Why So Serious?

The city of Gotham was rotting from the inside out no matter how many bad guys were taken off the streets. The hint of danger was always there. Criminals like Malone ran the city and the cops wouldn’t do anything about it because half of Gotham PD was corrupt. On top of the mob threat, there were also rumors about a psychotic clown who had escaped Arkham. Our only hope was a vigilante who called himself The Batman.

Anyway, you may be wondering what any of this has to do with me. Well, I’ll tell you. My name is Rhapsody Rhodes. That’s right, the hot-headed red head with one blue eye and one green eye from The Gotham Times’ Ask Rhapsody advice column. Any-who, besides being quick to anger, I also had a knack for attracting danger. That’s how I now found myself at Gotham National Bank in the middle of a holdup by said psycho clown.

The bank was a tall, sprawling building of chrome, that sat in the middle of downtown Gotham. The inside of the bank was done in boring black and white colors with a plain, red and white checker board floor. Even though it was a mob owned bank, it was still the nicest bank in Gotham.

I was pulled out of my reverie when I was jostled to the side as a blond lady in a green sweater and black dress pants butted in front of me. “Hey!” I replied indignantly. “I was here first!”

“Cry me a river,” the woman replied without turning away from the lady at the counter. Deciding it best not to let my temper get the better of me, I stood silently behind her and fumed.

“Have a nice day!” the lady behind the counter said to the blond woman as she left with a smug smile on her face.

I glared at her retreating form until she was out of view before turning back to the brown haired lady at the desk. “I would like to cash this,” I said, handing my check to the lady behind the glass who suddenly looked as if she’d seen a ghost. “Hey, are you okay?” I asked, waving my hand in front of the stricken woman’s face. Behind me there was a sharp intake of breath followed by a cry of pain and the smell of burning skin.

The next couple of minutes were filled with a hectic pandemonium as it dawned on everyone that we were in the middle of a hold up. As one of the bank robbers told everyone to get on the floor and the other one went around and put something into every one's hands. When he finally got to me I just sat in silent horror as the guy in the blue and white clown mask handed me a small, rounded container that had a red thumb nail-sized button on it and pulled out the pin.

“Better hold on, Red,” the clown told me in a voice that somehow managed to be both deep and slightly squeaky before picking my black clutch wallet up off the floor, where it had fallen during the confusion, and pocketing it. “This laughing gas can really kill.” He let out a short, shrill laugh. My sweaty hands were making the container slip a little so I grimaced and held on tighter.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked desperately. “What could you possibly gain from upsetting the mob?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” the clown stated, not giving me enough time to answer. “See you later, Red.”

What happened next, I’ll never really know. Somewhere toward the front of the bank there were multiple screams of agony and some shouting followed by a short silence then more shouting. I kept my eyes closed for the most part until what sounded like a bulldozer hitting the front of the bank scared me into opening my eyes. It wasn’t until the police finally came that we were informed that the man behind the robbery was the Joker, and that he had used a school bus as a get away car.

We had all somehow managed to survive except for the four robbers who had systematically killed each other off, and one of the bank tellers who was hit in the leg with acid. Of course the Gotham PD didn’t get there until well after the crime had taken place and most everyone was tired and just wanted to go home. Due to my brief but apparently insightful conversation with the clown I now knew as the Joker, I had to go down town to give my statement.

By the time I was allowed to leave the Gotham City Police Department I was in a slight daze, and it was already dark outside. The tall, dilapidated buildings cast shadows over everything, giving the impression of ghoulish entities stretching their clawed hands out toward any unsuspecting citizens. None of that really mattered, though, as I made my way down the familiar side streets of East Gotham where my apartment building was located. The scene from the bank kept replaying in my head, taking me back to that brief moment of panic when I had locked eyes with the man who called himself The Joker. The feeling of his cold, dead eyes searing into my own mismatched orbs made my heart seize up and left me with a terror that settled deep into the pits of my very soul.

I shivered and pulled my black, thigh length cardigan closer to my freezing body, finally taking notice of my surroundings. It suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t know where I was. Instead of Mrs. Jacobs’ white, cookie cutter house with it’s expertly trimmed hedges and creepy garden gnomes, I was standing in front of, what appeared to be, an abandoned factory.

The factory sat in the middle of a huge parking lot like space with at least two more side streets leading from the area. One on each side of the crumbling building. Somewhere nearby I could hear rats scurrying around, looking for food, I assumed. Somewhere off in the distance there was a blare of sirens and I found myself wondering if it was the police or an ambulance. Considering how dirty most of Gotham PD was, though, I decided it was most likely an ambulance.

I stopped and made as if to turn, but halted once more as I heard the unmistakable scuff of shoes against pavement. I glanced behind me and saw a bulky shadow steadily making it’s way toward me. Without thinking, I took off running into the nearest alleyway, which just so happened to be on my right. To my dismay, the footfalls behind me grew louder as my unknown stalker closed the distance between us. Frantically, I continued on, turning down several different side streets until I came to a dead end.

“End of the line, Red,” a devastatingly familiar voice said from somewhere close behind me. “You’re not very bright, are you?” he asked with a giggle.

I spun around while simultaneously backing up. The ‘tap-tap-tap’ of his footfalls matched the uneven beating of my heart. I felt like a rabbit caught in a trap. I backed up until I could feel the rough texture of the brick building behind me, the coarseness of it chafing the sensitive skin of my fingers.

The Joker continued advancing toward me at a slow pace until he stood directly in front of me. Now that the mask was off, I could see the scars painted in bright red running from each corner of his mouth. His face was decorated in a dull, off-white color and his chocolate eyes were outlined heavily in black. His greasy blond-green hair was curly and just brushed his shoulders. He could have been handsome without the creepy make-up, even with the scars.

“I have a small problem, Red. Do you think you could give me some advice?” the Joker asked with a hint of humor and malice.

“How did you find me” I countered, ignoring his question. “Were you following me?”

“Sorry, Red,” he replied, “I ask the questions here.”

With a swift movement that I almost couldn’t detect, the Joker pulled something shiny out of his purple suit jacket pocket.

In seconds I could feel cool metal pressing into the tender flesh of my cheeks as the Joker placed the questionably clean apparatus into my mouth.

“Do you want to know how I got these scars?” The Joker asked.

Moving was futile so instead I mutter a small ‘mmm’ that could have been either a yes or a no.

“You see,”’ the Joker started, “my mother was a bit of a gambler. Poker was her vice,” he shifted until his face was inches from mine. “Do you know what the mob does to people who can’t pay them back?”

I didn’t answer; only looked him in the eyes and willed him to leave me alone.

The Joker continued with his story anyway. “The funny thing was, she had the money, my mother did, but she wanted to try out the new slot machines. She was given a choice, though,” he said, his eyes going distant. “She could either pay the mob back or let them give me a permanent smile.” The Joker’s eyes focused on me once more. ‘You can guess which one she chose,” he said. “Now I find everything funny!” He let out a high pitched laugh.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the dreaded question that I knew would end my life. He didn’t disappoint.

“Why so serious, Red?”