Bruce Wayne sat in his study, head in his hands as he stared at the newspaper headline in front of him: Clown Killer Strikes Again – 50 Smiling Corpses From Latest Attack. He stared at the grisly photos of the smiling bodies, their eyes twisted in pain and their grins horribly mocking.
This was the last thing Gotham needed, he thought with a sigh, as he shoved the paper away. It was already a hive of corruption and lawlessness and organized crime, and it now had a psychotic mass murderer on the loose. And everything he did to fight back against it only made it worse.
He had left Ace Chemicals that night in an agony of guilt at the thought that he had taken a life. Of course he hadn't done it on purpose, and that had never been his intention when he had showed up at Ace, but he felt responsible all the same. He should have been able to save Jack, to catch him and prevent him from falling. Jack had been a horrible man, but Bruce hadn't had the right to take his life away from him. But Jack was dead because of his actions, and Bruce found the guilt almost unbearable. For weeks he had shut himself up in Wayne Manor, chastising himself for doing something so stupid and reckless – putting on a bat costume, what had he been thinking? Well, he had been thinking that it would conceal his identity, as well as strike terror into the hearts of criminals – a demonic superstition come to life. But obviously it hadn't worked with Jack.
He was gone now though – however it had happened, Gotham had been freed of a heartless criminal. And had apparently gained another even worse. And Bruce could no longer ignore it. He couldn't let that maniac roam out there in his city without doing something to stop it.
He stood up, heading for the front door. "Where are you going, sir?" asked Alfred.
"To see Captain Gordon," replied Bruce. "I need to learn everything I can about this Clown Killer. It's the only chance I have of stopping him."
"Forgive me, sir, but wouldn't it be better to let the police handle it?" asked Alfred.
"They haven't," retorted Bruce. "And they're already outnumbered and overworked, assuming they're on the case at all and haven't been paid off by Dent."
"You surely don't think the District Attorney could be working with this madman?" asked Alfred.
"He works with criminals – why would this one be any different?" asked Bruce.
"Well, sir, Mr. Dent's involvement in crime is based on a mutually profitable arrangement with the criminals," said Alfred. "There is some monetary benefit to him in kickbacks and bribery and turning a blind eye to bootlegging. But this Clown Killer's crimes are senseless, with no profit to anyone. I highly doubt Mr. Dent would engage in crime for crime's sake – that would be increasing the risk of him getting caught for no profit. It would be madness."
"I wouldn't put anything past a man who can collaborate with thieves and murderers," retorted Bruce. "But I will find out the truth, Alfred. However it takes."
Upon his arrival at the station, Bruce discovered little more than what had been reported in the papers – the police didn't have much to go on. "If you ask me, Mr. Wayne, your time would be better spent trying to find some proof of Dent's corruption," said Gordon. "And Commissioner Loeb's collaboration."
"I doubt they keep records, Captain Gordon," replied Bruce.
"Then maybe you need to catch them in the act," said Gordon. "And I might know how to do that."
"How?" asked Bruce.
"Dent's hosting a little soiree at City Hall this weekend – a costume party," said Gordon. "As head of Wayne Enterprises and a potential major campaign investor, I'm sure you could score a ticket. Dent's invited the Commissioner, and all his associates from the Arkham Club, or so the rumor goes. There's bound to be something going down, and if you can expose what it is in public…well, they won't be able to deny it, will they? There'll be no more lies or tricks or fancy talk. Only justice."
Bruce nodded slowly. "I'll see you there, Commissioner," he murmured.
…
"Johnny, it wasn't you with Harley last night, was it?" asked Poison Ivy the next evening as she headed over to Crane and Tetch's table at the Arkham Club. "She snuck outta here before I could ask her who the guy she was with was. I've been asking around all the men I know are interested in her, but they've all denied it was them. It wasn't you, was it?"
Crane stared at her. "With her?" he repeated. "You mean…you mean in an…intimate way?"
"I mean making whoopie," retorted Ivy. "Making hard, loud, dirty whoopie."
Crane flushed. "Good heavens, no! I doubt it was anyone – Harley's not the type of girl to just jump into bed with another man so soon after her lover's death!"
"I think it's good that she's moving on," said Ivy. "And she was with somebody – I couldn't get back in the dressing room because she was occupied with a guy. Or occupied by a guy, I guess…"
"I don't believe it," snapped Crane.
"You believe what you want," retorted Ivy. "I know what I heard. Don't blame me if you're jealous."
"Yeah, every guy in the world should be jealous of me," agreed Harvey Dent, coming over suddenly and sliding his arms around Ivy's waist.
"Not of you, Harvey – of whoever that guy was with Harley last night," replied Ivy.
"What guy with Harley last night?" asked Dent.
"Ivy has made the most slanderous assertion, impugning the honor of a woman who is the pinnacle of virtue and loyalty!" snapped Crane.
"If you think that, then why are you attempting to woo her with flowers?" asked Tetch.
"I'm not attempting to woo her – I am attempting to keep in her thoughts until such time as she comes out of mourning and considers taking another suitor!" snapped Crane.
"Well, considering you were there at her last suitor's death, that shouldn't be too hard," retorted Ivy, dryly.
"When do you think she'll let us meet this new guy?" asked Dent.
"Ask her yourself," said Ivy, nodding at Harley, who had just entered the club. She was beaming from ear to ear, an unusual sight for her these days.
"Harley, you're very nearly late!" squawked Cobblepot, rushing to intercept her at the door. "Get changed and get on stage at once before I'm regrettably forced to conclude that your services are no longer required, as I did for Selin…"
He was cut off as he was suddenly seized around the throat and lifted off his feet by the man who had entered behind Harley, the tall, thin man whose face was hidden in the shadows of his hat.
"Nobody bullies my doll!" he hissed, in a very familiar voice.
Cobblepot stared at him. "Who…are you?" he gasped.
The man laughed. "I'm sorry – so rude to threaten someone before we've been introduced!" he chuckled, removing his hat with his free hand. "I'm the Joker, Pengers. Pleased to meetcha."
The club silenced as all eyes stared at Joker in horror. "It's not possible!" gasped Crane.
"Jack…you're…you're dead!" stammered Cobblepot.
"Boy, I dunno who this Jack guy is, but people sure keep confusing him and me!" chuckled Joker. "I do have another moniker, but it ain't Jack. It's the Clown Killer. So…" he said, looking around at the horrified faces and grinning. "Who wants to buy the celebrity a drink?"
Everyone just stared at him in stunned silence. "All right, I'll order it myself," he chuckled, dropping Cobblepot to the ground suddenly. "Pengers, a bottle of your finest sparkling lemonade for me and my doll. I'll keep it on ice for ya, toots – go get ready to knock 'em dead," he said, kissing Harley.
She giggled, kissed him again, and then headed backstage. "Jesus, lighten up, everyone!" chuckled Joker, looking around at the grim faces as he took a seat. "You look like you've seen a ghost! A clown's meant to bring smiles and laughter, not all these gloomy faces!"
"Yeah, it's…good news that you're back, Jack. Well, not exactly back to your old self, but…y'know," said Dent, slowly. "So does this mean…you're back in business?"
Joker laughed, lighting up a cigarette. "Can't say business is a top priority for me at the moment, Harvey!"
"Then what is?" asked Dent.
"Fun," replied Joker, grinning as he puffed on his cigarette.
"You don't think bootlegging is fun?" asked Dent.
"Not as fun as massacring randomers!" chuckled Joker.
"Where's the fun in that?" asked Dent. "There's no profit."
"Oh Harvey, you've got such a small, simple mind!" sighed Joker. "Thinking that money is the be all and end all of everything! Guess it takes a near death experience to make you see that there's more to life!" he giggled.
"Like what?" asked Dent.
"Like fun," repeated Joker, blowing out a cloud of smoke and smiling.
Dent was about to question him further when Harley appeared on stage and, contrary to routine, launched into a peppy, fast tempo jazz number.
"I'm just crazy for my baby,
He's just crazy for me!
Other guys, I told 'em maybe;
He I told, just take me!
When I met him, I knew I'd let him
Do whatever with me.
How can I refuse to let him
When we're meant to be?
Folks I know around me say
I'm mad as mad can be.
Some folks told me, 'Stay away,
He's trouble with a capital T!'
But I'm just wild for my baby
Why can't they all just see?
That I'm just crazy for my baby
And he's just crazy for me!"
Her upbeat song proved no less popular than her depressing songs as the entire club applauded loudly, especially Joker, who was beaming at her. She blew him a kiss and then took a bow. Ivy looked around jealously at the crowd of admirers, tightening her grip around Dent's arm.
"Let's get outta here, Harvey," she muttered in his ear.
"Yeah, good idea," agreed Dent. He stood up from the table. "Well, great seeing you all, but Ivy and I are gonna head home. I trust I'll see all of you this weekend at City Hall."
"Why? What's happening this weekend at City Hall?" asked Joker.
"A…costume party," said Dent, slowly. "Everyone from the club's invited."
"That includes me, doesn't it?" asked Joker, grinning at him.
"Sure, if you'd like to come," said Dent.
Joker laughed. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Harvey!" he chuckled. "Gotta be able to have some fun there, right? All of those rich, important types swanning around in fancy dress…I'm sure it'll be a blast!"