Who is this Minstrel to you, Quinn?

“Who is this Minstrel to you, Quinn?”

People are just so boring! All day, every day, I swear I been hearing that same stupid question! I heard it from the cops, from the bat and his brat, and even from my one ‘n only main squeeze bombshell babe, Ivy. Ever since Jimmy put on his war paint and started vlogging over the 9 o’clock news, people’ve been trying to figure us out—learn all they can about the two freaks of Gotham and what makes them tick. It’s infuriating! I just wish that they’d all stop and let me get back to living my fantabulous life, but they won’t take a hint and avoid the topic! Case in point…

“Truth is, I’m not quite sure anymore, and that worries me.” I said to Ivy. She was the only person I said that to. It was the most honest statement I could possibly give at the time.

I could tell that it didn’t satisfy her based on the way that she just looked at me, all confused and perplexed and concerned. She stared at me with critical and curious eyes, then bit her lower lip as she tried to align the right words in her head. She wanted to know more, but she was worried that if she pushed on and asked in the wrong way, then I’d shut down completely. I could tell exactly what she was thinking from that one look, because I’d seen it too many times before.

I didn’t know what else to say, and I didn’t really want to know what to say, either. So, I gave her a big, wet one that said, “Au revoir’, then ran into a building screaming—

“Run, Jimmy! I’ll hold off Batman and his Brat Wonda!”

*

“None a yer muthafuckin beeswax, Batman!” I said, adding a shot of my lollipop-painted blue tongue at him. He wasn’t amused, but I knew that if I just kept trying, I’d get a chuckle out of him, yet!

Nightwing had me restrained with my arms behind my back. I tried struggling against his grip, but he was holding me too tight. Just as I’d given up, he started to pull me in closer so he could whisper in my ear.

“Listen, Harley, two people were just disfigured, so we’re not interested in your games today. Tell us what you know, now. You know GCPD won’t be nearly as nice as we are.”

I threw my head back and cackled.

*

I pinched my nose as I replied, “I need you and your breath six feet away from me, Bullock.”

The big gorilla slammed a fist on the table and screeched, “I ain’t playing around with you, Quinn!”

I showed him a particular one of my fingers while I pulled down the bottom of my right eyelid.

In the far corner, the Comish started massaging his temples.

“I don’t get it, Harley,” ol’ Gordo began. “I thought you and the Joker were enemies now. Or did you get back together?”

I shook my head vigorously, “Fuck no, Gordo! I’m a liberated woman, now! The next time I even see that no-good, rotten-faced, soft-dicked, Mistah J, I’m giving him a taste of what-for, and you can quote me on that!”

At that moment, I remembered there was a tape recorder on the table in front of me. I felt blood rush to my face as I leaned forward and screamed, “Allegedly!”

“So you and Joker are still broken up? Then why are you helping out Minstrel?” Gordon asked.

“I ain’t saying a damn thing! I plead the fifth! I want a lawyer! Objection! You’re out of order! You can’t handle the truth!”

One thing I have to say about Gordon, he was a good actor. The way he kept a perfectly still face even after I’d made what was likely the greatest series of court-room jokes he’d ever heard was inspiring. I decided then and there that I wouldn’t bash his face in—not until I got a chance to run lines with him for the next Suicide Squad movie.

Bullock leaned in close to me, and I wanted nothing more than to push him off then spray him with a flamethrower. He was so close that I could see every small hair of his unshaven face. Bullock had to be the only man I knew that had so much acne at his age, and I swear the pimples were so close to me that I could hear them whisperin’ prayers that he’d finally learn how to wash his face properly. His breath smelled of bad street food and cheap alcohol, and the stench was so bad it made me want to throw up.

“Ya know what I think, Quinn? I think you and Minstrel got something going on.”

I felt a spark go off in my chest, and just as quickly, the rest of my body grew warm. In a deeper, more natural tone devoid of my usual whimsy and Jersey accent, I sneered at Bullock, “Just what are you implying?”

Bullock scoffed, and I fought off a desire to spit in his face then claw it off.

“Look, Quinn, I’m not judging you here. None of us ever believed Joker was into chicks anyway, so if you traded up for a bigger model—”

I slammed my forehead into his nose before he could continue. He doubled over and landed on the ground with a crash. I jumped up, then on top of him while I screamed and clawed like Selina taught me. But his fucking face was too greasy, and my nails were too smooth to break the surface of his skin.

Two of Gordon’s Oompaloompas stormed the room and pulled me off Ol’ Slimer. His nose bleeding and his face full of rage, he tightened his fist like he was ready to punch me, but Gordon grabbed his shoulder and reeled him in before he made that mistake.

“You gross son of a bitch!” I screamed at him as the cops hauled me back to my cell. “I’d never do that to Jimmy! Do you hear me, you fucking pervert?!”

*

“Fuck off, Kaonashi!” I snapped as I threw a pillow at the bars.

The Question stood perfectly still and silent without even reacting.

“I’m sick of this! Why can’t you people leave me alone? Minstrel could be my best friend or my worst enemy and I still wouldn’t tell any of you shit!”

In a smooth whisper that was definitely not influencing me in any way other than sexually, she responded, “I’m not Batman, Harley.”

I shrugged and folded my arms.

“Do you understand the ramifications of what Minstrel’s been doing?”

I turned my head away from her and covered my ears while I went, “Lalalala, lalalala, I can’t hear you!”

It didn’t work. Somehow she could make her whispering voice carry over eight feet, “He mutilated a woman on live television, Harley. I don’t know if you really believe what she did justifies that, and I don’t care. The fact is that there’s a lot of people that sympathize with her. People with guns that aren’t going to be satisfied with this cat-and-mouse game that Gordon and Batman want to play.”

I scoffed, “Those militia wannabes couldn’t even catch Kite Man if they wanted! They aren’t going to lay a finger on my guy!”

I slapped my palm over my hand then bit my tongue.

“So, you are his ally? You need to tell him to stop, Quinn. Cuz you’re right, these regular, work-a-day-Joes in their MAGA hats aren’t going to lay a finger on him. But they will be able to hurt anyone else. Do I need to remind you what happens in this country when Black men are only accused of hurting middle class, white soccer moms?”

“Go fight them, then!” I pushed back. I rose from my bed and walked up to the bars of my cell. I reached an arm out and jabbed an angry finger in her ribs. “You capes always want people to think you’re the good guys. You want everyone to think you’re heroic for doing the same violent and crazy shit that me and Pammy and Jimmy get called deranged for! I used to think that we were the same, that the only difference between us was that I own my shit and sleep on this side of the bars, but I guess I was mistaken. I’m better than you are, Dick Tracy! Cuz I chose to help the guy gunning for the Klan wannabes, but you’re trying to stop him.”

There was a silence that hung in the air after that. I pretended that it meant that my words had actually gotten to her and she was struggling to reconcile her world view with the undeniable fact that she was full of shit. But I knew that wasn’t the reason. The Question felt sorry for me, I could smell the condescension in her sweat. That was the thing about moody capes, they had arrogance encoded in their very body language. The way she hung her head, kept her hands in her pocket, and maintained that irritating silence was all I needed to know that she thought I was the dumbest person in the world.

“We are not dealing with Klan wannabes anymore.”

“How the hell would you know!” I snapped.

“If you know where to look, it’s not hard at all to find the ripple effects of Minstrel’s actions. There are very powerful people keeping a close eye on Minstrel. If he causes too much trouble for them—”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t realize that hat was lined with tin-foil.”

Again, there was a short silence.

“Did you know that Joseph Grant has gone missing, Harley?”

*

“I’d never do that to Jimmy! I’d never do that to Jimmy! I’d never do that to—”

I slapped the tape recorder off the table. It doubled over and made a loud ‘clack’ sound when it hit the floor, but I could tell that it didn’t actually break.

“What’s yer point, Nosferatu?”

Batman scowled, then growled at me.

“Bitch,” I mouthed at him.

Nightwing continued his good cop routine by softening his own face and speaking with wide, open-armed gestures, “Harley, there was a riot. We don’t know how many people were injured.”

I shrugged, “Who cares about a bunch of Holocaust Deniers getting plugged?”

“None of them were,” Batman said.

He took a couple steps towards me. Each slap of his boots against the linoleum floor sent a shiver through my body. I’d been staring down this emotionally stunted, leather masochist for so many years that I forgot he wasn’t just an MMA fan in a gimp-suit. The Batman was scary. Really, legitimately scary when he wanted to be. I wasn’t scared of him hurting me, I wasn’t even scared of him yelling at me. As he inched closer and closer to me, I realized that I had no idea what this crazy son of a bitch was going to do to get the information he wanted, and THAT terrified me.

I bit the inside of my tongue and let he pain shock me out of it. I lived with Mistah J. I’d encountered Ivy on a rampage and had her eating me out ten minutes later. Shoot, I once asked Amanda Waller if I could touch her hair. I’d fought through my fear countless times before, so I could do it again.

“The guns were only pointed at one side, Harley. There wasn’t a single gun recovered from the mob walking towards the precinct. The people that were shot were innocent. And it’s Minstrel’s fault.”

I already knew, but I didn’t let him catch on that I knew. I heard the commotion from all the cops in the building and caught snippets of their conversations. I realized something bad was up when the other cells around mine began to fill, and I was able to talk to all the people that were arrested. They weren’t in good shape. I saw broken noses and jaws, blood streaming down people’s faces and slowly coming out their sides. The gas victims were the worst to look at, though. In all the cells around me there were people having asthma attacks, throwing up, and screaming. There was so much screaming, I couldn’t bear it!

And yeah, I knew that Jimmy was responsible. I didn’t know what he did or why, but it just made sense, you know? A march to the police station to protest that Namzmiren bastard getting off? Of course Jimmy would be there, and of course he’d do—something. I didn’t know for certain that he meant to cause the riot, but I knew deep down that it probably wasn’t an accident. Whether I liked it or not, Jimmy was one of us—whether I liked it or not, I was one of us. Joker, Jimmy and me, the Three Clowns of Gotham making everything worse.

“What’s your relationship with Minstrel, Harley? Why did you react like that with Bullock?” Nightwing pressed again.

“I’m not telling!” I said through gritted teeth.

Batman grumbled, “Joker told us that Minstrel was adopted. We weren’t sure how true that was at first. But you seem very protective of him, and it’s clear that you know his real name.”

I clapped my hands, “Wonderful! Just marvelous! Okay, new one: tell me what I had for beakfast today using just the stains on my shirt!”

Nightwing took in a deep breath, and I remember thinking, “How queer.”

He didn’t just suck in air like a regular person would. His head hung a little low, eyes fixed on a random space on the table. His hands were balled into fists, and I noticed an odd tremble in them as the air hit his lungs. There was a fire under his collar, but I couldn’t tell what was causing it. Not until he spoke, at least.

“Why do you call him Jimmy?” He forced from behind gritted teeth.

I looked from him to Batman, then Batman to him, then him to Batman, then Batman to Batman then him to Batman to him to him to Batman…once my eyes were crossed and my head dizzy, I let them fall on Nightwing one last time as I raised an eyebrow.

“It’s his name, you dumbass cape!” I twirled my finger near my right temple and crossed my eyes at the two leather freaks that had proved, once again, that they deserve a spot at Arkham more than me or Pammy.

“What is his last name, Harley?” Batman demanded with a loud slap of  the table.

I didn’t jump when Batman slammed his hand against the table. I didn’t flinch or scream or cry or start stripping or doing whatever his sick-fuck mind was expecting me to do. A minute or two ago, I think I might have, because I didn’t understand what was going on. But now I understood perfectly.

Batman and Midlife-Crisis-Robin were close to figuring out Jimmy’s real identity. Clearly, they weren’t sure, or else they wouldn’t be talking to me, but they had an idea and they wanted to test it. They weren’t trying to get information out of me, they were trying to get confirmation!

I laughed. I crossed my arms, cracked a wide smile, and laughed my ass off.

“Ask him yourself!” I screamed.