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The Joker
Times Past, 1981
Tricks and Treats
Three men, all rugged and well built muscle for hire, sat around a small table in a garishly decorated room. "So, where do you think he is?" the brown haired man known as Blue Eyes asked as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the table's surface. It was white Formica with the four suits of a card deck stenciled through out in red and black.
"Just gotta give him some time," the long blonde haired man next to him said. He picked up the darts sitting on the table and tossed them at a portrait on the wall. One hit the picture of Batman dead center in the chest while the other nailed the hero in the brow. Southpaw was rather pleased with his throws.
"That's right," said Tooth, the only black man in the room. "He's the man, after all! Anytime he wants out of that asylum, all's he got to do is snap his fingers!" To emphasize his point, Tooth did indeed snap twice.
"Ha ha ha ha! So right you are!" said a cackling voice. A figure stepped out from the small elevator that opened to the room. The man was tall and lanky, dressed in a purple suit with a green shirt and orange vest. His face had a long, pointed chin with skin as white as paste. His hair was as green as seaweed, and his crimson lips were forever molded into a wicked smile.
The Joker strode into the room, taking the familiar dwelling in. His evil visage was present at every direction he looked. From pictures on the walls, to busts on the counters, to the specially designed drapery, to the shape of the fireplace, everything in the room pointed to the master villain whose ego was as big as his insanity. "Ah, its good to be back home in my little Ha-Hacienda!" he exclaimed.
"Good to have you back," Southpaw said, standing to offer up the seat at the head of the table. "I called the gang together just as you requested, boss."
"Ah, good old Southpaw," the Joker said, spinning the chair around so its back faced the table. "If a guy can't count on his left-hand man, who can he count on? Ha ha ha!" Stepping over the chair with an exaggerated gesture, the master criminal plopped down in the turned chair. He propped his arms up on the back, resting his chin upon his folded hands. "So, you boys dying to find out what I've got in mind?"
They all had worked with the man often enough to not answer the question as it was worded. If they did, they just might find themselves on the receiving end of an explosive cigar that would blow their heads off! "Knowing you, boss," Blue Eyes finally said, "its bound to be a wild ride."
"Wild ride, indeed!" the Joker squawked "You been peeking into my head, Blue-Blue? I don't think that's wise though. The shrinks at that cursed Arkham keep trying to, but its me who ends up messing with their heads instead! Ha ha ha ha!"
Joker grasped the end of the chair back and vaulted himself up onto the table top. He kicked at soft drink cups the gang members had been nursing, sending them flying through the air. "No time for dilly-dallying, my faithful followers! Time to gas up the mobile Ho-Home and pack yourselves a change of underwear! We're going on a road trip! Ha ha ha ha ha!"
The three men rose from their seats; when the Joker asked you to move you moved. Knowing their boss though, they could only imagine where they'd end up this time and what the caper might entail. With the Joker, every trip was like a spin on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and about ten times as deadly!
***
About fourteen hours later on Interstate 70, the garish green motor home barreled down the highway. Southpaw and Blue Eyes were sound asleep in the back; Tooth was behind the wheel of the big rig while his boss sat amusing himself with a joke book in the passenger seat.
"Ha ha ha ha ha! Wooden leg named Smith! Ha ha ha ha! An oldie but a goodie!" Every now and again, the Joker would bust out laughing in his usual insane laughter.
How the guys in the back remained asleep was beyond Tooth. They had to be using earplugs or something he surmised. He noticed a billboard sign whiz past in the vehicle's headlights. What he read concerned him slightly. "100 miles to Central City," Tooth said, repeating what the billboard had said. "That's the home of the Flash! Don't tell me we're heading there!"
"Okay," Joker chuckled. "I won't tell you! Ha ha ha ha!" The Clown Prince of Crime noticed the expression on his driver's face change. "Oh, relax, Tooth! Don't go all pale on me! We ain't going all the way to the Flasheroo's home town. Just keep your eyes on the road, and I'll tell you where we're turning off!" The Joker then went back to his joke book.
Tooth turned back to the road and clenched the wheel more firmly. He knew his boss was insane, but to go up against someone like the Flash was even crazy for him. He sincerely hoped that the clown had something else in mind.
***
In a rather large factory on the edge of a town called Bookerton, two men dressed in gray uniforms made another circuit of the darkened warehouse. "I'm so glad you scored us this job, Benny," said the shorter, stockier of the two men. He had reddish-blonde hair. "After that last one at the museum, I didn't think we should stick to doing security."
"Nonsense, Marv," said the taller, brown haired man. "It wasn't our fault that he happened to show up to make our lives miserable, again. I'm sure its all been coincidence."
"Coincidence?" Marvin Fargo asked. "Yeah, right. More like a cosmic joke. He'd rather like that, wouldn't he?"
"Ah, you're just talking crazy," Benny Khiss said.
"He'd like that too!" The two men continued their patrol, shining their flashlights ahead of them along the darkened shelves. "You know, he's been to blame for us losing our last couple jobs. I'd hate for that to happen again."
"Not likely," Benny said. "This is a temporary gig at best. Old man Galighar's closing up this place in another week or so. Word is that the place's fallen on hard times, causing him to file for bankruptcy. The whole company's gonna have to liquidate all of its assets in order to pay off its debtors."
"Oh great!" Marvin exclaimed. "So we'll be out of work again."
"Yeah," Benny agreed. "But its a paycheck until then. Plus it adds to our resumes." His light beam continued to bounce around. "Not like we'll be able to blame... the Joker!" His light had stopped on a large inflatable punching bag with red hair, a red nose and a huge grin.
Marvin jumped slightly. Then he realized his friend was laughing. "Oh, really funny, Benny!"
Khiss stopped chuckling. "It was! You're so skittish about the Joker! Thought you could use a little scare." He put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I mean, really, what would bring the Joker half way across the country to a little place like this?"
Marvin's eye grew wide as he was looking past his friend. His mouth dropped and his lower lip quivered. No words were coming from his mouth though.
"Marv, what is it?" Benny asked. "You having some kind of attack or something?" The shorter man shook his head violently no and thrust his finger outward to point. Benny spun around, his flashlight beam darting out ahead of him. His beam joined Marv's shaky one to settle upon a shocking sight.
There stood the Joker, in his full glory, right in the middle of the Galighar warehouse!
"Benny! Marvin! What a wondrous surprise!" the Joker cackled with delight. "How's about a hug for old times sake, hmmm?" The villain spread his arms wide as he stepped towards the two guards. From his palms were barely visible two short, pointed items.
With his free hand, Benny reached for the holster at his side, drawing forth a pistol. "Freeze, Joker!" the ex-Arkham guard warned.
"Oooo, I'm so scared," the Joker said mockingly. "I know when I'm not wanted. Catch me if you can, boys! Ha ha ha ha!" He started to prance off into the darkness, his maniacal laughter trailing in the air.
Benny Khiss took after the man, leaving Marvin in the dust.
The brown haired guard spun around the corner, hearing the Joker up ahead of him. His shined the light upon the man who stood next to one of the many shelving units in the warehouse. "Give it up, Joker!" Benny said.
"You'll have to shoot me, Benny," the Joker dared, "that is, if you've got the guts! Though if you hit me, I guess you'll have my guts too! Ha ha ha ha!"
Benny realized he had no options here. The Joker was a wanted man, surely on escape from Arkham, again. The villain had murdered and stole more than anyone else in Gotham City. Benny would be a real hero if he took the creep out. He smiled at the idea, took aim and fired.
His flashlight fell at the first shot, bouncing onto the floor. Still, he kept on firing. How could he miss at this range? The laughter stopped. Then there was a hiss sound, followed by the sound of exploding cans. From the darkness, Benny was hit by something. It splattered about his body and face. The surprise knocked him to the ground.
The laughter started again and drew closer. A purple shoed foot kicked away his gun, sending it skittering underneath some shelving units. A purple gloved hand grabbed the flashlight and raised it up. "Poor, Benny!" the Joker laughed as he turned the light downward. The guard was covered in white sticky material that held him down to the floor. "All tied up, I see! But what can you expect, eh?" The Joker turned the light back to the shelving unit where he'd been standing before Benny shot at him. There were dozens of punctured cans, while a few remained on the shelf. "Silly string'll do that to you! Ha ha ha ha!"
The Joker swung the large flashlight back down, clocking the man on his skull. That laughter would still be ringing in his head when he woke up hours later.
The Clown Prince of Crime whistled "Put On A Happy Face" as he strolled back through the warehouse. He soon came upon a trio of men very familiar to him. "Well, boys, did you take care of my old friend, Marvin?" he asked.
"Sure did, Boss," Southpaw said. He gestured towards a large cardboard box where two legs, unmoving, were hanging out from the top.
The Joker sauntered over to the crate, reading the label. A bigger smile crossed his face. "I see you've got him making whoopee with those cushions! Too bad there's not a beautiful woman for him to be with. Ha ha ha ha!" The men laughed, even though it was one of their employer's lesser attempts at humor. When you worked for the Joker, he decided what was funny! It wasn't wise to disagree with him.
"Well, as much being around all these novelties has been fun," the Joker said, "its time to locate old Galighar's office. That's where we'll find what we're after!" The trio of thugs fell into line behind their boss.
***
Meanwhile, already up in said office, a figure moved around in the shadowy darkness. The lack of light, however, did little to impede his progress as he worked upon the safe in the wall. These infrared goggles work like a dream, the man thought. I wonder if they make the x-ray variety as well. He continued to carefully manipulate the tumblers until the last one clicked into place. Bingo! He popped open the safe and began to unload the contents into a sack.
Just then, he heard the sound of laughter coming from down the hall outside the office. It sounded like a sick hyena. Not good, thought the man. He continued to empty the safe quickly, just in case.
Suddenly, the office door blew wide open with an explosive blast. The man ducked behind the desk in enough time to avoid being hit by splintering wood. Light flooded into the room, making it difficult to see with the infrared goggles. He discarded them quickly, trying to allow his eyes to adjust to the light in the room.
He glanced up and saw a shadowy outline in the door frame. It was rather distinctive. Tying it to the laughter he heard before, the man knew who it was standing there. The Joker! he thought.
Suddenly, the lights flew on in the office.
The Clown Prince of Crime looked about at the setting. The painting that had covered the wall safe was propped up on the floor near the desk. The safe itself was open and nearly completely empty. "Well well well, boys," he said rather dejectedly as he entered the room. "Looks like someone's beaten us to the punch line!"
With his sharp vision, the Joker noticed a bit of blue material on the floor trailing behind the desk. He took a couple long steps toward it, all the while saying "I guess we might as well take off before we're...." He stomped his foot down hard upon the cape and whirled around the desk. "...discovered!"
The Joker started to laugh upon seeing who the cape was attached to. It was a blonde haired man in a blue domino styled mask. The cape was attached to a orange and blue striped tunic, with puffy yellow striped sleeves. The tights he wore on his legs were orange striped, and his blue shoes were like that elves might where. "Well, bust my buttons! Look who we have here? It's the Stinkster! Ha ha ha!"
The costumed villain tugged on his cape, pulling out from the underneath the Joker's shoe. The Trickster rose to his feet. "Hey, isn't this a little far off the beaten path from Gotham?" the rogue asked. "Don't tell me that Batman's driven you into the heartland, green hair!" He slowly started to reach with one foot for his sack which had fallen near the leg of the desk.
"This clown can take his show on the road anytime he wants!" the Joker said, defending himself. All the while, he kept a careful eye on the villain. "So, tell me, Stickler, what brings you to this factory of fun and frivolity? Stocking up on your little wacky weapons? Hmmm?"
The Trickster snagged the bag under his left toes. "I could assume the same thing now, couldn't I?" he said. "Tell you what, I didn't see you and you didn't see me! That way we both get what we want and no one's the wiser!" He flipped the bag into the air.
The Joker lunged over the desk, snagging the sack in mid air and just inches before it hit the rogue's hands. "Say, whatcha got in the bag, bucko?" he asked. He stuck his hands inside to find the sack was full of packets of hundred dollar bills. "Ooooh, cold hard cash! Always a good investment, easy to unload."
"Give me that!" the Trickster said, grabbing for the bag. Suddenly, he heard three safeties released as the Joker's gang aimed their guns at him. "On second thought..."
"Oh lighten up, blondie!" the Joker chuckled, tossing the sack back into his face. "So old man Galighar's been hoarding some of his cash here! Figured maybe he'd be able to keep some money free and clear before the IRS cracked down on him! Smart thinking! Ha ha ha!"
"So, you don't want the money?" the Trickster asked. "What did you come all the way out here for then?"
The Joker rolled over onto his side, reached over the side of the desk and grabbed the picture frame. "I came for this, old boy!" Hoisting the two foot by three foot painting into the air above his head, the Joker laid back on the desk and held the painting up at arms' length, marveling at it. "Seems old Galighar enjoyed a decent piece of artwork as well as a good laugh. This baby of his is a priceless work of art! It'll look exquisite when added to my own personal collection!"
The Trickster attached the sack to the blue satchel he had slung over his left shoulder. "Priceless art in the office of a novelties factory," he said. "Who would've guessed?"
"No body but me!" the Joker laughed. "Now I don't have to worry about this little precious piece of canvas and paint ending up over the bed of Ma and Pa Kettle after its sold at the auction for a fraction of its true worth."
"All that way for a painting," the Trickster said. "That's crazy!"
"Eh?" the Joker said.
"Yeah, crazy or genius!" the Trickster added. He lunged forward, slapping a pair of handcuffs about the clown's wrists. "And I'll take this off your hands!" He then snatched the painting from the surprised criminal.
Joker suddenly felt the cuffs contracting, drawing his two hands tightly together. "Stop him!" he barked as he fumbled with the confining rings.
"I'm gone!" the Trickster yelled as he smashed through the office window and leapt out into the evening sky.
Although the office was three floors up, the rogue didn't drop to the ground. His signature air-walker shoes kicked in, keeping him aloft as he ran off into the night sky. The Joker's men continued to fire at him in his wake. "Ta ta, boys! And Joker, thanks for the gift!" Tucking the painting under one arm, he reached for something in his bag of tricks.
He circled back around. "Here, let me leave you with a little something!" the Trickster said as he chucked an object towards the broken window.
"Duck!" Blue Eyes yelled as they dove back across the room.
The Joker barely had time to roll off the edge of the desk and hit the floor before the wall near the window exploded. Dust from the brick and mortar filled the air.
"Everyone okay?" Southpaw asked. He heard confirming coughs from the others. "Boss?"
The Joker emerged from the floor, having found a way out of the trick cuffs. He tossed them aside in disgust and then walked towards the exploded wall. In the fullness of the evening autumn moon, he could barely make out the silhouette of the man running away in the air. His foot brushed up against something in the rubble. He bent down to pick it up. It was the head and neck of a novelty rubber chicken.
The Joker frowned slightly. "Boys, back to vehicle fast!" he said flatly. "We're going to retrieve what's rightfully mine!"
***
The next morning in Central City, curator Dexter Myles opened the doors to the museum as he did every day. Often there would be a handful of tourists waiting for him, ready to take in the history and the celebration of Central City's greatest super-hero - the Flash.
"Welcome, one and all," Dexter announced in a joyful tone. "You are all about to partake in the greatest collection of heroic memorabilia this side of the Mississippi." The blue uniformed man bowed graciously as the day's first visitors passed through the doors.
Dexter stood up just as a tall lanky man in black overalls and a green shirt approached the doors. "And good morning to you too, sir," the mustached Shakespearean trained actor said.
The bald man looked around with a rather serious expression on his face. "Thanks," he said absently as he wandered into the building. "Amazing, a whole museum devoted to the Flash! Who would have guessed?"
"Your first visit to our little establishment?" Dexter asked. "Might I suggest you save some time for the newest exhibit." He pointed down the hallway that lead to the wing devoted to the Flash's greatest enemies. "We have a special program running twice daily that focuses on Roscoe Dillon, the recently deceased rogue known as the Top."
"The Top?" the bald man said. "No, no, I don't think so. I'm more interested in another of the Rogues Gallery."
"We have mini presentations on all of their exploits," Dexter recommended. "Feel free to check out any of them."
"I will," the lanky man said as he sauntered off. "I will."
As he moved down into the wing, the man shook his head. A whole wing devoted to his foes, he thought. I'd have thought it was a joke if I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes! He chuckled silently to himself as he entered the room.
There were portraits of the colorful villains, posing together in celebration for a crime they never got away with entirely. There were mannequins posed in scenes: Captain Cold versus Heat Wave, Mirror Master standing before various fun house mirrors, even a figure of the Trickster that moved over head on wires. Incredible! I can only imagine if we had something like this in Gotham! I can't imagine someone honoring the likes of Crazy Quilt or Signalman! The man had to suppress every instinct to bust out laughing out loud. That would have tipped his hand.
Instead, the man made his way to one of the small viewing booths to the side. Sitting in one, he drew the curtain closed. He then selected one of the buttons on the panel in front of him; the one with the Trickster's portrait. The little black screen next to the buttons came to life, and a narrative voice came from the small speakers. Still pictures appeared on the screen to accompany the story being told.
"The Trickster. Born James Jesse to a family of famed circus acrobats. Initially terrified of heights, the young lad overcame his fears by focusing on the exploits of his 'namesake' Jesse James. In order to perform, Jesse developed boots with compressed air jets. These boots allowed him to walk the high wire to perform. Eventually, he overcame his fears and became a bit more of a daredevil.
"Bored with the circus life, Jesse decided to use his new tools to commit crimes. Adopting the costumed identity of the Trickster, he invented other unique gimmicks which gave him an edge over normal law enforcement officers. From exploding rubber chickens to deadly razor-rings, the simplest of toys can become deadly in his hands. He even once utilized a simple tricycle that could emit high-frequency sounds to commit crimes.
"He soon found a challenge in Central City's new hero, the Scarlet Speedster called the Flash. After a number of encounters with the super-speedster, the Trickster soon found camaraderie with other foes of the hero. Together, these villains joined forces under the name of the Rogues Gallery. Both with the others and working solo, James Jesse built a colorful reputation for himself."
The bald man had heard enough. "Colorful reputation, bah!" he muttered under his breath. "It's time for someone to show him the true meaning of colorful!" The man exited the booth and started for the front of the museum.
"Leaving so soon?" the curator asked.
"I've seen enough for now," the man said. He walked outside, turned the corner and headed down the street. As he passed by a phone booth, he yanked at the phone book hanging there and ripped it off. He continued on his way to rendezvous with his gang.
Twenty minutes later, the man stepped into a disguised motor home and closed the door with a slam. There, three men sat playing cards. "Look alive, you bums!" the bald man said as he tossed a number of phone books onto the table. As the books landed, they sent the cards flying.
The bald man reached under his chin and pulled off the rubber mask, revealing his white complexion and green hair. He then snapped off the flesh colored latex gloves. "I'm heading to the back to change out of these dull clothes," the Joker announced. "When I get back, we've got some searching to do!"
"For what, boss?" Southpaw asked.
"We're gonna find us an address, and then I'm going to show someone what a true trickster is capable of! Ha ha ha ha!"
***
Early evening at a small apartment he'd been renting, James Jesse heard a buzzing of his doorbell. "That's odd," he said to himself. Crossing the room, the blonde man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt checked the peephole. He saw a black man standing there. He unchained the lock and opened the door. "Yes?"
"Is this 119 Cany Street?" the man said. In his hand was a square box from which rose a wonderful aroma.
"Nope," James said. "117 Cary Street."
"Your last name's Wyatt, right? Said so on the box down front."
"Yeah," James said with a curious eye. "Earl P. Wyatt to be exact."
"Damn!" the black man cursed. "I got the wrong address!"
"Oh well," James said, starting to close the door.
"Say, man, you want this pizza? We're supposed to deliver in thirty minutes or its free anyway. I ain't gonna find this other Wyatt on Cany Street in time. Someone might as well enjoy it."
"You don't want it?"
"Nah. You deliver this stuff for a living, you learn to dislike it after awhile. Its pepperoni and sausage." He held the box up.
James Jesse's stomach grumbled. He hadn't thought about dinner. Pizza sounded good, and it was already here. "Sure," he said, "Why not? Can I at least pay you for it? That way it doesn't have to come out of your pocket."
"I screwed up," the black man said. "I should have to cover it. Thanks anyway." And with that, the man headed down the stairs.
"Ah well," the blonde man said, stepping back into his apartment and putting back up the chain. "I tried." He set the box down on the counter and opened it up. More of the smell rose into the room. It looked rather tasty. He got a plate from the counter and dug in.
The black man meanwhile left the building, rounded the corner and ducked into a nearby alley way. He approached the shadowy back where his boss waited. "Tell me, Tooth," the Joker said from the shadows, "was this Wyatt really our wily enemy?"
"Sure was, boss," Tooth said. "Hiding under a fake name just like you guessed."
"Excellent!" the Joker said, rubbing his palms together. "Get back to the motor Ho-Home. I'll be along in a bit, after I've taught that scheming super-villain a lesson!"
***
Not too long after, when James Jesse was finishing off his third slice of the pizza, he heard a rattling at the front door. "What the...?" he exclaimed. The door pushed open, only to be stopped after a few inches by the chain. "Who's there?" He scurried about for his bag of weapons and dumped them out on the table. He grabbed a gun like weapon, figuring it would scare off whoever was trying to burgle his apartment. The idea of someone breaking into his place of living struck him as funny.
Suddenly, a spray of liquid hit the chain that held the door at bay. Instantly, the metal started to smoke with a loud hiss. In a moment, the metal snapped, and the door flew wide open. Into the room burst the Clown Prince of Crime.
"The Joker!" James exclaimed.
The green haired man slammed the door behind him. "Glad to see the warm welcome, cowboy! Love the pseudonym, by the way. Good word play! Must've taken you hours to work that one up! Ha ha ha ha!"
James Jesse realized that he might need more than one weapon to handle this lunatic. If the Joker tracked him down, the man had to want something. He knew the man was crazy, perhaps crazy enough to try and kill him! He didn't want to risk that. "What do you want?" He took a step towards the table to where his items were.
Joker saw it. "Uhn uhn uhn!" He waggled his finger at the blonde man as he lunged forward. With his other hand, he produced something from his pocket. The Joker lunged at the table, shoving something into the back side of the air walker shoes. "Can't have you running away like before! Not when we have business to discuss!"
James Jesse looked at the shoes. Pink stuff was oozing out of it. Gum! He gummed up the shoes! "C'mon, let's sit down and talk this over," he said, "one man to another." He noticed the pizza still sitting there with more than half left. "Can I offer you something to eat?"
Joker looked over at the box and started to laugh. "Ha ha ha ha! Sorry, Stickler, but I never touch the stuff! Dairy doesn't agree with my stomach!" He gave him a deep stare. "You don't have that problem, do you? Hmmmm?"
Suddenly, James felt a weird sensation in his lower intestines. It was short but it passed. He glanced at the pizza, then back at the Joker. "You didn't?" His face grew wide with concern.
"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, Jessie!" the Joker laughed. "Its not like I poisoned you are anything! Not that I couldn't have if I'd wanted to! Let's just say, Montezuma isn't the only one who knows how to get revenge! Ha ha ha ha!"
James Jesse groaned. Between the humor and the tainted food, he wasn't feeling well.
"Fine! Fine!" he then said. "If you want the painting so badly, take it! Take it and go!" He picked up the artwork he'd stolen from Galighar's office and handed it forward.
Joker took the frame in his hands. "Good man! Now, what about my bonus for the inconvenience you caused me? I think you owe me more!"
"Inconvenience?" James Jesse said. "You bust into my home, give me food poisoning..." His stomach gurgled again, giving him a very uncomfortable feeling again. "... and you want to talk about inconvenience?"
"Just looking for my pound of flesh, Jimmy-boy!" Joker grinned.
James Jesse reached his tolerance point. This clown waltzes in here, and he was letting him walk all over him. He was the Trickster, damn it! He battled the Flash, one of the best heroes around! He wasn't about to stand for this. He started to pull back on the frame.
Joker was surprised by this. "Hey! What's this? Now you're an Indian giver too? Ha ha ha ha!" The clown pulled hard on the frame, and the tug of war was on!
Both men held firmly to the wooden portion of the artwork with both hands. They dug their feet in and began a struggling match over the item. "Let go!" the Trickster ordered.
"You let go!" the Joker replied.
"Make me!"
The Joker considered releasing one hand to reach for his squirt flower filled with acid when there was a loud crack sound! The end of the frame that James held onto broke off, sending the man tumbling backward to the floor.
The Joker laughed loudly at this. "Hooo hooo, ha ha ha! Nice pratfall, partner!"
James Jesse felt a pain where his backside had hit the floor. His stomach gurgled again. He wasn't sure how many more warnings he'd get. Then he noticed that his quarry was just standing there, examining the picture. "What is it?" he ask, rising to his feet. "What's wrong?"
"The joke's on us, Tricky!" the Clown Prince of Crime said. He raised the picture over his head and sent it crashing down on the blonde man.
James Jesse's upper body poked through the canvas. "You're crazy!" he exclaimed. "You track me down to get the picture, and then you go and ruin it! Why?"
The Joker leaned in. "Seems old man Galighar was a bit of a comedian too! This is a fake!"
"What?"
"A fake, a phony, a reproduction!" the Joker said. "Really, Stickler, you need to knock over a library and steal yourself a Thesaurus! Ha ha ha ha!" The man in purple started to saunter towards the front door of the apartment.
James Jesse's brain kept telling him to just let the man go, but his mouth couldn't keep quiet. "So, that's it then? The picture's a fake so you're just leaving?"
The Joker spun around. "Trickster, old boy," he said. "You need to learn to appreciate the irony of the situation! Besides, my work here is done." He reached into his coat pocket for something.
James Jesse winced as the clown tossed something his way. Here he was, arms pinned by a canvas and the Joker was going to kill him!
A roll of toilet paper bounced off his head. "Here you go, Jesse!" the Joker said. "I think you'll need this in about two minutes! Ha ha ha ha!" And with that, the master criminal departed.
James Jesse breathed a sigh of relief that the villain was gone. Then, he had an urgent reminder of what was left behind. He struggled to get the painting off his arms before it was too late!
Epilogue
The Joker stepped back into the waiting mobile Ho-Home. "Okay, boys, time to head back to Gotham town!"
Southpaw put the vehicle in gear and pulled off. "But, boss, you came back empty handed. Where's the painting and such?"
"Boys, sometimes its better to give than receive! Ha ha ha ha!"
About three minutes later, while the Joker and his gang were heading out of town, the Central City policemen were pulling up to the apartment of one Earl P. Wyatt a.k.a. James Jesse a.k.a. the Trickster. The daily papers would report the next day that the member of the Rogues Gallery was an easy apprehension for the city's boys in blue.