Harley's chest puffed out as she planted her hands on her hips, her eyes moving between the corpse sprawled across the poker table and her two companions. "How did I… how does it look? I did good, right? That's my first official kill under the banner of Midnight Mayhem!"
Barbara nodded with a measured seriousness, then tipped her head toward Pamela. "What do you think, Pam? You're kind of the leader here."
Pamela gave Harley a relaxed thumbs-up. "Excellent job, Harley. That last bit, the way you backtracked on your promise with 'clown logic'? Pure genius."
Harley blinked, her face softening. "Oh, you're just being nice…"
Pamela leaned forward, her tone almost playful. "No, I mean it. Clown logic. I love it. I think I'm going to try botanist logic myself if I ever need to walk back a promise. Clearly I've got areas I need to improve on too as an evil villain boss."
Barbara, ever practical, pulled the blood-spattered contract from beneath Phil's dead weight and studied it closely. "Well, the signature's written in blood, but it's still legally binding. He signed before dying. I can file this at the courthouse and take possession of all this land for free."
Harley gleefully scooped up the duffel bag packed with cash and slung it over her shoulder.
The squeak of shoes made them all turn. The laundromat's desk attendant had returned, his eyes bulging at the sight of Phil's body crumpled on the table. "Oh my God! You killed Phil!"
Barbara didn't even flinch. "Oh my God! You just got a new boss."
The man hesitated only a beat before shrugging. "Okay. Not like this is the first time. Just let me know when payday is. I'll be at the counter." Without further fuss he turned, sat back at the desk, and resumed folding shirts like nothing had happened.
Barbara gave a small approving smile. "Excellent work ethic."
The man lifted a hand lazily. "Thanks, boss."
Harley turned in a circle, gesturing at the blood-smeared walls and floor. "I think we're gonna need to give this place a facelift if we want to avoid federal tax people wandering in here. You know, little things like bloodstains tend to invite attention."
Pamela nodded. "Good idea. We'll let one of our new hires take care of it. Remember, we picked up a dozen henchwomen from Cars R Us. They're supposed to start arriving at the lair today. Let's leave it to them. After all, what kind of villains don't make their henchmen do all the work?"
Harley squinted as if a revelation hit her. "Oh my God, that's true. The Joker always did everything himself! No wonder it all backfired. Why didn't he just let his henchmen do the grunt work while he made speeches and looked good? That's what real villains do!"
Barbara gave a small nod of approval. "You're learning, Harley. You're learning."
Harley gasped, snapping her fingers. "That's why they're called henchmen! Because they do all the hench work. Hench literally means worker!"
Pamela humored her, resting her chin in one hand. "Close enough. But henchmen also get paid. Full dental, 401k, health insurance. Maybe even vision coverage if we're feeling generous."
Barbara crossed her arms. "As long as they don't unionize."
Harley shrugged with unexpected nonchalance. "Eh, if they wanna unionize, I don't care. As long as the work gets done."
Their shared laughter rang out, echoing oddly against the humming machines.
Pamela raised a brow and added slyly, "Actually, I think we should give them pensions, too. I want my henchwomen to retire happily… if they survive long enough to retire."
That thought sent all three into another round of manic laughter. Pamela's voice cut through the noise at the peak of it. "Of course, if they get too old, we could always eliminate them."
Harley waved her hands quickly. "No, no! That'd be terrible for morale. Let them enjoy their retirements. Happy minions live longer."
Barbara cleared her throat and redirected their focus. "All right. Let's move. We need to file this contract. If it's not registered, then when Batman inevitably starts sniffing around, we'll have nothing to fall back on."
Harley blinked at her. "Wait, wait, so evil doesn't stop at the crime? You have to… file paperwork? Joker never did that! We robbed banks, kidnapped people, embezzled, but we never filed anything. This is like… evil paperwork lessons!"
Pamela adjusted the strap of the duffel bag on Harley's shoulder. "Exactly. We're doing this by the book. To stay legitimate, we need to appear legitimate."
Minutes later the Unicorn screeched up in front of the courthouse and slid perfectly into a handicapped spot. The three women stepped out, adjusting their coats and masks of composure before climbing the steps.
Across the street, a traffic cop slowed to a stop, peering at the rust-pocked gray sedan. "Ugh. Whoever drives this heap must be disabled. I feel bad for them. No ticket." He drove on.
Another cruiser pulled up minutes later. A second cop leaned out his window. "What kind of broke loser drives something like that? Even if they're not handicapped, let 'em have the spot out of pity." He drove off.
A third patrol car slowed, its officer sneering outright. "God, I hope this thing gets crushed by mistake. Ew." He left without even reaching for his ticket pad.
Inside the courthouse's marble halls, Pamela pointed toward a drab side corridor. "We need to go down there. That's where you file new ownership for land."
Barbara gestured for her to take the lead. "Go on. We'll follow."
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