Chapter 18: Bunny on Display
The salt air was a clean, sharp contrast to the memory of Gotham’s chemical fog. Harmony stretched out on the oversized towel, the sun warming her skin through the tiny, bunny-print bikini Harley had bought her with a cackle. The fabric felt flimsy, a whisper against her skin, and she was hyper-aware of the looks it drew.
Harley watched from behind mirrored sunglasses, one knee drawn up. She wasn't sunbathing so much as holding court. A large, neon-green margarita sweated in her hand. Her eyes, hidden behind the lenses, were fixed on Harmony—on the way the ocean breeze teased her brown curls, on the way a single drop of saltwater traced a path from her collarbone down the gentle slope of her breast, over her toned stomach, and disappeared into the low-slung waistband of the bottoms.
Harley’s fingers twitched around the cold plastic cup. She had an almost physical urge to follow that droplet’s path with her fingertip, to feel the sun-heated skin under her touch.
Ivy, a few feet away, was a statue of disdain. She’d refused to swim, claiming the water was a “bacterial soup of human filth and sunscreen.” Instead, she sat cross-legged in the shade of a large umbrella, a book on mycology open in her lap, her own personal oasis of calm. The vibrant flowers woven into her one-piece suit seemed to pulse with a life of their own.
“This is the life, huh, Harm?” Harley said, her voice a lazy drawl. “No alarms. No cops. Just sun, sand, and enough cash to buy this whole damn beach if we felt like it.”
Harmony smiled, a shy, genuine thing. “It’s nice.” She glanced at the bustling boardwalk behind them, the shrieks of children mixing with the tinny music from the arcades. It was so normal it felt like a dream, or someone else’s life.
That’s when the whistle cut through the air. It was sharp, two-fingered, and unmistakably aimed at Harmony. A guy in his late forties, his skin tanned to leather, paused his walk along the water’s edge. He grinned, a gold chain glinting in the hollow of his chest, and gave Harmony a slow, appraising once-over. “Looking good, sweetheart,” he called out.
Harmony flinched, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She became very small, very fast.
Harley’s pleasant, sun-drugged smile didn’t change. But her posture did. It went from lazy to coiled in a heartbeat. She took a long, slow sip of her margarita, the ice clinking. “Be right back, guys,” she murmured, her voice sweet as poison.
She stood up, stretching with an exaggerated casualness that made the man’s leer widen. She sauntered towards him, her steps light in the sand. As she drew level, she pretended to stumble, her foot catching on nothing.
The entire contents of the extra-large, slushy margarita arced through the air and dumped directly into the man’s lap, soaking his tacky Hawaiian-print swim trunks. The ice was a shock, the sticky, lime-green liquid instantly staining the fabric.
“Whoops-a-daisy!” Harley chirped, her smile never wavering.
The man yelped, jumping back as the cold hit him. “What the hell, lady?!”
Harley leaned in close, so only he could hear. Her voice dropped, losing all its playful sugar, becoming a low, gritty thing full of broken glass and city alleys. “Eyes to yourself, chuckles.” She patted his cheek, hard enough to be a slap. “Or next time, I won’t be so clumsy.”
He stared at her, his face a confused mask of anger and sudden, dawning fear. He saw something in her eyes then, something that had nothing to do with the beach or the sun. Something he recognized from news reports and whispered warnings. He didn’t say another word. He just turned and hurried away, the dark stain spreading across his trunks.
Harley watched him go, then turned and walked back to their towels, dusting her hands off. She flopped down beside Harmony. “Some people have no manners,” she sighed, as if she’d just corrected a minor social faux pas.
Ivy didn’t look up from her book. “Unnecessarily messy, Quinn.”
“But effective,” Harley shot back, winking at Harmony. “You okay, bunny?”
Harmony nodded, uncurling slightly. The fear was gone, replaced by a warm, buzzing feeling in her chest. It was the same feeling she’d gotten when Harley blew the safe open. A feeling of being protected. Of being someone’s. “Yeah. Thanks, Harley.”
“Anytime.” Harley’s gaze drifted back to her, lingering. “That really is a cute suit.”
The moment stretched, thick and heavy in the salt air. Then Ivy snapped her book shut. “I’m done. The UV index is peaking and the intellectual stimulation here is sub-zero.” She stood, brushing sand from her legs. “I’m going to check on the garden. The soil in that yard is pathetic. It needs attention.”
Harley groaned. “You and your dirt. Live a little, Red!” But Ivy was already gathering her things, a woman on a mission only she understood.
As Ivy walked away, Harley rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. The beach was suddenly quieter, more intimate. The sound of the waves was louder. She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Harmony’s ear, her fingers lingering for a second on her cheek.
“C’mon,” Harley said, her voice soft. “Let’s go get a real drink. Someplace with less… public.” She stood and offered a hand.
Harmony took it, letting Harley pull her to her feet. The touch sent a jolt through her, part fear, part thrill, all addiction. She followed Harley off the sand, away from the normal world, and back toward the shadowy promise of their new life. The duffel bag of cash was waiting, and Harley had that look in her eye—the one that meant the night was just getting started.
The bar Harley chose was a dim, wood-paneled cave called The Salty Dog, a block back from the tourist boardwalk. It smelled of decades of spilled beer, fried food, and the faint, briny damp that seeped up from the sand beneath the foundation. A few grizzled locals hunched over their drinks at the far end of the bar, ignoring the flickering baseball game on the TV mounted in the corner.
“Two of your strongest… everything,” Harley announced to the bored-looking bartender, slapping a hundred-dollar bill onto the sticky counter. “And keep ‘em coming until we look happy.”
Harmony slid into a cracked vinyl booth, the material cool against the backs of her thighs. She watched Harley command the room’s attention without even trying, a pint of something dark and a shot of amber liquid arriving in front of them seconds later. “I’ve never really… done this before,” Harmony admitted, poking at the lime wedge in her shot glass.
“Done what? Liquid courage?” Harley knocked her shot back in one smooth, practiced motion. She didn’t even shudder. “It’s easy. Just open the hatch and let the fun times in.”
Harmony mimicked the movement, the liquor burning a harsh, cleansing path down her throat. It tasted like fire and pine trees, and it made her eyes water. She coughed, sputtering, as the heat spread through her chest.
Harley’s laugh was a loud, joyful sound in the quiet bar. “There she is! See? Now you’re one of us.” She pushed the pint glass towards Harmony. “Chaser. You’ll need it.”
The next hour blurred into a warm, hazy dream. Harley ordered a chaotic rainbow of cocktails with names like “ Shark Bite” and “Monsoon,” most of which were disturbingly blue or red. She told rambling, exaggerated stories about heists gone wrong and Arkham Asylum guards she’d particularly annoyed, her gestures becoming wider, her laughter more frequent.
Harmony listened, mesmerized, the alcohol softening the sharp edges of the world. The fear that usually coiled in her stomach had dissolved into a giddy, floating sensation. She found herself laughing at things that should have been terrifying, her own voice sounding louder and freer than she remembered.
“And then—then I says to him,” Harley slurred, leaning across the table, her breath sweet with rum, “I says, ‘The bomb is in the pudding, you idiot!’” She dissolved into another fit of giggles, resting her forehead on the table. “He believed me!”
“You’re so brave,” Harmony breathed, her words tangling together. The booth felt like it was swaying gently. “You just do whatever you want.”
Harley lifted her head, her eyes glistening in the dim light. The manic energy had softened into something more intimate, more focused. “It’s not brave, bunny. It’s just… what else is there?” She reached across the table and took Harmony’s hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “You gotta make your own fun. Before the fun makes you.”
Her thumb stroked slow circles over Harmony’s knuckles. The touch was electric, a current that cut straight through the alcoholic fog. Harmony’s breath hitched. She could feel the calluses on Harley’s palms, the strength in her fingers.
“I never had fun before,” Harmony whispered, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. “Not like this.”
“I know.” Harley’s voice was low, almost a purr. “But you’re with me now.”
The bartender rang a bell for last call, the sound jarringly loud. Harley didn’t let go of her hand. She just tossed a few more bills onto the table, a small fortune for their drinks, and stood, pulling Harmony up with her. The world tilted on its axis as Harmony stumbled into her, their bodies colliding.
Harley caught her, one arm wrapping around her waist to steady her. She was solid, an anchor in the spinning room. Harmony could feel the lean muscle of her arm, the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt.