Joke
People don't say it to my face, but I'm going to die young. I take too many hits and too many risks to even consider seeing thirty. Nobody wants to be morose or downbeat on the whole thing, but they know death shadows me every night and I know it too. And I'm fine knowing that. I don't want to live forever. I don't want to die old and alone in some care home in Florida; I want to go out in a blaze of glory as a guy in his prime. That's the best ending I can expect for myself. I want to be remembered for sacrificing my life in the name of others. If they could put that line on my headstone, that'd be cool. Why am I talking about this stuff as a sixteen-year-old? The end's coming. I can feel it whispering in the back of my head, saying that my time's nearly up. I tell it to shut up and let me work. That's right; after four weeks and three days, Jason Todd is back in the saddle and ready to kick ass all over again as Robin, the only teenage sidekick worth seeing this year! Enough about that though, there's something way more interesting to look in to…
Joker's loose again. After months of dealing with drug dealers, thieves, idiots and really ugly gangbangers, we've finally got someone interesting to stop. This guy is seriously twisted like some partially melted helter-skelter ride; he killed eight people in making his escape this time, surprisingly low numbers if we're just going by statistics. This time there was no laughing gas, just some old-fashioned fisticuffs. Nobody gives this maniac credit for it, but he's pretty handy in a fight. Reviewing security footage from his breakout shows him using boxing, jujitsu, Krav manga and reiki to overcome his opponents. It's brutal stuff, but pretty effective. He laughs throughout the whole tape, that horrible clownish laughter that sends chills up and down your spine. It used to freak me out when I was younger, now I can stand it, barely. The big guy already knows he's got something big planned, something lethal. But it's been less than twenty-fours since his exit from the nuthouse so he's still gathering resources for his 'prank'. We've probably got less than forty-eight hours to take him down or a lot of innocent people are going to take a permanent vacation in the clouds. Like I said, I don't mind dying if it's for something. Joker kills people for nothing, absolutely nothing, not even his own amusement. To me, that's the real joke here.
When Joker's free, Bruce goes into overdrive to catch him. In the past three hours, we've scouted eighteen of his known hideouts around the city and interrogated thirty of his most alive former henchmen for information. The result of this hell-bent drive for justice? Nada. We've got nothing to work with. So we press on. After another three hours of touring the dregs and dark recesses of Gotham, we still have nothing. The big man is getting frustrated by our lack of progress. Usually by this point he has an inkling of what's about to happen, something to hang a theory on, but not this time.
"You wanna know what I think, Boss?" I inquire as we stand atop of Gotham City Cathedral close to four in the morning. He sighs lethargically.
"What do you think, Robin?"
"What if we're going about this the wrong way?" He glares at me as if I've just spat in his face. I think he believes I'm being condescending towards him. His reply cements this.
"The Joker has escaped incarceration a total of fifty-six times over an eight-year period. He always leaves clues and I have always found him through these methods; how could I possibly be going about this the wrong way?" The big guy is practically snapping at me. He has eyes for nothing but the lunatic's head. Bruce has got his nose pressed up so far against this situation that he can't see the wood for the trees. So yours truly has to be the voice of REASON. It's ridiculous that a teenager with anger issues has to be the logical one in a partnership with a man whose brain is rumoured to be a supercomputer, but there you are. I counter his argument passively enough.
"Well, since when is he predictable? You keep saying there's no pattern to his methods or logic to his targets; who's to say that he won't change his M.O on the fifty-seventh time?" Bruce's eyes narrow and his jaw clenches at my suggestion, but he is listening. God, he's desperate.
"What do you suggest?"
"Treat him like a sane criminal. What would they do after breaking out of jail?"
"They'd find a safe house which is precisely what we've been…"
"We've been looking at amusement parks and ice-cream factories; would a sane criminal hide out in such an attention-drawing locale?"
"This isn't a sane…"
"We're pretending he is, THIS time. So where would he hide?" Even though I can't see them through his white eyelets, I know the big man has just rolled his eyes at my paint by number reasoning process. He answers anyway.
"Amongst friends, but…"
"He has no friends, I get it, but can he BUY them?" Bruce frowns.
"Only fools would side with a madman like him."
"You mean GREEDY fools, right? Who do we know who's a greedy fool?" Yes, this is Jason Todd hinting to The Batman, the world's greatest detective. Now it's condescending, but he needs it; things are getting too cloudy in his head right now; he needs to think straight. It takes him less than two seconds to give the correct response.
"Cobblepot." Ding, ding, winner at the carnival! The Penguin's always been more crooked businessman than outright nutcase, although he's not far from it. If anyone's blinded enough by money to harbour the world's worst comedian, it's Happy Feet. So, let's get the ball rolling now we've found it.
"So what's his price for sanctuary?" I say.
"In the area of twenty million dollars."
"Does Joker have access to that kind of cash?"
"Unfortunately yes."
"So?" We look at one another for long seconds in deathly silence. Somewhere underneath the grim façade and stony manner, Bruce wants to thank me for the pointer. But he says nothing but what I expected him to.
"We'll pay a visit to the Iceberg Lounge."
Ornithology, the study of birds, is a pretty dumb hobby. My name being Robin does not, as everyone seems to believe, relate to the dumpy, red-chested bird. It's meant to be a tribute to Robin Hood, because of the spirit in which it is worn. Therefore, I have no attachment to any of those stupid, winged rats. It makes it a hell of a lot easier to smack them out of the way when fat boy sends them to attack. As usual, we drop from the skylight above the lounge, something we try do every fortnight to keep Cobblepot honest. He reels off the usual spiel of 'I'm a legitimate businessman', 'you have no right to trespass on private property', 'you're nothing but a despicable cur on society' and 'I will see to it you pay for any damages'. Unfortunately, it's kinda hard to hear him shriek over the sound of sending his heavies through glass tables and into upmarket fountains while clubbing endangered birds to the ground. Believe it or not, compared to our usual crowd, this is pretty restrained behaviour on our part. It takes maybe five minutes and roughly fifteen guys for him to realize negotiation is his only option. So we all waddle over to his office and have a friendly chat.
"You think I'd shelter that madman?" Penguin splutters as the Boss holds him nearly a foot off the ground so their faces are level. He growls.
"For the right price, you'd shelter every war criminal in the known world. Tell us where he is or we'll burn your funds."
"That would be arson, Sir!" The birdman squawks. Bruce spins him round and slams him hard against the wall.
"That doesn't change how this scenario will play out if you don't give him up."
"But I don't know WHERE he is!"
"Robin?"
I begin to pile almost thirty million dollars taken from Cobblepot's personal safe in the middle of the floor and take out an emergency flare from my utility belt. The big man makes certain our stupid companion can see this clearly.
"In exactly ten seconds, I will tell my partner to ignite the flare and drop it in the centre of that pile. Unless you tell me where he is, everything you enjoy is about to come to an end." Pengy's eyes are getting awfully big.
"But I keep telling you…"
"Five seconds."
"I don't…"
"Four seconds."
"Batman, I really…"
"Three seconds."
"For the love of…"
"Two seconds." I light the flare. Fat boy watches it intently. He stops blinking. He stops talking. Bruce carries on.
"One second." Penguin looks like a rabbit in headlights as his last second dies away. I move the flare to the top of the pile, singeing the bills on top. He shouts for me to stop.
"He's at one of my old hideouts! He's at the Gotham observatory! Stop what you're doing for the love of God, I need that money!" The big guy's lip curls into a satisfied smile. He casually drops Cobblepot on his ass, obviously relishing the thud and accompanying howl of pain. I shake the flare around in my hand, silently asking whether or not to do it anyway. Bruce shakes his head. I extinguish the flare and replace it in my belt.
"You'd think with all that money you'd be able to afford a gym membership." I remark, kicking the pile over before exiting along with my partner.
It takes only minutes for us to get in the car and speed off for the observatory. I turn over a possibility in my mind.
"Think he was lying?" I ask. The big man's answer is as curt as it gets.
"No."
"How can you be sure? The man's more like a toad than a penguin most of the time."
"Because I could see it in his eyes." Really? That's a pretty Hollywood-style line to lay down, but I suppose a guy like Bruce can pull it off. How many scumbags has he interrogated? Probably a lot more than I ever will so I'll give it to him. I shrug my shoulders.
"So, we got a plan or is this just a hit and hope situation?"
"There's no guarantee he'll be there on our arrival. The first objective is reconnaissance as always. If we're presented with viable targets, we'll jump in. If nothing presents itself, we'll stake out the location and observe."
"Roger that." I notice the big guy is periodically staring at me. Maybe it's my less than abrasive attitude to the situation or maybe it's the fact I haven't smirked or sneered at him the whole night. Mainly though, I hope it's just because he thinks I'm doing a good job tonight, that I'm really trying to help him out the best way I can. He says nothing more to me and I don't bother speaking either. I just want this case wrapped up inside of two hours; I'm so freaking tired.
We're at the observatory before five-thirty. Everything's quiet. That's actually a bad sign. The quieter things are, the more chance there is that something sinister and unpleasant is waiting to grab us. We're both cautious leaving the car and stick close in traversing the surrounding grounds, not straying from the shadows. This is seriously creepy. I spot a sentry first, up on the observatory's roof. He's got NVGs, meaning we have to move quickly without being seen. Sentries mean there's something inside worth guarding. Or maybe it's someone worth guarding. Either way, this is getting interesting. Bruce switches to thermal imaging. He signals to me that there are eight guards in the area, all armed with some kind of weapon system and radio link. He counts only two with NVG capabilities, making them our primary targets. By now we've gotten pressed against the north wall and are only looking for purchase to higher ground. Luckily Gotham's architects have a weird fetish for gargoyles; the damn things are on every major building in the city, including this dusty relic. So we fire grappling hooks and go straight up.
We're now situated just below the sentry I spotted. Instead of risking being seen by his buddy, Bruce is waiting for him to wander closer to the railing surrounding the roof. While he does that, I scope for the other NVG badass. The other one's posted on the opposite side of the roof and doesn't look like his area of concern is anywhere near us. I give the big guy the nod for the takedown. Bruce reaches up and noiselessly dispatches the sentry, relieving him of the goggles and handing them to me. The big man takes the radio link and hacks into their audio frequency to keep him posted on their progress. The remaining seven guards need to be handled logically. That means NVG scumbag two needs to go next, followed by the ground troops. He leaves that one to me.
This is standard sneak attack stuff. First I creep up on the target, keeping low to the ground and out of his immediate field of vision. When I'm less than three feet away, I slowly stand up and wait. When he turns to meet my gaze, I pounce forward and attack the windpipe with a simple jab to silence any chance at vocal announcement, a la Bruce. Next, I relieve him of his weapon system, a sub-automatic rifle with a telescopic-mounted sight by crushing his right index or 'trigger' finger. Since he's now weapon less and unable to cry out, the only thing left is to put him to sleep. A solid uppercut is enough for lights out. Voila, no more night-vision capabilities. I spot Bruce dispatching guys on the ground without any false steps. Four of them get standard nerve pinches from his Vulcan repertoire of manoeuvres while the remaining two are lucky enough to be put down with one hit each. Moments after finishing off his last man, the big guy is back on the roof.
Outside perimeter secured. Now we move on to the inside of the building. Bruce's thermal imaging again comes in handy. He scouts thirty or so individuals inside, eight of them isolated from the others. They're either hostages or possibly The Joker and his armed escort. The situation is getting sticky. I like it.
"Subtle reconnaissance, understood?" The Boss tells me once we're inside. It's time to divide and conquer. Bruce is investigating the isolated group; I get the leftovers. I nod my head.
"Take a peek and report back, gotcha."
The observatory is in a pretty bad way at the moment. Multiple wars with GCPD has left Penguin's favourite battleground a mess of crumbling brickwork and broken displays. I doubt the telescope even works anymore. The only positive thing about this place is the air vent system being wholly intact. I'm buff, but not that buff that I can't fit in the ventilation system. So I get inside and begin to crawl like a pro. There's plenty of lewd jokes to be told about teenage boys crawling around in little more than their underwear, but it's not really the time for that. I need to get eyes on target. I hear the laughter first and know it's me with the jackpot and the boss man with the spoils. Joker's in my area, front and centre of house. When the laughter's pretty much right below me, I take a look out the grill and see him decked out in his usual purple suit and yellow shirt. He's giving orders to the group of men surrounding him.
"But the REAL kicker of that one was the fact the poor girl had died BEFORE I put her in the grinder! The joke was on me that time, lemme tell ya!" I must've caught the tail end of that anecdote because he goes off on a tangent, cackling wildly at his own punch line before composing himself. "Anyhoo, because I've been out of day care for almost a whole day, the chance that Spooky ears and his half-cocked bird-like sidekick are closing in on us is a very likely possibility. In fact, they might even already BE here as we speak! Now as exciting as that may sound, it also means there's a good chance the dynamic do-gooders will try to curtail my plans before I get started. Since that would spoil the surprise I have planned, the best thing to do is kill the hostages, blow up the building and amscray to somewhere else. So let's start cleaning up, huh fellas?" Joker claps his hands together briskly, "Chop, chop, time's a wastin'!"
Let me just say, I have been CLEAN on my diet recently, no cheating whatsoever. The fact that when I went to radio my partner the air vent chose to collapse from under me was NOT my fault. I hit the ground hard, landing about a foot from the Joker's feet. There's a horrible, long silence while the assembled mass stare at me in bewilderment. The clown grins at me. At a moment like this, I can only say one thing and it just rolls off my tongue and echoes round the room, perfectly summing up my appraisal of the situation.
"Fuck."