The Further Adventures of The Joker
Read The Further Adventures of The Joker Online
Authors: Martin H. Greenberg
Insanity was just the beginning.
His madness is legendary.
His evil without limit.
Scarred in both body and mind, The Joker is possibly the most insidious criminal the world has ever known, his dark genius festering beneath an eternal jester’s grin. Yet, for all the pain and suffering Batman’s nemesis has brought the world over the last five decades, virtually nothing has been learned about him. Until now.
In
The Further Adventures of The Joker
you’re invited to accompany some of today’s most gifted writers on a descent into madness, a journey in search of The Joker’s greatest hopes, dreams . . . and fears. In these stories of crime, mayhem, horror, and twisted humor, you will discover tales you won’t soon forget, tales which will chill your soul and tickle your funny bone.
“Why do you hate him so?”
“You see me as I am,” he said simply. “Look at me. This is his fault.” He stood up and turned before her, like a model, raising his arms, pointing his feet as though about to dance.
She stared through blood-rimmed eyes at the tall, green-haired, white-skinned mockery of a man, whose twisted mouth flowed across his face like a skein of blood. He seemed invented, like something dreamed up by a bad artist during his final drink. He looked mythical, demonic.
He was all too real.
“Will killing me bring you back to yourself?” she asked wonderingly. “Will torturing me change you?”
The Joker laughed, softly. “No, but it will change him, when he knows what I’ve done. He’d grieve even without knowing who you were, but when I tell him you were his sister, when I send him the tapes of you twisting and writhing, the sound of your screams, of your voice, pleading . . .”
“I haven’t pleaded with you.”
“Oh, but it’s early days. You will. Sooner or later. Before the end . . .”
—From S. Tepper’s
Someone Like You
Bantam Books of Related Interest
Ask your bookseller for those you have missed.
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF BATMAN
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE JOKER
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE JOKER
A Bantam Book/February 1990
BATMAN
,
THE JOKER
and all related characters, slogans, and indicia are trademarks of DC Comics Inc.
Copyright © 1990 DC Comics Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Cover and interior art by Kyle Baker.
ISBN 0-553-28531-9
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries, Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To David R. Silvers, who
roots for the Caped Crusader.
Contents
BELLY LAUGH, or THE JOKER’S TRICK OR TREAT
Joe R. Lansdale
F. Paul Wilson
ON A BEAUTIFUL SUMMER’S DAY, HE WAS
Robert R. McCammon
Stuart M. Kaminsky
S. Tepper
Joey Cavalieri
Will Murray
Edward Bryant and Dan Simmons
George Alec Effinger
Robert Sheckley
Edward D. Hoch
Mark L. Van Name and Jack McDevitt
Garfield Reeves-Stevens
Marco Palmieri
Karen Haber
Andrew Heifer
Henry Slesar
Mike Resnick
Edward Wellen
Elizabeth Hand and Paul Witcover
Belly Laugh
or
The Joker’s Trick or Treat
Joe R. Lansdale
BATMAN’S JOURNAL
(Entry, October 28th)
Sometimes I start to believe my good press.
In my mind, late at night, before sleep claims me, I actually think of myself as the Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight, and all those ridiculous names the tabloids give me. I am fast and sure and perfect. The world’s greatest acrobat, the world’s greatest detective. There’s nothing I can’t do.
Then I awake and the world sets me straight. Creeps like the Joker step out of the light and into the shadows.
The Joker escaped from Arkham Asylum two weeks ago, and I’ve been looking for him without success. Waiting for him to strike. Dreading whatever craziness he might have planned this time out.
And last night it happened.
Judge Hadley’s dead.
I wasn’t there when Hadley died, but Jim told me what he saw, and I can imagine how it must have been for the Judge last night. He’s walking along, feeling all right, fresh from a quick dip in the pool, then he becomes aware of the trouble as his feet turn to goo in his shoes. He falls down and flops, his ribs poke through his skin, turn to paste, and flow away. His heart and lungs push through his chest, throb inside his robe, go to mush. His brain oozes out of his ears like oily oatmeal, then there are no ears and no skull, just a blob of white and gray.
The mess pops and gurgles momentarily, makes the robe in the midst of the puddle pulse as if full of rats. Then all movement ceases. The moonlight catches the goo and a little moon-made rainbow rises above it. A white-gloved hand reaches out and drops a party hat into the mess. Painted on the hat is the green-haired, red-lipped, white-skinned face of the Joker.
And the Joker laughs.
Spare me a vivid imagination.
Here’s how I found out. It was yesterday, just after noon. Gordon’s office.
Jim got word to me, and I went over there, sat in a chair with a loose spring, and looked at him. It was a bad view. His clothes were rumpled, his face unshaven. The corners of his mouth drooped like crumbling masonry. His hands clutched the arms of his chair as if he were strangling small throats. There was a drop of sweat dangling from the end of his nose. His forehead was wet. The room wasn’t hot.
I didn’t feel so good myself. Felt small and worn and ancient inside my cape and cowl. Even a little foolish. It had been that kind of year. My last case, the mess with Subway Jack, had taken a lot out of me. And now Gordon had something to say to me, and I knew what it was before he said it.
“The Joker.”
Gordon got a tape recorder out of his desk drawer, took a tape from the plastic evidence bag, slipped it into the machine, said, “Listen.”
(click)
Well, pilgrim, that old wind is howlin’ around the asylum, and the rain is hittin’ the nuthouse walls like whips. Lightnin’s popping outside the windows like six guns, but it isn’t botherin’ me, nosirree. Day I get bothered, well, that’ll be the day, pilgrim.
I’m sittin’ here lookin’ just the way Batman made me. White-faced, green-haired and red-lipped. No Stetson. No pony. Sittin’ here in the hoosegow, right where Batman put me. And I been looking at the rain and lightnin’ through barred windows. And I’ll tell you, Mr., I’m tired of it. And know what, darned if I don’t get me a plan to break out of this here hoosgow, like in the cowboy pictures.
Gonna break out and ride away.
Hear me, Sheriff Batman?
Pretty soon there’s gonna be a showdown at high noon, and you and me and are gonna slap leather, and when the smoke clears, you and your bat ears are gonna be laying in the middle of the big trail like so much dust.
Okay, that’s all for the John Wayne impersonation. I also do a mean Humphrey Bogart and the best Sidney Poitier in the world, outside of Sid himself.
But now, I’m going to talk like the Joker. And pardners, the Joker’s wild.
Wild as Dorothy’s tornado. Madder than a liberal democrat with a budget cut.
And guess what, Bats? By the time you hear this, I won’t be in Arkham Asylum anymore. In point of fact, I’m not there now. There’s no wind and rain and lightning outside my window. That’s just a bad memory, but one I wanted to share with you.
What I’m saying here, Cowl Head, is all the world’s a stage and Heavens to Mergatroit, I’ve gone stage left on the Asylum. I’m in a new suit under a new spotlight. Crime’s spotlight.
(long pause)
I’m calmer now. Shall we talk?
Good. Let us call this Joker Notes. Let us call this the first serial installment. Let us call it a brief history of my parentage. Let us call it a game. Let us call it entertainment and a clue.
(pause)
My. We’re calling it lots of things, aren’t we?
Okay. Here goes.