Harley started her shift that night, and the few customers the diner had gradually dwindled out. She had brought her psychology textbook with her again, and pretended to read it, but her eyes kept drifting to the door in the hope of seeing Mr. J.
At last, the bell over the door rang, and Harley looked up and beamed at her customer. "I was afraid you'd be too tired to come see me after your early meeting," she said.
"Well, it has been a long day, but I needed a shower anyway," said Jack, taking the seat opposite her at the counter. "Had some dirty work to do. And I thought what's the point of getting myself all cleaned up if I ain't going out? Seems like a waste."
"I'm glad you did," she said, pouring him a cup of coffee.
"How were your classes today?" he asked.
"Fine. I'm trying to do some research for my final psychology paper," she said, nodding at the book. "I got a few weeks yet, but I wanna get a rough draft done as soon as possible so Professor Crane can read it – he always gives such helpful feedback."
"What's the paper about?" he asked.
"Why people choose to commit crimes," she said.
"Well, there are all kindsa reasons for that," said Jack. "Most of 'em boring – money, personal gain, that kinda thing."
"I don't see how crime can be boring, no matter the motivation," said Harley.
"Sure, there are all kindsa boring crimes," said Jack, shrugging. "Tax evasion, for one thing. Though I don't consider hiding money from the IRS a crime, more like a patriotic duty. They're the real thieves."
She giggled. "So you'd commit that kinda crime for noble reasons, huh?" she asked. "As a rebellion against the system?"
"Yeah, the motive could be good, but the crime's still boring," said Jack. "The best reason for committing crimes is for fun."
"Fun?" repeated Harley. "I don't think that's a reason listed in the book…"
"Just trust me," said Jack. "I…know a guy like that. Old pal of mine – we grew up together, and he commits crimes for fun."
She stared at him. "You know a criminal?" she asked. "What kinda crimes has he committed?"
"Oh, all sorts," he replied, shrugging.
"Has he ever been to prison for them?" she asked.
"A few times," he said, nodding. "Not very long stretches though, and then he's back out on the street. They've never been able to make anything big stick to him."
"But he has committed…big crimes?" she asked, slowly. "Murder, that kinda thing?"
Jack nodded. "Quite a few times, I might add."
"Can I meet him?" asked Harley. "It sounds like he'd be a great source for my paper."
"Now I wouldn't want him meeting a pretty girl like you – he might get ideas," said Jack, smiling at her.
"Please, Mr. J," she said. "I'm gonna have to get used to dealing with criminals since I'm going into criminal psychology. And you could be with me the whole time I interviewed him."
Jack shook his head. "He wouldn't like me gossiping about him, and he wouldn't like you asking him a lotta questions. But I know him really well, we're bosom buddies, so I can probably answer any questions you might have for him. C'mon, just pretend I'm him, and ask me anything."
"All right," said Harley, nodding. "How can crime be fun?"
"How can it not be, unless you do it wrong and pick the wrong crimes?" he asked. "I can't imagine embezzling is a fun crime, for instance, since most of that is just covering your tracks with complex calculations, and I've never been a math guy. That's a boring crime, but there are all kinds of fun crimes to choose from – anything that puts you in mortal danger, really. Nothing makes you feel alive like it. It's like riding a roller coaster – your heart is pounding in fear, but you've never felt more alive. Real fun crimes are thrilling, and there's no thrill like 'em. That's why my friend does them – it's not the kinda high you can get from anything else, not drugs or alcohol or anything. It's something more fundamental than that, something more primitive inside you, the thrill of doing wrong. If you're a religious kinda person, it's that thrill that started the world, with the whole Eve and the apple story. And I ain't a religious person, but I agree there's something primeval about that urge, and something transcendent in satisfying it. It's that rebellion against authority, that unleashing of chaos into an orderly world, that really is a joy beyond measure."
"Sounds like a kinda delayed adolescence to me," said Harley. "Professor Crane says that people go through different stages growing up, and you rebel during your teenage years, but you grow out of it…"
"Do you?" interrupted Jack. "I mean, a lotta people claim to, but did they naturally grow out of it, or was it clamped down on? Weren't they taught that rebellion was unacceptable, and that you had to follow the rules to get along in life? I tell ya, toots, there are millions of people out there stuck in stuffy offices, working crappy, dead-end jobs, who would like to rebel, but the world has beaten the fight outta 'em. If you don't keep standing up to authority every time it tries to break you, it crushes you down, and then when you wanna stand up next, you won't be able to. You'll just quietly accept whatever you're given, because you don't have the strength to fight anymore. And a lotta people ain't strong enough to fight their whole lives for what they believe in, or even to fight for their own self-respect. It's hard work, but it's also fun, because it means you're free. And there ain't no thrill like freedom, the freedom to do whatever the hell you want. Knowing that your destiny is in your hands, not the hands of some boss, or some teacher, or some government who tells you what to do. Crime is the ultimate freedom, and there's no fun like that."
He took her hand. "See, if you were free, and not stuck in this job all night, I could take you out on the town. We could go dancing someplace, and just think how much fun that would be. Think about how you'd rather be doing that than hanging out here studying all night. But you ain't free, because you got this job, because you gotta pay for college somehow. But if you were a criminal, you could rob a bank, for instance. You'd probably only have to rob one to pay for your whole college career, and then you'd be free to do other stuff, stuff you'd rather do than work or study."
"I enjoy studying," she said. "And I enjoy working when you're here."
"You'd also enjoy breaking the rules a little," he said. He reached into his jacket for a cigarette, and lit it up. "Here, you ever tried one of these?" he asked, removing it from his mouth.
She shook her head. "It won't taste very good," he said, handing it to her. "But just try it, and tell me how you feel. Knowing that it's bad to smoke, knowing that there's a big No Smoking sign hanging over your head there," he said, pointing to the sign above the counter, which threatened a fine for doing so. "Tell me how it feels to do the wrong thing, to risk being punished for doing something you wanna do, and that you should be allowed to do. It's just the two of us, and you ain't hurting anyone by smoking, except maybe yourself if you take it up long term. So why should the law be allowed to tell you not to do that, under pain of punishment? Why not tell it to go to hell?"
She took the cigarette from him, and put it to her lips. Her hands were trembling as she inhaled it – she had never done anything like this before, neither the smoking nor the breaking of the rules. Mr. J was right in that it didn't taste good at all – the acrid taste of tobacco made her gag. But as she exhaled the smoke, which wreathed up around the sign above her head, as she breathed in the tainted air again, as she did this bad thing she had been told from childhood not to do, as she broke this taboo that society frowned upon…there was a kind of thrill in it, a kind of illicit feeling that made her body tingle. Or maybe it was just the way Mr. J looked at her, intense and expectant.
She nodded slowly. "You're right," she said. "It is thrilling."
He chuckled, taking the cigarette back. "And that's just a little bad thing," he said. "Multiply that feeling by the scale of the crime you're committing, and you can imagine what a big crime feels like."
"But it can't be fun to be afraid of getting caught," said Harley. "Of getting locked up, or worse. What about fear?"
He shrugged. "After awhile, you ain't afraid anymore. Fear is all they got, the people who wanna stop you, and once you see through that game, it don't work on you anymore. Like this Batman guy – I think he thinks criminals are a cowardly, superstitious lot who will stop committing crimes if he just beats the crap outta 'em enough. He thinks the fear of punishment will stop crime in its tracks. But he doesn't understand anything about the criminal mind. Sure, there are people that kinda deterrent would work on, but they were into crime for the wrong reasons anyway. He'll never stop the people who aren't afraid anymore. People like…my friend," he finished.
Harley nodded slowly. "This is great stuff, Mr. J," she said, reaching for a notepad and writing down what he had said. "This will help me knock the whole paper out in no time. But I gotta cite my source. What's your friend's name?"
"Uh…his name…" stammered Jack, whose mind suddenly and unhelpfully went blank. "His name…is…uh…Jack."
"Same as you?" she asked.
He shrugged. "It's a pretty common name, ain't it?"
"Well, unlike you, he can't be just Jack if I'm gonna cite him," she said. "What's his last name?"
Think of any of your mob colleagues. Think of any other name but…"Napier," stammered Jack. "Jack Napier. He's been a professional criminal for…a long time. He works for Salvatore Valestra, head of one of the Three Families."
"What are the Three Families?" asked Harley.
"Really? You're majoring in criminal psychology and you don't know about the Three Families of Gotham City?" asked Jack. "You'd better wise up, kid, and fast. They're the three gangs who run this town, and everything in it. Or at least everything criminal, which is almost everything in Gotham. Normally they're at each other's throats like cats and dogs, but they've called a truce at the moment. They're trying to take down this Batman guy, so they're temporarily transferring their lust for blood from each other to the flying rodent."
"I guess that's good," said Harley. "Then fewer innocent people will get caught in their turf wars. It's probably better for everyone that they focus all their attention on Batman."
"I'm betting he won't last long against my friend," said Jack. "Batman ain't gonna know what hit him."
"Your friend sounds like quite an interesting person," she said. "I'd like to meet him someday."
"You wouldn't be scared, meeting a guy like that?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I probably should be. But I've always had an attraction for extreme personalities. I don't think he'd scare me."
Jack was bursting to tell her the truth, but somewhere his conscience asserted itself – she would be frightened, whatever she said, and she'd never look at him the same way again. She wouldn't be smiling at him now, gazing at him with kind and compassionate eyes, eyes that would be terrified and repulsed if he revealed the truth…
"Well, I gotta…get going," he said, standing up. "Had an early start today, and I'm beat."
"I appreciate you stopping by," she said. He reached into his pocket to pay for the coffee, but she caught his hand as he withdrew the money. "Don't worry about paying – I owe you for helping with my essay," she said. "I do want you to promise one thing though."
"What's that?" he asked.
"Promise me you'll let me meet Jack Napier someday," she said.
Her wide, blue eyes gazed at him pleadingly, and Jack found himself nodding despite himself. "I promise," he said.