shireberries

Dressed in a pencil skirt and a conservative red button-down top, Harley approached Coleman Reese’s house. Her hair was up in a tight ponytail, and she wore glasses and carried a briefcase. She had learned that policemen responded more professionally to straight-laced women, and she knew she couldn’t rely on her charms to get her through. They had to believe her.

She had found Coleman Reese’s address easily enough, and it was still guarded by the police because of that reason. Even though Gotham General Hospital had already been blown up, the police didn’t want to risk someone coming by and killing him anyway. They knew that the people of Gotham were scared, that the Joker had instated chaos into the city, and who could say that someone wouldn’t kill Reese now, just to be sure?

“Excuse me, no one’s allowed in here,” said the cop at the door. “You’re going to have to leave.”

“I’m Dr. Quinzel, from Arkham,” Harley said politely. There was no point in lying about her name. “Commissioner Gordon sent for someone to check on Mr. Reese?”

“I didn’t hear about that.” Harley was hoping for a dumb cop, but she might have to convince this one.

“It’s standard procedure in cases like these. Victims of public threats require state mandated treatment from a psychiatrist. You’d consider this to be protective custody, yes officer?”

Harley was laying it on thick, and the man began to bite.

“Sure, sure. Can I see some ID?”

“Of course,” Harley said, reaching into her pocket for her old Arkham ID badge. It had a photo of her on the front and a barcode for access inside the Asylum. What it didn’t have was an expiration date.

“I might have to check this with the Commissioner,” he said, but Harley was prepared.

“Oh, I’m sure he has nothing better to do tonight than check on orders he already gave,” Harley said with a smile, knowing full well that the majority of the police force was going after the Joker.

The cop thought about it for a moment, looking behind Harley to his partner sitting in a car across the street. “I’ll have to check you for weapons, if you don’t mind, ma’am.”

Harley smiled, handing him her briefcase and turning out her pockets. The briefcase held some papers, a fake file on Coleman Reese with a picture of him from the internet clipped to the outside, and a paperback self-motivation book.

“Thank you, doctor. I’ll take you in.”

Harley followed the cop inside, and they found Reese sitting rigidly on a couch in front of the TV.

“Mr. Reese? This is Dr. Quinzel, she’s a psychiatrist. We’d like you to talk with her for a moment,” the cop said. Harley had learned well from the Joker the art of making someone think that your plan is actually their plan. She shook Reese’s hand.

“I’ll be right outside,” the cop said to both of them. Harley thanked him and waited for him to close the door.

Reese’s sitting room was quite nice, and Harley could tell he had a rather good paying job over at Wayne Enterprises. There was a fireplace on one wall, burning warmly.

“I don’t think I need a psychiatrist,” Reese said. “I think I’m doing ok. The police have been--”

“Where’s your evidence on Batman’s identity?” Harley cut him off. Reese stared at her, puzzled. “The evidence you were going public with before the Joker called that news show? Where is it?”

“I…What is this? Are you really a psychiatrist?”

Harley smirked at the man’s slowness, but she didn’t have much time. She knew that the cop outside was probably running her name, and checking with his partner about Gordon’s supposed orders. She needed to get out of here fast.

“I used to be,” she said, making sure she stood between Reese and the door. “I’m in business for myself now.”

“Who are you?” Reese asked, eyeing the door.

“Don’t even think about calling for help. I could kill you very quietly, then leave and tell the cops out there that you went to sleep. They wouldn’t find your body until tomorrow morning, and I’ll be long gone by then.”

Harley was bluffing, of course. She had no weapon with her, but Reese was so gullible that his eyes were wide and his mouth shut.

“But I don’t want to do that, Mr. Reese. Just give me the papers, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Ok, ok. They’re right there on that table!”

He pointed to a red folder on top of his coffee table. Harley motioned for him to get it. When he handed it to her, she flipped it open. Inside were designs for Batman’s suit and cape, the tank he rode around in, as well as various other gadgets made at Wayne Enterprises. Harley closed the folder and shoved it against Reese’s chest.

“Bring it over there,” she said, gesturing to the fireplace.

“Ok,” Reese said quickly. Harley followed him.

“Drop it in.” She glared at him while he hesitated. “Do it!”

Reese let go and the folder fell into the flames. They both watched it crinkle and burn.

“If you tell anyone what happened in here, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

Reese nodded his head, still staring at her wide-eyed. Harley opened her briefcase and handed him the self help book.

“This should help you while you look for a new job,” she said, walking toward the door. “I’m pretty sure you just got fired.”

“Thank…you?”

Harley smiled at the cop as she passed him, swinging her briefcase.

“I called you a taxi, Dr. Quinzel,” he said with a meathead grin.

“Thank you so much, officer.”

Outside, she winked at the cop inside the car before stepping into the taxi.

“Where to, miss?” the driver asked. Harley hesitated a moment, looking down at her briefcase. After this there’d be no turning back.

She looked up, her resolve showing on her face. “Gotham Police Station, please.”

Commissioner Gordon and his best men were out helping Batman take down the Joker, so the station was fairly empty. There was a heavyset female cop behind the desk who barely looked up when Harley entered.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Harley took a deep breath.

“Yes. I’m here to turn myself in for crimes that I’ve committed.” A nearby cop put his hand on the top of his gun and stepped closer.

“And what crimes would that be?”

Harley looked from the cop behind her to the woman at the desk. She knew that this was the only way.

“My name is Harleen Quinzel. I was a psychiatrist at Arkham, the Joker was my patient. I broke him out of the Asylum, and I’ve been helping him commit murder ever since.”

The cop behind her grabbed her arms and cuffed them behind her back. He checked her for weapons, handing her cell phone and briefcase to another cop. He read her her rights, but she wasn’t listening. Soon, she was alone in a holding cell while the cops tried to contact Gordon. Of course they wouldn’t believe that turning herself in wasn’t part of the Joker’s plan-- he had gotten himself arrested on purpose before.

It would be a long time before she got to talk to anybody. She sat in her cell and waited.