Harley tipped her black bowler in front of her black aviators, her eyes cast down at the wet sidewalk. The collar of her trench coat was popped, covering the scars she so usually so proudly wore - she was incognito today, slinking around Gotham like a cat who had killed the canary. Since the incident at Wayne Tower, the entire city had been on the lookout for the crazy, scarred-up clown girl who had caused over $1,000,000 in damage, killed an insurmountable number of people, and stolen, among other things, two police dogs.
Those police dogs, Bud and Lou, loped on a leash that hung by her side, their tongues lolling out of their mouths, eyes shifting cautiously. It was if they had sensed Harley's unwillingness to go out, and had been on edge for the month that they'd been together.
The trio stopped at a crosswalk, eyes straight forward, trying desperately not to attract attention. A balding, middle-aged man stopped next to her, peered down at the dignified looking canines at her side. He smiled. "What lovely dogs you have!" He exclaimed, extending a hand towards Lou. "Really, they really must be pure bred or - "
Lou emitted a low growl, his lip curling into a snarl. The man was silenced immediately, jerking his hand back quickly. Harley did not look at him, but patted Lou's tremendous head. "They don't like to be touched," she said plainly.
The crosswalk light changed to WALK, and Harley obeyed. A Rolls Royce screeched to a halt beside her, narrowly missing her by inches. Its owner layed on the horn, then rolled down the window. "Watch it lady!" He screamed. "Your stupid mutt almost got you killed! Maybe next time you should ask for a better guide dog!"
Her leather gloves tightened around the leash. If the streets were any less crowded, if she had the advantage of night fall, this prick would have been dead. But a police chase wasn't worth it, wasn't worth being caught. She said nothing, and continued across the street.
When she reached the other side, she made her way to a large, white stone building - Gotham's First National Bank. She sneered a bit when she pushed the large glass door open, almost embarrassed at what she was about to do. This was a mundane task, making a withdrawl, and Harley Quinn did not perform mundane tasks. If she'd had the manpower, the guts, she'd have pulled a machine gun and robbed the place. If she'd had Mr. J on her side...
She shook her head to rid it of the thought. It had been a long month without him, longer even than she cared to admit to herself. She'd had nowhere to live, and had taken on slaughtering motel occupants in order to stay in their rooms. Luckily Harleen had plenty of cash in her bank account yet, or she'd have had to rip off mob dealers, hold up grocery stores for the cash, not just for fun. She missed him, emotionally, physically, but she couldn't go back to him after what he'd done. He'd left her for dead, and no one did that to the Clown Princess of Crime. Not even the Joker.
Sometimes, this life was just too much for her to bear. She'd thought about turning herself in, about going to Bruce for help, about a lot of things. But in the end, the troublemaker inside won out.
She stood in the endless line, expelling irritated sighs. She looked at Bud and Lou through the bottom of her shades - they sat rigid, the very picture of discipline. She'd gotten away with taking them plenty of places; she'd pretended to be blind, and had gotten very good at doing so. The businessman in front of her sniffled, stifled a sneeze behind a cupped hand. He spun around angrily. "Is there a reason why you need two seeing eye dogs? Some people are allergic you know."
Harley's eyes narrowed, but her expression hardly changed. "One dog is for sight. The other is for running down assholes that harass me." She leaned in his direction, careful not to look him in the eye. "Bud killed a man once. Just bit right into his jugular vein. There was blood everywhere, you wouldn't believe."
The man nodded slowly, then turned back around. Harley smiled to herself.
When the last few people had made their transactions, Harley spoke into her sleeve.
"Harleen," she asked quietly, "what's your account number again?"
My God Harley, for being a criminal mastermind you sure are stupid sometimes.
"I didn't ask for your opinion, you stupid whore. I asked for your information."
A pause, a sigh from Harleen.
Look, why don't you just let me do the talking? I know the number, and you won't have to risk scaring the teller again. I don't want the cops called for a second time.
The line was dwindling. Harley hated to let Harleen take control, especially since she'd been doing it so often lately - being on the run meant attracting little attention to yourself, something Harleen was good at.
Harley bit her lip. "Ok, fine," she said finally, "just don't expect anything after we're done here."
As usual.
Harleen snapped into reality, the sudden jolt making her feel a bit nauseous. She could feel her hands, her feet, her body again, and smiled. It was always a joy to be able to take control of herself once again, no matter how short of an excursion it was. She rolled her neck, letting it crack, and stretched her arms towards the ceiling. This certainly was the life.
Bud and Lou tugged on her leash and lead her towards the counter. "Good afternoon," said the teller cheerfully, a large red headed woman in thick, black rimmed glasses. "How can I help you today?"
Harleen stared slightly to her left, playing up the fact that she was "blind." She placed an elbow on the counter and rested her cheek in her hand, strategically covering her scar. "Hi," she said, a warm smile spread across her face. "I need to make a withdrawl."
The teller reached under the counter and removed a slip of paper. "Alright," she said, "I'll just need you to fill this out..." She looked at Harleen remorsefully, at the dogs, at her dark glasses. "Nevermind, I can fill it out. I just need to know your information."
"Certainly," she said. "I need to make a withdrawl of five-hundred - "
BOOM.
The entire bank shook as debris and marble flew into the air. Harleen was knocked to the ground, and Bud and Lou shifted nervously, barking as if their lives depended on it. A great deal of smoke filled her vision, making it next to impossible to see much of anything. Other bank patrons lay scattered about on the floor, some trying to scramble to their feet, others unable to. When everything had settled, four or five men came walking out of the smoke. They screamed and barked orders at the patrons, pointing guns in their faces and making threats. They were nervous, rigid, looking as if this wasn't their idea.
Because it wasn't.
It was his.
Mr. J followed behind them, his gait slow and calm, a serrated knife held down by his side.
Harleen panicked at the sight of him, her breathing becoming shallow and short. Immediately, Harley tried to take control again.
I can deal with him a lot better than you can, and you know it!
"No Harley, you're not in your right mind. We're going to pretend we're just another blind girl, like we've never met in our lives."
First of all, when have I ever been in my right mind? Second of all, do you really think he isn't going to find us? Let's face it, you've got a few discernable characteristics etched into your face.
Harleen took a deep breath. "Ok," she said finally, eyeing the Joker as he made his way around the room, collecting cell phones and smashing them gleefully, "obviously we need to work together, whether we like it or not. We need to make a plan. We need to escape."
There was a pause as Harley sighed. You're right, she said finally. Get the money first, though. We need that.
Harleen nodded, then, with her eye on the distracted henchmen and ringleader, she nimbly leapt over the counter. Bud and Lou watched as she went, careful not to attract attention to her, laying down apathetically under the counter's edge.
The teller was huddled under the counter, a mess of tears rolling down her cheeks. Harleen grabbed her cardigan and drew her close. "Look, this is going to sound weird at a time like this, but I really need to make that transaction."
The teller did not respond, her eyes widening in disbelief, her sobs coming in loud waves. Slap her, said Harley.
Harleen slapped her lightly, and she gasped for air, finally calming down enough to look her in the eyes. "Did you hear what I just said? I need that money, and fast."
The teller wiped her nose. "Ok, ok. There's no reason to fill out the form now, just...just go in the drawer and get it." She pointed at a small pull out drawer behind Harleen's head.
Harleen reached up and opened the drawer, grabbing a handful of cash and stuffing it into her jacket. She turned back to the teller. "What's your name?"
The teller sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. "Angie," she said pathetically.
Harleen took off her glasses and grabbed Angie's arms. "Angie," she said, "you are going to make it out of this, ok? There is no reason for you to be crying. Trust me, I know."
She turned to leave, but the woman caught her wrist. "You're her, aren't you?" She asked. "You're Harley Quinn."
A panic light went off in Harleen's head, shared by Harley, but it was fleeting. Don't kill her, said Harley. She didn't do anything wrong.
A warm wave swept over Harleen as Harley's words sank in. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, her vision becoming hazy all at once. "No," she said, "I'm a bastardization of a woman named Harleen Quinzell." It was the first time she couldn't tell her she ended and Harley began, as if she were normal again, as if she were one person, for the first time in years. Her hands dropped from Angie's sides, and she took a quick look over the counter.
"Don't worry," said Angie, "I won't tell anyone."
Harleen smiled tightly, then leapt over the counter again.
"Alright," she said, "now what do we do?"
Harley sighed. I don't really know. I think if there was some kind of distraction, we could infantry crawl to the side door. She turned her head to the right, eyeing the glass door at the end of a long marble hallway. But that would be quite a long way to crawl.
"We couldn't crawl, we'd have to run, and we'd only have a few seconds. That would be enough time for the dogs to make it, but us on the other hand..."
I see what you mean. How would we even make a distraction anyway?
" "I don't know, I thought maybe you had a plan."
That was my plan.
"A large henchman's ears perked up at Harleen's conversation. He turned to her, gun raised, and started towards her menacingly. "You shut the hell up, you hear me?"
She stared up at him, her eyes wide, taken aback by this sudden unwanted attention. "I'm sorry, I just - "
"You're goddamn right you're sorry! You'd surely be sorry if I put a bullet right between your eyes!"
She swallowed, and her eyes darted towards Mr. J, who was slowly turning to face the confrontation.
"Look," she said quietly to the henchman, "I don't want any trouble, and you don't either."
So step the fuck back.
"So please, step the fuck back." The words fell out of her mouth, and Harley let out a little cackle. A few patrons gasped a little, and she went rigid for a moment, then relaxed. "Thank you, Harley."
The henchman cocked his gun and advanced on her. "You'll pay for that, you little bitch!" He pressed the barrel to her forehead, and she grabbed it, pinning it to the ground as the bottom of her shoe met his face. The gun flew out of his hands as they flew to his broken nose, which was now gushing blood. He stumbled backwards, a look of disbelief spread across his face.
Harleen laughed. "You look ridiculous!" She said. She peered down at Bud and Lou, whose noses were turned up towards the henchman, aching for some practice. She smiled. "Go get him," she said. They leapt at him, knocking him to the ground, their teeth buried in his tender spots. Another henchman closed in nervously, his weapon pointed at the ravenous canines. Harleen raised her gun at him. "Don't even think about it, or I'll put one right in your dick." The man backed away, lowering his weapon and silently witnessing his comrade, who screamed out in pain as blood and gore engulfed him, until he was little more than a twitching bloody mess on the floor.
A single pair of hands applauded, and a voice laughed manically. Harleen turned slightly to see Mr. J's polished loafers clicking across the marble floor, a skip in his step. "Harley, Harley, Harley Quinn! If it isn't the schizophrenic clown girl that everyone's been looking for! It's been a while, hasn't it, my pet?"
She raised the gun at him. "Don't come any closer."
He laughed. "I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?"
"You know damn well what you did wrong," she said. Bud and Lou came to her side, snarling and gnashing their teeth at him.
"Oh, come now. Surely you aren't still mad at me for that!"
She cocked her gun. "What do you think?"
He inched forward, his hands outstretched towards her. "Oh, darling, think of all the good times we've shared, all the good times we've yet to share! I was going to suggest we get a dog, that's the reasonable thing for couples to do when they live together, correct? I see you've already got a couple, and aren't they dashing!" He reached down to touch Lou, who snapped at him and let out a low bark. He yanked his hand back and laughed, jumping up comically. After a while, he cleared his throat and licked his lips. "Look, babes. The point is...uh, well, I'm a pretty sick guy. And you're a pretty, sick gal. We belong together. And I love ya, baby. I do." He inched so close that the barrel of her gun was touching his chest. "So if you think otherwise, I suggest you pull that trigger."
Harleen swallowed and closed her finger over the trigger. There was no comment from Harley, and no sound in the bank but the silent weeping of a few women. Bud and Lou snapped and snarled, waiting for the word, but it never came.
She lowered her weapon and stared down at the floor. "You're right," she said, holding back hot tears. "I am everything you say I am. And we really do belong together."
He laughed and forced his mouth into hers, and a tear fell down her cheek - not of joy or love, but of hatred for herself and everything that she was.
