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Now I must go see.....a banker......
The sun began to mercifully sink at which time the Joker prepared himself for his night on the town. He had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do when he got there, but he was jonesin’ for a date and intended to have a good time despite the numerous setbacks to his plan, not that he had one in the first place. He showered, he shaved, he even shit. Then he donned his best purple, green, blue, and patterned outfit, and placed his collection of cutlery throughout the suit. He then sat down in front of the mirror in front of which was his war paint. He clicked his iPod to “Ceremony of Passage” by Vas and proceeded to so the most important thing in his life. Everything else was inconsequential compared to this ritual of the Joker’s. This was what made him, what defined him. This was perfection made manifest.
First came the white base. It smelled faintly of vanilla and was waterproof. All his war paint was waterproof. He came to realize this necessity, thanks to previous date nights. Sometimes a date can get messy and you didn’t want your defining trademark left behind between some lovely lady’s legs. So, yeah, waterproof. Then came the kohl eye designs, making his eyes look like skull holes, especially when he closed them. At one time, the Joker had played around with the idea of painting eyes on his eyelids, but he decided simplicity was the best avenue to take, no matter how amusing the actuality would be. Finally, came the most important part of his war paint ritual: the painting of the scars. He began by applying crimson lipstick to his lips. The top lip he coloured carefully, staying within the lines of his upper lip. The bottom lip he coloured with much less care, allowing the lipstick to bleed down the scars that dotted the lower clip. He then took a small jar of the same colour of lipstick and dipped his finger in it. Taking his fingers, the Joker smeared the colour from the corner of his maimed mouth and drew outward to cover every scar. Immediately the colour began to bleed into the outward crevices of the scars. He repeated the action on the other side of his mouth. Wiping his hands with a moist wipe, the Joker peered into the mirror at the clown peering back at him.
“Hiiiiiii,” he said to the reflection in the mirror, sucking on his yellow teeth. Not for the first time, he considered trying out those Crest whitening strips. Maybe the next time he robbed a drugstore for all their controlled substances, he'd grab a couple of those as well. May as well try it out and, if it didn’t work, he wouldn’t be out anything but a minute of his time. It’s not that he didn’t brush his teeth. He couldn’t remember how or why his teeth got yellow. It was probably all that time spent in Arkham, where hygiene wasn’t high on their list of requirements. Fuckers. That place was a joke. They neither wanted to help the mind or the body. God forbid the spirit need tending! If you weren’t crazy when you entered Arkham Asylum, you were well on your way when you left, if you left. His only positive experience at Arkham Asylum was this cute little doctor her planned on “converting” when he went back by the name of Harleen Quinzel. The girl was cute as a button and crazier than a bedbug, although she had yet to realize this about herself. The Joker had decided that it was his mission to enlighten her like the shaman he was when the authorities sent him back to that hellhole. Then, when it was time for self-discharge, he’d take Harleen with him, and they would live crazily ever after. After all his dates, maybe Harleen would be his last. Maybe. Ha.
The Joker looked out the window and saw his car pull up. Ned was a man of his word. There’d never be another Sidney, but Ned Kelly may just be okay, at least for a little while. It then occurred to the Joker that he really didn’t feel like going out. Screw Date Night. Or maybe not. Maybe he could trust Ned to bring him somebody back. Maybe he’d just have a prostitute tonight and leave her broken body on the steps of Wayne Manor with a Batman mask on her head.
“Ned! Get out of the car and come up here."
Ned shut the car down, got out and was upstairs in a flash. “What’s up boss?”
“You sound like Bugs Bunny, Ned-d. I want you to go without me. Bring me back a bee-yoo-ti-full woman. Hell, if you can manage, bring me two.”
Ned just stood there agog. “Are you serious?” he said, losing his subservient tone.
“Yes, Ned, for the firrrst time everrr, I’m serious. Now skadoodle.”
Ned skadoodled. He left the Joker pacing in his grubby new bedroom, looking much like Leopold pacing in his multi-coloured habitat. If he played this right, he may earn the Joker’s trust in much the same way Sidney had. Sidney had been in the Joker’s service since long before the Joker had been caught by the Batman and sent to Arkham. Before returning to the car, Ned rifled through a pile of documents in the corner of the main room the Joker used for meetings with his crew and practicing his knife throwing. He hit bullseye more often than not. In the pile of documents, Ned found a business card to a place called Spinning Vinyl. On the back of the card was a name and a number. Maybe the Joker might want to see this woman again. Ned pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.
“Yeah, speak,” a sonorous voice said after the third ring.
“Okay, is this Annie?”
“Yeah, do I know you?”
“No, my name is Ned Kelly. I work for a man you may know.”
“Is it J?” the woman asked, her hope not masked in any way.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Dude, I’ve been waiting for him to call me for years. Then when I heard he’d busted out of Arkham, I was sure he’d call, but noooo. Where the hell is he? I and another girl he knows have been wanting to see him.”
“Well, how about tonight? Do you think you’re both up for it?”
“Lemme call Roxy and see. I’ll call you back in five yo.” And she hung up.
Ned went on out to the car, certain that the Joker would be expecting him to leave. Sure enough, when he glanced up to the second floor, there stood the Joker watching and waiting. Ned lifted a tentative hand and received no indication that the Joker saw him at all. He got in the car and drove off, hoping Annie would call him any minute.
After six long minutes, Ned’s phone rang. It was Annie.
“Hey Ned, come get me at Roxy at a bar on the corner of Andrews and Partridge. It’s called The Pagoda. We’ll be out front waiting for you. What kind of car you driving?”
“It’s a big white Oldsmobile. Dunno the make or year
Annie laughed. “Probably stolen then. Okay, we’ll be on the lookout. How far away are you?”
“I can be there in half an hour.”
“Good enough. Roxy should be here by then. Toodles, Ned!” Again, she hung up without waiting for Ned to say anything. He wondered how the Joker knew this strange girl. At least Ned would be able to fulfill his mission, thanks to Annie and her friend Roxy. Bringing the Joker two women just as he requested would surely put Ned Kelly in the Joker’s inner circle, or at least closer to it. Ned puffed up with pride as he drove to the Pagoda at the corner of Andrews and Partridge.
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