Harley was at that moment gingerly climbing out of the luggage hold of the broken down bus. She had snuck inside just before the bus left Gotham, and had instantly regretted her decision as she was tossed from one side of the compartment to the other by every bump in the road. By the time the bus had stopped, she was black and blue, but Harley was pretty used to that.
She had intended to pop out and surprise Mr. J when the luggage door opened…only it never had. She had heard familiar voices outside, arguing and tinkering with the bus, but then they had gradually disappeared. Harley had tried calling for help and banging on the door, but the interior of the bus was thick and pretty soundproof, and nobody had heard her over the noise of their arguments.
At last, after kicking at the door repeatedly, she managed to kick it down, and struggled out of the luggage hold. "This ain't Metropolis," she muttered, looking around.
"Were you the one who called the tow truck?" said a voice. Harley turned to see a man standing by a truck with a hook on the back, and a Metropolis license plate.
"Uh…no," she said, slowly. "But if I could catch a lift to Metropolis with you, that'd be great."
"This your bus?" he asked, nodding at it.
"Uh…no," she repeated. "I dunno where the driver is…"
Her eyes drifted over to a woman's body hidden behind the bus, her face sporting a huge death grin. "Was that really necessary, Mr. J?" she muttered.
"You say something?" asked the man.
"Nope," said Harley, hastily, stepping in front of the body and hiding it from view. "I dunno where the driver is, or whoever called you, but I'd be really grateful if I could get a lift with ya."
He shrugged. "Hop in," he said, attaching the hook to the front of the bus.
"So what brings you to Metropolis?" he asked as they drove away from the crime scene.
"Oh, I was trying to follow my boyfriend," she replied. "He has this conference in Metropolis, which he wouldn't let me come along to, even though all our friends are going. But he said I wasn't good enough to be in his precious little club, and that I wasn't his equal. Can you believe it? It's like feminism never happened, I tell ya!"
"Wow, he sounds like kinda a jerk," said the driver.
"Yeah, he can be," agreed Harley. "Still love the dumb clown, though."
"How can you love someone who treats you badly?" asked the driver.
"How can you not love someone you love, no matter how they treat you?" demanded Harley. "If you love them, it don't matter. Geez, doncha know anything about love?"
"Er…I guess not," said the driver, slowly.
"Sad," sighed Harley. "So anyway, I was gonna show up at this conference and prove to him that I'm just as worthy of being there as any of 'em. But it was gonna be a surprise, so I stowed away in the luggage compartment. But I guess the bus broke down or something and they left it and me, because they didn't know I was in there."
"So where is this conference?" asked the driver. "I can drop you off there."
Harley's brow furrowed in confusion. "Uh…I'm not sure," she said. "It's being hosted by Lex Luthor, so just take me where he is."
The driver stared at her. "Lex Luthor is a huge celebrity," he replied.
"Exactly. So it shouldn't be too hard to know where he is at any given time – what do we pay the paparazzi for, I'd like to know?" said Harley.
"Uh…well, I can drop you off at the main office of Lexcorp," he replied. "Someone there should probably know where to find him."
"Aw, thanks, that'd be great," said Harley, beaming.
The driver pulled up in front of a huge office building. Harley thanked him, waved him off, and then strode into the lobby.
"Hi, sorry to bother you, but do you know where the Injustice League conference is?" she asked the receptionist.
She looked up in confusion. "The what?"
"Injustice League conference," repeated Harley. "Y'know, the secret society of supervillains that Lex Luthor is hosting?"
"Uh…no," said the receptionist slowly. "Sorry, you are…?"
"The name's Harley Quinn," replied Harley. "You might have heard of me – I'm the Joker's girlfriend, and equal. And I'm looking for Mr. J, who should be with Mr. Luthor at this conference, so if you can just tell me where Mr. Luthor is, I'd really appreciate it."
"Mr. Luthor is…currently unavailable," replied the receptionist. "He's out of office at his corporate spa."
"Great! And where's that?" asked Harley.
"I really can't give out that information," retorted the receptionist.
Harley sighed. "Ok, I understand," she said, nodding. "Guess I'll just…oh my God, look, it's Superman!" she shouted, pointing behind the receptionist.
She turned quickly to see nothing out of the ordinary. Turning back, she saw that Harley had gone and thought nothing of it…until she realized her address book had disappeared.
She picked up the phone, intending to call Mr. Luthor at once and report what had happened. But then she remembered his stern order to his staff before he left, telling them not to contact him under any circumstances while he was away. She hesitated for a moment, considering her options, and then dialed a different number. "Hello? I need to speak to Superman, please."
…
"I need you to relax, Professor Crane, or this won't do you any good," said Luthor's masseuse, as Crane lay face down on the table in front of him, covered in a towel.
"I'm sorry, it's terribly difficult to relax when you've had to drag a man behind you for twenty miles," retorted Crane. "I don't think the pain will ever go away."
"It will if you just relax," repeated the masseuse. "And I can't do my job otherwise. I'll just go see to Mr. Luthor and Miss Ivy – I'll be back in a few minutes. Try to have relaxed by then. Think of something pleasant."
Crane sighed as the man left. "Easy for him to say – every muscle in his body isn't on fire," he muttered, trying to get comfortable on the massage table. He winced in pain, and then remembered the masseuse's advice. "Think of something pleasant," he repeated. "Pleasant. Now let me see, what would that be?"
The door opened suddenly again, and a different masseuse entered – a woman this time. Crane didn't notice anything about her apart from that, still trying to concentrate on thinking of pleasant things. And then he was startled back to reality as she whispered, "Hiya, Johnny!"
Crane looked up to see Harley standing above him, smiling. "Harley…" he began, shocked.
She put a finger to her lips. "I'm in disguise," she whispered, gesturing to her plain clothes. "I'm trying to infiltrate the Injustice League conference without anyone noticing. But I didn't know where it was, so I tracked Luthor to his spa, and I'm gonna tail you guys when you leave here together. Don't give me away, ok?"
"Uh…n…no, of course not," he stammered.
She beamed. "You're a pal, Johnny," she murmured. "Now let's see about that massage."
"Harley, I really don't think…" began Crane, but any objection he had to Harley's plan vanished instantly the moment she placed her hands on him.
"Mr. J says giving a massage is one of the few things I can do competently," continued Harley, cheerfully. "How does that feel, Johnny?"
Harley was competent with massages, and even if she wasn't, Crane wouldn't have noticed – this was already by far the most erotic experience of his life, and the first time a woman's hands had ever come into contact with any part of his flesh. He managed a strangled cry in response, which Harley correctly interpreted as a good sound.
"Boy, you really are tense," said Harley, continuing to rub him. "You need to learn to loosen up, Johnny. Think I'll give you the full body treatment – you feel like you need it. Is that ok?"
Crane managed a nod, shutting his eyes and trying to savor every moment of this. It was completely worth dragging the Joker twenty miles.