The Unexpected Visitor

It was a spring evening in Edge City, and strange pink and green gases mingled with clouds scudding across the moon. On an apartment rooftop in the middle of the city, a man and a woman found themselves around a little table spread with a clean white cloth and a ravishing meal.

 

When Stanley Ipkiss pulled out Tina Carlyle's chair for her, he bowed from his waist and proffered the seat with a flourish of his fingers.

 

Tina smiled tightly, and took the seat, rolling her eyes when her back was to him.

 

Stanley seated himself opposite and gestured at the table spread between them. "So, what d'you think?"

 

On their plates were spears of buttered asparagus, a bread roll each, and a delicate little construction involving grilled salmon drizzled in sriracha and garnished with bean sprouts and thin slices of radish.

 

"I had to rewind that Julia Child tape about a dozen times to get it right," he said, grinning. He affected a ridiculous French accent. "But finally, I conquered ze dish!"

 

Tina shut her eyes wearily. Stanley seemed not to notice. He proudly drew the lid off a little porcelain pot, which was filled to the brim with glistening black caviar.

 

"Imported straight from Italy," he assured her.

 

A black bottle of wine, with and ancient fat brown cork yet to be removed, stood between them. Tina touched it and with her long, smooth finger drew off a thick trail of dust. It was probably at least a hundred years old.

 

"Californian oak-aged Pinot Noir!" Stanley declared, pinching his thumb and forefinger and shaking his cultured fist for emphasis.

 

Tina smiled sadly. "Stanley, this is... amazing. But you can't afford all of this."

 

"You're worth it," he reassured her.

 

"And you're sweet," she said. "But no date is worth a sacrifice like this."

 

Tina picked up her fork and started into her meal. Stanley rested his wrists on the edge of the table, and looked downtrodden.

 

"I was just trying to be romantic..." he said softly. "You know... like him."

 

Tina bit off a hunk of asparagus, and chewed it down. She placed her own wrists against the edge of the table and gave her companion a dark look. "You are him, Stanley."

 

Stanley withdrew his wrists and leaned back in his chair, self-consciously. "You know that's not how it works. The mask belonged to the Norse god Loki, or carved in his likeness, I guess. It does something to the wearer's mind, makes 'em less inhibited..."

 

Tina had a resolved look about her. "There's also something called the 'placebo effect', Stanley."

 

"Wait, you know what that is?" came Stanley's curious, inappropriate response.

 

Tina rolled her eyes. "Of course. Everyone knows what it is. I've also always known what a Rorschach test was; I only pretended not to know it, so I could get video footage of the bank vault."

 

"Oh. Right," Stanley said, grinning toothily. She was not amused. Stanley swallowed.

 

"But you gotta admit, I did some pretty weird stuff with that mask on-"

 

Tina nodded emphatically-

 

"-you know, stuff that defies rational explanation..."

 

"It doesn't change the fact that what I saw was just another side of you, Stanley... a side I don't really like that much."

 

Stanley's face moved into a quizzical look. "Hold the phone: didn't you say to me," - he imitated her whistful drawl - "'You should see him dance'?"

 

"He was fun for a while, Stanley. But the big gestures, and the one-liners... it's all show. It's all to make you look good. And you're doing it more and more... even without the mask on," she explained, looking crestfallen. "I feel like I'm acting out a play with you, and I don't want to do that anymore. I just want to relax and be real with you."

 

Stanley felt cold. He hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself. He picked up his roll, and buttered it morosely. "Does this mean we can't watch old cartoons on our dates anymore?"

 

Tina gave him a withering look. "I think we should stop the dates for a while, so you can re-evaluate who you want to be."

 

She stood up, and collected her clutch. She gestured at the expensive, time-intensive meal. "And sort out your priorities."

 

She turned to leave, before adding, "For future reference, yes, it would be nice to watch a grownup movie, for once."

 

With that, she returned to the apartment complex, and marched down the stairs.

 

Stanley looked over his beautiful meal, the wine unopened. He found he had no appetite left.

 

He considered tossing the lot over the edge of the roof. But he had worked long and hard on the meal, and he found that the injustice of such a waste offended him more than angrily tossing it promised to cheer him up. He decided to save it.

 

Standing up, arms akimbo, jabbing one finger dramatically skyward, he declared, "This looks like a job for... TUPPERWARE!"

 

In the ringing silence following this bit of theatrics, Stanley winced. He slapped his head twice, to knock sobriety back in.

 

Stanley turned to open the door and head downstairs to his apartment when he came face to face with a huge man in a black cape and cowl crouched above the door lintel.

Ipkiss and Batz

 "What the holy hell?!" yelled Stanley, jumping back several feet.

 

The terrifying man held a small card in his gloved fingers, which he read.

 

"Stanley Ipkiss," came his bottom-of-the-barrel voice. "...seriously? That's your name?"

 

The horrified look in Stanley's eyes quickly morphed into indignation. "Who wants to know?" he demanded.

 

The man tossed away the card, and replied, "I'm known as the Batman."

 

"Okaaayyyy..." said Stanley. "Commenting on the strangeness of this situation would probably make me a hypocrite, so instead I'll ask: why are you here?"

 

The man leaped down from his perch in a menacing whirl of black fabric and animal mystique. Stanley stumbled out of the way, and gripped the back of his chair instinctively.

 

The Batman was very tall; so tall that his cape did not touch the floor when he walked. He gazed out over the rooftops and beyond, to the night clouds drifting behind the skyscrapers of Edge City.

 

"I've received intelligence that my nemesis, the Joker, is vacationing in your city," he boomed.

 

Stanley relaxed a bit, and laughed sardonically. "Why would he take a vacation in Edge City, of all places?"

 

The Batman paused and gestured at the clouds. "It must be because the methane emissions are so nice this time of year."

 

Stanley laughed. "No, really. Why?"

 

The Batman smiled, and Stanley found the sight very unsettling. "You laughed. I'll have to remember that one," said the Batman. "The Joker doesn't think I have a sense of humor. I guess that's not completely accurate."

 

"My confidence in you is growing ev-e-ry minute..." Stanley muttered under his breath.

 

The Batman explained, "I believe he may be after your mask. He will only use it for nefarious purposes."

 

"Wait, my mask?" blurted Stanley. "How do you know about all that?"

 

"You're more well-known than you think, Stanley," said the Batman. "I keep up with the news. Did you really think a conga line in the city park with the entire ECPD would go unreported?"

 

Stanley blushed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, garsh, Batman. We were only having a bit of fun..."

 

"Also," the Batman added. "Your dog was out today, messing with the Loki mask. Caused quite a stir with a female Jack Russell terrier at the Coco BowWow."

 

Stanley stared at him. "Coco... BowWow..."

 

"Yes. There's a whole part of this city frequented only by dogs. They apparently have a night club to mirror your popular watering hole."

 

Stanley looked at him incredulously. "And how would you know about this part of the city, if, indeed, it actually exists?"

 

"I have my contacts."

 

Stanley looked away, and said, "Wow. Not even gonna go there... Nope! But, um, are you asking me to do something about this Joker character?"

 

"I want you to stake out the Coco Bongo Club. From what I've observed, it's exactly the sort of retro, jiving hot spot he likes. It'll be like a moth to a flame."

 

"Well, he's got good taste, I'll give him that."

 

"Also, he will have informed himself about your antics of late and he'll presume to find you there. I want you to draw him out into the open, and I'll bag him before he does any harm."

 

Stanley touched a finger to his chin. "Are you sure it's such a good idea getting that close to him while wearing the mask? I thought I had to protect the thing, not tease him with it..."

 

"True," said the Batman. "But hiding from the Joker will only prolong the inevitable."

 

Stanley stared at him. Then he buried his face in his hand amid raucous snickers.

 

The Batman's anonymous eyes narrowed dangerously, and this chilling sight turned Stanley's laughter sheepish and pitiful.

 

"Why is that funny?" the statuesque man irritably inquired.

 

Stanley wiped his eyes, and managed, "I... really don't know."

 

The Batman nodded. "You know, I think I understand your problem with Tina."

 

"What?! You were listening the whole time?! Well, that's just flippin' fantastic..."

 

"Hey, focus on this job I'm giving you, and it might help you take your mind off her."

 

"Yeah, right, because slumming at the Coco Bongo, the club where she performs, is exactly how I'm gonna do that."

 

"And where would you be otherwise? Hunkering down with mint chip ice cream and Red Hot Riding Hood?"

 

"... Have you been in my apartment?!"

 

"No. Your VHS tape was sitting on the nightstand near the window, and your dog was sneaking some ice cream in the afternoon. He jumped up and yanked open the freezer with his teeth."

 

Stanley was silent. "That... doesn't surprise me as much as it should."

 

"He must have been really depressed after his date... or really tired-"

 

"Hey! Leave Milo out of this! Look, fine. I'll take the job." Stanley sighed. "Wow, I never expected innuendo to come of that scary black cowl..."

 

The Batman smiled. "You don't know who I am in the daytime."

 

"Yeah, I think both you and I would rather it stayed that way," agreed Stanley. Then he had a thought. "Y'know, in detective movies, when the P.I. says 'I'll take the job', you never see him getting paid. You're not paying me for this, are you?"

 

"No."

 

"Oh, right, I forgot," Stanley said sarcastically, turning around and gesturing at the dinner spread. "Because I'm just full of green and this dinner was just a drop in the bucket..."

 

When Stanley turned back to face his conversant, the Batman was gone. Well, that was convenient, he thought.

 

He sighed, and affected a Brooklyn accent. "Well, guess it's time to case the joint. But first..."

 

He grabbed the door handle and stalked down the stairs to his apartment, shouting, "Milo!"

 

The Clown Prince of Crime

In the Coco Bongo club, Harleen Quinzel sat at a cozy table in a skimpy little red-and-black number. In front of her was a glass of champagne and some attractive shrimp fettucine alfredo. In contrast to her, her companion was in his usual violet digs and not eating.

 

"Ain't you gonna eat yours, Puddin'?" she asked sweetly.

 

He sighed distractedly. "You have it, Harley. You're a growing kid."

 

She threw him a disgusted look, puffed out her chest, and took a sip from her glass instead of a bite from her food. She made sure to thrust out her little pinky finger when she did so.

 

"Besides, I don't trust the shrimp that comes out of this harbor," the Joker added.

 

"Why...?" she asked suspiciously.

 

He grinned, and gave a short laugh. "Because they don't have my face on 'em, of course!"

 

She blushed a bit at the grin that always won her over, but suddenly felt a bit ill. She pushed forward her plate, completely uninterested in the contents.

 

"Awww, now, somebody's gotta eat it, Harley. I paid for it," he chided.

 

"They why d'you order your own?"

 

"Ninety percent of everything is presentation, Pumpkin-Pie. Haven't you learned that with me?"

 

Harleen said nothing, but arched her brow and drank from her glass to keep herself from sharing her opinion.

 

She leaned forward over the table, clasping her small hands. She whispered, "So, why we really here? I'm guessin' you ain't just acting out some old Al Capone fantasy or nuthin'..."

 

She paused, took in his violet trenchcoat and fedora, and her own teased blond hair and tiny, sexy dress. "Oh my God, you are, aren't you?"

 

"Oh Harley, Harley, honey... I've really gotta get around to helping you appreciate the finer things in life, haven't I?"

 

"What, like old 3 Stooges flicks and Warner Bros. 'toons?"

 

"Hey, hey, hey, easy there, Harley.... don't diss the Warner Bros."

 

Just then, across the club, a leggy blond woman emerged from the leaves of a palm and swaggered down a staircase that pulsed with soft white light. She gripped the mic like a lover, and dragged a smooth hand over her own contours. Liquid strains of guitar and insouciant horns supported her deep, honeyed voice, and - vocally - she made love with the entire crowd.

 

Harleen took in the woman's curves, and her eyes flicked back to the Joker, to see how he was reacting to the display. He studied the woman for a moment. He waved a pale hand dismissively. "Too subtle."

 

Harleen gave him a dirty look. "I didn't run off with you just to find out you're snooty about 1940s trash culture!"

 

The Joker smirked darkly. "When it comes to running off with me, Puddin', you didn't have a choice."

 

Pouting, Harleen folded her arms together and leaned back in her chair, taking a deep draught from her glass.

 

"You ran off with me for the danger and the daring and the crime," the Joker explained, swilling his champagne before taking a sip. He puckered with displeasure, leaving a thick red lipstick stain on the rim. "And that's exactly what you got. Now, do you wanna know what we're doing here, or don't you?"

 

Still annoyed, Harleen arranged herself in an attentive attitude.

 

"I'm looking for a man," he said in a low voice. "With a very special mask and a penchant for Latin dance numbers."

 

"A specific one, or d'you just wake up with a cravin', Mistah J?" Harleen asked sweetly.

 

The Joker looked at her, astounded.

 

"You take a lot of liberties with me, Harley... hard to believe you're the doormat that fell in love with me."

 

Harleen buffed her nails on her shoulder. "I try."

 

"Well, just as long as you get the job done..." he finished, taking a larger swig from his glass.

 

He pinched his thumb and forefinger and prescribed, "Needs something, hmmmnnnnn... some anchovy innards, yes, yes, I think so. And a nice lemon slice. A funny drink to make up for the unfunny shrimp."

 

Harleen made a face and set her glass next to her rejected plate. "I think we're gonna need a doggy bag for all this. You know, for later, when we're back in let's-serve-the-inmates-cold-oatmeal-for-breakfast Arkham and my empty stomach helps me forget what my brain remembers of tonight..."

 

"If we play our cards right," the Joker grinned, letting out a short laugh. "We won't be going back to Arkham tonight. Not with this mask."

 

He leaned forward and crooked his pale finger, beckoning to Harleen. She never refused that call.

 

***************************************

 

Tina Carlyle slunk around the stage, seducing all present. She glanced from time to time into one dark corner. There, Stanley had sat for hours every evening this week, with a glass of water and his briefcase on the table in front of him. She knew he kept his mask in there. Not a good sign, she thought. As she watched him, she let her eyes do the talking.

 

Stanley only returned her glances with his own depressed mug. He knew how this all looked: hanging around at Tina's doorstep, looking the very definition of 'sad sack', with his confidence crutch in the briefcase. Oh, if only you knew the truth, Tina, he thought. It isn't about me this time. Guess you'll find that out soon enough.

 

Stanley took a sip of water from a glass, and he studied a small table across the club, occupied by a nice-looking kid in red-and-black and a... a very interesting companion.

 

That has to be this Joker guy, Stanley thought. He certainly looks freaky enough. Freaky like me.

 

Man, how did I ever kid myself that Tina was attracted to me in the mask?

 

And now I've gotta bring out into the open a creep who looks just like me at my weirdest? Oh, Tina'll like that. Yeah, that'll look really good.

 

Stanley drained the glass.

 

Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I?

 

I really shoulda ordered something stronger.

 

He snapped open the briefcase. The wooden mask taunted him with that weird sheen of green light. Stanley looked up, and saw Tina finish her song in splendid fashion, as always. The stage lights blazed, embracing her silhouette, before burning low.

 

"Awwww, I'm gonna regret this," he groaned, as he lifted the mask to his face. "Somebody please stop me."

 

***************************************

 

A person-sized tornado whirled through the dim club, knocking over table lamps and smashing champagne glasses. Silverware and gourmet dishes went flying. Shrieks erupted from those patrons caught in the whirlwind's path.

 

The Joker stood and declared, "Now this is a show!"

 

He raised his hands to applaud, but he didn't get a chance to do so before Harleen yanked him by the front of his coat and dragged him under the table with her.

 

Only Tina was unmoved by the sudden change in atmospheric conditions in the club. She stood on the leeward side of an artificial palm tree, her chin in her hand and her arm curled around herself.

 

In the middle of the dance floor, the whirlwind slowed to a stop, and out sped a thin, active man in a banana-yellow zoot suit with a strange, sculpted green face capable of projecting all human emotions at several decibels higher than normal.

 

Gloved fingers lifted a table cloth, and the Joker emerged on his knees, followed closely by Harleen. The yellow-and-green man towered above them, hands on his hips. Harleen raised an eyebrow at the man's choice of attire, but the Joker only stared up at him, wonderstruck.

 

The Mask tipped his feathered hat, and extended one bare hand to the Clown Prince of Crime.

 

In the most sinister, most chain-smokingest, most movie trailer announcingest voice he could muster, the Mask then uttered three words that made Harley Quinn glance between the men before her, and do a double-take.

 

"Pull my finger."

 

Two Unstoppable Forces Meet

 The Clown Prince of Crime narrowed his eyes at the imposter, and reached for the green loon's outstretched hand.

 

Harleen's eyes flicked to the Joker's own gloved hand, and she wondered, Hang on - has he got the joy buzzer?

 

As she watched, fingers threaded with no incident, and the Mask lifted the Joker to his feet.

 

Camera flashes erupted across the club as reporters madly jotted down notes and captured money shots. Civilians across the club reacted as might be expected. Those who had tumbled to the floor from the force of the Mask's whirlwind picked bits of champagne glass out of their hair and evening garb, and gingerly climbed to their feet. Several left in a huff. Most, though, found their eyes glued to the unfolding spectacle and ordered more hors-d'oeuvres from any dazed waiters that stumbled past their tables.

 

Some stout, rich men loudly editorialized the shoddy service their hard-earned money had bought, stood indignantly, and squeezed the creamy shoulders of their paramours. While the older women piously departed with their husbands, the younger set yanked their husbands' ties, anchoring them to their seats in order to watch the developing scene.

 

Most of the club musicians cowered behind their instruments. Tina crouched behind a large, artificial palm tree, and sighed heavily. Stanley, what are you doing? This had better be worth it...

 

The Mask stood a few inches taller than the Joker, even without the snazzy yellow fedora, and the Joker was none too happy about this. He regarded the impertinent fake with a hooded, suspicious gaze. He adjusted the man's black-and-white Pop Art tie, and flicked away an imaginary piece of lint.

 

"Darling," the Joker drawled. "On the night of your junior prom, didn't your mother tell you that it isn't polite to copy the King's style?"

 

Harleen noted that while any other man would have hot-bloodedly swatted away the Joker's invasive hands, the Mask only stood with arms akimbo, brought a lit cigar out of nowhere, and jammed it between his teeth. It flapped as he replied, "Well, ya know what they say, Sonny Jim, about imitation and flattery..."

 

With a flick of his wrist, he was suddenly proffering the Joker a second cigar.

 

The Joker corrected him, with a tight little laugh: "Joker, if you please. And yes, I do."

 

He glanced at the second cigar, and brushed away the gift. "No, I'm afraid you and I aren't there yet. Besides, my lungs are critical for my work."

 

The Mask shrugged, and tossed away the cigar; it vanished. Like a revolver, he righted his own cigar and blew out the tip before disposing of it as well.

 

"Shame, Clown Man," he admonished. With the voice of a 1930s Hollywood gangster, he added, "I don't pull any punches with the sacred cigar."

 

The Joker hmmmpphed. "Well, I would," he muttered. "It seems you have some ways to go before you perfect your imitation of me."

 

"Is that so?" the Mask challenged, his gaze serenely amused.

 

It was then that the Joker lifted his jutting chin, and his gaze became distant and reflective. His voice made a discomfiting transition to a lilt.

 

"But perhaps I also have much to learn from you..." he conceded, in a tone that was very far from genuine humility.

 

The corner of Harleen's mouth turned up. She settled herself back into her chair, folded her arms, ready to watch Mistah J at work.

 

The Mask arched an articulate eyebrow at this admission from the obviously untrustworthy man in front of him.

 

"So, in the interest of perfecting my own imitation of you," the Joker continued, his voice moving theatrically. "Why don't you show me what else you can do? What sorts of things you can..." - he let out a low, sinister laugh - "...withstand."

 

The Mask folded his arms, and took a wider stance. He considered the Joker's request. A miniature Mask, no larger than a Barbie doll, appeared on his broad yellow shoulder.

 

"Whaddya think, Mini-Me?" he asked the homunculus. "Can the Clown Man deal with my awesome?"

 

"He can't handle the truth!" the little figure shouted, before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

 

The Joker's mouth fell open as he realized how beautifully he had fallen into that one-liner. He stared with pure indignance at the place where the little man had sat moments before.

 

Harleen burst into a fit of giggles, and the Joker snapped, "Har-ley!"

 

The Mask smiled serenely, and let out an inane giggle. "Well, that's one opinion!"

 

"But tell ya what," he added. "I'm feeling generous."

 

Not to mention I've got nothin' better to do until the B-Man shows up, he thought. "...So, I'll let you have a good ol' look-see at the tricks up my sleeve."

 

With that, the Mask rolled his yellow sleeves up to his elbows, and replaced his flesh-toned hands at his hips.

 

"I only have one question for you, sadistic clown man," he said. "Have you got a giant mallet?"

 

The Joker blinked in surprise. "You mean you don't have one?" He was immediately smug. "Look, if you're gonna be me, Toots, then that's an embarrassingly basic oversight-"

 

"Oh, I have one," the Mask assured him, grinning. He reached into his trousers pocket, and heaved out the mallet with both hands, resting the cartoonish implement against his shoulder. "I just figured you'd wanna use your own," he explained.

 

He dropped into his gangster voice again, somehow artificially simulating the effect of a cigar jammed in his jaw. "Ya know, in case I pulled any funny business..."

 

The Joker allowed himself a smile of noblesse oblige. "Well put, my odd green man." He flung out a gloved hand.  "Harley, the mallet."

 

Harleen reached under the table and retrieved the comical instrument. "Here ya go, Boss!"

 

The Mask gave himself a cloud of mussed gray hair, a huge nose, some horn-rimmed glasses, and a white lab coat. "Now, ze scientifik experts vould call me 'fffysikly impervious'," he lectured, in a bad German accent. "Do you know vot zat means?"

 

"Yes, I bloody well know what it means," the Joker hissed, as he widened his stance and prepared his swing.

 

"Zenn haff at me," replied the Mask, his scientist garb evaporating.

 

He spread his arms and legs wide, and stared at the ceiling, as though he expected any moment to be raptured. Hurry up, Dark Knight, he thought. This is gonna be a real drag...

 

In her hiding place crouching behind the palm tree, Tina stared in horror at the masked Stanley. What are you doing? Why are you just letting the creep do whatever he wants? She had a sudden thought, and her passion cooled. Don't tell me this is a bid for sympathy, Stanley...

 

The Joker tilted his neck left and right, working out the kinks. "With pleasure, Big Head."

 

The Clown Experiments

 With each vicious swing, Tina winced and the masked Stanley accordioned further, until he was just a yellow-and-green ball with a streak of black-and-white. The Joker swung the mallet like a golf club, and sent the Mask-ball ricocheting around the club.

 

The dynamo hit tables, upturning them completely and sending up shrieks from the occupying patrons. Musicians scattered, gathering their instruments and fleeing the club. Glasses shattered every which way. The Mask-ball spectacularly smashed through a crystal swan on the mayor's table, leaving the portly man and his nubile young consort sparkling with ice flecks and apoplectic with horror. The ball collided with a waiter, who went tumbling as his tray went spinning. Cheesecakes, chocolate tortes, and raspberry tarts landed in women's hair and veiled hats, in men's jowly faces and belly-stretched dinner jackets.

 

Harleen managed to catch an airborne tart before the Joker snatched her hand and pulled her under the table.

 

"Well, Puddin'," she said, licking the raspberry preserve and munching into the pastry. "You definitely ain't gonna copy acrobatics like that..."

 

"You're right, Harl, " he agreed, lifting the table cloth in order to monitor the action. "I mean, frankly, you've got a better chance at copying that than I do."

 

Harleen beamed, her cheeks full of the dessert. She swallowed and made a small squeak of delight. "Ya mean that, Mistah J? I didn't think you noticed my gymnastics skills..."

 

The Joker smiled indulgently on his assistant. "Of course I do, Harley," he purred. "That ball is you on one of my bad nights."

 

Harleen stared at him, dumbly. She looked away, and swallowed a lump in her throat that threatened to gag her.

 

She murmured, "You can be a real heartless jerk, ya know that, Mistah J?"

 

With a short laugh, the Joker chided, "Me? Have a heart? Oh Pumpkin, you know it's only a whoopie cushion in there..."

 

He withdrew the joy buzzer from his coat and applied it to his hand. "What've I told you about getting your hopes up?"

 

Harleen said nothing, and the Joker clambered out from under the table. Without thinking much about it, as per usual, she followed him.

 

The Mask-ball rolled to a stop in front of the Joker, before popping out back into man-shape. The Mask panted dramatically, and actual five-pointed golden stars circled his head.

 

The Joker slowly applauded. "Well. That was a decent start. So, the bumps and bruises aren't such a big deal for you, eh? I guess you were one of the kids where sticks and stones actually didn't break your bones... never mind what the school marms said."

 

The Mask straightened, fists again at this hips. "Satisfied?" he flung out, irritably.

 

"Not in the slightest!" disagreed the Joker. "Now I wanna see how your nerves function. Whaddya say, pal? Put 'er there!" He thrust out his gloved hand.

 

The Mask eyed the Joker suspiciously. As he accepted the clown's hand, Harleen swore that the expression the green man wore was positively knowing.

 

As they clasped hands, the Mask lit up with blue electricity. He shrieked and convulsed into different silhouettes. Even his skeleton flashed a few times.

 

"Wo-ho-hoah!" yelled the Joker. "Harley! He shocks like Wiley Coyote! I love it!"

 

Harleen folded her arms impatiently, and rolled her eyes.

 

At this point, several more incidental spectators had collected their wallets and purses and marched out of the club, righteously offended. Tina, still hiding in the shadow of the palm tree, gazed at the masked Stanley and was at a loss. What are you doing, Stanley? This won't earn you sympathy; this is just stupid.

 

It occurred to her that the police may have put him up to this, whatever this was.

 

Bastards. Those enabling bastards. That does it.

 

Quietly, Tina stood from her crouch and slunk off to the lobby to make a stern phone call.

 

The Mask's unearthly screech and frenetic convulsing abruptly ended as the Joker withdrew his gloved hand. The yellow-and-green man dropped to the floor. Almost immediately, he sat up and vaulted back onto his feet. "Sssssmmmmmoooooookinnnnnn!" he exclaimed.

 

The Joker stood with his fist at his hip. He admired the freak of nature before him. He inhaled sharply, flaring his white nostrils.

 

"Actually, you aren't," he marveled. "That's brilliant! Harley, isn't that brilliant?"

 

"You called it, Boss," came Harleen's bored reply.

 

The Joker again reached within his violet coat. "Let's see how you handle this, shall we?"

 

He spun into the air and flung a deck of razor-tipped playing cards in the Mask's direction.

 

Immediately, the yellow-and-green man bent his knees and flexed his arms. Huge yellow, black, pink, and green licorice allsorts ringed his limbs. A metallic red barrel encased his chest. A protective helmet formed around his head, from a puckered blue licorice lozenge. The cards bounced off the metal and lodged harmlessly in the squishy candy armor.

 

The Joker regarded the display curiously, and scratched his head. "Very good..." he mused. "But I fear I'm missing a reference?"

 

The Mask tugged off his licorice helmet and avidly explained, "I'm a character from an old British science fiction television show which they really, really should bring back..."

 

He promptly acquired a thick black moustache and his fedora morphed into a little black derby. "Top notch stuff that show was, wot wot!"

 

"Oh, I see," replied the Joker, as the Mask plucked the cards out of his squishy abdomen and placed them in the Joker's gloved hands. "Well, I'm afraid I'm as American as green-apple pie, my friend!"

 

The Joker passed the cards to Harleen, who perked up with interest. "Harley, here," he said. "You clean these off."

 

"Sure thing, Boss!" she said, and began licking the sugar off the stiff cards.

 

The Mask waggled his eyebrows at the Joker. "Had enough yet?" he taunted. "Because I could do this alll daaaayyyyy... In fact, I do have allll daaaayyyy..."

 

"Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet, Big Head," said the Joker, with a confident smile. He smooth his hair back, conceitedly. "You must understand: aside from the sneezing powder and the black eye telescopes, despite the guffaws and the lockjaws, and underneath this frankly fabulous face, I'm a scientist."

 

"Oh?" commented the Mask.

 

"That's right," said the Joker.  He touched a few petals of the flower on his lapel. Demonically, he grinned up at the yellow-and-green man.

 

"And I never get tired of experimenting."

 

The clown lunged forward, pinching the flower's stem.

 

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 31.08.2015

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