The Joker's Shadow

The Joker had amassed a swarm of willing, able-bodied thugs. They weren’t hard to find. Between the aimless youth of Gotham’s poorest districts and the crazies that escaped Arkham in the Scarecrow’s day, J had his pick. Vic became somewhat of J’s human resources manager, combing the streets for potential goons. Some were won over with small wads of cash, others simply by the opportunity to take their frustrations out on the city that broke their hopes and dreams. It became almost an orchestra, with many different sections doing different deeds on J’s behalf, all with a common goal – all to make the same music.

J was impressed with Vic after his “gift” of the bound, quartered Batman copycat. The little film he made in that brightly-lit storage facility helped skyrocket his reputation. People were good and scared. J hadn’t praised Vic for the deed, but he showed his appreciation by letting Vic become conductor of the thugs.

“I have the ideas,” he told Vic, “and you make them realities. I can’t be bothered with the picky details. I tell you what I want to happen, and you just…make it happen. I don’t care what you have to do or who you have to hurt to do it – just *do* it.”

J and his crew took over one of Gotham’s many forgotten factories. It became a place to house stolen weapons, explosives, trucks, buses, cars – whatever it took to achieve J’s vision. It also became a boarding house for his followers, many of them with nowhere to go in the first place. It wasn’t charity, though. “Just good business,” he told Vic.

There was something about J’s frenetic personality and complete disregard for the social order that transfixed Vic. He was intoxicated; ever since he witnessed J rob a bank where he happened to be trying to cash a forged check. Vic didn’t scream, or even flinch, when he and his fellow patrons came under fire. He just stared, hands above his head, thinking, “I need to be part of the action.”

Tomorrow would begin with the goons planting explosives and poison to kill Gotham’s most prestigious judge and the city’s police commissioner. And it would end with a party – not that they were invited, of course. Vic was proud to be the one that caught wind of Bruce Wayne’s gala for Harvey Dent. J had his eyes on Harvey, and Vic wanted to be the one to deliver the goods. Where better to find Dent than at a party in his name?

Vic sat atop a staircase, surveying the bounty hoarded in J’s name. There was activity on the floor – there was always something that needed to be built, rigged, or assembled – but it was relatively quiet. His eyelids began to droop, and he realized it had been more than two days since he slept. His eyes closed and his head fell forward, hair falling over his eyes - dyed-pink streaks running through black.

A gun shot startled him awake and upright. Another followed, shell cases plinking onto the floor. J was getting in some target practice. Bull’s-eyes were spray painted onto the far wall. J had no problem hitting them right in the center, and he was clearly bored after two rounds.

“You, fixing the car,” J called, pointing his gun, like an index finger, at one of his thugs. “Get over here.”

The thug put down his wrench and walked over to J, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Get up against the wall.”

The man hesitated. J flicked his wrist, gesturing the gun at the wall. “Go!” he bellowed, the word ricocheting off the factory walls.

“Wait,” J said. He looked around. “Ah!” he said, finding a clown mask. “Put this on.”

He tossed the rubber mask to the thug. “If I miss, I don’t wanna make the other guys here clean up the splatter. It’s just unpleasant, y’know?”

J rolled up his sleeves, gun still in hand, and ran the other hand through his dingy green hair. “All right now,” he said, steadying himself. “My goal is to juuuuust miss you. It might be a little loud when the bullet hits the wall. DON’T flinch, unless you want your brains decorating the bricks behind you.”

With that, J fired the first bullet just to the right of the man’s head. “Don’t move!” he giggled, and blasted a second bullet to the left, then released the rest of the round above the thug’s head. The man fell onto his knees, lifted his mask, and threw up.

J whooped with laughter, almost on his knees himself, doubled over with glee. After a minute he wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Priceless,” he said, spitting out the last giggles. “Someone clean him up. The rest of you, back to work.”

J tossed the empty gun on a table and approached the staircase, ignoring Vic as he passed him on the way up. Vic watched J walk away. He hoped tomorrow would go off seamlessly, and J would find his prize – Harvey – at the party.

Unfortunately for Vic, that wouldn’t be the case.

_____________________________________________________


“He’s lookin’ for you,” a man whispered, nudging Vic awake. Vic had fallen asleep on the floor of one of the factory’s many offices.

“Huh?” Vic muttered, picking himself up from the floor.

“The Joker. He’s back. And he’s pissed, man.”

Vic jumped to his feet and followed the thug to the main floor. J’s back was to Vic as he approached, and he could see J’s shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

“I’m here,” he said, his voicing higher than he intended.

“You,” J seethed through clenched teeth. He turned and grabbed a fistful of Vic’s hair, forcing Vic onto his knees.

“It’s *your* fault I’m back empty-handed.” J’s tongue darted. “Wasted my entire-” he jerked Vic’s head for emphasis, “eve-e-ning-uh.” He licked his lips again. “Hmm? You got anymore *bright ideas* Victor? Somewhere else I can go to embarrass myself?”

J pulled Vic up by his hair. Vic braced himself by grabbing J’s forearm with both hands.

“What’s going on?” one goon whispered to another.

“Mommy and daddy are fighting,” the other mocked.

“I’m sorry,” Vic mouthed silently.

“Sorry means nothing,” J said, his voice deep and quiet. He tightened his grip on Vic’s hair.

Vic searched the black pools of J’s eyes for some sympathy. “It’s fine. It’s fine,” he smiled, patting J’s wrist. “Round two will be bigger and better. Let’s not waste more time standing here. We’ll get your man, I promise.”

“We?” J asked, his brow furrowed. He glanced around, then set his eyes back on Vic. “I’m in this alone-nuh. Whatever… fantasy… you have, there’s no you and me. There’s no me and anyone. Except, right now, there’s Harvey. So,” he let go of Vic, “help me get him.”

J left Vic standing amid a circle of his peers, his scalp stinging.

“You heard him,” Vic yelled at the crowd. “Let’s get Dent.”

The factory came back to life, men returning to their duties. Vic pressed his lips together, annoyed with himself for letting J down, mad at J for making him an example in front of the others, and furious at Harvey for being the current center of J’s attention. Vic wanted to catch Harvey for an entirely different reason now.

_____________________________________________________

Dent was high on J’s list of priorities, but the next target was the mayor. “Gotta finish what we started, I don’t like loose ends-s,” he said.

And though they didn’t gun down the mayor, they set Dent up to know Rachel was the next target. J cackled for nearly an hour, knowing he cut Dent deep.

_____________________________________________________


J and his crew sat amongst buckets of fast food chicken pieces, assembled to watch Dent’s press conference. He loved hearing his name on TV. J slid to the edge of his chair as Harvey announced he was the Batman, slapping his leg and laughing, his mouth full.

“Y’think it’s really him?” one of the thugs asked over J’s shoulder as a group watched jerky shots of police taking Dent into custody.

“It wouldn’t be *surprising*,” J said, ripping chicken from the bone with his teeth. “It would make things less complicated. One do-gooder to nab ‘stead a’ two. But he’s not Batman. Too… blonde.”

“So now what now?”

J got up and turned off the TV, standing in front of it to address the group. He tossed the chicken bone over his shoulder. “Now you go… snatch him up!” J grabbed the air with both hands. “But,” he paced as he thought, “This’s gotta be big. Big, big. I’m not letting him go this time.”

J happened to catch Vic’s eye in the back of the room. “I figured out the problem with you.” J wagged his finger at Vic, and the room turned to look. “You don’t get out enough. I forget sometimes I need to walk my dogs. So you’re in charge of grabbing Dent’s girl.”

“Why you trusting this asshole when he screwed up so royally last night?” a voice piped up.

J shrugged. “I mean you’re all assholes.” He gestured to the group. “I have to trust at least *one* of you.”

The group dismissed themselves, men returning once again to their stations

J’s scarred smile spread. He strode across the room and put an arm around Vic, his words sticky through persistently-wet lips. “Why the long face?”

Vic shook his head.

“Now, now, now,” J said, patting Vic’s shoulder. “I don’t want to be surrounded by all this… gloom. You screwed up. Royally, as it was put. But you’re still the best asshole I have.”

Vic’s lips turned slightly upward.

“There we go!”

“I wanna go with you.”

“No.” J said without a beat. “No, see,” he pulled Vic closer, as if divulging a secret, “Tonight the cops are gonna need to move Dent, and I’m gonna get him en route.”

“But they’ll expect that.”

“I know that-t. I know that. I *want* them to get me.” J held Vic’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, mimicking Vic’s pout. “Men this pretty shouldn’t look so sad.”

He was caught off guard by the endearment. His lips moved, searching for something to say. A day ago, furious at him, and now…something else.

“Men aren’t supposed to be pretty,” was all Vic could think to say.

“Men aren’t *supposed* to be a lot of things. Just look at this face.” J ran a dry, cracked knuckle from the corner of Vic’s lip to his earlobe, the same spot where a jagged scar marked J’s.

“I want to go with you,” Vic repeated.

“No,” he barked at Vic, and took his arm from around Vic’s shoulders. “You handle Dawes.”

_____________________________________________________

J called in an updated plan of action. Harvey wasn’t the Batman. The men were to capture both Dent and Dawes and rig them to blow. Only Dent wasn’t really supposed to die. J had plans for him.

J’s goons loaded trucks, passing cans of fuel like firemen passing buckets. The air was humid, and spirits were high.

Vic climbed into one of the truck cabins.

“This one’s going to Dent,” the driver reminded him.

Vic stared at him.

“Fine, jeeze.” The driver started the truck. “But if the boss gets angry, you’re the one that drove.”

Vic’s truck met up with several others at a vacant apartment building. He was impressed by how quickly the men had worked to set up the explosives in the building’s basement. As he stood there admiring the scene, two thugs entered and threw a passed-out Dent onto a chair.

“*I* want to tie him up.”

A rope was tossed to Vic. He secured Harvey’s hands while other men secured his feet. He wrapped Dent’s wrists tighter and tighter, then stood in front of Harvey and pulled his limp head up by the hair. This close, Vic thought. I should kill him right now.

Instead, he set the timer and positioned it by Harvey.

“All right, let’s roll out,” he commanded.

You may not die, he thought, taking a last look at Dent. But your spirit will.