Fanfic: The Batman Who Laughs (4)

Chapter 4

Poison

He didn’t know who he was. But he liked jokes. And the violence. So this was where Penguin was hiding. He looked down at the building labelled The Lonely Mermaid, the night club owned by Fish Mooney. Penguin had the city under his control, or so he had heard from some lowly street basher. He counted six men around the club, and with the X-Ray vision he asserted four more inside. Penguin was seated at the table enjoying the dancers while smoking from his pipe.

He sent two Batarangs flying at the guards at the back of the club. Both of them dropped from the heavily poisoned blades. He then smoothly glided down, casting a long shadow over the horizon and landed by the dead hunch men. He clipped open his guns from inside his closed robe and open fired at the four left on the other side. They dropped dead, one after another. The shouting began. People on the streets started panicking and ran for their lives. He left the gun on the road. Penguin deserved a more personal touch. When he entered, as expected, the remaining four lunged at him. The chains worked their magic now. He moved such that four steel chains rolled out of his robes and caught each one of the remaining guards by the throat. He twisted his fingers and pulled and all four of them dropped their guns, clutching their throats. Penguin was shouting at his men to take control while the girls emptied out, screaming. He pulled on the chains harder and heard their necks snap as each of them fell, lifeless, to the ground. He unclenched his fists, allowing the chains to flow back into him, inside his robes.

Penguin was cowering against the wall, unable to move. He could taste the fear coming from a long way off. They always feared what they didn’t understand.

“But … but … I … I … kil’ed  … ya … , ” said Penguin, now positively shaking. “Ya … drown’d …”

“Don’t be delusional. Pathetic Cobblepot killed the Batman? Now who would believe that? Is that how you’ve been running the town? Telling everyone how you killed the Batman .. Hehe … I suppose you always were the smooth talker,” he said.

He walked over to Penguin, and crouched down, running his long nails over the cowering pillock’s face. Thin, red slashes appeared as he carefully worked to get it just right. He then stood up.

“Where’s the Riddler?” he growled, lifting Cobblepot by his neck so that their faces were inches apart.

Penguin struggled, unable to breathe. He watched as the fat man turned blue from the lack of air supply.

“Let’s try this one more time, shall we? Where is Nygma?,” he said, smiling.

“I … don’t … I … da … ,”

He was losing patience, with his other hand he reached out and cracked the bird’s ribs. Cobblepot cried out in pain, almost wailing.

“Hmmm?,” he said, pulling the Penguin closer to his left ear and tilting his head slightly. He loosened his grip so the words could come out.

“Don’ know w’ere … I can c’ll him now … ”

He threw Penguin at the table set by the door, then picked up one of his men’s phones and threw it at him. Without waiting to see what his quarry was doing, he picked up the slice of Pizza left untouched on the table near him and began eating it.

Penguin was dialling for the Riddler. He was still shaking, and sweating profusely. After a while, Penguin held up the phone, putting it on speaker.

“If you’re searching for me, I am nowhere you see … Unsee what you’ve seen, to get back to me … If you’re searching for me, I am nowhere you see … Unsee what you’ve seen, to get back to me …”

The loop continued. The Dark Knight growled. Another one of Riddler’s puzzles.

“You are not useful after all … ,” he muttered, more to himself than to Penguin.

“For the record, you were nothing more than a pathetic tool all your life, Cobblepot,” he said, slashing the man’s throat with his nails and ripping the face along the lines he had left before with his nails, and walked out.

The cop cars had arrived and the complete street was surrounded when he emerged from the dingy bar. He walked slowly, at a leisurely pace. The fun was about to start. The floodlight from the copter was focussed on him, as every cop in the vicinity aimed his gun to shoot. Those closest to him must have seen what they were actually pointing their guns at as the whispers broke out and many nervous glances were exchanged.

“Don’t shoot. It’s Batman.”

“It really is. He’s back.”

“Sick costume, Batman!”

All around, cops were lowering their guns. Some looked scared, others excited. A few started towards him, signalling the copter light to be taken out. Darkness was restored. He crouched, ready to pounce.

“Don’t go anywhere near him,” someone shouted from up above.

It was the former sidekick. He laughed. At least someone was still working with their head straight. He waited till Nightwing glided down to face him. Nightwing approached him wearily, watching his every step. Smart move .. haha. He stopped at half the Basketball court’s length distance, coming no further.

Nightwing seemed tense. He looked around, contemplating his next move with the unknown enemy. The cops all around were getting impatient. Some were even looking curious.

Bleh, this was getting boring. He twisted the length of his arm such that one of the steel chains made its way up to the building behind him, latching itself onto the railing. He look out his grenade and slid it noiselessly across to where the sidekick stood, backed by curious cops and waited as Nightwing took another rigid step towards him.

The explosion was dramatic – the cops in the vicinity were thrown off the ground, and Nightwing grunted before falling on his face. The few cars within the range of explosion, caught fire quickly causing further explosions. Chaos reigned. The Joker laughed out loud. Louder than ever. He then twisted his hand back to the normal position, towards his right, the chain pulling him swiftly above and backward, into the cold night.

*          *          *

He felt the comfort of the bed before sensing anything else. It was filled with the most expensive cotton, stitched together with satin all over. The sheets were smoother than water in a dormant lake. Anyone would want to lay there forever.

Then came pain. The entire of his back hurt, and his legs were on fire. The pain seemed continual, endless. It was part of him. He tried to slowly to open his eyes. The ceiling of the room was white, simple. Around the corners, there was a pattern that seemed too complex to even trace with his eyes. He tried to get up, the pain increasing linearly with his movement.

“I would say another couple of days in the bed ought to do the trick, Master Grayson,” said Alfred. He appeared to be sitting on the only chair in the room, by the wardrobe. “I daresay its good to have you back in your old room, nothing has changed of course. Except it has only has been cleaned a few hundred times.”

Dick smiled despite himself. Slowly, only moving the minimal amount of muscles at a time, he sat up in his bed, rubbing the back of his head. “What happened?”

“I believe you had a run-in with Master Bruce, and someone attacked you from behind,” Alfred said, now moving to pour hot water into a glass on the roller.

Dick then remembered. The panic returned. “I couldn’t believe Bruce is back, Alfred. I saw his face. He was smiling … and … and … before I arrived … it looked like he was about to take on the GCPD. Something’s off.”

Alfred froze, like he knew something but, in a split second, he seemed to be his casual self. He poured the water and handed it to Dick, who was staring at the older man with a frown on his face.

“What is it, Alfred?”

“Its nothing, Master Grayson … its just …”

“Yeah?”

“Do you believe that … that Master Bruce is still alive?” Alfred said, his hands quivering, as he took the empty mug back from Dick.

“Of course he is. What’s going on? I just saw him last night, before someone threw in the grenade. Do you know something?” Dick said in a rush. The anxiety couldn’t have been plainer on his face.

Alfred sat the mug down slowly before replying.

“When Master Bruce disappeared, the Joker visited the Batcave.”

“Joker was here? In Wayne Manor? But you kept that quiet! What did he want?” exclaimed Dick.

“He wasn’t in the Wayne Manor. I believe he entered from the other end. His clothes were all wet and he didn’t use any guns to shoot at me. I am guessing it was because of the wet gunpowder.”

“So … why was he here?”

Alfred looked the floor as he answered. “Closure.”

Dick stared at him. “What?”

“I believe … that he thought Master Bruce was gone forever … and visiting the Batcave was his … final goodbye to the Batman. He disappeared right after.”

Silence followed these words. Alfred seemed aloof, lost in his own thoughts. Dick was thinking about Joker’s actions – the way Selina had described Joker’s disinterest in the mayhem at Arkham when they were looking for Bruce, and how he had disappeared from Gotham at about the same time. This new piece of information put things in a new light. Two confirmations on Batman’s death, one from Penguin and the other from the Joker. So if Penguin knew who the Batman was, as he had revealed on the night they had caught him, then so did the Joker. He had come to say goodbye? That was ridiculous, Joker had no sentiments. He constantly looked to murder and cause trouble. Yet he had left Alfred alive. But Batman was back, he had stunned half the GCPD with his sudden appearance the previous night. And with a jolt he remembered something else. Something so disturbing that he wasn’t sure had actually happened. Right before passing out, he had heard the laugh, the crazy laugh that only one mad man could manage.

“I think they’re both back, Alfred,” he muttered, knowing it to be true.

“Ah yes,” said Alfred. “It’s all over the news. Penguin was found dead at the bar last night. At least they think it was Penguin. His face was ripped off, pretty precisely I might add. Heh.”

Alfred then picked up the tray and started walking out. “Only a matter of time before Master would return. I’ll have the bedroom cleaned, shall I?”

Nightwing stared after him. He thought he understood Alfred’s indifference to Penguin’s murder. Secretly, he was glad that the old mob boss was dead. Sparing his life the other day was a decision made on principles, but he had not liked it. Penguin had killed everyone who opposed him since then. And Gotham had gone beyond saving. He was having trouble standing up to the bad guys, since their number had gone up exponentially under the new rule. The ripping of the faces was Joker’s signature move, for particularly dangerous enemies of his. So Bruce was after the Joker, probably examining Cobblepot’s body for clues. The real question was, why hadn’t Bruce shown up to the Batcave or the Wayne Manor? Was he after the Joker on his own? Where had both of them disappeared to in the past months? And then there was that smile, the smile Bruce had been wearing last night, before everything went from zero to a hundred. Was he happy to see Nightwing? He thought not. The smile was disturbing, not natural. Perhaps he had encountered the Joker’s serum in the bar. And before he intervened, Batman looked ready to pounce on the cops and take them out. Maybe he was imagining things, maybe Batman had been getting ready to disappear, undetected by the cops.

He would have to drop the matter for now. If Bruce was indeed back, then things would start getting back to normal. That was a happy thought, he smiled to himself. Right now the news channels would repeatedly be telecasting the return of Batman, which meant everyone would re-evaluate their next moves. And Penguin was dead, leaving half the mob force in town pregnable. He needed rest, perhaps when he woke up he would send a thank you note to Catwoman for getting him home from the blast zone.

*          *          * 

Damian peeked out of the Limo, and saw Gotham slowly appearing in the distance. The buildings grew steadily as the city got nearer. It was evening, probably around seven and the sun was almost on the other side of the globe. He was bored. The portable playstation lay on the seat, forgotten. The snacks in the Limo back doors were all paste in his stomach by now. He knocked absently at the window, thinking of what he would say to his father. He had been a bad son, that he knew. He had been getting along quite well with Bruce, before leaving Gotham to aid the Titans against the Legion of Doom.

Working alongside the Titans was something he had preferred a long time ago, now he was grown up and had more fun operating alongside Batman. Working alone was better in every way. And in the past year, he had grown so much that the old Robin seemed like a story from a different life, yet when he had heard the news of his father’s disappearance, the old habits had instinctively come rushing back. Reckless and hot-headed. He had killed several innocents again. His mother would be proud, he sighed.

Batman was back now. Nightwing had sent for Damian, right after the Legion of Doom was defeated, asking him to come home for some time. Damian was ecstatic, having wanted to return to Gotham for a while now. But a Limo? Seriously! Nightwing was probably having a laugh, imagining him loading his trunks into the Limo in front of other Titans. They had been sad to see him go, as always. But the Teen Titans needed a Robin. Ever since Tim had been back with Batman to assist him in a series of deaths in Gotham, Damian had been sent to the Titans, to replace Tim till he returned. Sure he got along with his predecessor just fine now, and Damian would even go so far as to call Tim an able accomplice but, it bummed him that Batman had chosen Tim instead of him. That wasn’t fair.

The car turned right as it entered the outskirts of Gotham, maintaining the same boring speed it had kept at since they started. Wayne Manor would be South East of here, he figured, closing the separator between him and the driver. He took out his mask and stowed it into his jacket pocket and left the bag there. Before the car made another turn at the crossing up ahead, he was gone.

The blueprint of Gotham city remained unchanged in his mind. The Government Library was visible at the other end of the street, which meant that he was far off the crowded, most vulnerable streets of Gotham. He sped up to cover that distance. If he was lucky, there would be dangerous crime afoot. The guilt made its way to the front of his head as it always did, Batman had strongly disliked his constant need to get involved in crime fights and catch bad guys. The hunger for death came from his temporary exposure to the Lazarus Pit, or so Batman had speculated, and his upbringing by the League of Assassins. His father had introduced structure in his purpose, and had made him realise how the League’s study of humanity was so limited and one sided. Killing was fun, and it came naturally to him. But the restraints held him accountable, and that separated the good guys from the bad.

As he swung on the rope of his claw and landed on the pavement of a building near the DA’s office, he saw it. A man was hung by the flag pole, his clothes covered in blood and the cadaver slowly rotated about the rope, the man’s face would be in view for a few seconds before his back would face the crowd gathered around the town hall. The murmur of the people was consistent, like a string of bees trapped in a glass dome, except the dome here would have to be curiosity.

The dead man’s body turned towards the people again, and this time Damian had a good look at the man’s face. He did not recognise the man, but the smile on his face was hauntingly familiar. Poisoned by Joker gas.

The GCPD arrived just as he was about to come out of his hiding spot to sneak into the building. He recognized Gordon at the front leading the charge inside. A fleet of cops covered the entrance in a semi-circle. They all carried large glass shields to keep the crowd out and their commander stood outside the circle, glaring at the crowd as if he dared them to challenge his position.

Damian pulled his cloak on, and climbed down, moving so quickly that no one glanced at him more than once. He joined the crowd and pushed through it, appearing in stealth at the right end of the town hall entrance. Before anyone could notice, he slipped into the underground lobby, appearing directly at one of the emergency exits of the building. He kicked it in, breaking it on his first attempt and closed it behind him as he entered.

The noise dimmed down as soon as the door was closed. There was no one in the exit lobby. The door at the very end of the hall was open, with no lights on the other side. He ran to it, not wanting the cops to get all the action up there. Darkness was an ally for anyone trained by the League, so as soon as he entered the dark room, his legs automatically carried him up the stairs and through the fork on his left, where at last a square feet of light was visible and voices issued from it. He didn’t have to duck to remain hidden, the patch in the door was above his head. He peeked through it, seeing Gordon and his men.

“ … no other way in Sir.”

Gordon ran his hand through his hair, he looked miserable and exhausted. He took his glasses out and rubbed his tired eyes, before putting them back on. His beard was uneven and he had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping much lately. The crime rate in Gotham had spiked in his absence, so naturally, Gordon, being the Commissioner, would have had a number of sleepless nights, especially since he had a close relationship with Batman, who solely operated when the Bats woke up. Damian smiled, it was their little inside joke.

“Let’s set a perimeter around the discussion chamber for now,” said Gordon as his men bustled to follow instructions. Gordon left with them.

Damian entered the kitchen, hastily following the men to the other room. The chamber would be above him, he surmised. As the men moved out with Gordon to the hall that had direct access to the chamber, he opened the vent near the floor which was directly on his right as he entered the clearing below it. It produced a dull clunk when he pulled it out, and he quickly slid into it. Crawling through the ventilation pathways had been easier when he was younger, now however, he struggled to move a few feet. Luckily, the duct opened up to a larger channel, allowing him a little leg space. He pressed both his legs on either side of the metal path, raising himself above slowly till he reached a horizontal opening. The opening on his left would lead to the Assembly hall so he slid sideways, carefully using his right leg to keep him from falling back down, or worse, getting stuck. He kicked the vent opening from the inside and it fell creating a racket that echoed in the empty hall, perfectly built for acoustics. He cursed. Stealth.

Nobody was inside. He scanned the entire hall first, then the chambers that were behind the Speaker’s high chair. The place looked deserted, and it was dark all around. Faint blue lights kept the room in semi darkness, but all they did was reduce the darkness by a shade. He walked slowly to the centre of the podium, still vigilant to his surroundings and then he realised that the Speaker’s chair was occupied. He slowly took the Batarangs out, and as he observed more carefully the pointy ears of the occupant could be made out.

“Hello Damain.”

“Father? …”

The voice was different than what he remembered. But he recognised the familiar authority at once. This was either Batman or a very good imposter.

“I am both,” said the voice.

He was on his guard now. “Show yourself,” he shouted, crouching ever so slightly and getting into the attack position.

“Hmmm?”

The light behind the Speaker’s desk flickered and then turned on. And the devil bared his teeth. He had no eyes, or so it seemed. His eyes were covered by a metal belt, which stretched all the way around his head, with pointy spikes coming out of it at evenly spaced intervals. Two of them were exactly at the points where he imagined the creatures’ eyes would be. He donned a costume similar to the Batman’s with the mask opening to reveal his mouth and jaw. His teeth were knives with the permanent eerie smile frozen in place. His head was metal too, but it was faded black that set it apart from his entire costume. The cape covered him entirely, making everything else obscure. He stretched one hand forward on the table, towards Damian, and the sharp deadly nails could be made out.

“It’s been a while,” said the Joker, smiling all the while.

“What is this?” retorted Damian, angrily. The Batarang was still in his hand, ready to fly at the enemy’s throat at a moment’s notice.

“Haha … but you don’t remember me. I’m hurt. I pitted you against the Bat once. Don’t you remember? Hehe … come now, all that dancing around and you forgot me?” said the Joker.

Damian stared. This could not be true. It could not be the Joker. The beast was a trick played by his own mind. He just had to snap out of it – out of the nightmare. He threw the Batarang and slid under the second row of seats, disappearing from view.

“Hah,” cried the Joker.

Damian peeked from his hiding spot, only to spot the mad man holding the Batarang in his hand and examining it. Nobody could catch something that fast except for the Batman. What was going on here?

“I do need to upgrade these,” Joker said, almost in a bored voice. “Let’s see. A game first and then business? I like that heh … ”

This was a bad joke. It had to be. Damian crept up the stone pillar, noiselessly. He positioned himself carefully to fly at the Joker. Staying invisible was something he had learnt when he was too young. The League specialised in skills that prevented the enemy from seeking out their adversaries.

“Come now. There’s no need to be shy. I have killed enough Robins to know their importance, Damian. And I have understood – ,”

Damian had made his move then. The drug was loaded into the injector and would decapacitate Joker for a time. The Joker spotted him easily, turning to him with the wide smile on his face. He acted fast, stabbing the injector in the Joker’s direction instinctively. The Joker moved with ease, plucking the weapon from Damian’s hand and in one swift twirl pinned it into his neck as Damian fell to the floor.

“ – that Batman always needs a Robin,” finished the Joker from somewhere up above. The laugh still reverberated in his head, as Damian fell unconscious, drugged by his own medicine.

*          *          *