Stuffed

"What the hell is this?" demanded Manny Calvroni as Harley Quinn strode into the room. "Where's the Joker?"

"Thanks, Manny, I'd love a seat," retorted Harley, grabbing a chair and sitting down, propping her legs up on the table and smiling at him. "Ain't you just a gentleman for offering?"

Manny shared a look with Donny Montera, his right hand man. The two men headed a gang of thugs, one of the many in Arkham City, although Manny and Donny's previous connections with the mafia before their incarceration in the facility had made their gang specially trained and highly sought after by the so-called freak factions in Arkham City, headed by the Joker, the Penguin, and Two-Face. So far the gang had managed to remain independent, but now they were looking to join whichever freak would offer them the best price. They had already been personally approached by the Penguin and Two-Face, and they had understood that they would be personally meeting with the Joker as well. But instead he had sent his little slut Harley Quinn. It was an insult if ever Manny had to suffer one. Clearly they weren't important enough to Joker to merit a personal meeting, and he wasn't prepared to deal with this dumb blonde floozy.

"Look, sweetheart, I don't know what you're doing here, but hadn't you better go back home before you get hurt?" he said. "This is a business for men, y'know."

"Aw, ain't you sweet to be concerned for my welfare, Manny?" asked Harley, grinning. "But I think I can handle myself. Mr. J sent me to do some negotiating for him, and I'd hate to leave before I got a chance to do what he told me to. I'm a good girl like that."

Manny studied her shapely body, revealed in the tight leather she was wearing, and had to admit that the clown was a lucky guy to be able to have that whenever he wanted. He could never understand what a hot little number like Harley was doing with that crazy maniac, and frankly he didn't like to think about what attracted her to him. There were rumors about the kinda sick stuff they got up to together, and he believed every one of them.

"Why did J send you?" he demanded. "Why didn't he come?"

Harley giggled. "Aw, he did come earlier today, Manny! All over his little Harley girl! But if you mean why ain't he here, it's because he's got more important things to do than waste time talking to you bozos."

Manny was stunned. This was certainly different from the respectful and deferential approach of the previous two. But then what had he actually expected from the Joker? Sending his whore was probably some big joke to him. Well, Manny wasn't laughing.

"Yeah, and I ain't got time to waste talking to the Joker's little slut," he retorted. "So why don't you go back to him and tell him to screw himself? Or you, it don't matter which."

"I know which I'd prefer!" giggled Harley. "Aw, Manny, you're a thoughtful guy, but like I said, I ain't leaving until I've done some negotiating. I don't disobey Mr. J or he punishes me. Which I gotta admit, I usually enjoy though. You ever been spanked until you bleed? It's real fun."

She grinned at him, her hand sliding down and resting on her waist where her tattoo of the Joker's face disappeared into her pants. She gently stroked the face on the tattoo, smiling at Manny. "Still, I get better rewards if I'm a good girl. Daddy loves his good girl," she murmured.

"Look, I ain't gonna degrade myself talking to a sick little bitch like you!" snapped Manny. "So just beat it, you filthy whore! Tell J if he wants to talk, to come himself, and not send his little slut to do his work for him! It's just insulting!"

"Insulting?" repeated Harley. "He meant it to be the opposite. Mr. J thought you'd prefer dealing with an attractive specimen of womanhood over him. Easier on the eyes, he thought. I'm a little hurt you don't agree, Manny."

"No offense, sweetheart, but I don't think you've got the brains for any real negotiating," he retorted.

"What makes you think that?" she asked. "Is it 'cause I'm blonde? That's a pretty crude stereotype, Manny, and anyway, this ain't my natural color. Mr. J wouldn't have sent me to do this if he didn't think I could do a good job. He trusts me. Why can't you?"

"Is that the real reason he sent you, though?" murmured Donny. He was always the quiet, more thoughtful one, the brains of the operation, he would claim. Manny naturally disagreed.

"You calling me a liar?" retorted Harley.

"Oh no, I think he trusts you to do a good job," retorted Donny. "I think he has to, though, if the rumors are true. He can't go traipsing around Arkham City in his condition."

"Condition?" repeated Manny. "What's wrong with J?"

Donny shrugged. "The rumor is he's sick. Real sick. Terminally sick."

"Where'd you hear that from, Donny?" snapped Harley.

Donny shrugged again. "Why else would he let you get up off your back? You ain't got anything else going for you except what's between your legs."

"You're a real class act, Donny," retorted Harley. "Don't talk to women much, do ya? I guess you don't need to, though – you generally prefer the company of guys, or at least, that's what I hear."

Donny immediately went for his gun, but Manny held up his hand. "All right, toots, why don't you talk? What's Joker's offer?"

Harley shrugged. "It's simple. Join him and live. Join the other two and die."

"Yeah? And how's he gonna carry out that threat if he can't even come here and meet us?" snapped Manny.

"He can't," snapped Donny. "Nobody's afraid of a dying man."

"Oh, I don't think that's true, Donny," retorted Harley. "If a guy is dying, he ain't got nothing to lose, see? Not that Mr. J is dying. I don't know who started that rumor, but it's clearly just intended to make stupid people underestimate him. Maybe Mr. J started it himself. That would be just like one of his jokes."

"What, just like his threat?" snapped Manny. "Because I ain't laughing, sweetheart. People don't threaten me, especially not some sick, crazy, stupid, ugly freak like the Joke…"

Quick as a flash, Harley had leapt from her seat and punched him across the face, knocking him backward. Donny had whipped out his gun, but Harley kicked it from his hand in an instant. She kicked him again in the stomach, sending him slamming against the wall. She seized Manny by the collar and dragged him to his feet.

"You don't talk that way about puddin'!" she hissed, furiously. "He's a goddamn genius, you hear me?! A perfect, handsome, gorgeous genius! And you ain't worthy of working for him! Mr. J didn't really think you would be. He sent me less as a negotiator and more of an executioner. He knows I prefer action to a lotta talk. That's just the kinda gal I am."

Manny was reaching for the gun in his jacket. He pulled it out and Harley kneed him in the groin. He dropped the gun, gasping. Harley released him, picking up his gun as well as the one Donny had dropped. "I'm sure if Mr. J were here, he'd say something funny like 'double your pleasure, double your fun, with double the bullets and double the guns!' But I ain't funny like he is. Just have to give my own punchline. And like I said, I'm less of a talking, more of a physical comedy kinda gal. Sayonara, jerks!"

She pulled the triggers, simultaneously shooting them both in the head. Then she jumped up to the windowsill, leaping outside just before the guards rushed into the room.

Harley landed on her feet and strode off down the street, whistling to herself. A few moments later, the radio on her belt crackled. "This is Daddy to Princess. You there, pooh bear?"

Harley picked up the radio, beaming. "Yeah, puddin', reading you loud and clear!"

"How'd things go with the gangsters, pumpkin?"

"Aw, it was a blast, puddin'!" she replied. "Wish you could have been there to see the looks on their faces as I put a bullet through each of them!"

"Well, Daddy wishes he could have been there too, pumpkin," he replied. "You know how he loves watching his Harley girl work, and how it makes him want to rev her engine hard."

"Vroom, vroom, puddin'," breathed Harley. "I'm just heading home now if you wanna oil my gears."

"You know Daddy ain't feeling the greatest, kid," he replied. He suddenly started coughing, and Harley's face immediately fell.

"Puddin'? You ok?" she murmured as the coughing gradually stopped.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, Harley. This ain't nothing serious, just a little illness, y'know. I'll be better in no time."

"Course you will, Mr. J," said Harley, with more conviction than she felt. "Your Harley girl is coming home right now to take care of you. I'll be back quicker than you can say…"

"Well, hello, baby," murmured a voice, as a gang of thugs suddenly appeared from the alleyway, surrounding Harley. "Shouldn't walk around dressed like that in this place, sweetheart. Not unless you're willing to share."

Harley sighed. "Mr. J?"

"Yeah, cupcake?"

"I'll have to call you back. Just gotta deal with some scum who clearly don't know who I am."

"Have fun with them, pumpkin pie."

"You know I always do," she replied, grinning. She clipped the radio back onto her belt as the gang approached her.

"You guys wanna get physical with Harley Quinn, huh?" she asked, grinning at them.

This made two of the men pause as a murmur ran around the group. "That's the Joker's bitch!" hissed one.

"So?" demanded the gang leader. "The Joker ain't here, and you think eight of us can't take her?"

"I can," said one guy, licking his lips. "I'll take her so hard she'll be begging for mercy. Twice."

Harley grinned at him. "I like your optimism, handsome. But there's only one guy who can have me begging for mercy. There's only one guy who can have me period."

"Yeah, well, the clown ain't here to save you, sweetheart," growled the gang leader. "And I want a piece of that tight little ass."

Harley sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Hope you guys like it rough."

She flipped out of the way as two guys rushed her, causing them to crash into each other. She backflipped into another man, kicking him in the face, then sprang onto her hands, leaping over two other guys and kicking out into their heads. As two more guys ran at her, she punched one in the jaw, then kicked the other in the stomach. She jumped over to the gang leader and slammed her skull into his then kicked him in the groin. Then she pulled out one of her guns. "Why don't you beg me for mercy now, handsome?" she whispered, holding it to his temple.

"Please…don't kill me!" he gasped.

"Aw, I'm all killed out for today anyway," sighed Harley, sheathing the gun. "Anyway, I'd prefer to leave you creeps alive to spread the word about what happens when anyone else thinks of touching Mr. J's merchandise. You see the stamp, buddy?" she demanded, pulling down the waistline of her pants to reveal her complete tattoo. "Means I'm his property, and his alone. No touchy."

And she kicked him in the face and walked away from the unconscious group, picking up her radio again. "Puddin'? You there?"

"Yeah, sweets?"

"I'll be home in a second."