Body Count

The car sped through the countryside, driving over bushes and coming very close to killing several small animals. It looked as though it shouldn't belong here, in this wild plain, full to the brim with small jack rabbits and scurrying mice. The overgrown foliage lining the sides of the disused road threatened to spill over onto the concrete, engulfing the little car and it's two occupants. The car itself, long, sleek, and shining onyx black, gave the impression that it had been plucked out of a high-end suburb and dropped carelessly into the wild.

Even the inside of the car didn't suit the outside. It smelled of new car, just as The Joker had said before, and the seats squeaked whenever either one of them moved. It's two passengers, both stained generously with spots of dirt and grime, stinking of mud, body odor, and blood, simply did not mesh well with the polished look of the car.

All of these observations were made very shortly into their car ride, what must have been three hours ago, by a very travel-worn Shane. Her hair was tangled about her face, greasy and somehow dry at the same time. Her right hand, which she now regretted punching the clown with, stung badly. Her shoulder was pulsating quietly.

After a while, the car sped out of the wilderness and into a the middle-class section of Shane's hometown. The lights in most of the ranch-style houses were still switched off, the cars still parked in the driveways. The two sat in what she was sure was the loudest silence she had ever experienced. The air rushed by outside, muffled against the closed windows.

"What's your last name?" The Joker said, breaking the long quiet.

Taken slightly aback by this sudden and unorthodox question, Shane said, "Fatello."

"Italian?" he said, his eyes still fixed firmly on the road ahead.

"Yes."

He nodded, and continued to drive through the city.

Another uneventful hour later, she started to notice other cars around them. They had been cruising through the business district for some time now, surrounded by equally expensive-looking cars - which explained why The Joker had one, anyway - but some of the cars appeared to be following them. They would switch lanes from time to time, swerve to cut them off, or cut in behind them, but they always followed the same route as they did.

Distracted by the unrelenting tide of stalkers and a new stream of passers-by, all wearing pressed three-piece suits and walking along as though they were in a great hurry to be nowhere at all, it took a moment for Shane to notice that The Joker had started humming to himself again.

Looking over at him, she thought that he was acting a little bit careless considering the situation. They were in the middle of a buzzing city, closed in on all sides by people who might at any moment recognize them and turn them in, but he was now smiling to himself and bouncing in his seat.

Shane, on the other hand, grew ever more anxious. She had scrunched her body low into her seat, covering her face with her broken hand. She kept shooting glances out of her window, always under the impression somebody had seen her.

They turned onto the busiest street yet, along with five or six other cars. The Joker twiddled the wheel gently, pulling into an unoccupied parking spot at the very end of the block. He turned around and reached into the back seat, pulling out two clown masks and humming to himself all the while. He tossed one of the masks at Shane.

"Wear this, little Princess, and grab a knife," he said, securing another mask to his own face and setting a duffel bag in the space between them. With a fluid snatch, he stretched his arm into the bag and brought it back out with a dagger in hand.

Shadowing his movements, Shane reached carefully into the dark blue bag and grabbed a hold of something cold and sharp. Pulling her hand out, she raised her eyebrows. The knife she was holding looked expensive, with a posh black handle and an engraved blade. Peering at it, she read, Princess at the base of the silver cutter.

"Yours!" The Joker said joyfully, nodding at the knife. "Just for you, Shaney. Keep that safe. Ya never know ... " He trailed off, trying to shove his slick hair under the strap of his mask.

Unsure whether to be flattered or disgusted, Shane looked down at the mask she was to wear. It was thin, with a fluff of red hair at the top and along the sides. The frown it wore was pronounced with bright blue paint, and the nose was flaming red and round. She turned it around and placed it over her face, pulling the elastic white band around her head and snapping it on securely. It took a moment to adjust to the sudden black edges to her vision, but her view was surprisingly wide.

Concern swept over her, together with a curling sense of foreboding. "Are we ... do I ... am I helping you rob a bank?" she asked quietly, thinking at how absurd the question sounded even as she said it.

He looked over at her, his own clown mask frowning colorfully at her. "Not exactly," he said. She was sure she could hear a smile in his voice. "Now, come on. And don't say a word unless Uncle Joker says so!" With that, the door was pushed open and he straightened up outside the car.

Hurrying so she wouldn't be left in the street alone, she wrenched her own door open and stepped out into the gray sunlight. The street they were on was conveniently deserted, save for the little bits of paper drifting by on a breeze. The Joker was jogging up the stone steps to a large, pillar-supported building, the shoulder bag slung over his shoulder. She ran along after him, nervousness creeping up her spine like an ugly spider.

He crashed through the front doors, pulling a gun out of his belt and firing off into the ceiling. Shane noticed several other men, also wearing clown masks, standing near the front entrance and holding guns. These were all pointed at a fairly small group of people, who were all shivering and cowering under the counters. A small boy sucking his thumb seemed to be the only one who was unafraid.

"Everybody stay on the ground!" one of the clowns said. His voice was rough and deep, with the lilt of somebody from New York. He was holding his weapon menacingly in the direction of the little boy.

Just then, a dozen or so more masked flunkies came bursting out of a door behind the counters, dragging behind them more blue duffel bags and pointing guns at the heads of the bank workers. Shane now realized why so many other cars had been following them there.

A sickening sense of foolishness crashed down around Shane. She was easily the shortest person - robber, technically - in attendance, and also the only one without a metal piece in her hands. She gripped her knife protectively, trying to look menacing while simultaneously preventing her knees from knocking together.

The bags were all dropped in the midst of the group of robbers, and all guns were now pointed at the citizens.

"Turn out your wallets!" another clown ordered. Shane started. That was the voice of the clown she'd punched last night.

The people did as told, some shaking with unconcealed fright, others glaring mutinously at their captors.

Suddenly, the woman cradling the calm-faced little boy spoke up. "We're not afraid of you!" she shouted, glaring around at all of them, clutching her child closer to her breast. "You'll be caught, and the police will give you your just desserts!"

"Will they?" The Joker growled, abandoning his usual carefree tone. He stalked towards her, reminding Shane forcibly of a lion circling it's next meal. The gun he carried dangled harmlessly at his side. "Oh, no, sweetheart. They won't."

He spun on his heel and walked briskly towards Shane. Confused, she stayed still as he got closer.

A cruel hand grabbed her bad shoulder, making her cry out in pain. The Joker dragged her forward, towards the front row of clowns, ignoring her whimpers and gasps as she kicked to free herself.

"Turn that on!" he said, pointing violently at the nearest clown. Nameless was holding a video camera, which he now pressed on, holding it up to the eye hole in his mask.

The Joker turned towards the camera, holding Shane in front of him. "Hello, people of America!" he said slowly, holding onto Shane by both of her shoulders. "Yes, it's me, so you can stop asking your husbands and wives if it's true," He paused, and Shane heard the distinct sound of his lips smacking together. "Now ... I've been playing a little game of hide and seek with the noble police-people of this little city, along with my little friend here!" At this, he tore Shane's mask off, dropping it to the ground. Several people in the room gasped their recognition. "That's right! I have ... stay still ... " he said to Shane, who was tossing her head from side to side in an attempt to keep her face hidden. He grabbed her face and forced it to face the camera. "I have your famous little mass-murderer, and don't worry, she's safe. But, if you decide to come here and try to subdue me, she won't be. By all means, keep chasing us! But you're not catching us today. Not if you want Ms. Fatello here to lose her throat!"

A knife was suddenly pressed against her skin, cold and threatening. She whimpered.

"Night night, folks!" The Joker cackled. The camera-clown lowered the instrument, clicking it off. Shane fell to the ground, snatching up her mask. She was still fearfully determined not to be seen. She smacked it to her face and pulled the band around.

"You talk," said the woman, making Shane jump in surprise. She'd forgotten she was there. "You talk like you're some big-shot we should all be afraid of. But we're not!"

Nobody was entirely convinced by this, due to her trembling voice, but The Joker turned back to her anyway.

"I'm not just talk, sweetheart," he said quietly, reaching up to the edge of his mask. He got down on one knee, resting his elbow on the other. The woman cringed away from him as though she could catch an awful disease of she touched him. "I'm the real thing."

He removed his mask with an under-dramatic flourish, smiling down at the woman. She frowned. "Who do you think you are, Bozo the Clown?"

This, apparently, was not the reaction he'd wanted.

He struck her across the face with the butt of his gun, making the child wail in despair.

"We're leaving," The Joker said, grabbing Shane and pulling her out of the building.