AN: Whew, it's been a while, haha. Adulthood isn't conducive to fanfiction writing, but I've managed to finally crank this one out. FInally. This piece came into being A), because The Joker Blogs are amazing, and they inspired me to have the Joker play cards and talk psychology (go watch them, YouTube, seriously); B), because I reeeally needed an excuse to throw in a random Jack Nicholson reference; C), because the Eagles are too darn good at songwriting, and D), because writing a poker game seemed like a very writerly thing to do. A word of advice? WRITING CARD GAMES IS FREAKING HARD. I had to do more planning and thinking to write this than anything else I've ever written. Hope it was worth it. Enjoy.
Poker Face
"Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy,
She'll beat you if she's able;
You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet.
Now it seems to me some fine things
Have been laid upon your table,
But you only want the ones that you can't get…."
- "Desperado," The Eagles
"Kings… full of tens."
"Agh, dammit."
"Man, screw this…."
"I'm done. Three in a row. It's too much."
"Aaauuuhh, craaap…"
Five hands of cards flopped into the center of the scratched and dented table top, landing in a pile on top of the scattering of M&Ms candy that made up the pot. The Joker's paint-smudged fingers slithered into the pile and began flicking the cards aside as he swept the pile of candy over to join the already sizeable cluster in front of him. And, as usual, he was grinning.
"Good game, boys, good game," he rumbled amiably, already sorting his winnings into color-coded mounds. The circle of dimly lit faces around the table shared very little of his enthusiasm.
It was a little after eleven, and outside the dirty window across the room, a cold November evening was trying to seep in around the frame. Billy, Dan, Peter, Dionté, Bobby, and the Joker had been slumped over the rickety table not quite all evening, but long enough that nobody was quite as enamored of poker as they were when they started. Being repeatedly blindsided and cleaned out by the Joker had that effect on people.
The rickety table was surrounded by equally rickety folding chairs marked with ancient splatters of paint; they sat in the middle of a largely empty room with dirty concrete floors and cracked plaster. It had been a couple weeks since they'd been forced out of the comedy club; GPD had gotten wind of their general location in early November, after the mall shooting, and while Gordon hadn't pinpointed the club as their hideout, the Joker had decided it was better safe than sorry, and had relocated his base of operations. And that was how they had ended up here – an out-of-use warehouse office facing the Sheal Docks in Westside – on a very chilly, muddy-looking Thanksgiving evening. The warehouse windows opened on a slowly collapsing dock on the Queens River. There was some kind of fancy-schmancy park on the other side, and past that, the Palisades; but on this side, there was nothing but concrete, waterlogged wood, and dead fish. It was the dead fish that had gotten Harley. The smell made her gag. At the moment, she was hiding out in the smaller room at the back which she and the Joker had appropriated as their bedroom. Probably sleeping off the turkey, Billy surmised. And that was sounding like a pretty good idea to him and the rest of the guys at the table right about then.
Thanksgiving dinner had been mostly Dan's doing. The Joker had wanted to lie low. Billy had wanted to do whatever the Boss wanted to do; it was better for self-preservation. But Dan had insisted. Just because he was now a wanted criminal, he had announced, did not mean that he was going to miss Thanksgiving, under any circumstances. And when the Joker hadn't yelled at him or shot him in response, he'd taken it as permission. He, Dionté, and Peter had disappeared for a few hours, and had come back to the warehouse laden with packs of deli-carved turkey, KFC mashed potatoes, Kings Hawaiian rolls, a pumpkin pie, and no less than five cans of cranberry sauce. The Joker had asked if Dan had planned to bathe in it. Dan had replied that one can was for the group. The other four were for him. That was how Thanksgiving worked in Dan's universe. So they had all pulled up around the rickety table to a dinner that ranged from lukewarm to cold – Dan making obnoxious slurping and munching noises; Peter complaining that they hadn't gotten enough gravy; Harley and Billy discussing different ways of seasoning the perfect pumpkin pie. Harley liked it with lots of cinnamon. Billy told her about his Nana's pie – she made it with no spices, just pumpkin and sugar, and it was the cleanest, most organic pumpkin taste he'd ever come across. Harley had wrinkled her nose at the idea. But she gave him the benefit of the doubt.
The Joker had sat through most of the meal in silence; but it hadn't been the frightening kind of silence that warned of a bad mood. Rather, he'd seemed to be contemplating things as he munched on a Kings Hawaiian and turkey sandwich, looking strangely at Harley the whole time. Billy had kept his eyes on him, but there had been no flickers of darkness, or rage, or resentment. Just quiet thought. It was a relief. Everything had been going somehow better since the mall. Billy didn't know what had happened to change things – Harley had told him vague snippets, but nothing in great detail – and he'd spent the past few weeks waiting for something to go wrong. Whatever it was, whatever Harley had done to get back on the Joker's good side, he was afraid it wouldn't last.
But it had lasted through dinner, at least. That was something. And as soon as Dan had finished can number three, Harley had wrinkled her nose at the fish smell coming in through the window, scooted back from the table, and said she was going to bed early. She had slipped her hands over the Joker's shoulders as she got up, given them a soft squeeze; if they'd been any other couple, there would have been a kiss on the cheek, but even Harley knew better than that, to Billy's relief. The Joker had accepted her touch without shirking away, and that was even more surprising. Then she had wandered off to the pile of blankets and the sleeping bag that served as their bed, the Joker surreptitiously watching her walk through half-lidded eyes. The boys had sat in silence for a few minutes after that, the only sound the scraping of Dan's knife as he tried to pry open the final can of cranberry sauce. Then somebody had asked, What now? When nobody else answered, Peter had shrugged and said that if Dan got his yearly tradition of drowning in cranberry sauce, then he supposed they could honor the Hembrick family traditions too. He'd pulled a pack of cards out of his shirt pocket and a humongous bag of M&Ms out of the grocery bag on the floor, dropped both in the middle of the table with a thunk, and waited for a reaction. Everybody had looked to the Joker; he had raised an eyebrow, regarded the cards and candy for a moment as he swallowed the last of his turkey, and then shrugged. Your funeral, he had grinned.
And boy, had he been right.
Now, hours later, the majority of the M&Ms that had been spilled out to use as chips were now in the pile in front of the Joker. The only person who came close to having a significant amount left was Billy. He had played careful where the other guys had played stupid. It was the only thing to do when you were playing a strategic game against a man with an IQ higher than the pot was likely to go. Across the table, Dionté was yawning cavernously, threatening to fall backward in his chair. Beside him, Dan was endangering his tongue trying to lick the remnants of sauce out of the can. Billy started collecting the cards.
"Ah…how 'bout another game?"
Billy stopped, his hands on a pile of cards. Dan accidentally cut himself on the can and cursed into it, then looked over it at his Boss apprehensively. Rob let out a nervous whimper.
"Boss, you cleaned us out," Peter said cautiously. The Joker waved his hand dismissively.
"Candy left in the bag, right?" he prompted. When Peter nodded, he grinned. "Well, ah… pour it out, then. Divvy it up. Oh, I don't mind. I'll win it all from you anyway. Whaddya say?" There was a look in his eyes that said nothing would give him greater pleasure than to crush them all one more time before getting satisfactorily laid and going to sleep for the first night that week. Peter flicked his eyes over at Billy, who answered him with a look. Do it, he conveyed with his eyebrows. He's happy, nobody gets shot. Peter shrugged.
"Sure, Boss," he said, and the others mumbled agreement.
"Thaaaat's what I thought," the Joker rumbled contentedly, nodding along with them. "Shuffle, Billy. Let's see if I can own this whole bag of M&Ms before midnight." Billy had already been shuffling the cards quietly in his lap, but he brought them up to the tabletop and began snapping them around conspicuously as Peter handed out the last of the candy. Carefully, Billy looked at the Joker out of the corner of his eye. He had been developing a theory during dinner. And he wanted to test it.
"One request, Boss. Can we— Dammit, Dan, would you stop that?" Billy slapped the cards against Dan's hand, which had been subtly slipping into his pile of M&Ms and filching the blue ones. "Quit eating my money, Numb-nuts. Eat Rob's, he'll lose it anyway."
"Ahem," the Joker prompted. Billy made sure Dan had his hands out of the candy, then answered.
"One request," he repeated. "Something other than five card draw. I think you've killed us enough at that one that we get the point. How about murdering us at something else?" He finished shuffling and plopped the cards down. The Joker considered it for a moment, then slipped his hand out and took the cards.
"Such as?"
Billy was quiet for a few seconds, looking around the table, sizing everyone up. "Seven stud eight," he said finally. There was a chorus of groans. "Hey, come on, it's a quick game. We're in, we deal, we're out, we go to sleep."
"Don't do it, Boss," Dan cautioned drowsily. "He wants you to play that because he's good at it."
"No such thing, Numb-nuts," the Joker replied mockingly, ignoring the murderous glare Billy gave Dan. "You can't be good at seven card stud. It's not exactly a game of, ah… skills." Beside Dan, Rob nodded vigorously, trying to agree with the Joker as visibly as possible.
"Psh, yeah, Dan, everybody knows that – seven card stud is all about the luck of the deal. What cards you get. You know?" He grinned over at the Joker, but was met with a face of resigned disgust.
"Also WRONG," the Joker spat at him. "Did I say that?" When Rob had shaken his head violently in reply, the Joker nodded softly at him. "No. And I never would. Know why? Hmm?" Nobody answered that one, but he didn't seem to mind. "No…no, no. It's not about luck. There's no… such… thing. Bad players believe in luck, Rob."
"And what do you believe in, Boss?" Billy asked softly. The Joker tapped the cards against the table, as if thinking about it; then he grinned darkly.
"Stupidity. Deal the cards." And he smacked the deck back down in front of Billy. Billy picked them up and gave them one more shuffle, grinning inexplicably in return.
"Pleasure," he smirked.
"See," the Joker continued, waving his fingers gently as if giving a lecture, "the thing about seven card stud is that it's not about skill…but it's not about luck either. It's about… disCREtion. Attentiveness to de-tail. Knowing when to back off and when to ATTACK. A…good player…doesn't play every hand, not unless he's sitting on every ace in the deck. That's what bad players do. And because it's not a skills game…bad players win juuust often enough to keep them coming back for more punishment." He gave a knowing look at Billy then, as if he was telling him that was exactly what was about to happen to him. But Billy, to everyone's surprise, didn't appear intimidated in the least. He simply plopped the deck back on the table with a thunk and smiled.
"Everybody in for one. Ante up," he murmured, and followed it by tossing a yellow M&M into the center of the table. The Joker's landed beside it almost immediately. Grudgingly, as though being led to their executions, the rest of the table followed suit. Billy's smile widened into a grin. "Okay. Let's play," he said, and he dealt the table their first three cards with a deft, practiced hand.
While everyone else peeked at their two facedown cards, Billy surveyed the table, his face granite. On his left, Rob had the nine of clubs exposed. Beside him, Dan was showing the five of spades. Dionté had the seven of hearts, and Peter the jack of diamonds. A soft flush was beginning to creep up his large cheeks out of his beard, and Billy knew what that meant. He was building something. His down cards must be decent. It was unfortunate, because Peter was a fairly competent player, but Billy had already learned tonight that the guy's cheeks started reddening when he had something and wanted to hide it. He'd have to watch out for him, at least until the next deal. Scribbling it on his mental notepad, Billy then looked down and to the right.
Both he and the Joker were showing aces.
Billy felt his pulse speed up, but he hardened his diaphragm immediately and controlled his breathing so nobody would notice. The rest of the table saw the cards at about the same moment, and everyone blanched (except Peter, whose cheek-reddening simply paused halfway up). Billy had the club and the Joker had the diamond. And the Joker was chuckling.
"Aaaaaaaahhh," he rumbled amiably, "so that's how this game's gonna go…." He was watching Billy like a hawk, hoping to catch something on his face. Slowly, Billy slipped his hand over his two down cards and pulled them to the edge of the table. His eyes only left the Joker's for the briefest of moments, just long enough to glance under his palm. Then he met the Joker's glare again with a completely expressionless face. The Clown Prince looked miffed that Billy hadn't shown some kind of emotion, but Billy ignored him and looked calmly across at Dan.
"Lowest brings it in, Dan," he smiled. Dan looked down at his five and pulled a face.
"Auuuuhhhhh, craaaap…," he lamented, but he pushed two more yellow M&Ms into the pot. "There," he grumbled, and picked up his two down cards again as if they might have changed since he last looked. From his expression, Billy guessed they hadn't.
"Call," Dionté muttered from beside him and matched his two yellow candies. Everyone looked at Peter. The flush was creeping back up again; it had now completely exited his beard and was working its way up toward his nose. Billy knew what he was going to do before he did it.
"I'll raise," he said, and to be fair, Billy thought his voice sounded pretty nonchalant as he tossed a red M&M into the pot. But the cheeks didn't lie. If he didn't have two more diamonds under there, Billy would eat his sock.
Everyone looked at the Joker now. He had one long fingernail on the edge of his exposed ace, moving it gently a few centimeters to each side, looking at it like it was a trophy he'd already earned for winning the game. His expression was otherwise inscrutable, but Billy could make a guess as to what he was doing. Whether he had anything under those other two cards or not, everyone else at the table now thought he did. They were scared enough of him that the possibility of him bluffing didn't enter their minds. Especially Rob. They assumed the universe would give him high cards simply on principle. And he was playing it to his full advantage.
Billy didn't blame him. But he wasn't fooled either.
"Ah…call," the Joker said softly, and he gently placed his own red candy in the pile. But he was smiling darkly, and the fact that he had only called the bet made the others more nervous than an outright raise would have. "Your turn, Billy-boy," he sneered, glancing at Billy's ace. Billy thought one more time about his two down cards, and then indifferently tossed a red M&M into the pot.
"Call," he answered – not a murmur, but with no obvious excitement either. Then he turned to Rob. "How 'bout it, Twitch?" Rob did twitch then, as if on cue. He was looking squirrely, and Billy knew he wanted to fold already. Rob folded more often than anybody he'd ever played with. Of course, he usually didn't fold until he'd lost most of his money.
"C-c-call," he whimpered, and Billy nodded internally, making another note on his imaginary tablet. Rob couldn't resist playing with a bad hand. And in that, he was delightfully predictable.
"Mmmmm…. Well, I guess the cards have a, ah… a sense of humor tonight," the Joker mumbled, smiling darkly. Dan gave him a thick look.
"Huh?"
"The carDs, numb-nuts," he growled, but the anger was feigned. He was about to make a point, and he was enjoying himself. "Think about it. Cards are more than just cards. Buuutt, you've gotta look below the surface." He paused for effect, looking at each of his goons in turn. "Dionté over there, for instance. Hearts exposed. Which is, ah… i-ron-ic. Because the man never cracks a smile or a frown within five hundred feet of another human being. And Big Boy over here got the diamond. The money card. Which is ironic, because he thinks he's got a good hand but I'm still going to take his money. Rob gets clubs – ironic, because that's the power suit, and we all know he's about as powerful as drowning kitten. And, ah… you, Dan-the-Man… you get spades. Which …I find …highly ironic and humorous, considering that the spade is the card of intelligence, and, ah… you were clearly absent the day God distributed that." He was pushing his ace in small circles, the waxed surface of the card whispering softly against the scuffed paint of the table. All four goons looked down at their cards with raised eyebrows, and Billy snorted.
"Didn't know you believed in God, Boss." It was more of a goad than a question, and the Joker gladly took the bait.
"Oh, of course I do, Billy-Boy. Of…course. See, the counterintuitive thing about chaos is that it doesn't actually become all that chaotic if left to its own devices. E-VEN-tually, all the pieces start forming patterns. You want something as perpetually chaotic as humanity, you've got to have a mastermind behind the curtain. Some deity has to exist to keep the chaos machine going. Of course I believe in him. I admire his taste."
"Plus he gave the both of you aces, right?" Dionté appended. Everyone turned sharply to look at him, at first so surprised that he had actually spoken that none of them laughed at the joke. Then Billy cracked a smile, and the others went like dominoes. Even the Joker was cackling softly, although Billy noticed his eyes didn't leave Dionté once. Billy understood why. If Dionté was feeling good enough to actually speak, let alone crack a joke, he must have something under those down cards. Maybe a straight forming. But something to watch out for, at the very least.
"Next hand?" Billy offered. It was better to let the Joker philosophize in small spurts, he had learned, but to curtail him before he could go on a long rant. Everyone stayed alive longer that way. When the Joker nodded, he dealt the next round of cards.
Again, Billy immediately sized up the table before looking at his own card. This time Rob had gotten the queen of diamonds; his lower lip was quivering. Which meant that even though the queen was a good high card, it had just blown whatever chance Rob thought he had of making a decent hand. Billy thought he heard him whimper. Beside him, Dan was looking down at a queen of hearts. He looked a little green around the gills. Billy knew that look from years of experience. He figured Dan must have been building a flush or a straight and that queen didn't fit into it. He never covered well when he got a bad card like that. Billy made a note of it and moved on. Dionté had the ten of clubs. Billy couldn't tell whether the flat look on his face was passive indifference – meaning the card had ruined one possibility but created another – or if that was just Dionté being Dionté. Either way, Billy figured the Joker was right to keep an eye on him, at least for the time being. Beside him, Peter had gotten the ten of spades. His cheeks were now drained of color, like he had been suddenly powdered. That's what I thought, Billy muttered internally. He'd had a diamond straight forming, and now it was on shaky ground. Good.
Taking a deep breath, Billy looked over at the Joker's cards. Shit, his brain spat.
Beside the ace of diamonds, there was now an ace of hearts to match.
There was a ripple of fear spreading silently around the table, along with some poorly disguised looks of disgust. How did he always manage to get the high cards? was the question everyone's eyes seemed to be shooting in Billy's direction. Billy tried to shrug with his eyes. Hell if I know, his look responded. He might be the dealer, but he certainly wasn't stacking the deck in the Boss's favor. The cards seemed to do that on their own. Warily, Billy looked down at his own hand.
Shit. Shit. Yep, the cards seemed to do that on their own, because if he'd been stacking the deck, he wouldn't have given himself the ten of diamonds he'd just gotten. Internally, he started rebuilding the dike, focusing on plan B. Outwardly, he locked his eyebrows so they couldn't shoot up or crash down and met his Boss's gaze.
"High card bets first, Boss," he said. The Joker raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to show some sign of a reaction to his own cards. All he got was Billy's eyebrow raised up in snarky imitation of his own. They stared each other down for a moment, then the Joker's grin snapped back into place.
"Ten," he barked, and tossed a blue M&M into the pot.
"Call," Billy said immediately. His blue candy hit the Joker's before it had even stopped moving. He was less sure of what he was doing now than he had been on the first hand, but he couldn't let the Boss know that. Once the Joker knew what you were doing, it was only a matter of time before he systematically broke you down. And he had to remain in control. If the Boss controlled the game, he'd win again, no contest.
"Rob?" the Joker rumbled. Billy looked left. Rob's lip was still quivering; he looked down at his cards, up at the Joker, and then back at his cards.
"Um…w… ah, man, I …fold. Yeah. I fold." He moved to slide his cards out of the way.
Shink. The room fell silent and the goons held their breath; Cupid had suddenly appeared in the Joker's left hand, and he was twirling it slowly and thoughtfully. His right index finger was still moving his ace around.
"Very…bad…id-E-a." It was all he said, but Rob gulped and whimpered as though he were a dog that had been struck with a newspaper.
"But Boss, I—"
"But Boss, but BO-ossss," the Joker mocked. "No. You stay in. We're gonna make this interesting." Nobody said anything for a few seconds, and the only sound was Rob breathing fretfully and quickly through his nose. Finally, he met the Joker's eyes.
"I—"
"CALL," the Joker spat. "Call, Rob. That's the word you're looking for. Call." His dark eyes bored into Rob until Billy could almost smell the holes they were burning in Rob's forehead. Rob whimpered.
"C…c-call," he whispered, and as he pushed a blue M&M to the center of the table, the Joker gave him a patronizing nod.
"Good job," the Joker followed darkly. "Dan?"
"Auuhh…c-call," Dan responded, although Billy saw the reluctance in his movements as he pushed his candy into the pot. Even if he had planned to fold, he couldn't now. Not after seeing that.
"Me too," came Dionté's response, although much easier than the other two. That settled it in Billy's mind; he'd been trying for one thing with his first three cards, but this new card had given him a different direction. A good enough direction to call without being threatened. Billy started pondering what that direction might be.
"Ugh. Call." Peter's chagrin was poorly hidden as he added his blue candy to the pot. His face was back to its standard blotchy Irish white. Billy scratched him off the list of worries. For now.
"Say, Billy-boy," the Joker sing-songed, and Billy tensed immediately. The sing-song was usually happy, but sometimes it masked something deadly. "Whaddya wanna bet Shaft over there has an ace in the hole?" He angled his head toward Dionté, giving Billy a conspiratorial look, as though he were whispering and not announcing it to the table. Billy didn't know what he was getting at, calling Dionté's bluff like that – unless he was throwing Dan and Rob a bone so they could stay in the game longer and lose more money. But he would have to play along.
"Sounds about right, Boss," he said quietly, and it did. The Joker had both red aces. And he himself had the club. There was one left, and given Dionté's early confidence out of the gate, in a game in which an ace could go high or low and was incredibly useful…. He gave Dionté a subtle apologetic look. Dionté shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly. Which told Billy the ace was no longer a big part of his plan. Duly noted, Billy thought.
"That's the thing about cards, Billy-boy," the Joker was saying. "Sometimes they have a sense of humor. Sometimes they tell the truth. Aaannd Shaft, here…," he pointed a paint-smeared finger in Dionté's direction. "He's the ace in the hole kind of guy. Keeps his best assets hidden. Saves them for the end."
"You always compare people to cards, Boss?" Billy replied. This time, he let a little of the irritation in his voice come through. Not much. But enough that the others at the table picked up on it and began to be nervous. The Joker, however, marched on without reacting.
"People ARE cards, Billy. Juuusst a bunch of semi-sentient cards in a giant cosmic game of fifty-two pick-up. See, most people are just numbers. Not a lot of value, unless you stick them in a hand with a face card. And they can disrupt or improve a hand, depending on what other cards they get randomly thrown together with. That's humanity for you. Of course, some people are face cards. Like you."
"Really," Billy said flatly. Again, it wasn't a question, but a provocation.
"Jack of clubs," the Joker announced. "My right hand. Speak softly, and carry a big stick. Or in your case, ah, a big assault rifle. The big-gest stick, of course, goes to Commissioner Gordon. Ace of clubs. But as much power as he's got, he still gets trumped by a higher suit. The ace of spades."
"The Bat-man," Billy mumbled, and the Joker nodded slowly.
"The only brain in Gotham who comes close to competing with me, Billy-Boy. An—"
"Which card is Harley?" Billy interrupted. The Joker gave him a flat, nonplussed look; he was unaccustomed to being interrupted. His gaze flickered, like what he'd really like to do was slice Billy's nose off. Then the grin danced back onto his face.
"Queen of diamonds. I, ah… I'd've thought that was obvious." It was a pat answer, and Billy could hear the layers of things it was holding in like a lid. Is she really? he thought. No explanation, no symbolism, just a vague nod to the diamonds in her tattoo? No, Billy decided. It was a pat answer because the Joker didn't have a real answer. And that told Billy way more than an actual answer would have. Loads more.
"And you are…." he went on instead of pressing the question.
"…the wild card," finished the Joker, and he was back to his normal self again. "You haaaave to have a joker in the deck. Somebody who doesn't belong to any suit. Somebody who exists to make sure that there's always a little chaos. If all the cards got picked up and stacked, the game would be over. It's my job to knock the stack off the table every now and then and keep the game going." Across the table, Dionté gave a little chuckle.
"Boss, you gonna talk about keepin' the game goin', how 'bout you keep this one goin'?"
"Why, d'you, ah…you have some place else to be?" the Joker quipped, with a snarky grin. "Or is it just that ace you're sitting on that's got you in a hurry?"
"Man, you done told the whole damn table about that," Dionté answered, and this time he actually smiled. "I just wanna go to bed. Deal fifth street, B." Billy watched the Joker cautiously, but the clown seemed more amused by Dionté than irritated, so Billy took his lack of response as prompting to go on.
"Okay. Cards coming around."
This time, Billy started calculating as the cards were leaving his hand. Rob landed the eight of diamonds, and Billy watched him start getting twitchy again – this time, the kind of twitchy that said he might be back in it. Maybe he had more diamonds under those down cards. Dan got the seven of spades. His face immediately froze dead. No movement. Billy knew what that meant. He was thinking. And when Dan had to think, he had to shut down most of his other body parts to do it. And it probably meant he had just been given the exact card he needed to resurrect his hand. The three of hearts dropped in front of Dionté, and Billy thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile pluck the corner of his thick lips before they fell still again. Billy figured Dionté now had more than one option to play. That would make it interesting. Peter got the nine of hearts. He didn't react much, but from the way he blinked, Billy thought maybe he was indifferent to the card. It might be useful, it might not be. Billy made some hasty notes on his mental scorecard. Then he looked at the card he'd just dealt the Joker.
King of spades.
Damn it, Billy thought. Dammit! Of course. And now the Joker had a pair of aces and a king. Visible. Who knew what he had in his two down cards. Beside him, the Joker started laughing. It was a deep chuckle, partially contained by his closed mouth, the kind that usually swelled up, burst, and became that howling cackle that so unnerved everyone. Billy could hear it coming. He's got another king, a little voice whispered inside Billy's head. That's why he's laughing so hard. Billy gritted his teeth, trying to keep a straight face. It made sense. The Joker was laughing because he had two pair. But two pair might not beat Dionté, whatever he had. Even pairs of kings and aces. He's gunning for a full house, Billy decided. The aces were all accounted for, but God help them if he got a king on the next street. Of course…. Billy looked down at his own card.
Seven of clubs.
Outside, he was a rock. Inside, he smiled.
"Alright, Boss," he said. "Your bet." The Joker put on a great show of looking conflicted, of having to make an agonizing decision. He let it go on for a minute or two before he began giggling at himself.
"Ah…mm-hm…ha…who-ha-ha….ahem… Ah, I believe twenty-five should do it," he chuckled, and slid a green M&M into the pot. Billy closed his fingers around a piece of candy, tapped it on the table for a moment, and then sent it skidding into the pot like a skee-ball at an arcade. Rob opened his mouth to speak; then everyone realized what color the candy was.
It was orange.
"Fifty," Billy murmured.
The whole table stared at him like he had just sprouted palm trees out of his ears. Rob was whimpering audibly; Dan's mouth was hanging open like a dog on anesthesia; Dionté didn't budge, but the whites of his eyes grew subtly rounder; and Peter's face drained completely of color.
"What?" Billy said, making sure his face read nothing but innocent perplexity. The Joker waggled a long fingernail in his ear.
"Ah, I'm sorry, William, but I, ah…don't believe…that I heard you cor-RECT-ly. Perhaps you would like to replace that orange candy with the correct color." And he gave Billy a dark, seething glare. Billy kept his face innocent and his eyes wide.
"No, you heard me, Boss. Fifty. That's the bet. Rob?" It was difficult, but he forced himself to break eye contact with the Joker and turn his head to Rob. He could feel the Boss's eyes, though, smoldering through his hair and into the back of his head like lasers. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he bet he could smell the burning hair.
Rob was whimpering like a puppy. "Fold?" he cried. The Joker glared at him now, all pretense of hilarity gone from his face.
"Not a chance. Grow some balls and call." Rob's face fell, but he managed to hold back any more sounds as he tossed an orange candy into the pile.
"Call," gulped Dan hurriedly.
"Call," Dionté murmured.
Peter sat quietly for a moment, his eyes working from side to side over his cards in rapid movements. Then he looked up at the Joker pleadingly.
"Fold, Boss." When the Joker did nothing but growl at him, he shoved his thick fingers into his mat of red hair. "Come on, Boss, you've got me. It's gonna be down to you and Billy, we all know it. Let me fold." There was another tense moment or two of the Joker simply staring him down, as if he were trying to set him on fire with his eyes.
"FINE," he spat finally, and Peter pushed his cards away with an expression of the most intense relief. Across the table, Rob let out a strangled sob.
"Why does HE get to fold and I don't?" he garbled. The Joker made a noise in his throat not unlike a rottweiler giving a warning growl before attacking.
"Shut up, or I'll slit your throat. How's that explanation, hmm?" Apparently, it was good enough for Rob, because he dropped immediately against the back of his chair and closed his mouth with a small whine. "DEAL, Billy," the Joker barked, not looking away from Rob. Billy picked up the deck. As he did, he felt the Joker lean ever so slightly in his direction, and although he didn't look directly at him, Billy thought he could feel the laser eyes again. "If I didn't know any better, Billy-boy, I'd think you were trying to say you're a spade instead of a club."
"Not about what I think, is it, Boss?" Billy said, looking at the cards he was dealing instead of at the Joker's face. "It's about how the cards land. You said yourself, the cards tell the truth about us." The Joker opened his mouth to counter, but before he could get anything out, Billy snapped the cards back down and pointed to the table. "Make your bet."
This time, Rob had gotten the four of spades and looked like he'd rather die than play another hand. Billy thought he might just be squirrely enough to get up from the table and make a run for it. Dan had the four of hearts. He had stopped looking sick. Billy scanned what Dan had visible; there was a five, a seven, and a queen – and now this four. Dan was making a straight. Had to be. Billy scribbled it on his mental notepad. Beside Dan, Dionté had the six of clubs and absolutely no expression on his face. No help there. Taking a deep breath, Billy looked down at the Joker's cards and his own.
The Joker had the king of clubs.
Billy had the five.
It was a struggle to keep himself from smiling, but he just managed.
Around the table, everyone was staring at the Joker's pair of visible aces and kings as if there were a nest of poisonous snakes on the table. It was beginning to dawn on them all that there might be a full house in that hand, and Dan was looking at Billy with the same expression he might have for a body in a casket. Peter, however, was staring at Billy fixedly. His hand was propped loosely over his mouth, but his brows were knitted together above his nose in a tight cinch. Billy narrowed his eyes at him, but gave him nothing else. Peter glanced around to make sure the other players were looking at their cards, then he dropped his hand just an inch below his lips and mouthed a word in Billy's direction. It was a question. Billy gave him a slow blink; it was close enough to a nod for Peter, and an expression of understanding slipped over his face. Putting his hand back over his mouth, he sat back in his chair to watch with a mixture of horror and wonder in his eyes.
"A hundred," the Joker was saying, and all pretenses of hilarity and sing-song quality were gone from his voice. In their place, there was only grit and danger. He picked up a brown M&M with a pair of paint-caked fingernails and dropped it slowly, meaningfully, into the pot. His eyes were shooting daggers at everyone in the room, daring them to speak. Then he snapped his face toward Billy. "We—"
"One fifty," Billy declared before the well was out of the Joker's mouth. He practically threw the two candies into the pile; they hit some of the others and sent them skidding to the outskirts of the pot.
"Jeezus, Billy," Dan whispered, and Dionté shook his head minutely, as if he were witnessing a display of insanity. Peter clamped his hand tighter over his beard, and Billy was grateful. The big man had obviously figured out what Billy's game was, and if he made so much as one single movement of his face, the Joker might figure it out, too.
"Fold. Fold? Fold!" Rob kept repeating it to each face at the table in turn, as if asking them to back him up. "I fold, Boss. Come on. You're winning. Lemme fold."
"SHUT UP, you INSUFFERABLE PRICK, and CALL the BET!" the Joker exploded. Spit flew from his mouth, and he jammed the point of his knife into the table directly in front of him. "Last…WAR-ning, Robert. And I… mean… it." He was breathing heavily through his nose, and even his hair seemed to be quivering with pique. Rob whimpered, tossed his two candies in the pot defeatedly, and averted his eyes.
"Auuhh, call," said Dan after a moment's pause, and threw his own candy in the pot. Beside him, Dionté sighed over his cards.
"I fold," he mumbled.
"What?" the Joker spat. He moved to pull the knife out of the tabletop, and Dionté put his hands up placatingly.
"Man, I got nothing," he insisted. "I mean, I got two pair, but you gonna beat me with what you got on the table anyway. So I fold now, and you n' Billy have a showdown. We all know that's how it's gonna end, man. Just let me out now. Come on." For a few tense moments, no one moved except the Joker, who was compulsively squeezing and releasing the handle of Cupid. Then, without warning, he jerked the knife free, growling viciously. One hand shot out and swiped Dionté's cards off the table and into his lap.
"DEAL, BEFORE SOMEBODY ELSE FOLDS," he barked at Billy without looking, still glaring at Dionté, who looked relieved that he was still alive. Billy picked up the deck.
"Aww, come ON!" Rob shrieked, coming part of the way out of his chair. "You threatened to slit my throat, but he gets to fold and all you do is rake his cards into his lap?"
"Hey, hey, Affirmative Action, man," Dionté soothed, trying to placate Rob before he said anything stupid. "Gotta have at least one black man in the gang, otherwise he ain't gonna meet the quota. He can't kill me. Right, Boss?" He was putting as much smoothness into his voice as he could muster, and he smiled, hoping Rob would laugh and the Joker would cool down; but he had no such luck. The Joker looked like he was gearing up to start screaming, and Rob was about two twitches away from a nervous breakdown.
"Boss, I want out!" Rob went on, heedless of the faces around the table trying to shut him up. "You let Pete fold. You let Dionté fold. Listen, you can leave the candy in the pot that I put in this round. Actually, you can take all the rest of my candy! Just let me fold! Geez! You can't keep me in the freakin' game when I—"
"Rob."
Everyone froze. Even Rob stopped talking, although his twitching went on. The Joker must have returned the knife to his pocket, because it was gone from the table and his hands were folded calmly in front of him, just behind his cards. He was looking at Rob pointedly, his eyebrows both raised in an open, almost friendly way, and his voice had become suddenly empty of grit, of anger, of danger, of…anything. It even sounded less throaty than usual, and the customary mix of tenor and bass tones was gone. Billy began to sweat. He'd never heard this voice before. But he was pretty sure someone had. Because he was pretty sure this was what the Boss's voice might have sounded like before he became the Joker. And that was about the most terrifying thing Billy could imagine.
"Y-y-yeah, Boss?" Rob whined. He seemed to have realized his mistake immediately. He had told the Joker something he could not do. And he felt he was about to pay for it.
"Robert…," the Joker began calmly. "I need you to do something for me."
"S-sure, Boss," Rob stuttered. "Whatever you want."
"I need…." He paused, as if in thought. "I need…your weapon. Could you please remove it from your coat and pass it across the table? Hmm? Pretty please?" Everyone held their breath. The only weapon Rob was allowed to have on his person when they weren't out shooting at cops or Bats was his nine millimeter Glock, with only one bullet so he couldn't hurt himself too badly by accident or go on a shooting spree without permission. If the Joker took it, he was defenseless.
"But Boss, I—"
"I'll give it back," the Joker pacified, his voice beginning to return to something resembling normal. "Eventually. Just… give me your gun."
"But… b-b-but Boss, I… Boss, I just—"
"Rob? GUN."
Quivering, Rob took the Glock out of his inner coat pocket and placed it on the table in front of his cards. The Joker nodded approvingly as he slid it around the pile of candy into his boss's long fingers. Picking it up, the Joker examined it for a moment, as if checking to see that it had been properly maintained. "Thank you, Rob," he said softly.
BANG.
"SHIT!" The three voices yelled in unison, and Dan pushed back from the table so hard that he fell off his chair. Rob hit the floor screaming, blood gushing from his shoulder.
"The HELL, Boss?" Billy shouted. He slammed the cards down and jumped out of his chair to pull Rob up, but the Joker grabbed him by his jacket and jerked him back down.
"LEAVE him," he barked. "If he manages not to BLEED to death before the last HAND, you can do your goodie-two-shoes act then. Just DEAL the CARDS." He locked his dark eyes on Billy's, his paint-caked brows thrust together until they were almost on top of each other, daring Billy to get up again. Billy looked over at Rob. He was curled up in the fetal position, whimpering and trying to stem the blood with his fist, but the wound didn't appear to be gushing anymore; the bullet must not have hit any major blood vessels, or Rob would have been in deep trouble. Billy gritted his teeth and snapped his eyes back to the Joker. He put his hands back on his cards, but didn't pick them up. Not yet.
"He dies, and I put a bullet in your head," he told the Joker flatly. "Got it?"
"Aaaaaaahhhh, not such a goodie-two-shoes after all, hmm?" the Joker drawled, his eyes not moving a centimeter. "Ah, SAINT Bill, threatening to add another body to his tally?"
"You're a bastard, and I'd be doing the world a favor."
"No, no, no," the Joker dismissed. "That's your mistake. The world doesn't worship the dragon slayers anymore, Billy-boy. They've, ah… they've become too enamored of the dragons." The sparkle came back into his eyes then, but it wasn't a sign of hilarity. It reminded Billy of a lit fuse. "Don't forget, Bill," he drawled on, "I've got you in way too deep to dig yourself out. Maybe your Nana would appreciate a visit tonight. Hmm? I mean, after all, it is ThanksGIVing. And I think—"
"Can't visit her if you're dead." Billy's voice and look were impassive, but his fingernails were digging into the table and leaving marks in his cards. The Joker's face twitched, as if he were about to let loose on Billy, and then suddenly the tide in his eyes shifted, and he changed course.
"Ya know, I still don't think you've learned your place in this game, Billy-boy. You still seem to think you're a spade instead of a club. And it's going …to get you …into trouble." He was grinning now, but the grin was forced, pained. That somehow made him look even more sinister. Billy tried to tune out Rob's groans and whimpers and kept his face trained on the Joker's.
"You'd think that, wouldn't you, Boss?" Billy murmured. "Of course, there are a lot more spades in the deck than I think you realize. That's your mistake, Joker. You overlook the proportionality of the deck. And sometimes it means cards slip through your fingers. Sometimes it means things slip past you. Like my capacity for violence. I don't think you've counted those cards as carefully as you should have."
"You wouldn't dare," the Joker countered, his voice going dangerously soft.
"Oh, sure, I might be bluffing," answered Billy, flipping his cards quietly against the table. "Of course I might. But how much are you willing to wager on that assumption?" They stared at each other then for quite some time, neither one moving an inch or even shifting their eyes. Then the Joker leaned forward until his greasy curls were only an inch or so from Billy's face. His nose wrinkled.
"Deal. The Last. HAND."
"Gladly."
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were Rob's whimpers and the soft whisper of three cards as they landed on the table. Billy's hands were shaking with the import of their task. Whatever had just landed in front of each guy at the table was going to decide how the rest of their night was going to go. He watched carefully. Dan was looking at his last down card indifferently, as if it neither helped nor hurt his final hand. The Joker hadn't even looked at his. He was just glaring at Billy with a face full of anticipation and superiority. Taking a deep breath, Billy slid his final card off the table and looked at it.
He took a moment to smother his facial expressions. Then he slipped his card back onto the table and met the Joker's eyes again.
"So what'll it be, Boss?" Just to have something to do with his hands, he started sliding his cards together into a stack. The Joker grinned at him, his eyes full of a slimy sort of confidence.
"Ah, well, …let's see. How…about…." His dirty fingers shifted around in his pile of M&Ms for a few seconds, and then he flicked several brown candies into the pile. "I think, ah… I think three hundred is about right. Any obJECtions?"
"Not at all, Boss," Billy smiled. "And I'll call." He gave the Joker his blankest, most innocent smile, which the Joker met with raised eyebrows.
"Well, ah, if you're going to bluff, you might as well stick with it. Admirable. Very admirable. A bit stupid, buuuutt…." He ended the sentence with a shrug of his shoulders. "Dan?"
"Umm… call," Dan said, and began to pick out his remaining brown M&Ms. The Joker reached a long arm across the table and laid his hand across Dan's gently, almost friendly. Dan audibly sucked in his breath. The Joker's hands were always hotter than seemed natural, and actually making skin-to-skin contact with the Boss was incredibly unnerving. He looked up with a gulp.
"Ah, I think you meant fold," the Joker said affably, patting Dan's hand. Dan blinked at him stupidly.
"But….b…you j—"
"Yeah, yeah, I, ah… I know what I said. But I didn't say it to you. Did I? Hmm?" Slowly, Dan shook his head. "Thaaaat's right. Now you fold, like a good little Numb-nuts."
"But Boss, I—" he tried.
"FOLD, Dan," the Joker commanded. When Dan opened his mouth again, the Joker stopped him with a wave of his hand. "You've got a straight, Numb-nuts," he barked. "Your cards are useless; now do us a favor and FOLD. Mmm?" The Joker's eyebrows were up, and he nodded as if he was being helpful. After a moment of consideration, Dan nodded with him.
"Auuhh… yeah, okay…fold…." Mumbling, Dan pushed his cards away. The Joker gave him a sardonic thumbs-up.
"Good man."
"Hey, Boss?" Billy said quietly. The Joker snapped his head around to face Billy quickly enough to risk whiplash.
"What?" he growled. Billy didn't look at him – he was stroking the back of one of his cards contemplatively, and he didn't lift his eyes.
"You said if I'm bluffing, I have to stick with it, right?" The Joker hesitated, then nodded ever so slightly. Billy lifted his face then, and his eyes were open and bright. "Wanna make it interesting?"
"Wha—" the Joker began. Billy cut him off.
"I've decided to go all in," Billy declared. "Unless you've got an objection to that." When the Joker said nothing, Billy pushed the rest of his candy into the pile in the center of the table. The Joker was eyeing him like he was an irresistible puzzle, and after a few moments, he scraped his own candy into the pot.
"Not at all. You know, at first I was joking, but – correct me if I'm wrong, Billy-boy – I think you actually think you're a spade. Oh, you're a good poker player, don't misunderstand me. But I never thought you'd actually think you were good enough to give me serious competition."
"Well, that's just something else you've let slip past you, isn't it, Boss?" Billy said smartly. "See, that's always been your biggest weakness. You're so incredibly intelligent, it's actually a liability."
"I, ah, I don't follow," the Joker responded sardonically.
"You're right most of the time, Boss," Billy went on. "You're vastly more intelligent than the great majority of people you meet on any given day. That's true. But you're so damn intelligent that you've forgotten the minority. You've overlooked the fact that there are a handful of people who can compete with you. And any time someone overlooks a threat…that's the thing that breaks down their defenses. It's the things you let slip past you that will tear you down. And I think you've let enough things slip past you that you've got quite a few people in your deck incorrectly labeled. You might want to check it again."
"Oh, you think you're incorrECTly LA-beled?" the Joker sneered. Billy grimaced at him.
"Maybe. Only one way to find out. Show your cards." His face was set in a hard mask like concrete, the only expression an intense look of concentration in his eyes. Across the table, Dan was nervously stacking and unstacking his cards; Peter hadn't moved his hand from his mouth; and Dionté looked up slowly from staring at the floor. This was it. They were about to find out whether Billy was bluffing, or dead. For a moment, nobody moved or made a sound, with the exception of the groaning Rob in the floor. Then the Joker tapped his cards sharply against the table, opened them back up in his hand, and tossed his two garbage cards aside. Grinning exuberantly, the Clown Prince laid down his hand.
"Kings…full of aces."
Full house. Everyone at the table blanched – except Billy, whose face didn't move. The Joker's eyes were glowing like a demonic fireworks display; he had every king except the diamond, plus the two aces he'd been sitting on. He stretched backward in his chair as if he were in a hammock, popping his neck and leaning his head on splayed fingers.
"Well, ah… it was a nice effort, Billy-boy, but the, ah… the jig is UP." He locked eyes with Billy, satisfaction and vindication dripping from every pore. "Now. We can all count, so we all know that you can't possibly have a higher hand than mine. So. Do you want to save yourself the embarrassment and just throw your hand away – ah…concede defeat – or do you want to keep up the noble but quixotic charade 'til the very end, hmm?" Everyone was staring at Billy. He met each of their eyes in turn – he could afford to now – and then he let out a little chuckle that wanted to be a bigger laugh.
"Correct on one count, Boss," he smiled. "I can't possibly have a higher hand than yours. But that's where your calculations come apart."
"Mm-hmm?" the Joker rumbled, the way one might wait for a toddler telling a poorly constructed joke to get to the silly punch line, the satisfaction not leaving his face. Billy kept smiling anyway.
"Remember I said your weakness was that you overlooked your closest threats? That you let people slip past you? That you tended to underestimate on principle?" The Joker gave the tiniest of nods, and Billy's smile widened. "Well, you also forget that not all intelligent people will follow the same logical path as you."
"What's your point?" the Joker spat.
"My point is," Billy murmured, rubbing his cards together, "is that I asked to play Seven-Stud Eight."
"Annndd?"
"And that's a split pot game, Boss. And not everybody goes high."
For a few seconds, nobody reacted. Then it seemed to hit all the players in succession, like a wave around the table. Peter sucked in his breath behind his hand, as if he'd not really believed Billy was going to go through with what he had suspected; Dionté could be heard muttering an Aw, dayum under his breath; and Dan's eyebrows did a strange dance of realization. The Joker's face didn't actually move. But it was as if the fire behind his eyes had changed color, from the sultry red heat of victory to a suddenly cold, blue-white flame. He stared daggers at Billy, as if daring him to turn over his cards. But Billy was grinning a reckless, charming grin. Quietly, he turned his cards over and fanned them out on the table so that they revealed slowly as they slid out from under his fingers.
Five of clubs.
Four of clubs.
Three.
Two.
And the ace.
"Straight flush, Boss," said Billy matter-of-factly. "And, um… since we've established we can all count, then I don't guess I have to point out that they're all under eight." The Joker's face had taken on a dead, rubbery look and was slowly turning the color of putty, visible even under his week-old face paint. He was staring at the cards as if they were a mathematical impossibility, something that shouldn't exist but did anyway, with the expression of a man who has just been smacked with something flat and heavy.
"How."
It wasn't a question so much as a command to explain. Billy was a little surprised that the Joker hadn't killed him just for the mocking tone he'd used, but he figured he'd milk it for all it was worth. Just in case, though, he dialed back the triumph in his voice a notch or two.
"I already explained it, Boss. You didn't pay attention. You feel so damn superior to everyone, and most of the time you're right; but it makes you blind to the handful of people who might be intelligent enough to threaten you. You underestimate everyone, and so you can't fathom a world in which you'll be beaten. You can't fathom someone going low instead of high. You just assumed I was going to lose, because you knew you had a winning hand. You figured yeah, I was smarter than the other guys, and it'd be down to me and you in the end, but you knew you'd win. And it made you completely ignore the possibility that I might try for a low hand and actually get it. That's the problem, Boss. You can't defeat a threat if you won't acknowledge it exists. And you can't assign everyone a card in the deck and not hand out a few spades."
Except for the occasional whimper from Rob, the room fell silent. It was quiet enough that Billy could hear the muted smack of the river against the pier outside, and the soft, sleepy breathing of Harley in the side room. He had a feeling she was about to be rudely awakened. The Joker's hands were clenching on the tabletop, sinews and muscles in his wrists twitching and jumping. If he were any other man, Billy knew, that twitch would be the precursor to a right hook. And the Joker did look as though he would very much like to slug Billy right across the face. His eyes had narrowed down to dark tunnels, the kind that burrowed through cold mountains and might be inhabited by some inhuman, satanic creature made of fire and hatred. One hand had stolen down to his pocket, where a long, paint-caked index finger was caressing the edge of the rectangular bulge that was Cupid. Billy's stomach churned with the sudden realization of the danger he'd just put himself in. The churning quickened as the Joker began to get up from his seat. He kept his eyes locked on Billy's for a long moment; then, unexpectedly, he simply turned in the direction of the side room and moved away from the table without a word.
Another question rose in Billy's mind then, unbidden and definitely unwanted. He knew he should just keep his mouth shut and let the Joker stomp off to bed. That was the safe thing to do. He bit his tongue. But it slipped out anyway.
"I'm not the only person you've let slip past you, though, am I, Boss?" he heard himself say. He regretted it almost immediately, and kept staring at his cards on the table, hoping the Joker hadn't heard him. No such luck; the Joker paused a step away from the table. Billy found himself continuing to speak, even as his better judgment was screaming at him to shut up. "It's not just me. You've mislabeled more people than you realize." The Joker looked at him over his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was like a knife blade that had been made liquid.
"Don't go there, Billy-boy. I know the cards better than you could even imagine."
"You sure about that, Boss?" Billy prodded, still not looking away from his cards. The Joker turned all the way around this time, his hand slipping into his pocket.
"Yes. I. AM." There was a dark warning in his voice like approaching thunder. In spite of himself, Billy smiled at his straight flush on the table.
"Then how could you ever mistake Harley for the queen of diamonds?" he mumbled. It wasn't a challenge, or a taunt; truthfully, Billy was asking himself the question as much as he was asking the Joker. It had been too convenient an answer. And convenient answers were almost never the right ones. Behind him, he could feel the Joker's gaze on him like acid. But he couldn't stop. "You and I both know better, Boss," he said quietly. "Maybe she started out that way. But we both know which suit she's turned into. Don't we." And much like the Joker just a few minutes before, it wasn't a question but a statement of fact. Slowly, carefully, aware of the Joker's immense presence right behind him, Billy leaned over the table and pulled one of the cards from the pile in front of Dan. He didn't pick it up until he had dragged it all the way across the tabletop; then he plucked it delicately from the table and held it up over his shoulder for the Joker to see.
It was the queen of hearts.
"You can lie to yourself all you want to, Boss," Billy whispered. "But the cards always tell the truth." Behind him, he heard the shink of Cupid's blade being released. He held his breath, waiting for the blow to land. It didn't come. Instead, all he felt was the card in his hand flapping, as though it had been flicked by a strong finger. Surprised into letting out his breath, Billy looked.
The Joker had sliced the card in half. The bottom half of the queen's body was still held between Billy's fingers; her head and shoulders had floated down to the floor to land under the Joker's empty chair. Shaking, Billy let the bottom drop to join it and turned to face the Joker. He swallowed hard. The Joker looked about one spark away from an explosion. Billy desperately wanted to drop his gaze, but knew that if he did, he was a goner. He had to keep his composure and maintain eye contact. For a moment, the Joker did nothing. Then, a low growl started up in the back of his throat. It built up until it came out as a loud bark.
"rrrrrrrRRRRRRRRGGGGHHH!" the Joker snarled violently, as if that was the only way his dark thoughts could find expression. Then he slammed the knife down into the tabletop a centimeter away from Billy's hand.
Without another word, the Joker stormed away from the table toward the side room where Harley was stirring in her sleep. The men at the table watched him go, completely flummoxed by the fact that Billy was still alive; they kept their eyes on him all the way into the room, watched him kick his shoes off angrily before he was halfway there, watched him furiously unbuttoning his shirt and yanking it off before he was in the door, watched until he had made it into the room and slammed the door behind him. The impact jarred little bits of plaster and paint chips off the wall above the lintel, and then the room fell into silence. Finally, they all remembered to breathe.
"JEsus, Billy…," Peter muttered, and the faces of everyone else at the table seemed to agree with him silently. They were all passing shaky hands across their faces as if they had just witnessed a near-death event – and, in a way, they had. They all looked at Billy like a man who had just tried to drive his car off a cliff and swerved at the very last second. None of them could understand why Billy was still alive. Billy said nothing; he just got out of his chair and dropped to the floor to tend to Rob, who had given up whimpering and was now on the threshold of consciousness. He didn't have to say anything to answer their looks. He wasn't surprised. He knew why he was still alive.
He had been right.