Everything quickly fell into a pattern that White was very familiar with, which pleased him more than he thought possible. He was back where he needed to be, or so he assumed as no one had given him any undue attention. This whole process always began the same way: the old guys betting which of the new guys would go first. As much as it may disgust most people, White loved this game. Having been there the longest, he always won and they long ago stopped actually placing money on the bets and just watched him pick the winner, or in this case, loser of the lot. It was easy to see who the newcomers were as they kept to themselves for the most part and were rather cautious.

"So who's it gonna to be this time?" Tag asked White eagerly. Everyone watched as White sized up each of the candidates while throwing out their own observations, hoping he'd take them into consideration. After a few minutes had passed, White pointed out the doomed man he had chosen. He was a small, rather wiry and very nervous character that seemed ready to jump out of his shoes at the drop of a hat as he fidgeted with his coat, while darting his eyes warily back and forth. He would have stuck out anywhere but in their surroundings he did so all the worse.

"Nah, man, nah," Tag disagreed. "You've always said that the cocky ones were the first to go and that the boss likes to keep the jumpy ones around a little longer. He thinks they're funny."

"Yeah, I know, but this guy takes the cake," White explained. "The boss will want to wait and play with him a little, he really will, but this one stands out too much. The boss won't be able to help himself. You wait and see. I give 'im four days tops, unless he leaves first of course."

Henshaw snapped his fingers as though he'd just realized something. "I just figured out where I know that guy from! We worked together once under Scarecrow. Man, he never came out of that quite right."

"What's his name?" White asked.

"Hell if I remember and why should it matter? Accordin' to you he's a dead man anyway."

"We can't go around calling him 'dead man' though. That'll mess him up."

"He looks pretty messed up to me already. Watch this," Henshaw whispered. He picked a spoon up off a nearby table and when 'dead man' had his back turned he flung it at him, hitting one of his shoulder blades. 'Dead man' jumped and did what appeared to be a funny dance as he circled in place, trying to figure out what just hit him.

The others laughed at this spectacle as White immediately came up with the perfect name. "I think we should call him Twitchy," he said and joined the laughter of those around him.


Normally when rebuilding a group such as this one, whoever the boss may be liked to make a little speech to ensure understanding of how things are supposed to work. Threats usually do the trick nicely. However, this was never part of the Joker's routine, who seemed to regard those he employed little worth the time of day, forcing them to adopt a 'sink or swim' attitude. As such, White was not surprised to see the boss make a brief appearance and look those around him over without interest. (Although White had caught a glimmer in his eyes upon discovering Twitchy). He quickly waved them off in a manner that said, "Do whatever it is you people do until I need you." Harley had followed behind him and singled White out by giving him a smile and a happy wave.

White's eyes grew and quickly darted toward the Joker to see if he had caught the gesture. Thankfully he had not, but Henshaw had and leaned over to his friend whispering, "What the hell was that?"

"I'm leaving," White squeaked. "Right now." He carefully made his way back outside into the alley, making sure he didn't attract any attention to himself. Henshaw followed closely behind him, not because he was trying to be supportive; he was simply, and understandably, very curious. If either man had looked behind them, they'd have seen Harley was rather confused as to White's quick departure after she had striven to be so friendly.

Once outside, White briskly made his escape from the hideout muttering "stupid bitch" under his breath.

"Alright, something is definitely goin' on and I wanna hear it. Didja do her?" Henshaw asked excitedly.

"Do you think I'm a fuckin' moron!" White demanded.

Henshaw seemed disappointed at that response. "Fine. So what did happen?"

"Nothing! Nothing happened! That's why this is so fuckin' stupid!" White ranted loudly.

At that moment they both heard the feminine voice of Harley call out to them: "Hey! What's your problem?"

Henshaw whipped around but continued walking, now backwards. "Oh my God, she's followin' us. What do we do?"

"Just keep walkin'," White said, beyond caring. "She's just a crazy bitch. You hear that?" he shouted behind him. "A crazy bitch!"

Henshaw instantly tensed at his friend's apparent loss of sanity and the look that Harley was now giving them. "I have a better idea. I'm gonna walk in the opposite direction of you as fast as possible. It was nice knowing ya." He quickly parted his friend, leaving him to his fate, though White didn't seem quite concerned about it.

"How dare you talk to me like that!" Harley yelled, now catching up.

"Like this: You're a crazy BITCH!" White responded and actually stopped to face her. "So what's it gonna be? You gonna kill me or are you gonna go back and get the boss? I'll wait here. Don't worry." He sat down on the curb of the sidewalk, defeated.

"I don't get you," Harley snapped angrily. "What makes you think I'd want you dead after I covered for you before?"

"Because you're goin' out of your way to get me killed. I'd like to get this over with quickly, although with the boss that's not very likely," White admitted, looking a bit nervous as his anger was subsiding.

"I'm not going to get him," she said sadly and confused as she sat down next to White.

"SEE? You're doin' it right now!" He waved her away. "Back off!"

"What?" she shouted in frustration. "What am I doing?"

"There are boundaries! Lines! Rules you aren't followin'! You people don't associate with my people. That's the way it works. If you start ignorin' that…things get messy. You're supposed to be treatin' me like scum and the fact that you aren't is makin' me very uncomfortable and will more than likely end with me six feet under." He sighed heavily before continuing. "Y'know, the fact that I'm havin' to explain this to you is only one example that proves you don't belong down here. Why don't you just go home?"

Harley's eyes began to water. "It's too late. I can't go back," she sniffed. Clearly she had already considered this option.

"Geez lady! Are you gonna cry? What is it you want from me! Do you think I owe you for givin' me a cover? I can deal with that. What can I do to make us square?"

"It's not like that!" she said, insulted. "I just…I guess I was just hoping I could find someone that I could talk to and wouldn't treat me like dirt. Clearly that is not going to happen here." She rose to her feet haughtily and, to her annoyance, White laughed.

"A friend? Is that what you were looking for? What the hell do you think this is? A clubhouse? We aren't nice people. I'M not a nice guy."

"You've made your point," she replied coolly. "See you around."

"Oh, I don't think you will. I'm not sure what I'm gonna to do, but I can't go back there."

"Yes, you can," she assured. "I'll treat you the way you want to be treated. At least you're explaining to me how this all works. Lord knows, no one else is. I guess that makes us square."

"Fine by me," White agreed.