The Further Adventures of The Joker

by Martin H. Greenberg

  Commissioner Gordon threw up his hands in frustration. “The Joker!” he cried, and then he kicked some shards of broken glass across the room.

  The Batman had much to think about as he made his way through the cold March rain from the Seaside Coliseum to the Batmobile. The theft of the Corsican Condor was an audacious crime, the sort of thing in which the Joker had specialized in years past. Now, of course, the Clown of Crime had graduated from mere smash-and-grab antics to become the insane killer all Gotham City had come to dread.

  Perhaps a decade ago, the Corsican Condor would have been enough of a temptation for the Joker. No longer, though. Now his motivation was a single-minded determination to prove his cleverness and superiority over Batman, to humiliate his foe where all could see—and if one or ten or a hundred innocent victims died in the process, the Joker only shrugged and took no further notice.

  So the Batman felt sure that the disappearance of the Corsican Condor was only a small part of the Joker’s grand scheme, whatever it was. Wars had been started, tens of thousands of soldiers had perished in battle, and towns and cities reduced to rubble—all to gain possession of the legendary Corsican Condor, which the Joker may well have unceremoniously tossed into a corner. It was possible that the dazzling golden sculpture meant nothing to him now. It was merely a prop he no longer needed in his urgency to get on to the next part of his mad plan.

  The Batman stood staring back at the Seaside Coliseum, at the flashing blue lights of the police squad cars parked haphazardly around the main entrance. He rested his arm on the roof of the Batmobile and pondered his helplessness. The worst part was that he’d learned nothing at all tonight. He knew only that the Joker was introducing another of his crazy puzzles, and he would have the upper hand until he revealed enough clues for the Batman to figure out the Crime Clown’s theme. Until that time, the ball was very definitely in the Joker’s court—and the Batman hated having to wait on the Joker’s pleasure.

  “Thirty-four seconds left in the fourth quarter, the Knights up by a single point over the fiercely determined Lakers. The lead in this game has been seesawing back and forth since early in the first period, and neither team has been able to build a lead better than six points.”

  “It’s going to go right down to the wire. Chuck, a typical Knights—Lakers matchup. All right, Dogtrot Brown inbounds the ball for the Knights. He passes it to the Joker, who brings it up slowly, using as much of the clock as he can. He dishes it back to Brown, who throws it in to Foster. Back out to Brown, who puts it on the floor and thinks about trying the lane. No, he passes it across to the Joker. Now in to Turner—the game clock is down to fourteen seconds—back out to the Joker, who drives on Byron Scott, stops, goes up—the shot is good! The Knights increase their lead, one hundred and seven to one hundred and four. The Lakers immediately call a time-out. Down on the court, all the players are moving toward their respective benches except the Joker, who is still treating the crowd to that awful laughter of his. It’s enough to make your flesh crawl.”

  “Well, while we’ve got a minute, I just want to say that I think one of the high points of this game came in the middle of the third quarter, when the Joker stole that offensive rebound from Magic Johnson.”

  “You’re definitely right about that, Chuck. It was a smart play. The Joker definitely showed that he knew what he was doing out there. At six feet five inches, he’s giving away a good four inches to Johnson, but the Joker never tried to outmuscle Magic for the ball. Instead, he used the kind of instinctive positioning and timing that mark the superior NBA guard.”

  “He had Johnson completely blocked out of the play. When the ball hit the rim, the Joker slipped in front of him. Johnson would have had to climb the Joker’s back to get that rebound, and he would’ve been called for the foul. The Joker grabbed the ball, faked once, and put it in for the Knights’-go-ahead basket. That seemed to take the steam out of the Lakers at a time when they looked as if they might be taking over the game.”

  “The NBA commissioner’s office is still trying to find a way to rule the Joker ineligible to play, but the Joker’s attorneys have so far blocked every attempt. I have to say that, forgetting for the moment the Joker’s previous history, and judging solely by what he’s shown us down there on the hardwood, he’s certainly qualified to play with the big boys.”

  “Well, Tom, that pretty much sums it up, except that a lot of people—myself included—find it pretty hard to forget the Joker’s history, even for a moment.”

  “And now the referees are signaling to both benches. We’re down to six seconds remaining in the final period, with the Knights ahead one hundred and seven to one hundred and four. I wonder if the Lakers will hope to score a basket and draw the foul, or get the ball to Magic Johnson or Byron Scott at the three-point stripe.”

  “I’m sure that none of the Knights will get in the Lakers’ way if they want to put it in the paint, Tom. Two points won’t do the Lakers any good at all. All right. We’ve got Johnson, Scott, Worthy, Divac, and Thompson on the floor for Los Angeles, and the Joker, Foster, Parks, and Turner for the Knights, with Willie Watkins in for Dogtrot Brown.

  “Scott flips the ball in to Johnson, who fires it down to Divac. Over to Worthy, back out to Johnson—the clock is down to three—and over to Scott. Scott takes it up, lets go a rainbow shot, and the buzzer sounds! Scott’s jumper hits the back of the rim. No good! The Knights win!”

  “They win their second in a row under their new ownership, Chuck, and the Joker again made a major contribution to this victory. If it weren’t so near the end of the season, I’d say he’s playing like a candidate for rookie-of-the-year honors. Tonight he had nineteen points, ten assists, three steals, and pulled down eight rebounds, including that big one in the third quarter.”

  “I had my doubts about him at first, Tom, I have to admit that. Now I wonder where the Joker learned to handle a basketball this well. He must have played competitively as a younger man, in high school or college. I guess we won’t learn the answer to that until the Joker decides to reveal the truth. All right, we’ll be back with a recap of tonight’s game after these important messages.”

  Once again, after the game, the Joker was unavailable for comment or interviews. None of his teammates could even guess where he’d gone after they all went to the locker room.

  For the second night in a row, Commissioner Gordon and the Batman stood in one of the exhibit halls in the Seaside Coliseum. Tonight they were joined by Eileen Brant, the executive secretary to the director of the Coliseum. Once again, they had been called there because of a break-in, a murder, and the theft of a one-of-a-kind item. And once again, the prime suspect was the Joker.

  “Damn him!” growled Gordon. “I wish I could wipe that evil grin off his hideous face. I wish I could pay him back for the way he taunts me and the whole law enforcement profession.”

  “It’s a mistake to get so emotionally involved with these crimes,” said the Batman.

  “I suppose you’re right, Batman. We can’t afford to let our reasoning be affected by our personal reactions. But don’t you ever feel the same way? Doesn’t the Joker get under your skin, too?”

  The Batman turned his cowled head away for a moment. “More than you know, Jim,” he said in a flat voice. Then he shook his head as if to clear it, and returned his attention to the matter at hand. “Let’s go over what we know about tonight’s burglary.”

  Eileen Brant shrugged. She wore a peach-colored silk blouse and a severe blue suit. She seemed personally insulted by the crimes that had been committed in the Coliseum. “There are two functions sharing the facility this week,” she said. “The first is a traveling exhibit of Renaissance-era relics, of which the Corsican Condor was the main attraction. That show is using Exhibit Halls A through E. Exhibit Halls F through J are occupied by the Three Eyes, the International Illusionists Institute. They’re having their annual convention in Gotham City this year. On display here in Exhibit Hall G are historical
memorabilia of famous illusionists such as Blackstone and Houdini.”

  “The item that was stolen—Houdini’s Spanish Maiden—had no actual intrinsic value?” said Commissioner Gordon.

  “No, that’s the puzzling thing,” said Brant. “Houdini wrote up descriptions of a number of illusions and escapes that he did not live to build. In his papers were notes that indicated he wanted to display on stage several familiar torture devices from history. He planned to allow himself to be confined in them, and then make a spectacular escape from each one. The only two he described in detail were his plans for a rack and the Spanish Maiden.

  “The Maiden is a wooden box shaped roughly like a human figure, with spikes on the inside that would prevent his movement. The Maiden could be padlocked shut from the outside, but Houdini had thought up a brilliant way of disassembling the box’s hinges from the inside. The maiden would be hidden behind a screen, and the audience would never see him slip out through the hinged side and then reassemble the hinges. He never actually built a working model of it.”

  The Batman stooped to examine the place where the Spanish Maiden had stood. There was nothing there now but a shallow depression in the thick carpeting. “So the item on exhibit here—”

  “Was constructed by students and admirers of Houdini, who followed his notes. The Spanish Maiden didn’t even have much value to a collector, because it had no direct connection to Houdini at all. Anyone with a moderate amount of mechanical ability could have built a duplicate from Houdini’s diagrams.”

  The Caped Crusader stood up and looked around the exhibit hall at the other items on display—elaborate stage props made of wood and steel and glass, all carefully constructed to disguise the ingenious placement of mirrors, trap doors, and spring-loaded mechanisms. Some were objects that had great value to their owners and other specialized collectors; but the Spanish Maiden had not been made from rare, expensive materials and didn’t have any true historical worth. It was certainly not valuable enough to motivate the Joker to commit murder and risk capture.

  “I don’t understand why the Joker would bother with the Spanish Maiden,” said Commissioner Gordon. “There are other props here in this room that are worth much more. And he bypassed the other exhibits in the Renaissance show to get here.”

  The Batman spread his hands. “No use trying to apply logic to the Joker’s motives. I think it may be one of his puzzles, the kind of thing he used to do. He liked to tease us with hints suggested by the items he stole. If that’s what he’s doing now, perhaps we could get a clue to the next crime in this series. And there will be a next crime.”

  “We can be sure of it,” said the commissioner grimly. “C for Condor, S for Spanish Maiden? Does that mean anything to you? C for Corsican, H for Houdini? Is he spelling something out for us?”

  The Batman let out a deep breath. “It’s still too early to tell. Well, he’s broken into this building twice, and murdered two watchmen. Miss Brant, I suggest that you hire extra guards for the exhibits after hours. The Joker may be deranged enough to strike this same place again tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that, Batman,” said Brant. “Commissioner Gordon, may I expect some uniformed reinforcements from your department?”

  “Of course, I’ll see to that immediately. And, Batman, I suppose I don’t need to mention that the medical examiner determined that the night watchman who was killed here tonight died about nine o’clock?”

  “While the Joker was in full view, playing basketball at Gotham Garden.”

  Commissioner Gordon nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Well,” said the Batman in an ominous voice, “it’s been a long time since I’ve watched an NBA game in person. Maybe it’s time for me to see how the Knights are playing this season.”

  “Chuck, I’m down here at courtside with Robert Branford of Joculator, Inc. As the fans in the radio audience know, he’s the president and chief executive officer of the corporation that recently purchased the Gotham City Knights. Bob, thank you for agreeing to answer some questions before this afternoon’s game with the Chicago Bulls.”

  “It’s a pleasure to be here, Tom,” said Branford. “I think—”

  He was interrupted by the voice of the Gotham Garden’s announcer. “Here’s today’s starting lineup for the visiting Chicago Bulls.” There was a mild smattering of applause and a few catcalls. “At guard, number twenty-three, from the University of North Carolina, Michael ‘Air’ Jordan!” There was appreciative applause from the Knights’ fans, who were eager to see this NBA star in action.

  “We’re going to have to talk in-between these introductions, I guess, Bob. Now, do you have anything to say about the statement issued earlier today by the NBA commissioner’s office?”

  “At guard,” said the announcer, “number fourteen, from Long Beach State, Craig Hodges!”

  “Well,” said Branford, “I don’t know any more than you do. We were informed that the commissioner will hold a news conference on Tuesday, and he’s said that he will announce at that time his decision concerning the status of the Joker. Tuesday’s an off-day for us, so—”

  “At forward, number thirty-three, from Central Arkansas, Scottie Pippen!”

  “Let’s move along, then,” said the radio announcer. “Speculation has it that the commissioner will rule that the Joker does not meet the moral standards of the NBA.”

  “Let me address that issue, Tom,” said Branford. “The Joker has been accused of many things over the years, but he has not been found guilty in a court of law. The basketball commissioner is resorting to innuendo and—”

  “At forward, number fifty-four, from Clemson, Horace Grant!”

  “Bob, you may be technically correct about the Joker’s lack of convictions, but that’s only because he’s always been judged mentally unfit to stand trial. And if he’s avoided prosecution because of his mental instability, then isn’t the commissioner acting correctly in barring him from playing?”

  “And at center, number twenty-four, from San Francisco, Bill Cartwright!”

  “I think, Tom, that we’re getting into a gray area here. In any event, the Joker is perfectly willing to let the courts decide whether or not the commissioner has the right to make such a ruling. If the court sides with the NBA, then the Joker has said he will not appeal, but abide by the commissioner’s pronouncement.”

  “I think basketball fans everywhere will be glad to hear that, Bob. The last thing the sport needs is to have such a wrangle drag on through long, tedious, and expensive legal proceedings. Now what about—”

  The Gotham Garden announcer took a deep breath and cried, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, your Gotham City Knights!”

  Neither the radio announcer nor Robert Branford tried to speak while the Knights were introduced and the hometown fans shouted their approval. Finally, when the Gotham City team had returned to its bench and there were a few moments before the opening tip-off, there was time for one last question.

  “Bob,” said the radio announcer, “how do you feel about so many of Gotham City’s concerned citizens picketing the Garden, protesting the fact that the Joker is playing for the Knights? How about the fact that almost twenty-five percent of the Knights’ season-ticket holders have returned their tickets for the remainder of the season and demanded refunds? And despite the fact that the Joker’s been playing remarkably well, virtually no one in the crowd is on his side. The Joker seems to be so universally hated that these fans wouldn’t cheer for him if he scored a hundred points a game.”

  “Well,” said Branford uncomfortably, “as to that—”

  “Excuse me, Bob,” the radio announcer interrupted, “let’s join now with Gotham Garden organist Millie Vollenweider in singing our national anthem.”

  Later, the statements of all the witnesses to the third crime were collected and compared. Oddly, though, the more one tried to sort out the robbery, the more it became an enigma. It was difficult to understand, not because it was elaborate and complicated,
but for precisely the opposite reason—whoever had stolen the book had been quick, clever, and had attracted very little attention.

  This was how Commissioner Gordon’s detectives put together the facts: Shortly before half past two in the afternoon, almost exactly on schedule, a 747 jumbo jet landed at Gotham City International Airport. The flight had originated in Amman, the capital city of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, and the plane bore the markings of ALIA, the official airline of that country. It carried only a skeleton flight crew and two passengers.

  Those two passengers were escorting the plane’s single, small item of cargo—an eight-hundred-year-old copy of the Qur’an, the holy book of the Muslim religion. The classical Arabic text of the book had been copied by one or more skilled calligraphers, but the pages were now much too fragile to be read. The original binding had long since been replaced with covers of pure gold worked in exquisite detail and decorated with perfectly cut precious gems.

  The materials of the book’s binding could have been sold for a few thousand dollars. What made this particular copy of the holy Qur’an priceless, however, was its history. It had once belonged to the sister of Yüsuf ibn-Ayyüb Salah ad-Din, or Saladin, as he is known to Western scholars.

  In 1174 A.D. Saladin rallied other warriors from all over the Muslim world to join him in a jihad, or holy war, to throw the invading Crusaders out of the Near East in general and Jerusalem in particular. The French king of Jerusalem decided that this was an appropriate time to make a peace treaty with Saladin, thus neutralizing the overwhelming numbers of Muslim warriors. Under the terms of the truce, Christian pilgrims were given unhindered access to the holy sites in Jerusalem, and Muslim pilgrims were allowed free passage to Mecca.

  All of this would have led to an era of peace and mutual tolerance, except that one of the French military leaders was a greedy old man named Reynald de Châtillon. In 1181 he broke the truce by plundering a caravan on its way to the holy city of Mecca. One of the pilgrims in that caravan just happened to be Saladin’s own sister. Reynald’s deceitful and ill-timed act required some response from the Muslims, and Saladin began attacking Christian strongholds throughout the region.