-Batman-
He's escaped again. Over a decade I've worn the cape and cowl and Arkham still can't contain him. All the people he has hurt and still he walks free. I look to Jason's old costume hanging in its case across the room. It's been almost six years since I lost him to that laughing lunatic. Six long years. After all this time, I still don't know who is behind that horrid grin.
The Joker.
Joker has never, and will never be like my other enemies. Men and Women like Harvey and Pamela, people who I knew before they transformed into monsters. As human beings, they could be broken; as people they have boundaries, however little. Joker, however, is not, in my eyes, by any means, a human being. He has no boundaries. No limits to (what he considers) his jokes. No remorse for those he has slaughtered. He beat Jason to death and left him in a burning building, he shot Barbara Gordon and paralyzed her from the waist down, and he shot Commissioner James Gordon’s wife, Lt. Sarah Essen. These three only go as far as those closest to me, not to mention the countless others that have died at his hands.
I sit at the computer, staring back at the grin that threatens me with its ghastly, yellowed teeth. The red lips shimmer on the screen, the green hair falling wildly over the pale face. The eyes are yellow at the iris and small, red veins bloodshot the whites in a devious glare. The secondary screens to my left and right glow with the little record information. No links whatsoever. His DNA matches none that has been tested. He has no known family. Who was Joker before he came to be? What turned him into this monster? Then, some have asked the same of me.
I feel Alfred behind me, but keep my eyes on the screen. He sets a tray on a small table to my left. Tomato soup. I have no time for food. I reach back behind my head, grabbing the cowl that dangles from the back of my neck. I slowly pull it forwards and over my face, adjusting it perfectly. I stand and walk by Alfred towards the car.
"Leaving without your dinner, Master Bruce?"
I ignore Alfred and slide into the car.
"I'll be back by midnight."
I rev the engine and disappear in a blink. The lights along the tunnel walls fly by and blur together as one long, white strip. A red light blinks on the dash. Gordon has raised the signal. He's going to tell me Joker has escaped. Most likely will also tell me he's already killed someone. The entire trip is fruitless, but it gives Gordon some comfort.
I flip on the clock inside my cowl's HUD: 10:30. Early for Batman. My patrol usually starts at midnight apart from ending, but Bruce Wayne has a reputation to uphold. The Midnight Policemen's Ball is tonight and Bruce Wayne was kind enough to allow it to be hosted at Wayne Manor. A bad move on Batman's part but necessary to maintain the illusion. Not finding the Joker tonight is not an option. If Gordon knew about me, he would know what I must do to keep my identity safe.
The wall before me rises into darkness and I fly off a short ramp into the Gotham night. The alley is narrow, and (were I not an experienced driver) I would have crashed the car straight into the brick walls to my sides. Dick always wondered why he couldn't drive car. The Batmobile, he calls it, is not to be taken lightly. I myself have had a few close calls.
The tires squeal as I turn out of the alley. Above, in Gotham's blood-red sky, the signal reflects off of large, black storm clouds. The rain begins almost as soon as I turn around the next corner. Gordon's going to get wet. People on the streets and in their homes see the car, see the signal, yet some still don't believe. Then, I'm not doing this to be known, to be seen. No, I'm doing this so that what happened to me won't happen to anyone else. Thinking of that, I think of Dick, and how my childhood horrors had repeated themselves. Already I have failed to do as promised. So, why do I continue to do what I do?
Gotham city needs Batman.
I need Batman.
I make a sharp turn and stop in the alley that runs along side the Gotham City Police Department. I step out of the car and the rain quickly soaks me. I reach for my belt and grab the grapnel. I launch the hook high above my head and in seconds am soaring upward. I release the line about ten feet above the Gotham Central rooftop and, with my cape, glide to rest behind Gordon.
"Commissioner Gordon."
Gordon spins quickly on his heels and, seeing me, grabs at his chest.
"How I've not had a heart attack I'll never know. I swear you'll be the death of me."
"I doubt it."
"Bad news-"
"Joker's broken out of Arkham."
"How did you-?"
"The last time Joker escaped I placed a system of small cameras around Arkham's perimeter.”
"Well, there's been no sign of him or any of his affiliates since he's escaped. I’m beginning to worry."
"He hasn't made a move?"
"Not that we know of. Bullock thinks he might try something at the Policemen's Ball tonight."
"I'll keep an eye out for him.”
"In the mean time, I think it would be best to establish a perimeter around Wayne Manor."
Seconds later I am gone from Gordon's view and back on the ground. Need to get back to the cave. I slide back into the car and take off as fast as possible. Have to get back to Wayne Manor before the police arrive. As the host of the ball Bruce Wayne needs to be there. I press my index finger to the side of my cowl, and, with a second of static, Alfred speaks into my ear.
"Yes, Master Bruce?"
"Alfred, should the police arrive before I do, tell them I'm showering."
"In trouble with the law, are we, sir?"
"Gordon wants to establish a perimeter."
"Very well. I shall prepare your tuxedo immediately, sir."
And with that I cut the connection. I hydroplane around the next corner. I know the city like the back of my hand, but I can’t predict the placement of puddles. Have to slow down, but there’s no time. Bruce Wayne has been a no-show in the past, but tonight has to be present. I turn another corner and slide across the street, brushing against a parked car. I memorize the license plate. I’ll have Alfred send them a check.
I fly over a hill, landing the front of the car hard on the wet pavement. The steel grinds against the road and sparks spit upward. The back end suddenly swerves to the right, bashing into a light pole. The car spins completely around, the front left side swinging towards a brick wall. The front hits, and my body is thrashed back and forth. All movement suddenly stops and my neck is left soar from whiplash. I release my seat belt and slide out of the car.
Dammit.
I look the car over. Too beat up to drive home. Too far from home to make it on foot. I got in a hurry, got distracted, and lost control. It doesn’t happen often. If only I had stayed focused. I was thinking like Bruce Wayne, not Batman.
Dick wondered why he couldn’t ever drive the car.
Have to get the car off the street. Drive it to one of the many stations I’ve set up in the city. One near here. From there I can get back to Wayne Manor via a tunnel under the city. Fewer obstacles that way. A straight run back to the cave.
I get back into the car and slide into the driver’s seat. The engine is hesitant to start. After the third try the car roars to life. The windshield is cracked; can’t see out of it. I punch my fist through the glass, creating a hole large enough to see through. There’s a large gash running along the back of my hand. I ignore it and slowly creep away towards the station nearest my location.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-Robert "Bo" Church-
I stand in front of the bureau, trying like hell to tie my bow tie. The tux was Liz’s idea. Said it was more classy. Said a suit and tie, a regular tie, the kind I know how to tie, was too casual. I gave up trying to argue and bought the damn tux. No sense in renting when she’d probably make me wear it again for some other occasion.
“The Midnight Policemen’s Ball.” Dumbest thing I ever heard of. Gather all the cops and let ‘em party while the streets of Gotham are overrun with crime. The whole thing was the mayor’s idea. The commissioner would never go for something like this. The good, honest cops will be out there doing their jobs while the corrupt and the dirt bags dance the night away. I wouldn’t be going at all if it hadn’t been for Liz.
“I wanna meet the people you work with” she had said.
Too bad I’d never be caught dead working with any of those chumps.
I give up. I’ll never get the damn thing tied. Have Liz do it before we leave. Bet that damn Bullock won’t be wearin’ a tux. The slob’s always got a half-eaten donut in his chubby digits. I’d probably hate the guy if he wasn’t one of the honest cops. Hell, Bullock probably won’t even show.
Liz comes into the room behind me. I turn to her and shrug, holding up the ends of the bow tie in my fingers.
“You still haven’t got it tied?”
“You know they have tuxes with regular ties. I could’ve had a regular tie.”
“Oh, quiet ya big baby.”
She faces me towards the bureau, reaching around my neck and grabbing the bow tie. She twists and turns the silk in her fingers. She keeps her eyes on my mirrored image the whole time. God I love her. I try to think what I would do without her. Well, for one, I wouldn’t be able to wear a bow tie.
“There. All finished.”
“Thanks, Liz.”
I pull at the ends on the bow tie, tightening it to my liking. I look like a complete ass. Well, better to sell out to your wife than to anyone else. She gives me a peck on the cheek, pats my shoulders, and walks out of the room. God I love her.
Four years we’ve been married. I couldn’t see myself with anyone else. I knew from the moment I met her that I wanted to spend forever with her. I had just moved to Gotham to live with my family, help them pay the bills. She lived down the block in a shady apartment building. Every morning she jogged by the house. One morning I’d stepped out to talk to her. The rest is history. Not exactly an amazing story to tell the children, but it’s amazing to me.
I hear loud laughter coming from downstairs. My mother, father, brother, brother’s wife, brother’s three kids, and me and Liz, all under one roof. One big happy family. My brother, Dave, runs his own business out of our basement. He makes custom motorcycle helmets. His wife, Mary, teaches at Gotham Central High School. His three kids, Billy, Crystal, and Amber, attend school at the new Thomas Wayne Elementary; Bruce Wayne’s tribute to his father. My folks are retired, and Liz is a receptionist at Wayne Enterprises. Needless to say, our family is well off.
I make my way downstairs, buttoning my jacket as I go. Liz is waiting for me in that beautiful red dress of hers. She looks up and smiles at me. I return the smile, hopping off the last step. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, I stare at her and realize how lucky I really am. Dave walks up to us from out of the living room.
“Ya look sharp, Bo.”
“Thanks, Dave.”
“Ya got some time before ya go? I got somethin’ ta show ya.”
“Sure, I can spare a few minutes. Not like I’m in a hurry anyway.”
So, I follow Dave through the house. We go through a door leading down into Dave’s basement workshop. There are worktables lined up along every wall. Scraps of metal and plastic and tools cover each and every inch of each table. Dave walks over to the furthest table, where a cloth covers whatever it is Dave wants to show me. No doubt another one of his helmets.
“Ya know how Mary likes smiley faces?”
“Yeah.”
Dave pulls the cloth off of the helmet. Underneath is the most strange looking motorcycle helmet I’ve ever seen. There are two round lenses where the rider’s eyes would be and a long grinning hole where the rider’s mouth would be. The metal is dull and unpainted. Dave grabs a small cloth and wipes a grease smudge off of the helmet.
“What the hell is that?”
“Unique, huh? I still have to paint it and put a grill or somethin’ in the mouth piece here. Keep the bugs from gettin’ in.”
“This is for Mary?”
“Me and Mary both. It’s large enough that it should fit anyone. Heck, even you could fit your bulbous head in there.”
“Thanks.”
“Figured she’d like to wear it when she rides with me. I’ve got a guy workin’ on the bike too.”
“You’re gonna put smiley faces on your bike?”
“Yeah. Sounds like a cool idea.”
“Whatever. I gotta go.”
I turn to leave.
“More power to ya. Oh, and, Bo …”
“Yeah?”
“You look like an ass in that tux, man.”
“Thanks, dickhead.”
Liz is waiting at the front door when I get back up the stairs. She’s tapping her foot, her arms crossed. Not a good sign. Better get going before she freaks on me.
“All right, all right, I’m ready to go. So, you can stop tapping your foot like a nervous rabbit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. Let’s just go.”
Women.
We arrive at Wayne Manor at ten ‘til midnight. The line at the gate is short and is moving quickly. There are active police checking the cars. I look around as much of the property as I can. They’ve established a perimeter. Something’s got Gordon in a fright. I knew I should have stayed on duty tonight.
We arrive at the gate and I flash my badge. The officer ignores the gesture and shines his flashlight into the back seat. He asks me to pop the trunk. I do as he says. He quickly checks the trunk, closes it, and waves us on through. Can’t even trust ourselves these days. I’d hate to see how things were before Batman.
Batman: the “Dark Knight.” Some say the commissioner just shines that signal into the clouds to scare the criminals. Some say they have seen him. A giant bat creature that sucks blood. A living shadow. He’s neither. I’ve seen him. He’s just a man. A man doing the job that we can’t seem to do.
Moving up the driveway, I realize how rich this Wayne guy really is. It takes us about three minutes just to get up to the house. The car in front of us stops at the front steps. A man steps out, handing his keys to one of the many valets. The valet gets in the car and drives it around to the other side of the house. I wonder how long it takes to get around the house. Five floors and probably a hundred rooms. Me and Liz step out of the car and the valet process is repeated. Standing at the foot of the stairs, the house looks even bigger. Liz tugs at my sleeve and we make our way up the stairs.
In the foyer we wait behind the short line of people. Artwork hangs on the walls. Most of it is gothic and dark. A few of the others are paintings by local artists. I wouldn’t even know that if Liz didn’t talk about this stuff all the time. Useless knowledge that will make for conversation this evening. Wayne’s butler stands at the front of the line ushering people into the room to his right. When we reach him he hands us a sheet of paper. A list of charities that will have collections at tonight’s party. Oh, the so charitable Bruce Wayne. I thank the butler and we walk on into the living room of Gotham’s favorite son.
The room we walk into is large enough to be a dance hall; that’s probably why people are always dancing in it. I quickly observe the room. Across the room is a large fireplace and hanging above it is a huge painting of a man and a woman, the man with his arm over the woman’s shoulder. No doubt Wayne’s long-since-deceased parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne. The room has barely filled and I spot the commissioner standing near the fireplace with Bruce Wayne. I tell Liz to follow me and we work our way over to the commissioner.
“Commissioner Gordon?”
“Yes... Ah, Detective Church. Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“My wife (this is my wife Elizabeth) wanted to come.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Church.”
“Actually, she works for you, Mr. Wayne. She’s a-”
“Receptionist,” Wayne interrupts. “She works at Wayne Enterprises, I know. I like to keep up with the goings on in my company. It’s nice to meet you both personally and I’d really like to stay and chat, but Mayor Webster’s just arrived. If you’ll excuse me. Have a good time Commissioner. Detective Church. Mrs. Church.”
Wayne walks past us and meets the mayor on the other side of the room. Webster is short and fat and bald and a borderline alcoholic. Another corrupt politician. No one voted for Alabaster Webster, no one decent, and the bastard still got in office. He paid off the right people to get the job. I look at Wayne and the look on his face tells me he’s not pleased to be speaking with him. Wayne’s only talking to him because that’s what rich guys do. Put on a show so the rest of the world thinks these guys like each other. I’d only trust Webster about as far as could throw him, and, as good of shape as I’m in, that isn’t far.
“Lovely party, eh, Detective?” Commissioner Gordon blurts.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, let’s hope it stays that way. What with the breakout.”
“What breakout, sir?”
“Didn’t you hear the news, Detective?”
“What’s that, Commissioner?”
“Joker’s out.”
My heart skips a beat. For a second I cease to breathe. When it all comes back, my heart pounds in my chest and my breathing is heavy. I panic.
“What? It’s bad enough that half the GCPD is here, leaving the city unprotected, but now he’s out?”
“We think he might try something here tonight. If he was going for something in the city he’d have done it four hours ago when he escaped.”
“So, that’s the reason for the perimeter?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like this, Gordon. Four hours ago? He only stays quiet to plan. I don’t like this one bit. Liz, I want you to get the car and go home. You’ll be safe there.”
“Detective, I highly doubt that that is necessary.”
“Maybe you don’t, but I do. I don’t want my wife anywhere near here if that psycho shows up. Liz, go.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Liz knows that when I tell her do something that it’s usually important that she do it. She kisses me on the cheek, says goodbye, and takes off at a half-walk/half-jog pace. I look back at the commissioner and suddenly he also seems concerned.
“Dammit, you’re right. I’ve endangered everyone here. I should have called the whole thing off the second I’d heard about the breakout.”
“It’s not your fault. Webster planned this whole damn thing. Does he know about all this?”
“Of course. Why?”
Without a second’s waste I turn and walk towards Webster. Son of a bitch should have called this whole thing off. Gordon of all people should’ve demanded it be called off. He’s lost more than anyone else because of that freak. His daughter can’t walk, his wife is dead. Damn Webster.
“Mister Wayne, this truly is a fine-“
“God dammit, Webster! You knew Joker was out and you didn’t call this party off?”
“I didn’t feel it was necessary. What with the perimeter.”
“The perimeter! A perimeter won’t stop that psycho! No matter how many men are out there! He could kill everyone here! Didn’t that register in your head?”
“Please… What did you say your name was?”
“Detective Robert Church.”
“Honestly, Detective, this is room full of police. Not to mention those that are outside. What could the Joker possibly do that all of you couldn’t prevent?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Please, calm down, Detective” Wayne says, trying to step between me and Webster.
“No, I won’t calm down! He’s endangered everyone here!”
“Can I speak with you privately, Detective?” Wayne asks, motioning me back to where the commissioner is standing. I am reluctant to go with him, but I’ve said all I need to say to Webster. Son of bitch. I’m glad Wayne was there to pull me back before I did something I would regret.
“Listen, Detective, if the Joker makes an attempt at us tonight he will be stopped.”
“How can you be so sure, Wayne?”
“Detective Church, there are hundreds of police on the grounds. Let alone the fact that Wayne Manor’s security system is better than any other in Gotham County. If he comes we’ll be ready for him.”
“Not to doubt you, Mr. Wayne, but no one is ever ready for that freak.”
“Trust me, I am.”
With that Wayne left me with the commissioner, walking back to that bastard Webster. I don’t know how the hell that damn playboy can be so confidant. I don’t think Wayne realizes how dangerous Joker really is. Then, how would he? Wayne never lost anything to that freak. Never felt the pain. I speak, of course, for the commissioner and his losses.
“Why didn’t you try to stop this, Gordon? Joker’s taken more from you than anyone.”
“No, he hasn’t. Mine’s just the story everyone has heard. There are other families, less fortunate families, that have been hit harder by the Joker than I could ever be. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I’m the only one.”
“Sorry, sir. Still, you know how dangerous he is. This party should have been called off.”
“Church, we don’t even know if anything will happen. Just try to relax and enjoy the party. However hard that might be.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Besides, you should be worrying more about how Webster’s going to respond to that outburst.”
“Right. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
“You have every right to be angry. If I had been thinking more clearly earlier I would have went off on him. Don’t worry; I’ll vouch for your actions.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, sir. I’ll apologize to him once this whole thing is over.”
I look around the room. Still not filled up. I look at my watch. Ten after midnight. That’s odd. Should be more officers here by now. I walk over to the nearest window and peer out toward the gate. Can’t see the gate from here. I move to the next window, hoping to see something. Still can’t see the gate. I move to the last window. I look out into the darkness. Across a black field of grass I can see the lights at the gate.
I see the officer standing down by one of the cars. The line of cars is much longer than when me and Liz had arrived. The officer makes his way back, checking all of the cars, the first in line having not yet moved. Once at the back of the line, he makes his way back to the front, slapping the side of every one of the cars in line as he goes along. Not regular procedure.
When he gets back to the front car, he opens the back door on the driver’s side. I can see him bend down inside, digging in the back seat for something.
He comes back out of the back seat and pulls out a long black tube. He’s confiscated something. He looks the tube over, twirling it through his hands like a baton. I realize then that this is not the same officer as was posted at the gate when me and Liz arrived. He’s not even wearing a uniform. He turns towards the house and points the tube at exactly where I’m standing.
Oh no.
“Get down!” I yell running across the room, diving behind a food table. Every one else responds in kind and drops to the floor. Everyone but Wayne, who runs out of the room and turns, going further back into the house.
Seconds later, the wall I had been standing at explodes. Glass, wood, and chunks of marble brick fly through the air. The women scream and possibly a few of the men. A few small chunks of debris fall back to me and dust my shoulders. I look to my right and see a chunk of flesh. Some idiot had been standing by the wall when it blew. I almost wish it had been Webster.
As the remaining debris settles, I hop back over the table and make my way towards what was once a wall. I see Commissioner Gordon doing the same, pistol drawn. Left my gun in the car. I slow my pace and move away from the open area. When I reach the hole, I flatten myself against what’s left of the wall. Gordon does the same on the other side of the room. He sees that I am unarmed and slides another pistol across the floor. It barely gets to me. I pick it up, check the chambers, and slowly peek around the corner.
The ground shakes and I see the line of cars by the gate go up in flames. He placed bombs on the cars. The reason he was slapping the sides. I can see a few men and women running away from the flames. They had gotten out before the cars blew up. The man at the gate, the monster, he pulls out a large pistol from his jacket and shoots the survivors of the explosion. He turns back towards the house, adjusting his tie and dusting off his jacket, grinning widely.
The Joker!
He starts walking towards the house and I punch the hammer on the pistol. I’d shoot the bastard if he wasn’t so far away. They were wrong. They were both wrong. Webster. Wayne. They both said everything would be fine. They were wrong.
He gets closer and I fire off a round. Scrapes his right shoulder. Barely a wound. He stops and sticks his finger in the hole. When he pulls it back out he licks the blood off of his finger, grabbing for something at his waist. He moves too quickly for me to see what he throws, but I here the clink of metal and know what it is. I duck down, covering my head.
The grenade explodes outside, doing no damage inside the house. I stand back up and again peek around the corner. He’s even closer now. I take another shot. It misses him completely. The son of bitch laughs just as one of Gordon’s bullets hits him in the leg, cracking his shin. Joker yells out in pain. He fires back, driving five bullets into the wall near Gordon. None of them hit, but Gordon backs away to avoid being shot at again and risk being hit.
I look out again and Joker’s even closer. I look back at my fellow officers and see that they are all cowering behind the tables. I look out over the Joker’s head, hoping for some help on the outside. Me and Gordon can’t keep this up all night. Eventually he’ll make it to the house and by that time stopping him will be difficult. He’s too fast for me and, I have to hand it to the son of bitch, he can take a shot.
In a tree, far behind Joker, I see it. The cape flaps in the gentle breeze. He’s perched on a high branch, waiting for the perfect moment. I just barely see his hand reach for his waist. He brings the hand back up high over his head, holding something in it, gleaming in the moonlight. Whatever it is, he throws it and it flies through the darkness, hitting the Joker’s hand, knocking away the pistol.
The Batman has arrived.
Joker spins on his heels, looking out into the shadows. From his jacket he pulls out another pistol. He laughs quietly to himself. Why would he laugh? Well, of course Joker should have expected this. He probably knew Batman was coming. He knows the drill by now. They’ve been fighting each other for years. The sudden loss of his pistol probably startled him, but he knew it was coming.
“Come on out, Batty! I know you’re there!” he shouts, grabbing his other pistol off the ground.
From out of nowhere, Batman lands in front of Joker. After knocking the guns from Joker’s hands, he grabs him by the collar and throws him inside. Joker lands on the floor next to me. He turns to me and winks. Batman steps through the hole and picks Joker up by the throat. With a swift kick to the gut, Joker is free. Batman doubles over and before I know what’s happening, Joker punches me square in the jaw and takes my pistol.
“Need to borrow this, friend.”
My jaw hurts like hell and I can taste the blood in my mouth. Through slightly blurred vision, I see Batman stand. Joker shoots him with the last four bullets in the pistol and tosses it to the side. Batman falls back a few steps, but is still standing. Joker grabs a large chunk of marble from the wall and throws it at Batman. Batman knocks it right from the air with his fist, breaking it in half. With the brief distraction, Joker takes the second to run outside.
I look to floor. Next to me is one of Joker’s pistols. It’s not like his others. Must have fallen out of his jacket somehow. I grab it and check the chambers. I try to check the chambers, that is. It’s one of his novelty pistols. That may be, but it looks like a real pistol. It’ll do.
Batman dashes outside to find Joker waiting for him. He ignores the onslaught of bullets and knocks Joker off his feet. Joker brings his feet up and throws Batman over him, down the hill. Batman summersaults, spinning around and lands facing Joker. Batman reaches for his waist, but Joker shoots at his hand.
Joker’s back is turned. I quietly creep outside onto the cold night grass. I see a confused look on the commissioner’s face. I ignore it and move forward. Joker, completely unaware of my presence, keeps his pistol pointed at Batman.
“I’m tired of these random games of cat and mouse, Bat-boob! I escape Arkham, try to get a couple laughs, you beat the snot outta me, and I go back to Arkham, tail between legs, like a trained house kitten! No more! Tonight I deliver the funniest of punch lines …”
The chambers of his pistol roll and the round clicks into place.
“I kill Batman!”
“You’re right, that is funny,” I say, as he turns to face me, “because it’s not going to happen.”
His eyes dart back and forth between me and the pistol. He should know by the look on my face that I’m willing to shoot him. He knows. He drops his gun and puts his hands up; he gives me one of the darkest frowns I’ve ever seen. He really wanted to kill Batman and I ruined it. Behind him, Batman gets to his feet, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
“Go ahead then, copper. Shoot me.”
“Sure thing.”
I pull the trigger and the flag pops out.
The end of the pole taps Joker on the forehead. The flag says “Gotcha!” and the whole thing actually makes me laugh. The Joker tries to turn, but, before he can even move, Batman has his hands cuffed behind his back. Joker wriggles in the cuffs, trying to break free, his eyes wide. Joker snaps his head back to glare at Batman. By now I’m laughing hysterically. He looks back at me, humiliated.
“That’s…That’s not funny.”
I can’t stop laughing.
“Stop it! No one laughs at me! I laugh at you! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
Listening to him pout makes me laugh even harder.
“Knock it off! It’s not funny! My joke was better, but you ruined it! Stop laughing!”
Batman punches Joker in the back of the head to make him shut up. Joker falls to the ground unconscious. I still laugh, though not as loudly. Who would’ve thought that freak could actually make me laugh?
“That’s enough, Detective.”
Batman is holding Joker at waist level by his collar. I can feel his angry glare piercing me through the lenses of his mask. Batman’s judging stare cast upon me.
I stop laughing.
The commissioner slowly approaches us. Joker starts to stir, his fingers flickering back and forth, toying with the cuffs. Gordon raises his pistol and aims at Joker. Batman looks down at Joker, limp at his waist. He strikes Joker again, only harder this time, ensuring he stays out.
“Is he out?” Gordon asks, slowly bringing down his pistol.
“For now. Get him to Arkham.”
Batman drops Joker at me and Gordon’s feet. The commissioner reaches down and takes Joker into his custody. I looked down for that brief second, and when I look up again, Batman is gone. I look around the grounds of Wayne Manor, but there is no sign of him in the darkness.
“How do you put up with that?”
“I don’t. More than ten years later and I’m still not used to it.”
I look back at the house and see that inside my fellow officers have come out of hiding. It’s humiliating, really. Almost half of the GCPD cowers in fear of one man. Granted, that one man is a psychotic killer, it’s still embarrassing. If I was Gordon, I’d rip their asses. But, I’m not Gordon and Gordon isn’t me. He’ll say a few barely harsh words in a calm tone and they’ll go on with their lives. A little less than a slap on the wrist if you ask me.
At the very back of the crowd I can see Webster struggling to his feet. It pisses me off knowing he survived that explosion. Then again, after I get through with him, he’ll wish he had died sooner. People died tonight, more people than I’m comfortable with, and I hold him responsible. Hell, he’s more responsible for this than Joker. Joker’s a goddamn lunatic. Webster’s a sane man, sane enough, that he would be competent enough to call this thing off.
I look down at Joker’s motionless body. A thin line of blood runs from his mouth and drips off his chin. I look to the hole that I put in his shoulder. I peel back the cloth from his purple jacket to get a better look at the wound. Just a scratch and a trickle of blood.
The commissioner motions me to move away from the body. I do, and he drags Joker away, going around the side of the house. Not but seconds later, Bruce Wayne hops out of his home through the hole in the wall. He turns back, looking at the party goers, then back out and around the yard. He quickly fixes his eyes on me and comes jogging over.
“I’m sorry I ran off like that. Is everyone okay?”
“Apology accepted. It’s okay. People get scared sometimes. Especially the rich boys like you that don’t see that much action.”
“Yeah. Whatever…Is everyone okay?”
“No, actually. However many people there were downhill died. Someone or a group of people was standing by the wall when it went. Blew ‘em to bits. Aside from them, sure, everyone’s just dandy.”
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Detective. This is terribly serious. I’ve already called the paramedics; they should be on their way here. Are you all right? Where’s Joker?”
“Me? I feel fantastic. Overjoyed. The Joker, on the other hand, is out cold. Gordon’s got him out back, taking him to Arkham.”
“He’ll need help.”
Wayne turns to his butler, who is now standing just outside the hole.
“Alfred.”
“Yes, Master Bruce?”
“Go around back and help Gordon. Take a few of the officers with you.”
“Right away, sir.”
The butler, Alfred, goes back inside. He takes aside two men, two officers, and they move out of sight, going through the house to the back. Wayne runs his hand through his hair and exhales heavily. He stares past me, off into space. I look around, back and forth, waiting for Wayne to say something. He snaps out of his trance and looks at me.
“Perhaps you should get home to your wife, Detective. I’m sure she’ll want to know that you’re alright.”
“As much as liked to, Mr. Wayne, my wife has the car.”
“Follow me.”
Wayne turns away and jogs across the grass. I follow him, wondering where he’s leading me. Eventually we come around the side of the house to a huge garage. Wayne walks up to the door, pulling out a set of keys, and unlocks it, stepping inside. Following him inside, he flicks on the lights. Row after row of classic and luxury cars fill the garage.
I feel my jaw drop, and then realize I shouldn’t be surprised. This is Bruce Wayne’s garage. The Bruce Wayne. The second richest man in the world. This is probably only about half the cars the guy has. I bet he’s got more in other countries to use during his business trips and vacations. The cars aside, I wonder what other wonders are hidden in Wayne Manor. For a second I forget that we were just attacked by a mad clown.
Only for a second.
The stupefied look vanishes from my face and I snap back to reality, just as Wayne throws a set of keys my direction. He points to a red Clydesdale across the garage. I look down at the set of keys that has now landed in my hand, the small silver horse gleaming in the light of the garage.
“Take good care of it.”
“Sure thing…When can I bring it back?”
“Don’t bother. I’ve got four others. You protected all of those people at the party. You deserve a reward.”
“I don’t deserve all the credit. Batman did most of the work.”
“Yeah, but you stared fear in the eye and did what had to be done. That’s hard to do. Trust me, I know.”
“Thanks, Wayne.”
“No problem. Well, I’ve got to go. Make sure Joker gets out of here and the guest are alright.”
Wayne quickly walks back through the garage and exits through a door, going into the house. What the hell just happened? Whatever… I walk over to the Clydesdale, tossing the keys up and down in my hand. I get to it and look it over. It’s a nice car. Very nice. My new, shiny, red Clydesdale. Not too bad an ending for such a terrible evening. At least my wife and most of my fellow officers are safe.
Where the hell am I gonna park this thing?