READ FIRST: 'Allo! This story takes place during and after the animated film, "Batman: Mask of the Phantasm." So if you haven't watched the movie or know what it's about, this fic might just flummox you a touch. This story also brings in part of Joker's supposed origin from "The Killing Joke" and the "Hush" series of comic books, but with my own twist to it. This is my first time writing for the Clown Prince, so let me know if you think he's ooc or any of that stuff. Parts of this may read strangely, because I'm trying (gulp) to get inside Joker's head, and it's kinda crazy in there, I've found. My writing tries to reflect that. DISCLAIMER: I own nuttin'. Enjoy!
"Your hands are just as dirty…DIRTIER!"
Those words brought back not so much memory itself as memory of feelings-heat, hate, anger…the first time in his recollection that Joker had felt evil really come in and shake his soul's hand.
As Sal Valestra gripped his shirt collar, uttering those words, Joker forgot Bats going batso, the degradation of Sal's offer (THE JOKER reduced back into a petty hitman?), and all the other swooping, chaotic visions that usually circled his clouded but calculating mind.
Red filled his head, his eyes.
He'd heard those words before.
And they had killed…something. Something? Or someone….
NO.
Joker growled.
"DON'T TOUCH ME, OLD MAN!" He lashed out, lashed out at this murderer, this...this….
This…what?
He needed to recover. Fast. Old Sal-it was him, all this time it was him, lying to me, "guiding" me, and it was him, who…who did what again? —Old Sal was looking pretty scared, shrinking away from the menacing clown. Now, now, Jokey. What's the first rule of crime, of life itself? Keep your friends close….
And your rotten, wheezy enemies even closer.
Immediately Joker assumed a nonchalant pose, slapping his former comrade on the back. "I don't know where you've been! Heh heh!" He wrapped a serpentine arm around the old man's shoulders, rocking the geezer ever so slightly back and forth, a madman's cradling. "Oh, Sal. No one could take a joke like you. Of course I'll help you out." His high-pitched giggle tapered off as the man's belabored breathing steadied. Sal eyed Joker with hopeful hesitancy.
"Really?" He rasped.
"Certainement! No way is anybody gonna hurt my pal Sal!" The old mobster's face relaxed, an unsure smile tugging at his lips as a single bead of sweat raced down his craggy cheek.
Yes…trust feels good, doesn't it, Sal, my pal, il mio secondo padre, my mentor?
"That's it! That's what I want to see!" His bone-white face came so close to Sal's that it blocked out everything else in the burlesque hideout, the black eyes as intense as a prowling crow's.
"A nice, big smile."
Joker departed with Sal giving the old man every desirable, overdone courtesy the clown prince had up his sleeve. He watched with grim satisfaction as Sal's shoulders slumped in relief, the mobster elated that at last, a man more powerful, defter than he would relieve him of his burden, of falling prey to the Batman.
Oh, don't worry, Sal. I'll make sure Batman doesn't kill you. Only the best of the best will put you six feet under, ol' wheezer geezer.
The roller coaster deposited Joker at his hideout, his makeshift "World of Tomorrow" happy home. So entrenched were the clown's thoughts that he let Rusty the robo-dog yip at him to his heart's content without serving the hunk of metal the usual quick kick.
Your hands are just as dirty—DIRTIER.
Yes, those words had done it. Sal…it had been Sal. That pathetic excuse for a Mafioso, who could barely handle a gun himself, had been forced to rely on Joker's steady hand when he, Joker, was but a pup gangster, this Sal had…had….
Hmm…it might make taking revenge more satisfying if one could only remember what exactly one was avenging….
Joker trudged across the kitchen floor, stopping at the counter. Before him Hazel the lovely robo-wife was methodically slicing thin air with her kitchen knife. Joker stared at her.
A wisecrack came to his lips but died as your hands are just as dirty dirtier assaulted him again.
He looked at Hazel.
Your hands are just as dirty dirtier your hands are just as dirty DIRTIER
Sometimes someone can stand in one space and remember without remembering, without realizing they're remembering, and all of a sudden a voice, but this isn't Sal's voice, is that Hazel it's not Hazel but it's a woman
The voice, not Sal's, spoke. No, it wasn't Sal's. It was too soft…soft, but matter-of-fact, gentle, but not sentimental, a very small, pert voice from a corner of Joker's mind he didn't know he was hearing.
He heard the woman's voice without hearing it. A young woman's voice as he stared at Hazel's face. But was it Hazel's face?
And without hearing the words consciously, Joker heard the soft, matter-of-fact voice ask…
"Well? How did it go? Did they like your act?"
