by Marv Wolfman
“Got it,” Robin said, watching his partner intently. “And I’ve got an idea. Just hope it works.”
“Harley Quinn is still somewhere in this studio,” Robin said to Batman, and he pointed to the sensors. “I have an idea to rout her out. You okay with that?”
“Okay,” Batman nodded, barely listening. “I’m okay. A little tired, but okay. You’re Tim, right? Not Jason.
“Jason’s dead.”
Robin frowned, then made himself smile.
“You’re right. I am Tim. I’m Robin. Your only Robin now. So listen, you said you’re tired, right? So I think you should rest a few more minutes. While you do I’ll find Harley and I’ll lead her to you. You’re the trap we’re going to spring. Are you okay with that?”
* * *
Batman’s thoughts began to clear, and with that came realization.
Robin thought of him as a hindrance. But it was true—he was tired. Too tired to go after Harley Quinn and stop her. Whatever Tim was trying to do, he could use the time. And Tim’s approach made sense.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m good with that. Where should I wait?” As he spoke, Robin lifted a grating embedded in the floor, exposing an underground passageway.
“Right here,” he said. “You’ll be able to follow her wherever she runs and she won’t even know you’re there. So we’ve got a plan?”
“We do.” He moved to enter the tunnel, then stopped. “And, Robin…”
Tim Drake paused, looking uncertain.
“What is it, Batman?”
“Take care of yourself. You’re important to me. And I care deeply for you.”
Robin smiled. “You’re important to me, too, Batman. And right now, you’re the most important man in all of Gotham City. We’ll fix the city. You and I.
“See you in a few.”
33
Robin locked Johnny Charisma in one of the booths on soundstage 37.
“Hey!” Charisma shouted. “C’mon, kid. You know you wanna hear another song. I got a thousand of ’em, each better’n the one before.”
Robin left without responding.
He thought about his next move. Henry Adams had been viciously clubbed by Harley and was probably dead. That left two others—Al Rogers and Christina Bell. Robin hoped they could still be saved.
There was the mysterious final victim, whoever he or she might be. Batman had never revealed the identity of the person. Robin had never seen him, but if Harley had taken three prisoners, there was no telling how many still survived.
He found Rogers hiding in the theater wing. He must have watched the Johnny Charisma show from this box high above the stage. He tried to resist, but Robin calmly sprayed him with sleep gas. Rogers was a victim, not a criminal. Unless there was no alternative, Tim wasn’t going to hurt him.
He found Christina Bell hunkered in the Panessa commissary, sitting on the floor behind a counter, leaning against its massive triple-sized ovens. In its heyday this commissary had fed hundreds of employees, actors, and studio bosses. But those days were long gone. The gas line into the studio had been shut down more than a decade earlier, and now its ovens and refrigerators were little more than slabs of rusted metal.
When Robin found her, Christina was using a plastic knife she’d picked up from a counter and was busy trying to cut into her own wrist. He found slice marks up and down her arm, most of them bleeding, but fortunately she hadn’t yet penetrated a vein. To protect her, he tied her wrists together behind her back, then locked her in a cell down the hall from Rogers. He didn’t know if they could cure her from the Joker’s blood infection, but at least she wouldn’t be causing herself any more harm.
So now he just had to find Harley Quinn.
* * *
For many years Harleen Quinzel was a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum, considered by most to be the best on their staff. Extraordinarily empathetic, she strived to fully understand her troubled charges by imagining herself in their place. She spoke their language, and her patients very quickly came to trust her.
But she was then assigned to find a cure for the Joker’s madness, and her life changed forever.
His particular brand of insanity wormed into her mind, and then her heart. His love for violence became her own. She’d spent a lifetime trying to help those people who had been hurt, some time in their past. The Joker convinced her it was far more fun to hurt them even more.
Harleen Quinzel disappeared, and in her place there was Harley Quinn, a clown, a jester, a harlequin, and above all, a remorseless murderer. If her mentor was deemed irrevocably insane, she wasn’t all that far behind him.
* * *
Harley held onto the bloody baseball bat Batman had seen her use on Henry Adams, gripping it tightly with both hands when she heard Robin enter the studio’s power room. She knelt behind one of the massive generators that had been used by film productions so many years ago.
Everything went silent, which meant Robin was standing inside the doorway, probably trying to figure out where she was hiding. This way, boy, she wanted to say, but the Joker always told her it was best to hide in silence. Don’t give them any warning before you bludgeon them to death. Harley liked that word, “bludgeon.”
It sounded so messy.
She heard footsteps coming her way, and tightened her grip again. The stupid brat won’t know what hit him.
But then the footsteps stopped. She waited for them to start up again, but they didn’t.
What are you waiting for, boy? I got a bat, you got a head. It’s time they said hello to each other.
Silence.
What do I do? What do I do? He had to be only a few feet away. She could jump out and start smashing everything in sight, and if she was lucky she would take him out. Of course, it might also give him a chance to fight back, but a good bat to the face had a way of stopping most people. Certainly a brat like Robin.
Hell, Harley laughed silently. He isn’t even the first Robin. He’s, like, the third. How good could he possibly be?
Harley leaned out, but couldn’t see past the generator casing. If she leaned out any further he’d spot her. So she backed up again and waited—held the bat over her head, ready to bring it down hard if the brat saw her.
No movement.
No shadows.
Nothing.
This isn’t fair! She was beginning to sweat. You gotta be there. So let me kill you and get on with it. I mean, everyone gets to kill a Robin eventually. And today it’s my turn. She held her breath and waited some more. Maybe he left the room? Maybe he thought I wasn’t here. Maybe I’m hiding for no reason. My bad if that’s true.
Harley craned her neck but still didn’t see him.
He left. I’ve been hiding and he isn’t even here anymore. Gosh, I’m almost happy my Puddin’ is ashes. If he saw this he’d take the bat to me.
She was nervous and her hands shook, but she eased her way out from behind the generator, ready to spring and kill the kid fast as she could.
But he wasn’t there.
She stepped out of hiding, relieved, and lowered her hands—they were covered with sweat. She put down the bat and rubbed the sweat on her leggings.
Then she saw his shadow, on the ground covering her own, growing larger. He was above her and coming down fast. He’d crouched on the generator, waiting for her to move, and he jumped the moment she rested.
She grabbed the bat again and swung it without thinking. It hit Robin under the chin and sent him flying back. She thought about using it to smash in his face, just for frightening her, but if he regained his footing she’d be no match for him in hand-to-hand fighting.
So she ran.
* * *
Robin cursed himself and followed. He’d thought he had her, and allowed himself to get too cocky.
She ran through the kitchen, puffing loudly as she passed the front entryway, heading toward the soundstage. From there she’d find the door that led outside. Her car would be waiting, and she’d be gone. T
hey’d have lost her.
He followed her and hit the message key on his comm.
She’s headed your way
Robin prayed Batman not only got the text, but was ready to act.
* * *
Harley Quinn made it to the soundstage, and headed for the exit door that was on the other side, against the brick wall.
Crouched under the grating, Batman watched as she ran toward him, constantly checking behind her and looking very worried. Robin had to be close. When she was less than three feet away, he pushed up the steel grate and held it firm. Still checking behind her, she ran straight into it, and fell back in shock.
Robin came sprinting into the room, but by the time he reached them, Batman had tied her wrists behind her.
“It’s time to talk, Harley,” he said. Time had been to his benefit—he felt steadier, and was pleased to note that his voice reflected it.
“I got nothing to say to you, freako,” she spat back. “My lips are mum.”
“Have it your way,” he said. They marched her toward the cell room where Robin had put Charisma, Rogers, and Bell. Just outside the closed door they saw Henry Adams slumped in a chair, holding his chest, blood still seeping from it. A long smear of blood stretched across the tile floor, indicating where Adams had crawled.
They walked toward him, and his eyes flickered open.
“Thank God. Thank God. You found the psycho,” he said, his voice weak and shaking. Robin extended a hand and helped him to his feet.
“We’ll get you to a hospital,” he said. “You’re gonna be okay.” He turned to Harley. “You keep trying to kill people, but you keep failing. Maybe you should take up another line of work. Arkham Asylum could use a good librarian.”
“Kill him?” Harley tried to twist free. “Hey, he was one of my Puddin’s chosen. Why would I kill him? Hurt him, sure. But kill him?”
“Shut up, Harley,” Batman said. “We’re tired of listening to you jabber.”
Harley laughed. “Me shutting up, and you saving Gotham City, two things that’ll never happen, Bat-freak.”
“Robin, open the door to the cells, please,” he said. “But be prepared.” Robin opened the door, and gasped. Christina Bell, Johnny Charisma, and Al Rogers were sprawled on the floor, lying in pools of their own blood.
They weren’t moving.
Harley Quinn gasped. “Oh, no. No. No!”
Batman turned to her. “Interesting,” he said. “That was genuine. You didn’t know.”
“Know what?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
Batman calmly turned to Henry Adams. Robin was still helping him to stand.
“You killed them, didn’t you, Henry?”
Suddenly Adams grinned broadly, then snapped his fingers. Harley stared at him incredulously. Recognition dawned. She jerked free from Batman, and ran to his side.
“You recognize me, even in this bodybag, don’t you, Harley?” Adams said.
“Hey, I’d recognize that smell of homicide anywhere. But Honey-Puddin’, why’d you bash ’em? They’re your soldier boys. They’d do anything you wanted.”
Henry Adams’ face began to change. His smile widened. His lips seemed redder. His wide face appeared to contract and hug his skull tighter. His hair was starting to take on a bright green tint.
He was becoming the Joker, with all his twisted memories intact.
“Sometimes, Harley,” he said, laughing, “a man’s gotta kill what a man’s gotta kill.” He wiped the blood from his neck and chest, and used it to paint a full Joker smile on his face.
“Honey, I’m home,” he said, and he laughed loudly. Harley squealed in delight. Then he took out a gun and twirled it on his finger, like a movie cowboy. Abruptly he stopped, aimed it at Batman, then Robin, who tensed and looked as if he wanted to spring. “Don’t. I’ll be killing you soon enough. Like I killed that brat. That’s how I’m going to kill everyone in your life. You down with that, Bats?”
“Adams, you’re not the Joker,” Batman said. “You don’t have to be him.”
“Au contraire, Batman. The other guy led the way, but he was more interested in sparring with you than having fun. I’m gonna show him what a real lunatic can do.”
As he stared at Batman, he gestured his gun toward Robin.
“Go. Join your little friend over there. By the way, he’s wearing long pants now? Good move. Those itty-bitty green shorts were getting a bit long in the tooth, if you ask me.” He gestured again. “Now move.”
As he began to comply, Batman saw Christina Bell shaking. She wasn’t dead—not yet. So he turned to Adams and called to him, hoping to distract him. If she was alive, there might be a chance he could still protect her.
“Henry,” he said loudly, “you were infected with the Joker’s blood. It’s turning you into him. But it doesn’t have to. We can find a cure. We can make you you again.”
“Now why would I ever want to be that boring waste of flesh?” Adams said, still holding the gun on them. “Been there. Sooo done that. He was weak, so weak. But you know how it is in nature. No matter how many obstacles get put in the way, it’s the strongest who always survive.
“Hence me.”
He started to glance back at the cells, but Batman called to him again.
“The Joker was always after me. I’m your prisoner. Let them go. You have what you really want.”
“Oh, Batty, Batty Bats—that was so one body ago. You’re much too low on the food chain for the new, improved me. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right: The strong survive.” He circled Batman and stepped back toward the cells.
“Still, you know what they say about evolution?” He kneeled by Christina Bell and placed his gun to her head. “Even amoebas evolve.” Before anyone could move he pulled the trigger and her head exploded. “By the way, Bats. Good try. I saw that little twitch, too. This should teach her a lesson she won’t soon forget.”
34
Harley screamed in surprise.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
Adams grinned. “Purifying the gene pool.”
The Joker appeared beside Batman, once again wearing the wide-brimmed hat and his aloha shirt. He glared at Adams and smiled, then turned to Batman.
“I never truly realized how amazingly handsome I am,” he said, pointing at Adams. “Not until now. But did I hear him insult me? Obsessed with you, Bats? Me? Really?” He turned to Adams, who still held his gun at the ready.
“I am not obsessed with that flying rodent, you third-rate copy,” he said indignantly. He turned back to Batman and smiled. “Can you imagine my confusion here? I’ve always enjoyed sparring with you, but I must admit what he said bothers me. Gosh oh tooti. I don’t know which side to root for.”
Adams moved closer and put the gun to Batman’s forehead. His finger played with the trigger.
Robin tensed again, but Batman motioned him not to move. Frowning, Tim obeyed.
“Well, at least it’s been educational,” the Joker said. His eyes went back and forth. “Adams. Batman. Adams. Batman. Who to cheer? Who to mock?” He turned to Batman and laughed.
“I’ve changed my mind, Bats. I’ve seen the light.” He looked at Adams and shouted at him. “Kill him, pretty boy. Kill. Kill. Kill. Do it. Do it. Do it!”
Adams pressed his gun against Batman’s left temple. Then he saw Batman’s face begin to change, even as his had, and moved back a step. Batman’s lips curled into an involuntary grin. Then he began to laugh—but his laugh was louder than Henry’s, more obscene.
Adams lowered his gun. “Now that’s unexpected.” He turned to Harley with a look of surprise. “Did you see that coming?”
“Puddin’ pie, what’s going on here?” Harley reached out to Adams and took his hand in hers.
Adams grinned. “Don’t you get it? I’m not the alpha Joker. I mean, I knew Bell, Charisma, and Rogers certainly weren’t. At best they were stooges. So I thought, well, I’ve got to be the alpha, the one intended to take
over the family business.
“But I see I’m wrong. Very wrong. It should have been obvious. But, duh, my bad.” He studied Batman, who was still laughing without reason, then he stepped back and bowed to him. “You are going to be spectacular.” Turning, he gave Harley a kiss on her forehead. She beamed at him.
“Knowing you was the best thing about today, Harley,” Adams said. “But with the alpha in place, there’s certainly no need for a lowly omega.” Suddenly Harley tried to grab his hand, but she was too slow. He held the gun to his own head and fired.
His face exploded as the rest of him spun to the floor.
* * *
“No. No. No. Not again,” she cried. Harley was in tears and she fell beside him, cradling his dead body. Batman took her hand and smiled to her.
“I’m your Puddin’ now.”
She stared at him, trying to decide what to do. She wiped away her tears then smiled at him, and gave him a hug.
“You sure are, pretty boy,” she said, and she grinned mischievously, all else forgotten. “So tell me, exactly when can I take a peek at that incredible six-pack of yours? Skinny was real good to me, but you and those abs are really a turn-on.”
Batman returned her smile, pushed her into the last empty cell and locked the door behind her. “When hell freezes over,” he said.”
* * *
Robin stared at Batman, unable to hide his shock.
“Your eyes. You, you’re—”
“The last Joker? I know. I’ve known for a long time. But before I’m unable to control my instincts, I need to stop Scarecrow. Once I’m done, though, I swear I’m locking myself away. Or you’ll have to do it for me. Tim, I won’t let myself be a danger to anyone.”
“But what if you fail? You’ll be too dangerous. I won’t be able to stop you.”
“I’ve trained you to stop evil any way you have to. I expect nothing less when I’m the one being stopped.”
“No. No. No.” The Joker stood next to Batman. “Now that I’m finally you, I won’t let you put us behind bars.”