The Further Adventures of The Joker

by Martin H. Greenberg

  Alone in his study, Bruce contemplated the photograph as outside his window, the sun went down and night threw its black cloak once again over Gotham City. And as he stared at the grinning face, he almost thought he could hear it laughing at him.

  The Joker’s Christmas

  Karen Haber

  The big green iguana sat blinking placidly in the glass cage by the fireplace. A huge ribbon of green silk was tied in a bow at its neck. It was Christmas Eve, but the lizard didn’t care. His beady eyes took in the festive preparations going on all around him without a glimmer of comprehension or interest. He crouched in his aquarium thinking slow lizard thoughts, dreaming of hot flat rocks and tropical nights.

  “Jesus,” Alfonso fumed. “Why did the boss adopt that thing as a pet?” He tapped his purple-enameled fingertips against the glass. The lizard didn’t move. “Creepy. Why doesn’t he just have the thing stuffed? Then at least we wouldn’t have to feed it.”

  “Leave it alone,” Franny said. Deftly she spun a silver ribbon around a large green box and whipped it into a fluffy bow. “Come help me finish wrapping these gifts, or they won’t be ready. And you know how crazy he gets if we’re not ready on time.” She put the finishing touches on the glinting chartreuse package and leaned back to survey the effect, nodding her head until her green-and-black-frosted mane covered her eyes. “Not bad. I should go into packaging.”

  “Where is His Highness?”

  “Upstairs, making sure everything’s perfect for his outfit tonight.”

  Alfonso snickered. “Checking his list?”

  “Twice.” She smiled. Her mouth was a long red slash splitting a pale, thin face. “Glad I’m not on it.” She went work on smother box.

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” Alfonso said. He picked up a circular box and began wadding paper around it. “Remember Fat Louie’s Thanksgiving bonus?”

  “Yeah.” Franny shivered. “Now that was ugly, wasn’t it?”

  “Took us weeks to clean up, too. And we had to replace all the wallpaper—twice.”

  “Don’t remind me. I thought we’d never find the right shade of green Mylar. Still, the Boss usually doesn’t kill anybody onstaff this late in the month. Hard to get replacements. Especially around the holidays.”

  “Good point. You hope.” Alfonso managed to tie a crooked silver bow near the middle of the hatbox and tossed the finished package into a green sack by the door. Leaning back on his Cuban heels, he paused a moment to check his appearance in a pocket mirror. The reflection showed his square jaw, olive skin, dark eyes, and short bleached hair almost covered by a black beret. Not bad, he thought. But the room around him was something else.

  Green. Everything was green. The tree was green. The lights that winked within its foliage were green. The green mylar walls were decked with boughs of green holly and green ribbons. To Alfonso, it was like standing in the middle of a giant dollar bill.

  “Godrestyemerrygentlemenletnothingyoudismay—” The music poured out of the wall speakers, holiday carols set at manic fast-forward speed, sung by what sounded like crazed chipmunks and yodeling raccoons.

  “Nice music,” Alfonso said. He put away the mirror.

  “Shhh. Here he comes! Quick, pile those packages into that sack.” Frantically, Franny tossed him an armful of gifts. Alfonso slam-dunked them into the sack.

  “And remember,” she whispered, “chill out. He’s really wired tonight.”

  A step in the hallway sent them scurrying like rabbits.

  Then the door opened.

  “Hey, Boss,” Alfonso cried. “Haven’t you heard that Christmas colors include a little red occasionally?”

  The Joker gave him a cool stare. He was wearing a green silk smoking jacket lined in quilted plum satin. His hair was green. His skin was white as new-fallen snow. Or a corpse’s inner arm. Only his lips, stretched over a ghastly smile, and around an expensive cigar, were red.

  “I like green,” he said quietly. Green fire danced in his eyes. “Any problem with that?”

  “No, Boss,” Franny whispered. “Love green!”

  Alfonso turned as pale as the winter sky beyond the window. “Green is great,” he said quickly. “Terrific color. My favorite.”

  The Joker’s smile widened. His eyes gleamed with cheerful malice. “That’s what I like to hear from my little helpers. You know how I thrive on agreement. Or, rather, how you do.”

  He chuckled and twirled the razor-tipped walking stick in his hand like a baton. “Now hurry, children. Idle hands are the devil’s playground. Besides, I’d hate to have to punish one of you just because you made me late on Christmas Eve! I’ve got a lot of stockings to fill. So make sure those presents are wrapped and ready by the time I come back down. I’m almost finished donning my holiday apparel, but I wanted to see how you were getting along.” He peered into the sack by the door. “Good. Almost done. I’ll be back in five minutes. Be ready. Especially you, Franny. You may accompany me as Joker’s little helper numero uno.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out a short green velvet-and-ermine robe, and tossed it to her. “Get dressed.”

  She cast a desperate look at Alfonso. He grinned and made a slashing motion across his throat. Luckily, the Joker had turned away to straighten some green tinsel on the tree.

  “Right away, Boss.” She gathered up the costume and hurried into the bathroom to change.

  The big green sleigh quivered on the loading dock as the engines flared to life: headlights came on like eyes opening in the dusk—green sodium eyes staring out over manic chrome grillwork in the shape of a grinning mouth.

  “Gonna find out who’s naughty and nice,” the Joker sang. A curly green beard framed his smile. “Oh, I love the holidays,” he said, fussing with the ermine cuff of his green velvet suit. “Hmmm, the stitching is crooked here. Guess I’ll have to kill the tailor.” He smiled cheerfully and blew a kiss to Alfonso on the dock below. At the touch of a button, the Joker’s sleigh lifted off on huge airjets and took to the dark Gotham sky.

  “Justhearthosesleighbellsjinglingringtingtinglingtoo . . .” the tapedeck sang at Mach 3.

  “Franny, punch in the autopilot,” the Joker said. “That green button there. I’ve already programmed it for tonight’s run.”

  “Yessir.”

  Below, the lights of Gotham winked with Christmas color, blue and gold, red and green, yellow, white, a thousand earth-bound stars twinkling up at them.

  The Joker raised a scornful eyebrow. “Garish display, don’t you think? Excessive.”

  “I don’t know—” Just in time, Franny saw the murderous twinkle begin to ignite in his eyes. “Oh, you’re absolutely right, Boss. Tacky. Really.” She nodded wildly until her green and black hair hung limply across her shoulders. “What’s our first stop?”

  “Commissioner Gordon’s house.” The Joker giggled. “He’ll be out at the big Christmas gala at Gotham Country Club. And when he gets back, there’ll be a big surprise waiting.”

  The big sled tilted down, cutting through the swirling snowflakes to land in front of a white, two-story colonial house.

  “Commissioner Gordon! How will we get in?” Franny said. “The chimney’s too small . . .”

  “Down the chimney? In this suit? Don’t think like an amateur, Franny.” Smirking, the Joker pulled an electric bolt-cutter from his pocket and handed it to her. “The red button controls the speed. Try maximum.”

  Obediently she pressed the snarling machine against the hinges. Sparks flew, and with a spectacular whoosh of air the front door gave way, falling backward as a high, thin alarm began to wail.

  “A shame about those hinges,” the Joker said, stepping inside the house. He put the electric bolt-cutter back into his pocket. “A smart cop like Commissioner Gordon should really know better than to have substandard hinges on his front door. Well, I’m sure he’ll get them fixed soon. Bring the big square box, Franny.”

  She ran back to the sleigh and grabbed the gift sack. Which big box did he mean? S
he hunted furiously, tossing rejected packages over her shoulder onto the floor of the sleigh. She was halfway into the bag before she found the huge square box at the bottom. It was heavier than she’d expected. Teetering in her spike-heeled ankle boots, she hurried back to the house.

  “B-boss?” The green bow on top of the box nearly blocked her vision. Franny staggered across the pine-wood parquet floor into the formal dining area.

  “Yellow wall-to-wall carpeting. I should have expected it.” The Joker sniffed derisively. “And imitation Queen Anne. In mahogany veneer, no less. Well, what do you expect from the police? They never have any taste. I’m really doing Gordon a favor—once he opens this package he’ll be eager to redecorate, hee-hee. Maybe I’ll send him a few tips. Or some catalogues.”

  Franny put the gift down with a loud thump, scattering one of the twelve silver place settings on the highly buffed dining table.

  The Joker smiled a sharp, dangerous smile and shook his head. Green curls danced along his jawline. “Not there, you pretty ninny! Under the tree. The tree! What’s the whole point to this? Do you think I like wearing this false beard? Do you know how much ermine costs these days? My God, what does it take to get good help? Nobody understands an artist.” He wrung his hands in mock despair. “Under the tree!”

  “Sorry.” Franny took up her burden once more and, wobbling, wove her way across the hallway and into the living room. She set the box down in front of the red-bedecked tree. She could hear a muffled ticking. It seemed to be coming from inside the box.

  “Uh, Boss, what exactly are you giving Commissioner Gordon for Christmas?”

  The Joker convulsed with laughter. “Ahahaha. What am I giving him? Oh, you are amusing, Franny. I knew you had hidden depths when I hired you. What am I giving him? What do you think? It’s a bomb.” The Joker wiped his eyes with a green silken handkerchief. “Bombs for Christmas. Isn’t it brilliant? Give the gift that makes for lasting memories, I always say.”

  “Brilliant, Boss.” Franny shivered and backed away from the box. Oh, why hadn’t she become something nice and safe—say, a dental hygienist? Career decisions had never been her forte.

  The house alarm shrieked defiantly, echoing down the long hallway leading to the front door. Franny’s ears began to ring. She pulled off a green satin glove and nibbled on her green-and-purple-enameled thumbnail, staring all the while at the big, ticking green box.

  “Aren’t you worried that the cops will come?” she said.

  “Of course not,” the Joker replied cheerfully. “I want them to come. That’s the entire point. Otherwise, they won’t read my little note.” He produced a folding tripod from his other pocket and set it up on the landing by the front door. Then he flicked an over-large playing card from a deck up his sleeve. It was a joker, in tones of green and white, with the words “Ho-Ho-Ho” in silver glitter ringing the boundaries of the card.

  “You’re leaving a card?”

  “A holiday tradition, my dear. Greetings of the season. A master always pays attention to details. Remember that.” He grabbed her sleeve and yanked her into the sleigh. “Come along. It’s getting late, and I’ve got a lot of people on my list. We wouldn’t want to deprive any of them, would we?”

  The next stop was an imposing brownstone in the garden district of downtown Gotham. The sleigh settled quietly into the backyard, flattening a boxwood hedge and only just missing a red-metal swing set. The Joker rubbed his gloved hands together gleefully.

  “City Council President Ruth Hays will come home to a holiday surprise,” he said. “Come, Franny. Bring those two packages. Stereo bombs for an overachieving baby boomer.”

  With ease, he picked the backdoor lock and entered. The kitchen air was rich with cooking odors. The Joker closed his eyes in rapture. “Ahhh. Smells like the Christmas turkey is ready. Let’s have a bite, shall we?”

  “Boss, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Gingerly Franny balanced the two small boxes in her hands. She was eager to put them down and get away.

  “I don’t pay you to think, my dear.” Reaching into the black-enameled microwave oven, he pulled a small bird out. “Ah, I see she’s used a browning dish. Good. I do so dislike the look of pale microwaved meat.” He tore at the drumstick, ripping shreds of meat away from the bone. “Mmmmm. Not bad.” He chewed reflectively. “But a trifle underdone.”

  Franny set the boxes down carefully in front of the tiny tree by the white-tiled hearth and hurried back to the kitchen. Mouth watering, she watched the Joker finish his snack.

  “Oh, sorry, dear. This is really much too rich for your simple tastes.” He turned, picked up the remains of the turkey, and heaved it, browning dish and all, through the leaded-glass window and out into the yard. Glass tinkled as a shower of glittering shards rained down on the snowy ground, reflecting the neighbor’s green and red Christmas lights as it fell.

  “Why’d you do that?” Franny asked.

  “Undercooked meat is dangerous,” the Joker said. “Salmonella and all that. Besides, Ms. Council President Hays can always afford another bird.” He pointed to a small video screen on the kitchen counter. “Turn on the set, Franny.”

  “TV? Shouldn’t we be leaving?”

  “Don’t ask so many questions.” The Joker’s smile grew wider. Franny hurried to switch on the television. Squawking, it came to life in a blizzard of white and gray static.

  “Try channel twelve. I like that newscaster—she always wears green.”

  Franny flipped channels until Venetia Fitter appeared: the anchorwoman of the Joker’s dreams. Tonight her pale hair was moussed into a series of frozen blonde waves. She was wearing three shades of green silk. Only a small red pin at her throat marred the purity of the effect.

  “Good evening,” Venetia said. “The annual Christmas Eve giveaway at Saint Michael’s Church has gotten a big turnout and—this just in. There has been an explosion at Police Commissioner Gordon’s house. No injuries. This is believed to be the handiwork of the Joker—his usual calling card was found at the scene. A police spokesman reports that a canister was recovered from the debris and opened by the bomb squad. It contained a message—which read: ‘You’d better be good. Better not cry. Better not pout, I’m telling you why. Santa Joker’s coming to town.’ ” She paused and looked offscreen as though receiving additional information. A moment later she was focused back on the camera. “Batman has been summoned.”

  “Oh, good, good, goody!” The Joker clapped his hands, dancing around the tiled kitchen with glee. “They got my message. They know I care.” His silver-tipped cowboy boots beat a manic tattoo on the kitchen floor. As he capered, he pulled another joker card out of his sleeve and slapped it down on top of the microwave. Still skipping, he nodded toward the sleigh. “Come along, dear. We’ve miles to go before we sleep.”

  Franny followed him out into the cold night. “Where next?” she asked.

  “That spoiled rich boy Bruce Wayne’s appalling mansion.” The Joker chuckled. “I’m an equal-opportunity Santa—but I believe in giving it to the rich first.”

  Wayne Manor was dark and silent, a huge gray shadow looming in the snowy night. The sleigh landed quietly on the front lawn beside an enormous juniper bush.

  “Looks like there’s nobody home,” Franny whispered. She tugged nervously at her black and green bangs. “What’s with this rich guy? No lights? No plastic snowmen on the front lawn? Oooh, this place gives me the creeps.”

  The Joker nodded gravely. “And well it should, my dear. Generations of do-gooders have lived here. Philanthropists.” He shuddered. “It’s a dangerous concept. Luckily, I think it’s a dying one as well.” He pulled his bolt cutter out. “This door appears to be thick. Well, these cutters should suffice.”

  He pressed the sawblades against the hinges and turned the machine on.

  An alarm split the air, howling raucously. Its vibrations shook Franny down to her green-enameled toenails. Beside her, the Joker switched off the cutter and pocketed it.<
br />
  “I-I d-don’t l-like t-this,” he said, oscillating to the alarm’s rhythm. He stepped back out of range. “Wayne never did seem to have much of a sense of humor. Let’s just leave the box and a card by the front door and go.”

  “F-fine w-with m-me,” Franny said, vibrating like a cranberry in a blender. She put the gift down on the thick brown-rush doormat next to the Joker’s greeting card, turned, and raced for the sleigh. The Joker was already strapped in his seat.

  Once they were aloft, he switched on the radio.

  “How are we doing?” he said, chuckling.

  “—the Christmas Eve wave of vandalism continues as the Joker leaves unpleasant packages at the homes of some of Gotham City’s best and brightest . . .”

  “Hee-hee, I just love this season!” He kissed his wrists happily.

  “Batman is reported to be hot on the trail of the Clown Prince of Crime.”

  Franny bit all the way through her thumbnail. Batman! Oh, why hadn’t she become a hairstylist? She glanced uneasily at her boss. But he was hugging himself with joy.

  “I should hope he’s on my trail,” the Joker said. “Otherwise, the Batdope isn’t worth his cape.” He turned off the radio. “Let’s pay a visit to Mayor Gregson next.”

  The kitchen of Mayor Gregson’s handsome duplex was alight, the tables covered with immaculate porcelain trays of party treats. Obviously the mayor was expecting guests.

  “Hmm. Seems we were left off the guest list,” the Joker said, peering through the window. “Must have been an oversight.”

  He knocked smartly at the backdoor. A butler in black coat and striped silk pants answered. He paused and looked them over.

  “You must be the entertainment,” he said. Each word was soaked through with condescension. “But you’re way too early. Nobody is here yet. And doesn’t Santa usually wear red and white?”

  “There was a problem with the dye lot,” the Joker said, winking. He patted the butler on the back. “Be a good boy, Jeeves, and don’t breathe a word of our coming to anybody.”