Chapter 17: Cheery Chicanery
No one jitters a joe's nerves more than Joker. Jerimiah Jennings thinks such to himself over his cup of java adjacent to the jumbo electric generator roaring and whirring over Joker and Jerimiah's conversation. The eighty-decibel din half-drowns the professor's pronunciations, a plight that the sadistic Punch must surely find funny. Joker's voice, on the other hand, screams just fine above the clamor, and he punctuates most statements with cacophonous laughter.
However, the Clown Prince could be quite quiet, and he would still be the scariest sort who Jennings has ever met. And, Jeremiah joined the four-yard-long, arachnid Kriglo on a mission. Martians do not emit the same inherent malice as this impish man. Joker has the crazed eyes of a hell bound djinn and the distended features of the distressed damned. Joker has the pallor of the dead juxtaposed with the animation of the eternally unresting and the ebullient, excessive smile of the demented ready to devilishly go off at any time. Jiminy, he is more fiercely juiced than the generator beside him!
That mercurial nature, more unsettling than the Flash's, may be the most mortifying element of the evil individual ogling Jennings across the table.
On one hand, mercurial and manic can be almost amusing. Before Joker sits—piled high—johnnycakes, currant jam, two jiggers of gin, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. All of which Joker abusively adjured hostage and hostess Joye Plazchek to prepare him. At sunset, instead of dawn. At eight, this breakfast food "must be ate" (although "eaten" is proper English). Because such is droll, one supposes.
On the other hand, Joker tore away Joye's jewelry, a necklace, and jacked her flat with a generous jab upon her bringing the food. He harangued her as a harridan for not having jalapeno hot peppers and horse meat, both reasonable requests, in his mind. Then, the gauche, growling gent jeered giddily at her and Jeremiah.
On a third hand, Joker disregards Jennings' direction. He neither recognizes nor respects this gang's leader, and the genius guiding things will not be made a fool of by Joker. By Jennings' reckoning, no wild card has the will or the wiles of the redoubtable rocket scientist who went to Mars to conquer like Mussolini, who did conquer the JSA like grand Julius Caesar, and who now steals sacred fire like a Titan. To an egoist, insolence and aberrance are the scariest things of all.
Gotham's Ghastly Goof gets down to business. "By Jove," Joker addresses Prometheus, "'Tis nigh eight o'clock in Norfolk, so it is near day's end in Alameda County, out west. Our cohorts oughta meeta their abductee soon and anon."
"Aye," affirms the prof.
"You what?" wonders the white wit.
"I did not say 'I'. I said 'aye' as in 'yes', eh!" aspirates Jeremiah.
"Oh. You know why," Joker gibes, "Anyway, how do you suppose the California kidnapping goes?"
"Crazy Quilt, Psycho-Pirate, and Sportsmaster are out there at Berkeley," notes Jennings, "Northern California holds much of the Manhattan Project's brain trust. Our unholy three should take Dr. Rafe Smedley soon, around five o'clock on the West Coast. College staff should be calling it a day."
"Except for the schmo Smedley," smiley states, "He always stays late. Such we know from Psycho-Pirate and Sportsmaster's surveillance. He is almost alone in an empty university building. Ah!-ha-ha-ha!"
The head "hood" adds, "An evening operation really offers our best opportunity for an abduction. Otherwise, Rafe resides in an apartment building. However, even in the witching hour, quarters' have neighbors who could hear any hubbub."
"As my godson Donald says 'you go to war with the army you have'," remarks Joker. This Earth's young Donald Rumsfeld is Joker's godson.
Jennings grants, "Forsooth, our group must muster what men we have. Thus, with Mist missing, Smedley should be a good substitute to assist Icicle. After all, Dr. Smedley has constructed an atomic bomb before."
Blithe as he may be, Joker dislikes little men lecturing him with big language. The Clown cattily corrects, "For sure, people who say 'forsooth' should say 'for sure' instead." His shiny, serrated knife scrapes his ceramic plate with an almost audible squeak, which Jennings' worried imagination experiences anyway.
Keeping his composure, Jeremiah cattily continues, "Of course, beside Mist, I would have loved to send Riddler and Tigress too. However, heroes apprehended them in Opal City. In part, thanks to you."
The skittish scientist adds that last phrase swiftly, for Jefe Jennings is conflicted between controlling "subordinate" Joker and accepting that he has become the subordinate himself.
Cheerfully, Joker chuckles with smile as wide and specious as a savage chimp's. He seemingly cherishes the criticism with cherry-red gums, chiseling stare, and cherubic grace. But, he practices a charlatan chivalry and is a choicely chafed beast beneath.
Shaking a finger, Joker gently chastises, "Now, now, Nygma, Brooks, and Kyle surely couldn't be having a better time than they are in Gotham State Penitentiary. I find that, when the guards there aren't playing crack the whip, other prisoners want to play mumblety-peg, bloody knuckles, or kick your can with a famous guest. Of course, I then get some rock, paper, or scissors and put some ghosts in the graveyard." Joker gleefully pantomimes gutting and gashing goons.
Jennings gulps but tries disguising it. He goes, "Anyway, Quilt, Pirate, and Master are who we could subtly send on a train to the Golden State. Grundy, Rag Doll, Two-Face, and—yes—you would not have blended-in well in a cross-country coach car. Of course. For your cadaverous appearance. In your case. And, Grundy's."
"And, Icicle is iffy," quips the Clown Prince with Charon's complexion and calling, "And, Rag Doll and I are always smiling, and Harvey half is. Verily, most travelers twixt coastal Virginia and Castro Valley would have likely died laughing." Keen cutlery quickly cleaves cornmeal pancakes and keens across ceramic with a screech.
Confidentially, Jennings thinks that he, wise Jeremiah, needs to cut it out. Joker's jaundiced eyes jerk from side-to-side, and he sniffs hard as though growing greatly excited. Perhaps, a professor had best halt grating Gotham's bugaboo with barbs. Still, a megalomaniacal scientist must seize mites of control—even with craziness corporeal across the compact table, three feet far. He must manage the madmen around him and the monsters that he has gathered! With his myrmidons and weapon of mass destruction, he must murder Mercury and all the humanity around the hero! Gallant Flash must be undone in an ungodly flash!
Ergo, Prof. Jennings will not let go his ego and hubris. Joker will genuflect before him yet, by gum! If even just figuratively.
The foreboding Fool fidgets with his knife and fork as though either might fly into the fop"funning" him. He could fillet him like a fish. He could fix the four-eyed pettifogger like a meal-featured pheasant, for such is the Funny Felon's febrile, ferocious nature. Forsooth, fickle Joker might have no sense of humor at all.
However, with false grin, jocular Joker just burps into his gin and burbles it spumescent like a small child playing with his milk and simultaneously his superior elders.
Liquor dribbling off his lips, the Man Who Laughs lilts, "I should have ordered Miss Plazchek produce gingerbread to enjoy. It would have paired well with my jaunty repast. Of course, a jay bird or a jug of whiskey would have too. My breakfast-supper has a j theme. You may notice."
"True," Jennings nervously strokes his jugular vein, "I hope my three henchmen telephone their success soon." Such nice news, about a kidnapping, would break the tension at the table.
In California, the JSA canvass LeConte Hall, where much recent history has been made. Berkeley's physics department operates in the building, and the country's most brilliant physicists, therefore, occupy its corridors. One is Dr. Rafe Smedley who compliments company Dr. Mid-Nite on deciphering Riddler's recent conundrum.
"Kudos to you, as the Greeks would say," lauds the august academic, "I understand that you are the Justice Societarian who parsed the Riddler's riddle."
Mid-Nite nods, "Indeed, I did. Our group's Gotham headquarters got a telegram from an unknown location but a known sender. Signee Riddler obfuscatorily offered the upcoming activities of his associates and himself. The outlaws plan to pluck a prominent physicist from this campus, but they did not say which one. Possibly, it is you. Possibly, it is one of your fellow physicists in the building."
Smedley scratches a hairy chin-chin, "You know, those miscreants could be leading you heroes into a trap."
"Eh, they always are," Dr. Mid-Nite knows.
Elsewhere, upstairs, Atom attends Dr. Alton Dearfield (see Wonder Woman #25) from danger. Dr. Dearfield designs diverse Department of the Army doodads for D.C.
Elsewhere, downstairs, Hourman watches over Dr. Darwin Jones (see Strange Adventures). Doc Darwin investigates the unknown and impossible phenomena, such as nuclear fission and atomic bombs were but a decade back. Hourman and Jones organize archives since they have time, awaiting the attack. The avenger does not mind. Heroes like to help.
Across the way, a pa and son play catch in the big green patch opposite LeConte Hall. They pitch the pigskin back-and-forth apparently oblivious to passing pedestrians and vehicles. They pause only when a certain suspicious black sedan snakes up South Drive and circles back to park before famous physicist central, LeConte Hall.
The sire stops and says, "Well, old chum, if instincts serve, our expected outré guests have arrived. We best bound to our own automobile and change." His mustache's spirit gum slips a bit.
The son sunders from sport, "Yeah, we can confront the kidnapping crumbs if they encounter holey defense, Dad. But, I doubt that Charles, Al, and Rex will let them escape."
Suddenly, from the sedan, sordid sorts spring into action. Sportsmaster takes the lead and rushes like a track star. In his hands, a neatly-designed pipe telescopes into a sixteen-foot pole. And, Sportsmaster pole vaults through a second-story window's glass and onto the same floor where Dr. Mid-Nite guards Prof. Smedley.
Pursuing his peccable peer, Crazy Quilt charges the physics phrontistery's front entrance. Wicked strobe effect overwhelms and blinds all pedestrians in his way, and California-Berkeley's "plebians" pause before proud Paul Dekker, evil genius. Like a jerk, the daft artist deftly dabs paint, from a tube, on the "dapper" duds that college men and co-eds wear these days. The kook-crook cannot cotton the quotidian design of the campus kitsch. In his colorful mind, critic Crazy Quilt considers the "cultured" class's drab clothes the real crime, not his knavish correction.
Behind Crazy Quilt, Psycho-Pirate strides through the severe strobing. Seemingly stoic, the dramatist Roger Hayden proceeds behind an expressionless metal mask. But, within the ferrous façade, the thespian sheds some tears—because Quilt's coruscation is just too damn bright!
In the basement, Hourman and Jones detect no disturbance. After all, the only current uproar from the ambush is a broken window, which they did not hear, and a frenetic fulguration, which penetrates the hall's foundation not. They continue flipping through archival files and chewing the fat.
Similarly, Atom and Alton Dearfield see, hear, and detect nothing, for they are on the opposite of LeConte Hall from the pane fracture and furious flashing. The prof projects, correctly, that any attack would come from South Drive, not the College of Chemistry across the way. Ergo, Atom and he are safest on the building's fourth floor and northeast corner. Dub Dearfield a physicist or a field general. Atom has agreed to his plan.
One floor below Al Pratt and Prof. Dearfield, Dr. Mid-Nite meets Sportsmaster. And, he somewhat hears someone (Crazy Quilt) stomping upstairs. Crusher Crock stares into the good guy's goggles intently.
"En garde!" announces Sportsmaster. He whips forth a rapier.
Rapidly, Mid-Nite roundhouse-kicks at wrist with the weapon. The steely point stabs sturdy plaster in the corridor, and the sword stays stuck. Stubbornly, a bad sport shakes it and swears. Doc decks him hard as dolt delays. Irked, Sportsmaster steps back and sets his dukes for boxing.
Of course, the repugnant pugilist partially only so poses as a distraction. He knows that Crazy Quilt and Psycho-Pirate converge on his position. Perhaps, one of them can plant a sucker punch from behind as well as he can from the front. From the stairs, Crazy Quilt rounds the corner to do so.
However, before Dekker can deck him, Dr. Mid-Nite ducks just as punk Paul punches, and Charles does some judo (learned in Japanese territory). The flipped foe flops forcefully on the floor. The swashbuckler superhero smiles. Blind justice must remain ever situationally aware.
Abruptly, Sportsmaster beans Mid-Nite's temple with a baseball. A leather mask only relieves the impact a bit. And, the avenger is a little loopy. A little lead discus drops him flat, although not unconscious. With simple savagery, Sportsmaster stomps the supine foe. Showing fine fortitude, Dr. Mid-Nite seizes his opponent's ankle and twists—aspiring to spin and spill him. But, Sportsmaster sleekly circles around and remains standing.
From the side, Crazy Quilt comes cantankerously calling. His helmet heats its lasers, and he hies forward to fry Dr. Mid-Nite.
Psycho-Pirate arrives upstairs and ambles past Crazy Quilt and Sportsmaster, vociferating in a victorious pose. Purposefully, the Pirate seeks to snatch Smedley, as is the mission. He must proceed as the subtle voice inside his head instructs. His preoccupied partners-in-crime passingly give his passing a side glance.
Suddenly, Dr. Mid-Nite swings his legs high to hitch Sportsmaster's thigh in a scissor lock. Sitting up, he tips the tall thug backwards and tilts him into Crazy Quilt's path. With perfect timing, intense lasers trim Crusher's crown, cut his hair, and sear his scalp. A supervillain screams stridently. Sportsmaster scampers for a drinking fountain and sets his steaming, scored head under its stream.
A crimefighter flips himself upright and fixes threatening fists.
Crazy Quilt threatens back, "I'll hypnotize you and then hit you with hot colors—multi-colored bolts."
"Not if I blackout bomb you first," guardian grabs a grenade.
He hurls it. Along the hallway, all goes dark, and heavy smoke hinders heinous irradiant headgear. Dr. Mid-Nite hops toward the motley mug. However, his punch surprisingly misses when Dekker successfully dodges.
"Aha!" the evasive artist exclaims, "You did not anticipate that I am partially blind. I can fight sans sight if there is no light."
"You don't say," says the Master of Darkness, "I also still have a bite when the bright ain't right."
Oddly enough, in a small world, Charles McNider and Paul Dekker are both partially blind but sighted under certain specific conditions. They could sympathetically cerebrate, conference, and share if only they were not currently in set combat. Nifty Nite's knuckles knock Quilt's head to the side. Then, the gung-ho hero grabs a garish goon's twee goatee and marches him toward Sportsmaster, staggering about in the swart smoke.
In contrast, Dr. Mid-Nite sees in a blackout bomb billow just fine. Thus, he seizes a singed head and hooks a shiny helmet, and he crashes two contemptible coconuts together, with comic (sound) effect. Concussed Crock collapses, out cold. Crazy Quilt canters clumsily and cantors off-key. But, he does not drop KOed. His cap spares him the bop's brunt.
Briskly, the Doctor grabs the headgear and attempts abruptly removing it. He yanks the helmet high—not realizing that it is attached via encephalic wiring. The physician bloody near performs a dual hemispherectomy! Crazy Quilt drools, droops, wheezes, whimpers, writhes, and falls fully flaccid. A wee flummoxed, Mid-Nite throws the inert oaf aside to the floor. Charles McNider feels a hint hypocritical about his Hippocratic oath.
However, the secrets of an atomic scientist must be safe no matter what. Thus, daring Dr. Mid-Nite dashes from the smoke screen to go save Smedley. However, Rafe Smedley stands reticently right there in the corridor, and he is curiously composed for a man with the Psycho-Pirate standing right beside him. But, when Doc studies Psycho, the scoundrel seems out-of-sorts. For one thing, he still has the Medusa Mask on. Normally, he must doff it to capture and control people. For another thing, Hayden hangs wholly still, wholly silent, arms slack, and an unholy smidge above the ground as though levitated.
Uncannily, Smedley's voice comes into McNider's mind. Telepathy pronounces, "Tsk-tsk, Doctor, you are not the adept detective that you think. A more observant intellect would have intuited that the world's most dangerous super-villains would never follow their inferior. Petty Prof. Jennings who would purloin the atomic bomb to settle a personal score. I am not so selfish and small. I would acquire the a-bomb to subjugate the world under my absolute rule!"
Charles scratches his chin. Dr. Mid-Nite ventures, "Brain Wave, is that you?" Brain Wave is a psychic set on seizing the seven continents, and he is an archenemy of the JSA.
"I am Rafe Simeon Smedley—for all you know!" roars the mentalist, "And, you shall not make a monkey out of me! Were Brain Wave here, Henry King would be my jester just as these three jacks are now my thralls."
Telekinesis and mind control erect Sportsmaster and Crazy Quilt and animate them like puppets for an aspiring Earth emperor. Apparently, Mid-Nite's adversary would like to appear awesome and almighty. Apparently, he apes every other JSA adversary from Wotan to Fiddler.
Doc defiantly crosses his arms. One finger points out Sportsmaster and Quilt, "Those two men were recently injured, by me. As their doctor, I suggest that you let them rest. Then, we'll put you to bed too."
A spiteful Smedley sneers and snickers. He says aloud, "If Superman cannot defeat me, you will not succeed, surely. Sleep, stooge."
Sans further ceremony, the sinister psychic simply shocks Dr. Mid-Nite sedate. A mind bolt cuts his strings, and he falls face-first unconscious on the floor.
Then, Sportsmaster snaps the superhero up like a barbell, presses him, and puts him on broad shoulders. Before that, he jerry-rigs him with a jump rope. The pseudo-swami releases Psycho-Pirate. He keeps Crazy Quilt and Crusher Crowder as controlled puppets.
"Let us make our departure," directs devious Dr. Smedley, "but, before we do, I must visit one item in my desk."
"Let's be quick, perhaps, sir," Psycho-Pirate suggests, "Don't you think that Dr. Mid-Nite has JSA chums accompanying him? He typically does."
"He does," the mastermind predicates, "His peers today are Atom upstairs and Hourman in the basement archives—if my deductions are correct. I worked out likely JSA strategy on paper while awaiting your raid, or 'rescue', if one wish call it that.
"Also, Dr. Mid-Nite told me earlier that Atom and Hourman are here while he and I chatted."
"Hourman is one of my favorite people," the evil empath attests, "He always puts a smile on my face before I put a smile—or scowl—on his."
"Well good. You can eliminate him if he appears," Smedley enters his office, "Joker is one of my favorites. He has je ne sais quoi and genocidal tendencies."
"Are you telephoning Virginia?" Pirate points at the pertinent dial.
"No, I do not want to alert Jennings about the coming coup—or coup de grace. I am compassionate in that way, being the best humanist," the possessed professor produces a cranial contraption from his desk. He cups it over his temples.
Psycho-Pirate smirks under the Medusa Mask. He knows that the man before him is not Brain Wave, as Dr. Mid-Nite assumed. Rather, mad scientist Smedley, for all his transcendental ability, still needs psionic aid (of his own extraordinary invention, of course) to call Virginia long-distance.
In the Old Dominion, Joker dabbles with a dirk dagger with which he delightfully defaces Joye's nice teak table. He brandished the big blade from his cutaway coat. Facing away, nervous Jennings fidgets and hopes that California calls soon.
For a tick, Joker tics not and freezes. Then, the Harlequin of Hate hee-hees heartily and side-glances gleefully at Harvey Dent, who also freezes and unfreezes. Two-Face flutters his eyes and flits for the Fool and the unfortunate. Jeremiah is so focused on fiendish Joker that he fails to see fate coming fast across the Norfolk chamber. He sits stupidly fixed and unfazed when Two-Face fleetly fetches a firearm from a file cabinet.
Seemingly half-smiling, Harvey slings-up a sawed-off. And, Two-Face shoots Jennings with both barrels. The boom and blast are beyond the pale. A full paired pail-load of Jennings projects like icky, ichorous paint instantly. One might say "in a flash". With a raucous reverberation, the rocket scientist shoots like a meaty meteor shower and stains the surroundings. Scarlet streams Nuclear's secret, subterranean laboratory.
Nearby, Solomon Grundy grunts apathetically. He got some greasy, gunky gore on his grayish garb.
Over yon, Icicle observes coldly. He returns to assessing and assembling a-bomb parts.
From the ceiling rafters, Rag Doll watches the eradication and suppresses some retching.
At the assassination's awful scene, jocund Joker jigs about briefly jiggling and jerking junk. Jennings' core gist covers the general area like an overcooked jemmy. A genuine degenerate, Joker jogs jolly around the room while Jennings' Judas, Two-Face, rigidly judges his work.
"Justice has been done," deems demented (ex-DA) Dent, "Jennings was a half-wit who would pursue petty revenge upon Flash. Such small aspiration is unfair to the rest of us. Why kill Keystone City and one hero when you can kill the entire JSA and conquer the world? Onward to Gotham with our new head!"
"All hail, Ultra-Humanite!" ejaculates Joker.
From Solomon Grundy to Two-Face to Rag Doll, all uglies announce "All hail, Ultra-Humanite" in unison. They adulate the little voice that has been inside their heads (perhaps, as a ventriloquist dummy would its master).
Joker jumps on a clean table. "Some men just want to watch the world burn!" the Clown Prince praises Ultra-Humanite, virtually Earthen autarch, and his apocalyptic vision.
In California, Ultra-Humanite exits LeConte Hall in a hurry. For appearances' sake, Dr. Smedley—the villain's present possessed vessel—is slung over Crazy Quilt's shoulder and seemingly senseless. So, he appears to be costumed criminals' captive. Beside Smedley, bound Dr. Mid-Nite bounces up-and-down above Sportsmaster's shoulder blades. The raiders and Psycho-Pirate scurry for their get-away car. Brigand Roger Hayden gets the door, for colleagues' hands are full.
"Hey!" hollers someone from up high.
Sports and Psycho glance. They spot Atom. His top half hangs from a fourth-story window. Serendipitously, he has spied the villains departing just as they escape. Al Pratt moves to intercept by doing daring defenestration. The Pratt fall fortunately succeeds by formidable technique. Al "Atmo" Pratt pops to his feet.
Before falling, Atom orders Dr. Dearfield to telephone Hourman in the basement.Or, good old Alton can use one of the JSA's new-fangled walkie-talkies. Sans special powers, Atom can use all the back-up outside that he can get.
Flexing for his foes, thewy Atom charges for them. Fear on his exposed face, Psycho-Pirate confronts the charging champion. He surges for the superhero while associated baddies load the black sedan on South Drive. Over Psycho's shoulder, Sportsmaster snaps open the trunk and shoves Dr. Mid-Nite inside. Concurrent with Crusher, Crazy Quilt stows Smedley in the backseat, albeit much more gently. He even attaches the seat belt, since this fancy sedan has one in 1948.
On the sidewalk before LeConte, Atom—eyes shut—simply springs over Psycho-Pirate. Dr. Mid-Nite had coached Atom a bit about fighting in total darkness, and athlete Al agreed that kinesthetic sense is essential in life. So, he practiced. Obviously, in this case, it helped Atom avoid Psycho-Pirate's sinister sphere of influence. Behind Pratt's rump, Hayden makes a surprised and then sad face.
Having hurdled Hayden, the Mighty Mite mows Crazy Quilt over and mashes a merciless mitt into his mug. Like a rug, Quilt lies sprawled and still. So, Atom spins toward Sportsmaster who sets himself into a fighting position. Crusher shakes his head sharply and blinks several times. He seems free of Ultra-Humanite's direct control but still dazed.
However, someone suddenly prompts, "Sportsmaster, get behind the wheel and speed us away. I have this impudent threat."
To his surprise, Atom sees Dr. Rafe Smedley alert, not asleep, and scarily stern-faced. Straight away, a telekinetic bolt blows Atom aback twenty feet to building bricks. And, its twin abruptly brings Psycho-Pirate into the car.
Like a stockcar driver, Sportsmaster directly drops into the driver's seat and starts his engine. Like a demon, he dangerously departs down South Drive, tires squealing, car swerving harum-scarum through the eve.
Simultaneously, Hourman bursts through LeConte's doors—literally. Rex wrecks the wood like the Cretan bull. He recklessly dashes after the deviants.
Simultaneously, the Batmobile darts after the escaping evil-doers. Bruce and Dick were the disguised dad and kid from earlier. Without missing a stride, hepped Hourman hops on the running board. The Dynamic Duo and the Man of the Hour barrel after bad guys!
Back at the Berkeley hall, Atom assesses, "Well, we at least got one of them. Of course, they also got one of ours." He denotes Crazy Quilt and Dr. Mid-Nite.