Harley leaned forward across the booth, her eyes wide, the steam from her mug rising between them. "Wait a minute… I didn't even put it together until just now. When you introduced Pamela Isley as your girlfriend, I thought you meant she was just a friend who happened to be a girl. But oh my God, Barbara… have you been bent?"
Barbara nearly spilled her coffee as she flailed one hand, her voice rising in disbelief. "What are you even talking about?"
Pamela gave a soft laugh and set her cup back on the table, her expression easing as she looked at Barbara. "It's all right. She was probably just confused at first." She turned her gaze to Harley and lifted her chin with confidence. "Yes. I managed to nab myself a good one here, didn't I?"
Harley slapped her palm on the table so hard that the mugs rattled. "Oh my God. Girl, you're a pro! You seduced the daughter of the police commissioner. That's legendary. That's straight-up top-tier villain origin material. Hats off to you. Manipulate and romance your way to power—it's classic."
Pamela shook her head, amused. "Hardly manipulation. Barbara and I were already on the same wavelength by the time we escaped that basement. In fact, we've already killed multiple people together."
The grin on Harley's face faltered as her eyes widened. She turned to Barbara. "Wait. Is that true? You've actually taken lives?"
Barbara lowered her eyes briefly, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug, then lifted her chin with steady clarity. "Yes. We killed several… humanoid things in Professor Woodrue's lab. And later, we eliminated a woman who was selling keycards to the women's dorms—giving predators access. We didn't exactly have a choice."
Harley exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. "Professor Woodrue. I'm surprised you didn't finish him off. But that bitch selling dorm access? Good. That's not just villain work—you probably saved dozens of girls from being assaulted. Gotham University is rotten. Just last year, five women were abducted and experimented on by faculty and staff."
Pamela leaned forward, her green eyes hardening with resolve. "That's why I'm suing the university. Once the public learns what they allowed, they'll settle fast. And when they do, I'll take their money and launch a legitimate business front."
Harley whistled low and leaned back, clearly impressed. "All right. I was a psychiatrist before I fell in with Mister J. If you need someone for your team—count me in. Joker's locked away after that theater bombing. They're saying this stint in Arkham might last until the next century… though knowing him, he could be out in a month."
Pamela raised a brow. "Really? You're free now?"
Harley gave a little shrug. "Yeah, I got nothing better to do. And you two? You're clearly in full villain mode. Why not make it a trio?"
Barbara's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What exactly do you mean by join the trio?"
Harley laughed and lifted both hands innocently. "Relax, girl. I mean joining your criminal enterprise, not your bedroom."
Barbara eased back slightly but kept her gaze firm. "All right. But just so we're clear—if you do start having thoughts about Pamela… I'm open to discussing it. But you're going to talk to me first."
Harley burst into laughter, nearly knocking her mug over. "As if! Please. You two are already glued together like ivy on brick."
Pamela leaned forward, steering the conversation back. "If you're in, then we need something from you—information. We need weapons and we need people. Subordinates. A crew."
Harley's eyes gleamed knowingly. "You need henchmen? That's one of Gotham's biggest secrets. Ever wonder why Batman's villains always have a small army following them around?"
Pamela's interest sharpened. "You're telling me there's a secret system to recruit them?"
Barbara leaned in, her tone cautious. "It makes sense. The Joker never paid half of his goons. They volunteered just for chaos. But if we want real muscle—people who follow orders and don't panic—we'll need to pay."
Pamela tapped a finger against the table, thoughtful. "How much would three hundred thousand dollars get us?"
Harley exchanged a look with Barbara, then leaned forward, her grin returning. "More than you think. Most villains in Gotham are cheapskates. They take whoever shows up. But with that kind of money? You could build a seriously competent crew."
Pamela's voice was calm and precise. "Not henchmen. Henchwomen."
Harley paused, then let out a bark of laughter. "Henchwomen, huh? Now that's fresh. And smart. Supply's high, demand's low. Gotham doesn't appreciate female muscle—but I do."
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