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Times Past
Joker, 1981
It Takes One To Know Oneby HarveyKent
"Daddy?" the ten-year-old girl said. "Daddy, I'm scared."
The father sat down on the sofa next to his daughter, and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "No need to be scared, sweetheart," he said. "Everything will be fine. I promise." The father was in his early forties, dapper, distinguished. He didn't dare betray an iota of fear, for he needed to be his daughter's pillar of strength.
The doorbell rang, and the father breathed a sigh of relief. He got up and crossed to the front door of the luxurious apartment. He opened the door, and gasped in surprise. The man on the other side of the door was not at all who he was expecting.
"Ten-fifty," the man in the green and yellow uniform of Ma Jong's Pizza said laconically. The bill of his cap was pulled down over his forehead. He held the flat, square pizza box balanced on his left palm.
"There's some mistake," the father said, irritably. "I didn't order any pizza."
"Wait, wait," the delivery man said, suddenly animated. "This is the Dozier Arms, isn't it? Apartment 1901?"
"Yes, yes, but I'm telling you I didn't order any pizza!" the father insisted.
"Aw, geez," the delivery man said. "Not another practical joke! Third one this week, and it comes out of my pay! Look, buddy, do a fella a favor, hah? How about taking this pie off my hands?"
"Look, I'm sorry," the gentleman said, "but I don't have time for--"
"Aw, come on!" the delivery man insisted. "It's great pizza! Sausage and mushrooms! Here, take a whiff." The delivery man reached to open the lid of the box; the father was so irritated by his insistence, he didn't notice that the delivery man turned his own head away. As the cardboard lid was lifted, a jet of yellowish gas sprayed into the father's face. Before the man had time to react, the gas had done its work, and he crumpled to the floor in a heap.
"Easy as pizza pie!" the delivery man said with a high-pitched giggle, leaping over the father's prone form. He whipped off the cap to reveal a head of slicked-back black hair, crowing his high forehead with a sharp widow's peak.
"Hello, there, little girl," the Riddler grinned at the girl sitting on the sofa. She stared back at him in fear. "Now, no need to be scared," the criminal said in a placating manner. "You're just going to take a little trip with Uncle Riddler. If your daddy's a smart man, you'll be back home with him before you know it!" The disguised villain took a fat magic marker from the pocket of his uniform. "First, though, I have to sign my work. A good artist always does!" The little girl watched in horrified fascination as the strange man wrote large words on the walls of their apartment, giggling all the while.
***
"Commissioner, I cannot impress on you strongly enough the importance of this!" the dapper father ranted in the Commissioner's office. "My daughter must be found!"
"I understand, Ambassador Coleworth," Commissioner Gordon said soothingly. "And I understand why. Believe me, I do. We have every available man on this one. Your daughter will be found."
"What about that costumed vigilante you have on retainer?" Coleworth demanded, pointing at the red phone on the Commissioner's desk. "My daughter was kidnapped by the Riddler! Have you called him in?"
"I don't have Batman 'on retainer', as you put it," Gordon said evenly. "He is a free agent, operating in cooperation with the Police Department but independent of it."
"Yes, yes, but that--"
"And," Gordon continued, "yesterday he informed me that he was called away to an emergency meeting of the Justice League of America, and would be out of Gotham City until further notice. He didn't expect to be more than a day or two, but I haven't heard from him yet."
Ambassador Coleworth gaped at the Commissioner for a moment, then collapsed into a chair, defeated. "Then my daughter dies."
"No!" Gordon snapped. "Get that thought out of your head, Ambassador! Your daughter will be found! I swear it!"
"Commissioner," Chief O'Hara said, "what about Robin? Perhaps we can call him in on this! I know he's been away from Gotham for awhile, but--"
"I already tried that, Chief," Gordon said. "The voice on the other end of the Hot Line informed me that Robin is on a case with the Teen Titans and cannot be reached."
"Begorra! The Teen Titans!" O'Hara cried. "Sure'n I thought they disbanded awhile ago!"
"They recently reformed," Gordon informed the Chief. "Something involving Doctor Destiny, or Doctor Light, or similar. In any case, Robin is unavailable." Gordon's brow wrinkled. His own daughter, Barbara, was similarly indisposed as Batgirl, though he couldn't inform the Chief how he knew that. "Anyway, is the Gotham City Police Department a collection of fools? Can no one in our own department solve this maniac's clues?"
"We've been tryin', Commissioner," O'Hara assured. "The first riddle was easy. 'Who's buried in Grant's Tomb?' Grant, o'course, everyone knows that. But the second one. 'Why is a man with a broken leg like a fisherman?' Sure'n that's a puzzler!"
"Well, if we don't figure it out, and fast--" Commissioner Gordon did not finish his statement.
***
"I've got it!" Chief O'Hara said, banging his fist on the table.
"What is it?" Gordon demanded. Ambassador Coleworth had returned to his home, to await news from the police. Gordon had about given up hope of solving the Riddler's demented clues.
"Well, a man with a broken leg has broken a bone," O'Hara explained. "And a fisherman might catch a herring! Herring-bone, get it? The Riddler's someplace where they have herringbone suits!"
Gordon stared at Chief O'Hara silently for a moment, then sighed. "Keep trying, Chief."
"Well, blast it all, Commissioner," O'Hara railed. "I've been a policeman for thirty years, but solvin' fancy puzzles is beyond me! Saints be praised we've got Batman to deal with clever crooks like the Riddler and the Joker, because their shenanigans are beyond the likes of me!"
"Yes, well, we don't have Batman this time," Gordon said. "So we'd better--" The Commissioner stopped short, and stared ahead of him.
"Something the matter, Commissioner?" O'Hara asked.
"Something you said, Chief," Gordon said. "What was it you said?"
"Eh? What I said?" O'Hara asked. "All I said was, it's a good thing Batman can handle the likes of the Riddler."
"And the Joker," Gordon whispered.
O'Hara's eyes widened. "Commissioner, sure'n you're not thinkin'--"
"Ordinarily, I would never think anything of the kind," Gordon said. "But this is a very desperate situation, Chief O'Hara, and it calls for desperate measures."
"But sir!" O'Hara insisted. "You're talkin' about fightin' fire with gasoline! Don't ye see, what you're contemplatin' can only make things worse?"
"That's a possibility," Gordon acknowledged. "And yet, it's the only hope we have." Gordon rose from his desk, pushing his chair behind him with a single motion. Chief O'Hara watched in gape-mouthed wonder. Gordon couldn't be serious! Could he?
"Let's go, Chief," Gordon said, striding purposefully for the door.
"Saints preserve us all," O'Hara whispered.
***
"I'm back," the thin man with the greasy dark hair said as he entered the small apartment. He carried two white paper sacks in his left hand, as he closed and triple-locked the door with his right. "Got you everything you wanted. Quarterpounder with cheese, small french fries, strawberry milkshake and a hot apple pie. Be careful with the pie, the filling is just like lava."
"No onions?" Jennifer Coleworth asked.
"No onions," Edward Nigma sighed. "I had to wait twenty extra minutes, but no onions. I don't know why I couldn't have gone to Burger King, special orders don't upset them."
"Burger King is yucky," the ten-year-old said, as Nigma handed over the paper sack. "Thank you," she said politely.
"You're welcome, kid," Nigma said, opening his own sack. "You know, it reminds me of a riddle. What did the mayonnaise say to the refrigerator?"
Jennifer thought about it for a moment. "I don't know, what?"
"Close the door, I'm dressing!" The Riddler waited for the little girl's reaction. The ten-year-old looked at him with a puzzled expression.
"I don't get it," she said finally.
"It's a play on words," Nigma explained patiently. "Mayonnaise is a kind of salad dressing. Get it? I'm dressing?"
Jennifer thought about it for a moment. "It's not a very funny riddle," she decided.
"Everybody's a critic," Nigma complained, lifting a french fry to his mouth.
***
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Top Cop and his aide-de-campy!" the Joker giggled, upon seeing Gordon and O'Hara enter his cell. The Joker sat on the floor of the padded room, his back to the wall. He was bound in a straight jacket, but he glared at his two visitors as though he were in total control of the situation. It gave O'Hara the creeps. "To what do I owe the nausea of your company?"
"We wanted to ask you a couple of riddles, Joker," Gordon said. "Thought you might be able to solve them, if you've got nothing better to do."
"Me? Solve riddles?" the Joker threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"What's so blasted funny, ye grinnin' gargoyle?" O'Hara demanded.
"That you expect me to help you solve Eddie's latest clues, what with Batbrains being out of town," the Joker laughed.
Gordon gasped. "How--how did you know?"
"Oh, come on, Commish!" the Joker said. "Why else would you come all the way down here to play 'Riddles in the Dark' with little old me? To use your own words, surely you've got something better to do. Unless it's what I think it is."
Gordon sighed resignedly. "You're right, Joker, it's just as you say. Will you help us?"
"Maybe. I might could be persuaded," the Joker said. "I'm waiting to hear why I should."
"You devil!" O'Hara snapped. "There's a little girl's life at--"
"Hold it, Chief," Gordon said, touching the Chief's arm. He knew, that wasn't the way to get the Joker to play along. "What about outsmarting the Riddler?" Gordon offered. "He's been stealing your thunder for years; isn't it time you paid him back some of that?"
"Nice try, Commish," Joker shook his head, "but no dice. People have been trying to make that comparison for years, saying Eddie is a pale copy of me. It's booshwah. He does his thing, I do mine. If I felt differently he'd of been dead years ago! I don't begrudge him his schtick. Try again."
"Well...." Gordon thought for a moment. "What about putting one over on Batman? Imagine his surprise when he finds out that you solved an important case in his absence! His face'll be red for months! He may never live down the humiliation!"
The Joker's eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. "Now you've got me, Commish! Count me in!"
Commissioner Gordon breathed a sigh of relief. "Very well," he said. "Here are the riddles. First--"
"Whoa, hold on, Commish!" Joker interrupted. "It's not going to be as easy as that."
Commissioner Gordon raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'm not just going to sit here in my extra-snug overcoat and solve your riddles for you. You want Eddie found, you let me find him for you."
Gordon gaped in outrage. "You mean--you expect us to let you out?!"
"Sure," Joker shrugged as best he could in the straight jacket. "I've been cooped up in here ever since Batbrains and his two JLA buddies tossed me and Harvey back in here. I want to walk in the sun, buy a hot dog from a vendor, smell clean fresh air..." Joker wrinkled his nose. "Well, this is Gotham City, after all. Two out of three."
"No!" Gordon snapped. "Absolutely not! Under no circumstances! Forget it!"
"Suit yourself, Gordo," Joker said, settling back against the padded wall. "I'm not out anything if you walk out of here. But I think Lucky Charms over there said something about a little girl's life?"
Gordon stood there fuming in silent rage. Finally he turned away from the Joker and walked to the door of the cell, motioning for Chief O'Hara to follow. O'Hara put his head close to the Commissioner's.
"You can't be considerin' it, Commissioner," he said in a hushed whisper.
"What choice do I have?" Gordon whispered back. "You know the timetable we're on! If that girl isn't found soon--!" Gordon didn't finish the sentence; O'Hara knew how it ended.
"But Commissioner, we're talkin' about the Joker!" O'Hara insisted. "Think of what could happen!"
"I am thinking, Chief," Gordon whispered. "I'm weighing the risks. We have the possibility of the Joker escaping...and we have the reality of Jennifer Coleworth." Gordon turned back around to face the Joker.
"Here are the terms, Joker," Gordon said evenly. "Chief O'Hara and I will be constantly at your side, from the minute you leave this facility. We'll be like Siamese triplets, we three. You solve the riddles, you find Nigma, you lead us to him. The police do the rest, and rescue the girl. Then you will be brought right back here, to this very cell. Understood?"
"Understood, Commish," the Joker said. "I just have one more question."
"What is it?" Gordon asked, suspiciously.
"What's so special about this case? Obviously there's a catch, or you'd never even think of asking me for help. I've got to be the lesser of two evils, and I'm curious to know what could possibly be the greater. So clue me in, Jimmy ol' pal. What's the four-one-one?"
Gordon sighed, and told the Joker what was so special about this case. The Joker's eyes bulged with surprise, then he threw back his head and laughed.
***
"So, explain this to me again?" The Riddler said to the little girl who sat beside him on the threadbare couch. The television screen before them bathed them in its cathode light .
"That's Dick Dastardly," Jennifer explained, pointing at the screen. "He wants to win the race. So he sets traps for the other racers."
"Why doesn't he just drive?" Riddler asked, puzzled.
"What do you mean, Mr. Riddler?" Jennifer asked.
"Well, in order to set the traps, he has to be far out ahead of the others, doesn't he?" Riddler asked. "Seems to me if he just forgot the silly traps and put the pedal to the metal, he'd win."
"That wouldn't be any fun," Jennifer said simply.
"I suppose not," Riddler admitted, watching the cartoon on the screen. He suddenly coughed violently, covering his mouth with his right fist. "That Pat Pending has some nifty gadgets," Riddler said after his coughing spell. "Got the Batmobile beat a mile."
"Mr. Riddler?" Jennifer asked.
"Yes?" the villain replied.
"You've kidnapped me, haven't you?" the ten-year-old asked simply.
"That's a strong way of putting it," the Riddler said. "I prefer to say I'm baby sitting you. For a rather large fee."
"I've seen stories on TV where people kidnap people," Jennifer said. "They always ask for money. Have you asked for money, Mr. Riddler?"
"You bet, Jennifer," Riddler said. "And a smart little girl like you is worth a lot!"
"But you haven't used the phone, or sent a letter, or anything," Jennifer said. "How did you ask for money?"
"Do you remember the riddles I wrote on your wall before we left?" Riddler asked. Jennifer nodded. "Well, they'll tell the police where to go. Then they'll find out what I want in exchange for you."
"Oh," Jennifer said. "I hope they find out soon. I miss my Daddy."
"I know you do, kiddo," Riddler said. "But if your Daddy's as smart as his little girl, he'll do what he's told and you'll be home in--" the Riddler coughed again. "--in a few hours. Whew! I need some water. You want anything?"
"No, thank you," Jennifer said, returning her attention to the television.
***
"Ah, sweet, delicious freedom!" the Joker cried, as he walked out the front door of Arkham Asylum. He was flanked by the scowling Commissioner Gordon on his left and the even less pleased Chief O'Hara on his right. His hospital grays had been exchanged for his trademark purple tuxedo. "You don't know what this means to me, old pals!"
"Enjoy it while you have it, Joker," Gordon grumbled. "Now, how about the riddles? Feel up to solving them yet, or do you want to take in a baseball game first?"
The white-faced criminal goggled at Commissioner Gordon. "Was that a joke, Gordie? I swear, I'm starting to rub off on you! I've never known you to crack a joke before! You, or that gloomy guss Batbrains!"
"Actually, Batman is a million laughs when you get to know him," Gordon said.
The Joker looked puzzled. "Was that--?"
"Another joke?" Gordon asked, as they reached the police car. He opened the back door. "Yes. Get in." Shrugging his bony shoulders, the Joker climbed into the police car. Gordon slid in next to him. Chief O'Hara shut the door, then got behind the wheel and drove off.
"Okay, Gordie, I'm ready," the Joker said. "Riddle me!"
"Finally," the Commissioner sighed. "The first riddle was easy. Who's buried in Grant's tomb?"
The Joker's eyebrow raised. "You figured that one out, I hope."
"Of course," Gordon said. "Grant, obviously. But the second one stumps us. Why is a man with a broken leg like a fisherman?"
The Joker stroked his chin in thought. "Hm. Interesting. Eddie's a clever one, all right. I may need some time with this."
"Joker, if you're stalling--" Gordon began, angrily.
"Moi?" Joker asked, affecting a hurt tone of voice, placing a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Commish."
"Don't give me any ideas," Gordon grumbled. "Now, can you solve the riddles or not?"
"Temper, temper, Gordie," Joker said, soothingly. "I think I can solve 'em. Might help me to see what was on Eddie's mind. How about running by the place where the girl was snatched?"
"Coleworth's apartment?" O'Hara gasped. "Commissioner, we can't take this lunatic there!"
"Hel-LO, person with feelings here!" Joker said.
"I doubt that," Gordon sneered. "O'Hara, what harm could it do? There are two uniformed policemen there, waiting with the Ambassador in case Nigma calls with a ransom demand."
"Sure, 'n if the Ambassador sees who we've brought in to help us on this case, he'll be on the phone to Governor Stonefellow faster than you can say 'waterfront beat'!" O'Hara said.
"Hm, you have a point there," Gordon said. "Call ahead to Wojohowicz at the Ambassador's. Ask him to take the Ambassador out for some air; have him say we're bringing the forensics boys in again, in case they missed something the first sweep."
"Yes, sir," O'Hara said reluctantly, picking up the mobile telephone unit.
***
"Nice place they've got here!" The Joker said in admiration, as he strolled around the apartment. "The Ambassador's doing all right for himself. My tax dollars at work, eh? Oh, that's right, I don't pay taxes!"
"I cautioned you once about stalling, Joker," Commissioner Gordon said evenly. "You asked to see where it happened, well, here you are. Now can you solve the riddles or not?"
"Patience, Jimbo, patience," Joker said. "You say Eddie used knockout gas on the Ambassador?"
"That's right," Chief O'Hara confirmed. "Sprayed from a jet hidden in a phony pizza box."
"Gotta give Eddie credit for a sense of humor," Joker laughed. "I mean, I've heard of pizza giving you gas, but that's ridiculous!"
"Joker--!"
"All right, all right. Lemme think." The Joker sat down on the leather sofa, and crossed his bony legs. He rubbed his pointed chin in thought. "Hmm....Grant...and fishermen. Say, isn't there a fish market on Grant Avenue?"
"Begorra, there is!" Chief O'Hara cried. "Why didn't we think of it, Commissioner?"
"Call headquarters," Commissioner Gordon ordered. "Have them send a prowl car to Grant Avenue. Check out the fish market, but don't be obvious about it. On the double!"
"Yes, sir!" O'Hara snapped, and raced to comply.
"Okay if I use the can, Commish?" Joker asked. "My back teeth are floating, as the saying goes."
"Yes, yes, go ahead!" Gordon said impatiently, waving toward the bathroom. The renewed hope of the fish market was uppermost in Gordon's mind. The Joker entered the luxurious bathroom and closed the door. Gordon listened, and heard the sound of water hitting water.
"They're on their way, Commissioner," O'Hara said a few minutes later, returning from the other room where he had made the call. "They'll let us know as soon as--" O'Hara's eyes widened as he looked around the room. "W-where's the Joker?"
"In the bathroom," Commissioner Gordon said, nodding toward the closed bathroom door with his head.
"Oh," O'Hara said, listening to the sound of the water hitting water. Both men remained silent for a minute, and still the water sounded. "Really had to go, didn't he?" O'Hara commented.
Gordon and O'Hara stared at each other for a moment, then galvanized into action. Gordon pounded on the bathroom door. "Joker! Open up!" There was no reply; only the sound of water hitting water. Gordon tried the door; it was locked. O'Hara threw his weight against it, and the door burst open wide, banging into the wall behind. The bathroom was empty; the sink faucet was running in a steady trickle, and the drain had been stopped, creating the water hitting water sound.
"The divvil!" O'Hara cried. "He gave us the slip! But how?"
"Look, O'Hara!" Gordon cried, pointing. In the wall near the far corner of the bathroom was a laundry chute. The flap had been propped open. "That's how! Come on; we've got to get to the basement!"
The two police officers raced out of the room. Their footsteps pounded through the living room and out the front door; they slammed it behind them. Hearing it slam, the Joker waited sixty seconds, then pushed the bathroom door closed again and slowly stood up from his hiding place, crouched behind the door.
"That was almost too easy!" he laughed to himself, as he selected a large overcoat from Ambassador Coleworth's closet.
With the Ambassador's overcoat covering his own distinctive clothing, and a large hat tucked down over his hair and obscuring his face, the Joker was able to sneak out a side door of the apartment building. He caught a bus to the middle of town, and walked from there to a small emergency hideout he had established long ago, in the basement of an abandoned store in a run-down neighborhood.
"Those flat-headed flatfoots!" the Joker laughed to himself. "Thinking they could keep the Joker on a leash! Ha! It is to laugh! In fact, I think I will!" The Clown Prince of Crime threw back his head and indulged in a long, hearty laugh. "Ah, much better! Well, I wonder when Batsy gets back in town? I need time to plot my next crime, to figure out my next contest of wits with him!" A slow smile of revelation crossed the Joker's white face. "Waaaaaaait a minute! Hold the phone! Contest of wits, indeed! Gordon is a boob, but he was right about one thing. It really would stick in ol' Batboy's craw if I solved the Riddler's crime while he was away! I can see his face now! Oh, I've got to do it!"
The Joker sat down at a table, propped his chin on his fist, and started to think. "Now let's see. Those bungling coppers even got the first one wrong. Who's buried in Grant's tomb? Nobody! You bury someone in a grave; you entomb them in a tomb! Cheap, sneaky trick question, but that's Eddie's trademark! But the other one. Gordo was right again, that is a stumper. A man with a broken leg and a fisherman? Hm. Broken leg. Broken bone. Cast. Whoop! That's it! A man with a broken leg is like a fisherman because they both need a good cast!" Joker's triumphant grin turned into a puzzled smile. "But what does that tell me? Hm, I'm starting to appreciate the trouble Batsy has figuring out clues guys like Eddie and me send him! Cast? Cast? I wonder if it could be an acronym? C-A-S-T. C-A...hold it. C-A? Could that be an abbreviation for California? And S-T; that could mean Street! There is a California Street on the west side of town! But where on California Street? Hm, the first riddle. Nobody; or...no one? And that could mean number one! Number one, California Street!" The Joker banged his fist on the table and laughed loud and long. "Look out, Riddler! This looks like a job for the Joker!"
***
"What are you looking for, Mr. Riddler?" Jennifer asked, from the sofa. She watched her abductor as he stared out the window.
"To see if your daddy got the message," Riddler explained. He mopped at his forehead with a paper napkin from the fast food restaurant. "Whew, it's warm in here! Are you hot, Jennifer?"
"I'm fine," Jennifer said. "It feels fine to me."
"Yeah? Well, maybe I'll open a window. I'm burning up." Riddler's hands moved for the window, then withdrew. "No, I'd better not. Better not to draw attention; the open window might be a giveaway."
"Did my daddy get the message, Mr. Riddler?" Jennifer asked.
"Not yet," Riddler said, staring out the window. He coughed twice, cleared his throat, and walked away from the window. "What's on next?"
"'Bewitched'," Jennifer answered.
"Which Darrin is it?" Riddler asked, sitting down on the sofa.
"The tall one," Jennifer answered. "I don't like him as much."
"Me either," Riddler agreed. "I hate it when a new actor tries to step into a patented role, and they expect us to buy it." The arch-criminal thumbed through the newspaper TV listings. "Hey, 'The Addams Family' is on Channel 5! Let's watch that; Gomez kills me!"
***
"Zis must be ze plaze," the Joker said to himself, as he rounded the corner of Robinson Place and California Street. He had taken the subway from his temporary hideout to the Robinson Place Station and walked the rest of the way. He stood before Number One California Street and stared at it appraisingly. A faded, weather-beaten sign testified that it once housed the studio of F. Randall, Commercial Photographer. The windows were boarded up, the door hinges rusty with disuse.
"Looks as though no one's been here in ten years," Joker mused. "Of course, it's supposed to look like that, ain't it? Now let's see. What would Batsy do?" Joker's eyes scanned the outside of the building. An iron fire escape, black enamel paint peeling with age, clung to the side wall with the tenacity of old age. The fire escape terminated at a window on the top floor of the two-story building.
"But of course," Joker chuckled. "The bat would make for the belfry!" The confident villain strode forward.
***
"What was that, Mr. Riddler?" Jennifer asked in surprise at the sudden loud noise.
The Riddler sprang from the sofa and raced to the window. He stared across the street, and a grin slowly creased his face. He watched with delight as the old photo studio consumed itself in flames, sending orange light and thick oily smoke high into the night.
"That was my message," the Riddler said with glee. "It's just been delivered!" The arch-criminal began giggling to himself, ending in a coughing fit.
***
Commissioner Gordon sat behind his desk, a weary, haggard look on his face. Chief O'Hara sat in a chair in the Commissioner's office, a grim look on his face. Neither man spoke. There was nothing left to say. They had tried a desperate gamble to find the little girl kidnapped by the Riddler, and not only had that gamble failed, they had set an even greater evil loose on Gotham City.
The telephone on the Commissioner's desk rang. His hand shot out like a lightning bolt to answer it. "Gordon."
A high-pitched giggle came through the line. "How do you like your bat, Commissioner? Extra crispy, I hope."
"Riddler!" Gordon cried out. O'Hara gripped the arms of the chair tightly, his knuckles whitening. "Riddler, listen to me--"
"No, you listen to me, Commissioner!" the Riddler interrupted. "Your bat-eared friend blundered into a trap, and now there's nobody to help you! Tell Coleworth to put three million dollars--do I need to say in unmarked bills?--in a duffel bag in Locker 140 of Gotham Authority Bus Terminal by 4 A.M. tonight. Just put it there and leave. No cops, nothing. Once I collect the money I'll be back in touch. Ta-ta!"
"Riddler, wait! Please--" But it was no use. The villain had hung up.
"The divvil!" O'Hara spat. His trained ears had heard every word of the conversation. "He knows we're licked!"
"What did he mean, Batman had fallen into a trap?" Gordon asked.
"He's bluffin'," O'Hara said. "He's got to be!"
"And yet," Gordon said, puzzled, "Riddler couldn't know that Batman is away. He couldn't!"
"Aye, 'tis a puzzler," O'Hara agreed, nodding.
***
"Woo! What a blast!" the Joker chuckled to himself, standing across the street from the photographic studio, watching it burn. He had started to climb the fire escape, but at the last moment had thought better of it. If he had figured Batman would use the window, Nigma was sure to think of it too. So the Joker had used the front door, and found the explosive booby-trap at the window. He had retreated then, and set the bomb off from across the street with his rifle-cane.
"Okay, Eddie, I know where you're not," Joker said, stroking his chin. "Question is, where are you am? Hmmm....well, I know Eddie's obsessed with his puzzles and outsmarting Batbrains. Yeah,. yeah, I'm one to talk, I know. Well, Eddie might make his riddles obscure and obtuse and any other obs you can think of, but he plays fair. If those riddles led Batman into a trap, there's gotta be another way to figure 'em so they'll lead me to Eddie."
The Joker paced up and down the empty street, listening to the fire engines arrive. "Well, if I were Eddie, I'd have a hideout close by this trap, so I could see with my own eyes when Batman fell into it. So much more satisfying than seeing it on the news. So it's gotta be somewhere in walking distance of here. Hmm...."
The Joker stood on the corner of California and 33rd, and began to slowly turn around in a circle. He kept his eyes open, sweeping the area. When his circle was almost fully complete, he stopped, looked, and began to laugh.
***
"I miss my daddy," Jennifer said, sadly. Her lower lip trembled; she was on the verge of tears.
"I know, kid, I know," the Riddler said, not unkindly, and ruffled her hair. "I promise, you'll be back with him soon."
"Promise?"
"Promise! In the meantime, want me to go out and pick you up some comic books? They still publish 'Betty and Veronica', don't they?"
Before Jennifer could answer, there was a knock on the door. Riddler gaped at the door in terror. Who could that be? No one knew he was here! No one! Could--could Batman have survived the explosion? Or maybe that overgrown brat Robin was back in town! But no; they wouldn't use the door.
"Aren't you going to answer the door, Mr. Riddler?" Jennifer asked.
"Uh, sure, sure," Riddler stammered. Cautiously he crept to the door. It had no peephole, so he had to open the door a crack to peer outside. He gaped in surprise as the door was pushed open by a purple-gloved hand.
"Hello, Eddie," the Joker said. "Going to invite me in?"
"J-Joker!" Riddler stammered. "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by," Joker said. "Say hello, swap stories, split a beer; you know, things colleagues do."
"B-but how did you know where I was?" Riddler protested. "How did you find me?"
"Oh, Eddie," Joker tut-tutted. "It took awhile, I admit, but once I had the key it was obvious. The Bates Theater, bankrupt and closed for the last five years. A closed theater would have no one in the cast. And Bates? Fisherman? Too obvious by half, Eddie."
Riddler stared at the Joker in slack-jawed surprise. "H-how did--" A sudden coughing fit seized the Riddler. "How did you know my riddle-clues?"
"Oh, didn't you know?" Joker asked. "Batman is out of town. Commissioner Gordon asked me to fill in. I know, I was as surprised as you. But this is a special situation."
The Riddler, astonished by this turn of events, opened his mouth to reply. A violent coughing fit stopped his voice.
"Nasty cough there, Eddie," Joker said. "You should take care of it. Soon," he added, ominously.
"W-what do you mean?" Riddler asked, blinking his eyes to wipe away the perspiration.
"I mean, you sure know how to pick 'em, Eddie," the Joker chuckled. "You kidnapped an ambassador's daughter! An ambassador to a third-world country, where 'hygiene' is a greeting! A widower ambassador, who dotes on his only child, takes her everywhere he goes, even halfway around the world. And you know how kids are, they get into things they shouldn't, play in places their parents warn them not to."
Riddler stared at the Joker in mounting terror. He glanced back at the angelic-faced ten-year-old girl on the sofa, then back at the Joker. "W-what are you saying?" he asked, in a terrified whisper.
"Come on, you mean the Riddler can't add up the clues?" Joker said. "Jennifer Coleworth has bubonic plague, you ninny!"
Riddler gasped in terror. It couldn't be true! It couldn't! And yet, it would explain his sudden illness, how he'd felt fine only hours before and now....
"YAAAAH!" the Riddler screamed, and bolted past the Joker, out the door of the little apartment.
"Good idea, Eddie," Joker called after him. "You're looking a little green there! Can't tell where you end and the costume begins!" The Joker laughed to himself, then turned to face Jennifer.
"Hello, little girl," the evil clown grinned.
"Are you a clown?" Jennifer asked the Joker.
"A sort of one," Joker nodded. "Do you like clowns?"
Jennifer shrugged. "I like Ronald McDonald."
"He's good," the Joker agreed. "I mean, he has a different style than me, but I see where he's going with it. How do you feel, honey?"
"I'm sick," Jennifer said. "My daddy was taking me to the hospital when Mr. Riddler took me away."
"Uh huh. You didn't tell Mr. Riddler about that?"
"I was scared."
"Well, don't be, not anymore," Joker said. "You'll be fine." The Joker picked up the telephone and dialed. "Hello, Commissioner? Joker here. Hold on, hold on! You'll find the kid in the apartment over the old Bates Theater on 33rd. That's right. Eddie? Check the hospitals. I think he's in search of medical attention. Uh huh. Oh, sure, Commish. I'll be right here waiting! Ta-ta!" The clown prince of crime hung up the phone.
"I've gotta go, sweetie! Just sit tight and watch TV until the police get here. They'll take you to your daddy."
"Thank you, Mr. Clown," Jennifer said. "You're a nice man."
The Joker paused, and flashed her a toothy grin. "Don't you believe it," he said, before leaving.
The Joker hummed to himself all the way back to his hideout. Batbrains and Gordo would probably expect him to kill the kid, or kidnap her himself. Well, if he always did what was expected of him, it wouldn't be funny!
The kid had given him an idea, though. She liked Ronald McDonald, did she? Fine! He'd become a fast-food clown! Burgers were taken, though; he'd have to come up with another schtick. Chicken? Pizza? Tacos? Fish, maybe? Well, he'd think about it. He had time.