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The Joker moved on, with Bob in close pursuit. The Joker banged open the door to his very special
room. The room had no windows and very little ventilation. It was in the very bowels of Axis Chemical.
Ah, but what it did have!
The walls were covered with scenes of war, the very best photographs from the very best family
magazines. But what was on the table was even better, stacks and stacks of folders, with all those
special initials FBI, KGB, CIA. The Joker especially liked the one on top:
DDID NERVE GAS
RESULTS OF PRELIMINARY EXPERIMENTATION
Stamped across the folder were the words Discontinued 1977 and Highly Confidential. But
inside was the best part of all all those glossy eight-by-tens, photo after photo of dead soldiers, their
putrefying lips drawn back in very special smiles.
Losing is a bad habit, Bob, the Joker remarked wistfully. So much to do and so little time.
Bob stepped forward quickly. Here s the photos.
The Joker lifted his eyebrows as he flipped through Bob s offerings. He stopped at this photo of a
twerp in a polyester jacket.
Who s this dud?
Bob glanced over his shoulder. That s Knox.
Bad tie, was the Joker s verdict. No style. He flipped to the next photo.
His mouth opened.
He gasped for air.
His heart went pitter-pat.
Stop the press! Who is that?
That s Vicki Vale, Bob answered. She s the photographer working with Knox.
The Joker licked his ample lips. He needed to study this photo in some detail. That woman has style!
Jeezus Marimba! A lovely beast like that could get a man up and running! He pulled a pair of scissors
from one of his many pockets and, humming a happy tune, cut the babe s likeness out from all that
interfering background. He was careful not to cut too close, of course you had to leave a bit of a
border. What now? Oh, of course! He knew the very thing to do with the border. The Joker reached for
his crayons and started to color.
She s been dating some guy named Wayne, Bob informed him.
She s gonna trade up! The Joker leered at the photo beneath his crayon. Damn! he added as he
chewed on his tongue. It s so hard to stay inside the lines!
The border was done at last, a very nice mixture of heliotrope and cobalt blue. The Joker quickly
covered the back with rubber cement before giving Vicki a place of honor on his wall.
I m gonna get me a new girl, Bobbie! He took a moment to admire his handiwork, then snapped his
fingers.
Phone book! I ve got a mind to make some mayhem.
Vicki Vale, huh? He had trouble taking his eyes off her long enough to find the phone numbers. She
looked good in the middle of a war a war that was going to take all of Gotham City!
The Joker hummed as he dialed. He didn t know when he d been this happy!
He had had to go home. There was nothing else he could do.
Alfred looked up from his dusting as Bruce entered the study. The butler walked toward Bruce in that
quick and almost effortless way he had. He took Bruce s coat, and then, from somewhere, handed Bruce
a hot towel. Bruce had given up wondering years ago how Alfred produced these things. Instead, he
wiped his hands.
Miss Vale called, Alfred informed him. She was quite concerned. He paused a minute, then
added quickly in a confidential tone that Bruce hardly ever heard:
I ve noticed that there is a certain weight that lifts when she s here.
Bruce glanced at his butler. As well meaning as Alfred was, the situation was impossible.
Why don t you many her, Alfred?
That s not exactly what I had in mind, sir, Alfred replied, still quite stone-faced.
Bruce shrugged helplessly. I can t go on with this, Alfred.
Alfred nodded his understanding. They d planned for this too long. They both knew what had to be
done. There was no time, now, for a woman in Bruce s life.
Napier s alive, Bruce continued. He s running Grissom s men. I ve got to find out everything the
police have on him.
Yes, sir. Alfred s tone was businesslike once more. He turned, already headed for the Batcave and
the hours of research that had to be done.
Bruce sighed as the butler walked past, a small, sad sound for things that could never be.
She s good isn t she?
Alfred smiled sadly in reply.
Vicki looked at the photos she had taken of Bruce Wayne. When Bruce had disappeared after this, she
had stayed behind for a moment to take pictures of the carnage in Gotham City Square. That was her
job, after all. But she had developed the roll of film herself, and kept those shots at the beginning that
she had taken of Bruce, and the roses, hoping that somewhere in these black-and-white images there
might be an answer.
She looked at Bruce, kneeling in the alley. When she had taken this picture, it had almost seemed as if
he was performing a sort of ritual. He had been that way in the square, too, in the middle of all that
shooting, as if he were no longer himself but were answering to someone, or something, in another time
or place.
And she had the feeling that this other guy, the one who called himself the Joker, had something to do
with it, too. Bruce had been drawn to that murderous street mime with the green hair, rather like a moth
to a flame. She hadn t even known that the mime had a name, until the bullet-riddled bodies of the rest
of Vinnie Ricorso s gang showed up on the steps of Gotham City Hall, all nicely wrapped in large red
ribbons, with an accompanying card: A present to Gotham City from the Joker.
First the Batman, and now this creep. There seemed to be a lot of publicity seekers in Gotham City
these days. But how did Bruce Wayne lit into it all?
There had to be something about that alleyway.
She dialed the phone. It rang. Knox picked it up at the other end.
Allie, she said rapidly, not allowing Knox his usual wisecracks. I want you to check something for
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