A Comedy of Errors

When Crane awoke, it took him an unusual amount of time to remember why he was sleeping naked on the floor.

Tatiana was no where to be seen, and neither was Joker. Crane felt dizzy and sweaty, and his mouth painfully dry. His clothes are thrown helter skelter across the floor of the den. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but guessing from the darkness outside, it must have been hours upon hours. Despite this, all Crane felt like doing was going back to his warehouse and sleeping some more.

When he finally felt composed enough, Crane stood up and put his clothes back on, stumbling a few times throughout. He still smelt like sex, but he was more concerned about how he would make it back home. It was very chilly out. Crane wished he had something heavier than a blazer. Still feeling somewhat disoriented, Crane found a quiet spot in an alley nearby, closed his eyes and made a mental map of the city.

It was quite a walk, but without any cash on him, Crane had no other option. While it was the law to pay about $1.75 for the monorail, it was a law people stopped caring about years and years before; one of those laws where all the cool kids just do it anyway, like jay walking or walking between the subway cars. Besides, as far as Crane was concerned, $1.75 was far too much for the rickety old piece of shit.

When Crane arrived back at the warehouse, he collapsed onto the thin mattress on the floor. Feeling lethargic, he was looking forward to even more sleeping. When he heard running water, however, he groaned. Heavy footfalls entered the room. Joker chortled.

“Ugh, you simply reek of pussy,” Joker said. Then he laughed, “so, how was it?”

“Piss off,” Crane mumbled.

“Is Russian vadge all it’s cracked up to be? ”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. And where the hell did you fuck off to?” he asked, turning to Joker with heavy eyes.

“Well, I couldn’t let you two have all the naughty fun,” Joker laughed. Crane decided not to broach the subject. Joker was smiling deviously as he was wiping his knife down with a wet old cloth. Then, looking down at his lip, he noticed a spot of blood and wiped it away with the dirty rag. Crane cringed.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Oh, I took a bit of a dive when these black guys pulled a gun on me.”

“Now, why is it important to tell me that the muggers were black?”

“They weren’t muggers, they were cops.”

“Then why didn’t you just say they were cops?”

“You’re racist for assuming they weren’t cops.”

Crane shook his head. “Piss off. I want to sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that fuck fest and six hour nap really tuckered you out.”

Crane ignored him and put his head down, with a pillow set firmly over his right ear. He was going through the motions of making crystals in his head until he once again, fell back to sleep. He only once pondered what Tatiana was up to.

It was then nearly two in the afternoon when Crane finally awoke. The place seemed empty. Crane felt was feeling exponentially better than he had the night before. He indulged in a long, satisfying stretch and was thankful for a moment of solitude.

Crane bent down by the small black bag that held his possessions. A toothbrush, hairbrush, the last of a bar of soap … some other small extraneous objects, one last can of his toxin and, much to his dismay, only four of the fragile blue flowers where the main chemical of his toxin was extracted. He scowled; he knew he would have to ask Maroni for another shipment, but was hesitant about it. Crane was proud, and hated having to ask or rely on other people for things.

It was then that he heard banging around on the lower levels, followed by a low, goddamit! Crane groaned. He was so getting used to a little bit of privacy. “Where were you?” he asked as he heard Joker coming up the stairwell.

“Extenuating circumstances,” Joker simply replied. Crane knew that he could never hope to get an answer beyond that. “And, I’ve missed you too, sunshine,” Joker said sarcastically.

Crane rolled his eyes and stood up. “You know, Dan and Evan got knifed last night,” Joker said casually, rinsing his knife. It was as if he was saying something as simple as, “they have a cup of tea.” It was somewhat disconcerting in it’s tone.

“Are they alright?” Crane asked.

“They’re fine,” Joker answered. “It was the Padovanni’s. Just a quick trip to the Hospital for some stitches, no biggie. Even though it was a three on two.” Then, he laughed. “It’s almost pathetic, really. Three on two, one of whom is functionally retarded. Honestly, guys.”

“Why were they knifed?”

“I heard it from the Chechen. Word on the street is that one of the Padovanni’s ladies went missing, and about a week before that, Dan was overheard shit talking her; something about her ‘looking like a goddamn carrot’ and ‘her face is not a colouring book‘ and ‘avant garde is what ugly people think they are to be different, but they’re still just ugly’. You know, super classy stuff like that. So, obviously, it had to have been Danny. Or, that’s what I assume that they assume. But whenever you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”

“Those guys fiend for street cred like addicts for pipes and needles,” Crane said. “What else would you expect? Who else would they go after? I can only expect the shit storm to follow,” he added as an afterthought.

“I’ll protect you, muffin,” Joker teased.

“Oh, shut up.”

Joker laughed crudely.

“Did you run into Maroni when you talked to the Chechen?”

“No, but speaking of which,” Joker said, “don’t you figure we should tell Maroni about the, er … thing we heard the other night?”

Crane was mentally kicking himself. “Oi, why didn’t we go to him first? So obvious … did you tell anyone else?”

“No.”

And so, with that, Crane and Joker ran down to the nearest phone booth, a block and a half away, barely managing to come up with the twenty-five cents needed for a single call with all the loose change in heir pockets. After about five rings, Maroni finally answered.

“Hello?” he asked in a guarded voice.

“It’s me, Crane.”

“Oh! Hey, Doc. How’s that research going?”

“Fine. Listen, there’s something about this whole Izzy business that you need to know.”

“What is it?”

“After we left your place the other day, Joker and I overheard some stuff.”

“Where? From who?”

“The Padovanni’s.”

“And?”

The phone beeped. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Crane barked. “No, not at you, sir, it’s just the phone. I’m outta change.”

“Tell me quickly.”

“No, I can’t.” It was hard to hear over the obnoxious beeping.

“Well, I’ma be at the club in Little Azerbaijan tonight. Come and you can tell me there.”

“Alright.” Crane sighed and slammed the phone back on the hook. The two skulked back to the warehouse dejectedly, facing some more long hours of having little more to do than sit around and twiddle their thumbs. Then finally, at a quarter to one, the two left once more, but not after Joker reapplied his war paint. The club was a comfortable walk away from the warehouse. They passed by a couple of bulky guys in wife beaters who looked like they were itching for a fight - Joker was already placing bets on them.

The two entered through the alley entrance and, swimming through the thick crowd of people, made their way up to the upper levels, were Maroni was canoodling with a young, hot twenty something in a red satin dress. Stanislav was there, as was the Chechen and Dan, who was showing off the fresh sutures on his forearm.

“It’s just a flesh wound,“ Dan joked, a la Monty Python, complete with a poor British accent. “But I handled those clowns with only a couple punches,” he then bragged. “It was nothing. It was like Godzilla versus Bambi.”

Crane was liking the man less and less by the second. Joker was leaning over the railing, watching a fight down below. When Maroni finally pulled himself away from his mistress with a generous chest, he acknowledged Crane with an invite to sit next to him.

“Babe, would you mind?” Maroni said to the young lady. “This is business.”

The young woman nodded and got up, pacing around aimlessly for a moment before she took a cozy seat beside Dan.

“So, what is it you wanted to tell me?” Maroni asked in a low voice.

“Well, me and the Joker,” Crane said, beckoning the latter over, “overheard some stuff the other night.”

“And are you sure it was the Padovanni’s?”

“Positive,” Crane answered. “They were talking about Izzy and some other guys in the Padovanni family.”

“What did they say about Izzy?” Maroni asked earnestly.

“They were talking about her like she was an associate,” Joker answered. “They were discussing about her body being stolen.”

Maroni pursed his lips. It was quiet between them for a moment. “They think we were responsible for her death, sir,” Crane said.

“No, I got that,” Maroni said. He put a finger to his lips and thought again for another long moment. “Have you discussed this with anyone else?”

“Just Tatiana, yesterday, when we were doing, er, research,” Crane answered. “She thinks there might be a stand-alone complex at work.”

“That thought did cross my mind,” Maroni said. “Could it also have been the Batman?”

“The Batman doesn’t kill people,” Joker said. “It’s not his style. He refuses to kill out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness.”

Maroni was silent once more, a finger placed over his mouth while his eyes were downcast and glazed, deep in thought. Dan’s phone then went off, a stupid ring tone that sounded like an 8-bit audio file from a video game from the nineteen-eighties. Crane scowled; it wasn’t conducive to a productive mental attitude. “Hey Ev’,” Dan said. “How’s your arm feeling?”

Dan sat back, putting his feet up on the table and leaning back in his chair. He was smiling wide. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying, Evan. That Codeine has got you all messed up, huh?” he laughed.

He listened to the other end for a moment. Then, slowly, his expression grew more serious. “Wait, she was like who?” he asked. He furrowed his brow, and then asked, “and why would I give two-shits about some watery bint?” Then he groaned. “Oi. Look, I’ll call you back in a sec’, okay?”

Dan hung up and then tured to Maroni.

“What is it?” Maroni asked.

“Well, apparently some girls’ body has just been found down by the river at the University … Evan said something along the lines of ‘she was like Ophelia’.”

At that moment, Gambol and another large man ascended the steps and strode over to Maroni with a sense of urgency on their faces.

“There’s a bunch of guys outside who want to talk to you, sir,” Gambol said.

“Padovanni’s?” Maroni asked.

Gambol nodded. Dan and the Chechen stood up and withdrew their guns. Crane pulled out his Scarecrow mask. Joker let a sinister, excited grin slip over his face. Sighing, Maroni stood up, pulled out a pistol and led the group down the stairs to the alley. A gang of no less than ten men was waiting outside, vehement hostility etched into their faces. Scarecrow flexed his index finger on the spray button of his can of toxin.

“You bastard!” one of the men yelled, throwing a fist at Maroni.

“Woah, boys!” Maroni said, as he threw his head back, dodging the ill-aimed blow. “Listen -”

“You murdered my sister!” another one screamed. There was a click and then a flash accompanied with a gunshot. Through the small holes of his mask, Scarecrow saw Dan rush over to Maroni, shielding the older man and asking him if he was hurt.

“I’m fine, son,” Maroni said. “They couldn’t aim their way out of a wet paper bag.”

Nevertheless, Dan urged Maroni to go back inside. He refused.

Scarecrow heard Joker cackle. Then, there was a terrifying yelp, and then a thud - followed by a shower of bullets. Scarecrow ducked, trying to crawl through the mob, his toxin held at the ready.

“Get back!” he shouted to Stanislav, but the man must not have heard him. There was a blast of a shotgun right by his ear. There was another yelp, although from which side Scarecrow couldn’t tell. Finally, he gained some stability in the quickening crowd. He extended his long arms close to the face of a man he didn’t recognize, assuming he was a Padovanni, and pressed down on the button.

White gas blast out of the can. It looked like the spray from a fire extinguisher - opaque and powdery. The man let out a ear splitting scream, falling back onto the ground.

“Get back!” roared Dan, over the screams of another strange man. The mob fell back, shielding their mouth with their blazers or hands. Two Padovanni men, watching their screaming comrades with horror, tripped as they ran back. One other man tried to run, but as the white cloud oscillated, fell forward with his hands over his eyes, shrieking in terror.

Watching their mates writhing and wailing on the ground, the remaining Padovanni men fled, leaving four of their partners behind. As the cloud dispersed, Joker had started kicking the men in their sides and heads, in an effort to get them to shut up. Scarecrow approached one of the men on the ground, watching him through the hot itchy mask.

He crouched down beside the man. “They scream and they cry,” he said, “much as you are doing now.”

Then he heard a sickly gulp. Scarecrow turned his heard towards Joker, standing over one of the men, his knife dripping with blood as the man lay dead and silent on the ground. Joker then made short work of the rest of them, slitting their throats followed by their mouths, ear to ear, in his trademark.

The two men stood silently side by side. Joker was wiping off his knife with the tails of his purple coat. Scarecrow was watching the end of the alley.

“You know, you saved them this time,” he said. The Joker didn’t reply.