The room is dimly lit and smells of death. A pool of blood dries into the old wooden floorboards, the flickering light bulbs around a dressing room mirror reflecting in the pool. A small poker table sits in the middle of the cramped room, money, playing cards, and lingerie scattered on the floor. Racks of colorful clothes are pushed against a wall, spilled makeup pooling in its wake. A dying cigarette slowly burns next to the face of a bloodied man, the life in his terrified eyes leaving.
The door to the smoke-filled dressing room bursts open as two masked goons drag a man in by his arms. He's begging to be let go but the Joker's goons knew better. The 50-something man quivers in his boots as he's shoved into a metal foldable chair around the small poker table. He falls with a whimper as he grips his silver briefcase to his heaving chest. He's looking for words to say but nothing comes out of his drying mouth. His eyes bounce between the muscled goons and the body on the ground, but he can't help but rest his gaze on the devilish clown in front of him.
The Clown Prince sighs as he shuffles a deck of cards against the green felt table, twirling them between his ringed fingers and placing them back in the deck. His lanky bleached body is calm as a green strand of his freshly-cut hair falls over his forehead, his crazed gaze not tearing away from the deck. He is clad in a white dress shirt and black slacks that stick to his body from perspiration. He smells of cigarette smoke, chemicals, and candy.
"Now, now, boys, what seems to be the problem?" the Joker asks with a smirk as he shuffles the deck once more. His face twitches slightly from anger. He deals a card toward the frightened man sitting across from him.
"Marv didn't bring all that he owed so we wanted you to talk to him personally, boss" one of the goons states through his frowning clown mask. Marv hides behind his briefcase, crying, praying to God that he'll get out of this place alive. Unfortunately for him, there was no God in these parts of town. Especially when the Joker was involved.
"Good. Now leave so I can talk to Mr. Marv in private. We have some catching up to do" Joker orders, smiling at the bawling man in front of him. "And take care of that fellow down there. Don't want him stinking up the place."
The Joker points toward the dead body on the ground, and with a snap, the goons carry it out, slamming the door behind them. Joker grumbles and stops shuffling the cards.
"Hello Marv. How are the kids?" the Joker asks with a giggle, unbuckling the gun holster around his waist. He stares deeply into his eyes, awaiting his response.
After finding his voice, Marv pleads, "P-p-please Mr. Joker, please don't kill me! This is all that I have and I can get the rest by tomorrow! Please!"
The Joker laughs at the babbling man.
"Let's not jump to conclusions, Marv! If you play along nicely, no one will have to die tonight" Joker grins.
The Joker immediately frowns and goes back to shuffling his cards.
"Now tell me how much you have."
"I-I got $10,000. I have the extra $7,000 in my bank account, but the banks are closed and–"
"Would you like to play a game with me, Marv?" the Joker interrupts, offering an excited, innocent look.
Marv wipes the perspiration off of his forehead as he tries to ignore the stinging of sweat on his eyes. He didn't know what to make of this question. What game did the Joker want to play? What's his angle? How will I get out of here alive? He knew the Joker wouldn't take no for an answer.
"S-sure. Sure, I'll play" Marv utters reluctantly, cursing himself for ever getting involved with the Joker. But when times are tough…
The Joker's grin surprisingly widens, his ghostly face sending shivers down Marv's spine. He claps in glee as he reaches for the purple revolver in his holster and slams it sideways onto the poker table, Marv practically jumping to the ceiling in fright. Smiley faces, diamonds, and hearts were etched into the bloodstained wooden grip of the gun. What should have been gray metal on the gun was bright purple paint and the barrel had the words HAHAHA painted in white on either side. No words could escape Marv's mouth. He truly believed that he would die tonight.
When analyzing Marv's scared expression became boring, the Joker screams after a few moments, spitting in Marv's face.
"To be quite honest, Marv, I'm quite angry that you didn't bring all of the money you owed me!And you bother to show up here, in my own domain, begging for more time when I remember you telling me that you'd have it? I supplied you with a certain amount and all I asked was to be paid back! But you didn't go through with your end of the deal! What do you have to say for yourself?"
Marv is on the verge of crying. He couldn't speak. The Joker's hair had fallen over his face and his face was contorted in pure anger.
The Joker's face surprisingly softens, sincerity in his red, manic eyes. He puts an arm on Marv's trembling shoulder.
"I know how times have been hard for you. It's impossible for you to pay for your wife's medical treatments and your kids are going to sleep starved, so what better way to get help than to come to me? Now, instead of shooting you in the face, dumping your body into the Gotham Bay, and leaving nothing of your family but bullets and meat, I've decided to be a little generous tonight. You seem like a good guy, Marv, and there aren't many good guys left in Gotham. I want to give you a chance! So here's a game I want to play. You may have heard of it. It's a little game called Russian Roulette."
Tears fell from Marv's face. He tried the best he could to stop himself from bawling and howling in terror. He didn't want to play Joker's game and he didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to be at home with his kids, holding his wife's hand at her bedside. He tried filling his head with the better memories of his wife and children, but staring in the face of death, he could barely remember his own name. He didn't want his final thoughts in this world to be of that clown and the image of his family's dead bodies filled with bullets. No, he would not stand for that. If he could shoot the Joker when it was his turn…
"F-fine. I'll play."
Joker slumps back into his seat and giggles.
"Oh, how I love games! Now, let's set up some ground rules before we get crackin'. There's only one bullet in there. If I shoot myself, then you get to leave safely with your money and you can get on with the rest of your day. Go get some groceries and flowers for the family and tell them that they'll always be safe. If you shoot yourself, however, then I take your money, dump your body into the Gotham Bay, shoot up your family and send their remaining body parts to each member of your extended family just in time for my dear Harley and I to catch the Saturday morning cartoons. Does that sound fair?"
Marv gulps, terrified for his family. He shifts uneasily in his chair.
"And if you try anything funny, I'll know before you do it. You don't want to make Daddy angry, do you?" the Joker giggles, his eyes squinting from smiling.
Marv's heart almost stops. Why did I ever turn toward the Joker for help?
As Marv finds himself shaking his head in agreement, he comes to the realization that there wouldn't be a way out of this. It was either the Joker or him walking out of this room. The only thing he could rely on was luck…
Marv sets the briefcase in the center of the table to his left with shaky hands. Joker eyes the briefcase as Marv wipes his palms on his brown, damp slacks. The bright revolver seemed to be a third eye staring into Marv. He awakes from his trance as the Joker's tattooed hand reaches for the gun.
With a grin, the Joker pulls open the cylinder of the revolver to make sure a bullet remained. He hums to himself a lovely tune as he spins the cylinder and pops it back into place with a flick of his wrist, admiring the gun that he created. He felt confident in his chances in this game. A confidence only the Joker could have.
"Would you like to do the honors?" the Joker asks with a smile, leaning against the table.
Marv takes a deep breath and shakily reaches for the painted revolver, Joker observing him in curiosity and excitement. The grip felt cold in his clammy hands as he set the gun in his lap. He noticed a peeling smiley face sticker near the top of the grip and a partially scratched sticker of a rainbow at the bottom.
I would need to make a shot to his head to kill him, he thought. If I shoot him anywhere else and he lives, it would be the end of me and my family. That's a risk I'm not willing to take. But he says he'll know if I try anything before I even make a move, and I believe him…
"Are you scared, Marv? It's just a game!" Joker asks in a low voice. Marv looks to him, hiding the anger within him toward himself and the clown across from him, and attempts to keep his composure. Marv pulls the hammer back slowly with his thumb. He notices the pearl white paint in the grooves of the sparkling purple cylinder and thinks to himself that he'd take the gun as a souvenir to show the world that he survived the Joker if he leaves. Now his kids would think his old man was really cool…
Joker is on the edge of his seat as Marv touches the barrel to his temple. If it were to go off, he expected being shot right there would be an instant death. No pain, no suffering… Marv takes a deep breath, says a prayer, and pulls the trigger.
Click!
The gun didn't go off. Marv lets go of his breath and breathes a heavy sigh of relief, dropping the gun on the table. Maybe he did have a chance of leaving here alive. He felt a little more confident in this brief victory.
"Good job, Marv! Maybe you do live to see another day!" Joker congratulates with a clap. Marv smiles weakly, ignoring Joker's fake appreciation for his living. He didn't have time for jokes. He just wanted to get the hell out of there.
Joker reaches for his gun, admiring the craftsmanship of his work once again. He wastes no time and pulls the hammer back in happiness, placing the barrel against his temple.
"If I do, however, die from this little game of ours, I want you to know a few things before I go. You can have Harley if you want. She isn't afraid of killing, so if you wanted to get rid of your old lady and make it look like an accident, she'd have no problem with that. She gets a little crazy sometimes, but don't we all need a little crazy in our lives? I also want you to remember my face as you lay dying on the floor, gasping for breath and pleading me to keep your family from harm!"
Click! He pulls the hammer back once again.
"I want the last sound you'll ever hear to be my laugh and I want the last thing you feel to be my foot as I kick your crippled, dying body in fits of laughter as I describe how I will cut up your family!"
Click!
Marv gasps in fear and his face goes white.
"I want you to know that when your children ask why I'm doing this in their final moments that I'll tell them that your poor, useless father decided to mess with the Joker!"
Click!
"No one messes with me and gets away with it!"
Click!
The Joker is breathing heavily, staring angrily into Marv's damp, red eyes. Marv's head falls into his hands as he howls with the small amount of strength that he has left. He's pleading the Joker for mercy, to not harm his family, and the Joker can barely make out his prayers over the whimpering. He couldn't help but laugh.
The Joker gets up from his seat and stands beside Marv.
"There, there" the Joker says, pouting his lipstick-covered lip and patting Marv's back. Marv continues to whimper and plead.
The Joker notices the corner of the decorative playing card that he handed toward Marv earlier. He slightly grins as he reaches for the card and flips it over.
A smiling man is painted on the card, clad in a black and red hat.
It was a joker.
The Joker's grin widens as he places the gun in Marv's clammy, trembling hands.
Marv looks at the purple gun through his salty tears.
"I believe this is for you," the Joker says.