Thanks for all the reviews. You guys always impress me so much.
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The Joker dropped his tire iron and staggered backwards, rocked by the shattering blow delivered via express-mail directly to his face. Batman, despite being so knocked around, wasn't slowed in the least. Being angrier than he could remember being in years probably had something to do with it. Given the proper emotional cattle prod, people found themselves capable of ignoring a lot of pain.
"Bats, I think I'm going to need a dentist." The Joker said.
"You're going to need an iron lung by the time I'm done with you!" Batman roared.
Not wanting to spend time either having his teeth replaced or breathing through a machine, the Joker did something he was quite talented at. He ran for cover. Unfortunately, the only available cover seemed to be behind Crane's back.
"No, don't draw me into this!" The Scarecrow shouted.
"Shut up and provide protection, Spooky!" The Joker said. Under better circumstances, Crane would have given the clown another taste of his mighty middle finger before dashing down the street and away from Batman's aura of pure wrath. As was, due to a combination of forced insomnia and a prodigious number of injuries, Crane couldn't move much quicker than the average zombie. The Joker was able to reach him and duck behind what little defense the disgraced psychologist's slight frame offered.
Batman, his hands curled into fists that he was obviously itching to smash someone's face to pieces with, approached the Scarecrow. Crane, not knowing what else to do, threw his hands into the air in the universal gesture of surrender.
"I don't like him any more than you do. Take him, please. Just don't kill me, none of this was my idea, the clown shot me, you were there, it was like that all day, he made me steal ice cream, I don't even like ice cream, I much prefer custard and-"
"You're babbling. Shut your mouth before something flies in." Batman said.
Taking 'something' to mean 'my fist', Crane's yap-trap firmly closed. He did not want to get on Batman's bad side, not when the hero was wearing a weapons-grade frown.
"Now step away from the clown."
Acknowledging the order with a slight nod, Crane took a step to his left. His shirt was instantly seized by the collar. The Joker yanked him backward, preventing him from escaping his role as a human shield.
Asides from being pulled around as though he was some sort of dog on a leash, the Scarecrow was soon subject to another indignity. Since there were no happy-go-lucky school children handy and all the respectable old ladies had retired hours ago, the Joker was forced to use a less innocent hostage. Keeping one hand wound firmly in Crane's shirt, the Joker used his free hand to extract his gun from a coat pocket.
"All right, Bats. One step closer and Johnny loses all his marbles."
Batman froze. With a gun muzzle pressed against his temple, Crane also decided to keep movement to a minimum. As he well knew, the Joker had a severely itchy trigger finger.
"Put the gun down." Batman growled.
"Uh, no. See, if I were to do that, you'd beat me to a pulp. If I keep it like so, you stay way over there. Unless you've been taking lessons from Space Jam, your fist can't reach all the way over here. Get it?" The Joker asked.
"Clown, do you think you could ease up just a bit?" Crane said quietly.
"What's the matter, Spooky?"
"You don't need to dig the gun into my skull. I think you've hurt my brain enough for one day."
"But it's one o'clock. A new day's begun. I hurt you a lot yesterday; this is the first pain I've caused you today. Now shut up and be a good hostage before I give some stray your brains for breakfast."
Sickened by the image of some mangy dog or feral cat sniffing his brain pâté, Crane stopped complaining and just tried to ignore the pressure against his head. It was like trying to ignore the whine of a dentist's drill against sensitive teeth.
After several minutes in limbo with no one daring to do so much as sigh or scratch his nose no matter how bad it itched, the game got old. The Scarecrow shifted his feet, trying to gain even a little leverage against the pistol. He doubted if the Joker would really shoot him. After all, he wasn't much use to the clown as a corpse. His breathing body prevented Batman from doing anything rash; his dead body would serve as a momentary distraction at best.
"Johnny, do you not grasp what 'hold still' means? Do I need to draw you a diagram?" The Joker asked.
"No, I understand, but this is just stupid. You're stuck in a classic Mexican standoff. You might be content to stand here until morning rush hour and someone runs us over, but I'm not. Stop dicking around and force this to a conclusion!" The Scarecrow said.
"Dicking." The Joker chuckled.
"You watched an obscene amount of Mike Judge cartoons in the early 1990's didn't you?" Crane asked.
"Johnny-boy, I watched a lot of cartoons, period." The clown said. "Watched them then, watch them now."
"I never believed television rotted brains, though you may swing my opinion." Crane said.
The Joker yanked hard on the collar of Crane's shirt, choking him. "My hostages don't smart-mouth me. If they do, their loved ones get them back in boxes small enough to bury Cocker Spaniels in. Since you don't have any loved ones to bury you, you'd better just shut up."
That hurt. The Scarecrow had never been adept at forming human bonds--doing so would make it quite difficult to spray an unsuspecting person in the face with a highly toxic drug and then study the effects--but being told he was utterly unloved still pricked a part of his heart. Crane wondered who, if anyone, would claim his body should he die here. Maybe Poison Ivy would use him for compost or Tetch would stuff him like Norman Bates' taxidermy menagerie and have tea with his preserved corpse. That was a charming image.
Batman was not going to admit any love for the Scarecrow, but he did feel a slight tinge of pity. The Joker was a bastard. It was obvious Crane wasn't in any sort of shape to fight back, either physically or verbally, yet the clown refused to stop tormenting him. Maybe, when Bruce finally got his hands on the Joker, he'd knock out a few extra teeth for Crane.
"Now, all dicking—what a great word—aside, Johnny's right. I'm tired and I'm getting kind of hungry, and it's well past Harley's bedtime. So, here's the deal. You surrender or I start hurting Spooky. The longer you glare at me, the harder I hit him. Oh, and I'm starting with the head."
"You son of a mother-" Crane began.
The Joker rapped him on the head. "However you were going to finish that sentence, it would be inappropriate for the ears of Bats and hyenas."
Reeling, the Scarecrow stumbled forward. He would have likely fallen to his knees if not for the hold the Joker still had on his shirt. As was, he slumped forward like a tree partially uprooted by a storm and simply waiting for a last gust to finish it off.
"Well, Bats? Feel like waving the white flag or do you want to see how much my pet nerd can take before he breaks?"
"Don't touch him again." Batman growled.
"Tough break, Spooky. Looks like the Bat might have a sadistic side. I should have guessed. He was pretty eager to rough me up."
Since he was relying on the clown simply to stand, Crane couldn't exactly dodge whatever blow might be coming. He wished he could curl up like an armadillo, but his severe lack of armor-plating made that likewise impossible. The only thing the Scarecrow could do was hang there like a piñata and hope he passed out from the impending pain.
This had to violate his moral codes. Standing by, selfishly, while a man was beaten about the head did not constitute heroic behavior. Of course, charging in like a hormonal bull rhinoceros and getting that man shot in the head wasn't exactly going to earn him the keys to the city, either.
The Joker raised his gun, preparing to club Crane like a baby seal. Oh, screw weighing the options. He was not going to watch the Scarecrow get walloped.
Batman leapt at the clown, hoping to startle him into dropping his hostage and running for it. Unusually steady, the Joker turned his weapon on the rapidly approaching hero and shot at him. The bullet missed by centimeters and chipped the pavement. Given a few weeks of heavy traffic, that slight crack in the street would mutate into a sizeable pothole.
In some parts of Gotham, gunshots were as common as cockroaches and an accepted part of the landscape. In this particular neighborhood, a majority of the drive-by shootings were committed by teenagers armed with Super Soakers and the remaining attacks were perpetrated by drunken college kids and their paintball guns. Gunfire in the middle of the night was not going to be waved off and ignored.
Seconds after the initial discharge, several lights popped on. Windows were thrown open, heads appeared in the windows, and the street was searched by sleep-dimmed eyes. Several heads retreated momentarily and reappeared with glasses on.
Ignorant of the peeping heads, Batman tackled the Joker. Since Crane was still hanging around, that made him the unlucky meat in a bat-and-clown sandwich. The two villains, plus their much reviled flying friend, ended up on the ground.
"Hey, Bill, what's going on down there?"
"If you bastards shot any of my stuff, I'm gonna chop your 'nads off!"
"Holy shit, that's Batman and he's fighting the Joker! Damn, where's my camera? I'm gonna be the God of YouTube. Keyboard Cat, eat your heart out."
While several citizens searched for cameras or cell phones, others more worried about the possible destruction and loss of life and limbs phoned the police or reached for their own weapons. An old woman grabbed the broom she used regularly to chase hooligans away. A man with an irrational fear of rogue killer samurai warriors produced an authentic pair of nunchucks from under his bed.
Harley watched with growing trepidation as the first people began to venture out on their lawns and porches. Many were holding some sort of recording device, and a few were holding sports equipment that could double as blunt instruments such as baseball bats and croquet mallets. One fellow, visiting the States for the first time (and never to return if this was what Americans did for fun), clutched a well-worn cricket bat.
A whole crowd of people armed with makeshift weapons usually found its courage eventually. Harley decided to chase them all back inside before the mob mentality had a chance to develop. She whistled for Bud and Lou, who were now playing tug-of-war with Batman's utility belt, and ordered them to perform crowd control.
At the sight of the two growling, slobbering hyenas, most of the gawkers got the message. They retreated inside and now peered out through windows or firmly locked doors. The young man who was so obsessed with dethroning Keyboard Cat hung around, trying to get a close-up of the long runners of drool dripping from Bud's muzzle. He ended up being mauled, and escaping without his underpants.
"Awesome footage, freaking sweet! Yeah, how do you like those boxers, buddy? I ain't washed them since last Monday! Ha!"
Bud was apparently not worried that the boxers were so foul they should have been treated as hazardous waste, because he continued to devour the hapless pants. Butt-naked, the wannabe film star continued to shoot from the safety of his living room.
By some miracle, Crane had managed to disengage himself from the fray. He crawled on his hands and knees before nearly collapsing. In the brief moments he had been pinned between the Crusader and the clown, the damned Joker had literally kicked his ass. It felt like his tailbone was now lodged firmly next his fourth vertebra.
He had to get back to the truck no matter where his coccyx was now residing. That purple pickup became the sole focus of his vision. Unless Harley reneged, and even if she did calling her Harleen a few times could probably make her reconsider, he'd be able to escape. Let the Joker and Batman knock each others' brains out until the cops arrived. Let the GPD break out the buckets and the shovels and scoop up the liberated brains and puzzle out whom each wet, slimy mass belonged to.
"Hey, Scarecrow, look up here!"
Someone was trying to get Crane's attention by shouting and rapping on a window, as some people believed knocking on the glass of a zoo enclosure would incite the animals inside to move or at least roll over in their sleep. Like a majority of those zoo animals, Crane ignored the knocking and continued to creep along toward his goal.
"Come on, Scarecrow! Please? I'm making a documentary."
Just ignore him, and he'll go away. Crane told himself to keep his eyes on the truck, block out all outside influences, and let the monkey chatter.
"I'm going to put it on YouTube, and I'm sure you'll attract at least ten viewers. Somebody's got to want to see you."
Enough was enough. Crane stopped crawling, turned toward the yappy filmmaker, and flipped him off. Instead of retreating or getting offended, the would-be Spielberg cheered.
"Thanks! I've seen videos of you running from the fuzz and getting your ass kicked by Batman, but I've never seen you giving the one-finger salute."
Son of a bitch! People had taken unauthorized videos of him and plastered the Internet with them? Did he know anyone computer-savvy enough to crash YouTube or send out a massive viral attack on any web surfer stupid enough to visit said degrading films? Maybe Nigma; he had a way with electronics, at least when it came to building over-complicated death machines that always failed at the last second.
As delicious a thought as ruining the viewing pleasure of millions was, cyber revenge would have to wait until he finished dragging himself to the truck. Luckily, it was only a few feet in front of him. Maybe he could get Harley to back up a little. No, that probably wasn't the best idea. She might end up backing over him. He hadn't survived the Joker just to be run over by the maniac's less-than-road-worthy lover.
The Joker slipped out of his coat, leaving Batman holding the empty garment. Some animals, such as salamanders, had a similar defensive measure; when caught by a predator, they shucked off a limb or tail. Much angrier than any hunter left holding a twitching tail stub, Batman threw down the coat and went after the meatier part of the clown.
With some distance between him and the Bat, the Joker was again able to use his gun. The gunfire did more harm to the inhabitants of the neighborhood than it did to Batman. The paranoid karate expert threw down his nunchucks and ran for the windowless safety of his closet. YouTube kid hit the floor, nearly broke his camera, and monkey-crawled away from the window. He was done recording the action for a while.
Since Batman was still coming at him with the singled-mindedness of a Terminator, the Joker decided it was really time for the party to end. He would have liked to begin the morning by beating his arch-nemesis with a golf club, but he'd settle for maintaining possession of all his limbs. In the future, the chance to maim Batman would surely present itself.
Crane had just made it to the truck and was pulling himself over the tailgate when the Joker leapt over him. The clown rolled over and over like an action hero who'd just taken a dive from a car headed for destruction. Finally, he came to a stop, saw Batman barreling at him like a train, and began to furiously bang on the window.
"Harley! For the love of Groucho, drive!"
"Are the Babies on board?" Harley replied.
"Who cares? Go!"
"Not without Bud and Lou! 'Sides, Professor Crane said… Where is he, anyways?"
"Here, help. Hand up, please." Crane said, peering over the tailgate with his hand outstretched.
"Spooky, you're such a weakling." The Joker said, scuttling forward.
The Joker grabbed his hand, and for one terrible moment, Crane was sure he was going to get The Lion King treatment. Luckily, the Joker was too panicked to consider letting the Scarecrow go. The clown yanked, and Crane was able to wriggle aboard.
Crane was a second away from whistling for the hyenas when Batman also jumped onto the truck. Unlike the Joker, Batman did not see the need to roll over and over like a hyperactive dog, but landed solidly on his feet. The Scarecrow idly wondered how strong the Bat had to be to stick such a landing wearing as much armor as he did.
"Hide me." The Joker whimpered, squeezing behind the Scarecrow.
"You yellow coward." Crane hissed.
Batman growled something unintelligible, and the Scarecrow suddenly wanted to faint. Whatever was going to transpire in the next five seconds, he didn't want to be conscious for it.
"I, I, I'm not doing this of my own free will. If you can pry him off, you can keep him." Crane said.
Batman reached one armored hand towards the Joker. The clown brought up an old trick. Once again, Crane found a gun pressed to his head.
"Oh, absolutely not! This is not going to become a habit! Give me that." The Scarecrow ordered. He grabbed the barrel of the gun and forced it away from his temple.
"No, that's mine! Let go, you scrawny pile of tinder."
"A little help, perhaps?" Crane asked, struggling to keep the pistol from touching him. He had a bad feeling the Joker wouldn't play silly games this time.
The vigilante's hand clamped down over the Joker's and pulled the gun from his grip. He tossed the weapon onto someone's front lawn. Hopefully, the police would collect it before anyone snapped it up as a trophy or future eBay merchandise.
"I wasn't really going to kill him. Can't anyone take a joke?"
Batman pried the Joker, kicking and screaming, from his failed hostage. He shook the clown, who promptly whimpered in fear.
"Utility belt?" Batman asked.
"In the street. By the manhole." Crane replied. He pointed a shaking finger at it.
Dragging the reluctant Joker, Batman hopped down onto the pavement. He turned towards the Scarecrow, who was currently little more than a quivering mass of gray jelly. "Don't move."
The Scarecrow waited until Batman had reached his utility belt and had picked it up. Then, ignoring the hero's command, Crane whistled for the hyenas. The two mutts offered Batman a baleful glare before leaping into the bed of the truck. They immediately pounced on Crane and began to slobber all over his mask. Apparently, they liked burlap-flavored snacks.
"Harley, punch it!"
A watery, trembling voice replied, "But what about Mister J?"
"You can break him out of Arkham! For the love of all things frightful, do it!"
"But my Puddin'!"
"Harleen Quintzel, you gave your word!"
"Okay." She sniffled.
The truck shot off nearly fast enough to escape Earth's gravitational pull. Since there were no seat belts handy, Crane grabbed onto Bud and Lou.
"That's good, child. Lead foot, just like I told you." The Scarecrow panted. He was clutching the furry duo with no intentions of letting go.
The pickup sped away just as the first sirens reached Crane's ears. He wondered what, if anything, would be left for the police to arrest. Batman might have reduced the Joker to nothing more than carbon atoms and scraps of purple fabric. Good luck throwing that into a holding cell.
"Poor Mister J. What are we gonna do without him?" Harley asked.
"I know I won't speak for you, but I'm going to fall to my knees and thank the Almighty Not-There for giving that clown exactly what he deserved."
"I think I wanna eat some chocolate and wash it down with some ice cream. Chocolate ice cream." Harley said.
"Beautiful. Know any place we can do that?" Crane asked.
Harley wiped her nose on her shirt. "Yeah, actually."
The Scarecrow's face almost popped off like Mister Potato Head's plastic snap-on features. "You have a place to go? Why in the hell didn't you tell us hours ago?"
"I couldn't bring Mister J. Now that he's gone…Maybe it's okay." More sniffling and nose-honking.
"Where do you- Oh, I think I know."
"You think it'll be okay?" Harley asked.
"I wish this was a hybrid vehicle."
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Author's Notes:
In the movie Space Jam, Michael Jordan's arm stretched unnaturally far, allowing him to beat some aliens at basketball.
A Mexican standoff is an unwinnable situation, commonly seen in movies when two or more people are pointing guns at each other and neither will move for fear of being shot. Quentin Tarantino's films—Pulp Fiction, Inglorious Basterds, and Reservoir Dogs—often feature Mexican standoffs.
The cartoon Crane is talking about is Beavis and Butt-head. Ah, the wit of the '90's.
In Psycho, Norman Bates did taxidermy when he wasn't killing hotel guests in the shower.
In case anyone's never seen The Lion King, Scar chucks his brother off a cliff and into a stampede of wildebeests.
Yep, one more chapter and Nerd will be complete. I'll try to get it up quickly. I'm done with Under the Dome (4 days to read 1,074 pages) so that won't distract me (unless I decide to read it again).