Harley walked with a leisurely pace through the automatic security doors on the tunnels leading to the other side of the island and the penitentiary. The doors only locked when the asylum was in an alert status, so they opened swiftly at her approach without requiring the use of her appropriated keycard.

Entering the penitentiary, she pretended to take another drink from her coffee cup and waved absently at the security guard on duty when she walked past. Her ploy worked as the guard nodded an acknowledgement of her but didn't do anything to stop her entrance.

She didn't head toward the Riddler's cell but headed for main security instead. The last time she'd been here, Harley had noticed the early morning arrivals for the guards frequently congregated in the equipment rooms, getting their weapons and body armor before taking their posts. It left the central security room for the penitentiary empty for the time being, and Harley only needed a few moments.

Swiping the access card in the reader by the door, Harley waited for the buzz of the lock before opening the door and ducking quickly inside. Finding the control panel for the prison cells, Harley swiped the card again.

A bright red alert appeared on the computer screen in front of her, asking if she was sure she wanted to open the cells. She tapped the Y key on the keyboard under the monitor with the edge of the keycard.

Dozens of prison cells swung wide at the same time, letting the crazies out to play. Knowing the guards would be distracted cleaning up the little mess she'd made, Harley took a stroll down to the cellblock to visit with the Riddler.

Unlike standard prison cells, the cells in Arkham didn't have bars on them. A recent upgrade had installed security fields. Charged with electric current, the shimmering fields of energy were designed to shock anyone who stepped too close. Harley kept her distance.

The cell was covered in question marks, on the floors, ceiling, and walls. Even the edges of the mattress had been inked with the punctuation. Some of the marks were neat and precise as if painstakingly made to perfection over several days, but quite a few were sloppily thrown on the wall with the same care one might expect from a painter having convulsions.

The Riddler himself was a thin and unassuming character. His rolled up sleeves, open collar, and loosened tie made him look like a worn out college professor. His face was hidden by the green hat currently covering it and blocking the light from reaching his eyes.

"Hey there," Harley said in greeting.

The Riddler sat up on his bunk, tossing aside his hat and noticing her outside his cell.

"Back to being law abiding?" Riddler asked, his tone bored. He flopped back on his bunk, staring at the question marks around him as if he didn't really care about her answer.

"I need some information on a pair of goons who used to work for you," Harley explained. "What do you know about Tyler Parr and Joel Murrow?"

"What I know is more than most," Riddler answered. "Why should I tell you, that's the riddle?"

"They tried to run me off the road," Harley explained. "Police records show a connection to you."

"You broke into Arkham because you think I had something to do with it?" Riddler asked in mock disbelief. He jumped out of his bunk and got within inches of the electric field blocking his door. "Do you honestly think I'm smart enough to plan an assassination attempt while under twenty-four hour a day confinement and observation?"

Riddler paused, tapping a finger against his mouth for a moment. "Alright, maybe I am that smart, but what possible reason would I have for killing you, besides mere annoyance?"

"I never said you were behind it," Harley clarified. "I said the two men had a connection to you, and I wanted to know about them."

"But, you still haven't answered my original riddle," he pointed out. "Why should I tell you?"

"Because I asked nicely," Harley replied, favoring him with a sweet smile.

"Tell you what," Riddler countered. "You answer a few trivial riddles from me, and I'll answer your questions for you. Sound good?"

Harley slid her access card through the reader beside the door, shutting off the electric field. She stepped inside the cell and close to the Riddler.

"I have an alternate suggestion," Harley said with a grin.

***

Riddler screamed as Harley hung him by his heels over the railing. The water below him churned as Killer Croc swam circles around him, occasionally surging out of the water to swipe at him, missing Riddler's face by mere inches.

"Here's a riddle for you," Harley taunted. She pulled a knife and placed it against the rope wrapped around Riddler's ankles. Draped over the railing and tied to a concrete pillar behind her, the rope was the only thing keeping the Riddler from landing in the water and becoming food for Killer Croc. "What do you call a man who plays games instead of giving me the information I want? I'll give you a hint: It rhymes with corpse."

"The two men," the Riddler explained as quickly as he could. "They worked as my informants in another gang."

"Which one?" Harley asked. She increased pressure on the knife to the point where the outer layer of the rope began to fray.

"The Penguin!" Riddler shouted. "They worked undercover for me in Penguin's organization!"

"Why would Penguin try to kill me?" Harley demanded.

"I don't know," Riddler denied. "I was locked up before it happened, so they didn't send me any information on the incident. I don't know anything else about it!"

"Fine," Harley relented, putting the knife away.

A door at the end of the hall opened with a loud squeak, followed by footsteps of at least two people.

"Looks like the guards are coming, got to run," Harley told Riddler. She patted him on the bottom of his shoes. "We'll have to hang out again sometime."

Leaving the Riddler to be rescued by the guards, Harley made her escape.

***

Harley waited on a rooftop. Having climbed up the fire escape in the nearby alleyway, she leaned on the edge of the roof while staring across the street at the Iceberg Lounge. Headquarters for all manner of vice, the restaurant had been the Penguin's main base of operations for years. Currently, it was the only lead Harley possessed.

At least two people had been involved in running her off the road, possibly trying to kill her in the process. Everything she'd learned had lead back to the Penguin, but she didn't know why. Penguin had always been a friend. Harley couldn't think of a reason for him to try and have her killed. She couldn't ask him directly because if he was involved, he'd simply lie. The only way Harley was going to get any information was by digging it out herself.

Harley crossed her arms while considering her options. Breaking into the Iceberg Lounge wouldn't be as easy as getting into Arkham since there weren't any crazies to keep the guards occupied. A smile formed on her lips as an idea took shape in her mind. She thought she knew of where she could get some crazies.

An hour later, the remnants of the Joker's goons, those either not arrested or signed up with a different gang after their leader's death, arrived at the Lounge. They carried numerous guns and opened fire on the establishment without any form of warning. Insane laughter could be heard between the bursts of automatic weapons.

The thugs belonging to Penguin charged out the doors of the restaurant, returning fire with their own guns. Like paper scattered before the wind, the Joker goons fled, firing blindly over their shoulders as they ran. The Penguin's gunmen chased after them at full speed.

Harley smiled. The plan had worked perfectly, and with the guards occupied elsewhere, she'd be free to investigate with less resistance. Quickly descending the fire escape to the ground, Harley crossed the street and entered the Iceberg Lounge through the side door into the kitchen. Because the restaurant didn't open until noon for service, the kitchen was dark and empty. Harley moved with haste, climbing the back stairs to the second floor.

Wood paneled hallways, decorated by golden framed paintings, stretched out before her. Having been here several times before, Harley knew which way to go in order to reach the main office. As soon as she found the correct door, she opened it and went right in.

Penguin was busy dealing with the attack on his place and wasn't around to question her intrusion into his office, so Harley began her search. She dug through the files on his computer and the papers in and around his desk. Harley found information about a shipment of guns Penguin had ripped off from Two-Face, but she failed to locate anything relating to herself.

She was beginning to think the Riddler didn't know what he'd been talking about when he'd pointed her in the direction of the Penguin until she noticed a thin wire coming from the phone on the desk. The wire wasn't the one hooked into the wall, but a smaller one trailing off to vanish under the desk. Dropping to one knee, Harley discovered a tape recorder mounted underneath the desk, and she realized the Penguin had been recording all his phone conversations.

Now she knew what to look for, Harley went back into the desk and pulled out several small cassettes. Each of the recordings had been labeled in fine print. She found the one corresponding to the date when she'd been run off the road and lost her memory. Placing the tape in the unit under the desk, she replayed the conversations.

"I don't get it, Boss," a man's voice said. "You tell us to kill her one day, and the next, you're drinking champagne with her. What gives?"

"The answer is simplicity itself," the Penguin stated. "I wanted her dispatched, but I wanted Batman dead even more. If she's going to go after the Bat for me, I'm willing to wait. I can always have her killed later if she doesn't succeed."

The Penguin's laughter was cut short as Harley stopped the tape. She had confirmation he was behind the attempt on her life, but she still didn't know the reason why. Ignoring the unanswered question for the time being, Harley departed the office and exited the building without being seen.

She checked her watch and realized she was going to be late for lunch with Bruce. Hailing a cab, she gave him instructions for the address she wanted. The cab took off the moment her seatbelt was buckled. Harley's thoughts turned inward as she considered everything that had happened so far, at least the parts she could remember.

An idea came to mind about her meeting with Penguin just after her accident. He'd offered her a glass of champagne, but when she'd mentioned killing Batman, Penguin had knocked the glass from her hand, demanding a better vintage. At the time, she'd thought nothing of it, but looking back, Harley realized the first glass must have been poisoned as Penguin tried to finish what he'd started and kill her. He'd changed his mind when he thought she might be useful in taking out Batman, slapping the toxic glass from her hand.

Harley's fingers clenched into fists, cracking the plastic housing of the tape she still held. She didn't know how, but Penguin was going to pay for trying to kill her.