Author's Note: I know this part is sort of long, but it's full of action so I don't think it would be a problem. I know I said it was going to be a two-part story, but it was starting to get way too long. So I'm going to make it three parts. Told you I was horrible at short stories.

About-Face

Part II

"Carmen? Carmen! Open the door!"

I stood rigid, my hands clenched into fists, staring out of the balcony door. The curtains flapped now and then in the breeze, and felt cool against my hot face.

"Carmen!"

I finally turned and opened the door, staring right through my editor.

"Oh my God, what happened?"

I finally focused my blazing eyes on her. "Batman happened."

My editor lit up and hurried into the room. "He was here?" She looked around eagerly. "Why?"

"We'll talk about this later."

"Oh, come on. I know you don't like him but--"

"No. I hate him. He was spying on me! He had a little bug in my room for who knows how long! He plucked it off my phone and showed it to me! The nerve of that guy!"

"Sorry I'm late!" Came a voice from the door. It was my cameraman. "What guy are you talking about?"

I scowled. "Batman."

My cameraman was even more ecstatic. "No way! He was here? In your room?"

"Yes! He was here!" I snarled. "Can we go now?"

"Okay, okay. Let's go. I'm sure the doctor won't be happy if we're late."

As we left the building I could have sworn I heard my editor say, "We should do the documentary on him instead."

******************************

Our interview with Dr. Hernandez went very well, and the man seemed intent on telling his story and also, off camera, gave us a very clear warning that the Joker was not one with whom to fool around. As elfin as his behavior was sometimes, mischievous and harmless, there was no telling when that behavior would become life-threatening. Dr. Hernandez had been hospitalized after his ordeal for two days, and his larynx had been damaged. He had been unable to talk for almost a month. Now, his voice was still somewhat scratchy, probably a permanent change. He offered us some photographs of the injury, stressing that we must mention the degree of danger this man contained within himself.

I was definitely distracted by my prior fury towards Batman, but I was used to being stressed out while working, and contained it well. On the car ride back to the hotel however, I was a different person. I was tense and my anger returned and started to mount. The last thing I needed was for either of them to ask me about my encounter with Batman. But that's precisely what I got. My editor said, "What exactly happened? Are you going to add this to your documentary?"

I glared at her, but she was not fazed. She glanced at me from the driver's seat of the rental car. "Come on," she said placatingly. "It would be an amazing twist. The Great Batman coming to warn you about your work."

"No," I said firmly.

My cameraman sat in the back, with all his recording equipment. "I think she's right. It would be a good idea."

"I'm not going to give him more fame than he already has. Look at you guys. He's not a rockstar. He's a vigilante. And not a very good one. Who spies on people, really? Even the cops hardly do that! He needs to be arrested for invasion of privacy. The first thing I'm going to do when I get back is search that room for any other bugs." Then a thought occured to me. "Oh, God, what if he's got a camera?"

"I don't think he has time to be a pervert," my editor said. Her voice was a tad dreamy.

"Well it's not like you'd care, would you?" I demanded to my editor. "You're practically drooling all over him."

"What did he look like?"

I sighed. My cameraman echoed the question. I decided to give up and answer. "He looked like... I don't know. I was on my balcony, and I turned and there he was. Like he'd appeared out of nowhere. I don't know how such a big guy can be so quiet."

"How tall is he?"

"Maybe about six feet one or two. Those pointy things on his mask made him about two or three inches taller."

"I think you should get on camera and talk about it. It would be great for the documentary."

"No way. I'm not doing that. I can't stand that guy."

"I'm going to tell the producers."

"No! You absolutely can't breath a word about it."

"Why, because they'll think it's a great idea too?"

"No one is going to talk about Batman!" I almost shouted. Then I exhaled sharply. "Except the Joker. If he wants to."

"You're not seriously considering talking to that psycho are you?" My editor asked, exhasperated.

"Of course I am. He has a story too."

"I don't think anyone cares."

"I care. It's my documentary. And the first thing I'm going to do is search my room."

********************************

Back at the hotel, I spent about thirty minutes carefully checking the bathroom and all the furniture for more bugs. I found nothing. I even checked under the bed. If I had found a camera I think I would have lost my mind.

When I was finished, I changed my clothes and laid down on my bed. I turned on the TV and started to watch the news. Something about a hostage situation in a downtown, high class Chinese restaurant. The news reporter started to talk about how many people were inside and that the demands of the perpetrators were as yet unknown. I continued to watch as they showed footage that the criminals had filmed as they had taken over the restaurant, gathering employees in one group and patrons in another. I noticed that the men were wearing monstrous masks that looked intrinsically Asian in style, and black, tight-fitting clothes. They all touted automatic weapons.

The news reporter returned and repeated the same information she had given earlier - she was filming Live - and then while she was On-Air, she received a message that the captors had given their demands. The screen switched to a video of one of the masked men, who stated calmly that they wanted the release of someone called, Wenyang Li, from Blackgate Prison, in return for the safety of the hostages. Otherwise, every thirty minutes, starting from ten-thirty p.m., one person would be killed with a shot to the back of the head.

In less than a few minutes from the initial demands message, there was already a SWAT team surrounding the building. I watched as they continued to switch back and forth from the videos they had already shown to the reporter repeating all of the current information.

As this was going on, a few searches on my laptop revealed that Wenyang Li was a member of the Triads, a local leader who had been captured by Batman three years ago. When the jury had found him guilty on all charges, and an appeal had been denied, a hostage situation was the apparent result, and their last resort.

As the reporter bounced on the spot a little - her nose was red from the cold night - all the lights in the restaurant went off. She turned to look and the camera moved up towards the roof of the building. I saw a shadow fleet across the roof, and as a beam of light moved up towards the Chinese style roof, the shadow was gone. The reporter turned back to the camera as it refocused on her and she said quickly, her eyes gleaming, "We're going back to watch that video again..."

I knew it was Batman. His element of surprise was probably ruined, especially if they had a television inside the restaurant. As much as I despised him right now, I did hope that they didn't have a TV inside, and that he would be able to sneak in and do some damage. But then again, all the lights had gone off, so perhaps that was the electricity getting cut off.

I returned my eyes to the laptop screen and started to read a little bit more about Mr. Li. As I started going over all the counts on which he had been found guilty, there was a knock on my door. I thought it was probably one of the people in my crew, coming back to convince me to add Batman to my documentary. But it wasn't. "House-keeping!" A female's annoying, sing-song voice came through the door.

I frowned. At this time of night? "Come back later!"

There was another knock. "House-keeping!"

"I said come back later!"

She knocked a lot harder this time. "House-keeping!" The lady screamed, her voice nasal and screeching like nails on a chalkboard.

I jumped off my bed and threw open the door. "Are you deaf?" I demanded angrily.

Before I even got a good look at her face, she rammed the cart into me, forcing me deeper into the room. I stumbled back, and held the edge of the cart to keep from falling. "What the--?"

When I regained my balance and looked at her face properly, I noticed she had a black domino mask stuck to her skin. She wore a black and white maid outfit, but under it was a long sleeve of red and black. On her head was a maid's cap, barely containing her jester hat. "Oh my God," I said as horror suddenly dawned on me.

"House-keeping!" She shrieked again and pulled a giant wooden mallet out of the cart, swinging. I had time only to turn away and raise my hands. Not that it did anything, and the slightly cushioned mallet made hard, blunt contact with the left side of my face. I saw flashes of white and flew a foot or two to the side, and fell next to the TV. Momentarily stunned, I couldn't move at all. I felt footsteps on the carpet, and I turned hazily to look at her.

"Ahhh! Look Puddin'! It's a rat!" She cried jubilantly, rounding the cart and raising the mallet over her grinning head.

I could see her black shoes and up her skirt a little, revealing more of her skin-tight, red and black outfit.

"Harley, why don't you save your, extermination services for a more... dangerous, pest?" The voice was cold and humorless, even though it was just delivering a joke. It sent a chill through me just to hear it. Then I realized that it wasn't just cold, but merciless, which was far worse. I grunted with effort as I pushed myself into a sitting position.

The Joker stood with his elbow propped on the cart, and his chin in his hand. He grinned, and I couldn't see how someone could grin so widely without being in pain. "Hello, Sweets! Wakey-wakey!"

I sat, swaying a little, my vision clearing. I felt my jaw already swelling. I moved a hand to my jaw, and winced at the pain. My fingertips were cold against my cheek, which was burning hot from the injury. I tasted blood in my mouth. My teeth had cut the inside of my mouth.

Harley Quinn pulled her maid uniform off and dusted herself off. There was not a flaw on that body, and at what was probably an inappropriate time, I felt a twinge of jealousy. My stomach wasn't nearly so firm, and my legs were not nearly so muscular. Harley matched her partner in exuberance and rested the mallet on her shoulder like a jolly woodcutter with an axe.

The Joker shut the door with his leg, without looking, and stood to his full height. He was about as tall as Batman, and just as scary. And this room was brightly lit. He came nearer and extended a heavily veined hand with long fingers and white skin. "Let me help you up," he smiled, nodding. His voice was full of laughter, because he was smiling all the time.

I just sat there on the floor.

After a few moments the Joker gave an exaggerated sigh. "Now don't be rude." He fixed his purple coat, adjusted his tie and smoothed his green hair back. "I don't think you understand the...privilege, that I am offering you."

"This is Mista J," Harley said earnestly. "Have some respect!"

The Joker walked closer to Harley and looked at her quizzically. "Maybe we should just leave, Harley. I don't think she's interested." The Joker shook his head, suddenly looking truly sorrowful and puzzled. "I don't understand. I thought she'd be happy to see me."

Harley threw her arms around him. "I'm happy to see you!"

Much to my surprise, he pushed her off violently. "Get off me!" She gave a squeal and went flying onto my bed, knocking my laptop to the side. The mallet thudded to the floor. Then he shook his head again, appearing merely annoyed, when his action told me he was furious.

The Joker came nearer and extended his hand again. I looked at it, then at his face. He smiled again, but only with his mouth. I reached a trembling hand up and before I took his hand, he grabbed mine.

I tried to scream as a jolt of electricity shot down my arm and into my body. I felt my back arch and he didn't let go. My voice wasn't working and every muscle in my body spasmed. I couldn't even breathe.

After what seemed like several minutes, he finally let go. I released a pent up scream and gasped for breath. My hand ached and burned at the same time. He was cackling like a maniac, pretending to wipe away tears of laughter. "Works every time!"

Shaking uncontrollably, I finally made an attempt to stand up, but my legs were weak and collapsed under me.

The Joker was doubling up in laughter, his voice probably loud enough for my filming crew to hear. This gave me some comfort. With a quivering voice I finally spoke: "I just... I just want to ask you some questions."

The Joker looked irritated that I interrupted his monologue of laughter, but didn't bother with correcting me for it. "Questions?" He put on a look of puzzlement, then nodded. "Yes, you have been asking too many."

I tried another approach. "Don't you want to tell the world your story?"

He laughed like I'd said something funny. "I tell them my story all the time. They just don't understand."

"I'd like to understand," I said nervously, failing to sound truly sincere.

The Joker drooped his shoulders dramatically. He threw his hands up into the air. "Oh! The tragedy of it all!" He dropped to his knees. "How many times must a man tell his story again and again until someone listens?"

"I'm listening," I said, more intently this time.

He was on his hands and knees and he punched the side of his fist into the ground. He looked at me. "Not yet you're not," he said. His voice was the most calm it had been since he had entered.

"Would you be more comfortable on camera?"

He sat down and folded his legs. Then he looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "You don't kill a rat with a bug zapper. You kill it with rat poison."

Harley gave a sudden hoot of laughter. She laughed so hard she fell of the bed. After a soft, "Oof!", she continued to laugh. I couldn't see her anymore.

"Bring her with you, Harl."

Harley jumped up and stood rigid in a goofy military attention stance. She saluted the Joker. Then she looked at me. "Okey-dokey, Mista J!"

I was still weakened by my electrocution, and Harley had no problem over-powering me. In fact, she felt supernaturally strong to me. She had muscular legs, but her arms were normal and slender, at most, a little wiry. I didn't understand how she could catch my flailing arms and keep a good grip on them.

I gave a couple of screams and wondered why neither my cameraman, nor my editor came to help. I felt more panicked, and was able to let out one final scream before Harley stuff a piece of a hotel towel into my mouth.

"Put the dirty laundry in the bin, Harley. Let's go."

To my utter horror, Harley lifted me off the floor and tossed me into the empty laundry bag that was suspended on the cleaning cart. Seated in the bag in a fetal position, I gave a muffled scream. "Ah, quit your complainin'," Harley disappeared and returned with the mallet. She dropped it on me.

The Joker looked inside the laundry bag at me and flashed a toothy smile. "Your friends are a riot. That's more than I can say for you."

He must have seen the worry on my face, because he threw his head back and laughed. "Don't worry. They just got the joke. Would you like to see? I'll bet they're still rolling with laughter."

They shut the laundry bag lid and the cart moved along a little. Then it stopped and the lid was opened again. I heard some quiet giggles. Harley tugged me up so I could see out of the bag, and I saw both my cameraman and editor tied back to back, with gags in their mouths. But they were laughing uncontrollably, and when they saw me they just started laughing harder.

As Harley pushed me back down into the bag, the Joker said, "They'll miss the show, but don't worry. I wouldn't let that happen to you."

Something told me this was one show I could live without. And die with.

When the lid was shut, I realized with a jolt that Batman was already somewhere else. He wasn't going to save me.