Carmine Falcone smoked nervously, pacing his opulent hideout and occasionally glancing out the window to make sure his guards were still there. He was expecting an attack from the remaining Family any night now, and he knew if it came, he was likely a dead man. He didn't have the numbers to put up a fair fight, not after Maroni's guys had all decided to work for Buzz and Chuckie. Falcone had no idea how they had swung that – he knew his business had to be more profitable than theirs, and his offer of employment had to have come with a higher salary. But nevertheless, every one of Maroni's guys had sided with Buzz and Chuckie. Falcone couldn't understand it. There was nothing more important to guys in their racket than money. Whoever had the money had the power – that's how things worked, and how they always would work. What other kind of power was there?
"Your place is so much nicer when I haven't been strip-searched to get into it," said a voice suddenly. "You can better appreciate all the nice, fancy décor if you haven't been violated first."
Falcone instantly had his gun out and pointed at the visitor seated in the armchair by the fire. But he didn't shoot – he was too stunned by the man's unusual appearance to do anything but stare at him, and the visitor immediately held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Relax – you didn't strip-search me, but I'm unarmed, I swear," said the visitor with a grin. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"What are you here for?" demanded Falcone. "Who the hell are you? And how did you get past my guards?"
"Well, I did have to hurt them," sighed the visitor, shaking his head sadly. "Which I know is gonna worry you – you're short on numbers as it is. But that's why I'm here to help you, Carmine."
"I repeat, who the hell are you?" growled Falcone. "And why should I trust you?"
"You mean you don't recognize me, after all we've meant to each other?" sighed the visitor. "I'm a little hurt, Carmine, I ain't gonna lie. But then I suppose it is hard to believe a dead man can come back to life."
Falcone stared at the visitor, gradually recognizing him behind the clown face. "Jack?" he whispered. "But how…"
"Buzz's aim was off, but I can't blame him – it was a crowded factory with a lot going on," interrupted the visitor. "He was just so excited to kill me. Too excited, since he jumped the gun, and did it before I could kill the Batman. And if I had, you wouldn't be where you are today, Carmine. You'd still be top of the Family heap."
"What's with the clown makeup?" demanded Falcone.
"It's not makeup – it's the result of my little accident at Ace Chemicals," replied the visitor with a smile. "A few cosmetic side effects, but as you can see, I'm still the same old Jack Napier deep down inside. Just got a new moniker to go with the new look – maybe you've heard of me? The Joker."
Falcone's face twisted in rage. "You're the sick bastard who's been murdering and disfiguring my guys," he growled. "I should have known – you liked to do that kinda stuff even before you looked like a freak. I guess it's good it's obvious what kinda monster you are now."
"Yes, I guess it is," agreed Joker with a grin. "Now how about offering me a cigar? It's the least you can do after what I'm going to do for you."
"Why would you help me?" asked Falcone.
"I just told you, didn't I?" retorted Joker. "Buzz shot me. Nobody tries to kill me and lives – it's a personal vendetta which I'm sure you understand. And from where I'm sitting, Buzz and Chuckie have got the upper hand over you since Maroni's guys joined up with them. I don't think you have any cards left to play, Carmine. Except a Joker in the deck, if you'll have him," he added with a smile.
Falcone slowly lowered his gun, and then reached for the box of cigars on the mantlepiece, offering it to Joker. He took one and lit it, exhaling the smoke and smiling. "You always were a man of taste, Carmine," he murmured. "I've always respected that about you, if nothing else."
"Let's skip the pleasantries – how can you help me?" demanded Falcone.
"Well, you might have noticed a certain method to the Joker's madness," said Joker, puffing on the cigar again. "I killed yours and Maroni's guys, but not Buzz and Chuckie's. I've convinced them that I'm their friend, that I want to help them succeed, and they fell for that because they were desperate after Maroni's fall, just like you are. But the truth is, you're the guy I want to be in charge of Gotham's gangland. You've always hated me, but you've never tried to kill me, so in that way you're the lesser of two evils in my mind. So I'm here to turn Judas, to betray Buzz and Chuckie by letting you know where and when they plan to strike at you. They think it's going to be a surprise attack, but since you'll know about the surprise, you can set up a trap and turn the tables on them. I think even with your inferior numbers, you can still win if they don't see it coming."
"Why should I believe you?" demanded Falcone.
"Because you don't have a choice," retorted Joker. "You're desperate, just like Buzz and Chuckie were. And desperate men flail around for any lifeline when they're drowning. If I had been left alone to kill the Batman all those years ago, nobody would be drowning now."
"I hate to agree with you, but I do," growled Falcone.
"I thought you might!" chuckled Joker with a grin. "Which is why I'm going to make this deal even better for both of us! I'm not only going to set up Buzz and Chuckie – I'm going to set up the Batman. I have it on reliable authority that he's hunting for me, and I need him out of the way so I'm free to have my fun. And so you're free to keep making crime pay, and keep yourself in fine wine and cigars," he added, blowing out another cloud of smoke. "All I want in return is you leaving me alone while I engage in my little jokes and games."
"If those jokes and games involve the death of my men or interfering in my business, it's not a deal I can take," retorted Falcone.
Joker grinned. "My job is to bring a smile to the face of everyone in Gotham, criminal or not," he replied. "I suppose I can focus my attention on the innocent citizens of this town. The joke's all the same to me."
Falcone examined him, but there was nothing to indicate whether he was being serious or joking – that same, unnatural smile was on his face constantly, like a mask, so he had no way of reading his true intentions. But as he said, it wasn't like he had a choice.
Falcone nodded slowly. "Ok. What are Buzz and Chuckie planning?"
Joker exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You got a warehouse down by the dock with some live merchandise you're shipping out soon," he murmured. "Warehouse 5B. They're going to hit it tomorrow night – take out the guards and kill the merchandise. My understanding is it's quite a large haul this time – you'll be taking a huge financial hit, and a lotta heat from your colleagues who are expecting the merchandise to arrive in good condition. The warehouse is a nice place for a trap – self-contained and not a lotta entrances or exits. If I were you, I'd evacuate what's in there and then set up your own guys as the merchandise, except these ones will be armed and expecting an attack, so they can get the jump on them. That should take care of most of their guys, plus Buzz and Chuckie if you're lucky."
"I'll take care of them myself," growled Falcone. "What about Batman?"
Joker smiled. "You leave him to me," he murmured. "I'll be there, even if you can't see me. And so will he."
Falcone slowly nodded, and then reached for a decanter. "Well, shall we drink to our new partnership?" he asked.
"Not sure the correct term is a partnership," replied Joker. "Call it a temporary truce, like when we planned to kill the Bat all those years ago. It was a good idea of yours, Carmine. But thieves fall out, as you well know."
"Yes, I do," agreed Falcone, pouring him a glass of wine. "Criminals can be such a cowardly, superstitious lot. But I've always thought even the most irrational and unreasonable thug can be brought to heel if there's something in it for him."
"Usually," agreed Joker, taking his glass.
"People aren't so different," continued Falcone. "Good ones, bad ones, it doesn't matter. We all want money and power. Dangle those in front of a man, and he'll dance to your tune every time."
Joker said nothing, raising his glass to Falcone and then draining it. The perpetual smile never left his face.
"Well, I have other things to do tonight," Joker said, putting the glass down. "I'll see you tomorrow, Carmine. Unless the dance thing wasn't a metaphor and you actually wanna put on some music to set the mood…"
"Get out," snapped Falcone.
Joker shrugged, heading for the door and whistling as he did a few tap dance steps to music only he could hear. Once he was outside, he looked around carefully to make sure there were no prying eyes watching him, and then lifted the sewer grate next to Falcone's hideout and dropped down into it.
The sewer system ran all over Gotham, and it was an easy way for someone to get between locations without the risk of being seen by someone hunting from the sky, if one didn't mind getting a little dirty, of course. Joker continued to whistle and dance down the tunnels, kicking up water and sewage, until he stopped at last where the sewer system connected to the waterfront. He climbed up the ladder, opening the manhole cover and sneaking surreptitiously into the Pierrot Shipping Warehouse.
He continued to whistle inside, taking off his hat and coat. "You'd better hurry back here! I'm freezing with no heat!" called a familiar voice.
Joker grinned, chuckling as he headed into the bedroom to see Harley curled up in bed. She pulled aside the covers to reveal she was completely naked. "Know any way to get me warmed up, Mr. J?" she purred.
"Quite a few," he murmured, planting a kiss on her lips. Then he headed over to a record player in the corner and put on some old dance music before heading to the bathroom.
Harley scowled, reaching for a robe. "I wasn't joking about being freezing – ain't you coming to bed?"
"In a second, pooh," he said, turning on the sink as he stripped off his suit. He began splashing water on his face, saying, "I just need to get that sewer smell off me – can't be too filthy for my gal."
"Mmm, your gal likes you filthy," murmured Harley, joining him in the bathroom and leaning against his shoulder.
He turned, seizing her around the waist and raising her other hand as he began to dance with her. "This warming you up at all?" he asked as they continued to dance.
"A little, but it's not my preferred way of doing that," she replied with a grin.
"I'm just in the mood for dancing," he said.
"I'm in the mood for something else," she retorted, kissing him.
"Patience, my love," he whispered. "Good things come to those who wait."
Harley sighed, leaning against his chest as the dance grew slower and more intimate. "I need you to do something for me," he murmured in her ear.
"Anything, puddin', you know that," she whispered.
"Tell the cops that there's going to be an attack on Falcone's Warehouse 5B tomorrow night," he murmured. "Tell them that there will be hostages, so the cops need to stay away, but they need to send the Batman."
"And how will I know all this if you haven't told me?" asked Harley.
"I'm sending a letter to the papers tomorrow morning," he murmured. "It's gonna be in code, the kinda code that only a shrink who's familiar with my methods could crack. You're gonna crack it, and tell the cops."
"And then what?" she asked.
"And then it's showtime," he murmured with a smile.
"Showtime for Harley Quinn?" she asked, hopefully.
He kissed her. "Not yet," he murmured, pressing her down on the bed. "But soon, I promise, she's gonna make her debut."