by Paul Dini
Dr. Leland sighed. If this were any other hospital, she would already have been fired. It was still a possibility—if the board of directors ever found anyone stupid enough to take her job.
Only in Gotham.
* * *
The GCPD said the Joker would likely have all the employees’ home addresses. Until he could be recaptured, their families would be taken to safe houses while staff were to remain under guard at the asylum, which was the one place the Joker would avoid.
Harley was the only one who argued. She pleaded with them to let her go back to her apartment. If the Joker knew she was there, he would come straight to her and she could bring him back to Arkham without anyone getting hurt. Or rather, without the cops giving the Joker a beatdown for being kidnapped by some lunatic. But she didn’t say that out loud.
She tried to talk to Dr. Leland, but her boss wasn’t having any of it.
“Harleen, the only reason I haven’t fired you is it would take ages to find a replacement who isn’t just as bad or worse.” Dr. Leland wasn’t yelling as much as before but Harley thought she was still too emotional, which made her feel disappointed and a little heartbroken. Her boss was letting her personal feelings interfere with her job. The woman was losing her edge.
On the other hand, maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised, Harley thought. Like everyone else in the vicinity, Dr. Leland was Team Batman.
And now that she was thinking of it, had Joan Leland ever really had an edge?
Harley thought back to her first day on the job—only a few months back but it seemed like a lifetime ago now. When Killer Croc had come charging up the hallway, who had laid him out with one blow—the Chief of Psychiatry? Hardly—Dr. Leland had frozen like a rabbit in the high-beams of a Humvee. The orderlies chasing him were twenty feet behind. If she hadn’t started work that day, Dr. Joan Leland would have been Killer Croc’s brunch.
Management made people soft. Their reflexes went first. Then they started missing things because they spent so much time reading or writing reports; it ruined their eyesight. Then they lost their nerve—they got too scared to do anything that hadn’t been pre-approved by a bunch of bureaucrats. They didn’t do anything too difficult or complicated, either. They traded the road less travelled for the path of least resistance and, having also lost their stamina, went home exhausted every night.
Harley couldn’t feel all that sorry for Dr. Leland, not when she was so worried about the Joker. He was out there all alone, without her to comfort or guide him, possibly still in the clutches of a kidnapper crazier than anyone in Arkham.
What if some of his old gang had been in the car, the few that weren’t in prison? What if they’d been plotting to free him—but then after taking him away, they discovered he wasn’t a criminal anymore? Harley couldn’t even imagine what they might do to him; they were such bad people.
* * *
JOKER STILL AT LARGE…BODY COUNT RISES…GC MAYOR DEMANDS SWIFT ACTION…
“This is Yolanda MacKenzie, outside City Hall. It’s day three of the Joker’s crime rampage and the police seem to be no closer to taking the Clown Prince of Crime back into custody. Commissioner James Gordon has ordered all police leave, vacations, and days off cancelled as the manhunt continues. When asked if this means he’s lost faith in Batman, the commissioner said—quote—‘The GCPD does not sit around eating doughnuts and waiting for the Caped Crusader to do their job for them.’ Unquote. The mayor met with the city council this morning…”
Harley put her head down on her desk and let the sound from the flat-screen TV on the wall wash over her like so much meaningless noise. Dr. Leland had insisted the board install TV monitors in all the doctors’ offices as well as the nurses’ lounge. The staff needed to keep up with the latest developments.
When Harley had thanked Dr. Leland, her boss had looked at her coldly and said, “It’s for your office. Not you.” Apparently her boss was still pretty mad at her.
Harley kept waiting for Dr. Leland to have her arrested or report her to the medical board for disciplinary action. But then she’d overheard the nurses talking about how the Arkham Board of Directors were adamant that Harleen’s involvement in the Joker’s escape must never come out. The scandal could close the asylum, everyone would lose their jobs, and the patients would be sent to facilities or prisons not equipped to deal with their brand of crazy.
Didn’t that just figure, Harley thought. In wanting to be honest and straightforward, she had become a scandal to be covered up. It was the bureaucrats’ version of beating someone up for being a crime victim.
She couldn’t win for losing.
* * *
Early in the morning of the seventh day after the accident, Harley had just gotten dressed in her office after a shower in the nurses’ facilities when Nathan pounded on her door.
“Dr. Quinzel, he’s back! The Joker’s back!”
Harley ran to open the door. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine,” Nathan said and went to pound on all the other office doors.
Dr. Leland came out into the hall, tucking her blouse into her skirt. “Where is he?” she asked.
“Downstairs at the main reception desk,” Nathan said.
“How did he get here?” Harley called after him as he headed off with Dr. Leland.
The orderly looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Batman caught him!”
Harley felt a surge of panic and ran after Nathan and Dr. Leland without bothering to lock her office. “Is he all right?” she asked.
Dr. Leland gave her an annoyed glance as Nathan said, “He’s okay. Batman had to tune him up a little but he’ll get over it.”
Her panic doubled. Harley rushed past them and tore down the large, curved staircase to the main reception desk near the front door.
There he was, the hero of Gotham City and guardian of the public morals, the mighty, mighty Batman. This was the first time Harley had seen him in person and he was somewhat the worse for wear—the right sleeve of his silly costume had been torn off, a large portion of his cape was shredded, and his fancy tights were torn. But his mask was intact, because God forbid Batman should ever show his face to the world, Harley thought bitterly.
He was holding up what appeared to be a cluster of bloodstained rags. Then the rags groaned.
“Puddin’!” Harley shrieked and lunged for the Joker just as Batman let go of him. She wasn’t strong enough to hold his dead weight up by herself but she managed to lower him gently to the floor, and cradled him in her arms while everyone else stood around gawking at what the bat had dragged in.
(A bat, for crying out loud. Harley knew if any of these people ever saw a real bat, they’d have tried to kill it with a broom. How could they idolize someone dressed like a flying rat?)
The Joker groaned again, resting his head on her shoulder. One eye had swollen shut, his nose was broken, and both his lips were split. He looked up at her with his one good eye. Harley wasn’t sure he recognized her. But then he smiled painfully with his poor, split lips. “My dear Dr. Quinzel,” he said, his voice weak. “I missed you so much. I yearned for you—tragically. So very tragically.”
Harley looked from his battered face to the costumed vigilante looming over her. She wanted to scream her hatred at him. She wanted to rip off his head and spit down his neck, but she had to hold onto her puddin’. Infuriated, she heard herself growl, low in her throat; it was a surprisingly vicious noise.
It should have been hard to read someone wearing a mask but Batman’s reaction couldn’t have been plainer. He was completely nonplussed, obviously not used to being confronted by someone who wasn’t an adoring fan, who didn’t think his brutality deserved a gold star and a parade. Harley might have enjoyed it but the Joker was in such bad shape, she worried about permanent damage. Now she noticed that besides the ruined costume, the Bat-stard had a fat lip and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Her puddin’ had gotten in a few licks. Whoever he was when he wasn’t Ba
tman, he’d have to stay out of sight for a few days.
Right now, he was still gaping at her in disbelief. Harley glared right back defiantly.
Believe it, you thug, she thought at him. Not everyone loves you.
Then the nurses and orderlies lifted the Joker away from her, detaching him from her with efficient movements to put him on a gurney. Harley gave Batman one last, furious glare and tried to follow the Joker to the medical ward. But Dr. Leland took hold of her arm.
“We need to have a little talk.” Dr. Leland blocked her from getting into the elevator and hustled her up the stairs to her office.
* * *
“We’ve already had a little talk,” Harley said. “My patient needs me—”
Dr. Leland pushed her down on the sofa. “No, he doesn’t,” she said in the bossy voice Harley found so rankling.
“You don’t understand—” Harley began.
“No, you don’t understand,” Dr. Leland said. “From now on, things are going to be very different around here.”
“I know,” Harley said. “Thank God we can all finally go home.”
“Harleen—focus!” Dr. Leland snapped her fingers in Harley’s face, making her jump. “I’m going to contact the medical board about disciplinary action. In my opinion, you should lose your license to practice any kind of medicine. And you should be barred from any work involving counselling or therapy. Certain members of the Arkham board want to give you another chance—I don’t. But all they’ll allow me to do right now is suspend you for two weeks.”
“But you can’t,” Harley said, on the verge of tears now. “My patient needs me—”
“You’re the last thing he needs,” Dr. Leland said angrily. “In fact, I’m going to file a restraining order to keep you away from him.”
“But you can’t!” Harley said again as tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Oh, just shut the hell up!” Dr. Leland yelled. “That homicidal maniac got loose because of you! He forced the van into a ditch. Dr. Patel was seriously injured—he could have been killed, along with everyone else in the vehicle. I share the blame, for making the biggest, stupidest, most egregious mistake of my career—of my life! I believed you were a grown-up when in fact you’re an adolescent with more hormones than sense! You’re a disgrace to this profession and I’m a disgrace for putting my faith in you, something I have to live with for the rest of my life!”
“That’s not all you’ll have to live with, is it?” Harley asked darkly, no longer crying. “Or do payoffs from the board of directors give you selective amnesia?”
Dr. Leland looked as if Harley had slapped her.
“You’re a pretty big disappointment to me, too, Joan.” Harley practically spat the name. “I thought I wanted to be like you. I told myself, yeah, you’re corrupt, but only a tiny bit, and only to get things Arkham needs. But you’re no better than that leotard-wearing bully you call a hero.”
Dr. Leland looked down at her as if from a great height. “I should have realized your antipathy to Batman was a sign of a deeper disturbance, a pathological resistance to authority that—”
“Can it, lady,” Harley said. Her tough-Brooklyn-cookie voice came out unbidden and it wasn’t kidding around. “Save yer misplaced hero worship for when you talk to your shrink about how ya always go for unavailable guys, especially ones dressed like vermin. Don’t bother firing me, I’ll fire myself, effective immediately. And then I’ll file my own court order, to take custody of my patient on the grounds that your so-called therapy is actually the legalized abuse of people with no legal recourse so they haveta escape!”
Dr. Leland’s complexion had gone a bit ashy and for a moment Harley thought she was going to faint. Good, she thought with a hot rush of spiteful glee. It was about time she found out the world didn’t actually belong to antiseptic, buttoned-down people like her no matter how bossy they were. Harley stood up and felt even more gratified when the other woman took a couple of quick steps back.
“You can’t do that,” Dr. Leland said. She was trying to be stern but her voice shook and there was fear in her eyes.
“Just watch me, sistah,” Harley said. “Some o’ dose specialists yer precious board membahs bring in here look an awful lot like known associates of Hugo Strange. Ya think Channel Seven Investigative News might be innarested? I’d bet your pension they would.” She turned to leave.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Leland demanded, then backed up a few more steps when Harley whirled on her.
“Whadda you care?” Harley said, sticking one fist on her hip. “I don’t work here.”
“Well, you’d better be back here at nine a.m. tomorrow morning for a meeting with the board,” Dr. Leland said, still trying to reassert her authority. “You’re still answerable to Arkham Asylum and the board of directors for what you’ve done. They may decide to file criminal charges.”
“Izzat so?” Harley laughed in her face. “You can try an’ make me but my money ain’t on you, Joanie.”
“If you don’t show up, the consequences will be serious,” Dr. Leland replied, her voice shaking even more. “Extremely serious.”
Harley laughed again. “Yeah? Watcha gonna do, fire me? Tattle to Batman?”
“You just be here!” Dr. Leland called after her as she walked out and slammed the door behind her.
Harley stopped only to grab her purse and raincoat from her office—her ex-office. On her way out, she ran into Nathan.
“Hey, bud,” she said and slipped a twenty-dollar bill into his shirt pocket. “I need a favor. You up for it?”
Nathan gaped at her. She couldn’t tell what he was more astonished by, her Brooklyn accent or the money or both. But he nodded. “Okay.”
“I want ya to tell my puddin’ the situation’s temporary and I’m workin’ on a solution,” she said. “Can you remember that?”
He looked even more flabbergasted. “You want me to talk to your dessert?” He blinked. “Uh, what flavor?”
Harley forced herself to smile at him instead of grabbing him by his hair and ramming his head into the wall. “Not my pudding,” she said, over-enunciating. “My puddin’. The Joker.” She paused, watching his face as he took this in. “Will ya do that for me, hon? I’ll know if ya don’t and the consequences will be serious. Extremely serious.”
“Tell the Joker the situation’s temporary, you’re working on a solution,” he said dutifully.
“You got it, sweetie.” Harley pinched his cheek hard enough to make him wince and swept out the front door with a flamboyant swish of her raincoat.
“Don’t get many folks looking for these,” the car salesman said, nodding at Harley’s Smart Car. “Everybody wants hybrids or something they can plug their iPods into, along with GPS and a camera in the rear—”
“Not me, toots,” Harley said. The tough-Brooklyn-cookie voice seemed to have settled in for good. She looked out over the sea of cars in the lot. “I know where I’m goin’ so I don’t need GPS. If I wanna see what’s behind me, I look in the rear-view mirror. Ya got any cars that, you know, ya just get in and drive?”
He laughed. “Not afraid of car thieves?”
“Nah. Everybody wants hybrids they can plug into their iPods or something,” she said. “That’s what a good-lookin’ used-car salesman told me, anyway.” She tapped the end of his nose with her index finger. “Boop!”
The man laughed again, blushing, and Harley realized he was a nice guy. How could a used-car salesman be a nice guy? What was the world coming to? It was probably Batman’s fault.
“We do have a few vehicles that don’t come equipped with all the latest bells and whistles.” Taking her elbow, he walked her through the dealership building and out the back door to where several older cars were parked.
“I gotta tell you, they’re all high mileage and one or two have rebuilt engines,” he said. “But they run just fine. Used to be parents got one of these for their kid—Junior’s first car, you know? But nowadays, Mo
m and Dad want GPS and lo-jacks.”
Harley shook her head. “No respect for their kids’ privacy.” She ambled over to look at a dark blue four-door hatchback.
“You don’t have kids, do you?” asked the man.
“No. But if I did, I’d respect their boundaries,” Harley said. “So tell me about dis one.”
The man was still blushing a little. “Well, it actually was someone’s first car…”
* * *
After almost an hour and two brief test drives, Harley decided on the hatchback. Four doors meant no struggling to get into or out of the backseat and the hatch was handy for groceries and things. Her puddin’ needed good food to make him well. No proper trunk, but cops always looked there first anyway.
She was a little sorry to let the Smart Car go—it had been cheap to run and easy to handle. But there was no way her puddin’ could ride comfortably in it; his knees would be up around his ears. Besides, it was too noticeable, whereas the hatchback was so nondescript that as soon as you looked away, you’d even forget what color it was—the perfect getaway vehicle.
Since she’d left Arkham, Dr. Leland had been calling her two or three times an hour and texting her even more frequently, demanding that she call back. So her next stop was a convenience store where she picked up half a dozen burner phones and a few extra prepaid SIM cards, along with sandwiches, grape soda, and a picnic cooler. Then she stocked up on medical supplies at a drugstore—only over-the-counter stuff, nothing she had to show her medical license for, just in case Leland had already put out the word on her.
Her last stop before home was Just For Laughs, which claimed to be Gotham City’s one-stop shop for costumes, novelties, tricks, and party goods.
* * *
“You don’t want that,” the clerk said matter-of-factly as Harley held a red-and-black costume in front of herself and looked at her reflection in a mirror. He was colorless and doughy; probably lived in his parents’ basement and wasn’t planning to move.
