Predatory Urges

by Gaia Faye

Assisting Bruce Wayne in a billionaire's day-to-day matters is one thing. Assisting the Joker in a psychopath's day-to-day matters is something else entirely. This fic stars everyone's favorite butler and appropriates aspects of the animated series.

Predatory Urges

If Alfred remembered his latest perusal of the paper correctly, today marked the return of a group of zoologists from safari in Africa. They'd performed a general study of various animal populations, following up on conclusions derived from captivity studies. It was a story for the Science & Technology section, considered filler to most of the populace. It was not a story juicy enough to make a reporter accost the zoologists at the airport and shout questions while angling for the prime photo op.

Most people, sadly enough, would find a blurb about Bruce Wayne leaving for Paris on a private plane much more interesting, especially alongside dashing, high-resolution photographs. A small crowd of paparazzi and gossip columnists, as well as several wannabe socialites, had somehow made it onto the tarmac to give the young billionaire a noisy send-off. Airport security had set up a barricade to keep the crowd a fair distance from the plane and its waiting passenger.

Bruce Wayne offered the cameras and rubberneckers a smirk and a wave, his other hand stuck casually into his pocket. He ignored their calls and questions, seeming content to experience the spectacle while he waited to board. His butler, Alfred Pennyworth, stood at his side, watching the spectacle from his own unique point of view. The crowd was here to see the local celebrity, Gotham's brash, young golden boy, on his way to Europe, officially for business but most likely for pleasure, given his reputation. But Alfred knew that in secret, at night when the unsavory characters of the city did the worst of their dealings, his employer was anything but a cocky, spoiled overgrown child. He was a brooding, determined hero. Although, he didn't necessarily deny the cockiness assessment.

Alfred stared at Bruce's face. "I must say, Master Wayne, I can see the appeal of this persona," he said, knowing the crowd wasn't close enough to hear them.

Bruce turned to him and quirked his eyebrow. "I don't see how, Alfred. You're not exactly young, female, and dazzled by money."

"Pardon me for enjoying a smile on your face once in a while."

This amused Bruce and he cracked a different smile, this one genuine. Alfred returned it. "Ah, there we go."

"Think of it as a parting gift."

"A parting gift? When you're going to Paris? You ought to bring back something better than that."

Bruce laughed. "I'll keep an eye out for a really nice feather duster.."

"Very good, sir."

Bruce brought back the smarminess for the distant cameras, but where they saw a smile Alfred saw gritted teeth. "The private airfield has its benefits," Bruce said.

"Maybe if your other persona hadn't commandeered your personal jet and turned it into a pretty sculpture embedded in the rock quarry," Alfred replied, "we wouldn't have had to adjust your travel plans at the last minute."

"Occupational hazard, I guess," Bruce said. "But I'd rather not have any travel plans at all."

"Well, be sure to make some exceptionally inappropriate passes at all the ladies and keep that vacant look on your face, and perhaps they won't insist you attend the next round of meetings," Alfred said as a flight attendant walked down from the plane.

Bruce chuckled, but then he hesitated, giving Alfred a look. "You know how to get in touch if anything... goes awry."

"Of course, sir." The butler leaned in. "But it just may be possible that the city won't burn to the ground in your absence."

Bruce frowned. "Alfred."

"Run along now. You'll only be gone two days. Try to have some fun."

Bruce looked skeptical, but when he turned to the crowd he dazzled them with another smile, one last wave, and a wink. He hooked arms with the flight attendant, causing her to giggle, and disappeared onto the plane. Alfred had only to deflect a few nosy gossip columnists ("What do you say of rumors of Bruce Wayne's relationship with Lana Lang?" "Is it true he got in a fist fight with the photographer when he crashed the Vogue shoot in Robinson Park?" "Some say the real affair is with Lang's assistant, Daniel Vaughn. Comment?") before he could head off to the parking garage.

As he slid into the driver's seat of Bruce's town car, he went over the day's errands in his head, and as he glanced at the rear view mirror, two empty eyes set in the hollows of a white skull stared back at him. A purple-sleeved arm slung around Alfred's throat, pulling him against the headrest. He heard the click of the safety before he felt the gun press against his head.

"You would not believe," an oily, nasally voice said in Alfred's ear, "how hard it is to find a cab around here."

Alfred was shocked into silence, but only for a moment or two. "Well. They say persistence pays, sir."

The Joker snorted in his ear. "Forgive my impatience. This hunkajunk'll do." He shifted, curling around the driver's seat so that Alfred could see his ghoulish face. His lips were slightly pursed in disapproval, defying the sloppy red smile painted over his mouth and up the scars in his cheeks. "You know, it's not a particularly smart idea to leave the door unlocked, Jeeves."

"I didn't."

"Huh." Joker's face was deceptively blank. "Some punk must've jimmied the lock. Damn kids." He tapped Alfred on the cheek with the gun barrel. "Since I'm here, what do you say we go for a spin?"

Alfred didn't say anything. He just started the engine and put the car into drive. He hoped that someone, anyone they passed, would see his surprise passenger, but as he merged onto the highway back into the city, it was clear he was on his own. Even if he had an opportunity to get to the button in the glove compartment without the Joker noticing, there was no telling how long it would take Master Bruce to get back once he received the signal.

Joker hadn't said anything, not even told him where to go. Alfred wasn't sure if it was a smart idea to ask, but he supposed he better say something, lest the man get antsy and think of creative ways to solve his boredom. "I was not aware you'd escaped Arkham," Alfred said.

"You just might be the first to know!" Joker replied cheerfully, as if Alfred had won a prize. He leaned forward into the front of the car again. "Did you know that Arkham orderlies frequently skip their checks on solitary confinement, except maybe to flash a little looksie through the window? And to them, one screaming loony looks like the other?" He grinned; his scars looked ready to split. "I think they'll be looking for that poor schizophrenic sucker for another day or so before they realize he's not the one missing."

"I should think since you were at the airport, you would have 'skipped town,' as they say."

"Leave Gotham?" Joker laughed. "How could I abandon my lady like that? No, no, I just had to pick up a parcel."

"Parcel, sir?"

"Nosy, nosy!" Joker chided.

Alfred didn't press for more of a hint and changed the subject. "If you'll be wanting a ransom, sir, my employer will be indisposed for at least seven hours."

"Ransom?!" the clown exclaimed. "Ohh, nooo nononono! That would be boring, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn't say we held the same tastes, sir."

Another laugh. "I like you, Jeeves. Understatement. Delightful."

"If there is no ransom, sir, then may I ask if there is a point to this?"

"I needed a ride back into town, and I figured, hey, why not in style?" Joker gestured to the car's sleek, spotless interior with his free hand. "Why all the questions? Don't you enjoy my company?"

Alfred didn't have an earthly idea how to answer that.

Joker snorted at his silence. "Well, I'm sure I'm more interesting than whatever 'fop' you work for," he said, briefly imitating Alfred's accent. "Which idiot is it?"

"Bruce Wayne, sir."

"Ah hahahahaha!" Joker chortled. "Wayne! Little orphan Brucie, rotting away in the laps of luxury and blithering blondes." He leaned forward, chin resting on the shoulder of Alfred's seat. "What's it like wasting your life for a waste of life?"

"I find myself quite content."

The clown tsked in his ear. "Because his drunken nights leave you time to do all the crosswords you could possibly want? Ooh, unless it's the opposite, with you skimming a little off the top of his pile of change now and then? Saving it away for a rainy day, or a sudden permanent tropical getaway?"

"I wouldn't need to steal from Master Wayne to do that, sir."

"I suppose not. I'm sure he has to pay well to keep your lips zipped around the press. Heh. Bruce Wayne. Talk about skeletons in the closet; he must have dozens of armoires. Probably a few chifforobes."

"We do have some of each of those, sir, but Master Wayne uses a walk-in closet."

"Phbbt!" Joker fell back in giggles. "Oh, I do like you!"

That was probably preferable to the alternative.

"You know what would be fun?" Joker chirped.

"Nothing immediately comes to mind, sir," Alfred said.

"To have a manservant for a day!" the clown continued. "I mean I have my usual stooges, of course, but scraping, bowing, gibbering lunatics don't really compare to a well-dressed, dignified butler. And English, no less!" He flashed Alfred another yellow-toothed grin. "What do you say, Jeeves?"

Alfred had not forgotten the gun pointed at his head. "Very good, sir," he replied.

"Wonderful!" Joker exclaimed, as if Alfred had any real say in the matter. "We'll be heading to the Narrows then."

Bloody fantastic.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Alfred had returned to the Narrows a handful of times after that night over a year ago, when he'd picked up Master Wayne deliriously rambling from the Scarecrow's weaponized hallucinogen. He did not enjoy his return trips any more than that one, even though his employer's condition had been much better than that first time. After the disaster with Ra's al Ghul had destroyed the Narrows' infrastructure, let loose Arkham Asylum's patients, and drugged thousands of citizens-- some irreparably damaged-- things had not gotten better in the slums.

Joker directed him deep into the crooked streets, and Alfred could only be grateful it was still daylight as he wound the car between crumbling apartment blocks and dismal, barred storefronts. Homeless men and women were scattered in alleys and on curbs and front stoops, curled up in mismatched, tattered clothing. Other people walked quickly and kept their heads down, except to glance at the completely out-of-place town car rolling past. Alfred doubted he could get much help here even if they could see the madman through the tinted windows.

"Make this left," Joker said, pointing at an alley just wide enough for the car. Alfred kept the car at a crawl, gritting his teeth and waiting to hear a scrape. The clown had him stop in the middle, just before they passed a rusted metal door set in the back of the building squeezing in from the right. "Here we are!"

Alfred looked at the brick wall six inches out his window. "I understand your need for cover, sir, but I'm afraid we won't be going anywhere in the vicinity of 'here' without difficulty."

"Nonsense, my good man!" Joker said, reaching up to the sunroof. "Exits are never hard to find." He pulled the sunroof open and with little more than a grunt pulled himself onto the roof. Alfred was flabbergasted as the clown rolled down the windshield and over the car's hood like a child tumbling down a grassy hill. Once on the ground, he righted himself quickly, gesturing with his gun for Alfred to get out of the car.

Alfred did not bother asking himself if the man was serious. Grumbling, he slid up onto the center console between the front seats. He glanced into the backseat and saw the Joker's "parcel," a brown suitcase, very likely a stolen bit of luggage. He wondered what it held that necessitated the Joker coming all the way to the airport, but he didn't keep the clown waiting. With far more than a grunt, he managed to pull himself through the sunroof onto the top of the car. He was more careful than his captor about getting down; he scooted down the windshield.

Joker stared critically. "You could try to be more dignified about it," he said. Alfred avoided rolling his eyes.

Joker had Alfred go inside first, and the clown pulled the door closed behind them. Then he flicked a switch, and a solitary lightbulb revealed only four walls, empty metal shelves, and a door across the room. Through there was a hallway, and from the look of it, they were in an old, abandoned office building. Light seeped through cracks between boards over the windows, casting faint light on the water stains mottling the walls. They had to climb over a fallen filing cabinet with all the drawers missing but one. A half-rotted corkboard hung off one hook. Paper covered the floor, torn and faded.

They moved around the corner, somewhere in the middle of the building, and stopped outside a door that had evidently been nicked from a hotel. A small peephole was set in the door beneath the outline of metal numbers that were no longer there. The Joker coughed pointedly, and Alfred knocked.

Alfred didn't hear any footsteps, but he got the sense that someone stood on the other side of the door, looking through the peephole, before a muffled voice asked, "Who are you?"

Joker coughed again, and he straightened his tie and coat with a haughty expression. Alfred again understood the cue.

"Good day, sir. This is Alfred Pennyworth, presenting... erm..." He glanced at the Joker again, but the clown just waited, head held high, staring at the door. "Presenting the illustrious criminal mastermind, the Joker. Esquire," he added on a whim. Although straight-faced, the Joker seemed to approve; Alfred heard him choke back a laugh.

There was murmuring behind the door. Then with several clicks of several latches, it opened partway. A small man with prominent front teeth and a bulbous nose peered out at them quizzically. Strangely, he was dressed like a nineteenth century gentleman, in a tweed three-piece suit. A gold watch chain looped out of his vest pocket.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, looking at Alfred suspiciously.

"My, my, Tetchy is touchy indeed," Joker tsked, shoving Alfred forward, effectively forcing their way inside. "Tetchy" stumbled back with a grunt.

The central room was the largest and somewhat the cleanest room Alfred had seen in the building. The mess had been shoved into corners, stacks of desks and chairs and papers, leaving the center of the room for a neat set-up of laboratory materials. It appeared to be divided into two halves, one side chemical, the other technological, though Alfred could spot elements of one side mingling on the table of another. Two mattresses lay on the floor in the back of the room. At one bed's side sat a hat rack that must have come from a department store. Each arm held a hat of a different style. It was almost an amusing idiosyncrasy, until Alfred noticed two cages pushed against the wall. Each was large enough to hold a human.

"Well, this is... cozy," Joker appraised before closing the door behind them. He redid all the latches as well.

Tetchy's annoyance hadn't gone away. "Who is this septuagenarian stranger?" he said, pointing at Alfred.

"He's just a happy helper," Joker said.

"Plainly!" said another voice, and Alfred's eyes widened as Jonathon Crane emerged from a closet on the right, a beaker in hand. "Yes," he continued, voice even but undeniably sarcastic, "he doesn't look at all like a good Gotham citizen who could compromise our hideout."

"Such rudeness to the help!" Joker said, aghast. He shook his head at Tetchy. "Don't you know what they say? Never get involved with a man who's rude to the waiter."

Crane set the beaker on one of the chemical desks. "I suppose it's useless to convince you of the seriousness of our concerns."

"Hey, I just think Jeeves could teach you a few things about manners. Here, I'll show you." Joker gestured from Crane to Alfred with a dignified air. "I'd like you to meet Jeeves, my manservant. Jeeves, this is, uh, what was it? Jimmy Joe?"

"I'm sure he knows the Scarecrow," Crane said, annoyed.

"Huh, you look like a Jim to me." Joker waved a hand in Tetchy's direction. "And this is Whassisface."

"We're going to have to move all our equipment again," Tetchy complained to Crane.

"Oh, both you calm down," Joker sighed. "Jeeves won't be saying anything. Believe me." His voice got low, and although Alfred had no doubt that his time was almost up in the Joker's mind, it wasn't pleasant to have it even remotely voiced aloud. "So, do you have it?"

"Do you have the money?" Crane retorted.

"Man of my word, as always," said Joker, although he didn't produce the payment.

"Aren't we all?" Crane murmured. "Jervis, fetch the clown's special order."

Still looking particularly perturbed, Tetchy went to the closet. Crane stared at Alfred curiously.

"You're quite calm for a captive of a sociopathic madman with a well-publicized history of violence," he commented.

"I do keep my head about me," Alfred replied.

Crane considered him in silence for another moment, then asked, "Have you always had a lack of anxiousness, or would you say experience has numbed you to frightening stressors?"

"Lighten up, stuffed shirt!" Joker interrupted. "He's my butler, not your experiment."

"Have you always been a butler?" Crane asked, more intrigued.

"Get your own toys," Joker said just as Jervis emerged with a plastic box.

He opened it for the clown, showing two syringes tucked into a foam inset on either side of a vial of clear liquid. "As requested, a concoction of curiosities." Joker reached for the box eagerly, but Jervis snapped it shut and held it away. "Our payment?"

Joker grumbled, but turned to Alfred. "Pay the man, Jeeves."

To Alfred's recollection, his billfold contained a meager forty-seven dollars and a limitless credit card, but he doubted either would be acceptable for this transaction. "I don't believe my funds are sufficient, sir," he said, hoping he wouldn't hear the gun in response.

"Hm? Oh." Joker rummaged around his coat pocket and gestured with the gun for Alfred to hold out his hand. The butler did so, and the clown slapped two wrapped stacks of hundred dollar bills into his palm. Alfred duly turned and handed the cash to Crane.

Crane flipped through the bills and nodded to Jervis. "We're done here."

"Excellent," Joker said, snatching the box. He set it on the counter and opened it, hands immediately pulling out a syringe and the vial. "Got any rabbits? Rats?"

"My serums are perfectly effective," Crane replied. "If you insist on a test subject, fetch a vagrant from the alleys."

"Though, I would say you have a fine subject right here," Jervis said with a toothy grin.

But Alfred had already seen where this was going. He'd also seen that the Joker had to put the gun down to fill the syringe and that he had a clear path to the door, but knew that he couldn't undo all the latches in time. Crane was very interested in his expression now. But the Joker wasn't looking at him at all. The clown held up the filled syringe and fixed Jervis with a bemused look.

"My driver?" he exclaimed, and he stabbed the needle into Jervis' neck, driving home the plunger. The little man screamed and fell to his knees. "What kinda fool idea is that?"

The syringe was still in Jervis' neck, but he did not pull it out. Already the serum was taking its effect, and he clawed at the ground.

"Ugh." Crane stood over Jervis as he twitched and his eyes darted wildly around the room. "Do you know how long it will take to for that to pass through his system?"

"Sorry, stuffed shirt," Joker said with a shrug. "Needed to be sure you weren't skimping out on me." He slipped the box with the remaining vial and syringe into his coat.

"That would be no way to run a business."

"And so I see you are indeed an honorable man!" Joker said, taking up his gun. Jervis started lashing out at Crane's legs, and the doctor stepped out of the way. "Maybe you should take advantage," Joker added lasciviously. "Looks like your roomie could give you a wild time."

Crane was unimpressed by the lewdness. "I suppose I'll make the most of this," he said, opening one of the cages. "And I believe you'll be on your way," he added pointedly before kicking Jervis sharply in the gut. The smaller man had snapped at his leg.

"So we are!" Joker agreed. He was already undoing the door latches. "Tally ho, Jeeves!"

Crane threw the whining Jervis into the cage by his shirt collar as Alfred closed the door.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After they managed to climb back into the into the car, Alfred backed it out of the alley at a crawl. "Where to, sir?" he asked wearily when they were back on the street. He was happy to have lived this long, but– despite the odds– hoped he wouldn't get to see why the Joker needed that serum.

"What time is it?"

"Four seventeen p.m., sir."

"Perfect! Head uptown, to Fiftieth and Lincoln."

It was a quiet fifteen-minute drive, and once they reached the intersection, Joker directed him around nearby buildings and ordered him to stop under an overpass. A van waited for them, with a well-muscled man reclined against the back. Alfred didn't need the Joker to tell him to get out of the car.

The thick-necked thug came forward. Alfred noticed he had several fresh cuts on his arms and face, and spots of blood around tears in his clothing. Loud yapping noises echoed in the van, and occasionally it rocked from side-to-side.

"How are the darlings?" Joker asked, fishing around his pocket.

"Pains in the ass," the man rumbled. "I got leashes like you asked but I dun think they'll do anything for ya."

"Well, it's out of your hands anyway, isn't it?" Joker said, presenting him with a wad of money. "Let's see them!"

The man shrugged, and despite the pleadings in Alfred's head, opened the rear doors of the van. The sunlight barely lit the interior, only enough for Alfred to make out two dogs with wild tufts of fur up and down their backs and sprouting on their heads. They grinned with drool-dripping fangs, tongues lolling out, and strained against leashes tied to hooks mounted in the van.

"Oh, such pretty babies!" Joker praised, and his voice only riled the beasts further.

"Yeah," agreed the muscled man passively as he counted his money. "Angels."

"Well, Jeeves," Joker said, "get them in the car then."

Alfred started. "In the car?" he repeated.

"Well, how else would we bring them along? Tie the leashes to the bumper?" The thought gave the clown pause, and he giggled quietly to himself.

Alfred stared at the excited mongrels. Their barks were like cackles and their eyes seemed to glow. Their claws scraped against the van's bare metal interior. One snapped at the other's hindquarters, and the other retaliated by clawing at the first's face.

Master Wayne's car was going to be ruined, to say nothing of Alfred's own limbs.

The muscled man seemed to read his thoughts. "Here, old man," he said, pulling two small wrapped packages from his pocket. "They ain't so bad when they distracted."

Alfred unwrapped the parcels, finding wads of meat inside. He tossed them into the van, and the dogs went for them immediately, teeth tearing and tongues lashing. Stomach twisting, Alfred carefully stepped into the van. Their tails beat against his legs as he maneuvered between them and untied the leashes. By the time he started making his way out, they had finished and looked at him expectantly for more.

"You could wait until supper," Alfred said nervously as he carefully stepped out of the van. He tugged on the leashes and the animals walked forward a bit, where the sunlight finally hit them. He could see the spots in their fur now, and that's when he realized they were hyenas.

They pounced. All the air burst from his lungs as his back hit the pavement. The hyenas scrambled up and down and around him, and he tried to grab their muzzles as they snapped at him, claws slashing through his clothes. There was no one to ask for help. The muscled man stuffed his money into his pocket. The Joker watched and giggled, the sound crescendoing into a full laugh. The hyenas stopped suddenly, ears perking up at the sound. The Joker's laugh faded, the costumed man and the beasts staring at each other for a moment. The animals turned back on Alfred again, snuffling in his hair and clothes. One tried to bite Alfred's hand when he shoved it away, and the clown cackled again. The hyenas stopped and turned to look at him. They cocked their heads curiously.

Joker eyed the beasts now. He clapped his hands together twice, the sound sharp.

There was a pause, but then the animals sat, wagging their tails as if expecting treats. Or orders. Alfred kept still on the ground, wondering if the madman would encourage them to make him their dinner.

The muscled man scratched his head. "Think they tried training them at the zoo. Thought it didn't work."

Joker snorted. "You don't tame beasts like these. They just know who's the head of the pack." He returned to the car and opened the rear door. Hanging over it, he stared at Alfred expectantly. "Are you gonna lie there all day?"

Alfred didn't retort. Ignoring the pain sparking in his hip and all the places he'd been scratched, he pulled himself to his feet and limped slightly to the car. He shot the Joker a disdainful look before getting behind the wheel. He felt the slight sag of the other man climbing in as well, and turned when the Joker whistled and the hyenas scrabbled over excitedly. They leaped over the clown's lap into the back seat, nuzzling and rubbing against him as he shut the door.

"Bud and Lou," the Joker said decisively.

"What, sir?" Alfred said.

"Names for the wittle mongrels," Joker cooed, ruffling the fur on their heads. "Oh, they're such good boys, yes they are! You're gonna do well for Daddy tonight, aren't you?" The playfulness abruptly dropped, gun at the ready again. "The warehouses by the docks, if you please."

Joker said nothing more for the duration of the ride. The only sound was the hyenas' happy chuckling as they pawed and gnawed at the seats. Alfred decided to feel fortunate it was the leather stretching and tearing instead of his face.

They ended up at an old fishing warehouse, used many years ago when the Gotham Bay was considered sanitary. Alfred pulled to a stop at the big metal rolling door around the back, and Joker rolled down his window. The clown signaled to a figure watching from a high window, barely discernible through the dirty glass, and the warehouse door rose noisily.

Alfred pulled the car inside, and as he turned off the ignition over a dozen men hurried to stand at attention, abandoning newspapers and playing cards. There were fourteen men – fifteen including the man perched on a catwalk underneath the window– and each of them wore a clown mask. A few goons hastily pulled them over their faces as they lined up. Alfred could see half of them were armed.

The Joker opened his door and let out the hyenas. Then he grunted and kicked the back of the driver's seat. Alfred nervously got out. The hyenas bounded around the warehouse, exploring its nooks and crannies. Alfred tried to keep track of them and keep an eye on the Joker's stooges as well. There was no telling how long each man had been at Arkham, or for what mental illness he'd been admitted. Of course, they all looked at least a little off with those masks.

"How'd it go, Boss?" asked a goon with red X's painted across his mask's eye holes.

"Without a hitch, naturally!" was the Joker's lofty reply. He beckoned two of the armed men forward. "Keep an eye on my friend here, boys. And let him know if anything needs to be cleaned up around here."

The two men locked eyes for a split second, as if to mutually wonder what didn't need to be scrubbed in their rusted, broken down hideout. "Yes, sir," they said, lifting their weapons and holding Alfred in their sights.

There was a changing screen set up nearby, and Joker was already taking off his coat as he walked behind it. "Get the bag in the car," he ordered.

Red X quickly pulled the suitcase from the backseat. He set it on a crate and opened it immediately, seeming to know exactly what the Joker needed from it. He pulled out some light-colored clothing and passed it behind the screen. The suitcase fell over, its contents spilling on the floor, and a few henchmen made a beeline for it, examining everything curiously. Alfred watched them carefully, hoping they didn't discover anything sharp. Behind the screen, the Joker flung his clothing over the top as he changed.

"Ta da!" he chimed when he was done, sliding out from behind the screen. Gone was his purple ensemble. Now he donned something more suitable for cavorting around the African wilderness: khaki shorts down to the knees and a short-sleeved khaki shirt to match, with brown shoes and white socks pulled halfway up his calves. One goon tossed him a round, brimmed hat and another handed him a double-barreled hunting rifle, completing the look. Perhaps the only thing missing, Alfred thought wryly, was a bushy mustache. It was suddenly clear why the clown had gone to the airport. Alfred hoped the zoologist had kept his research in another bag– if he was still alive.

"How do I look?" Joker asked no one in particular.

"Great, boss!" was the essence of his henchmen's responses, with some strange variations from the twitchier of them. "Stunning, stunning!" one cheered giddily, clapping his hands.

Joker bowed. "Jeeves?" he prompted.

"I'm without words, sir," Alfred responded, and the Joker seemed to take that well enough. Alfred eyed the gun. "I am curious as to what you plan to hunt?"

"Hunt? Me? Ah, no no," Joker said. "We're simply going to observe the hunting patterns of the magnificent hyena." He gestured to the animals romping around the warehouse.

"Not in their natural habitat, I assume."

"An astute observation." Joker grabbed a newspaper off a nearby table and held it up to Alfred's face. It had been folded so it quartered off an article titled, "Gotham Animal Protection Society Holds Fundraiser." Joker giggled at the butler's expression. "They'll enjoy a raw display of animal behavior, don't you think? Maybe even give into their own predatory urges."

"I should think, sir, that self-defense would not qualify them as predators."

"A fair hypothesis." Joker held out the leashes to him. "If you're good, you won't have to see for yourself."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Though Alfred was sure the Joker would have preferred to use a jeep, apparently all he had at his disposal was a dented and scraped black van. They sat in the back with the hyenas and two masked goons, with Red X and another stooge in the front. Alfred was wary to look away from the Joker for too long, not to mention his new pets' happily snapping teeth, but managed enough glances out the windows to determine they were headed uptown.

When the van stopped and the door slid open, Alfred recognized the silhouette of the Gotham Animal Protection Society's headquarters-slash-museum. They'd parked at the back. He could hear the faint sound of violin strings. The party was underway.

Joker ushered everyone out of the van and to the rear doors. Red X rapped a pattern on the metal. One of the doors opened, and a young man in a security uniform poked his head out. Red X handed him a clown mask, and the disguised goon slipped it on as they walked inside – or in Alfred's case, as he was pulled inside by the hyenas, straining against their leashes to keep close to their owner.

The hallway was brightly lit and empty. "Go chain the doors," Joker ordered.

"Got it boss," was the chorus. Red X and two other goons took off down the hallway. Joker led the remainder of the party to the lobby, where a few security guards, some lingering guests, and a hostess were surprised to see them. Joker used Alfred as a hostage to get the guards to give up their weapons before shooting each of them in the head. He ordered everyone else into the party.

The back door connected to a main hall that surrounded the first floor, but within those walls lay a bountiful courtyard. Stone paths weaved around plots of small leafy trees, lush bushes, and gardens of bright, delicate flowers. In the center was an expanse of grass with tables and chairs set up around a bare area for dancing. To the left sat the catering table, and to the right sat a string quartet. The second and third floors did not close in overhead, but followed the perimeter of the property, allowing the guests a view of the Gotham sky. But no one looked up at the night when the Joker entered, blasting his shotgun in the air.

"Ladies and gents, hello, hello!" he shouted, shooting again. Behind him, one of the goons chained the main doors. Looking around at the glass doors looking in on the courtyard, Alfred could see the side and rear exits were already chained. The panicked party guests rattled and yanked on them anyway.

"Leaving!" Joker chided the fleeing crowd as he reloaded. "But we just got here! Come on, everyone on the dance floor!"

Poking and prodding with their guns, the goons urged the guests and staff away from the doors and into the middle of the courtyard. Alfred spotted a few of the guests do double-takes when they got a good look at him; they were friends of Master Wayne. He certainly hoped he didn't appear guilty of any part of this affair, despite the fact that he was wrangling the Joker's animals.

He was so preoccupied with the leashes tangling around his legs that he didn't notice one woman refuse to step back until she hissed, "Thieving vermin." Her sharp gaze was directed at the Joker. Alfred didn't know her personally, but he recognized her cropped blonde hair and the soft features of her face.

Joker put on a sad face. "Vermin are animals too, you know."

Above them, all along the second floor, was a balcony. Two sets of stairs led up to it from the courtyard, one set at the front, the other at the back. Alfred saw one of the goons who'd chained the downstairs doors come halfway down the back set. They must have gotten upstairs using the perimeter hallway. The goon flashed a hand signal and disappeared again when the Joker waved him off. Joker then grabbed the end of a nearby table cloth, and with a flourish he tore it out from under the tableware, leaving it all in place, even the glasses still standing. He considered his achievement with pride, then abruptly kicked the whole thing over. "Ta da!" he cheered over the sound of shattering glass, and he handed the tablecloth to Alfred. "Collect some donations, Jeeves."

Alfred was not particularly happy to help rob Master Wayne's associates, but gathered the cloth like a sack. He moved through the crowd, mumbling apologies as the guests dropped wallets, purses, and jewelry into his makeshift bag.

"So what's your charity?" the blonde woman sneered. "Fund for the Cosmetically Impaired?"

Joker winced and clucked his tongue. "Ooh. Burn. You were one of those mean girls in high school, huh?"

"You're a piece of work. You run out of mob money to steal, so do you go for the soulless corporations with more money than God? No, you go for a charitable cause."

"Hoo boy, I've really touched someone's nerve, haven't I?" Joker stroked his chin and made a show of pondering. "Let me guess," he said. "Selina Kyle? Head of this bleeding heart society's Board?"

She laughed with disdain. "I doubt it really matters to you."

"Oh, well, I thought I might get a kiss for guessing right," he cooed, leaning forward. She recoiled and he laughed. "Just wishful thinking, hm?"

She folded her arms and changed the subject. "Are those the hyenas stolen from the zoo this morning?" she snapped.

"What? They're not welcome here?"

"Those are an endangered breed," she growled. "You can't just--"

"And yet I did!" Joker interrupted. "I'm just amazing that way."

"They are not your toys!"

"Toys?" Joker said as if appalled. "Oh, my dear, they're not for me. I brought them for you, for all of you." He smiled. "Surely animal lovers such as yourselves enjoy encounters with specimens of the animal kingdom? You've gathered tonight because you love them and want to protect them." He held out his hand to Alfred, and Alfred handed over the leashes.

"I consider myself an animal lover too," the Joker went on, unhooking the hyenas. They waited obediently in front of him. "Animals know who they are; they don't pretend otherwise. I find it admirable to see them follow their base urges. That is, until they're domesticated, castrated. That's what people have done, domesticated themselves, with 'morals' and 'society.'" He used air quotes, then reached into his pocket and brought out the small syringe case. "Lies and self-righteousness," he sighed, opening the case. "After all, humans are animals too, but you don't see hyenas raising money for them, do you?"

"You're insane..." Selina said, brow furrowed at his logic.

"So everyone seems to think." Joker sighed again. "Well, I think people such as yourselves," he said, filling the syringe, "could stand to gain an... expanded perspective on life." He clicked his tongue and the hyenas sat at attention. He knelt down, and the animals twitched as he brought the needle to their scruffs, first one, then the other. "And I'm sure these dears would love to thank you for all your hard work protecting them."

The effect was fast. The hyenas arched their backs and growled, baring their teeth. Their eyes were wide open, rolling this way and that as they snorted the air. They seemed to take in the scent of all the people gathered, as if they were trying to pick just the right meal but couldn't choose.

The Joker urged them to make it a buffet. "Go get 'em!" he cried, clapping his hands, and the beasts dove into the crowd. The men and women screamed and scattered. The hyenas couldn't pick just one, biting the ankle of a woman only to release her to launch onto a bald man's shoulders, knocking down a violinist only to snag the skirt of the hostess.

The Joker blocked one set of stairs to the balcony, so a number of guests ran for the other set. But a goon waited at the top, shooting at them as they tried to ascend. Joker motioned for Alfred and the other goons to move up to the balcony. Once there, the two goons guarded the stairs while Joker leaned over the railing to watch the panicked guests. They pounded on the doors, struggled to free themselves or others from the hyenas' teeth, or simply tried to hide under the tables. Alfred found it shocking how so many people were rendered helpless by two animals. The hyenas were wild enough without the drug, but surely the people could fight back. If only they could gather their wits in the face of the toxin-invigorated beasts.

"Hey, Boss," said Red X, coming out onto the balcony from the second floor. "Looks like we got plenty of loot." The other missing goon accompanied him. Both carried stuffed duffel bags over their shoulders.

Joker rubbed his hands together. "What have ya got, boys?" he asked.

They unzipped the bags, and Joker hummed approvingly as he peered inside. But at Red X's bag he suddenly went silent and plunged his hands in, pulling out a gold cat statuette and a sparkling necklace of white and blue stones. He glanced from one to the other rapidly, then dropped them back into bag and grabbed the goon by the collar. "Where'd you get these?"

Red X threw up his hands, letting the bag fall, as if availing himself of all blame even without knowing what was wrong. "In Kyle's office, locked in the desk."

Joker picked the bag up and stared into it. He giggled. "Ohhhh. Oh me, oh my."

Alfred had no idea what was going on, but if it gave the clown more reason to be pleased, it couldn't be good.

The goon at the staircase across the courtyard shouted. Selina and several guests had found a number of projectiles to throw at him. They retreated or ducked when he fired, but always came back. They hurled shoes and glasses and centerpieces. Other people still struggled with one of the hyenas in the dance area, and Alfred didn't see the second animal anywhere. Had they managed to kill it?

Selina struck the goon at the head of the stairs in the shoulder with an apple, and when he aimed his gun at her, a folding chair struck him in the face. The fighters rushed the stairs as the goon tried to get to his feet, and an impeccably dressed man punched him solidly in the head. The other guests and staff hurried over, the hyena left swaying in the courtyard. Some injured had to be helped or dragged, but they all made it up the stairs, quickly closing the gate. Alfred felt a spark of triumph, but the Joker seemed unconcerned, chuckling even as the crowd dragged the unconscious goon around the balcony. The man who had slugged him held the goon's own gun to his head.

"Drop 'em!" said the man when the masked stooges raised their guns.

"Okay," Joker said, immediately lifting his shotgun and firing. The goon's head was nothing but a mess all over the society man's shattered shoulder. "You meant that in the colloquial sense, right?" he asked curiously as the man screamed, dropping the gun.

With the remaining henchmen's guns trained on them again, the party guests were reduced to cowering, some trying not to vomit as the dead henchman's body hit the floor. But the Joker, kicking away the dropped firearm, had ideas other than sending them back down to the hyena. He picked up Red X's bag, pulled out the gold cat statue, and flipped it into the air, catching it each time it came back down. "I don't see why you would recommend that I steal from nefarious companies, Ms. Kyle. I know if I find some fun, I try to keep it to myself."

Selina broke forward from the group. "No! Don't!"

"I might be mistaken," Joker said, "but this looks a heckuva lot like that statue stolen from Max Shreck's office. And this..." He dropped the cat statue into the bag and took out the twinkling necklace. "I thought this was Rupert Thorne's anniversary gift to his wife?" He stuffed it with the statue. "How many more of these goodies can I recognize?" he wondered aloud.

One of the elder women behind Selina said quietly, "Selina, you haven't... You didn't..."

Selina stood stock still, not looking at anyone but the Joker as he smirked. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation," he said, hands clasped and eyes wide in anticipation.

Selina's lip curled. She clenched and unclenched her fists. "Those men, those companies," she finally said, "ruin jungles and forests, destroy the habitats of animals the world over. They do animal testing. They don't deserve works of art!" she hissed. "Not when we could use them! The money from them has helped finance our cause for months!"

She knew the others wouldn't understand. It was written on her face, but she still wanted her case out there.

"Selina..." the older woman said, as crestfallen as the others.

"The head of the animal society is a cat burglar!" Joker cackled. "I gotta give you credit, sweetheart. It's a good one!"

"You won't be laughing in a second!" Selina growled and lunged at him, but the Joker simply sidestepped, grabbed her arm and waist, and hoisted her over the side of the balcony. The party guests screamed, and Alfred dashed to the railing. She'd landed in a bush, which evidently was not as lush as it appeared. She groaned, eyes squeezed shut. Her limbs jerked, rattling the bush, signaling to the approaching hyena that its prey was wounded.

Joker dusted off his hands. "Well, I guess they don't really land on their feet," he said matter-of-factly. "I'll have to remember to update Wikipedia," he added, shoving the duffel bag of loot into Alfred's arms. "Time to go!" he said, strolling away towards the door at the north end of the balcony.

"It'll kill her!" Alfred shouted. He tried to stay behind, but the four remaining goons hurried him along,

"And?" Joker replied, annoyed. He stopped, bringing up his shotgun to Alfred's chest. "You're starting to test my patience, Jeeves. That's bad."

Alfred glanced at the shotgun, then looked up at the Joker. "You, sir, have broken mine." And Alfred knew it was only through the power of surprise that the Joker didn't pull the trigger when the butler swung the bag of loot into his face. Joker stumbled back, and Alfred grabbed onto the barrel of the gun and wrenched it out of his hands. With one quick turn, the butt of the gun whipped across the clown's cheek, then jammed into his chest, sending him toppling over the railing. The henchmen shouted and took aim, but Alfred's display gave the forgotten party courage to act. The goons were abruptly tackled from behind, the second bag of loot sailing over the railing into the courtyard.

Alfred cringed at the ache in his bones and the sudden weariness in his muscles, but he hurried for the stairs, crashing the swinging door open. He saw Selina still struggling in the bush as he made his way down. The hyena closed in. He couldn't see where the Joker had landed.

"This way, you drooling mongrel!" Alfred called, waving the gun in the air. "Over here!"

The hyena whipped its head around, hunkering down as it perceived a challenge in the old man's stance. Selina flailed and finally tumbled out of the bush. She hit the grass and the hyena's ears twitched.

"Come on," Alfred said, aiming the shotgun. He didn't fire, not yet. The animal was too close to Selina.

The hyena growled and prowled closer to the old man. Its hair bristled and it never seemed to blink.

"Get away, miss," Alfred said to Selina.

But she did not get up. "Trying..." she groaned.

The beast stopped now at her pained sound. It panted, eyes locked on Alfred, but it took a few steps back.

"No, no, come and get me you mangy bastard," Alfred growled, moving forward.

But it kept backing up, turning as Selina moaned and struggled.

"Don't move," Alfred told her.

She froze, gritting her teeth. Her hands fisted in the grass.

The hyena shuddered, head twitching. Alfred kicked a broken flower vase at it, hoping to provoke it away from Selina. The serum seemed to make the animal favor a challenge; it came forward again, snarling. A line of drool dripped from its teeth.

The hyena lunged. Alfred pulled the trigger. The blast mingled with the screams of the crowd overhead. A spray of blood hit the grass, and so did the body of the beast. It yelped and twitched, but then was still.

Alfred moved to Selina's side, crouching. "Are you okay, miss?"

"That bastard turned that animal into a monster," Selina gasped.

"No offense to you, miss, but you didn't know the animal before the injection," Alfred replied. "Can you move?"

She gritted her teeth. "Hurts."

"Ha ha, woo, you're telling me!" Joker groaned, stumbling out from behind a topiary, his outfit streaked with green stains and torn at the shoulder. His safari hat was gone and twigs were tangled in his hair.

Alfred immediately trained the shotgun on him, slowly rising to his feet.

"A letter of resignation would have been just as effective," the clown said, cracking his neck. The gun didn't seem to faze him. He didn't even back up when Alfred came closer, the twin barrels only two feet from his chest. The Joker's lips quirked up, his scars deepening the smile. Perhaps he thought the old man didn't have it in him. Perhaps he found it funny to be taken out by someone three times his age. Perhaps he found it simply fine for an innocent citizen to be reduced to shedding blood.

Master Bruce couldn't do it. The Joker's death wish was a challenge on his integrity, on his principles. Bruce did not want to cross that line, to deny himself that one limit. In what he had chosen to do night after night, who knew what he would become if he allowed himself complete, terrible freedom? But Alfred looked into this madman's eyes and saw a lush jungle, drying up, crinkling, crackling in flame. Alfred was an old man. He'd seen lives destroyed in the pursuit of villainy. He didn't particularly give a damn what the Joker considered an achievement. He pulled the trigger.

And there was only an empty click.

A mass of laughter and fur barreled into him from the side. He rolled across the grass, grappling with the hyena, trying to keep his limbs out of its teeth. It was the missing animal, apparently just knocked unconscious, though certainly not for long enough. And if that wasn't bad enough, the other one appeared, awake and ferocious and ignoring its profuse bleeding, no doubt thanks to the Scarecrow's serum. It latched onto Alfred's ankle, clamping down its teeth.

A sudden whistle, and the beasts tore themselves away, leaving Alfred groaning on the ground. He managed to turn his head. The grinning clown looked proudly upon his snarling darlings.

"What loyal little hellions!" the Joker said, scratching one beneath the chin. "Perhaps I'll have them chase a few more cats." With a bored sigh, he reached into his shorts and pulled out a gun he'd hidden there. A pistol, with a long thin barrel. "Unfortunately for you, Jeeves, this one's fully loaded. Any last words?"

Alfred kept his last words to himself, for Bruce.

Joker shrugged. "Again with the lack of effort." He closed one eye and focused his aim. The hyenas waited patiently.

Click.

And BANG! said the gun.

Not with sound, but with a flutter, a red flag shouting "BANG!" on a yellow starburst. Alfred's heart hammered.

The clown burst into hysterics. "Hahahahaha! You should see your face! Hoo hee hee hee!" He wiped tears from his eyes. "Well, it's been a real day, Jeeves. All that preparation,and the Cat Lady one-upped me. 'Til next time, I suppose," he teased, twirling the flag in the gun barrel as he walked backwards. Then he turned, hopping over Selina's outstretched hands without a pause.

"You son of a bitch!" she growled, clawing at the grass as Joker produced a key from his pocket and unfastened the chain on the front doors. He didn't look back, just let the chain fall to the ground and slipped out. The hyenas followed, laughing giddily, the injured animal not even whining as it limped. Alfred heard the shouts of the guests above as they restrained the goons left behind.

Selina gasped, trying to get up. Alfred didn't think it was a good idea, himself, and he crawled over to her. "Miss Kyle, you're injured," he said, trying to coax her back to the ground.

"That circus freak," she spat.

"Settle down. An ambulance will come."

She shook him off. "The ambulance will come. The police will come. And everything I've worked for is over."

"I wouldn't say you worked for it," Alfred replied wryly.

She laughed. "Maybe work and play is interchangeable. But I'm right. Those bastards don't deserve their trinkets."

And she'd done something about it. And the city's criminals didn't have the right to destroy lives, so Master Wayne had done something about it. And humanity was a sinking ship not going down fast enough, so the Joker had done something about it. Alfred sometimes thought that it wasn't so much that people lacked initiative these days, but that a select few hogged it all.

Selina struggled to her feet and stood hunched over, her arm wrapped around her stomach. She swayed a bit. "Thanks... Jeeves, is it?"

"Alfred, miss."

"Thank you, Alfred. But if this 'Cat Lady' has nine lives, she's not spending any of them in a cell. If you'll excuse me."

And he couldn't stop her, couldn't even call to those above, still noisily fighting with the goons as she hobbled off toward the door. She paused once by a bush, as something caught her eye. She rummaged through the branches and produced the bag of stolen goods that the henchmen had lost. Alfred spotted a look of tired amusement on her face before she departed. She did not look back.

Alfred fell over onto his back. He stared at the square of sky overhead. It was dark, with just a tinge of dull purple, the stars washed out by the city lights. Was this what Master Wayne saw each night? Bleakness?

But he had survived to see it. That was something.