A tall, skinny frame man in a dark suit emerges from a Lincoln Town car and enters a R&B/ Jazz club. He approaches a booth, says something in the din to the men there, then calmly shoots them and exits. Sitting at a table alone is Louie "The Lilac" Berllanti, and elderly but still sturdy white man, elegantly dressed- cashmere overcoat and his trademark violet colored suit which his identified by. The younger man, the tall skinny man, which he simply goes by Jack, Louie's driver/collector/protégé, approaches him. Whispering gunfire from a television set veiled by foreground snow: Police and gangs on the streets of Gotham.
"This is the problem. This is what's wrong with Gotham." Say's Louie.
The shootout war footage multiplies by twenty: The
"Criminals in this town used to believe in things… Honor. Respect. Dignity. That's all gone to shit now." Jack knows Louie is not asking him anything so he doesn't answer.
"Where's the pride of the city. Many believe when the Wayne's died the city died as well. Look around the city has gotten so big you can't find your way. Daggett Industries, Sionis, Industries and now this new factory Ace Chemicals. All cooperate company's pushing all the middlemen out. This is the problem. This is the way it is now: You can't find the heart of anything to stick the knife."
Louie, rises from his seat looks out a window that overlooks the street. People on the sidewalk, going about their business. As he stares a pain grips his chest and he sinks to his knees. Louie kneels.
"What is it?" Says Jack.
Louie seems unable to speak, looks to Jack confused.
"Somebody call an ambulance!"
But the club suddenly seems empty. Jack yells into the emporium but can't be heard. Looking up at Jack, Louie manages weakly.
"Forget it, Jack. No one's in charge."
Louie, takes one last look at Jack, smiles, his gone.
A few days after the funeral a white Bentley pulls up, disgorging Jazz man and his entourage arrive at the club, he happily poses for anyone with a camera including the feds before going inside. Sitting in the corner by himself is Jack, doing his trademark one-handed shuffle. He surveys the room watching Jazzman make his way to the back. Jack is approached by Louie's old friend Charlie takes a seat at the table with him.
"How you are doing, Jack."
"All right."
"Louie told me if anything ever happened to him to make sure you were taken care of."
"I'm fine Charlie."
"When Louie found you at the comedy club you were broken he saw the desperation in your eyes a lost soul with a dark and mysterious past. Most important he saw potential in you. A lot of people didn't. They saw you as a risk. He saw you as his trump card. His wild card… and to top it all off he didn't even care what your real name is… Speaking of which."
Charlie takes a check out of his pocket and places it on the table. Jack doesn't say anything he prefers to keep his background kept quiet. He glances down at the check and back at Charlie.
"You see, I'm a guy of simple taste. I enjoy dynamite, gunpowder, and gasoline!"
Jack notices several other men enter the room and make their way to Louie office, Jack excuses himself without an answer, crosses the room to the office. Jazzman sits behind Louie's big broad desk, addressing his Lieutenants. A fearsome assemblage of bloodless white-collar types and few outright goons, sprawled in chairs throughout this makeshift office. Jazzman notices Jack standing in the door way.
"Jack just the man I wanted to see. Please come in take a seat."
Jack closes the door behind him as walks towards the desk he takes his set across from the Jazzman
"Jack, Louie wanted to make sure that you were taken care of. Now that I'm head of things I'm going to make sure your compensated for everything. That brings me to our next subject. This Detective James Gordon is going after our front companies. Specifically, Ace Chemical. Which would tie us in with Councilman Throne, Senator Miller. on up the line. We have to clean out our files before the subpoena comes down."
"Ace Chemicals. Louie always expected you were making money on the side. The one place he despised. You knew that. That's why you did it. The question is what does this have to do with me?"
"I'm thinking break-in. Trash the office, remove the relevant documents."
"Industrial espionage." Says Jack.
"That's right. And Jack… I'd like you to handle this operation personally."
"Why do you need me to handle a simple break-in?"
Jack remains silent he bridles, but doesn't protest.
"You spent some time in the chemical plant. Who else could lead us in and out without causing some ruckus. Besides I want someone I can trust. Louie trusted so why not me."
"We'll work out the details later. But it's got to be soon. All right, that's all for now." Says Jazzman.
Jazzman cronies get up to go Jack, trouble, lingers behind a moment.
"You don't mind, do you Jack? It will be a big pay day for you. Besides I know your wife and that new born could use the money. If not for yourself do it for them."
Jack hates the fact of breaking in the chemical plant, he remembers the awful fumes, he would never admit to Jazzman but he desperately needs the money for his wife and unborn child.
"I understand. However, I'm only doing this so it want tarnish Louie's work. Jazzman smiles, his satisfied with Jack's decision.
"Oh, and Jack. I'm sure Louie would want you to have his lucky deck of cards."
Jazzman pockets the deck in Jack's pocket and as Jack leaves Jazzman sits behind the big desk and grins wolfishly. He reaches for the phone.
"The plan is set. Make sure that Jack is our patsy."
Chapter 1: House of corpses
Present day in Gotham, an unmarked police car arrives in front of a warehouse, Captain Gordon behind the wheel. He pulls up to a crime scene, a crowd of on-lookers, yellow and black tape keeps on-lookers away from whatever the crime is. The white and black police cruisers lights, light up the night. Gordon walks to the uniformed officer at the tape and badges him. The cop lifts the tape for Gordon as he passes him, he sprints up the steps and makes his way through the warehouse. Forensic specialists and corner's work through the room as Gordon stands on a catwalk high above the refinery floor overseeing the corpses. He stands for moment taking in the sight he makes his way to the refinery floor Now on ground level Gordon is approached by a male forensic photographer shooting a victim's body. Gordon crouches to look at the body he pulls the white sheet back and notices the victim's all have ghoulish, pained rictus grins on their faces. As Gordon rises his approached by Detective Montoya, who hands him a Joker card sealed away in a zip lock bag. Gordon studies card, unusually no fingerprints, the investigation if moving forward when suddenly Batman steps from the shadows, Gordon looks up notices him, he turns to Montoya and nods; Montoya faces the forensic team and says.
"Give us a minute please!"
The forensic team and Montoya leave Batman and Gordon alone, with a disgusted look on his face Gordon says.
"Have you ever seen anything like this?"
"The victims suffered unwitting consumption of some type of poison."
Batman reaches inside his pocket grabs a small tube with a swab inside and swabs inside of the corpses mouth. He gets enough saliva soaked on the swab that he places it in the tube, he stands faces Gordon.
"Well there's more."
He pulls out a clear plastic evidence bag, inside bag is Joker playing card.
"Him again." Says Batman
"I'm afraid so. His leaving a massacre."
"I'll consider it."
As they exit the building there greeted by the cool, crisp night air also avoiding the barrage of press they turn into the nearby alleyway. Gordon turns to Batman.
"Do you think this is the work of terrorist?"
"No Jim. Whomever did this has a vast knowledge of chemistry."
Gordon turns faces the tapped area for a moment turns to face Batman, but instead he see's blinding headlight flare from a black motorcycle comes flying out of the darkness and as it roars past Gordon, he can do nothing but watch.
Across the city at unknown location in a dank, windless room a tall, thin bleached chalk-white skin man with emerald green hair sits at a cluttered desk with sap like good drips in puddles from exposed pipes overhead and on the opposite wall a large-scale photographic reproduction of the Gotham City skyline. Across the man's cluttered desk are surveillance pictures of the Johnny Valestra Estate. The man reaches inside the desk and grabs a sharp knife, he admires the knife and begins sharping the blade for quite a moment when suddenly the phone rings. The man picks it up.
"Eyes on the boy yet?"
The henchman speaks.
"We got eyes on him. The address is 79 East End, 12- C."
The man is pleased, he smiles in satisfaction.
"Oh, how delicious, absolutely delicious it is! Gotham City now this is going to be a nice touch." Ah-HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
and resumes his place at the desk and like a happy kindergartner, with paste pot and scissor; he's clipping photos from a horrible scene of death, destruction, panic, mutilation. One by one, he's pasting these shots on the blowup of Gotham City, all along sidewalk level creating a massive photomontage of anarchy in know location of the Valestra family.
Dawn at 79 East Brownstone townhomes and unmarked squad and police cruisers screech to halt. Gordon and Montoya get out and enter the home. Gordon stands in the middle of the room and takes in the scene, two dead women lying on the floor, blood spattered everywhere on the floor ceilings, Gordon puts on a pair of latex of rubber white gloves and searches inside the victim's pockets. He finds the first victims licenses, Sophia Lemieux, a foreign exchange student and part time nanny for Jonas Valestra, Christopher Valestra son. A forensic examiner approaches Gordon hands him a red children wrist watch, no sign of Jonas body possibly kidnapped. Another child stripped of its innocence. He grips the watch stares at it for a long beat, he can't but help but to think about his daughter Barbara.
"Two dead, a child kidnapped. It tears at the only humanity I have left."
Gordon places the wrist watch inside an evidence bag.
"Can you confirm who was here?"
"No. But the primary evidence matches from the last crime scene."
"Were there any recognizable prints?"
"None this was very clean and presence."
"There has to be something in here we can use?"
"All of the evidence left here was initial."
"The medical examiner shows Gordon The Joker card that's placed inside evidence bag."
Gordon turns to Montoya
"He was here. I want a full-scale investigation on what happened here and put a bola out for the boy."
The examiner says.
"If this gets out about the kid being kidnapped the city is going to go in a frenzy."
"You might be right but we have to make sure we keep the city's trust." Says Gordon.
A few days later Gordon meets with Carmella Valestra, the ex-wife of crime boss Frank Valestra, mother of the late Christopher Valestra and grandmother of Jonas Valestra. Gordon and Carmella sit in a dining room overlooking a beautiful rose garden. Her short brown hair barely moves in the wind as she's wearing with dress pants with a yellow blouse. Gordon notices that the 52-year-old Carmella is a tough materialistic woman; she gathers her thoughts and says.
"The police are saying the psychopath that killed those people at the warehouse is responsible for killing my son and kidnapping Jonas."
"It's a possibility that someone from Frank's past is targeting the Valestra Family. Frank has his hands not only in the underground world but the political world. That's enough anger to piss anyone off. Why come to me for help. Frank has ever, hired gun, goon, corrupt cop on his pay roll."
Carmella looks annoyed, frustrated.
"I know my Frank is out there looking for Jonas but I don't want any more bloodshed besides I'm the ex-wife of one of the most powerful crime boss's in Gotham City, I'm sure the grandson of Frank Valestra is not on the top of their list."
Carmella's helper approaches her hands her a check book. She begins to write.
"Name a price. Money is not object."
Gordon rises to his feet.
"Keep your money I'm not one of these cops that can be bought. Besides it's my job to find your grandson and stop this psychopath. For your grandson, no more bloodshed."
It's now March 17th St. Patrick's Day 12 A.M midnight. Several black vehicles pull up in alleyway of Frank Vito Italian restaurant, a line of high-end autos dispenses well-dressed gangsters emerge from the vehicles, Frank Bertinelli is led by his bodyguards through a metal detector, followed by lean 40's African-American man is also waned. This is Elijah top Caporegime in the Bertinelli crime family organization. Elijah nods at Albert Valestra brother of Frank Valestra who is sitting across the table from The Russian. Three of the most notorious rival crime families in one room. A door opens and two burly men enter carrying a tv they it down on the end of the table.
"What the hell is this?" Says Albert.
The screen flickers to life a man emerges on the screen, not just any man an unusual man with white skin, green hair and bizarre over-sized red grin. His dressed rather flamboyantly, purple three-piece suit with black trim, and orange ascot tie. The room erupts once the man appears on screen he speaks.
"Gentlemen, Greetings and Salutations… as you're all aware, you were all brought here to parlay with one another. Before Louie died he had unavailable debt that had to be collected. Some from you in this exact very room. Some debt more than others. Now gentlemen how do you suggest we solve this matter at hand? Mm-hmm."
The gangsters in the room stare at each other in the room, when suddenly heavy-set man enters the room and places empty jar on the table.
"What the hell you want clown?" Says Valestra
"Simple. From now on, nothing goes down unless I'm involved. Wanna sell dope. I'm involved. Wanna sell a nickel bag, I'm involved. I'm going to bring class, diversity, excellence to this City. Gotham deserves a better class of criminal. And I'm gonna give it to them!"
The mobsters laugh.
"We went from worrying about the Batman to a two-bit whack job." Says the Russian.
"Batman? Batman, you say? Batman's a coming?... he laughs hysterically… I'm… counting on it! Oh and no need for name calling. You can call me… The Joker."
"What if we say no?" Says Valestra
"No one wants a war, besides home invasion is a nasty thing. Seeing your daughter scream can be very persuasive."
The room is so tense that you can cut the tension with a knife. Valestra, is hot around the collar.
"You low life piece of scum. You keep my family out of this. Just the thought of you threating my family makes you a dead man. Put the word out five grand on the clown's head.… I've been threatened by a lot people in my day but a freak is not going to be one of them."
The Joker gives a sadistic laugh.
"Aren't you the feisty one… Spunk I like that. The thing about chaos. It's fair! Speaking of which, I assume everyone in the room is good swimmers I hope?"
Everyone looks puzzled.
"Then you can easily remain afloat for an hour I presume?" Says Joker.
"This guy is insane, get this clown off the T.V." Says Bertinelli
The men hear a strange hissing noise, a few feet away green smoke is billowing out on an air-conditioning vent.
"It's gas."
"I do believe your right. [Ha-Ha-Ha.] But then, who said anything about water. [Ha-Ha-Ha]."
"You can't float in gas!"
"No. But you can drown in it." Joker laughs hysterically. [Ha-Ha-Ha.]
The men are coughing and gasping for air they try to scramble out of the room but the gas is unbearable they collapse on the floor. The only survivor is Bertinelli, who runs like hell towards the exit he sees his bodyguards lie sprawled on the floor, twisted at odd angles, out cold. Outside of the restaurant a van pulls a group of armored men wearing clown mask's guns drawn. The restaurant is filled with people eating drinking not aware of the armed gangster's outside the building. The armed men cock the hammers back and fire at the restaurant, the bullets rip through the walls and windows killing everyone in the dining room. The shooting stops and Joker, steps out of the Van straightens his tie and takes in the sight of the destruction. With no remorse, he taps the nearest henchmen on the shoulder and says.
"Anyone for Italian takeout?"
The henchmen are clues on what to say they look at each other with disbelief then back at Joker who just shrugs his shoulders and says.
"What too soon?"