She walks out of the Asylum like she's been given a new lease on life; there's no car waiting for her, though. Jim Gordon and I watch from up in the administrative building as she looks around, frustrated, then kicks a rock and starts to walk down the road toward the bus stop, a mile away. At least she knows the right direction.
It wasn't Harleen's first stint, and it won't be the last. Getting out was easier this time, for some reason; we are hoping she doesn't suspect that anyone was pulling the strings. Even if she somehow knows all about our little plan, maybe she'll still go where we're hoping she'll go – back into the arms of the Joker. And a maybe is good enough.
The man in purple has as of late been on a crime spree – banks robbed, people murdered and kidnapped, all with telltale signs of his involvement – but if his record is any indication, it is all leading up to something bigger, something worse. The Joker doesn't rob banks to finance vacations; no, he finances chaos. And right now he has a lot to spend.
"Think she'll wear the ring?" Jim asks me.
"I see it on her all the time," I say. But in truth I can only hope. And hope hard.
At this point I turn on the tracker, and after it boots up we watch as she continues down the road away from Arkham. This had better work; if it doesn't we've put a dangerous criminal back on the streets for no reason, and we would be horrible guardians of this city. So come on, Harley. Find the Joker for us. And then you two can be together behind walls.
'
"She WHAT?" The man with green hair and white skin stares at the telephone, then puts it back to his ear. "She wants to see me, huh?" Boy, he knew she was stupid, but not that dumb. Bet if there was cheese on a mousetrap she'd go for it. "Listen-"
The Joker stops mid-sentence as Hank starts to grunt, like someone is hitting him, and then that voice… "Let me-"
"Uh, she wants to – ow! She wants to talk to you boss." The phone switches hands. "Okay, stop hitting me-"
"Shuddup," she says, and the Joker hears the smack of flesh on flesh as she slaps Hank. A smile briefly crosses his lips. "Hey puddin!" she yells into the phone.
"Harley!" He tries to think of what to say.
"Did ya miss me?"
"Well you see, Harley, that's just the thing – we're going to have to miss each other a little bit longer I think. It's just-"
"Uh, Mr. J?"
He pauses. He hates being interrupted. "What."
"I just got out of Arkham, right?"
"Yes, yes you did."
"So I wanna see you! I heard you're planning something big." He doesn't say anything, and he can hear it grate at her. "…don't you wanna see me?"
"Harley, Harley, Harley. Of course I want to see you! …just not right now. Maybe never."
She pauses. "Whaddya mean Mr. J?"
"You think they'd just let you out of there for good behavior?" She knows what he's saying, but doesn't want to hear it. "I'm sorry babe, but I'll bet you my five favorite bank accounts there's a trap going, and you're the bait."
Harleen tries not to hear what's being said. "…but, Mistah J…"
"No buts, Harley. I'm sorry."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"I dunno," the Joker says. "Get a job or something?"
"Ha ha ha," she says.
"Goodbye Harley."
"Wait! Mr.-"
He hangs up the phone and puts his left hand to his cheek. Not that he'd tell anyone, but that hurt to do. Oh well, he thinks, and stands. He nods to the three kidnapped men across the room. "Hang tight boys!" And leaves.
'
"-J." Harley stares at the phone.
"I'm sorry Ms. Quinn," Hank says.
She turns to him, a wild anger in her eyes. "You, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" She hangs up the phone and walks to the window of the safehouse, to think. She turns to Hank, a career criminal with the Joker for about five years; a long time to not have anyone kill you. "Get me a glass of water, would ya?"
Hank makes his way into the kitchen, on edge. This Harley bitch, she's crazy. That look in her eye – he'd better be careful, he thinks. He turns around and she has ripped a leg off of the table in the main room, and is swinging it down towards his head-
His hand comes up and takes the bulk of the blow; she's stronger than either of them thought, and when she lifts the chairleg up he can tell his hand is broken. It comes back down and hits his other arm.
"What the fuck?" He tries to push himself up but is too slow – the leg comes down once more and hits him in the face, and he starts to bleed, a lot.
"WHERE IS HE?" she yells, and raises the leg again.
"…he'd kill me," Hank says.
"I'll kill you," she says, and gets in swinging stance. "Where is he."
'
I can't make out what the man says; I have to clean the receiver on my sound device soon. But it was an address.
I followed her here, to a fifth story hideout in a shady part of town, hoping that she would take me right to the bastard; it wasn't going to be that simple. Even if Ms. Quinzel was an idiot, the Joker was not. Not only did he not want to see her, he knew exactly why not to.
As she leaves the room and I watch her go downstairs on the tracker I flip down from my position on a fourth story balcony. In a minute she gets out of the building and gets in a cab; I swing through skyscrapers over the car until we reach an abandoned industrial area – the perfect place for a criminal headquarters. I thought the cops had checked this part of town, but then again, the question of whether those cops could be trusted hadn't been asked, at least not by me.
The car stops in front of an old tannery, and Harleen gets out; the driver doesn't leave, so as soon as she enters I lower myself next to the car.
He is bloody, but he'll survive. I drag him behind a wall and leave him – I've got no time to dress the wounds.
I shoot up a grappling hook and scale the roof, looking in the windows that surround the building until I find a view that interests me. There is Harleen and a group of criminals, as well as the three missing businessmen. But no Joker. Maybe he's in the restroom, I think; I'm guessing not. I pull out my sonic receiver and listen through the window.
"Well where is he then?" Harleen asks. The men look between each other, trying to defuse the situation.
"Look, Ms. Quinn, you're not supposed to be here-" says one particularly large man.
"Don't tell me what I'm sposed to do!" she yells.
"If you brought the cops with ya, well, Joker's gonna be pretty pissed." He looks to the other men, who nod. "This job's pretty big for him."
"I didn't bring the cops!" Harley yells, like a girl throwing a tantrum. "There's a dead cabbie outside, but that's it."
"Sure he's dead?" another man asks.
Harleen stares poison at him. "Go check," she says. He walks off.
…which gives me less than a minute to subdue the other three gangsters and let Ms. Quinn miraculously escape. I breathe in, get control of my body, then break a window to gather attention.
'
"What the fuck was that?" one of the men says, but she knows.
The fucking bat. They were following her.
Quickly she runs towards the exit as he breaks through the roof and swings towards the henchmen, who are drawing guns. They don't stand a chance, she thinks. Robbie is grabbing at his piece as she pushes past him towards the cab – the keys are still inside and she starts it, and floors the gas pedal.
She drives as fast as possible away from the tannery, then pulls over. Quickly she gets out and starts to take off her clothes and jewelry – rings, necklace, earrings then shirt, pants, socks, then underwear – she's taking off her bra when a car comes from the other direction. Her eyes meet the headlights, but she keeps removing clothing until it honks – one of those horribly annoying jingles. One of HIS jingles!
Harley runs, buck naked, around to the passenger side door. "PUDDIN'!" she yells through the rolling down window.
"What are you doing here, Harley?" he says with venom. She opens the door and slides into the seat.
"Hank told me-"
"Hank," the Joker says, making a note to have him killed slow.
"Yeah and I showed up but I guess the bat followed me and-"
The crack of his hand on her face and the sting that follows echo throughout the industrial yard. He looks at her, and her pretty face and great tits and feels bad. "Come here," he says, and grabs her to kiss her. She melts on him, into him, and then sirens sound in the distance.
"Whoop," he says, and looks back to the windshield; red and blue lights, but they are very far away; he puts the car in reverse and the tires squeal as the car flips around, and they speed off in the other direction.
'
"She's off the tracker," I say to commissioner Gordon. "She ditched her clothes up the road." He stares at me.
I know what he wants to say. 'This was your idea.' But he doesn't.
'I know,' I would reply. We all make mistakes, I want to say. Not all of them let murderous psychopaths loose on society, though, so I stay quiet. I look up to Jim. "At least the hostages are safe."
"That's true," he says. "And the bulk of the money's in there. I'm not complaining, looks like we stopped him this time."
And while that might satisfy some, for me and Jim Gordon it isn't enough. As long as the Joker is out there in the world, nothing will be right.
'
"Of course I missed you Harley."
"Awww, thanks Mistah J," she says, and snuggles up against him. "I'm sorry I ruined your plans."
"There will be other plans, Harley, there always are." He changes lanes on the empty freeway, and smiles a wide grin.
"Where we goin', pudding," she asks.
"We're driving to the Bahamas," he says, and she nods.
"K."
He kisses her on the forehead and she purrs, and they roar off on the road out of town.