Chapter Eleven
"You can't send a moron to do a lunatic's job!"
Harley Quinzel, the infamous Harlequin, slammed the newspaper containing a less-than-detailed report of Blockbuster's arrest on the desk.
"What do we do now, Boss?" asked her head henchman.
"Why, the same thing we do every day," she said, but one look at the culture-deprived idiot's face and she knew the joke was wasted. She waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Nevermind. What we do now is simple. We find the girl, we get the girl and we hand the girl over. Apparently nothing short of that will be payment enough to cure my puddin'."
She picked up the newspaper and began to reread the article, waling around the desk in a circle as she did so. She was wearing one of the Joker's purple shirts as a dress, her face devoid of any make-up, her hair pulled into pigtails. As before, there was no mention of the girl in the paper. Frustrated, she threw it down again.
"We lost our muscle and we lost the girl," she said somberly, then brightened. "But that's okay. We'll find her. We'll find her and hand her over and get Mr. J back. And when we do-" her hands curled into fists "-we'll tear this city down."