ATTENTION: Counting this chapter, we have only two more chapters to go, plus an Author's Note/Soundtrack list. I'm going to be vacationing for the coming two weeks. If you don't see any updates after this one for the next two weeks, that's the reason why. Thanks for your support!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, or any of the songs mentioned here. I own this plot, and most of the Mobsters.

Chapter Fifty-Three: Batsy

Two days later, the show is ready.

The South Side Gotham Community Theatre is in a particularly run-down area of the Narrows. The floor creaks underfoot, the fairly large stage is covered in dust, and the lights need a lot more tweaking than expected—Schiff and "Boss Boy"(?) help with that. The seats seem to be rotting, the red velvet peeling away as years go by.

In short, it's perfect for what we're going for here.

"Seymour and a few others just went out to 'welcome' our guests. They're being directed to the 'green room'," I tell Joker, who is already adjusting his top hat. "Should I head backstage?"

The dressing room we're using for the moment is just as tattered as the rest of the theatre—old, peeling wallpaper, grimy mirrors (even I couldn't clean them off) and ruined costumes still left on the clothing racks. Our clothes are hanging off rickety chairs that are parked beside one of the dressing tables.

I put the finishing touches onto my face awkwardly—it's been awhile since I put kohl over my eyes. Not since my last night as Batman…but I manage it. Besides, Joker's men are going to look a little worse for wear no matter how they try to make themselves presentable.

"Yeah—wouldn't want to be late for your, ah, debut…" Joker grins at me and looks in the mirror one last time. "Okay, there. All ready to go!"

I look him up and down, surprised at how well he pulls off the "ringmaster" look. The purple suit glitters with sequins, and his spats and bowtie are as white as the greasepaint on his face. His top hat is perched jauntily on his head, with a purple "J" tucked into the hatband. His pocket-watch is tucked into his jacket, with the silver chain almost invisible in the sequin's light.

"That suit's not going to last long, you know. Or mine." My suit is a black tuxedo with glittering sequins stitched all over it (courtesy of Joker), and a blue pocket square in my breast pocket. I wanted to look like a gentleman one last time.

The blue streaks in my newly-spiked hair catch the light brilliantly.

"During or after?" Joker asks, eyebrows raised coyly. Then he shrugs and claps me on the back. "Now don't go getting…stage fright on me. This is a critical moment."

"I've acted before, remember?" I'm just about to leave when Joker stops me. "What is it?" I ask.

"You need a…calling card," Joker tells me, taking a deck of cards from his pocket and shuffling it quickly. "Like me, remember?"

"Do we have time?"

"We'll make time if we have to." Joker quickly spreads the cards out on the table and gestures toward them. "Pick a card, any card."

I take my time, running my hands over each of the cards, thinking it over. Finally I flip the next to last card over, exposing a 9 of Spades.

Joker giggles. "Fitting," he mutters, handing it to me. "It means, among…other things, 'new beginnings' and 'acceptance'. Fits you to a 'T'."

I shrug and don't pick up the card yet. "Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't."

"Now, now…" Joker says, sliding the card behind my pocket square. He's close enough for our foreheads to touch.

We both know this isn't the time, nor the mood—but it's still nice to relish the un-drug-wrecked feeling.

I step toward the door, already hearing Joker's men running to their places. "Oh. Time to go."

Joker scurries ahead of me, hissing at anyone within range to get out of the way. I leave the dressing room and go backstage, attempting to jog quietly up the wood staircase Seymour had made for my entrance. There are two moldy curtains—I'm behind the black one, and Joker is behind the red one—which should open right about…

I hear the front curtain whisk open, and the audience cheers and claps enthusiastically.

"Laaaaadies and Gentlemen! Harlequins and Bozos! Auguste's and Tramps! Clowns of all ages!"

The cheering and clapping rises with every "welcome", then goes silent.

"Welcome…to Joker's Circus Spectacular! Here, behind this curtain, are things you'll never find anywhere else. 'Cause, y'see, here…we're putting on a, ah, killer show. And trust me, ladies and gents, we're gonna blow your mind."

I've heard all this before, when we were planning the show. Joker mumbled and scribbled speech after speech before finally deciding on this one. And I have to admit, it's intriguing. I can hear some of Joker's men mumbling and giggling almost inaudibly below me, admiring their boss' style, no doubt.

"Soooo…to start off, we've got an amazing little number for you. Now, I know Gotham isn't the, ah, Big Apple, but I just wanted to show off the talents of a few of my boys. Some of 'em even came from that pretty city—but it's not as pretty as you, Gotham. Oh, no, you're the apple of our eyes!"

The audience roars and whistles with approval. I can see my fellow "performers" edging quickly to stages left and right respectively.

"So, ladies and gentleclowns, let's take a little trip to…New York, New York!"

Joker's boys enter the stage with practiced ease. I can hear their introduction of "Bum, bum, da-dee-da-da…" and clapping in tune. Since all they have to go by is a trumpet and a one-note drum beat (provided by two "newbies"), it's impressive they're doing so well so soon.

Of course, Joker did threaten them with either no dessert for a week or no more fingers…

Speaking of Joker, he is pacing backstage, on stage left, just a short distance away. His head is bobbing from side to side, and his fingers are waving like a conductor's baton.

Schiff croons out "Start spreadin' the news…I'm leavin' today…" as someone whistles in the background.

Then Seymour—who doesn't look like a baritone at all—joins him, and the back-up singers begin to really give it their all. I can see their shadows as they all sway in time, clapping to the beat. Schiff's voice rings out loud and clear, louder and more confident than I've ever heard it.

Looks like using the Reel Big Fish cover was a good choice.

Seymour has his solo: "I wanna wake up…in a city that never sleeps…" as the back-ups croon away like canaries. "And find I'm King of the Hill…Top of the Heap!"

Joker grins at me and adjusts his bowtie, rocking on his heels.

Soon, the "bum-bum-ba-dee-da-das" begin again in renewed force, as Schiff and Seymour belt out "New York, New YoooorkI wanna wake up, in a city that never sleeps…"

Joker giggles—apparently they're at the line dance/kicking part.

"…And find I'm A-number One, Top of the List, King of the Hill…"

There's a slight squeaking sound as the boys split up into what Joker called the "ta-daaa!" pose. Joker vanishes from my sight.

"A-number OOOOOOONE" Schiff and Seymour scream, as the stage suddenly goes silent.

There's a dramatic pause. And then…

Joker croons out the final "These little town bluuuues…" and the back-ups screech out their part, while in their line dancing routine.

"Aaaaare melting away…" Schiff and Seymour join Joker, as they "Make a brand new start of iiiiit…in ol' New York!"

The number reaches a climax as they hit a screeching high note en masse, which dissolves into a animalistic scream.

The audience goes absolutely insane, whistling and clapping and roaring, and I can see Joker's men bowing.

"Thank you, thank you. Schiff, if you would, ah, do the honors of showing our special guests to the stage?"

Schiff scampers backstage, waves at me cheerily and opens the door to the "green room", ushering the Mobsters out onto the stage. They smile and shuffle onto the stage, pushing each other aside in the rush to get into the bright lights first, and are instantly blinded by spotlights.

What these stars to-be don't know is that the audience consists only of a movie camera and a tape recorder with a laugh track.

As each Mobster comes through the door, they are blinded by the lights. Seymour and Schiff yank them aside and use body handcuffs on them, stripping them of their weapons in the process. When the Mobsters realize what's happening, the rest of the "boys" descend on them, dragging them onstage by force.

"Now, what do we have heeere, hmm?" Joker smacks someone upside the head, making them bleat in shock. The "audience" lets out a dark chuckle. "Oh! Are these the guest stars, Schiff? Wow. And here I thought we had someone with, ah, talent."

The audience laughs loudly, and I prepare myself. Soon, it'll be my turn.

"Laaaaadies and Gentletramps, I proudly present…The Mob!" Joker's voice is nearly lost in the midst of the loud "boos" and hisses. "Ah-tatatata, don't worry…they're getting their due."

His voice takes on a darker, deeper edge, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"I'm sure you all know why. They've been running this town for ages, always looking for more ways to rake in the, ah, moolah. And more ways to buy off the people in power."

The audience mutters amongst themselves.

One of the Mobsters screams "What about you, huh? How're you any different, you son of a—"

There an echoing snik of one of Joker's knives snapping out, ready for action. "Hmmm…good question, Bertineli. How am I different…? Well, I'll tell you: because I don't care about money. I don't care about who's running this city, but in my own…special way, I care about Gotham."

There is a sudden, sharp pause. It feels as though Gotham is holding its breath, the very skyscrapers trembling under the strain of this sudden halt in the night's grim proceedings.

"…Actually, no. I'm not the only one who cares about this place." Joker chuckles, and I know my cue is coming up. "…Right, Batsy?"

The curtains slowly peel open, like a newly-opened wound, and there I am, descending the white stairs, my tuxedo coattails flapping behind me. There was talk of having me sing Michael Buble's cover of "Feeling Good" at this point in the "show", but we decided to go for the dramatic effect of silence. The song comes later.

It's working, it seems.

The "audience", meanwhile, roars its approval on cue.

I step in front of the Mobsters, who are at our collective mercy. I raise the double chins of one particularly fat Mobster with my cane, studying him.

"Hello. Do you recognize me?" I ask, cocking my head to one side.

The Mobster shakes his head, and I move to Joker's side.

"So, Batsy…how should we, ah, start this little party, hmm?" Joker slings an arm around my shoulder and grins at our unlucky guest stars.

"Well…first, I believe we should perform a magic trick." I look to Joker's men, who are nodding enthusiastically. "A disappearing act."

The "audience" applauds.

"Sounds good to me!" Joker laughs and bows. "And now, boys and girls, here's our first trick of the evening—the Vanishing Mobsters!"

(Applause.)

Schiff and Seymour go backstage.

"Now…we're gonna need four volunteers for this." Joker gestures to the Mobsters. "You choose."

The Mobsters don't do anything at first, until Joker's men begin to edge ever closer. Then they begin to whisper amongst themselves.

"Time's up!" Joker says cheerily, and the "boys" grab four random Mobsters and drag them forward.

"All right," I say. "Come with me. Don't be shy." I walk over to the four and point them to the edge of the stage—where they will be in full view of the camera in the "audience".

The Mobsters shuffle awkwardly to the spot, the look in their eyes revealing what Joker would describe as "ah, special". They want to escape, to kill me, to kill all of us, but they follow our orders, still uncertain as to what Joker is up to.

"What now, freaks?" one of them asks, a sneer in his voice. "We wait for a—a giant rabbit to come out of your hats?"

"No," I reply calmly, as Joker loudly chants the words ("Abolesco, in aeternum") and Schiff and Seymour pull a lever. "That would be too simple."

And the trap door underneath their feet opens up. They don't even have time to scream. All we hear is the sickening crunch of bodies meeting solid concrete.

(Applause.)

I gesture toward the darkened theatre, bowing like any good showman.

I turn back to the remaining Mobsters, who are staring silently down at the trap door. Joker is twirling his knife lazily between his fingers, looking somewhat pleased, but I get the feeling the sound of bodies hitting concrete struck him in a different way.

"For our next trick," Joker calls to the audience, "we're going to—"

Before Joker can say anything more, Fico Maroni shakes off his cuffs, a small penknife in hand. Apparently perseverance runs in his Family. His dark hair seems to bristle as he stares at us.

"Is that all you've got, clown? Tricks? Goons? You're no better than the rest of us. In fact, you're worse. You hire the nearest thugs available, even the loonies. You play them for fools, using them just like you use everyone else. And this kid"—Fico points to me—"is gonna wind up just like the rest of 'em. A dead body on the side of the road."

Joker stares at him unblinkingly, one hand in his pocket. The knife is still twirling in his other hand. He looks at me, then at Fico.

Before he can say anything, someone clears their throat backstage. I watch as Schiff—dressed for success in a simple tuxedo with a yellow rose on the lapel—steps out of the shadows, a small smile on his face.

Fico turns around to face him. "What're you after? If you're trying to defend your precious Boss here, don't bother."

"Boss is fine," Schiff says, bouncing lightly on his heels. "But…we're not fools." He cocks his head to one side. "You should learn to show a little more respect."

Fico snorts. "Fine, then. Get yourself killed. If I had my way, you'd all be locked up in Arkham right now, under enough meds to kill a horse."

Something flickers in Schiff's eyes, and I look back toward Joker. His scars are wriggling into a smirk.

"Well, Maroni," Joker says, his tone condescending, "looks like you've started our second act already." He cocks his head to one side. "Right, Schiffy?"

Schiff bounces a little faster now, nodding once. His chin is tucked down, and his eyebrows are lowered into a dark glare. A smile twitches slightly on his face.

"Y'see, Maroni…around here, we're not, ah, bedlam people. Especially Schiff here." Joker grins and turns to the audience. "Ladies and tramps, how'd you like to see a brawl for the ages?"

The audience screeches on cue, and before Joker can continue, Schiff lunges for Maroni, that twitchy little smile now a serene grin as they topple to the ground.

I step back toward Joker, hearing him whisper in my ear "Now don't worry, Batsy—you'll get your turn. Let's let Schiff have his fun, hmm?"

Suddenly I find myself feeling a twinge of unease. The "audience" cheers for blood.