Most criminals in Gotham thought of the Joker as two things: One, a good man to do business with, since he had a hand in just about every racket and ring in town. Two, a killer with no remorse who frequently gunned down his own partners, shot his own men in the back for fun, and liked giving bombs and poison as gifts. That meant every interaction with him was a 50/50 chance of survival. Still, it wasn't something on Warden Griggs's mind when he received an anonymous package of hundred-dollar bills. That night, he went to the local gambling den to try his luck at poker. He had just lost his last hand when two thugs in sunglasses dragged him to a back room. The owner, a man in a flowered shirt and fedora, was just finishing a call.
"Look, man, if this is about the money, I'm just having a little bad luck. Give me another chance, and I will win back double what I lost."
"That money's not mine. It belongs to a friend. He'll be here soon for a little chat."
Before long, a man in a gray suit and black tie entered the room. Griggs looked at him warily.
"You the fella I owe?"
He felt a pair of hands going up his back. "That'd be me."
The Joker, his ghoulish smile front and center as always, sat himself right in front of Griggs. "I'm told you're a man of excess, like me. You like playing for money, girls, drugs, and all the finer things, am I right?"
Griggs tried hard not to show his fear. "That'd be correct, Mr. Joker."
"Just Joker will be fine, my friend. Now, if my man on the inside is telling the truth, you have one Ms. Harley Quinn in your fine establishment. I want you to release her, and in return, I will forgive the very large debt you now owe me."
"Miss Quinn isn't in my, uh, institution, Joker. Some suits took her for some kind of secret program. I swear, I can't help you."
"Oh, Mr. Griggs, you know much more than you're telling me. But it doesn't matter. Because I really just want to show you my toys."
