Harley managed to drop off to sleep eventually, because the loud beeping of the alarm clock suddenly woke her up. She groaned, reaching to turn it off and rising reluctantly out of bed. Her roommate had already left for her classes, and so Harley dressed quickly and headed across campus for her first class, which also happened to be her favorite – criminal psychology, with Professor Jonathan Crane.
She was normally very engaged during his lectures, but today her mind kept wandering back to Mr. J. It was rare that anything could distract her from learning more about her favorite subject, but she couldn't help it – she just couldn't focus on anything else but him.
Professor Crane seemed to notice, because he asked Harley to stay after class. She obeyed, hoping she wasn't in trouble. "You look tired this morning, Harley," he commented.
"Yeah, I had kinda a late night last night," agreed Harley. "Didn't get much sleep."
"I understand a lot of my students spend their nights partying, I just wasn't aware you were one of them," he said with a smile.
"Oh no, I wasn't partying," said Harley. "I was working. I have a job at an all-night diner downtown – we don't get many customers, so it's usually a good time to study. I was trying to come up with a topic for my final paper last night, but I got…distracted by a customer."
"Working is very admirable, but I don't want you tiring yourself out," he said. "You're an excellent student, Harley. It would be a shame to let your potential go to waste because you burned out trying to juggle too many things."
"Well, I kinda have to work," she said, shrugging. "My folks can't help me pay for college, and the scholarship I'm on only covers so much. The price of textbooks alone is crazy expensive."
"Yes, I know," he agreed. "I just hate to see you struggle. A bright, young mind such as yours shouldn't have to worry about money – it should just worry about improving your academic performance."
"Yeah, that'd be nice," agreed Harley. "But I don't think it's how the world works."
He smiled. "So did you manage to come up with a topic for your final paper in the end?" he asked. "I'd be happy to offer any assistance you may need."
"Sorta," she said. "I want to write about criminal motivation – what makes someone commit crimes. And I don't mean people who steal food out of desperation or anything like that – I mean people who choose to do criminal activity, even though they have lots of other options. I want to understand the psychology of someone who knows it's wrong, but does it anyway, who freely chooses to do evil. I want to understand what's going on in their minds."
"That sounds like a very complex topic for 5,000 words," commented Crane. "It also sounds like you'll need to do a lot of research. Will you be able to find the time, with your job and your other classes?"
"I think so," she said. "I always try and make time for the things that matter. And since I want to have a career in criminal psychology, this matters."
"Well, I look forward to reading it," said Crane. "Now why don't you go home and get some rest?"
"I can't – I got more classes today, and then work again tonight," said Harley.
"Don't you ever get any time off?" he asked. "It sounds exhausting."
"It is, but…I kinda look forward to it," said Harley, smiling. "I have…nice customers."
"I find it hard to believe that anyone could look forward to any kind of customer service, but then I've never been a people person," said Crane. "Someone like you, who takes a genuine interest in others, could probably find it rewarding."
"You take a genuine interest in your students, professor," said Harley. "So you must care about people a little."
"Only certain people, and only certain students," he replied. "Which is why I get concerned when they look like they're distracted in class. I could bear almost anyone else tuning out, but not you – you have so much potential if you just keep applying yourself."
"Thank you, Professor Crane," she said. "And don't worry – I'll be more rested next time."
She sincerely hoped that was true. She hoped she'd be able to sleep better tonight, even if Mr. J did visit again. He had to. He just had to. But the thought suddenly occurred to her that maybe he'd go home early tonight after his early morning appointment – maybe he'd have had a long day, and would want to go straight to bed. She had to prepare herself for disappointment. But she hoped whatever his early morning meeting entailed, it wasn't anything that would keep him away from her.
…
Just as the sun rose that morning, Jack Napier was helping the rest of the gang unload the shipment of guns they had smuggled out of a newly docked ship in Gotham Harbor. "What an ungodly time of day," he muttered, yawning.
"It's the only time the Bat ain't out," retorted Sal Valestra, who was overseeing the operation. "We can't do it under cover of night, or he might see."
"I guess bats are strictly nocturnal creatures," agreed Jack. "Still, I'm more of a night owl than an early bird myself. The sooner we get rid of Batman, the sooner we can go back to smuggling at night, like normal criminals. Speaking of which, I got some ideas on the whole Bat killing thing. I've been studying him, see, and I think I figured out how we can set a trap for him."
"A trap?" repeated Valestra. "Using my haul as bait, I suppose?"
"Just this once," said Jack. "But then once the Bat is dead, you'll have no one to interfere with your very profitable criminal enterprise. We all have to make sacrifices – it hurts me not being able to kill the other gangsters, but you don't see me complaining."
"That's a no, Jack," retorted Valestra. "I'm not willing to risk my stuff or my guys just to take out the Bat."
"But crimes are what lures him out of wherever he's hiding," protested Jack. "We've got to stage some kinda crime, or he won't ever come, just like you gotta be asleep before Santa comes on Christmas Eve. Or he'll suddenly show up when we're not expecting it, and kick the crap outta us. I wanna get him before he gets us – my face is too pretty to have it broken."
"Now Jack, this truce is no bad thing for us," said Valestra. "And while you know I ain't the biggest fan of the Bat, he's been less of a pain in our ass than in Falcone's and Maroni's. I say, why mess this sweet truce up by trying to take him out? He's less of a danger to my operations than the other two families are, so I think the best course of action is really to do nothing. If the others take him out, fine, but I think we should remain neutral in this."
"What do I look like, Switzerland?" demanded Jack. "It's the principle of the thing, Sal! We can't let some caped freak bully us into changing our way of life! We're already ruining our body clocks and getting up before dawn just to avoid being spotted by that lunatic! And he's making us check our natural impulse for violence against the rival gangs! I ain't comfortable with anyone pushing me around like that, and certainly not some nutjob in a costume!"
"You know what your problem is, Jack?" demanded Valestra. "You got no sense. Everything's just whims and impulses for you. You don't think about the bigger picture, or the long-term strategy, just whatever's fun in the moment. That's why you'll never amount to anything. Guys who get to the top in this game need intelligence and strategy, not to give into every random thought in their head. And the smart thing to do right now is take advantage of this truce, ramp up our criminal enterprise, and leave the other guys to brood over the Bat. He doesn't scare me. Sure, he's clearly nuts, but insanity don't scare me, or I would have fired you ages ago. Now shut up and get back to work."
Jack glared at him, but obeyed. He had really been looking forward to getting rid of Batman, to trapping him and ripping off his mask just before he ripped out his heart. It would have been fun, trying to outsmart a lunatic. It definitely would have been a challenge, which crimes rarely were for Jack anymore. He had been longing for an adversary worthy of his talents, and Batman certainly appeared to be that.
But now he had to hold back his natural genius from asserting itself, and let all his lovely plans go to waste. It wasn't fair.
After the guns were unloaded, they were taken to a warehouse for distribution to the various suppliers, but that was the other henchmen's job, not Jack's. The rest of Jack's day was spent collecting Mr. Valestra's protection money from the people residing in his area of the city. Valestra always sent Jack to do this work, since he was very good at getting the money out of people, either through threat of punishment, or actual punishment. They always paid up when Jack came knocking.
Or almost always. Jack knocked on the door of an apartment that afternoon, which was opened by a large, nervous-looking, balding man. "Hi Tony, how's tricks?" asked Jack with a smile.
"J…Jack," stammered the man, fear shooting into his eyes as he became even more nervous. "What…what do you want?"
"The same thing I always want, Tony – it's never a social call!" chuckled Jack. "I don't make a habit of socializing with pimps. But your girls do business in Mr. Valestra's territory, so he needs you to pay for that privilege. Right now."
The man gulped. "But…but Jack, I don't...business has been slow, and…and the girls have been sick…"
"You don't have the money, is that what you're saying?" finished Jack.
"No, I don't, but…but if you could give me a little more time, I'll pay you with interest," said Tony. "You can even help yourself to one of the girls, free of charge. What kinda women do you like?"
"Not the kind of women you exploit, Tony," retorted Jack, suddenly shoving his way into the room. He looked around at the dozens of empty bottles in the squalid apartment. "You drank the protection money, is that it?" he demanded.
"No, no, I swear!" exclaimed Tony. "It's the girls' fault – they're being lazy, and not soliciting!"
"Then you gotta make 'em, Tony," growled Jack, rounding on him. "It's not right to make Mr. Valestra suffer for your poor management skills, and it's a bad boss who blames his team for failure. But I think you're a goddamn liar. I think those girls work their asses off for you, and you take all their hard-earned cash and blow it on drink, because you're such a pathetic waste of space, you can't face the failure you've become without being constantly drunk off your ass. It's a bad habit, Tony, and you're gonna break it. Right now."
He seized one of the empty bottles and smashed it over Tony's head. He fell to the ground with a cry. Jack dropped the bottle and reached into his suit for his gun, and began pistol whipping Tony as he writhed on the ground, screaming. Jack stopped beating him at last, reaching for another bottle and smashing it so that only the serrated top of it remained. He knelt over Tony, bringing the broken glass toward his face. "You'll remember the consequences for drinking every time you look in the mirror," Jack murmured. "They'll reflect back at you in a nice, big smile."
"No, Jack, no! Please! Jack! No!" cried Tony, but that was all he was able to say before his words were lost to high-pitched screams, as Jack carved a smile onto his face.
Jack left him bleeding and sobbing on the ground, wiping the blood from his own face with a handkerchief. He left the apartment and went back down the stairs, where a few sickly-looking, scantily dressed women were gathered at the street door. "You might want to get him to a hospital before he bleeds to death. Or not," said Jack, tipping his hat at them as he left the building.