The Arkham Club certainly didn't look like much from the outside, thought Harley, as Jack pulled up the stolen car in front of an ugly, dreary-looking building with faded paint and peeling letters through which Harley could just make out the name of the place. Steps led up to a solid, iron door with a small slit at the top, that looked more like the entrance to a prison than the entrance to a club.
Jack opened the door and held out a hand to help her from the car. "Don't look so nervous, kiddo!" he chuckled. "You're gonna knock 'em dead! Just look at you!"
"I feel like an imposter," she said. "I've never worn anything this fancy or expensive…what if I say or do the wrong thing and people find out I'm just some dumb waitress…"
He kissed her firmly, silencing her. "You ain't dumb," he said. "And you ain't a waitress. You're my doll, and she's the most classy, beautiful, intelligent girl I've ever know. And that's without even trying," he added, grinning. "Just be yourself, Harley. That's more than enough."
Harley beamed, kissing him. "What did I ever do to deserve you, Jack?" she asked.
"Brought me coffee!" he chuckled. "And a steak! Do that and I'm all yours, baby!"
Harley giggled as she followed Jack up the steps. He rapped sharply on the door, and the slit at the top opened.
"We're closed," snapped an unpleasant voice.
"It's Jack. Open up," said Jack.
"Don't know any Jack. Go away," said the voice.
Jack sighed. "The password is loco."
The door instantly opened to reveal a huge, hulking brute of a man. "Good evening, Señor Napier, and welcome," he said.
"Thanks, Mr. Bane," said Jack, pulling out a few bills and sliding them into the man's suit pocket. "Something for yourself, my good man."
"Muchas gracias, Señor," said the man. "Señorita," he said, bowing slightly to Harley. "Enjoy your evening."
Harley smiled nervously at him, thinking he could probably crush her neck with just a few of his fingers, and with minimal effort. But her attention was immediately drawn away from the strange man as she and Jack descended down the stairs into Arkham.
The first thing she noticed was the noise – peppy jazz music blared through the club from the band seated on stage, surrounding a very attractive red-haired woman in a long, close-fitting green dress who was singing into a microphone. The lights were focused on her, and the rest of the club was very dark, the figures seated around the tables facing the stage mostly hidden in shadow.
Suddenly, Harley recognized a familiar figure and did a double take, as Jack pulled out a chair for her at an empty table near the stage. "Is that…the District Attorney?" she gasped.
Jack chuckled. "Yep, that's Harvey Dent!" he laughed. "You see him around here a lot. This club has all kindsa distractions for him. One in particular," he said, nodding at the red-headed woman singing on stage. She flashed a smile at Dent, a strong, well-built, attractive young man who sat in front of the stage, smoking and staring at her with a kind of possessive admiration. He was just as handsome as in his posters that were plastered all over town, and that had won him an almost unanimous election, thought Harley. But he wasn't nearly as handsome as her Jack.
"Good-looking guy, huh?" asked Jack, casually.
"You jealous?" she asked, grinning at him.
"Don't have anything to be jealous about, baby!" he chuckled. "Do I?"
"Of course not," retorted Harley. "Anyway, he ain't as handsome as you. I'm just surprised to see him here, is all. You said this place was full of crooks."
Jack laughed. "And what makes you think the DA ain't a crook?" he asked. "Most of City Hall is. That's how things are in Gotham."
"J, welcome back to my humble establishment," exclaimed a short, fat man with a cigarette holder and monocle, approaching them.
"Always good to see you, Pengers!" chuckled Jack.
"Please don't call me that," snapped the man, with a scowl. "And who is your charming companion?" he asked, smiling as he turned to Harley.
"This is Harleen Quinzel, my doll," said Jack. "Harley, this is Oswald Cobblepot, the owner of this joint. Though he's more casually known as the Penguin."
"A name not of my own choosing, nor one I am overly fond of hearing," retorted Cobblepot, glaring at Jack. But he smiled again, bowing low and kissing Harley's hand. "My dear, you are most welcome. Mr. Napier is a very lucky man. Could I bring you both some light refreshment? Perhaps some lemonade, which Mr. Napier keeps us well supplied with?"
Jack chuckled. "Yeah, two sparkling lemonades for me and my doll, Pengers," he said.
Cobblepot waddled off as Harley looked at Jack in confusion. "Lemonade? I thought you said…"
"It ain't real lemonade, kid," laughed Jack. "Sparkling lemonade is slang for champagne."
"Oh. Champagne," said Harley. "I've…never had champagne before."
"You're in for a treat," said Jack. "This is the good stuff. Home brewed, of course, like all hooch nowadays, but the guys I get it from are geniuses with that kinda stuff. Best moonshine anyone's ever tasted. Even splitting it with the two of them, I make a very tidy profit," he said, lighting up a cigarette. "In fact, I'm meeting 'em here to give them their cut, but I don't see 'em yet," he said, looking around.
"Hard to see anyone in this place," commented Harley.
"Well, the folks who come here sometimes don't wanna be seen," said Jack, shrugging.
The woman on stage had reached the finale and peak of her number, and Harley turned to stare at her, impressed. "Wow, she's really good!" she said to Jack as the whole club burst into applause.
"She knows it too!" chuckled Jack.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for the beautiful and deadly Poison Ivy!" said the conductor of the band, as the woman curtseyed to cheers and wolf whistles. "We're gonna take a quick break, and then we'll be the back with the sultry stylings of Miss Selina Kyle, the Catwoman! Don't go away!"
The woman, Poison Ivy, sauntered off the stage and over to the table where Harvey Dent sat. He held open his arms to her and she curled up into his lap, kissing him lustfully.
"Boy, Ivy is killing it tonight, Pengers," said Jack, as Cobblepot returned with two glasses and a bottle of champagne.
"I'm glad you think so – I think she's been distracted and slightly off ever since her courtship with our illustrious DA began," muttered Cobblepot, biting down on his cigarette holder as he glared over to where Ivy and Dent were entwined in a passionate embrace. "I'm going to have a word with her about that when she gets a free moment."
"Good luck," chuckled Jack. "She ain't gonna give him up, and he ain't gonna give her up."
"Then I might have to start looking for a new star," retorted Cobblepot. "What about you, Miss Quinzel? Have you ever performed?"
"You mean sing up on stage in front of a buncha people like that?" asked Harley. She laughed. "No, I ain't ever done that! I'd be scared stiff!"
"Aw, I'm sure you'd be great, baby!" chuckled Jack. "Maybe Pengers will let you try it sometime, huh?"
"You'd be welcome to audition, Miss Quinzel," replied Cobblepot. "You've certainly got the looks."
"She does, doesn't she, Pengers?" said Jack, grinning at Harley as Cobblepot waddled off. Jack raised his glass. "To my beautiful Harley doll. Cheers."
"Cheers," said Harley, beaming at him. She sipped her champagne, and then choked, coughing it up. "Sorry…wasn't expecting that…to be so bubbly!" she gasped. "Or strong!"
Jack laughed, kissing her. "Lemme get you some napkins," he murmured, standing up and heading over to the bar.
Harley wiped down her dress as best she could, flushing in embarrassment. "Do allow me, miss," said a voice, suddenly.
She looked up to see a mild-looking, tall, thin man with red hair and glasses holding out a handkerchief to her.
"Aw, gee, thanks, mister," said Harley, taking it from him and smiling.
"Professor," he corrected. "Professor Jonathan Crane. And I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss…" he said, bowing and kissing her hand.
"Harleen Quinzel," replied Harley. "You're a teacher?" she asked, surprised to see one of those in this den of thieves too. "What do you teach?"
"Psychology, at Gotham University," he replied.
"What's psychology?" asked Harley.
"It's a relatively new science - the study of the mind," he replied. "How it works, what ails it, and how we can cure it."
"Wow, that sounds really impressive," said Harley. "So what are you doing here?"
"I'm meeting someone," he said, glancing at his watch. "Someone who's late. As usual."
"Well, it gives you time to sit down and have a drink, I guess," said Harley. "Just be careful what you order – this place serves alcohol, which is actually kinda illegal."
"Does it really?" he asked, surprised. "I had no idea this was an establishment of that sort! I am positively shocked!"
"Johnny, there you are!" exclaimed Jack, returning with a pile of napkins. He clapped Crane on the back, and then reached into his pocket and handed him a wad of cash. "Here's your cut for the last shipment of booze."
"…yes, thank you, J," snapped Crane, pocketing the money.
"Oh. So…you're not a teacher?" asked Harley.
"I am, part-time, but this pays so much better," replied Crane.
"Have a seat and join us – I see you already met my doll," said Jack, pulling out a chair for him.
"Your doll?" repeated Crane, his face falling in disappointment. "Oh. I see. Yes. Well, she's positively charming, and if I may say so, quite the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"Thank you very much, Professor Crane," said Harley, smiling at him.
"Jonathan, please, my dear," he said.
"Johnny's one of the guys who makes the moonshine," said Jack. "He supplies it, I distribute it."
"I also supply the facility for its production, and help with the fermentation process," said Crane. "It's quite fascinating stuff."
"Yeah, Jack says it's the best moonshine available," said Harley. "How do you get to be so good at making that?"
"Well, it's actually all a matter of chemistry, my dear," he replied. "Basic chemical processes that can be synthesized in a lab, but on a larger scale…"
"If I wanted to be bored by chemistry lectures, Professor, I would've stayed in school," interrupted Jack, sipping his glass of champagne.
"It certainly wouldn't have done you any harm," retorted Crane.
Jack smiled at him. "Where's your partner tonight?" he asked.
"My business partner will be here presently," snapped Crane.
"Oh. Kinda thought you two lived together," said Jack.
"We do, but that doesn't mean we're always together," retorted Crane. "I mean, we do spend a lot of time together making and processing the alcohol, but we're not always together…"
"Jonathan, there you are!" said a voice, as a small, immaculately dressed man in a top hat came over to them. "It was my understanding that we were driving here together, but you had already gone when I got home from the factory and I was forced to take a cab." He spoke with an unfamiliar accent which led Harley to believe that he was not a local.
"I was just saying to J how we're not always together," muttered Crane. "Anyway, you were late."
"I was perfectly on time, as always," retorted the man, pulling out a gold pocket watch. "I am never late, but especially not for very important dates. And getting paid certainly counts as a very important date."
Jack laughed, tossing a stack of bills at the man. "There's your cut, Jervis. Let me introduce you to my girl, Harleen Quinzel. Harley, this is Jervis Tetch, Johnny's partner in the moonshine production business."
"Charmed, my dear," said Tetch, kissing her hand.
"You're not from around Gotham, are you?" asked Harley.
"Not originally, no – I am from England," he replied.
"England?" repeated Harley. "Wow. You've come a long way to break the law!"
She flushed in embarrassment, realizing that she should think before she spoke. "Sorry, that came out wrong, I mean…"
"No offense taken, my dear, I assure you," interrupted Tetch, with a smile. "When a law is nonsense, I should think one almost obliged to break it. To obey it would be madness, especially when there is such profit in disobeying it. But this country seems to have been taken over by madmen recently. We English consider alcohol our natural birthright. The idea that the law could ban it is positively abhorrent, against nature, and just plain nonsense. Not that I drink myself, but people should certainly be allowed to if they want to."
"Yeah, it's a matter of individual freedom," agreed Jack. "Personal liberty. The law needs to keep its big nose outta it."
"What's this about the law?" asked a voice. Harley turned to see that Harvey Dent had come over to their table with Poison Ivy on his arm.
"We weren't talking about you, Harvey," said Jack, with a grin. "Nothing wrong with the size of your nose, or where you stick it. If only people in your position across the country were so entirely reasonable."
"Well, of course, if the District Attorney's office had any knowledge of any illegal activity being performed, we would have to act on it," said Dent, lighting up a cigarette. "But the DA's office doesn't have any knowledge of such activities."
"Of course not, Harvey," chuckled Jack. "Glass of lemonade?" he asked, holding up the bottle of champagne.
"Thank you, J," he said, pulling up a chair. "Who's your friend?" he asked, nodding at Harley.
"This is my doll, Harleen Quinzel," said Jack. "Harley, the District Attorney, Harvey Dent, and his doll, Pamela Isley, better known by her stage name Poison Ivy."
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dent - I voted for you," said Harley.
"Always a pleasure to meet a supporter," said Dent, kissing her hand. "Mr. Napier is a very lucky man to have such a stunning creature on his arm. But I believe not quite as lucky as me," he added, kissing Ivy.
"You sounded great," said Harley, smiling at Ivy. "Must be so scary singing in front of a crowd like that. I mean, glamorous, but scary."
"Not really," replied Ivy. "You don't even have to hit every note when you're an attractive woman singing in front of a crowd of men. Mostly their attention won't be on your voice."
"Yeah, Pengers was saying he's noticed you're not hitting every note," chuckled Jack. "Blames you for being distracted by a certain lawman, though."
"The little creep thinks he owns me just because he pays my salary," muttered Ivy, taking her glass of champagne from Dent. "He actually told me that he thinks I'm getting above myself just because I refuse to see other guys but Harvey after the show. Nygma keeps pestering me especially, and I've told him no a thousand times. It'll be a cold day in hell before I service that little rat. But Penguin says it's bad for business, because men come here expecting a certain amount of privilege with the performers. I told him he should go hire prostitutes if that's what he wants," she snorted, as Dent lit her cigarette for her.
"Maybe he will!" chuckled Jack. "Not that the DA's office would have any knowledge of that, of course!"
"Rumor is you got a job going down later tonight, J," said Dent, puffing on his cigarette. "Which of course the DA's office has no official knowledge of."
"Yeah, simple bank heist at Gotham National – I'm taking Harley along," said Jack. "Think she'll like to watch. She does have kinda an attraction to danger."
"Clearly, to be involved with you," retorted Crane.
"Yeah, it shouldn't be too dangerous though," said Dent, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "The security there's pretty lax, and the police response time has been regrettably shoddy lately. It's almost as if someone's had a word with the Commissioner."
Jack chuckled. "Thanks, Harvey, you're a pal."
"I'll be expecting ten percent, as usual," he replied. "Which I think is quite reasonable for a kickback."
"Nobody could ever accuse you of being an unreasonable guy, Harvey," laughed Jack, grinning.
He smiled. "Well, if you'll excuse us, Miss Ivy and I have some things to do in the privacy of her dressing room," he said, standing up and taking her hand. "See you later, gentlemen. Miss Quinzel," he said, bowing and kissing her hand again. "Such a pleasure to meet you."
"Yeah, we should probably get going too," said Jack, glancing at his watch. "Don't wanna be late for my own heist. When's the next batch of moonshine gonna be ready for distribution, boys? Demand's real high, and the customers have been breathing down my neck lately."
"It'll be a few days," said Tetch. "But there should be plenty to go around, don't worry."
"Great. I'll see you boys then," said Jack, clapping him on the back.
"It was so very nice to meet you, Miss Quinzel," said Crane, kissing Harley's hand. "Please do come here again."
"I will," said Harley.
"And do take care of yourself on the heist tonight," said Tetch. "Not all of us have the stomach for such dangerous criminal activity."
"Don't you worry, boys – I'll look after my doll," chuckled Jack, kissing Harley's cheek. "C'mon, baby, let's beat it."
He led her back up the steps out of the nightclub just as another attractive, dark-haired woman in a close-fitting black gown took the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Selina Kyle, the Catwoman!" shouted the conductor, as the band struck up another lively, jazzy tune. The giant man opened the door for them, and then they were outside, in the dreary, dark, silent streets of Gotham, the music and laughter and conversation shut out with the door after them.
Jack chuckled, kissing her. "You look a little shell-shocked, baby. What's the matter?"
"Just…I've never been anyplace like that," said Harley. "It was loud and fun and exciting and just…wow!"
Jack laughed, helping her back into the car. "Trust me, kid," he murmured. "You ain't seen nothing yet."