DC Comics novels--Harley Quinn

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Also Available from Titan Books

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS

  BATMAN: THE KILLING JOKE by Christa Faust and Gary Phillips

  BATMAN: THE COURT OF OWLS by Greg Cox

  HARLEY QUINN

  PAUL DINI AND PAT CADIGAN

  Based on the comic book by Paul Dini and Bruce Timm

  Harley Quinn created by Paul Dini and Bruce Timm

  TITAN BOOKS

  HARLEY QUINN: MAD LOVE

  Hardback ISBN: 9781785658136

  Ebook ISBN: 9781785658143

  Published by Titan Books

  A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

  144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

  www.titanbooks.com

  First edition: November 2018

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2018 DC Comics.

  BATMAN and all related characters and elements © & ™ DC Comics.

  WB SHIELD: ™ & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s18)

  TIBO41544

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Designed by Crow Books.

  This is for all the women

  who met Mr. Wrong

  and said,

  This is the man for me!

  (Hey, it coulda been worse—it coulda been forever.)

  P.C.

  To Arleen Sorkin

  for giving Harley Quinn

  her voice, heart and soul on screen,

  and to Pat Cadigan,

  who gave her the same in this book.

  P.D.

  PROLOGUE

  The story of Harley Quinn begins with a heist in a New York nightclub.

  Given whom the world knows Harley Quinn to be, this may seem only fitting, perhaps expected. But as it happens, Harley Quinn wasn’t involved. She wasn’t even there at the time. Nonetheless, each life touches another. Nothing happens in a vacuum; the effects of every deed ripple outward.

  The nightclub in question was called Pulsar and it was the place to be after dark on a Friday—noisy, crowded, jumping. Good music, good company, good feelings, good riddance to another work-week—it was all so good, nobody noticed the crew breaking into the owner’s office. The owner herself was having a good time, not in the club but several floors up in her private apartment, with a particularly attractive gentleman caller. She didn’t worry about being robbed; she had insurance.

  Robbers, however, don’t get insurance of any kind. Nor is there any compensation when a job goes wrong, as it did on this night. The robbers cracked the safe expecting it to be filled with money, bonds, and jewels; instead, they found the cupboard was bare.

  The crew had had a solid plan drawn up for them by an experienced professional as payment for an outstanding debt. Said professional knew all about the safe, the office, and how to avoid Pulsar security. He also knew the owner would be more concerned with running her fingers through the long, silky hair of her gentleman caller than running the nightclub. On Friday nights, Pulsar ran itself anyway; you opened the doors and the wage-slaves came in to spend money on drinks and bar snacks till closing at three a.m. Other refreshments were also available—nothing says We’re having some fun now! like Bolivian Marching Powder or super-X—but that was someone else’s business, nothing to worry about on a usual night.

  Unfortunately, the DEA and local law enforcement had picked this night to execute a raid. They swarmed in, killing the buzz along with the music just as the robbers discovered all their efforts had been for nothing.

  Pointing at the empty safe and shrugging isn’t a get-out-of-federal-custody-free card. The robbers had no choice but to shoot their way out, which was the last thing they wanted to do. Shooting cops was the best way to summon the wrath of the entire NYC police department in all its full, unrestrained glory. The feds could have whatever was left. If there was anything left.

  But nobody wanted to go to jail, either. The robbers fled with nothing to show for their efforts but regret and some painful gunshot wounds for the mob doctor.

  Harleen Quinzel played no part in this; she was seven years old and it was already past her bedtime when the robbers heard the police sirens. The following day, while everyone was lying low and Pulsar’s owner was filling out insurance forms and letting her lawyer handle the cops, Harleen Quinzel was at Coney Island with her daddy.

  This was the best day ever, and Harleen felt like she’d waited forever for it. She and her daddy had spent a lot more time together back when her parents had only had her. But then her baby brother had come along. The baby was cute but, boy, could he cry. Her daddy explained how he was totally helpless and needed a lot of attention, and he was sorry about that, but he and Mommy would make it up to her. She just had to be patient, be a good girl and help out.

  So she was patient, she was a good girl and helped whenever Mommy needed her, and right around the time she thought Mommy and Daddy might make things up to her, they brought another baby brother home. Now there were two of them, and all she could do was go on being good and helping out. But Daddy said they were going to make it up to her. Daddy promised.

  Then they went to the hospital and brought home yet another baby brother, for a grand total of three. Three baby brothers.

  It was hard to believe that her parents really thought her having so many baby brothers was a good idea. But then, grown-ups could be so weird.

  If they’d asked Harleen, she’d have suggested going to the movies or seeing the Ice Capades at Madison Square Garden. But what she really wanted was for Daddy to take her to Coney Island for the day, just the two of them. Daddy never got all bent out of shape about how many hot dogs and caramel apples she ate, and he wasn’t afraid to go on the Wonder Wheel with her. When Mommy was there, she’d get after Harleen for dripping mustard on her shirt or having sticky hands from cotton candy or not wanting the rest of the apple after the caramel part was gone.

  She knew Mommy couldn’t help it; it was how mommies were. Daddy was different. But now that they had all those baby brothers, it seemed like he was always working and never got a day off. He would apologize to Harlee
n and tell her they’d have some fun together as soon as he could make the time, something really, really good. He usually said it as he was going out the door.

  At least he and Mommy had quit giving her baby brothers. That was something to be glad about. But now Harleen was starting to think that Daddy was working so much, he’d forgotten how to do anything else. And worse, maybe he would rather work than be with her and Mommy and the three very loud baby brothers.

  This morning she had been resigned to another Saturday changing diapers and pretending she didn’t hear Mommy muttering about being trapped (which didn’t make any sense because they didn’t even have mousetraps), when suddenly Daddy told her to hurry up and get dressed or they wouldn’t get to Coney Island until noon.

  Harleen had actually wondered if it would really happen, afraid that as soon as they left the house, Daddy would get a call and he’d have to go to work after all and she’d be marooned on the dark side of disappointment, changing diapers.

  But she and Daddy rode the Q Line on the subway all the way to Coney and got there hours before noon. Daddy told her if he got a work call, he wouldn’t answer it. He wasn’t even going to say the word “work” for the rest of the day.

  And it was a wonderful day. Just her and Daddy, riding the carousel, the Wonder Wheel, and the roller coaster, and going through the Funhouse. The Funhouse had been completely repainted and done over. There was new stuff, too, like the big, fat cushioned rollers hanging vertically that pushed you through them like you were cookie dough, and a place where sections of the floor moved separately under your feet, going back and forth so you stumbled and staggered, and lots of funny mirrors that made you look short and squashed, or tall and stretched out, or warped and weird.

  Even the long slides were new, bigger and longer. She was too afraid to go down one by herself so Daddy went with her, holding her tight as she screamed with the thrill of it.

  For lunch, they had Nathan’s hot dogs washed down with something called coconut champagne, which wasn’t really champagne but it sure was sweet; she couldn’t finish it. Daddy didn’t mind—he couldn’t finish his either. Later, when she had a caramel apple for a delayed dessert, he didn’t mind her leaving the apple for the birds after all the caramel was gone. He said he didn’t want to eat an apple without any caramel either, and they both laughed.

  Daddy said he couldn’t go on any rides right after eating so they played games—skee ball, ring toss, Lobster Pot Pyramid Smash, and Grab A Duck. Grab A Duck was best—she and Daddy both won stuffed animals. She won a funny monkey and Daddy won an ostrich. They were small but still wonderful because she and Daddy won them together. Daddy asked her to take care of his ostrich for him because he worked so much and he didn’t want Ozzie to get lonely. Harleen loved that Daddy had already named him.

  They were walking past the roller coaster when Daddy stopped and showed her the framework structure, the way the wood boards crisscrossed. It was called a lattice, he said, and it made a special pattern of light and shadow—if you stood inside and held very still, you’d be so well camouflaged that you’d be practically invisible to people passing by.

  “Not that you’d ever need to do that,” Daddy added as they walked on. “Not in a place like Coney Island.”

  Harleen nodded, holding his hand and looking back over her shoulder at the lattice.

  When the shadows began to stretch and the sunshine turned a soft gold, Harleen thought Daddy would say they should think about going home, but he didn’t. Instead, they went to some of the sideshows, where Harleen saw a lady on an electrified throne with thousands and thousands of volts running through it and she never felt a thing, even though she lit a torch from her tongue.

  Another lady was so flexible, she could twist herself into positions that made Harleen’s eyes water. She’d never seen anyone so limber, not even her gymnastics teacher. Then there was a guy who hammered a nail right into his face and didn’t even bleed.

  Daddy took her back to the Funhouse after that and they went down the big slide five more times together. By the fifth time, she wasn’t scared anymore and she was shrieking with laughter as she and Daddy sat on the little rug and slid down the long curve. Having his strong arms around her made her feel like nothing bad could ever happen to her.

  On the way out, she and Daddy opened a door they thought was an exit and found themselves in a small, stuffy, and very messy room. There were cans of paint and varnish all over the place, like whoever had finished with them had just left them lying around for someone to trip over. Sheets of plywood leaned against one wall. Nearby were big bottles of carpenter’s glue and pieces of blue chalk. A very large sheet of plywood lay over two sawhorses, with a power saw on top of it.

  The air was dry and smelled heavily of sawdust, though there were other odors underneath it—wet paint, thinner, and something like rubber cement, only somehow more intense, like it had a lot more chemicals in it. Harleen felt her stomach turn.

  “This isn’t a nice place,” she said unhappily.

  “No, it’s a work-room,” Daddy said. “Somebody’s got to make the fun stuff.” He led her back out the door, shutting it behind them.

  Harleen looked up at him. “I guess making fun stuff isn’t much fun.”

  “You said a mouthful, kid,” Daddy chuckled as she pulled him away from the door. That awful chemical smell was still in her nose; she needed fresh air to chase it away. When they did finally get outside, it was dark.

  Harleen felt a thrill of excitement. It was so late! Mommy always said when the streetlights went on, it was time to go home. If Mommy had been there, Harleen would already have had her bath and be in her pajamas.

  But Daddy still wasn’t in any hurry to get home. Instead, he took Harleen to get something to eat—a real meal, he said, so when Mommy asked if they’d eaten anything besides hot dogs and candy all day, they could tell her they had. So they went to a funny little diner called En-Why, where all the waitresses had big bouffant hairdos, called everyone hon or sweetie, and popped their gum when they talked in heavy Brooklyn accents. Harleen thought it was almost as much fun as Coney Island.

  Daddy let her order a bacon cheeseburger, curly fries, and onion rings while he had a meat loaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans. Mommy made that a lot, although sometimes Mommy’s meat loaf seemed like it was a lot more bread crumbs than meat.

  The diner meat loaf smelled awfully good; Harleen felt guilty just thinking it, as if she were being disloyal to Mommy. She thought it was kind of strange for Daddy to order something he could have at home, although she didn’t say so. But Daddy seemed to know what she was thinking and said, “I’m just in the mood for meat loaf and I don’t want Mommy to cook an extra meal so late.”

  Well, that made sense, Harleen thought, or as much sense as anything grown-ups did. The way Daddy ate, however, made her wonder. He ate slowly, like he wanted to remember how good it was. He offered her a bite but Harleen said no, thanks, she didn’t feel like meat loaf, which made Daddy laugh. Secretly, she was afraid it might taste better than Mommy’s.

  When they were done—Harleen was too full for dessert—Daddy paid the bill and left a big tip for the waitress.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” the waitress said, popping her gum. Her name-tag said “Millie” and she had the biggest blonde bouffant of all, almost as large as a beach ball, Harleen thought. “Ya got a big heart, I can tell.” Then she turned to Harleen and said, “You take care a him, okay, hon? Make sure he gets home safe.”

  “I sure will, hon, doncha worry about that,” Harleen replied, imitating the woman’s thick Brooklyn accent. Everybody around them burst out laughing, but it was good laughing, like for a comedian on TV.

  Millie kissed the top of her head with a loud smack. “You got a precious little puddin’ there,” she told Daddy as they left the restaurant.

  “You’re full of surprises, Harleen,” her daddy said as he picked her up and carried her toward the subway stop. “Thinking fast is a gi
ft. Something tells me you’ll go far.”

  Harleen put her arms around her daddy’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder. She really was tired now. This was the perfect end to the best day ever, being carried home in her daddy’s strong arms. She was barely aware of going into the subway and getting on the train. Her daddy kept holding her even after he sat down and the motion of the train rocked her to sleep.

  * * *

  She didn’t wake up until they were back on the street and only because she heard a man’s voice growl, “So where’d you stash the haul, Nicky?”

  “Yeah, Nicky, tell us,” said another man, also growling. “Inquiring minds wanna know.”

  Rubbing her eyes, Harleen raised her head and saw two men standing in front of Daddy with their arms crossed, looking real mad.

  Her daddy gave a big sigh. “Come on, guys, I’ve got my little girl here. Can’t this wait till I take her home?”

  “No can do, Nicky-boy,” said the first guy. “We found out the hard way it’s a bad idea to wait on anything where you’re concerned.”

  “Like when you told us to wait till Friday,” added the second guy. “You said we’d get in and out and no one would know? Well, guess what? Our big fat payday turned out to be a big fat goose egg.”

  Her daddy put her down then, even though she was so sleepy she could hardly keep her eyes open. Harleen hung onto his pant-leg, but Daddy gently pried her hands off and made her stand back a few feet.

  “That safe was so bare, it was indecent,” the first guy was saying. “Somebody beat us to the goodies. Only one person coulda done that—the only other person what knew about the job. So after we was done shooting our way out and running for our lives, we asked around. And son of a gun, we found out you were there on Thursday, having drinks with the broad what owns the joint.”

  “I told everyone we shoulda known better than to trust Slick Nick Quinzel,” the second guy said. “But callin’ in a police raid—that was low even for a worm like you.”