The Further Adventures of The Joker

by Martin H. Greenberg

  The butler remained mum as the Joker removed his hand and wiped off the dart he’d palmed. A rictus of ghastly mirth spread across the man’s face and froze.

  “Boss!” Franny scowled. “I thought we weren’t going to kill anybody on this trip.”

  “I can’t stand a critic,” the Joker said. Gently, he set the corpse in place as a doorstop. “But come along, Franny. Don’t dawdle. You know the drill by now. Put the present down by the tree. And yes, you may sample some of these treats. But be quick.”

  The Joker scooped up a salmon-colored canapé and took a bite. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” Pulling a plastic bag out of his voluminous pocket, he began shoveling caviar-studded crackers and cheese bits into it. “Never know when you’ll get hungry . . .”

  “What are you doing?” a high-pitched young male voice demanded.

  The Joker turned.

  The voice belonged to a bespectacled boy of nine or ten. He had short, spiky brown hair and was wearing a faded black denim jacket with matching jeans. A small gold hoop pierced his left earlobe. He held a laptop computer dangling by its lid. “I asked you a question.”

  The Joker’s smile broadened. “Go away, sonny, before you get hurt.”

  Franny came up behind the boy in the hallway. “You’d better listen to him,” she said. “He doesn’t like little kids. Get lost.”

  The boy lifted his nose higher and looked at them both with contempt. “You’re the Joker, aren’t you? Well, I’m Benjamin Gregson. The mayor’s my uncle. And Batman’s after you already. I saw it on the news. You’d better get out of here or—”

  “Or what?” The Joker’s eyes twinkled murderously.

  The boy faltered. Plainly, he was accustomed to adult attention and cooperation. “I-I’ll call the police.”

  Still smiling, the Joker ripped the phone off the wall and tossed it to the floor with a clatter. “I doubt it,” he said.

  Benjamin Gregson watched him, pop-eyed. “You really are crazy, just like they said.”

  “They were right. They always are.”

  The boy backed away smack up against the dead butler. “Carlton! What happened to Carlton?”

  “He’s frozen with merriment of the season,” the Joker said. He moved a step closer to the boy.

  Benjamin scurried to the far side of the kitchen. A forced smile appeared on his face. “I’ll bet you want to steal stuff, right? We’ve got lots of stuff here for you to steal.”

  The Joker watched him the way a cat watches a mouse. “Such as?”

  “My uncle’s got a new Rolex watch,” the boy said eagerly. “It’s under the tree in the red box. My aunt bought it for him for Christmas.”

  “Too gaudy. Besides, I already have five.”

  “There’s the stereo: Blaupunkt—”

  “Too bulky.” The Joker took another step forward.

  A fleeting look of fear crossed the child’s face. “Um, well, what about my Nintendo?”

  “I prefer American goods, whenever possible,” the Joker said. “Last chance.”

  “My mom’s fur coat?”

  The Joker paused. “What color is it?”

  “Russet mink.”

  “A shame.” The Joker grinned with murderous glee. “I favor green. Oh well, I see our time’s up.” He grabbed for the child, clamping a hand on his windpipe and shaking him like a puppet.

  “Boss, no!”

  “Shut up, Franny. I’m not going to kill him. I’m just going to kidnap him. In case the Bat Bore gets too close. A hostage is always handy.” Even as he spoke, the sound of footsteps on the roof betrayed the presence of another visitor. “There he is now, no doubt,” the Joker said. “He’ll probably try to come down the chimney. No imagination, that man. We’ll just slip away . . .”

  “Not so fast, Joker.” The Batman’s voice was transmitted from above by some electronic device. “I’ve been monitoring the house for five minutes. The police are on their way.”

  “Swell,” the Joker replied. “They’ll get here just in time for the blast.”

  “You’ve planted another bomb?”

  “Bravo, Mr. Ears.” He shifted his hold on Benjamin to a hammerlock and applauded noisily. “You find it, you dismantle it, you own it. And the mayor’s house—not to mention those of his neighbors—are saved. Otherwise, boom. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  “You despicable maniac. Let go of the boy.”

  “Oh, that’s out of the question. I’ve taken a real liking to young Master Gregson here.” The Joker patted the child on the head benignly. “Maybe I’ll return him in time for next Christmas.”

  “Joker—”

  “You’re forgetting that bomb, Batman. You’ve got five minutes.”

  Blowing a kiss upwards, the Joker scurried out the backdoor, Benjamin Gregson in tow, and Franny right behind.

  “Oh, it’s even better than I’d dreamed,” he chortled. “Get in the backseat, kid, if you want to continue breathing.”

  The Joker hopped into the passenger seat up front. “Franny, let’s head for City Hall.”

  “That’s not on the list,” she said.

  “I’m feeling magnanimous—what can I say? It’s Christmas.” He flashed her a harsh green look. “Do it, or I’ll let young Benjamin here drive, and you can ride outside.”

  “No thanks.”

  “I’d like to drive it,” Benjamin piped up. “Can I drive it? Please? Can I?”

  “Shut up, kid,” the Joker snapped.

  “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

  “Forget it.”

  “But I’ve got to go to the bathroom!”

  Franny rolled her eyes at the Joker. “You were the one who wanted to bring him along.”

  The Joker glared at the boy. “Look, young man, we’re halfway to City Hall. They’ve got bathrooms there.”

  “But you’re going to blow it up.”

  “Yes, of course. But we’ll let you use the little boy’s room first. In the meantime, distract yourself. Play with your computer.”

  Benjamin smiled. “Okay. I’ve got a list, just like Santa.”

  “That’s nice. Now be quiet.”

  “It’s also a list just like my uncle’s.”

  “I thought I told you . . . what did you say?” The Joker twisted around in his seat and stared.

  “I’ve got my uncle’s personnel files and database for the Gotham 500. I stole it the last time I visited him in his office.”

  “On that little machine?” The Joker shook his head in disbelief. “The bluebloods of Gotham? The City Hall files? Might I have a tiny peek?”

  “I dunno.” Benjamin leaned back, sullen. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No, of course not. Unless you’d like me to.”

  The boy nodded as though digesting the information. “Okay then,” he said, much of his old confidence renewed. “I’ll let you look. But it’ll cost ya.”

  “Oh, this boy has a bright future. Maybe even in crime,” the Joker chortled proudly. “A baby extortionist. How diverting. Very well, young man, how much?”

  “You’ve got to let me drive the sleigh.”

  Franny turned and glowered at the boy. “I thought you had to go to the bathroom.”

  “Nah, that was just an escape ploy.”

  “Kid, you’ve been watching too many old movies.” The Joker chuckled. “Well, it’s Christmas. Why not?”

  “Boss, I don’t like it,” Franny said. “He’s a nasty little kid. I don’t trust him.”

  “Silence. He is precisely the kind of child who plucks at my heartstrings. Come forward, Benjamin. Franny, get in back. We’ll let Ben here drive for a while.” He held out a long green arm, reaching for the portable computer. “As long as he shows me those files.”

  “I dunno.” Benjamin yanked the computer behind his back. “I’ve got my own list. Let’s go see what Sarah Hartley’s doing first. Peek in her windows.”

  “Aren’t you a little young for that?” Franny said with disdain.

>   “Hahaha. He’s a menace,” the Joker said. He laughed wildly. “You must drive your uncle crazy.”

  “Yeah,” Benjamin said. A sheepish grin lit his face. “Whenever I’m around, he locks himself in his den.”

  “I’m not surprised. All right, Benjamin. First a peek in Sarah Hartley’s windows. Would you like to leave her a bomb?”

  Benjamin’s face lit up with youthful malice. “Can I?”

  “If you give me that computer file.”

  Franny snorted in disgust. “You deserve each other. And Boss, we don’t have that many bombs left . . .”

  “And if you’re not careful, you’ll be walking home,” the Joker said. “Now get in back.”

  Pouting, Franny changed seats with the boy. She fastened her green seatbelt tightly and closed her eyes.

  “All right!” Benjamin said gleefully. “This is even better than my mom’s BMW.”

  “You mother lets you drive her car?” Franny said.

  “No. I just wait until she’s asleep and then I take it out around the block. I even had a spare set of her keys made.”

  “Fascinating, I’m sure,” the Joker said. “Now push this button to program our path. This is north, this is south. There’s a map over here. And if you don’t mind, while you’re driving I’ll just do a little light reading.” He grabbed up the laptop and began scrolling through its contents. “Hmmm. Very interesting. I had no idea the mayor had employed all your cousins.”

  “That’s nothing,” replied Benjamin. He pushed buttons at random. “He’s got his girlfriend on the payroll also. But my aunt doesn’t know about her.”

  “A man of tradition,” the Joker said, nodding sagely. He opened his mouth to say more, but the sleigh dipped suddenly and began a steep dive toward the Gotham Central Post Office.

  “Dammit, pull her up,” the Joker said.

  Benjamin pushed another button. The sleigh raised its nose and climbed sharply through the snow-laden clouds.

  “Not that high—we’re not pressurized.”

  “Boss, I’m getting carsick,” Franny whined. “It’s cold.”

  The sleigh tipped down again and began a series of roller-coaster loops.

  “Wheee!” Benjamin shouted. “This is great.”

  “Get in back before you kill us,” the Joker snarled.

  “I don’t wanna—”

  “Get in back if you want to live to see eleven.”

  Eyes huge with fright, Benajmin abandoned the controls and dived onto Franny’s lap.

  “Oomph. Dammit, get off of me kid—Boss, he’s feeling me up!” Franny slapped at his hands. “Stop it, you little creep. Oooh, Boss!”

  “I’m busy, Franny. You have my permission to kill him if you’d like.” The Joker punched in the autopilot, watching anxiously until the sleigh had resumed a smoother flight path skimming just over the rooftops of Gotham City. “Now then, young man . . .”

  A blinding searchlight lit the interior of the sleigh with yellow glare.

  “LAND OR BE BLASTED DOWN.”

  “The Bat Boob,” the Joker said. He sighed. “In one of his ridiculous rubberband-propelled fliers, no doubt.”

  “Batman? Really?” Benjamin’s voice was high with wonder. “Can I see him? Can I?”

  “I’ll do more than let you see him,” the Joker said. “I’ll let you meet him.” He pushed a large blue button and the floor beneath the backseat shuddered.

  “Boss!” Franny scrabbled out from under the boy and into the front seat.

  “This is evil, young man.” The Joker grinned maliciously. “Not just posturing and being a punk and wearing lousy clothing or even stealing computer files from your uncle. Here, I’ll give you a first-hand demonstration.” He pressed another button and the boy disappeared, seat and all, as a trapdoor sent him plunging down through the wintry air.

  “Eyaaaaah . . .” said young Benjamin at the top of his lungs.

  Franny watched him vanish into the cloud cover. “That little punk,” she said with satisfaction. “I hope Batman doesn’t catch him.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will,” the Joker said. “He’s especially good at rescuing falling children and kittens from trees. But while he’s preoccupied, we’ll just change course and head for Mrs. Brinford’s estate on the upper Gotham River.”

  The sleigh cut smartly through the growing fog. Sodium headlamps cast twin beams of green light into the murk ahead. It landed, with a bump, on the roof of the five-story postmodern Brinford villa. Below, the river flowed sluggishly, a dark gray ribbon dotted here and there by chunks of light gray ice.

  “How do we get in?” Franny asked.

  “Through the penthouse door, of course.” The Joker climbed out of the sleigh and strode up to the glass-brick entrance. He rapped assertively. There was no answer. “Oh, well. Guess we’ll just have to break in.” He slapped a small piece of plastic explosive over the door lock and stepped back.

  “Five, four . . .”

  Franny gasped and ran for the back of the sleigh.

  “Three, two . . .”

  BOOM!

  All that remained of the door was a few shards of wood hanging from the hinges.

  “That explosive is two seconds too quick,” the Joker said. He tapped his watch. “Remind me to reprimand Alfonso when we get back.”

  Franny peered out from behind a roof pipe. “Right.”

  “And just don’t stand there. Get the gift—the one with the green arrows on the paper.” The Joker sauntered into the penthouse.

  A cowled and caped figure, midnight blue, stood waiting. Bat ears cast pointed shadows on the white wall behind him.

  “There he is. I told you he’d come here,” a familiar voice said.

  Benjamin Gregson stood next to Batman, clutching the hem of his cape.

  “I told you we should have killed that little creep,” Franny wailed. She turned to flee, but a strong hand in a dark blue glove stopped her.

  “I’ll take that package.”

  “Oh, please, do,” the Joker said. “I’ve been expecting this all night. How could you imagine I’d leave you off my gift list?”

  The box ticked ominously.

  “How long before this detonates?” the Batman demanded.

  “Oh, that would be telling,” the Joker said. He giggled madly. “But if I were you, I’d be more concerned about getting rid of that thing and keeping this fine young lad out of harm’s way. We’d so hate to see anything ill befall him, wouldn’t we, Franny?”

  “Where’s my laptop, Joker?” Benjamin cried. “You stole my laptop!”

  “I’ll give you your laptop, kid. And something else besides!” The Joker pulled the computer from his pocket along with a small, soft paper-bag, and tossed both at the boy.

  The bag burst open upon impact, releasing a cloud of green gas. The boy sank to his knees, laughing madly. Behind him, Batman recoiled, wincing at the effect of the gas.

  The Joker nodded, pleased. “I figured he’d be wearing some kind of filtering device so I gave the gas an extra punch.”

  “Boss, let’s go,” Franny whispered. “Before the gas gets us, too.”

  “Yes, of course, you’re right. There’s just no time to savor one’s handiwork, is there?” He pushed her into the sleigh ahead of him.

  “Where to?”

  “Home, I think.” He settled into his seat and with one quick move ripped off his false whiskers.

  The sleigh rose smoothly into the dark sky, unpursued.

  “That was a short run,” Franny said.

  “All good things must end.” The Joker chuckled. He rubbed his chin, removing the last bits of the spirit gum he’d used to glue on the beard. “What a surprise for old Bats when he finds out that bomb is a dud.”

  “A dud?” Franny stared at the Joker in surprise. Was he getting soft in his old age?

  “Oh, yes. It’s the last thing he’ll be expecting. It’s packed with green talcum powder and a computer chip Christmas card that plays Silent Night backwar
ds. Hahaha. It’ll drive him crazy.”

  “But I thought—”

  The Joker’s look rebuked her. “Franny. After all, it is Christmas.”

  She nodded. Even the Joker got into the holiday spirit. Wait until she told Alfonso.

  A loud ticking intruded upon her thoughts.

  She whirled in her seat to see a small puce package sitting on the floor behind them.

  “Boss, there’s one gift left!”

  “Eh? But that’s impossible. I dumped the rest with that kid.”

  The Joker turned, glanced at the gift, and started cackling.

  “Shouldn’t we get rid of it?” Franny squealed. “What’s so funny?”

  “Hahaha. Maybe I didn’t give the dud to Batman after all. And the joke’s on me. Hahaha.” The Joker clutched his stomach, howling with mirth, his knees drawn up to his chest.

  Behind them, the ominous ticking stopped. Dead silence filled the cabin.

  The Joker caught Franny’s eye and he winked merrily.

  “Then again,” he said, “I could be wrong.”

  On the Wire

  Andrew Heifer

  In his dream, he could hear his beautiful wife humming to herself as she worked in the kitchen. Through his window, he could see his two children playing in the backyard. As he lounged in his Lay-Z-Boy easy chair reading the afternoon paper, a handsome Labrador retriever slept quietly at his feet.

  The late afternoon sun shone through the window, bathing him and his surroundings in its golden warmth. He looked up from the paper a moment, his eyes scanning across the wood-paneled walls of the den. He sighed with satisfaction. This was his kingdom. His domain. Life was good. He was happy.

  The soothing tones of his wife’s voice wafted in from the kitchen, barely outdistancing the tantalizing scent of meat loaf. “Supper’s ready, dear,” she sang, and in response, he rose from the chair’s plush embrace to join the rest of his family in the dining room.

  As he walked through the foyer connecting the two rooms he passed by a mirror hanging on the wall. Absently, he glanced at his reflection—and stopped. Something was wrong. Moving closer, he studied the face in the mirror—a face that could only belong to him. Brilliant blue eyes. An aquiline nose. A head of thick blond hair, sweeping back over his forehead. A hard, square jaw; thin masculine lips, a tan; healthy complexion . . .