Chapter 4 - Killing Joker
When Batman tells me he knows Hugo's killer, a shiver runs through my body. I have to know who he thinks it is.
"So, who killed Hugo Strange?" I ask, with forced nonchalance, "And what's OR short for, apart from Operating Room?"
"I've known who killed him all along. The only blood in his apartment was the OR on the wall. He staged it all. Hugo Strange killed himself." Batman replies with the maximum theatricality, and then pauses. "As for your second question - you, of all people, should know the answer to that."
Like father, like son.
"Follow me. I think it's best if you look after the woman from now on."
He guides me to where he's holding the mystery woman. She's still wearing the Batman mask but her lingerie's been replaced by an old-fashioned looking dress, which probably came from Dr. Thompkins.
"But you've not let her meet any of us until now, not even Alfred. How do you know we can trust her?"
"I know," he says. "Now go."
He turns his back on us, and starts to walk away. I want to go after him, find out what he's feeling, but before I've got time to act on any instincts, Batman turns around and looks at me.
"Oh, Oracle, one last thing … Make that two. Don't keep secrets from me again, and never ever trust Snapper Carr to keep his mouth shut."
Batman turns away from me and leaves. I don't try and follow him.
On the drive home, having advised my passenger, who was wearing a Batman mask, to try and look inconspicuous, I phone Alfred.
"Hi Alfred, it's me. How's Bruce?"
"On night patrol. I'm sure he appreciates your concern."
"I hate to ask you this, but did you know Hugo Strange was his father?"
Alfred takes a moment to reply, Bruce obviously didn't feel the matter was worth mentioning to him, but when he does it's with his usual composure.
"I'm sorry, Miss Barbara, but I cannot comment on the matter. To do so would be to break my word, I'm sure you understand."
"Thanks, Alfred. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Miss Barbara."
Just before we get home, a tall, thin man wanders out in front of the car. Brakes squeal, but too late, and I hear the car thudding into his body. As soon as the car's halted I get out and wheel myself over to the motionless body, laying face down on the ground. Slowly I turn the body over, only to see a familiar face staring back at me … and smiling.
"Peek-A-Boo!" says The Joker and bursts out laughing.
I respond by hitting him in the face, as hard as I can, with a cane I had secreted about my wheelchair. I start to do this repeatedly, producing copious amounts of blood, and notice a couple of things. Firstly, The Joker's laughing even louder, and, secondly, the cane's making a clanging sound when it hits him. Before I can say mandroid, I'm rushing back to the car. The Joker doesn't pursue me, he just laughs louder and louder and louder.
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.
I'm in the car and I've locked the doors and I'm reversing out of there as quick as I can, when, in true horror movie tradition, The Joker appears in front of me, running towards the car. As he leaps at the windscreen, I shift into forward gear, causing him to overshoot and land, with a huge thud, on the roof. I then accelerate forwards as fast as I can, hoping he'll roll off the roof and on to the ground behind him, but he holds on tight, his metallic fingers clawing through the car roof. I then apply the brakes full on, throwing him forwards and almost off the front of the car, and then accelerate again. He hangs on tights to the hood, his fingers clawing through the metal, while his legs dangle in front of the car. He's covered from head to toe in his own artificial blood.
"Should have killed me when you had the chance," he screams through the window at me.
"No time like the present," I say as I drive forward with as much acceleration as the car's capable of. But no matter how fast I drive, and no matter how much I swerve, The Joker stays attached like some demonic red hood ornament. Even worse, he's slowly dragging himself closer and closer to me.
Trying to remain calm, and take my mind off things, I start chatting away inanely to the mystery woman: "Have you two met? Some call him the Space Cowboy, some call him the Gangster of Love..."
The Joker mandroid seems to possess an infinite amount of blood, and by now most of it appears to be spurting over the windscreen obscuring my vision. Fortunately, when I'm about to give up on steering altogether, and just stop and see what the mandroid actually wants, The Joker mandroid kindly restores my view by smashing his fist through the windscreen and grabbing my throat.
"Don't worry, I've got him just where I want him," I say with false bravado, turning to my enigmatic passenger, and then realize she's no longer there. While I'm rapidly running out of air, I notice that we're just opposite a mall. After spending my whole life there as a teenager, it seems only fitting that it should all end there. It's late enough that there shouldn't be too many innocent civilians still hanging around, so I decide to head straight there to make my final stand.
Suddenly, the mystery woman's back by my side, with a jack in her hand that she's swinging at The Joker's outstretched arm. Every time she connects I get pulled forwards, but, finally, just as I think I'm going to get choked to death, he lets go of me. Slowly, he turns his head towards my passenger.
"Hey, mystery lady. Can I call you Myst? Here from out of town, eh? Nice dress. Lucky you and Alfred are the same size. Ha Ha Ha. That's it, stay silent, see if I care. Tough audience. Still, stand-up's not easy. Ask Barb, here."
I pull to a stop in the mall car park. This robot's going to pay. Firstly, for damaging my car, and, secondly, for the mental image of Alfred that I've now got permanently etched in my mind.
"Get out and lock the door," I shout at my passenger. Within seconds she's out, and The Joker's dragging himself along the hood towards me for the kill. That's when I do what he's not expecting - I pull him into the car with me. I couldn't grab my cane before, what with one hand steering and one hand trying to remove his hand from my throat, but now I get hold of it and use it on The Joker. We're stuck in a confined space, no room for him to stand up, and no room to swing his arms and legs. On the other hand, I'm used to being confined, so I start systematically attacking his limbs with my cane, whilst relying on my years of experience to dodge and roll with any blows that manage to end up coming in my direction. He knows he's losing and manages somehow to leap back out through the windscreen. As soon as he lands in front of the car, I've already started accelerating and smash into his body. I leave the car and get ready for the kill.
The Joker gets up, smashed and torn, and starts walking towards me. I ignore him and turn my attention towards the mall.
During my early teens, I'd hang out there full time, just to avoid my father and his drinking. Not Uncle Jim, you understand, but my real father. Batman's not the only one with two Dads. Anyway I'd hang round the mall, cadging smokes, scoping out boys, playing at being grown-up. That was me, Mall Gordon, Member of The Teen Tantrum Corps. There were millions of us.
Suddenly I'm snapped back from my nostalgia for those days of unfocused hormones and suicidal diary entries, by The Joker reaching me. I grab hold of him and start moving towards the mall entrance as fast as my wheelchair will take me.
"Want to know the secret of comedy?" I ask him, as I throw his ridiculously heavy body at an upcoming glass door.
I skid to a halt, as his body smashes through the glass door, and he lays there, surrounded by shattered glass lying in the door frame.
He smiles and looks at me.
I smile and look at the door.
He turns and looks at the door. It's an automatic door and it starts to slide open, the remaining glass in the door frame slicing into The Joker's body.
"Timing."
The Joker starts laughing as the door slices him in half at the waist. Suddenly his face just freezes, locked in a smile, like the faces of his namesake's victims. His laughter continues, getting louder and louder.
Myst, as The Joker called her, comes up to me and wheels me back to my car.
"Side-splitting," I say, in my worst Sean Connery imitation, as we pass a few innocent onlookers.
This gets a big laugh. Forgetting the other secret of comedy (always leave them wanting more), I follow it up with "lmao".
Nobody laughs this time, except for The Joker. Everyone suddenly just starts thinking of me as a retard in a wheelchair. If that's not bad enough they probably assume that my carer would rather wear a stupid Batman mask than be associated with me. The mall and alienation - they always went hand in hand.
Still buzzing with adrenaline, I talk to Myst, explaining the joke to her. The fact that she can't reply in any way makes her a good listener. Soon I'm sharing my deepest secrets with her. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.
I sleep peacefully all through the night.
In the morning Cassie comes round to look after Myst while I'm helping Batman during his next round of Arkham visits. She sees the remains of my car on the way in.
"What happened to the car?"
"Nothing really - some Joker ran into it, that's all."
