Alberto sat back at the table, hands behind his head, "I don't see what the big deal is here."
With a protracted slowness, the rest of the men turned slowly to look at him.
"I'm just saying," he went on. "Some psycho on Mario's payroll finally goes off the deep end. If he couldn't keep his people in line, then he got what he deserved."
The Roman worked his jaw behind closed lips for a moment, then spoke, "Show so respect for your younger brother."
"Yeah," Alberto said while cocking his head, "but papa..."
The look the Roman gave his eldest could have rocked a Rottweiler back in its tracks.
"This individual," said the Roman, standing, "is not to be taken lightly. He ended the life of my son, my blood, burnt his home, disfigured his wife, left his children fatherless, and done so with so little honor and regard. I want him found, and I want him to pay."
The man to Alberto's left snickered.
"I don't just mean suffer and die," said the Roman. "I mean I want those he loves to be tortured in front of him for days. I want the things he knows and cares about to betray him. I want him to watch in horror as his world is destroyed around him. And I don't mean this metaphorically either. I want him found, alive, and then, we're going to get creative. And, if you kill him before I have received the retribution I'm due, then you'll take his place."
The man laughed, loudly, just once, then covered his mouth. After a moment silent stares, the Roman went on.
"I've heard rumors that he might be starting some sort of rival enterprise or something. Is there any truth to that?"
One of the men at the table leaned in, "It's hard to say, sir. He has gotten together some muscle and he has been pulling a couple of heists, but it has been flashy, high profile hits with little profit. It's like, he's getting his face out there, like he wants to get noticed. I don't get it. It doesn't make any sense."
The man to Alberto left guffawed, a long string of unsuppressed laughter. Finally, the Roman couldn't feign a lack of notice, "Antonio. Contain yourself."
But then, things went wrong. Antonio began writhing in his chair, his laughs so long and hard that they left him breathless. They finally looked at him, really looked, and found him terrifying. His eyes were manic, bulging in their sockets as he looked as though he was trying to scream. His laughter continued to the point his face went ashen with lack of breath, and he fell to the floor, still wheezing out a chuckle just as soon as he got enough air into him to do so. Many seats at the table were emptied, all surrounding Antonio in abject helplessness.
"Gentlemen," boomed a voice, and they all turned to find him.
"You!" boomed Alberto, and he reached into his pocket for a weapon. A white-gloved hand flashed, and Alberto fell back, his weapon falling away, a playing card stuck fast in the back of his hand.
As one, two of the figures still seated each drew a weapon, each on the Roman and his firstborn. Alberto looked defiant, but the Roman didn't blink.
"What the hell, Nico!" said Alberto. "What gives?"
"I'm sorry," said Nico, looking truly distressed. "He... uh... he has my little girl."
Albert saw that the gunman on the Roman was equally displeased if slightly more professional about it.
"Well, well, well," said the clown, giving an illustrious bow. "The infamous Roman. We meet, at last."
He jumped up on the table, crossing his legs to sit Indian-style before the Roman. Gloved hands fisted on his knees, his elbows high, he smiled, "I am here to talk business."
The Roman looked at the gunman, who took a step back and relaxed a bit. When Nico tried to do the same, the Roman shot him a look and he stayed where he was.
The Roman folded his hands, his eyes focused, as he leaned in, looking eye to eye, unblinkingly at the madman sitting, grinning before him.
"Excellent," he said, as though he saw something he likes in the Roman's eyes. "First order of business is a division. Therein, I intend to work my business as I see fit. Which means I don't want any interference from you. I will not touch the drug trade, cut in on your prostitution rings, or encroach on you protection rackets."
"What exactly is your business?" asked the Roman.
The clown smiled, "Chaos."
The Roman took two breaths, "Why should I allow you your business?"
"Because," he replied, "I am doing you a service."
The Roman's face remained impassive.
"While you all are culling profits and hiding your more colorful activities from the social and legal authorities, I will be parading my crimes up and down the streets for every Gothamite to see and gawk at!"
"You'll take the focus away from us," said Alberto.
The clown and The Roman both turned to look at him with practically identical looks of distaste.
"Why do you want to make such a spectacle of yourself?" asked the Roman. "What do you get out of it?"
The clown stood so fast, more than one of the men who were still standing motionless around Antonio jerked back in alarm.
"The world is such a splendid place," soliloquized the clown. "And yet, so many people are blind to the wonders around them. They go about their day, unaware of what it is like to feel mortal fear or what the inside of someone's head looks like! They go about their day to day routine, sleepwalking through life. It is my duty, nay! my privilege to shake things up and show the world just how fun a break from the status quo can be!"
"You're a freaking psychopath!" cried one of the men standing over Antonio.
The clown smiled, "A high functioning freaking psychopath!"
The Roman looked the clown straight in the face, seeming in complete control, despite everything.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just put you in the ground," said the Roman.
"Because," said the clown, "if you do, you won't know who was really behind the death of poor old Mario."
The Roman took eight breaths.
"He's lying," said Alberto, the desperation creeping into his voice. "He killed Mario! We have witnesses!"
"Don't say a word," said the Roman.
"All I want is to go my own way," said the clown. "No bad blood. You do your business and I play my little games and we're all just like one big happy family!"
"Done," said the Roman.
Alberto went for his gun, only to remember the card in his hand and that his gun was on the floor. There was a blur of motion, and two more cards were stuck in Alberto, one his left hand and two in his right.
"Mario planned to kill me," said the clown, grandly walking the table, as though addressing an audience. "That's true, and I don't begrudge him that. He thought I might try to kill him or his men, and he was right. He paid his due and I am over it. However, just because he planned to kill me doesn't mean he tried to."
"You god damned liar!" Alberto cried. The next card found its way into his cheek.
"You see," he went on, "men did come to kill me that night, Mario's men. But, they weren't the only ones to get a call that night. I did too. I got a tip-off, so the hit went south. So, naturally, it was a setup. But for who?"
The clown turned, and Alberto's lips twitched.
"Mario figured it out, you know," said the clown. "He told me, before I did what I needed to uphold my reputation. He knew what you did, when you came to visit him that day. You made the call from his phone. The different voice wouldn't have mattered. You could have gotten away with a word, a short phrase, but that number! No one would have argued with that. No one would have argued when their phone read 'Boss'!"
He whooped, leaping up as the Roman stood, and with the fiery of a much younger man, overturned the large table. The clown landed right where he leaped, his legs continually straight, as though standing in mid-air and landing with gentile grace.
"He's lying, papa," said Alberto, tears in his eyes and a tremulous smile on his lips. "I didn't do it."
"We are square, Joker," said the Roman. "We won't come after you. You don't interfere with us and we won't interfere with you."
The Joker smiled. With a theatrical flair, he withdrew his cards from Alberto, disappearing somewhere on his person. Alberto's grin was becoming obscene, and the Roman's eyes narrowed.
"Don't worry," chided the Joker. "I only gave him half the dose I gave him."
He indicated the dead man with the inhuman smile.
"So it won't kill him?" asked Nico, putting his gun away as he looked Alberto, who was starting let at amused murmurs with every breath.
"Oh, deary me, no!" said the Joker, straightening his suit and walking towards the door.
"How long until wears off?" asked the Roman, begrudgingly.
The Joker smiled over his shoulder from the doorway, "Never."
The Roman's face went hard. Taking the gun from the gunmen who had been covering him, he walked down the length of the floor the table had occupied. From the out hall, the Joker grinned wide as the shot rang out and wider as the shots continued. Once they had stopped, he walked back in.
"Oh!" he called, "So sorry. I meant five hours. That isn't a problem, is it?"
The Roman didn't lift his eyes from the body of his firstborn son, but his face hardened, the gun trembling.
"Didn't think so," said the Joker. "Tah-tah!"
Despite his good humor, the Joker was discontent. So far, everything he had done was positively easy. The banks had been child's play, the cops a joke. Even manipulating these so-called mobsters was nearly passable as entertainment. There was no real challenge to any of this. Even if he took his plans to bigger extremes, it would be like playing Russian Roulette with more bullets; more risk for equal reward. He needed something or someone to make the game more interesting, to add to the punchline. Maybe a cop or a criminal, someone a little bit crazy, someone willing to break out of the norm and be exceptional, like him. But who knew if he would ever find him?