Warehouse 5B looked dark and deserted as Batman scanned it from a safe distance. The infrared on his cowl showed that it wasn't, however – there were numerous people inside. Human trafficking victims of Falcone's, thought Batman with a frown. Maybe these were the hostages Joker's letter had mentioned – as if they hadn't suffered enough.
Batman swung nearer the warehouse, and was surprised to see a gang of men approaching it. One of the men held a walkie talkie up to his mouth.
"Boss, we're here," he muttered.
"Go in," said a voice on the other end. "Kill everyone inside."
"No problem, boss," said the man, lowering the walkie talkie and raising his gun. He nodded at the men surrounding him, and they kicked open the warehouse doors. There was immediate firing and screaming, but Batman was surprised to hear it coming from both sides – the people who he thought were human trafficking victims now opened fire on the men entering the warehouse. Batman assumed that Falcone had got wind of the attack somehow and had set up a trap.
It was complete pandemonium inside the warehouse, and it was hard to see anything in the smoke and chaos, even with Batman's infrared vision. He grappled inside, blending with the shadows and trying to avoid being hit with stray gunfire. He wondered if this was why the Joker had lured him here, hoping that he would accidentally be shot and out of his hair. That note he had sent to the papers had been bothering him all day, particularly since he wasn't the one who figured out what it actually meant. He had stopped by the police station earlier in the evening to let them know he was still working on deciphering it, when Detective Montoya had told him a doctor at Arkham who had been studying the Joker's methods had figured it out. And the solution did make sense, but Batman was unnerved that someone seemed to understand the Joker better than he did. He was also unnerved at being drawn out like this – the Joker had never directly called him out before. It could only mean trouble.
And while Batman deplored loss of life, there was nothing he could do to stop the gangsters from shooting at each other – there was nothing any one man could do to stop a war in the midst of it. Maybe that was the Joker's plan, he thought – to lure him here and make him watch the carnage knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. Maybe that was some bizarre joke for him, knowing the value Batman placed on the sanctity of life, even life that was criminal and corrupted.
"Boss, Falcone knew about the attack and set us up – what do we do?" demanded one of the henchmen, holding up the walkie talkie again. There was no response. "Boss?" he shouted. "What do we do…"
His question was abruptly cut off as a bullet sliced through his skull. He fell to the ground, dropping the walkie talkie, and Batman jumped down, seizing it from where it had fallen. He grappled back up to the rafters of the warehouse, opening the device and inserting one of his own, which could detect the frequency on which it was transmitting. The only way he could see of stopping this attack right now and saving lives was having the leader of the attack call it off, and to do that, he'd have to find him and persuade him.
The frequency of the radio waves from the walkie talkie led to a building not far from the warehouse – out of danger, but still with a clear view of the attack. Batman's infrared sensor revealed that there were four people inside the building, and he primed his Batarang to take down four weapons as he smashed through the roof into the room below.
"Ah, here you are at last!" exclaimed a voice. "Took your sweet time, I must say – we were expecting you at least fifteen minutes earlier."
Batman stared in horror at the scene in front of him – the man who had spoken was dressed in a purple suit, and had a bone white face, bright green hair, and grinning red lips which were turned up in a gleeful smile. He stood in the center of the room, surrounded by three chairs in which were tied the remaining gang leaders of Gotham City. Batman's infrared had shown heat signatures, indicating that they were still alive, but only just.
Buzz Bronski was surrounded by a pool of blood, which was coming from a gunshot wound in his stomach – he had clearly been bleeding out for several agonizing minutes, and was near the point of death. Chuckie Sol was also bleeding heavily from his mouth, onto which had been cut a wide, horrible smile. And Carmine Falcone tried to speak, but could only make a strangled noise as blood poured from his lips.
"I'm afraid poor Carmine has lost his sense of taste, along with his ability to taste, since I cut out his tongue!" chuckled the man in purple. "I'll have to enjoy his fine Cuban cigars for him," he added, reaching into Falcone's breast pocket and removing two cigars. He put one to his lips and lit it, and then held the other one out to Batman. "Want one, Batsy?" he asked. "I don't think he dripped too much blood onto it, so it should still be good. And I can't think of a finer way to toast our friendship, and finally meeting face to face like this."
Batman said nothing, still trying to process the scene in front of him. "Not a smoker, huh?" asked the man in purple with a grin. "Well, that's all right – it's not the healthiest habit, and you'll probably live longer, unlike Carmine here. I think we have some of his fine wine here though, if that's more to your taste," he added, heading over to a decanter set up on a table. "Now don't tell me you're not a drinker either, because then I really will have to wonder about you, Bats!" he sighed, pouring two glasses of wine. "But then I guess a guy who dresses like you can't be expected to have too much taste."
Batman hurried over to examine the gangsters, reaching into his utility belt for some first aid supplies and attempting to staunch the flow of blood. Joker watched him with a grin on his face, casually sipping from his wine glass and puffing out the cigar.
"As I said, you were fifteen minutes late, so if they die, it's all on you," chuckled Joker. "Mind you, I don't think it's a great loss, and I doubt you do either, secretly. I know you like to pretend that all lives have value, but you must know they really don't. Especially not these guys, who live only to make life worse for everyone else. But now they're not gonna hurt anyone anymore. No need to thank me for stopping organized crime in Gotham – I'm always willing to help a pal out!"
Batman turned to see him holding out a wine glass to him. "I assume you're the Joker," he growled. "Why did you want me to come here?"
"Why, to see the end of your struggle, of course!" chuckled Joker. "The end of your whole crusade! Hasn't that been your goal all along, to get rid of crime?"
"By sending criminals to jail, not murdering them," muttered Batman. "I don't believe in killing."
"Strange thing not to believe in, when it's a fact of life," retorted Joker, taking another sip from his wine glass. "Not like Santa Claus or something. Not that I believe in sanity clauses!" he laughed.
Batman raised his gauntlet to his mouth. "Jim, we need ambulances over here immediately."
"Don't know why you'd bother," sighed Joker, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "These guys really aren't worth going through all this effort to save. They outlived whatever usefulness they had a long time ago. This town needs a new kind of criminal, someone to shake up the game so it doesn't get boring, and so you don't get bored."
"And you think you're that new kind of criminal?" asked Batman. "You realize you're trapped in here with me. There's nowhere for you to run."
"Silly Bat," chuckled Joker, smiling through the cigar smoke. "I don't want to run. I've been waiting for you to turn myself in."
"What?" asked Batman, confused.
"I want you to take me in," repeated Joker, putting down the glass and holding out his wrists to him. "I wanted you to see what I did for you, and I figure it's worth going to prison for that. It's where I belong, after all. You need to lock me up before I hurt anyone else."
The Joker continued to smile gleefully, as if he was thinking about a joke only he understood. Batman reached for the Batcuffs and clamped them over his wrists, expecting some sort of punchline, but it didn't come. The Joker remained standing there, docile and calm and watching with his perpetual smile while Batman tried to patch the gangsters up as best he could until the ambulance arrived. Joker didn't attempt to escape, and cooperated as he was hauled into the police van. Batman studied him until the door shut and the van drove off. He didn't feel relief – if anything, he felt even more anxious than he had been earlier.
"So that's the Joker," commented Commissioner Gordon, coming over to him. "He looks as weird as he acts, I'll say that for him."
"At least he's behind bars now," muttered Batman. He sighed heavily. "What's the prognosis on the gangsters?" he asked, turning to him.
"Most of the guys in the warehouse are dead – the few who survived are getting medical attention," said Gordon. "It's not looking good for Bronski, Sol, or Falcone – they lost a lotta blood. Can't say I'll shed too many tears for them, though."
"No," agreed Batman. "But it doesn't make a lot of sense to me. If the Joker wanted to kill them, why not just do that and leave? Why wait around for me to find him, and why set all this up to lure me here? Why didn't he run?"
"I don't think a guy who looks like that is going to make a lotta sense," retorted Gordon. "But that's the shrinks' job to figure out, not ours. Once he's processed at the station, he's going straight to Arkham. The sooner they can get started on him, the better."
"Yes," agreed Batman. "He clearly needs a lot of psychological help. Maybe he doesn't know why he does these things, but hopefully someone there can help him. Maybe that doctor who figured out the note he sent – what was her name?"
"Uh…hang on, I have it here," said Gordon, flipping through his notepad. "Dr. Harleen Quinzel," he read. "But I imagine it'll be up to Dr. Leland to assign someone to the Joker's case. I can't say it's something I would look forward to, but maybe they like a challenge there."
Batman nodded. "I'll keep an eye on him," he muttered. "There's just something wrong about all this. I feel it in my gut."