A DECK of JOKERS
They were setting fire to an old nursery.
Mister J was dancing around an old box, empty except for the flames licking the cardboard black. She was simply watching him enjoy himself from the other side of the room, sitting on a table, one leg folded over the other. She'd dressed herself up for the occasion; alternate black and red tights under knee-high boots, as always, but the rest of her was all new.
He'd let her in on the plan earlier in the day, and then he had taken her shopping. They'd lured a group of Gotham's finest firemen into a run-down merry-go-round in Amusement Mile – where few people went without reason, and even then still hesitant – and slaughtered them all whilst they laughed together. Harley had taken their yellow fireproofs and fashioned them into a tight bodice for her waist; tight enough to push up her breasts, all for his pleasure.
He gave the box and heavy kick and his foot burst right through it – the flames took his leg, wrapping themselves around his purple trousers. Harley screamed and burst into action, cartwheeling forward. The Joker laughed and screamed as he twisted his leg around, flames abound, but her mind wasn't on that – all she could think about was the pain he must have been in. She grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall and sprayed his leg with it; foam gushing out the nozzle in waves. He stopped smiling as she sat down the fire extinguisher. There was a big smile on her face.
He slapped her hard with the back of his hand, grinning as he did it, and – just like that – the big smile was gone.
"You shouldn't have did that, Harley!"
"I'm sorry, Mista J. I thought you were in trouble, puddin'."
"Did I sound like I was in trouble? Did my laughter sound pained?!" he asked, incredulous.
Harley swung her shoulders slightly, like a little girl in trouble. "I can never tell."
"I like to keep you guessing," he said, giggling as he did it. "Say, Harley, why don't we light up this ol' gal?"
She nodded excitedly and produced, from a pocket she'd made herself inside her bodice, a small tub of gasoline. Her Mister J shook his head and skipped over to the curtains; his skinny white hands reached up for the flower on his lapel; gasoline spat out of it, like acid usually did. It made him so happy that Harley had no choice but to smile – it broke out across her red, red lips.
"I'll do the honours, ohoho!" he said, producing a lighter and setting the curtain aflame. "Let's go, Harley! We wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."
When he turned, he looked magnificent. His skin whiter than snow, lips redder than fire and blood, and green hair, all against a backdrop of chaos reigning, growing upwards. He danced away from the fire, twirling a cane in one hand. They left the room, the clown henchman following them down the giant staircase. Above, Harley saw black smoke creeping across the ceiling, the thick smell filling her nose. As she skirted down the stairs, she glanced back and saw the flames were coming out of the room, like yellow hands gripping the doorframe to pull itself to freedom…
Almost at the bottom of the stairs, a high crash and broken glass tumbled from the skylight, down into the hall. Great wings, the wings of a Bat, frightened Harley and the guards recoiled as they fell. Batman made his way down the ceiling and landed at the foot of the stairs. One of their henchmen tried to jam a pistol into his face, but he twisted it away from him and broke the man's hand.
Joker screamed with delight, clapping his hands together. "Bats? Is that you? Now it's a party!" His laugh turned low and dark.
Batman spoke with a deep voice, lower than usual. Harley noticed it, so Mister J must have noticed it too. He was close to Batman, he'd told her a million times before. "We're the same," her Mister J had told her. "One bad day," he added, cryptic.
"Joker, it's time for you to pay for your crimes," Batman said.
"Pay for my – oh."
Batman pointed the gun he'd taken off the guard and fired it at Joker, directly at his chest.
NO!
Harley flipped forward, bringing the gasoline container out of her pocket, and slammed it against Batman's head, then kicked him hard. She reached for a match and flipped it onto him, setting him completely alight. The costume began to melt into his flesh and he screamed, a high girlish scream.
She turned to her Mister J, who was lying back on the stairs, his eyes blinking and closing, his mouth coughing up blood as he tried to laugh. Harley went to his side.
"I'll fix you, puddin'. I'll fix you."
"This is funny, H-Harley," he said. There was so much blood, she could only just make out the words he said. "Why aren't you laughing?" His eyes closed and she felt for a pulse; it was still there, however faint.
"We gotta get him to a hospital, boys!" she announced to the guards around her. The tears in her eyes had made all the dark eye shadow run down her cheeks, like black permanent tears. The guards around her hesitated at first, drawing.
You're don't deserve to be that close to my pudin', she thought when one of their shadows fell across them. She reached up and snapped their neck, pushing him away.
"NOW!"
She carried her lost puddin' over her back out of the nursery. Sometimes he spluttered but his consciousness was lost.
"You're gonna be okay, Mr J," she said tearfully. "I promise." Her head snapped to the guards at her side. "Get the van ready you morons!"
They exchanged a few wary glances and ran off, muttering about her being a crazy bitch. Normally she'd have snapped their neck but not now. Not with His life on the line.
They waded through grass grown too tall until they came out onto the road, the sky was dark and gloomy. In the distance she could see the Batsignal over a building. He'll be so angry with me when he hears I've killed the B-man, she thought. But I had to. I had to I had to I had to.
Out onto the main road. The van came screeching around the corner, the guys with their plastic clown masks in the front seats.
"Harley – Haaarley," her puddin' choked out. She felt some blood dribble onto her shoulder and it gave her butterflies.
"You're gonna be okay, Mister J."
"Was that – I'm not sure it was him, Harley. He wouldn't do that to me." He laughed the dark laugh.
"Just close your eyes. We're gonna get you to a hospital. Okay?"
The van slid to a halt, the tires bleeding smoke. The doors parted and she slumped him down onto the purple couch. A loud farting came from it and he laughed. He's so joyful.
In she went and the force from the acceleration of the fan made the door slide shut. It was lit by a faint orange light on the inside. Crayon smiles coated the inner wall of the van. It rumbled back and forth. She looked at the bullet-wound; it took the place of one of the buttons on his purple three-piece suit. Harley stroked his face, his eyes were closed.
"You're gonna be o – DRIVE FASTER."
"Harley, you think they're gonna let the boss – you think they're gonna help him?"
"I LOVE HIM!"
"Yeah Harley, but they don't love him as much as you – I mean, we – do. They'll call the cops."
"OH? AND WHAT WILL THEY DO? THEY'VE BEEN HUNTIN' MY PUDDIN' FOR YEARS AND THEY AIN'T CAUGHT HIM YET, IT'S ALWAYS THE BAT, AND HE'S DEAD!"
"Okay, okay. Geeze."
They made her feel sick. When he was back to full health, they would punish them together, because they all deserved it. No loyalty at all, and it sickened Harley.
It wasn't long before the van slammed to a stop. She peered out the front window and saw the giant red cross of Gotham City General. Here we go, puddin'. You're gonna be okay.
"I'd like to admit a patient," Harley said, pointing a gun at one of the secretaries. She was a fairly old woman, grey hair and thick-rimmed glasses. Her lips were painted with red lipstick that only served to highlight the thinness of her mouth.
"H-Harley Quinn… who?"
She started to cry. "It's my Mister J. The Batman shot him!"
"What? B-Batman?! It can't have been… he…" The woman lifted her finger towards something on the far right wall and Harley glanced – a television. Her attention snapped back to the woman.
"I DON'T CARE! JUST ADMIT HIM!"
"N-Name?"
She's just stalling. I can see them phoning the cops… it doesn't matter. I just have to save him. Save his life. Save my life.
"HIS NAME IS PUDDIN'!" She fired a bullet into the woman's head and she slumped down. People screamed and ran. She turned around, crying, and saw them bringing him in. His arms were wrapped around two clown's necks, lifting his limp legs above the ground. She looked around and saw a young man on a wheelchair.
Quickly enough the man was on the floor and they were lowering Joker into the chair. Harley stripped off one of her gloves and pressed her fingers to his neck; his neck pulsed lightly and barely at all, but it was steal beating on.
She kicked one of the clowns out of the way, her leg flung high and slammed down on his head. Her hands gripped the wheelchair tight and they flew off down the corridor; people were screaming and running and hiding in rooms but she didn't care. She just wheeled. If he was awake, he'd be laughing right now.
But he wasn't. His head still drooped low, and as she ran down the corridors it bobbed lightly. She giggled a little, her face soaked and tears seeping down her corset. After this is done we'll go on a holiday. Me and you… we can go to Coast City and set the beach on fire. IT'LL BE SO BEAUTIFUL, PUDDIN'.
All the way to surgery they ran. The corridors grew more stark and empty as she ran down them. Sometimes she noticed their eyes leering out at her. STOP STARING AT MISTER J! HE'S GETS SELF-CONSCIOUS ABOUT HIS BULLETHOLES!
She cursed the Batman under her breath. This was all his fault.
When they burst into the surgical wing there was no one in the open area. The walls were white, but it was a dirty white – a tainted white. Just like the face of her puddin'. Behind her the footsteps of the thugs that were catching up with them, and in front of her she heard whimpers. They all came from behind the desk.
"GRAB ONE OF 'EM!" She shouted.
One of the clowns reached down and pulled a young woman from out behind the desk. He laughed a little as he did it, and Harley shot him an angry look.
"Please! Please don't hurt us!"
"I need you to fix him! He's sick!"
The woman's eyes were wide with confusion and it made Harley angry. She pointed her gun at her. "FIX HIM!" Harley shrieked.
"I-I'm not a doctor… I…"
"WHERE ARE THEY?!"
"They're… all on break." Her eyes lingered for too long on Joker's body and Harley shot her too.
The henchman dropped her body to the floor and there were more whimpers, but Harley Quinn did not care. Time was running out.
"Where are we going to get a doctor, Harley?"
"LET ME THINK! A doctor… a doctor… a doctor…"
One of the henchmen came closer to her. "Harley, ain't you a doctor?"
"No, nutjob! She's a head doctor. A shrink!"
A light bulb went off in her head. "B-But I had medical training. I can save my puddin'." She went over to him, still sitting there. In the distance she heard sirens.
Words slurred from his mouth. "Christmas time… mistletoe and wineee."
"See, he's losin' his mind!" She cried harder and screamed in his face. "It's February, puddin'!"
So many thoughts went through her troubled mind. She wouldn't lose him, not to the stupid Batman. She had to save him.
"I'm gonna save him. I'll get the bullet out and stich him up. I can do it."
And with that, they headed off to surgery, Harley wishing all the while she'd packed her nurse's uniform.
He'd like to see that when he wakes up. He always does.
