Phil's eyes narrowed as the smoke from his cigar curled upward. His gaze slid past Barbara and Pamela and fixed squarely on Harley. "You're Harley Quinn, aren't you? Joker's right-hand gal. I hear he's doing a stint in Arkham right now."
Harley tilted her head and smiled with exaggerated cheer, her voice cutting through the thick air. "That's right!"
Phil let out a dry chuckle, tapping ash into a tray. "Well, it's only a matter of weeks—or maybe months—until he escapes again."
Harley's eyes rolled so hard it almost hurt. "He always does…"
Phil leaned forward and tugged at the zipper on the duffel. The bag groaned as he peeled it open, revealing neat stacks of twenties. His eyebrows rose despite himself. "You're really serious about buying all the land around here, huh?"
Barbara's voice was flat, unflinching. "Exactly. I want all the land around here. But I never said I'm buying it from you."
She stepped closer to the table, her presence suddenly heavier, sharper. "You're going to give it to me. And I'll be taking this laundromat too."
She dropped an envelope onto the table, sliding the papers free and spreading them in front of him. The contract gleamed faintly under the overhead light. "Sign here. That way, it's all legitimate. No chance to cry coercion later."
Phil barked a laugh, leaning back in his chair as his men chuckled with him. He motioned lazily to the armed mobsters around the table. "You little bitch. You honestly think I'd sell this land to you? How about I just take the money and let the three of you walk out of here with your legs still intact?"
Before Barbara could respond, Harley bounced in place, her hands clasping together like a child desperate for attention. "Ooh, ooh! Barbara, can I take over now? Please let me take over!"
Barbara turned her head, her expression calm, almost teacherly. "Do you know what we're doing here, Harley?"
Harley nodded rapidly. "I've learned enough so far. I'm pretty sure I have a good idea what you and Pamela are doing."
Barbara gave a small shrug, then gestured at the table. "Okay, Harley. You can take over. Make sure he signs the contract. That's all you need to do. Anything else you want to do is fine… just don't destroy the laundromat."
Harley clapped her hands together like it was Christmas morning. "Oh, you can trust me! I'll definitely make sure he signs that contract, all right."
She strolled forward with a swagger that looked half comic, half dangerous. "Phil Collins, my boy! How are you doing? It's been a long time!"
Phil's wary gaze darted between her and the bodies of his men still lounging with their cigars. "Harley… what do you want? We're not selling this place. I answer to Rupert Thorne. You don't want to mess with him. The Joker doesn't even mess with him."
Harley tilted her head, lips curling into a sharper grin. "Well, well, well… you think Joker wouldn't dare mess with Rupert Thorne? He's nothing in Joker's eyes. And you're nothing in mine."
Harmy moved suddenly, tapping one of the mobsters on the shoulder. Nobody noticed the spark that flickered on the ring on her finger until it was too late. A surge of electricity ripped through him, his body convulsing violently. His scream was cut off by the smell of scorched flesh before he slumped forward across the poker table, smoke rising from his collar.
Phil lurched back in horror. "What the hell are you doing?! That was Timmy! I've known him for twenty years!"
Harley's voice turned cold, all playfulness vanishing. "Phil, I don't think you understand. See, we're not giving you any money for this place. We just needed a reason to come see you—and the money provided that."
She tapped the contract with her finger, sharp as a gavel. "You're gonna sign that contract. And if I'm happy with your performance, I'll let you live. Maybe even keep your legs intact. And by intact, I mean still attached to your body—not necessarily unbroken."
Phil panicked, shouting, "Guys, get this bitch!"
The two men left alive at the table drew their guns, pointing them at Harley's chest. She only smiled sweetly. "Oh, aren't you two adorable?"
The flower pinned to her jacket hissed, releasing a puff of green-pink gas. The two men staggered, coughing, their eyes glassy. Within seconds, they turned their weapons not on Harley but on each other. Two deafening gunshots echoed in the room. Both men collapsed, blood pooling beneath their chairs.
Phil stood frozen, sweat sliding down his temples. "No… it can't be! How did you use your clown tricks to defeat them so easily?!"
Harley clicked her tongue, stepping closer. "That's why you're bottom-tier trash, Phil. Even Joker could pull this off. It's the magic of being a clown. And I'm a killer clown even if im not from outer space but I'm still deadly."
Phil's bravado crumbled. "All right, all right! I… I can't sign the contract, okay? This property belongs to Rupert Thorne! I just handle it legally for him!"
Harley shrugged casually. "Oh, I don't think you understand…" She seized his hand and snapped a finger. Then another. Then a third. Each crack echoed, his screams filling the room.
"Okay! Okay! Just stop breaking my fingers—I'll do it! I'll sign it!"
Harley's face lit up with satisfaction. "That's more like it."
She pulled out a steel-tipped quill, ornate and old-fashioned. Instead of offering ink, she drove the tip straight into his already mangled hand. Phil groaned through clenched teeth, blood welling up as he used the pen to wrote his name across the contract. The red letters bled into the page like something ancient and binding.
He slumped, gasping. "Can… can I leave now? Please?"
Harley cocked her head playfully. "Oh, I never said I'd let you leave alive. Wait… did I?" She paused as if truly thinking, then shrugged. "Oh well. Doesn't matter. That's clown logic! I can change my mind whenever I want."
Before he could beg again, she drove the pen into his throat. Blood sprayed across the table, staining the contract darker red. Phil collapsed forward, twitching once before going still, his face buried in the very papers he had signed.
Behind her, Barbara and Pamela exchanged a quiet, knowing glance. Harley straightened, wiping her hands on his velvet sleeve, and looked back with a glint in her eyes.
"Now that's how you seal a deal."
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