Chapter 3

Jerome began to feel odd about his relationship with Harleen. She had been with him and his posse for nearly three weeks now, traveling with them from hotel to loft to warehouse. Accepting her request to not to return home, Jerome had taken her blood-spattered dress from the ice cream parlor heist and dumped it in an open lot along with a few strands of her hair and one of her shoes.

Some of his goons had been sent to go out and get her new clothes after she'd been wearing the same cotton shorts and t-shirt for days, but they returned with mismatched items that were all too long and too loose for her.

Jerome finally took her himself-two towns over from Gotham, and waited outside while she ran into a thrift shop and bought necessary clothing articles with stolen cash. Even though the clothes were much less fancy and name brand than she was used to, Jerome would catch her in the bathroom standing on the edge of the tub looking at herself in the mirror, absolutely delighted.

Harleen slept in the bed with him every night and hardly left his side except for when the gang went on a crime spree and she was left alone in the hotel room or back of a stolen van.

One day, during a bank heist, she tried to go inside with them. One hand on the van door, Jerome pressed his other hand-holding a pistol-sideways against her.

"Not you, Tink," he said, and hopped out of the van, slamming the door behind him.

A few minutes later, one of the goons returned and climbed into the van. Harleen, from her spot on the floor in the very back (so she could see the bank directly), stared at him as he shut the door behind him.

"Boss thinks you might try and follow us in," he said simply, relaxing in the seat in front of her.

Harleen said nothing. She hardly ever talked to the others and was practically glued to Jerome and he did most of the talking anyway.

The goon turned his head to glance back at her. He was tall and overweight with a shaved head and tattoos and reeked of body odor. Most of them usually did-even Jerome until he showered and then he always smelled nice.

"Come up here," he coaxed. "Sit with your Uncle Mumbles."

Harleen did as she was told, climbing over the seat to sit beside him.

Mumbles breathed heavily through his mouth, staring into space, his tongue hanging out a little. He was absolutely revolting. Harleen shifted uncomfortably beside him.

"Miss your folks?" He asked.

"No," Harleen said, and meant it.

She tensed slightly when he patted her leg.

"You're a good kid," he said and then rubbed his hand up and down her jean-clad thigh.

Harleen stiffened as his hand moved to her inner thigh, resting there. She looked up at his face and he grinned.

"You're pretty," he said, caressing the inside of her thigh with his finger tips. "So pretty."

Harleen moved away from him then, but he suddenly got to one knee and that made him seem even bigger in the cramped space of the van. He leaned over her.

"Come on, Baby doll," he said. "Nobody has to know."

Harleen went for the door handle then, but he grabbed a fist full of her blonde hair, making her scream. When she screamed, it seemed to excite him and hurried to move partially on top of her-his knee between her legs.

"Everyone knows I was put away for murder," he said. "But the girls I murdered-they were like you. I like them young and pretty, and I always made sure to make them feel special before I offed 'em."

Harleen struggled beneath him, trying her best to push her legs back together. She began to cry when he used his meaty hands to force her knees apart.

"Shh," he said. "It'll feel so good, Baby doll, I promise."

"Get off of me!" Harleen sobbed, her tiny hands trying to fight his large ones.

The sound of the van door opening startling Mumbles and Harleen could see the glint of a knife as it struck him between the shoulder blades. He fell practically on top of her and she saw Jerome standing over him, a frown on his face but under the dark eye makeup, she saw more than just a frown. She saw anger. He stabbed Mumbles again, and again, again.

"Touch my kid!" He snarled, removing the knife with some force it was in so deep and then planting it in a new spot.

"Boss, please!" Mumbles gasped out, coughing up some blood.

"Please what?" Jerome asked. "Please stab you more? Certainly. Here goes!" He stabbed him again in a wound he already had.

"You're boning the bitch every night!" Mumbles choked. "What difference does it make?"

Jerome rolled him over and swiftly put the knife in his face.

"What I do with her," he said, removing the knife and sticking his thumb in the wound, making Mumbles cry out. "Is my business. Nobody touches her."

The others arrived shortly, looking worried and confused at the sight before them, but they knew better than to say anything about it. They loaded into the van with the loot and were on their way. It was an awkward ride back to the warehouse with Mumbles bleeding all over the place and moaning. Jerome stared at him, trying to look bored or even mildly annoyed, but Harleen knew better.

"When we get back to the warehouse," he said. "He dies."

Harleen was still shaking, but not from Jerome. She wanted more than anything to hold onto him like a small child.

She didn't see Mumbles after they got back to the warehouse and she was forced to stay in the van yet again as they all dragged him away out of sight. After about twenty minutes, Jerome and the others got back in the van and headed for a loft. Once they were there, Harleen stayed on Jerome's heels as he barked orders to his cronies and made threatening phone calls to people she didn't know on a burner phone. He wasn't being his usual chipper self and was releasing anger in every direction, except hers.

Once they were in their room for the night and had both showered-Jerome with a clean face and red hair (the way she liked him), they settled down on the bed to watch television. Jerome looked at her and asked, "You okay?"

"Yes," she said.

It was becoming routine for her that when Jerome shut off the television and the lights, that meant bedtime. Very rarely would she fall asleep before that, but it had happened once or twice. She watched as he got up to shut off the light and when he crawled back into bed, he said quietly, "I should have never sent him back outside."

He rolled over onto his stomach. Harleen mirrored him, lying on her stomach, turning her head to look at him with her blue, blue eyes.

"I don't want to be Harleen anymore," she said suddenly. "I want a new name, like how you're called the Joker now."

"Bubbles," he said flatly.

Harleen scoffed. "No."

"Funky chicken."

"No."

"Harlequin," he said simply.

"What's a Harley Quinn?" She asked, misunderstanding.

"It's your new name, Kiddo," Jerome said, and rolled onto his back, throwing his arms up dramatically into the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the Joker and his lovely assistant, Harley Quinn!"

Harleen laughed and tried it out under her breath, "Joker and Harley."

They were silent after that, their breathing becoming slow and deep.

"Jerome?" Harleen whispered.

"Mm."

"Jerome?"

"I said 'Mm'. Jesus."

"I want to be part of the group too," she said, snuggling up against him. "Okay?"

Jerome said nothing.

"Okay," Harleen said in her best impression of him. It made him snort, even with his eyes closed. She smiled.

Jerome slept, but a half state of sleep. He kept circling back to how odd he felt about Harleen. He had never cared about anything in his life and never would-his mother had made sure of that with all of her beating and insulting, but he found himself protective of little Harleen, and part of that was wanting to keep her away from what he was, even if he loved what he was, but he wasn't sure if that's what he wanted for her.

Almost two years later and she was still with them. Of course, now she was Harley. The name Harleen was dead. She was nearly sixteen, even though she looked fourteen, and ran around on heists with the boys. She'd actually developed into quite the sidekick. She was small enough to fit through tight spaces and was agile as all get out.

Jerome had a new gang, a better gang, a whole underground kingdom even because the name Joker was a household name. He no longer needed to steal his victim's fuckpads or credit cards to get hotels. These things were handed to him now by criminals longing to be part of his group.

Of course, once all was said and done and the makeup was washed away, he was Jerome again, and Harley liked him as Jerome.

For her fifteenth birthday (her new official birthday being the day she was renamed), he'd carefully painted her face black and white, deep in concentration as he did so. Harley liked moments like that-the moments he was human. During crime sprees she would wear her hair in pigtails and black and white makeup. Her fourteenth birthday, she had felt vulnerable in her colorful dress, and now with a mask to hide her face, she didn't mind standing out so much.

"Jerome?" She asked one morning as she sat down with him to eat breakfast in the penthouse one morning.

Jerome was sitting on the top of the table cross-legged in his pajama bottoms and tshirts, his red hair a mess.

"Mmhmm," he said through a mouthful of cereal, checking something in the paper, most likely looking for himself.

"I want to kill someone," Harley said, like she was asking if it was okay to borrow the car.

"Who?" He asked, sounding bored.

"Well, no one in particular," Harley said, moving to sit beside him. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, but let it go when she realized she didn't have a hair band on her. "I just feel like I should be doing it too."

"Is this that thing they call peer pressure?" He asked with a serious face.

Harley smiled. "Come on."

"Your first kill should be special," Jerome said, getting off the table to drop his bowl in the sink. "It can't be just some nobody."

"Yours was your mom, right?" Harley asked.

"That was indeed very special," he replied, grinning at her.

"Okay, well, there was this girl at my fourteenth birthday party," Harley said.

"She stole your nail polish," Jerome guessed.

"She..." Harley felt her face flush, remembering how bad she still felt when Kristen and the others had showed everyone her underwear. "She did something really mean to me. She hated me."

Jerome nodded. It made him boil to think that anyone could have been mean to his Harley. The kid was so sweet.

"Why the sudden need to kill?" He asked.

"I just feel like I don't belong sometimes," she admitted. "I mean, you take me along and everything, but you treat me so fragile."

Jerome pulled her close to him by her arms, making her yelp and rubbed his nose against hers. She laughed through her teeth.

"That's because you're my sweet girl," he said, playfully pretending to bite her. "Come on, you can help me test the new ball gags that came in. We're going to have a lot of fun with some stuffy, rich scumbags tonight."

Harley pulled away from him, giving him sad eyes.

"Yeah, okay," she said, and gave him a small smile. "Piggyback me?"

Jerome, who still towered over the petite Harley squatted down and hoisted her onto his back. She wrapped her hands around his neck.

"All aboard to to torturetown," he said, spinning in a little circle before half jogging to another room.

Harley loved the way Jerome handled himself. They'd abducted five of Gotham's snootiest do-gooders. Harley wasn't exactly sure what their titles were, but they were the kind of people her parents kissed up to. People who turned their noses down at everyone else. People who had probably made fun of other people's drawings when they were kids and humiliated them at their birthday parties and tried to get fresh with girls and vans and-

Before she knew what she was doing, Harley had taken a metal bat out of one of the newest goon's hands and swung it at one of the abductees, striking them half in the face, half on the side of the head. He cried out behind the ball gag and she dropped the bat. Jerome slowly looked at her.

"Harley," he said, like a father playfully scolding their adorable toddler.

"I'll go back upstairs," she said, losing her nerve, her face flushing.

Jerome snapped his fingers at her and then gestured for her to come back. She came back and he put his hands on her slim shoulders.

"Do you really think you're ready to kill?" He asked, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

Harley nodded. He nodded too, and walked over to a table full of weapons and torture devices.

"Take your pick, Kid," he said.

Some of his goons exchanged sly smiles as Harley looked between all of the weapons. It almost felt like the pictures she'd drawn so long ago were coming to life. She picked up a handgun.

"Good choice for a beginner," Jerome said.

Harley looked confused about what to do next, so Jerome took her by the shoulders and walked her over to the man she'd struck with a bat. The others cheered her on.

"Go, Harley!"

"Get it, Girl!"

"Yeah!"

Jerome motioned for them to be quiet. Harley stared right into the man's eyes as she fired the pistol, deliberately missing and the bullet hit the wall. She looked at Jerome and hurriedly put the gun in his hand, running out of the room.

She ran to the room she shared with Jerome and hurriedly washed off her makeup and undid her pigtails. She then stripped down to her panties and changed into a tshirt and pajama bottoms and crawled into bed, covering her head with the covers. She heard Jerome come up sometime later, laughing and joking with some of his men, and he opened the door a crack and then closed it. She didn't see him again until he was climbing into bed beside her.

"Harley?" He asked after several seconds of silence.

She hoped he would fall for her possum trick.

He sighed and brushed some of her blonde hair with his fingers.

"You're a good kid," he murmured. "The best."

To Be Continued...