Everyone Loves a Clown

She stopped just inside the door to his cell. It was immaculate and white. There were no windows. He sat with his back straight, his head down, appearing to stare at the floor, his green hair hung over his face, eyes hidden. He was seated on a metal bench attached to the far wall of the cell. Strapped in a straitjacket, his hands were behind his back, handcuffed and chained to the wall behind him. He seemed not to notice her. There was a table across from him, stainless steel and nailed to the floor. She took her seat across from him and laid out the contents of the manila folder she had brought with her. The door closed behind her and she heard the locks bolt shut. She took a pen out of the breast pocket of her jacket, crossed her legs and opened her mouth to speak.1

He raised his head and peered emotionlessly at her through the veil of his hair with dark, bleak eyes. She could see his scars now. The Glasgow smile, the Chelsea Grin, everyone had been so afraid of in the past few months. He didn’t seem so terrifying now that he was chained to a wall, she thought.2

“They say you won’t cooperate with them. So they sent me in.” She began twisting the pen around in her hands. He didn’t move. “Will you answer a few questions for me?” A long pause. She could hear the guards outside the door talking. There were three of them, armed with only batons, as guns were not allowed inside the walls of Arkham. She cleared her throat and adjusted her legs. “Will you cooperate with me? Please? “3

He smiled, a grin within a grin. His teeth were yellow with shades of black near the gums. “Well hello Clarice.” He leaned back and his restraints rattled against the wall and bench and he crossed his legs like she had done. “How are you?” The grin never leaving his face.4

“I’m fine. How are you doing today?”5

His smile grew wider and his voice became a high pitched nasal whine, “I’m fantastic. If I’d known I’d have a lady in, I would’ve cleaned up a bit. The place is a mess.” 6

She wrote ‘smart ass punk’ in her notebook, her initial diagnosis. Then looked back at him and smiled. “I’m Harleen Quinzel. I’m a psychologist. They sent me because you were “very uncooperative” with the men. I hope-“7

He laughed a short, high pitched burst of laughter, almost like the sound of a hyena and said: “All those men that came in here sent you in to talk to me?” He began laughing again. “They didn’t send you in here because I was uncooperative! You know that don’t you?” His laughter almost seemed uncontrollable now, he stomped his feet and raised his head, howling (almost literally) with laughter. “They…” He paused, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth and leaned forward. “They…” He nodded toward the door, his voice was much more serious now. “They’re afraid of me.” He laughed again. “So they send you in here with me? You’re just a little girl…Have you even hit puberty yet? It looks like we could share bra sizes!” More laughter.8

She blushed and looked away from him, his bleak uncaring eyes. 9

His smiled widened, darkened teeth showing and leaned toward her and said: “Awww, don’t be embarrassed. It’s not all about sex. Besides, I don’t know how we’d get around to it with me chained to the wall like I am. But I’m sure if we tried hard enough…” His laughter filled the room again. 10

She regained herself, and stared back at him, tapping her pen on the table, waiting for him to stop. After a while he did, and the room grew silent. She said, “I hope-“11

“What was your name again?” He was still leaned forward, and as he said this he turned his head slightly and was peering at her through the corners of his eyes.12

“Harleen Quinzel.”13

He drew his lips together in a mock expression of thought and leaned back, again crossing his legs. “Harleen Quinzel.” He enunciated every syllable, making it sound like a joke.14

“I hope we can make some progress today.” She said. “But our time today is short, as most of your time was spent with Dr. Crawford.” She went through the papers on the table, found what she was looking for and said “He says you wasted his time.” She placed the paper back down on the table where he could see. 15

It was a question and answer page with ten questions on it and space between each for answers. There were drawings of stick men along the margins and “blah blah blah” written into the answer spaces.16

He leaned back and sighed. “I don’t see how that was a waste of time. You see, I surrounded my poetry with artistic skill to enhance his ability to”-he mocked Crawford’s deep voice-“’see through my bullshit.’ Apparently he didn’t like it.” He turned his head away again, looking through the corners of his eyes. “And, Jeez! Was he mad when I tried to keep his pen!” Tongue darting out, back and forth. “You’d think this place would have more than one pen in it! It is an office building of sorts!” He ended each sentence with a slightly higher pitch of voice and began laughing again.17

“I was hoping we could just forget about all that and start over,” she said. “No paperwork. Just you and I talking.” She took the paper back and put it into the manila folder.18

He smiled. “Okay.”19

“Could you tell me your name?” She asked, getting her pen and notebook ready. 20

“You know my name.”21

“Your real name.”22

He laughed hysterically. After he calmed down, “next question.”23

“Why won’t you tell me your name?”24

He raised his eyebrows and almost whispered, “You’re not going to get anywhere if you keep asking that question, Ms. Quinzel.”25

“Okay. We’ll move on.” She tapped her pen on the desk for a few seconds, staring at him. How was she going to get anywhere with him? Wouldn’t even discuss his name. Perhaps he suffers from an identity issue. He leaned forward again, looking at her questioningly. She wrote ‘prior Arkham patient?’ in her notebook, right under ‘smart ass punk.’26

“Wanna know how I got these scars?” He stared at her, then nodded to her as if to say ‘yes, you do, don’t you?’.27

“I assume you got them from an altercation with the mob. We know you liked to cheat them at cards, rob them, and more recently you stole 68 million dollars from them.”28

He turned his head , once again looking from the corners of his eyes, and an expression on his face similar to a child’s in deep thought. “I got this before all that.”29

“Well, tell me then.”30

He smiled. “I’ll tell you in a little bit.”31

“Okay, then. What did you do before you were robbing the mob?”32

“I was a magician at children’s parties. I got a real neat trick if you want to see it. I’ll need a pencil and a strong mind.” He laughed, “wanna see it?” His smile was huge and he was nodding again.33

“Maybe later,” she said. “A magician at children’s parties?”34

He shrugged. “Everyone loves a clown.”35

“I think you’re lying.”36

“You might be right.”37

Now she sighed. She was getting nowhere, but at least he was cooperating to a certain degree. Writing an article on the Joker could do wonders for her career. Perhaps even get her the head of psychology at Arkham. Crawford only had the position because no one else who was qualified wanted it after the Crane incident. Crane might have been a socio-path, but he was great at his job. Particularly when it came to keeping Mafioso’s out of prison. Harleen spent two years under his guidance and prior to his Scarecrow days, she was looking at several promotions. But now, the apprentice of Scarecrow was not so favorably looked upon. Some of the orderlies, the ones who were here when the big escape happened, wouldn’t even talk to her, wouldn’t even make eye contact when she passed them in the halls. Now they were sending her in here with the Joker, not because they thought so highly of her, thought she could crack the mind of the most notorious serial killer since Dahmer, but because they were afraid of him and no one else wanted to be locked in here with him. ‘Cut the shit’ she thought to herself. Let’s see how he does with this:38

“Did you really think you could get away with killing anyone you wanted? Robbing banks and blowing up hospitals?” She looked at him, beaming with confidence.39

“Yeah.”40

Deflated and back to square one.41

She sighed. “Well, why did you do it then? You had to know that you weren’t only hurting your victims, but their families as well. What was in it for you?”42

“Okay…um…one question at time.” Tongue darting left and right. “To answer the first one first, I have to say I didn’t really give a shit what happened to their families afterward. Remember, you’re dealing with a guy who blew up a hospital for shits and giggles.” He laughed for a while, pleased with his own joke then cleared his throat and said: “Sorry. It was a bad joke. I forgot how seriously you take things in here.” He cleared his throat again. “I’m a man who believes that if you believe in what you’re doing, then let nothing get in your way. Much of the best work in the world has been done against impossible odds. The point is”-He nodded his head toward her-“ The point is… that you do it. My goal in life is not to win, but achieve certain personal goals I’ve set for myself.”43

“What did you achieve by doing all this, then?”44

“Self gratification!” He laughed hideously.45

“Did you ever think that these tragedies would hurt someone you cared for?”46

“Tragedy!” He said it mockingly. “I did it because I thought it was fun. Because I thought it needed to be done. You good guys have the bat freak, but the bad guys didn’t have anyone. Not Carmine Falconie, not his half-witted replacement. They had no one. This city needed a better criminal. Someone who was a criminal, not a weak minded money junkie.” He nodded his head again, licking his lips, the corners of his mouth. “We have plenty of those. We don’t need any more. There’s enough of them in Hollywood. In Congress. Little Brucie Wayne and his ilk. They’re a dime a dozen. But a criminal who’s a criminal by choice and not necessity, who’s not a snake in the grass filling his stomach with dollar bills, now there’s a difference maker. Besides, what’s the difference between an overpaid actor and a mob-boss? “47

She was writing quickly, taking down all that he said. When Crawford brought in a recorder, all the Joker had done was sing ‘Rock and Roll Hoochie Coo’ over and over. So she decided on a pen and paper. “That still doesn’t change the perspective of the victims of your tragedies.”48

He scoffed, then licked his lips some more. “Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.”49

“So you’re saying what you were doing was a series of jokes, not tragedies?”50

He laughed. “What are you talking about? This whole world is a bad joke. You ever wonder if our world is another planet’s hell?” He raised his eyebrows and nodded, proud of himself.51

...
John Crawford had sat in his office for twenty minutes after the pen incident, thinking. He sat down and thought his new idea over. He knew no one would be able to get anything out of the Joker. Except, he had a vague idea that one man could, in fact, they sort of shared the same ideals. Wouldn’t take much to get Crane to cooperate; he wouldn’t last too much longer in Arkham anyway, unless they got him out of the basement ward. Those were all Crane’s old patients, and they remembered him. It wouldn’t take much threatening to get Crane to don his Scarecrow mask one more time. See how the Joker liked it. 52

Crawford took the pen out of his pocket and pushed the button on the end of it to get the point to click out. Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. 53

He sat there for a few minutes before it came to him. When it did, he sprinted from his office to the elevator. Joker was three floors down…54

....55

Harleen was gathering her papers, putting them back into her folder when she looked over and saw him pulling the sleeves up on his straitjacket. He rested his hands on his knees and stared at her, all the emotion gone from his face. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to make a move for the door; the guards wouldn’t have enough time to do anything. She’d be dead before they unbolted the locks. There was something thin he was holding between his fingers, like a cigarette. It almost looked like the innards of a pen, but she wasn’t sure. 56

He made a loud clicking sound with his mouth, raised his eyebrows and said “sorry.” He said it like a child who’d been caught breaking a rule. He lunged at her and she tried to back step toward the door but he was too fast. He grabbed her face with both his hands and kicked the back of her knee and she fell to knees. Smiling, he said “you wanna know how I got these scars?” And began again with his cackling laughter. 57

“It’s sad to say, but I like the way you look.” He threw aside whatever he had in his hand and put his face to hers. They were nose to nose. She could hear screaming from somewhere outside, something like ‘it em.’ Who knows with all the garbled minds wandering around in the other cells. “You’re mine, Harleen Quinzel. I will talk to no one but you from this day forward.” He kissed her and she almost vomited. 58

The door opened and one of the guards rushed in. “Just a second!” Joker said, laughing, just before the guard kneed him in the ribs. The Joker went down laughing and tried to get back up but the guard had his baton out and hit him across his shoulder blades. Harleen grabbed her folder and ran out, still nauseated by the kiss. She passed Crawford on his way to the Joker’s cell. 59

As she entered the elevator she could still here the Joker. “What are you grimacing for? You’re the one with the stick!” Loud thuds and laughter was all she could hear as the elevator’s door closed in front of her.