Title: The Unauthorized Biography of Harley Quinn
Rating: M
Plot: When an ad in the newspaper for an unauthorized biography of Harley Quin is discovered and the writer and publisher end up missing, it is up to Batman to follow the crazy clown girl's trail, who happens to also be followed by the Joker, looking to settle some business with her. Can Batman reach her before it's too late for her and the innocents? Can Joker get to her before she's safe from his grasp within Arkham's walls thanks to the Dark Knight? Read and find out...

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"HARRRLEEEEY!" the Joker screeched at the top of his lungs as he walked out of his bedroom, wearing nothing but his confetti-coloured boxers and a sock on his left foot, which had not been pulled on the whole way.

No answer.

"HARLEY!" he attempted again.

"She's – she's not here, boss," Murphy managed to sputter out sheepishly.

With an eyebrow raised and lips pursed tightly together, the Clown Prince of Crime turned to his loyal subjects, his muscles, his guns, his – two lackies. They were sitting at a shabby, stolen table playing poker, just two of them: Murphy and Rocco.

The rest of them must've been out hot-wiring whores, fucking cars and whatever else morons like them found themselves doing on a Thursday night, the Joker concluded. It didn't matter though. He could buy and sell a million of those goons but there was only one Harley Quinn – who knew where the hell his vest was.

"What do you mean she's not here?" he snapped. "We've got a heist in three days, and I certainly didn't kick her out – yet."

He eyed the two baboons sitting in front of him and felt the need to snap their necks. No, admittedly, he did not believe it would improve the situation or the mood he was in but it always surprised him they've lasted a year and a half with him. That was way past retirement age when it came to his gang.

"She just left," Murphy answered. "She didn't say nuttin'; just mumblin' some mumbo-gumbo to herself. We jus' figured yous two had a fight or sumtin'."

"Murphy, my boy," the Joker said as he looked tenderly at him, moving closer to hold his hired-help's face in his hands. "Did you hear me yelling last night?"

"No?"

"No? Hm. Well, did you hear Harley's blood-curdling screams or furniture being thrown around with a few sprinkles of thumps and shatter glass in between?"

"Gee, boss," Rocco suddenly jumped in with a smutty grin, "we can never tell by that if you're havin' a fight or just havin' sex."

Before Rocco could even blink, searing pain boiled within his thigh, which was promptly followed by the feeling of warm blood gushing. He looked down – he'd been shot. The Joker had pulled Murphy's gun out of the holster and shot him. Son-of-a-bitch.

"You might wanna get some ice on that, Roc," quipped the Joker before turning his attentions back to Murphy. "Sooooo, as I was saying before I was so ruuudely interrupted – did you hear any of that?"

"No?"

There was a pause as the Joker considered his words carefully.

"THEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THINK WE HAD A FIGHT!?" he hollered, smacking Murphy in the face before kicking the chair back and leaving a resounding echo of the splintering chair and crack of Murphy's head on the cement ringing in the room.

"Imbeciles," he muttered, storming off to Harley's bedroom, leaving the two idiots to nurse their wounds.