Harley Quinn’s Vacation

Gotham State Penitentiary’s famous Arch Criminal Wing housed some of the most brilliant, albeit deadly, criminal minds anywhere in the country. Doctor Harleen Quinzel studied the inmates professionally, trying to help them reform. Her job was very demanding and required her to employ a variety of subtle techniques when relating to the prison’s inmates an uninformed observer might not readily understand. At least, she told her superiors it did. In reality, the line between what was and was not permissible occasionally blurred.

Pamela Isley, better known to the world as Poison Ivy, had just returned to Gotham State Penitentiary. While she was awaiting trial on new charges, her parole had been revoked, landing her back in the Arch Criminal Wing.

During processing, she had requested a session with Doctor Quinzel. Warden Crichton was happy to grant the request.

“I understand,” Pamela Isley cautiously began, “you occasionally provide your patients with special help.”

“I’m here to help you in any way I can,” the pretty, blonde doctor said encouragingly.

“Yes,” her patient continued. “The kind of help I’m talking about takes the form of little favors, like slipping the Joker those cigars he isn’t allowed to smoke.”

“Well,” the young doctor said, “you’re right about one thing. This prison is a non-smoking facility.”

The titian-haired, arch criminal frowned. “Of course, word is you like Joker, so let me give you another example.” The doctor was aware of the steadiness of her patient’s gaze as the women spoke.

“Maybe you should,” the pretty, prison staffer encouraged. The smile never left her lips, but a razor-sharp edge imbued her voice.

“No problem,” Poison Ivy responded, pretending not to notice. "Toddi Thelms told me she saw Max Chessman as a possible future employer and you arranged some private ‘interviews’ between them while they were both still here. Some of these meetings were quite lengthy, and I understand the most recent ones went on overnight.”

Toddi was a Briton who had worked for Eivol Ekdal, when the strange, Albanian genius had embarked on a plan to terrorize Gotham City with an army of zombies. Now that she was out, she worked at the Chessman Hotel casino in the Chessmen Building. Her duties revolved around stolen merchandise.

Doctor Quinzel steepled her fingers and regarded the other woman. “The rumors circulating around here become more and more strange as time goes on. Let’s imagine, however, a few of these wild, old stories have some . . . basis in fact. My position could easily become somewhat . . . awkward. So, some kind of . . . incentive . . . would likely be required.”

“Toddi gave me an idea of your rates.”

“I believe we’re about to make considerable progress in your case,” Doctor Quinzel said. As she went on, the edge in her voice softened. “I want to be very clear on this point. Toddi should have told you my rates depend upon what is needed to grant the hypothetical favor.”

Poison Ivy grinned. “Then, you do provide such a service?” she triumphantly asked.

“Unofficially!” Doctor Quinzel confirmed, holding up a hand. “You must understand, we are talking as doctor and patient. Therefore, nothing we tell one another can be used to incriminate either of us. That being clear, please tell me how I can help you, Pamela?”

“Before I left here, I quietly developed some pheromones in the prison lab. Now that I’m back, I need your help to line up some test subjects,” the botanical beauty said.

“I see,” the young doctor said. “You’ve developed pheromones for humans that attract members of the opposite sex, in the same way certain animals attract their mates in nature?”

“Precisely,” the redhead replied.

“What sort of test subjects did you have in mind?”

“Well, Doctor, I thought I’d ask you to put some guards in the vicinity of my girls–”

“Your girls?” Harleen interrupted, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “You mean your old Ivy League Gang?”

Poison Ivy nodded.

“When they got here, they were each mad enough to rat you out to anyone who was asking questions.”

The Botanical Beauty shrugged.

“I’m serious,” Harleen insisted, her Brooklyn accent becoming more pronounced, “If I’m goin’ to help you out, it would be foolish to . . . employ . . . rats with whom my partner had a fallin' out?”

“I understand your concerns, Doctor. It’s true I had to put my helpers in their place after they tried to dictate my agenda by bringing resources of which I was perfectly well aware to my attention. It’s also true I let them go, after they utterly failed me.”

“Then, how can we rely on them, Red?” Doctor Quinzel demanded.

“Let’s just say we’ve all . . . patched up our differences,” Ivy said.

“I don’t get it.”

“The girls understand I need lab rats and, given the nature of the experiment, they’re interested in returning to my good graces,” the villainess elaborated. “So, if you could get a few male guards near Veronica, Nancy and Betsy, we might discover whether the chemical attraction works. We’d also need some privacy, so whatever may . . . er . . . transpire can run its course.”

“Guards aren’t allowed to fraternize with prisoners – especially with prisoners of the opposite sex.”

“I know, but most male prisoners would love to get my girls alone, so using inmates as test subjects would not demonstrate the effectiveness of the chemical. Male guards, on the other hand, would at least demonstrate something if they broke the rules and succumbed to the chemical – and other – stimuli.”

Doctor Quinzel grinned like a Cheshire cat, nodding. ‘I think this experiment would provide a new and beneficial experience for a few of our more strait-laced guards,’ she thought. ‘Recording the experiment might provide additional opportunities.’ Aloud she said, “When would you like to conduct your tests?”

“The sooner the better,” Poison Ivy replied. “So, I take it you can help me?”

“I might be able to arrange somethin'.”

“Excellent, Doctor,” Poison Ivy said, smiling.

“Now,” Doctor Quinzel said, her eyes glittering, “can you pay?” Poison Ivy nodded and the remainder of the women’s meeting was taken up with intense haggling.

At the end of the week, Doctor Quinzel passed Poison Ivy as the prisoners left the exercise yard. “It’s test time,” the blonde said. “Join me in my office.”

“Right,” Poison Ivy said. She made a point of passing her sisters-in-arms in the shower and locker area. As they passed, Veronica; Nancy; and Betsy each nodded with a wolfish grin.

Nancy and Veronica screened Betsy from view as the white-haired henchwoman curled up on a nearly empty shelf of a metal cabinet on which clean towels were kept for the inmates. After the doors closed, leaving her alone, she looked at the luminous dial of her watch . . . .

Hours later, she emerged from the cabinet and pulled a tiny, glass bottle from where it had been taped to the bottom of a shelf. She took her shower before carefully spreading the liquid over her bare shoulders; eradicating her fingerprints from the bottle; throwing it away; wrapping herself in a dry towel she fastened in place with a knot; and carefully brushing her hair. As she worked, she smiled at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Right on time,” Betsy murmured, glancing at her watch on the dressing table.

She had just finished when the guard stepped through the door. “Freeze, lady!” he authoritatively demanded, stepping into the shower area with his gun aimed at her. “Hold it right there! Don’t move a muscle!”

“I may inadvertently shiver a little. It’s always chilly here before dressing.”

“Oh,” the guard said, unsure exactly how to respond.

“On the other hand,” Betsy continued, turning her head to smile at him and noting he had lowered his gun, “maybe you make me shiver.”

“What?” the guard demanded. “I warn you, I’m armed.”

Betsy stood, turned, and took a step toward him. “Oh, I can see that. I’m certain your weapon is very impressive.”

“I will not respond to threats.”

“I’m in no position to threaten you, handsome,” Betsy pointed out, her voice tinged with humor.

“You . . . you’re not. Are you?” the guard hesitantly said. He glanced at the gun he had forgotten he was holding and put it away.

“I’m unarmed,” Betsy said, grinning. “In fact, I’m quite helpless. If you need me to do so, I can prove everything I’ve said . . . ”

Indeed, it would have been nearly impossible for her to conceal a weapon beneath her towel, which did not really conceal what it covered.

“I—”

“. . . if you absolutely insist,” Betsy concluded her offer, ignoring the guard’s uneasiness.

“That won’t be necessary. Please raise your hands.”

Betsy smiled and raised her arms. The towel clung to her every curve. “Yes, sir. I’m fully prepared and willing to surrender,” she said.

“Good . . . now, tell me . . . what you think you’re . . . doing here?”

“Waiting for you, handsome,” she replied. “I’m told you give magnificent massages.”

The guard suddenly felt warm. “What? Who . . . told you . . . I . . . give massages?”

“You must give great massages,” Betsy insisted, grinning wolfishly. “You have such big, strong hands.”

“You . . . were … waiting . . . for . . . me?” He stepped toward her, despite the beads of sweat he could feel forming on his forehead. “Um. It looks like you take . . . pretty good care of yourself.”

“I work out. My name is Betsy, by the way.”

“We–” the guard began. He cleared his throat and started over. “You can’t stay here.”

“I’d hoped you would give me a massage,” Betsy said. She pointed to the massage room. “In there. The Warden spent all that money on it. It would be a shame not to take advantage.” She giggled mischievously. “Don’t you think?” Betsy stepped closer to him and noted how his breathing had become more rapid. She thought she could hear his rapid heartbeat when she lowered her arms so that they encompassed his neck.

“We’re really not allowed–”

Betsy leaned forward and kissed him. He responded slowly, but enthusiastically as she drew him toward her. “Just who is supposed to make that decision?” she huskily asked, after their kiss broke.

“Well . . . I am.”

“Then, unless we’re reported, there should be no problems. Right?” Betsy reasoned aloud. Her mouth remained close to the guard’s and he could feel her hot breath searing his cheeks and lips as she spoke.

“Well . . .” the guard began, hesitating.

“Come on,“ Betsy coaxed. “Give me a massage.”

“I can’t see how that would hurt anything,” he said. “I suppose we could keep it a secret.”

“Please,” the white-haired woman said. The single word seemed to have been exhaled and her breath was hot, almost steaming.

The guard picked her up and carried her to one of the padded massage tables. “I should at least search you,” he said, grinning and tugging gently at her towel after setting her down.

“Help yourself,” Betsy invited, grinning from ear to ear as the guard leaned over, kissing her. Seconds later, her towel hit the floor.

“I’d say your pheromones work, Pamela,” Doctor Quinzel said, turning from the monitor where she and Poison Ivy watched Betsy draw the guard onto the table above her and her hands slowly begin exploring.

“So far,” Poison Ivy said, jotting something down on a pad she balanced on her knee. “It’s time you earned the excessive amount of money I paid you.”

“You mean, loopin' the video feed so your girl can get her ‘massage’ without bein' disturbed or puttin' on a show and gettin' you your clothes isn’t enough?”

Poison Ivy had changed into the leafy leotard, bright green nylons, darker green boots and gloves, as well as the wrist mounted dart launchers she typically wore when working. She set her pad aside and leaned back to regard her doctor with flashing green eyes. “If that’s all you planned to do–”

“I’m just kiddin', Pam,” Doctor Quinzel said, raising a hand. “I’m goin' to see to the next few steps of our plan personally, because of your generous consideration.”

Poison Ivy grinned. “Very well,” she said. “When?”

“Now,” Doctor Quinzel answered, returning her patient’s smile as she stood. “Stay here until I get back.”

Pamela Isley laughed. “Touche’.” Then, under her breath she asked, “Where does she think I would go in the middle of an experiment?”

The blonde psychologist walked to the cell where Poison Ivy’s other henchwomen dozed. Veronica, the brunette in the top bunk, climbed down. “Is it time?” she asked.

Doctor Quinzel pulled a glass vial from her pocket and broke the seal before passing it through the bars. “You know what to do with this?”

“Oh yes,” Veronica said. “Come on, Nancy. It’s time to go to work.”

The blonde woman sat up on the bottom bunk and pulled off her prison-issue shirt. “Let’s do it,” she said, stretching out face down.

Veronica poured half the liquid from the vial onto her cellmate’s bare back and began to vigorously rub it into Nancy’s flesh. “That feels great,” Nancy said. “Does it work?”

“It works,” Doctor Quinzel said, taking a key from her pocket. “Hurry.”

Nancy and Veronica traded places and Nancy massaged the rest of the chemical into Veronica’s bare back. “Now,” Veronica asked, “whom do you want us to ‘entertain?’“

“I think the guys who guard the Joker would make excellent subjects. They’re both strong, good-lookin', and very dedicated to their jobs.”

“That means they don’t flirt with the Doctor,” Nancy said, rubbing her arms after putting back on her shirt.

“So,” Veronica said, picking up on Nancy’s line of thought as she rubbed her own arms, “if we can draw them away from their prisoner, we can assume it’s the chemical talking?”

“Not exclusively,” Doctor Quinzel said, “however, if you wanted to put the experiment in extremely crude terms, you’d have just nailed it, so to speak. Ready?” She opened the cell.

“Let’s go,” Poison Ivy’s henchwomen said. The Doctor drew the cell door nearly closed without letting it lock after retrieving the empty vial.

As they approached their targets, Doctor Quinzel began speaking quietly in a businesslike manner. “There are two of them–”

“Obviously,” Veronica said.

“Listen,” the prison psychologist said, darting an annoyed glance at the woman who had interrupted. “One will be by the cell, the other will be in the break room. He should be alone and he may be wakin' up from the nap he usually takes so he can stay awake through the night shift.”

“Which one pays more attention to you, Doc?” Nancy asked.

“The one in the hall,” Doctor Quinzel replied. “I think it’s just because he’s the one who’s wide awake.”

“I’ll get him,” Nancy said, giggling. “This gentleman may prefer blondes.”

“That’s the break room,” Doctor Quinzel said, pointing. “It’s time.”

“Wish me luck,” Veronica said. The brunette sashayed to the door, stepped through, and closed it behind her. Harleen Quinzel and Nancy heard the lock click as they passed and grinned at one another, stifling giggles.

The guard on the Joker’s cell noticed Nancy immediately as she stepped around the corner. He stood.

“Was it something I said?” the Joker asked, glancing at him.

“I’ll be right back,” he sternly promised. “Behave yourself.”

The Joker slid from his bunk and stood, moving to the door. He was in time to see Nancy beckoning to the guard with her finger and leading him from the corridor. “You lucky so-and-so!” the arch criminal muttered. He returned to his bunk and reclined on his back, closing his eyes. He opened them when he heard a key slide into the lock on his cell. Joker looked, blinked, and slid from the bunk. “Harley?”

He was referring to his doctor with the name she had adopted while drugged with Cataphrenic, an infernal substance Catwoman had used to alter her personality. The substance made a dedicated professional – normally intent upon curing the Joker – into the arch criminal’s enthusiastic, murderous assistant.

Inexplicably, she had seemed willing to do practically anything to aid and abet the Clown Prince of Crime ever since, as though the drug had never really completely worn off. The girl had somehow kept up a masterful acting performance as she and Joker’s personal relationship developed.

In her position, pretending to keep everything strictly professional was essential. She would never be allowed to continue seeing the Joker if she lost him as a patient. Taking full advantage of their doctor/patient relationship and the associated privilege was an obvious, available means of pursuing their personal goals. Other opportunities presented themselves from time to time as well.

“It’s me, Puddin’,” she excitedly said. “Wanna come out and play?”

“Play with you?” Joker countered, stifling a laugh. “Why don’t you come in here?”

“We’ll have a lot more fun at my place. Make up your bunk to look like you’re asleep.”

“Oh, Baby!” he said, when he had finished and she opened the cell door. He stepped through and took her in his arms, kissing her hard on the mouth and crushing her body as she gently closed his cell door. “You’re the greatest!” He laughed for a moment, leaning against her for support.

“Tell me more,” the girl urged, “later. Right now, it’s time to get you out of here.” They practically danced to Doctor Quinzel’s office arm-in-arm.

“You know,” the Joker said, releasing her and stepping through her office door, “despite how much I enjoy our visits, I’ve been thinking about getting away from here for awhile. This place can get so–”

Harley Quinn inhaled as her man fell to the floor with a thud. She found two darts had lodged in his chest when she knelt; dragged him backwards, hoping she had removed him from the line of fire; and rolled him over. Angrily, Harley stepped over the unconscious archfiend and through her door. “What the *@%% is the big idea, Pam?!” she demanded.

Poison Ivy was fitting another pair of darts into her wrist launchers. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I though he was going to discover our little arrangement. I didn’t know you were taking the opportunity of our experiment to spend time with your crazy boyfriend.”

“What did you do to Mister J?”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be his nutty, old self again in a couple of hours.”

“It may be time for you to go, Red.”

“I’ve been thinking along those lines myself, but first I have a few additional observations to record about the test subjects you so helpfully provided,” Poison Ivy replied. “I know the chemical works. Now I just need to determine how well. Besides, I’ll need to debrief the girls.”

“I think our test subjects have attended to that little chore already,” Harley acidly said. “Now, you wouldn’t be really plannin' to use this chemical of yours to escape, would you?”

“That’s a very interesting idea, Doctor. I consider myself to be a scientist now, though, and my priority is to study my subjects with the utmost care,” Poison Ivy replied. “Don’t worry. The girls and I will have plenty of time to occupy our cells before more guards show up for the next shift. What about you?”

“I’ve saved up a bunch of vacation time I’m takin' startin' Monday. I don’t know what Mister J will come up with for us to do, but I bet it will be fun!”

“You mean, after all this time, you’re busting the Joker out, with the possibility – no, the likelihood – of blowing your position here, just to make certain you enjoy your time off?” Poison Ivy asked.

“You’ve got a problem with that?” Harley Quinn demanded.

‘It’s crazy!’ Poison Ivy thought, shrugging mentally. ‘She’s busting out the Joker. So, pointing out her state of mind would be an utter waste of time.’ Instead, the redhead grinned. “Whatever floats your boat as far as the Joker is concerned, I guess,” she replied. “As for me, why don’t I look you up when I do break out of here?”

“That could work,” Harley said. “Would you do me a favor?”

“That depends upon what it is.”

“I’d like copies of the tapes we’re making of the experiment, in case I lose my job and need a source of income.”

“You’ll blackmail the guards?”

“Sure.” The young Doctor suddenly had another idea. “Hey! Where can I get in touch with you?”

“Well, I’ve learned to always keep some hideouts in reserve, just in case something goes wrong–”

“Which it recently did,” Harley unnecessarily pointed out.

Poison Ivy glared at her prospective partner. “So, next time I’ve arranged to use a subterranean facility called Gardner Labs for my research and the defunct Blossoms Flower Shop as a venue for other necessary . . . meetings.”

“As long as Mister J is in here, gettin' together might be fun.”

“But if he’s out on the loose–”

“He’ll need me.”

‘I’ll bet the Joker’s last girl thought exactly the same thing,’ Poison Ivy thought. She did not voice her view, however, giving up the argument as a lost cause. “Okay. How exactly do you plan to sneak out the Joker?”

Harley Quinn pulled an enormous, durable bag from her briefcase. “I’ll put him in here.”

“What?!” Poison Ivy exclaimed, incredulous. “Won’t the guards search your bags on the way to the car?”

“Nope,” Harley answered. “I’ve declined so many dinner invitations from the guards on the main door, they’re all convinced I’m a workaholic.”

“You’re sure they don’t think you like girls?”

“They wouldn’t dare say so, even if they do, just in case they’re wrong,” the Doctor confidently said.

Poison Ivy laughed as Harley Quinn pulled the Joker into her office and toward the yawning bag. “You know, Doc,” the redhead thoughtfully said, “our arrangement could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Later, the Joker recovered in a very different setting. He lay shirtless, his chalk-white skin exposed from the waist up, on a warm rug spread before a cheerfully blazing fire. Near his head was a low table on which two bottles of champagne chilled in a large ice bucket behind a pair of inverted glasses. A fruit bowl filled with berries had been set beside the bubbly and a crock-pot simmered behind a platter of crackers. The Joker sat up and lifted the lid from the crock-pot, sniffing. “Oysters,” he murmured, replacing the lid and glancing over the plates and silverware. “Yummy.” Slowly, he became aware of the sound of a shower running somewhere.

The villain stretched out on the rug and smiled as the shower stopped. Then he frowned as he recalled the events leading up to his recovery. “Hey!” he cried out. “Who shot me?”

He could see the wounds where his flesh had been punctured, but was distracted by a quiet footfall as his ravishing rescuer appeared. Harley had brushed her hair over one shoulder and slipped into a short, scarlet robe with a black sash and matching edges.

“Hello, Puddin’,” she said, grinning. “Hungry?”

The Joker grinned back at her. “You bet. I’m famished.”

“Put another log on the fire and I’ll see what I can do for your appetite.”

He could hear her begin moving toward him as he selected a hardwood log and carefully balanced it atop the fire. Joker smiled as he settled back onto the soft rug, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on an elbow so he could watch Harley closely as she made herself comfortable beside him. She had left her robe on the other side of the room.

“Well,” Joker said, “I see we’re starting with dessert!” Both of them smiled as she reached up with both arms as he shifted his position to eclipse hers.

Behind them, flames danced around the new log making it hiss while blackening the bark, which fell among the hungrily crackling kindling upon which it rested.

Joker rolled onto his back and brushed a stray hair from Harley’s eyes as the fire flared, eagerly consuming the newest log, once the kindling beneath it collapsed completely, settling among the red hot coals.

Much later, the food and drinks were gone and the happy couple lay entwined together. The Joker’s log lingered, smoldering among the still-glowing embers, which popped from time to time, unleashing blazing sparks which glimmered for a while before the heat of the fire ebbed away completely.

Harley drew a warm blanket over both of them and closed her eyes, finally surrendering to sleep. Joker’s breathing was very regular and only a thick bed of cold, gray ashes remained behind the lovers.

Joker found his purple suit; green shirt, orange vest; and black, string tie among the garments waiting for him after his shower the next morning. He laughed delightedly. “Oh, magnificent!” he said, reaching for his shirt. “I feel like my old self again!” He changed his mind about dressing right away and instead slipped on a royal purple robe he knotted at the waist. “It’s going to be a beautiful, profitable day!” He laughed merrily and walked into Harley Quinn’s living room, where the mere sight of her took his breath away. His hostess lay stretched face down on the couch wearing nothing but a pair of white short shorts and a matching half top. “Good morning, Gorgeous,” he said, somehow recovering. “You look phenomenal!” Indeed, her outfit was molded closely against her every curve and stretched even more tightly whenever she moved.

“Good mornin' to you, too, Puddin.’ I’m feelin’ great! Thanks for everything.” She rolled onto her side and smiled as she regarded him. “You look pretty good yourself. The prison garb didn’t do you justice.”

“Okay, Baby, tell me, why – after almost five years – you finally decided to break me out of jail.”

“I have some time off and figured it would be a lot more fun if I spent it with you.” She curled up in one corner of her sofa, sitting up and making room for the Joker.

He, however, began pacing. “Did you have any plans?”

“Well, there was last night’s exercise,” she replied, grinning at him.

“I love your mind and your workout program, but have you thought of any other ways for us to spend our time?” As he spoke, she followed his glance to the rug where they had spent the night in each other’s arms in front of the smoldering fire.

“Not really. I’ll let you do most of the plannin'. Oh, right after you went to prison, I stole a horse for you called Funny Cide . . . but I haven’t been able to find the perfect horse for myself to ride. Besides, I’m not sure horses are really our style.”

“Maybe not,” Joker thoughtfully agreed. “What happened to the horse?”

“I started payin' Lola Lasagna to take care of it. She likes horses.”

“Catwoman’s shortstop?” the Joker said. “Mister Personality said she was spicy and bewitching, but I always thought she looked like a cow. Now that I think about it, she moved like a cow on the field, too.”

“Well, she’s doin' a good job for me, and she doesn’t cost too much.”

“Shame can have her. Of course, he has those two blondes after him already . . . .”

“Two? I thought Okie Annie had moved on.”

“I don’t know. Who cares, anyway?”

“Good point, Puddin’,” Harley soothingly said. “Listen. Let’s get back to your question about us.”

“Right!” Joker said. “You were asking about ways we could enjoy your time off together. Would you like to take in some hoops?”

“Basketball?”

“It wouldn’t have to be here in Gotham City. We could head to the other side of the continent and taunt the cops from the crowd.”

“I don’t know,” Harley thoughtfully said. “I figured you’d come up with a brilliant scheme that would make us both filthy rich and leave Batgirl, or anyone else who tries to stop us, deader than a doornail.”

Joker laughed uproariously. “Well,” he said, “it’s definitely open season on Batgirl, no question about that!” He laughed again and suddenly sat down beside his hostess, where he had a better view of her chest rising, falling, and straining against the fabric of her top. “Why pick on Batgirl when you start naming enemies to be eliminated?”

“She betrayed your trust, after everything you did for her,” Harley explained. Then, Joker’s girl realized something. “Hey! Why are we talkin' about her, anyway?”

“Just curious,” Joker said absently. He wound an arm around Harley and grinned down at her, gently stroking her bare side. “So, what happened to your working duds?”

“You mean my doctor’s coat?”

“No, not that.

Harley realized he was referring to the clownish outfit she had chosen shortly after she and the Joker had first teamed up. It fit her like a second skin and flattered her figure magnificently. The right leg was red with black diamonds on the thigh, while the left leg used the same pattern with the opposite colors. The color of each leg continued two thirds of the way up her abdomen to form a line bisecting her body from her groin to her neck. The right shoulder was black like her left leg. Red diamonds adorned her forearm and the glove on her right hand matched them. Her cap hid all her hair and was bisected by the same dividing line as her body. The red and black of the pied headpiece matched the color scheme of her gloves and legs. The ensemble included a frilly white collar and matching cuffs. White balls dangled from her cap and Harley had added additional homage to her man with white clown makeup, a black domino mask, and garish red lipstick.

“Oh, they still fit. I thought I’d wait until you told me we were goin' to work before gettin' properly dressed.” Her hand curled around the sash of his robe. “It looks like you had a similar idea.” A terrible thought suddenly struck her. “I hope there’s nothin' wrong with what I’m wearin' now!”

“Nothing I can see,” the Joker said, drawing the girl against him and letting his hand slide across her abdomen until his fingers could play absently along the upper edge of the fabric of her shorts. He could feel her relax and closed his eyes.

His mind’s eye summoned the pretty picture of another gorgeous blonde creature wearing little more than a white swimsuit that showcased her sensual shape, while complementing her comely curves magnificently. This voluptuous vision’s name was Undine and she had been his companion during his last blockbuster jailbreak. In the ensuing chase, he had been compelled to use her to distract his pursuers. She had performed her role magnificently, but involuntarily, promptly finding herself back in custody. Upon reflection, it was sad these sacrifices had to be made. Neither had spoken to the other once he had returned to prison, which might have been just as well. In a few short years, Undine had transformed herself from mere eye candy to a potentially lethal instrument of violence. The feelers the Joker had sent out to probe her reaction to her unfortunate experience indicated she was furious with him. While she had seemed so far able to keep herself from attacking him on sight in a prison environment, he knew her well enough to predict her actions in the outside world. ‘Perhaps, he reasoned, ‘her occasional absences from prison have been a blessing.’

In the end, Joker could not complain. Shortly after literally jettisoning Undine, Harley Quinn had come into his life and proven more than capable of filling in for his sweet-looking, Swedish-born sycophant. Even now, the girl was leaning her nubile, young body closely against him, and resting her head on his shoulder. ‘About what do I have to complain?’

"You know, Mister J . . . we could go after the jury who convicted you and the judge who sentenced you. They’re horrible and deserve whatever creative revenge you might devise to punish them." As Harley spoke, the Joker opened his eyes and smiled down at her.

“That’s a thought,” he mused. After a moment he favored her with a euphoric laugh. “I’ve got an idea! Would you do something for me?”

“Sure, Mister J” she enthusiastically agreed. “I’d do anything for you. What do you want? I’ll do whatever you ask of me.” She stared up at him with naked adoration.

“Why don’t you find out what you can about the judge and all those awful jurors?”

“Sure,” Harley Quinn said. She disengaged herself from Joker and returned a moment later with her laptop, which she opened and balanced on her abdomen, resting her head in his lap. A moment later her fingers were flying over the keyboard and her wireless modem had taken her into court records. “It’s sealed!” she complained. “How do you like that?”

“Interesting,” Joker mused. “The Court is probably shielding you, since you were found to have acted only under the influence of Catwoman’s drug.”

“So, you think the Court sealed those records to protect my professional reputation?”

“I can’t say for sure, but that’s my best guess.”

“I suppose I appreciate it,” Harley said. “Under the circumstances, though, it’s still pretty annoying–”

“I’ve got it!” the Joker cried.

“What?”

The Joker could not answer until he had stopped laughing. “How much money could we make if we stole all of the Court‘s sealed records?”

Harley Quinn put her computer aside and threw herself into the Joker’s arms. “If we use the information right, we have the potential for not only unlimited blackmail, but the ultimate protection racket—forever!”

“Precisely,” Joker confirmed. “It’s delicious! The Court put me away, but will provide the means by which I obtain unlimited illicit megawealth! What could possibly be funnier?” Together, the criminal couple laughed and delightedly danced around the room.

“I’ll call Maria at Ye Olde Benbow Taverne about gettin' some help for us,” Harley suggested. “After all, you and I won’t want to be heavin' around heavy file cabinets, and tryin' to steal them durin' the day would be silly.”

“That’s true,” the Joker agreed, “but I have a better idea. Why don’t you change and we’ll head over there for a business lunch?”

“That’s a great idea, Puddin’. We just got up, though. Why don’t I serve dessert here first?”

The Joker regarded her in a rare moment of seriousness. “You know, once you re-appear as Harley Quinn in public, any chance of you reclaiming your position at Gotham State Penitentiary will be gone.”

“Oh, I’ve got that one all figured out,” she said happily.

“Really?” the Joker inquired, surprised.

“Sure!” Harley said. “Anybody who sees me, we kill ‘em!”

The Joker gagged. He had forgotten how bloodthirsty his helpmate could be. “Harley,” he began, recovering, “I’m not sure that’s practical . . . especially with video cameras being all over the place.”

Doctor Quinzel considered his objection. She shook her head. “You know, it really doesn’t matter, does it, Puddin’? I’d much rather be with you than work there, anyhow.” She grinned conspiratorially. “Besides, we don’t plan on gettin' caught, do we?”

“No, of course not,” the Joker agreed, “but we will need another base of operations. Once Harley Quinn is seen again, Doctor Harleen Quinzel’s home will be–”

“But until then . . . ” Harley interrupted, drawing herself closer to Joker and gently tugging at the sash of his robe.

“As I was saying,” Joker continued, “your apartment will make the most magnificent love nest while the authorities investigate my other known haunts. After all, you’re very athletic.”

Harley Quinn squealed happily. “You say the sweetest things,” she said huskily, as the Joker put his arms around her to demonstrate the venue’s effectiveness.

Meanwhile, Commissioner James Gordon pulled into a parking space at Gotham City Police Headquarters and picked up his cell phone. “Hello,” he said.

“Hi, Daddy. I called to ask where you wanted to have lunch. I woke up a little later than I thought I would and hoped we could make up the time it would take if you came here.”

“Oh dear, Barbara,” he said sorrowfully. “I know it’s Saturday and we had plans, but I’ve been called into the office to track down the Joker. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it at all. Can I take a rain check?”

“Sure . . . but did you say you were after the Joker?”

“I’m afraid so–”

“Has he done anything since his escape? Is anyone hurt?”

“No, thank heavens. We think he got out last night sometime. We may not know exactly what happened until Warden Crichton gets all his personnel back in on Monday.”

"Well, I know the more quickly we find Joker, the safer everyone in Gotham City will be." Barbara tried to keep her disappointment at not being called immediately to investigate the Joker’s escape from her voice, but she wasn’t entirely successful.

“Listen, Barbara. I wasn’t going to bring you in on this until we had something concrete on which to move.” Commissioner Gordon was one of the few people who knew his daughter fought crime in the gorgeous guise of Batgirl.

“Daddy,” Barbara seriously began, “you have a fine department, but with Joker any help you can get could prove vital. Besides, if I have anything to say about the issue, you will go home tonight and get some sleep. Call Chief O’Hara or Lieutenant Mooney in to cover the Saturday night shift if you must. You don’t function well without sleep, and I don’t have to tell you how dangerous the Joker can be.”

“I promise to take care of myself, if you promise to be very careful. Now, I have a lot of work to do, so I’ll let you go.”

“I will be careful, Daddy,” Barbara Gordon said. “Thank you. Goodbye.” She sighed as she set her cordless phone aside. Both Gordons knew and accepted the fact they might never speak to one another again, once Barbara went after the Joker in the guise of Batgirl.

Though a volunteer and technically a vigilante, she was a more dedicated crimefighter than many veteran officers, or so it seemed to her father. He knew now she was aware the Joker was on the loose and keeping her off the case would be impossible.

“So, Charlie,” Barbara said to her pet parrot, “it seems the Joker is free again. Since it’s the weekend, maybe I can lend the police a glove, so to speak, as Batgirl.” She crossed her bedroom and spun the wall to enter Batgirl’s small, but functional, headquarters and underwent her tantalizing transformation before cruising along Gotham City’s streets on her Batgirlcycle.

Her plan to investigate Joker’s old hideouts was problematic for a one-woman crime fighting force. She had to visit each site individually and could only be certain of her observations as she made them. She felt her limited role would, however, be worthwhile. If the police would commit the manpower required to watch each site, they would be able to do little more unless they saw the criminal or some of his known cohorts there. Decisions would then have to be made.

It would take time for anyone to investigate the abandoned Gotham Pier Amusement Park, and Batgirl eventually determined it remained abandoned. Also abandoned were the One Armed Bandit Novelty Company, where she had briefly become a member of the criminal’s gang; The Joker Art Institute; Penthouse Comic Book Publishers; the Launching Pad Factory on Flying Saucer Hill – from which Joker had tried to launch her into space; the Ten Toes Surfboard Company; the Grimalkin Novelty Company – a hideout Joker had shared with Catwoman; and the Katz, Katz, Katz, & Company Oil Refinery.

Batgirl’s visit to the Hang Five, where she and the Dynamic Duo had beaten the Clown Price of Crime both literally and figuratively when he had tried to take over the Gotham City surfing scene, was brief as Gotham City’s unusually warm January weather pattern had broken. More typical winter temperatures now held sway, so the establishment was closed. She found no sign of Joker.

Her approach at the Platter-Porium record store was different than Batman’s. The Caped Crusader had known it was a front for the Joker and had come in swinging, leaving the place in shambles and rescuing the captive held there. Batgirl’s comparatively calm conversation with the clerk told her nothing. The ‘cool pad’ the Joker had rented in the guise of Clavier Ankh as well as the unusually furnished, basement accommodations, had been rented to several parties over the years and the apartment management knew nothing about trapdoors or slides communicating between the two.

It had grown dark by the time Batgirl cruised past the site where the condemned factory to which the Mad Mountebank of Mockery had driven her in the Batmobile had stood. “Three more,” she murmured. The Joker’s ‘HAcienda,’ where she had been subjected to his malevolent, mechanical tickle torture, was deserted. The abandoned factory containing the Jolly Jester’s workshop, where he had tried both to dismember her on an enormous jack in the box and to crush her into a bloody paste inside a gigantic spinning top, was equally empty.

Her final stop would be the most difficult. She had saved it for last to maximize her chance of success. “Here we go,” she said, dismounting her vehicle outside Ye Olde Benbow Taverne. Purposefully, she moved to the door and stepped inside. Conversation instantly stopped and the man pinned against a wall being beaten by a small mob of goons received a welcome reprieve. All eyes turned to Batgirl as she moved to the center of the room, spreading her legs to shoulder width and letting her hands rest on her shapely hips. “I want the Joker,” she said.

A man slid from a stool and tripped over the jukebox chord, silencing the music. “You know, Batgirl, you’ve got a much better chance of getting–”

“Shut up!” The woman behind the bar interrupted. She addressed Batgirl. “He isn’t here.”

“Was he here earlier today?”

“Uh . . . I don’t remember.”

Batgirl gave a wry grin and cocked her head to one side. “I don’t believe you.”

“So what if you don’t?” the barmaid coolly replied.

“I think I’ll have a look around.”

“Not without a warrant you won’t.”

“I believe you’re laboring under a misapprehension,” Batgirl said sweetly. “I’m not the police. I don’t need a warrant.”

“Listen, I’m not going to be intimidated. We don’t have to take what you’re dishing out. So, if you take one more step that isn’t toward the door, I’ll have you literally thrown out of here.”

“You’re Maria, aren’t you?”

“Yeah! What’s it to you?”

“You’re suspected of being involved with dozens of criminals and knowing details of countless crimes. We could start with the dubious manner in which you took over this establishment.”

“I’m filling in for Mister Keel during his . . . absence.”

“When do you expect him back?”

Maria favored Batgirl with a thin smile. “That’s hard to say.”

“Be smart, Maria. Tell me what you know about Joker.” Batgirl moved toward the other woman. “I’m prepared to leave you alone, but if you don’t cooperate–”

“I warned you, Batgirl,” Maria said. Her voice grew louder as she spoke again. “Boys, take her outside and she’s all yours! I don’t care about the details.”

The goons who had been working over the man pinned to the wall began to approach Batgirl, licking their lips and hungrily looking over the Caped Cutie. Batgirl sank into a fighting crouch. She waited. Maria folded her arms.

Suddenly, a door at the top of the stairs against one wall crashed open, becoming unhinged, and a man Batgirl had never seen before laughed hysterically and continuously as he fell to the upper landing. He was powerless to keep from half-rolling, half-crashing down the stairs all the way to the floor. He had green hair; red painted lips; matching finger and toenails; as well as pale, white skin. He was dressed only in spandex shorts. At the bottom of the stairs, the figure convulsed with uncontrollable laughter.

No one interfered with Batgirl as she approached and crouched over him. The men Maria had ordered to attack the heroine only stared and the barmaid watched impassively without a word.

“Take it easy,” Batgirl gently said to the man, pulling a capsule from her belt and slipping it into his mouth. “This will calm you down in a minute.” The man, who appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, relaxed visibly after a moment, but was still breathing heavily. Once he had become completely calm, the man stood and leaned against the bar, settling onto a stool, vacated reluctantly by a man Batgirl dismissed with a glare.

“Let me have a drink, Maria. I need one.”

“I think you’d better pay your tab first.”

“I can’t!” he complained. “The Joker’s girl stole my money after she did this to me.”

“Joker’s girl?” Batgirl queried.

“Get me a drink and I’ll talk.” Although Batman would never have been party to such a bargain, Batgirl prided herself on being less rigid than the Caped Crusader. She glanced at Maria and nodded.

“It’s your funeral,” Maria said, shrugging as she poured, and her eyes narrowed.

“Make it a double,” the man ordered. Batgirl nodded again. The man took a sip and set the glass down gratefully.

“Tell me what happened,” Batgirl said. “Take your time.”

“Okay,” the man said, sipping from his glass. “I’m Wallace, Don Wallace. Thanks.”

“Let’s hear your story, Mister Wallace.”

“The Joker was here recruiting and a couple of guys were interested.”

“Whom did Joker recruit?”

“Nobody,” Wallace said, draining his glass and setting it down. “I may have just got into town, but I know a lot about Gotham City. I told everyone it seemed to me all the Joker’s men ever got for their trouble was a sound beating by you or Batman. His girl got mad and dragged me upstairs. Boy, she’s stronger than she looks!”

“What girl?” Batgirl asked as she paid for the drink.

“The Joker made a big production of introducing her. He called her Miss Quinn, but he didn’t seem to care about the names of the men he was trying to hire.”

“That sounds typical.”

“Miss Quinn stripped me down to my skivies, tied me to a chair, and made me up to look like the Joker. She said when the Joker got his plans rolling, everyone in town would look like this. That’s crazy and I told her so. She got even madder and injected me with some kind of laughing serum and left. I only just now got loose. I suppose both of them took off in the Joker’s funny-looking car.”

“Do you have anything to say about this?” Batgirl asked Maria.

“Not without a lawyer.”

“There you go again, confusing me with the police,” Batgirl said, shrugging and turning back to Don Wallace. “Did Joker or Miss Quinn say anything specific about their plans or destination?”

“Nope,” the man said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“You did fine.”

“I think I'd better get out of here. Would you help me with my coat? It’s over there on the wall. I don’t care about the rest of my clothes.”

“Of course,” Batgirl said. Once Don Wallace had slipped into his trench coat, Batgirl turned back to Maria. “Mister Wallace and I are leaving. I expect no trouble, and I’ll be back here to express my feelings if I encounter any!”

Maria remained impassive as she regarded Batgirl. “I’ve been looking forward to your departure ever since you arrived.” The barmaid’s gaze shifted to Batgirl’s informant and glared. “Sleep well, Don.” The pair took their leave just before Maria concluded, “Goodbye.”

Once the pair had gone, Maria snapped her fingers, thus keeping her establishment from returning immediately to its normal state of controlled chaos. She turned to her bouncers. “I want a rowboat made ready for a short voyage. Don will be spending tonight at the bottom of the harbor with the usual accessories. The rest of you can go and bring him back.” Everyone waited momentarily for further instructions. “Well?” Maria asked sharply.

“What about Batgirl?”

“As far as I’m concerned, if she interferes with you, she can sleep with Don--and the fish.”

The barmaid’s goons stared at her incredulously.

“Why are any of you still standing here?” Maria demanded, pointing at the door through which Batgirl and Don Wallace had vanished. “Get out of my sight--now!”

Her men rapidly dispersed.

Shortly thereafter, at the abandoned Katz, Katz, Katz, & Company Oil Refinery, the Joker set down the phone and bellowed for Harley Quinn. “Do you still have the stuff you stole from your art project at the bar this afternoon?” he asked, once she appeared.

“Right here, Puddin’,” his colorfully costumed cohort answered, leaning forward and opening a drawer.

Joker withdrew the victim’s wallet and found nothing of interest after going through the papers inside. He pulled the drawer out and hurriedly pawed through its contents, producing a small envelope containing a magnetic key card. “Just as I thought,” Joker smugly said. “Harley, do you know where the closest Harbor Light Motor Lodge is to Ye Olde Benbow Taverne?”

“Sure,” she absently replied. “Each Harbor Light Motor Lodge was built within sight of the next in a line along the coast. Back in the day or whenever, Gothamites wanted to be able to send signals if a pirate ship or a British vessel entered the harbor to threaten the city. I guess those hotels have been around since the Revolutionary War. Of course, back then they weren’t hotels.” Joker’s henchwoman shrugged.

“Good. This key is for Don’s room. Go find out all about him. I’m curious and a little sad.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You were the one who wanted me to kill all of my disloyal old molls for the sake of my reputation. I want to have a little chat with Don about respect.”

“How did Donny disrespect you?”

“He told Batgirl all about our recruiting drive this afternoon--after he ruined it!”

“He doesn’t sound very bright,” Harley decided. “Why don’t I just grab him for you?”

“He won’t be around.” Joker laughed before explaining, “Maria was on the other side of the bar when he spilled his guts to Batgirl. My favorite barmaid wants to send a very clear message about that sort of thing and I agreed to let her handle the problem.”

“You spoke to Maria personally?”

“She called to fill me in.”

“You said Batgirl is involved.”

‘She was, and Maria’s efforts will see to her if she interferes, too,” Joker predicted. “Our beautiful barmaid can be very thorough when she tries. It’s too bad in a way.”

“You’ve got a problem with Batgirl gettin' whacked?”

“Oh, not really,” Joker replied. “It’s just this hideout has a very tall chimney in which I nearly smoked the Dynamic Duo. That scheme really was a gas. They only escaped because there were two of them.” The Clown Prince of Crime paused to laugh. “If Batgirl were to turn up here alone, we’d seal her up in the chimney and sweep her out of existence forever. I’ve made some brilliant changes and innovations to the architecture here over the years and I’ve never had the chance to test their effectiveness.”

“Well, trappin' Batman and Robin in the chimney again would be redundant, wouldn’t it?” Harley lamented. Then she grew hopeful. “Maybe Batwoman and Flamebird will arrive to enjoy the enhanced accommodations!”

Joker shrugged and laughed shortly. “Well, regardless, I think we have time to indulge my morbid curiosity about Don. Will you do me this one little favor?”

“Sure thing, Mister J,” Joker’s comely concubine said. “What will you do while I investigate Don?”

“I’ll go hijack the sealed files from the courthouse. It might take a little longer working alone, but I’ll be able to be much more stealthy than a horde of goons.” He paused to laugh. “The files should make fascinating reading later tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll select our first target and make our demands. Oh, it will be delicious!”

“That does sound great, Mister J,” the young doctor enthused. “I can’t wait, but if you’re goin' to be busy tonight, I might stop by the bar!”

“Good idea, Baby. It never hurts to check up on agents like Maria. If you see Batgirl, tell her goodbye from me.” They both shared a long laugh and danced closely to music only they could hear before departing on their evil errands.

Batgirl followed Don Wallace as he drove toward the harbor. They had not traveled far before the roar of other engines became audible. Two cars pulled across the road in front of them, blocking the thoroughfare. Two other cars skidded across the road behind them, thus cutting off their retreat. Batgirl pulled up to the roadblock as men swarmed from the cars.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a big man wearing jeans and a black turtleneck said. “We just want Mister Wallace. Give him up and you won’t get hurt.”

“Neither Mister Wallace nor I will be going with you!” Batgirl predicted.

“It’s too bad you feel that way, Batgirl—for you. You’re about to discover how very vulnerable your position is.”

“We’ll see about that!”

The thug grinned wolfishly and nodded. “Okay, guys. She’s given us no alternative. Take her!”

Batgirl moved to dismount the Batgirlcycle and face the sixteen men determined to take the other man in spite of her. Before she could do so, however, they came at her as a group, seizing the leg extended behind her as well as both arms; lifting her up, and dragging her forward. Batgirl felt other hands grip her flailing legs as her breasts just cleared the top of the Batgirlcycle’s windshield.

Experience told her she would remain practically helpless as long as she remained elevated in the men’s grasp. She viciously twisted and turned, bucking like a wild woman as she flailed her limbs, trying to fight off her attackers. Curses accompanied the men’s efforts to control and keep hold of the savagely squirming heroine as she beat at them with her head; hands; feet; elbows; and knees, writhing with all her might and desperately hoping to gain any leverage.

A sudden, dismayed cry accompanied the smack of Batgirl’s heel slamming into the spokesman’s face. As the lead man went down, Batgirl determined there was little else she could do. Strong hands tugged mercilessly at her shoulders, pulling her back against Don Wallace’s car, where she was held firmly in place.

“Get out of the car, Don!” the big spokesman commanded, regaining his feet and wiping blood from his mouth.

“Let Batgirl go!” Don Wallace demanded.

“Come on out and rescue her, Don,” the villainous spokesman invited.

“Lock your car, Don!” Batgirl called. “I’ll be fine.”

Batgirl looked far from fine as she combated her captors, twisting and turning while vainly trying to tear herself away from the car. She scored a few glancing kicks and landed a few piston-like punches, but the men holding her limbs remained determined to keep her virtually immobile.

“That’s what you think. Until he comes out of the car, we’d better give him something to worry about,” the leading lawbreaker decided. “Take Batgirl apart, guys, and do it slowly! I am going to enjoy this.”

A shorter thug stepped forward and audibly cracked his knuckles. Batgirl tightened her stomach, but was compelled to exhale as he slammed a fist into her gut. More blows prompted her to set her jaw into a determined line and gasp. Soon air whistled through her teeth and left her breathless. Unfortunately, the beating was just getting started. Helpless in the other men’s combined grip, Batgirl was powerless to resist. Later, she sagged and hung her head, closing her eyes as pain enveloped her entire body.

“Alright! That is enough!” Don Wallace said, sliding angrily from his car. “That’s enough! Leave her alone!”

“Don, no!” Batgirl cried, but her voice was barely audible.

“Okay, Don. She served her purpose anyway,” the big thug agreed. “Get him, guys!” Don Wallace’s driver’s side door slammed as the thug’s spokesman led the men against their initial target. A blow to the back of Batgirl’s head prevented her from interfering as it robbed her of consciousness.

Batgirl felt no pain, but was aware of indistinct voices murmuring nearby as well as a repetitive splash even closer to her when she revived. She lay on her chest outside in the dark and something heavy rested above her in the center of her back. The surface upon which she lay was neither completely stable nor flat. She tried to move and realized she had been hogtied . . .

. . . and that fact wasn’t the worst of it.

‘My arms and legs are threaded through the square holes of a cinder block!’ she silently observed.

A moan prompted her to glance to the left and see Don Wallace bound in similar fashion beside her. His coat was gone and the skin she could see in the moonlight was unevenly discolored with bruises. Batgirl tried to say something to him, but realized they had both been gagged. Besides, her companion had not yet regained consciousness. ‘Those goons really did a number on him.’

A swish and the shifting surface upon which she and Don Wallace lay brought Batgirl’s mind to the present as two men stepped down beside the bound captives. ‘We’re in a boat!

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like our passengers . . . dropped off . . . boss?” one man asked, chuckling.

“Batgirl asked me about Mister Keel earlier. I believe his final resting place will do,” a female voice Batgirl instantly recognized said. “The main concern is to see that your passengers enjoy their swim. I doubt they’ll detain you long.” The woman and the men about to do her bidding laughed.

‘It’s Maria,’ Batgirl thought. ‘She’s giving me a golden opportunity to smash her underground organization, if I can survive long enough to have her arrested!’

Another man’s words told Batgirl how difficult survival would soon become. “Cast off!”

“Wait,” Maria said. “I imagine our guest would like to say goodbye to Batgirl. She deserves that small consideration. Remove the captive’s gag.” There was an indistinct protest before Maria quietly reiterated, “I said remove her gag–now!”

The man bent over Batgirl and obeyed. “Hey!” he said. “She’s conscious.”

“Of course she is,” Maria said, crouching on the pier to regard her victim with a wicked smile. “Saying goodbye would be a little pointless otherwise.”

“Everything about you says you’re smart, Maria,” Batgirl said, “except murdering us.”

“I think your demise will serve a very important purpose,” the barmaid disagreed. “I trust our methods require no special explanation?”

“Using me for a human anchor seems fairly straightforward,” Batgirl said. “Of course, I won’t be tied to the boat when your men clear the decks.”

“A very succinct explanation, Batgirl,” Maria complimented.

“You won’t–”

“Spare me the threats. You’re in no position to stop me and no one who cares has a clue you and the foolish Mister Wallace are about to die.”

“Do you need to kill him? You have me.”

“I have both of you and he is the greater offender. People expect me to have to deal with you. He should have known better than to spill his guts earlier today. He’ll make a good object lesson for others. For him, it’s just too bad.”

“Then, there is nothing I can say to make you reconsider?”

“Not a thing,” Maria admitted, as she straightened, pivoting toward the shore. “I imagine our partner approves?”

“You bet!” another woman enthused, stepping from a shadow onto the pier and into the moonlight. “I don’t see anything wrong with this setup.”

“Doctor Quinzel!” Batgirl cried.

The newcomer turned her attention to the fettered female crimefighter. “Hi, B-girl! Mister J wanted me to tell you he sends his regards - one final time!”

“It is you! Did the Joker expose you to Cataphrenic again?”

“Nah, I don’t need that stuff any more. I told Bats and his sidekick - or partner; or trainee; or whatever the heck Robin is - the Cataphrenic put my id in balance with my superego, but I've come to suspect there's more to it. Anyway, Batman’s antidote had no effect on me at all.”

“So, you’ve been faking all this time?” Batgirl asked.

“Whaddya mean, fakin’? I still take good care of my patients. I’m on vacation now, however, so Harley Quinn is back!”

Batgirl decided talking to the demented doctor was pointless. “So, Maria, you’re killing us on Joker’s orders?”

“Oh, I’ve been daydreaming about getting rid of you since you showed up at the bar earlier. It is nice, though, to have a major super villain’s endorsement of this action.” Maria laughed.

“Don’t let me hold you up,” Harley Quinn said casually, “so to speak.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t detain you any longer than is absolutely necessary, Ms. Quinn,” Maria agreed. “Boys, take them out and then, take them out.”

“Right, boss,” the man at the oars said.

“Sure thing,” the other agreed.

“I’ll be back, Maria,” Batgirl said quietly.

“Shove off, boys,” the barmaid ordered. “I don’t think so, Batgirl. Bon voyage. You’ll soon see what a magnificent, watery grave Gotham Harbor can become.”

“So long, suckers!” Harley Quinn called delightedly.

The boat began to move through the water, propelled slowly and quietly as the oars were drawn back repeatedly. Maria and Harley Quinn watched happily from the end of the pier until darkness swallowed the small craft.

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