Written by D. Golightly
Featuring: Joker
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“Stop me if you’ve heard this one.”
The Joker set down an oversized red bag, almost comically huge, onto a dirty, wooden table. The warehouse surrounding them looked just as dingy, with soapy windows, cobwebs, and refuse piled everywhere. While most of his contemporaries preferred to lie low in abandoned buildings, he had actually purchased this one. The paperwork may have been slightly askew, noting the owner as an offshore holding company that didn’t really exist, but if no one looked too deep then for all intents and purposes this was a legitimately owned building. He had paid cash for it and everything. He figured that it would keep the Bat away, at least for a little while. He even had a contract with his own fake company to import sardines. “A cop pulls a man over for speeding,” the Joker continues as he begins to extract various implements from the red bag. He glanced at a hacksaw, considering it for a moment, then discarding it on the floor by tossing it over his shoulder. He pulled out a feather duster and immediately discarded it, muttering, “How did that get in there?” Behind him, a muffled warble of alarm rises, choked back by the strip of cloth holding in a ball gag. “So, he pulls the guy over, right? And he taps on the window and the guy rolls it down and says, ‘Evening, officer! What can I do for ya?’” The Joker pulled out a mallet, tossed it away in favor of an even larger mallet, considered it, but then tossed it over his shoulder, too. More garbled and muffled yelling implored the Joker to stop. “The cop says, ‘Do you know how fast you were going, sir?’ To which the man replies, ‘Oh, golly, yes, I was going at least seventy.’” A ballpein hammer came out next and the Joker swung it through the air a few times, mimicking smashing something. He seemed declassified with the grip, though, and ended up dropping it to the floor, too. “‘Well, the speed limit here is only thirty-five, sir,’ the cop says. ‘I’m going to have to give you a ticket.’ And the man just smiles and slaps his hands together, rubbing them all frantic. And the cop says, ‘Why are you so happy? I’m about to write you a pretty hefty ticket.’” The Joker extracted a large handsaw with rusted teeth. He runs his white-gloved finger up and down the saw’s teeth, smiling, happy that he’s finally found the perfect instrument for the task at hand. “And do you know what the man says back to the cop?” the Joker asks as he turns to face his captured prey. “That slick operator says, ‘I know I can beat that!’ And he peels off leaving the cop standing there with a surprised look on his face. Kind of like the look you have on your face, Jimbo.” The Joker flexed the long saw between his hands, bowing the blade slightly as he approached Commissioner James Gordon, who was tied hand and foot to a chair in the center of the warehouse. His face was bruised from repeated beatings and his protests were stifled by the ball gag tied in place by a torn piece of cloth around his head. “Sorry,” the Joker said with a shrug, “it’s the only cop joke I know. Well, the only good one anyway. There’s the one about the police officer and the randy porcupine, but that one is too vulgar even for my tastes. HA!” A door opened, causing the Joker to turn away with a look of pure hatred on his face. He watched as two burly men came sauntering into the warehouse, marching a much smaller, bald man between them. He felt ready to unleash his fury on the dimwitted lackeys, but when he saw who was with them, his anger subsided. Slightly. “Ah, the good doctor!” the Joker proclaimed as he tossed the saw away with a flourish. “Don’t mind us. We’re just catching up on ol’ times, the Commissioner and I. Come in, come in!” Doctor Hugo Strange adjusted his glasses and looked the tied Commissioner up and down. “Indeed,” the besmirched psychiatrist responded. “I’m sorry to…interrupt, but I have a flight to catch.” “Thank you for saying goodbye before your bon voyage, doctor!” the Joker said, and he turned back to his large red bag to find yet another instrument. “Don’t let the door hit you and all that.” Strange cleared his throat. “There is the matter of payment,” he said. The Joker looked up, seemingly dumbfounded. “Don’t tell me I neglected to pay my bills! Oh, my insurance company is going to give me an ear full. Heh! Of course, of course. Billy, pay the man.” The brutish mountain men looked at each other before one of them finally said, “I’m Kevin.” “Obviously,” the Joker stated. “I meant the other Neanderthal.” “Uh…I’m Aloysius.” The Joker blinked. “My word. Your parents didn’t like you very much, did they? From now on, you’re both named Billy. Got that? Good. Now I won’t be embarrassed again. Give the good doctor his payment, will you?” The Billies glanced at each other again, unsure of what to do. They looked back at the Joker, who seemed to have forgotten them as he rooted through his bag once more. Strange looked at both thugs and then stomped over to the Joker with a look of annoyance on his face. “This is ridiculous,” Strange said. “We had a deal. I not only arranged for your escape from Arkham, but I also organized your little hospital operation to be put into effect, nullifying the Batman completely.” * * [Referring to the current Hospital of Pain story arc running through the Batman title!] “Yes, you did, didn’t you?” the Joker said casually. “And you do remember how you were able to pull off helping me throw Batman off his game, right?” The Joker snapped his fingers, and at once the Billies grabbed Strange by the arms, holding him in place. Strange struggled, but he was no match for the two behemoths. He bellowed for them to release him, but one of the Billies wrapped a huge hand around his mouth to silence him. He stopped protesting when the Joker approached, coming up only inches away from his face. “You dug around through my brain, implanted trigger words, and masked my own memories from me,” the Joker said. “You’re a real Picasso when it comes to brain scrambling, doc! In every sense of the word. But I can’t let you just walk away, now can I? Not when you’ve been rummaging through my head. Who’s to say you didn’t implant something else in there without me knowing, hmm? Hence why Billy here is not allowing you to talk anymore.” The Joker turned back to his bag while the Billies moved Strange over beside the Commissioner, holding him upright. All the while, James Gordon could do nothing but watch. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one, doc!” the Joker said as he turned back to face them, this time holding up a whoopie cushion. “A man with a horrible cold goes to see his doctor, and he says, ‘Doctor, I am having the worst time! This cold is so bad that it hurts just to talk!’” One of the Billies tilted Strange’s head back so that his mouth was still covered, but his throat was bare. The Joker sneered and held up the whoopie cushion in front of Strange’s face. “So, the doctor says, ‘Then just stop talking.’” He squeezed the whoopie cushion, and as the signature sound of the cushion deflating filled the warehouse, a green gas also spat out onto Strange’s exposed throat. The gas quickly condensed into droplets as it hits the skin, burning through quickly. The acid gnawed away at Strange’s esophagus and he started to scream in panic. The Billies both jumped back to avoid getting any of the acid on themselves as Strange fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. His hands came away burned as the acid tried eating through them as well. After a long moment the acid boiled away, leaving Strange with a deeply scared throat and hands. The Joker leaned down and smiled. He said, “There! Problem solved. Here’s your money.” He dropped a fat envelope overflowing with hundred dollar bills into Strange’s lap. He snapped his fingers again and the Billies scooped Strange and the envelope up and began to depart the warehouse. “Oh, and doctor!” the Joker called out. “If you did implant more triggers and you decide to exact revenge by sharing them with someone else, I can assure you that you won’t live long enough to see the outcome. In fact, if I ever see you again, you better hope it’s because I’m looking down on you from Heaven. Good day, doctor!” As the Billies removed a sobbing Strange from the warehouse and the door slammed shut behind them, the Joker reclaimed his discarded rusty saw from the floor. Like a child having found his favorite toy again, the Joker skipped back over to the Commissioner and brandished the saw in his face once more. “Sorry for all the hubbub, Commish! Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Let’s you and me have a little conversation about our mutual masked friend, shall we? Starting with the cute little signal he left for you. I want to know all about it, okay? Starting with when it was delivered, who delivered it, and how long he normally takes to show up. Then, if I like your answers, maybe I’ll only cut off one of your hands.” The only sounds echoing throughout the warehouse that were louder than the Commissioner’s screams were the uncontrolled, unbridled bouts of laughter. TO BE CONTINUED... |