Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, or the playground rhyme The Burning of the School.

Chapter Five: Bruce

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After what seems like an eternity, my desk phone rings.

"Yes?" I try not to sound irritated, but obviously it's a little difficult in this situation.

"Miss Joanna Dawes is here. Shall I let her in?" My secretary doesn't seem worried, for some reason. But then, she could be in a state of shock from having a knife or gun pointed at her.

With Joker around, it's always safest to think in worst-case scenarios.

"Go right ahead," I say, hoping my playboy persona is coming through.

It turns out I don't have to wait very long. Soon enough, "Joanna" comes flouncing in, wearing a green tweed business suit…for women. With his hair up in a bun—obviously dyed brown. The skirt reaches his knees, and I can see his multi-colored socks, glaringly obvious.

The worst part, though, is that he isn't wearing his "war paint". No, he's covered his face with a silk scarf, making sure that no one noticed him. Whether it worked or not, I'm not going to bother to ask.

"Like it?" Joker purrs, taking off the scarf like a stripper. The scars—while a little less gruesome than usual—seem to take up his entire face. "I did just as you said. Came right here with your, ah, precious book—and I don't even have my face on."

I hold out my hand. "Give me the book."

Joker frowns and perches himself on my desk, one hand demurely on his lap, the other holding the book out of my reach. His eyes are wide with innocence, and I can still see the madness in them. His actions always carry the feeling of the Burlesque. He is a sick parody of humanity dressed in the greatest joke of all—human skin.

"If I do," he says slowly, a quick pink flicker of tongue across chapped lips, "What'll you give me as a reward?"

I glare at him, saying nothing.

"I've been a good boy," he adds, his eyes meeting mine—are they black or green? "I haven't killed anyone today. I even bought this suit myself."

"That doesn't mean you haven't done something else to compensate." I feel a familiar growl enter my voice. "Don't play around, Joker. This is serious."

"Oh, I know all about being serious. I just choose…not to be." His expression suddenly perks up. "Speaking of 'serious'…why does this little thing"—he waves it mockingly in front of my face, snatching it away before I can grab it—"matter to you so much?"

"You're dirtying it," I say smoothly, grabbing it when Joker dances it in front of my face. He's humming some kind of carnival tune under his breath.

Joker looks at his hands, wiggles his fingers and looks back at me.

"You sure?"

I give him a look and place the book back in my suitcase, where it belongs. I don't bother to answer the question.

Joker pouts, and I can't help but wince at the way his scars seem to become even more pronounced. "Spoilsport."

There is silence again for a few moments. Joker hums some kind of dramatic tune under his breath, tapping his fingers on my desk to the beat. I suddenly realize the tune is "The Battle Hymn of the Republic"—an ironic twist, I suppose.

I'm already losing my patience.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school…" Joker sings, grinning as wickedly as ever. "We have tortured all the teachers—"

"Why are you still here?" I ask, standing up and ready to drag him out the door.

"I have…a game in mind." Joker raises his eyebrows and tucks his chin coyly. "It'll be fun, I promise."

"It had better not involve innocent civilians."

"Batsy, Batsy, Batsy," Joker purrs, "no one is innocent. Even if they don't have a criminal record. It's time you learned that."

"And it's time you learned that you will always be alone. The ferry proved that." It's a cruel retort, I know, but then Joker doesn't know what remorse is.

Joker's laughter is harsh and short. "Oooh, that hurt. I'm touched, Batman, really…I am."

The look he gives me is hardly filled with gratitude.

"My name is Bruce Wayne."

"No, it's not. No…no…no." Joker leans back slightly and smirks. "It's Batman. It's time you learned that."

I snarl and grab him by the collar, pulling him close. "You said you had a game in mind. Tell me what it is and get out."

Joker claps his hands. "Good, good! Now, here's the thing. This morning I looked around for some 'Wanted' posters. None of me, sadly, but what're you gonna do?"

He licks his lips briefly, that smirk still present.

"Anyway, I found a couple people from the posters—little fishies—and hung 'em out to dry for awhile. They've got a nice view of the city from the clock tower. But here's the catch: out of the ten criminals, five are 'innocent civilians'. But they all look like criminals. They talk like criminals, act like criminals. In fact, tweak their pasts a little and they could even be in the same…'business'. Your job is to find out which ones are the fakes and which ones are the fish."

I don't buy that as being the only catch. "There's something else, I'm sure."

Joker giggles. "Of course. I've poisoned them all. They're set to die in…" He checks the clock. "Twenty minutes."

I quickly let go of him and prepare to leave, grabbing my things. Only a few more minutes until 1:30. Joker hops off my desk and strolls over to the door, wrapping his scarf around his neck again, obscuring his face.

"Later, Batsy," he calls, humming that sick parody of "Battle Hymn of the Republic" yet again.

"One thing." I clutch my briefcase tightly.

"Mm?"

"Why did you put them at the top of the clock tower?"

Joker shrugs. "I wanted it to be dramatic." He turns the doorknob, clearly feeling his business is done. "Now, 'scuse me, but—"

"No." I walk briskly over to him, already forming a plan.

Joker blinks. "What." It isn't a surprised question. It's a remark that's full of cheery menace.

"You're coming with me."

Joker grins. "Bad idea, don't you think? I mean, I'd see your hideout—"

"Not if I blindfold you first."

Joker wriggles his eyebrows, then stops at the sight of my expression. "What?"

"Let's go, then."

"I have to change—"

"Change on the way. The Lambourgini has darkened windows."

Joker's eyes widen in a way that could almost be considered comical. "The what?"

"Lambourgini. A car."

"Yeah, yeah, I know that, but…not exactly subtle, are you?"

"If I recall," I reply bitterly, "a certain someone had an eighteen-wheeler truck in his arsenal."

"Which you flipped over with a teeny-tiny Bat-cycle. Luckyyyy. I'm surprised you're even out of training wheels." Joker looks at me sideways. "Are you gonna drive?"

"It's a Bat-pod. Of course I'll drive. Why?"

Joker snorts. "Like I said, 'training wheels'."

I decide to ignore the insult…for now.

I place my hand on Joker's shoulder, putting on my playboy persona again. "Just think of it as me escorting a lady back to her house. Everyone will think nothing of it."

"Y'know, it's not like I'm going to help you. In fact, I could be a…bad influence." Joker grins wickedly.

I smirk in return. "I know. That's what I'm counting on."