Looking for a Good Time
Trixie Hart had been just three years old when her father had abandoned her and her mother. She had been five years old when she had been taken into the care of the state by social services, after her mother's descent into drug and alcohol addiction. She had been fifteen when she had run away from the orphanage to live on the streets of Gotham City, and now here she was, three years later, barely dressed and shivering, huddled around a flaming barrel trying to keep warm with the rest of her fellow prostitutes.
Trixie had only gone into the business as a last resort – surviving in Gotham was hard, and decent jobs were hard to come by, especially as a girl with no money and no family connections. She didn't make great money as a prostitute, but the few customers she had had so far had paid better than the bar she used to work at.
Of course there were other factors to consider besides money. This kinda work was technically illegal in Gotham, so avoiding the law was a pretty big priority. But she and the other girls had ways of warning each other when the cops were around, and mostly the women looked after each other. It wasn't a great life, but it was all Trixie had ever really expected in this dump of a town.
She was startled out of her thoughts by the voice of Valerie, one of the older prostitutes who had been on the game since before Trixie was born, and who acted as a sort of leader of the group. "Look alive, girls – he's coming!"
"Who?" asked Trixie, straining to see anything through the darkness and rain outside the shelter of the bridge.
"A very good, loyal customer of ours," said Valerie, adjusting her top. "You'll probably recognize him from the papers. He's kinda a celebrity."
Trixie wondered who it could possibly be. Maybe Bruce Wayne? Although a guy of his charm and good looks probably wasn't in need of their services – he could probably have any girl he wanted. She racked her brain to think of any other Gotham celebrities, but she didn't have to wait long to find out.
A figure emerged into the light cast by the flaming barrel, a figure dressed all in purple, carrying a cane and wearing a huge, sinister smile. Trixie's breath caught in her throat as her heart leaped in terror. It was the Joker.
He was being escorted by their pimp, Bill, a fat, unpleasant man who treated his girls very badly. Trixie hated him, and she suspected the feeling was mutual.
"We're so honored you've once again chosen to grace us with your presence, Mr. Joker, sir," Bill was babbling. "We've got some fresh meat for you, just the thing to revitalize a man after a long stretch in prison."
"You'd know more about that than me, Bill," replied the Joker. "Prison's for common street scum like you. They keep me in an asylum."
"Well, can't be too many places in an asylum where a man can release his natural urges," said Bill, with an unpleasant grin. "I'd imagine the shrinks aren't too obliging."
"You'd be surprised," replied Joker, grinning back. "Val, baby, how's tricks?" he asked, approaching the group and reaching for a cigarette, which he lit with the flames coming from the barrel.
"The tricks are all fine, J-man," replied Valerie, smiling at him. "Take your pick of 'em," she said, gesturing to the assembled girls.
"Don't rush me," he said, grinning as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Part of the fun is the anticipation – I should think you of all people would know that."
Trixie felt his bright, green eyes rove slowly around the group, fixating at last on her. Her shivering grew uncontrollable, partly from the cold, and partly from sheer terror. She had heard so many stories about the Joker, so many horrific stories about his sick, cruel ways of torturing and killing people. She couldn't imagine he would be a pleasant experience in bed, if she even survived it.
"She's new," Joker said, pointing at Trixie with his cane.
"Trixie Hart," said Bill, proudly. "Just started on the game, but already being raved about far and wide by gentlemen of discerning taste, such as yourself, Mr. Joker, sir. C'mon, Trixie, smile for the gentleman," he said, shoving Trixie roughly forward. "He likes smiles."
Trixie was shaking like a leaf, and stared up at the Joker in astonishment and horror. She tried to force a smile, but her terror was too great for her body to react to the commands her brain gave her.
She shrieked suddenly as Bill punched her across the face. "I said smile, you useless whore!" he shouted. "Don't upset the customers!"
He raised his hand to hit her again, but was intercepted by the Joker. "That's enough," Joker whispered, his green eyes bright. "You don't damage purchasable goods, Bill – it's bad for business," he said, relaxing into his easy smile again.
Trixie forced a smile at last, but it hurt because of the blood pouring from her busted lip and she whimpered slightly in pain. The Joker smiled back, approaching her and tilting her face up to his with one hand. "I like her smile," he said, tracing a gloved finger along her lips and wiping the blood away. "Even with the damage."
He put his finger into his mouth, licking Trixie's blood off it and grinning at her. "I want her," he said, turning to Bill.
"A fine choice, an excellent choice, Mr. Joker, sir," said Bill, gesturing to the derelict building across from the bridge. "Enjoy now! Trixie, you behave for the gentleman – he's paying good money for you!" he snapped, glaring at Trixie.
Joker had taken Trixie's arm and was pulling her toward the building, when Valerie suddenly caught her hand. "Whatever he does, just laugh," she whispered. "That's what he likes."
Valerie released her, and Trixie found herself following the Joker into the building. They entered the squalid ground floor room which contained a dim light-bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a dirty mattress on the floor. Joker shut the door while Trixie stood in the middle of the room, still shivering uncontrollably.
He turned to her. "Sit down," he said, gesturing to the mattress.
Trixie obeyed, watching Joker as he removed his hat and overcoat. Since he was undressing, Trixie took that as her signal to follow suit, and pulled her top off.
"What are you doing?" he asked, turning around. He was still smoking his cigarette, and his green eyes studied her curiously.
"I'm…I'm sorry," stammered Trixie. "Is that…not right? Did you want to…to undress me yourself? Here, I'll start over," she said, pulling her top back on hastily. "I'll…I'll wait for you."
He said nothing, taking a seat in front of her, still fully dressed. He puffed on the cigarette, and then reached into his jacket. "Smoke?" he asked, offering her one.
"N…no, thank you," whispered Trixie. "I mean…maybe after."
"After what?" he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
"After…after we do…what you're paying me to do," stammered Trixie.
He said nothing, but stood up again, reaching for his overcoat, which he tossed at her. "Put that on," he said. "Maybe it'll stop your shivering. You look cold."
"Thank…thank you," stammered Trixie, pulling on the coat. "But…I mean…don't you want me to…to take it all off anyway?"
He still didn't respond, sitting down again and smoking. "You like jokes, kid?" he asked at last.
"Jokes?" repeated Trixie, confused. "Uh…sure…I guess."
"Well, stop me if you've heard this one," he said. "A guy walks into a bar, sits down, and orders a drink. The bartender gives him his drink, and a bowl of peanuts. The guy is shocked when the peanuts suddenly start talking, saying things like, 'You are looking smooth tonight, buddy! I bet the ladies really go for you, with a physique like that! Where do you buy your clothes, because they're really stylish!' The guy's understandably confused, but tries to ignore it. He suddenly realizes he's outta cigarettes, and heads over to the cigarette machine. He puts in his money, and to his surprise, the machine starts talking to him too, only this one says things like, 'Woah, who let the gorilla outta the zoo? You look like a monkey, and you smell like one too! Somebody call the fashion police, because this guy's just committed a crime against humanity!' By this time, the guy is beyond confused, and asks the bartender for an explanation. 'Sorry, sir,' says the bartender. 'The peanuts are complimentary, but the cigarette machine is out of order.'"
The Joker instantly began laughing hysterically at this, and Trixie couldn't help but join in. It wasn't even that funny a joke, but the terror of her situation, and the inappropriateness of a joke in it somehow just made her laugh as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.
"You got a nice laugh," said the Joker, smiling at her as he puffed on his cigarette again. "I like that in a dame. I thought yours would probably be good, but I wasn't sure. Took a gamble with you, and it paid off. I usually go with the old reliable ones, like Val, who I know has a great laugh and will literally laugh at anything. But sometimes a change is nice."
"I…don't understand," stammered Trixie. "Don't you want us to…I mean…didn't you come here…looking for a good time?"
"I did," agreed Joker, nodding. "I'm having one right now. Aren't you?"
He reached for his cigarette case again. "Smoke?" he repeated, holding it out to her.
Trixie accepted this time, feeling herself slowly relaxing. She had expected the Joker to be harsh and brutal, rough and cruel with her, treating her like an object or a piece of meat, like so many men did. But he merely lit her cigarette for her, and another one for himself, and then leaned back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.
"Been doing this kinda work long?" he asked, watching the smoke curl up toward the light.
"Not that long," replied Trixie. "The money's good though. I can't complain."
"I would, if I had to put up with Bill," replied Joker. "That guy's a pig. You'd all be better off with Val in charge – she's a smart lady who knows how to treat valuable commodities."
Trixie forced a laugh. "Nobody thinks we're valuable commodities. We're hookers. There are a million of us in this town, and if we disappeared tomorrow, there'd be plenty more desperate women to take our place."
"That's probably true," agreed Joker, puffing on his cigarette. "Must be hard, living every day when you know you're disposable."
"I guess I've never known any different," replied Trixie, shrugging and exhaling her cigarette. "Just grateful for a roof over my head, and a warm bed at the end of the night."
"Preferably an unoccupied one, I imagine!" chuckled Joker. "I can't imagine many of the guys you service are ones anyone would want a long-term relationship with."
"No, they're mostly pigs," agreed Trixie. "Happy to just use us and leave us with their money. Except you," she added, studying him. "Why is that?"
Joker shrugged. "I had an accident," he said, gesturing to his face. "I don't remember who I was before the accident, but ever since then, I ain't…had the urge. My mind's preoccupied by other things. Crazier things. I just come here for the company, and the laughs. Most people don't think I'm very funny, so I pay women to laugh at my jokes. I guess it's kinda pathetic, in a way. But no more pathetic than paying women to use their bodies."
"I don't think it's pathetic," said Trixie. "I think it's…kinda sweet."
"Well, if anyone asks, I'm here for the sex," said Joker. "I got a reputation to preserve, and it wouldn't be preserved if people thought I was sweet."
He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "If anyone asks, give them a lotta sick details about some crazy, sadistic stuff I enjoy. That's what they'll be expecting, and I hate to disappoint an audience. Or wait, no! Better yet, tell them I enjoy boring, traditional, missionary stuff! That would be quite the joke, the Joker as a tender lover!"
He giggled madly to himself. Trixie smiled, and hissed suddenly as she felt the cut on her lip grow wider at the action, and start bleeding again. "Here," said Joker, handing her his handkerchief. "Keep that pressed against it to stop the bleeding."
"Thanks," murmured Trixie, obeying him. "You're a…nice guy."
Joker grinned at her. "And ain't that a good joke?" he murmured.
Trixie stared back, feeling her heart pounding at a rush of affection for him. "You know…since you've paid for me…if you want…I mean," she stammered. "I could see if…I could help reawaken…your urge…"
She was reaching tentatively between his legs, when her wrist was suddenly seized in his firm grip and shoved away. "No, thanks, toots," he murmured. "All that stuff's more trouble than it's worth, I remember that about my past if nothing else. Leads to a lotta complications, and I'm a simple man with simple pleasures enjoying a simple life. So let's just hear some more jokes instead."
"Okay," said Trixie, leaning back against the wall as she pulled his coat tighter around her. She felt warm and safe as she listened to his jokes and laughter, and laughed along with him. She had never felt warm and safe before.
Time passed, and all too soon, Joker glanced at his watch. "I think our time may be up," he said, standing up. "Don't want Bill overcharging me like the chisler he is."
"He's awful," agreed Trixie, handing him his coat back. "It's not the first time he's hit me, and it won't be the last."
Joker pulled his coat and hat on, and grinned at her. "Maybe it will be, toots," he murmured. "Maybe it will be."
They left the building together, and headed back to the flaming barrel under the bridge. Trixie rejoined her companions, and Joker went with Bill to the other end of the bridge to pay him.
"Not so bad, huh?" asked Valerie, smiling at Trixie.
"No," agreed Trixie, smiling back. "I really like him."
"All the girls do," said Valerie, nodding. "And don't worry, he always comes back this way. Every time he breaks outta the nuthouse. So you'll be seeing him around a lot."
Trixie nodded, burying her hands in her pockets to try to warm them up. She was surprised to feel something inside them, and fished out several bank notes.
"He's also a good tipper," said Valerie, smiling. "Always leaves the ladies wanting more."
Trixie beamed, folding the notes carefully and putting them back in her pocket. All of a sudden, they heard a loud bang coming from behind them. It sounded like a gunshot.
The girls hurried over to see Bill's still warm corpse, lying in a pool of his own blood, with a bullet through his skull and a note attached to the body:
See? It was the last time! Thanks for the laughs, toots! Val, you're in charge of this party now, so take care of the girls – I'll be back soon.
-J
But contrary to the note, Joker didn't come back. Not ever again. And as disappointing as this was for business, the prostitutes could only assume he had found himself another girl to laugh at his jokes…