pressure would cause the entire small wall to become loose, easily allowing her to push it to the side.

Harley stepped into the new secret corridor in front of her, taking simple steps forward at the sound of the wall behind her sealing closed once again and effectively locking her in. Bird-brain was gonna have a fit if he thought she was locking him out.. but it wasn't like she could prevent herself from being locked in.. Several short steps down the narrow interior corridor would take her to the abandon and rather Joker themed lobby of a long forgotten small theatre known as “The Red Room”. The lobby was empty, except for the presence of a single snoozing clown masked guard who had seemingly dozed off. While his ability to stay on guard was clearly questionable, the terms of his arsenal were left much more evident. Unlike the last clown wearing goons she had encountered, this one was armed with an ACR rifle.

Harley slammed her fist on the cheap plastic glass that kept her separated from the slumbering buffoon in front of her. He snapped awake gasping in surprise only to immediately find his finger going to the trigger of the gun before his attention turned to address the very real and living former harlequin, that every clown in Gotham knew as Joker's ex-girlfriend. “Waa-! HARLEY?! Is that really you? I thought-” Harley's irritable gaze quirked on the arch of a comic brow, before she'd near press her face into the plastic glass in front of her as if to get a better look at the clown masked idiot on the other side of the glass. “DEAD?! Ya know.. Everbody KEEPS SAYIN THAT! Im really starin to wonda if ya all knew about Joka's plan from the beginning.. What he do?! Tell ya he'd pay ya extra to keep QUIET about IT?!”

The clown mask hooligan stumbled to turn to the small shoddy door at his side before leaving the booth and coming around the corner to address her face to face, you know, by sticking his gun in hers. “Im pretty sure your suppose to be dead aren't you?!” He responded through the nervous coarse tone of his voice. Harley snapped both hands to her hip and let the boredom of her mood sink in full impatient display. She looked like she might do something very bad, the kind of bad that was acted on impulse. A second later her face went smug with mischief. “Here's a question for ya.. seein as how you think you kno how Joka works.. When have things EVER gone according to PLAN?!” During the exclaim of that particular statement Harley saw the opportunity to smack the gun from her face, pivot forward and effectively elbow the goon in the chest. It was enough to wind him, though that was all she'd need. Taking advantage of his stagger she'd easily grab the gun from him and whack him across the face with it's side.

“Dun mind if I do.. You've been an awfully terrible gentlemen holdin that for me so long.. I think your at least inclined to take a nap outta good favor? WHATTA SAY?! Ah-he..he..he!” She didn't let him answer only bashing the man into unconsciousness with the rifle as that maddened giggling sung out in devious satisfaction. Once she finished she'd stand up straight, adjust her top with a light tug so as not to prevent anything from accidentally slipping out due to her former frenzy of forcing the door guard into a slumber, with her finger now prime on the trigger. Stepping towards the small door to the old booth room in front of her, she'd let her finger click down and fire off the gun wildly up in the air. This was her way of getting everyone's attention, being a distraction and making things easier for Nightwing, even if that meant just about every single Joker thug nearby would come running in a second.

“Bang, Bang Bang!”

The gunshots roared out and Harley locked herself in the booth room as she'd only edge over to the old control switch to a long unused P.A system that connected to the exterior and interior of the Red Room. The sound of running men came stomping with quick pace, force piling into the door as Harley would force her butt up against a particular switch and keep the button held down with it, both her hands primed on the gun to address the situation trying to break down the door in front of her. A loud electronic click rung out through the once silent and empty streets of the forgotten corner of the city.

“Open the door! Harley, I know that's you in there- GO AWAY! This is a private Harley Quinn public radio service announcement and If you wanna make ur own then ya need to wait your own damn turn..! Harley- im gonna kill you! Before Joker even gets his hands on YA! Didn't ya hear?! Im suppose to already be dead!

"Pew Pew!"

More gun shots rang out.

“It's too bad you boozo's aren't any good at doin your jobs..! Maybe you's all need to reconsider better career choices?! Ya make AWFULLY GOOD TARGET PRATICE! Not like any of you have the competence to stop me ANYWAY! It would take a roof fallin on me to even make me RECONSIDA my poor academic approach to dealin with you losa's! ”

And there was the signal Nightwing would be waiting for. Harley only hoped he had been paying attention to what and where she went and could put the clues together about the secret back door. The ball was in his court and it was time for him to uphold his side of their bargain as well as really put his training to handle the situation to the test.

Keeping carefully to the shadows and maintaining a good distance between them, Dick followed Harley. He knew from training and experience that when wearing a costume like his, it wasn't enough just to keep out of the light. You had to move in such a way that your motions didn't draw the eye, keep space between you and someone watching for you and above all, not make sudden movements. So when Harley seemed to look back for him, he didn't freeze in place but simply continued to creep forwards. When she kept moving, he moved silently to higher ground, using fire escapes and ledges to move above the street rather than on it. Another thing you learned as a vigilante (or a trapeze artist) was that people generally don't look up.

The area of Gotham was just the sort of place that terrified tourists and made the brass at the GCPD or the higher-ups in the Mayor's office adopt somber expressions and talk about the 'grave situation in some areas of our fair city'. It had been abandoned to criminals and those stricken by poverty, leaving the buildings crumbling and the streets cracked with age. A sad state of affairs, Dick reflected, and not one that could be resolved by punching miscreants. On the other hand, he'd heard there was a major initiative to repair some of Gotham's more dilapidated areas in the offing. Its main sponsor was, of course, to be Wayne Enterprises.

Below, Harley started fiddling with a bulb, eventually removing it from its socket and carelessly tossing it away. She must have pressed a button or flicked a switch because a moment later, a alley seemed to appear almost magically from a wall nearby. Pretty high tech for the Joker... hell, it's pretty subtle for him as well. Maybe that's why it's not on our records. Dick mused, descending to street level once again. By the time he entered the alley, Harley was nowhere to be seen. Well, not in the flesh, anyway. There was a graffiti image of her and her ex-beau embracing with an embossed heart, though it looked old and worn. Glancing around, Nightwing spotted a shard of glass marked with Harley's distinctive vibrant shade of red lipstick. The words 'cross my heart and hope to die' were scrawled on the ruined mirror.

"Thank you Harley..." Dick murmured, looking back and the representation of her and the joker. Now he came to think about it, the heart looked a little out of place, perhaps raised from the rest of the wall. He walked over to it and gently pressed it down, feeling it slide backwards like a mechanical button. And, with nary and hiss or squeal, the wall suddenly seemed to swing backwards, revealing a a passageway way beyond. Crouching and moving with cat-like control, Dick stalked along the corridor, hearing the wall swing shut behind him. He knew Harley must have come this way only moments before, presumably making plenty of noise. He wasn't entirely sure about her plan of acting as a distraction but knew better than to try and talk her out of it. Instead, he intended to play along with it as best he could while trying to make sure no one died. Anyone want to make bets on how that goes?

As he moved further into the hideout, a blaring sound roared out over the P.A. system. GO AWAY! This is a private Harley Quinn public radio service announcement and If you wanna make ur own then ya need to wait your own damn turn..! With a glance, Dick's mask sensors traced the broadcast through a few walls and to its source, where he assumed Harley was busy drawing every henchman worth his salt to her location. The plan's flaws were somewhat exposed as he heard the chatter of rifles and the ping-ping sounds of bullets ricocheting off a metal surface. Dick moved much faster now, the sounds of gunfire drawing him in as effectively as Harley's provocations had the henchmen. Rounding a corner, he spotted the targets he and Harley had come to find; almost two dozen henchmen in full gear and well armed. Their grotesquely grinning masks and various clown-themed tattoos identified them as some of Joker's finest foot soldiers, definitely the people to speak to if you wanted to find the man himself.

Now wer just have to get them to talk to us without anyone getting shot, should be breeze...