Title: Crime Alley Couture
Author: Henchwenchesforhire
Beta: Sno-Chan
Disclaimers: DC owns all these characters and WB owns DC and Time Warner owns WB and I'm pretty sure the rest of the world.
Author Notes:
Gladrial: This is a true collaboration folks. The idea was completely SnoChan's. She provided a complete outline, several lines, and the opening paragraph. I filled in the rest with the great hope it met her expectations. As though I can do any wrong. The story is tons of fun. Enjoy!
Sno-Chan: To be completely honest, this whole idea came from an old comic cover on SuperdickeryDOTcom that had Jimmy Olsen dressing up as a woman, and a group of men catcalling to him on a street corner. That combined with Harley's outfit at the beginning of the episode "Harley's Holiday" snowballed into the masterpiece below. Huge hugs to Gladrial for bugging me to complete it and then actually writing it once she realized I was just sleeping rather than finishing the damn thing. Hooker Harley was months in the making! Enjoy!
July 6th Edit: A big thank you to all of our readers who helped bring this fic to a hit count of 497! And an even larger thank you to those who were so kind to leave a review: Cathedral Sins, robster72, safayi, and e nygma. We're so sorry we had to move the fic, but we encourage you to add us back to your favorites or even post another comment. Or the same comment if you keep records of that sort of thing! (In fact, we have saved the previous review page on each of our computers so that we may look at them and smile.)
Sno-Chan and Gladrial appreciate all of their respective fans, and hope that you'll continue to read the stories we so lovingly create for you.
"Crime Alley Couture"
Mistah J wanted cocoa, but not just any kind of cocoa. No, Mistah J wanted Swiss Miss with little Looney Tunes marshmallows. And when her Puddin' wanted something, Harley was right there to get it for him. That's why she was walking down the street at one in the morning, swinging a Shop 'N Go bag lazily at her side. Every ten steps she'd do a little hop, then a skip, then a half spin, giggling and popping her gum loudly. Just getting out of that stuffy dump they were staying in was reason enough to act happy, and the Joker hadn't been in the greatest of moods lately...
"Only my Puddin' would demand hot chocolate on the hottest day of the year," she thought airily on her way home.
She barely noticed the group of four guys in front of her, stumbling over one another and talking much louder than necessary. Harley recognized the type from her college days, frat boys who had more money than they could possibly need, provided to them by dear old dad back home. This particular group had obviously spent a great deal of their allowance on booze and were trying to prove their manliness by heading for the bad part of town.
Harley paid the drunks little attention; unfortunately, the same could not be said of them.
"Hey! Lookie what's comin' our way!" one said to the others, making sure he was loud enough to be heard by her.
What looked like the group's ring-leader had his arms crossed in front of his chest and was leaning against a street light pole. Harley wondered if he was trying to look macho or if he needed the pole's help to stay upright. "Hey baby! How's about showin' us a good time?" It was clear they were educated in street talk from the television.
"Oh boy, here we go," Harley thought. Typically, she wouldn't have given a second thought to teaching these morons a lesson, but her Puddin' was waiting and if there was one thing the Joker hated, it was waiting. She decided it was best to continue skipping on by.
As she began passing the group, 'ring-leader' moved in front of her and blocked her way. "I said 'how's about showin' us a good time'." He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. "I got fifty bucks with your name on it, babe."
Harley looked at him disgusted. "Listen buster, I may have slept my way through college, but I am NOT a hooker!" She stamped her foot defiantly.
"…What if we grade you?" another member of group asked. This sent them all into hysterics and Harley was quickly losing her patience.
"You've gotta be a hooker. It's one in the morning on crime alley and look how you're dressed!"
Harley looked at a reflection of herself in a window. She was wearing a pair of daisy dukes and a cut-off top, revealing most of her mid-drift. After examining herself for a moment she replied, "What's wrong with the way I dress?"
"Alright, alright, I see what the problem is." Ringleader pulled some more money out of his wallet. "Here's seventy."
Harley was fed up and she just couldn't keep Mistah J waiting any more. She jumped in the air and landed a kick to the boy's face. He hit the pavement with a satisfying thud. Harley happily continued on her way, while the other three boys fell to the ground with laughter.
"Dude, you just got turned down by a hooker!"
"I AM NOT A HOOKER!" Harley screamed behind her.
She rounded another corner and was nearly home...if you could call it that. The previous ordeal was already completely forgotten as so many things from the past had been erased from her mind. If it didn't revolve around the Joker, it really didn't matter.
As she was entering the alleyway where her Puddin' was waiting, a car swerved from one side of the road to the next on the otherwise empty street and came to a stop at the sidewalk in front of the alleyway. Out of the car came the same four boys that had been causing her so much grief earlier.
Harley was oblivious to what was heading her way as she searched for her keys hidden inside the beat-up purse she was carrying. "Rubber chicken, chatterin' teeth, there's my whoopie cushion!...damn key...where are ya...?"
"Okay babe," the persistent Ringleader approached her again. "You're obviously high-end material. I can recognize that. Together we pulled together three twenty-five, but you have to do all of us."
Harley looked up from her search tiredly. "Listen buddy, you just aren't getting it…"
"No, you don't get it. We aren't taking no for an answer."
Harley started to back away. She supposed she could get Mistah J, but she didn't want to disturb him. Of course, she really wouldn't have any problem taking care of these guys herself, but it might get noisy and that led to the same problem.
Unfortunately, her indecisiveness gave Ringleader enough time to land a substantial blow.
Inside, the Joker was tired of waiting.
"I swear to God, how long does it take to pick up something at the Shop 'N Go," he grumbled to himself as he put on his long purple trench coat and grabbed his cane from the abandoned meat hook it was dangling from.
He was going to go find Harley and drag her back here. He'd teach her a lesson she wouldn't soon forget. That was what he wanted…no…wait…he wanted something else…cocoa! First, he'd get his drink; then he'd drag Harley back here.
The Joker took his frustration out on the door and kicked it open with flourish just in time to see some stupid kid take a swing at Harley while three others cheered him on. Harley returned the favor by kicking him hard enough that he slid face down along the ground and came to a stop at the Joker's feet.
All the clueless kid could see were spats, a cane, and bright purple.
"Dude, are you her pimp? We got cash, tell her to put out!"
"Harley-girl, who are these idiots?" Joker asked irritably.
"Some creepos who followed me from the store! They thought I was a trick!" she explained.
One of the boys was smart enough to break from the group and took off as fast as he could, not bothering with the car. The other two standing behind Harley were frozen in terror. Ringleader still lay at Joker's feet now too afraid to move. He recognized the voice. Everyone in Gotham knew that voice. You heard it on the news every other day. He was even too scared to be embarrassed that he had relieved himself and made quite a mess on his new Abercrombie and Fitch khakis.
Joker addressed the two boys behind Harley first. "Don't take this personally," he said, pulling out his gun. "But one of you has already taken off. A single drunken kid is going to have a hard time convincing anyone what he saw here tonight, but several… You get the idea."
The guy on the left tried to find his voice, but was unsuccessful.
Joker guessed what he was trying to vocalize. "You won't say anything?" he asked goodnaturedly.
They both nodded their heads up and down frantically.
"Is that a 'yes, we will' or 'yes, we won't'? Well, better to be safe than sorry they always say." He blasted them both, unconcerned whether anyone heard the shots. Gunfire was a common occurrence in crime alley and generally no one felt the need to get involved.
During this exchange, Ringleader had found enough courage to attempt to crawl away. He didn't get but a few feet before being noticed.
Joker swung his cane as hard as he could and it connected with the kid's knee. The boy let out a howl of pain as he clutched his now shattered kneecap.
"You, however, may take this personally. Harley is my punching bag and mine alone!" He hit the same knee over again.
Harley swooned, somehow taking this as a compliment.
Joker started out slowly, taking his time with each swing. He noted with pleasure the noises that the kid emitted depending on what part of the body he hit. The best sound came when the cane met with his groin. Ringleader continued to try and crawl away but quickly became too injured to do much of anything.
Joker turned his cane upside down and placed the top of it on the ground as though it were a golf club. He meticulously lined up his shot and shouted "Fore!" The cane slammed against Ringleader's head and he fell unconscious.
The sound and the feel of his cane against the head of the boy sent a vivid memory through the Joker's mind. It was one of his favorites…only he was holding a crowbar then… The recollection sent him into a fury of swings as he played out the scene again until his cane crushed the kid's skull with the sound of a wet melon.
Lost inside his unstable mind, Joker continued to bash in the skull of the victim before him until the face was concave and indistinguishable. Blood and bits of grey matter splattered against him and his surroundings as he shouted, "The. Joker. Does. NOT. Keep. Whores." in time with each swing.
Harley could see how far gone he was and so made sure she was at a good distance when she cautiously said, "Uh…P-Puddin'…I think you got 'im."
Joker stopped with the cane raised overhead and looked down at his work, vaguely aware that he was not sure how long he'd been assaulting the body in front of him.
After a short pause he spat, "Well, of course I did!"
He sidestepped around the body casually walking toward Harley, while swinging the now bloodied cane. Harley backed away until she hit the brickwall behind her. Joker opted to drop the cane in order to place both of his hands against the wall on either side of Harley's head, preventing her escape.
"Harley, I think it's time we had a conversation about appropriate clothing choices," he began simply. "I can't have you parading yourself around the hired help and God knows who else looking like some floozy."
"But Puddin', I thought you liked the way I dressed."
He slapped Harley sharply across her face. Blood spurted from her lower lip and she instinctively placed her hands over her mouth. Joker forced her to release her face, and dipping down his head, licked the blood running from the corner of her lips.
Harley was understandably unsure of his intentions at this point, so she closed her eyes and held the plastic Shop 'N Go bag in front of her.
"Oh yeah!" His eyes lit up with recognition, and he stuck his head inside the bag. "With Looney Tune marshmallows!"
Joker took his head out of the bag and looked at Harley. "Come on, Harl. I'll let you make me my drink," he said in a much calmer voice.
They surveyed the area around them before going inside. "I'll have a couple of the boys clean up this mess," he said for no reason in particular.
It had just occurred to Harley what she assumed had been done for her. "My hero!" she exclaimed as she leapt and wrapped her body around him.
Joker's eyes went wide as he tried to decide whether the comment was funny or insulting.
"You're crazy, you know that?" the clown responded as he pulled her inside.
Epilogue
Greg was pleased to find that his paper was so well received by his instructor, not that he was really all that surprised. He threw his entire self into the assignment just as he did in all his studies.
Thoughtfully, Greg remembered what he thought of college before. He couldn't wait to get out of high school and away from his parents. With no authoritative figures present in his life, college was going to be one big non-stop party. Of course, his parents never really got in the way before, but not having to worry about what story to come up with or how best to sneak back into the house without being noticed would be heaven.
It seemed so long ago that Greg felt that way, but really it was only about a year. He'd had to learn some lessons the hard way. "At least I got the opportunity to grow up," he thought to himself remorsefully.
It was a nice day and Greg was sitting outside campus with some friends. They made it a habit to constantly pick on him about being immersed in his schoolwork. "You used to be fun," they'd often quip. Of course, they didn't really mean any harm in it and most of them were very supportive.
Greg had to admit that he wished he was alone at the moment though. He didn't particularly like the present topic of conversation. It always made him uncomfortable.
"My uncle saw him once," a boy continued. "He was a security guard at the time."
He had everyone's complete attention as they pressed him for details.
"What'd your uncle do?" one of the girls asked.
"Please," the guy sharing the story scoffed. "My uncle was just some underpaid mook trying to make his way. He did what anyone would do. Took off and called the cops."
The group slumped disappointedly. There were obviously no details that could be shared. But then, that was most often the case with people's Joker stories. Almost everyone in Gotham had one, whether it was passed down from a friend of a friend or simply made up for the sake of not being left out. They were all pretty much the same though. Very few had anything really juicy to share because most of the people that had any real encounter with the maniac ended up missing or dead.
"Just once," the girl complained "I'd like to hear one with some meat to it."
"No, you wouldn't," Greg finally spoke up after spending the majority of the conversation in silence.
She was fairly new to Greg, having just entered his circle of friends a few weeks ago. The girl looked at him curiously and was about to ask why he'd make such a comment when she was interrupted.
"Don't listen to Greg," Bryan, one of his oldest friends laughed. "He thinks he had a real run-in with the Joker, but he was wasted as hell when he told us about it."
Greg wasn't upset or surprised at the comment. He had long ago come to terms that no one would believe him. The young man often thought he deserved it out of guilt, because he shouldn't have abandoned his friends. He wanted to go to the cops and try to mount a rescue, but he was drunk and underage. He ended up going back to his dorm instead in hysterics. Everyone assumed the booze had gotten to him and that the rest of his group would show up soon. They never did. Greg ended up being the prime suspect in his friends' disappearance as he was the last one to see them. It didn't help that he had been characterized as a boozer with a tendency to get into brawls and a poor student. The case was eventually dropped due to lack of evidence, but most found his Joker story much too convenient. He had been stuck with a stigma that he had been trying to break ever since.
A few of his close friends had begun to believe there must be some truth to his tale simply because he stuck to it so adamantly. Bryan was one of those people. Greg turned to him solemnly and said, "You were lucky. If you remember, you were supposed to go out with us that night."
It was obvious that the thought had never occurred to Bryan before. The mood was tense until some jock bounded across the lawn to the group.
"FRAT PARTY!" he screamed and invited everyone present to join the fun that night. "It's going to be huge! I'm going to get sooo hammered!"
Greg said he wouldn't be able to make it. He had a final coming up and wisely added, "I don't drink" before returning to his books.