Less than thirty minutes later, a sharp knock echoed through the hotel room door.
Jason approached cautiously, his senses on high alert. He peered through the peephole, taking in the figure outside: a woman in a sleek black trench coat, her face obscured by a baseball cap, mask, and sunglasses. Even with the disguise, Jason clocked her immediately—Christine. The subtle curve of her posture, the way she held herself, those telltale features that no mask could fully hide. 'Not bad for a superstar,' he thought, smirking. 'She's got the paranoid routine down pat.'
A mischievous glint sparked in his eye. He flung the door open, feigning confusion. "Sorry, miss, I didn't order room service."
Christine froze, startled, and took two quick steps back, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. The disguise he wore was flawless—his features altered just enough to make him unrecognizable to most. But Christine wasn't most people. After a beat, she let out a scornful laugh. "Nice try, Jason. That cheap makeup job might fool the cops, but you're not pulling one over on me."
Jason's jaw dropped, genuinely impressed. 'Damn, she's good.' His current look was a far cry from his real face, yet she'd seen through it in seconds.
He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. Christine sauntered in, her confident stride faltering slightly when she spotted Harley lounging on the sofa in cozy pajamas, casually peeling an apple with a knife. Christine's expression flickered with unease, but she masked it quickly, her composure snapping back like a steel trap.
"You must be Dr. Harleen Quinzel," Christine said, her voice smooth but edged with curiosity. "Former psychiatric consultant at Long Island Prison, right? The news says you're the one who sprang Jason."
Harley stood, setting the knife and apple aside, her eyes narrowing as she sized up the newcomer. "That's me. And you are?"
Christine didn't answer immediately. She gave Harley a once-over, her gaze lingering with a hint of judgment before turning to Jason with a shake of her head. "Your taste in women's taken a nosedive."
Jason's lips twitched, but he let the jab slide. Harley, however, wasn't so forgiving. Her brows shot up, and she took a step forward, her voice sharp. "Excuse me? Wanna run that by me again?"
Christine smirked, unfazed, and flicked her eyes over Harley's frame. "Cute face, I'll give you that. But those legs? Way too short."
Jason couldn't hold it in—he snorted, barely stifling a laugh. Harley's legs were killer, but next to Christine's damn-near mile-long stems, they didn't quite measure up. The comparison was unfair, but Christine knew how to hit where it hurt.
Harley's face flushed crimson, her eyes blazing with fury as she clenched her fists, ready to lunge. "You—"
"Alright, enough!" Jason stepped in, grabbing Harley's arm to hold her back. He shot Christine a glare, his tone firm. "I didn't call you here to critique my girlfriend's figure, so cut the shit."
Christine's eyes flashed with irritation, but she held his gaze, unyielding. "Fine. Let's get to it, then. I've got places to be this afternoon."
She shrugged off her trench coat, tossing it carelessly onto the sofa before sinking into the cushions. Crossing her long legs, she pulled a slim cigarette from her purse, lit it with a practiced flick, and took a deep drag. The smoke curled lazily from her lips, filling the air with its acrid scent. Christine's nicotine habit was no secret—she'd been hooked since their Hell's Kitchen days, a vice born in the chaos of their youth.
Jason pulled Harley down to sit across from Christine, his voice cutting straight to the point. "We're all old friends here, so I'll skip the bullshit. I'm strapped for cash. New York's locked down tighter than a nun's ass, so I came to LA to scout some ways to make bank. The Joker organization's just getting started, and we need funds to keep the wheels turning."
Christine raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mocking smile. "You're telling me you took out Kingpin—guy with billions in his pocket—and you didn't grab a single dime? That's next-level stupid, even for you."
The jab stung, and Jason's jaw tightened. "Yeah, well, shit happens. Let's just say circumstances fucked me over."
"Circumstances?" Christine laughed, sharp and derisive. "You've been in the game how long, and you still fumbled a score like that? Pathetic."
Harley's temper flared again, her body tensing as she leaned forward, ready to tear into Christine. Jason pressed a hand to her shoulder, keeping her in check. "That's why I'm here," He said, his voice steady. "I need opportunities. You've got connections in LA—help me out."
Christine leaned back, extinguishing her cigarette with a deliberate twist. She considered his words, her expression unreadable. "If your outfit's that desperate for cash, why not relocate to LA? Join forces with me."
Jason let out a dry laugh. "What, you want me to be your lackey?"
She shrugged, her tone casual but calculated. "Why not? Bring your Joker crew to LA, and I'll make you second-in-command. Call you… Whiskey. You love that Scottish shit, don't you?"
Jason didn't hesitate. "Hard pass. I don't play second fiddle to anyone."
Christine's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp with old wounds. "Oh, really? You spent years kissing Kingpin's ass, wagging your tail like a good dog. What's that about?"
"And now Kingpin's dead," Jason shot back, his voice cold. "Real fucking dead. And guess what? That's exactly what I'm offering you. Join me."
Christine scoffed, her laugh dripping with disdain. "You wish. I gave you a shot three years ago, and you turned me down."
"Three years ago, the timing was shit," Jason said, his frustration bubbling up. "Going against Kingpin back then was suicide. You know it." 'If only that damn system had shown up sooner,' he thought bitterly. 'Could've saved me years of groveling.'
"And the timing's any better now?" Christine countered. "New York's a warzone, and you're America's most wanted. If I follow you there, I'm signing my own death warrant."
Jason waved a hand, cutting off the argument. "Fine, we'll agree to disagree. Let's stay on track. What's the play in LA? Any quick ways to make serious cash?"
Christine took another drag of her cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as she leaned back, her eyes glinting with calculation. "LA's a goldmine if you know where to look. But just the two of you? Good luck doing anything worthwhile."
Jason grinned, leaning forward. "You're the hottest star in the country. You rub elbows with billionaires. Gotta be some rich fuck who's out of town, leaving a pile of cash just sitting in their mansion, right?"
Christine blinked, then burst out laughing. "What, stealing? You're dusting off our teenage playbook? That's low, even for you. Are you blushing yet?"
"Nope," Jason said, unfazed. "I'm a practical guy. Lie, cheat, steal, rob—whatever gets me paid, I'm game."
Christine smirked, her tone laced with double entendre. "Well, damn, you sure don't discriminate."
Harley, who'd been stewing in silence, suddenly lunged forward, covering Jason's eyes with her hands. "Stop staring!" She snapped, her voice dripping with jealousy.
Christine ignored her, her expression shifting as a strange smile curled her lips. "Alright, I've got something. Ever heard of Avril Lavigne?"
Jason glanced at Harley, who perked up despite her mood. "No shit," He said. "The biggest pop star in the country."
"Kidnap her," Christine said bluntly. "Hold her for ransom. Her family's loaded, and she's worth a fortune herself. It's a guaranteed score."
Jason's brow furrowed, suspicion creeping in. "Wait a sec. You got beef with Avril or something? Are you trying to use me as your hired muscle?"
Christine rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Please. I'm Vermouth. If I had a problem with her, she'd already be gone. You think I'd let some pop princess get under my skin?"
Jason wasn't convinced. "Your Black organization's only three years old. You're probably short on reliable muscle, and you can't get your hands dirty without blowing your cover. Sounds like a perfect setup to me."
Christine's face stiffened, but she recovered quickly, her voice smooth. "You're the one begging me to join your little Joker club. Show me what you've got. Prove your crew's worth it."
She leaned forward, her eyes locked on his. "I'm not twisting your arm. You don't want the job? Fine. But I'm fresh out of other ideas."
With that, she stubbed out her cigarette and stood, ready to walk out.
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