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Description
BATMAN:  SOUTHERN KNIGHT
PART TWO:
“HE WHO LAUGHS LAST”
Based on the DC Comics Characters created by Bob Kane

Like the blood-thirsty birds of prey they were, two of the black-clad Night Hawks perched themselves on the top floor balcony of the abandoned Golden Gander Hotel and looked down at the city below, waiting for their moment to strike.  Their leader, the umbrella-welding underworld mastermind known as The Penguin, sensed their anticipation from the shadows of the darkened room.
“I know you are eager to take flight, my Night Hawks,” he hissed.  “The mindless rabbits of Gotham hop about below, taking their pathetic existence for granted, not knowing when they will bare the unfortunate title of ‘victim’.”  He then removed a silver pocket watch from his jacket and opened it.  “But it is not yet time, and timing is the key this evening- as we go in for a big kill.”
“What about… him, boss?” whispered the Night Hawk to The Penguin’s left.  “Can we trust him to do his part?”
“He doesn’t seem to have all his eggs in one nest,” said the Night Hawk to his right.
“Fear not, my friends,” said the Penguin.  “Like all fools, his greatest desire is to be the center of attention.  And tonight, I have seen to it that he gets his wish.  All eyes will be focused on him… and not on you.”  The two Night Hawks gave a pair of cackling laughs, which were echoed by two dozen of their associates on the roof above them.
Even in a humble place like Gotham Hill, a celebrity like Bruce Wayne couldn’t escape being hounded by the media no matter where he went… especially an event like the circus where all the profits would go to the Wayne Memorial Children’s Hospital.  Everyone from well-respected news reporters to tabloid low-lives asked him questions about the charity, the new WayneTech division, and of course, about the lovely blonde in red that was draped on his arm, a brilliant and dedicated representative of the Gotham Hill Animal Rights Association named Selina Kyle.  Few questions were asked about Lucius Fox, despite the fact that he had accompanied Wayne and Kyle, and was recently hired as head of WayneTech.  Another unfortunate example of many citizens still trying to attach themselves to what should have been a forgotten part of their town’s history.  At least Mayor Cobblepot showed enough class to shake his hand when he met the trio at the entrance to the Big Top, though Bruce was sure Oswald had ulterior political motives for doing so.  Bruce had known Oswald since their days in private school, and he also knew how Oswald could play to all crowds for his personal benefit.  The mayor then wandered his eyes over to Selina and was quick to kiss her right hand.
“Oh Brucie, where do you find these fillies?” he smiled with a bit of a growl.
“If you please, Mr. Mayor, I don’t desire to be referred to as a horse,” said Selina as politely as she could.
“Ooooh, a Hell-Cat then perhaps?” winked Cobblepot.
“Same old Oswald,” laughed Bruce as he shook his hand.  He then turned to his beautiful and very spirited date.  “Shall we take our seats, Ms. Kyle?”
“Sounds like a good idea,” said Selina, who gave Oswald one last awkward glare.  As they walked in, she whispered to Bruce:  “Make sure you sit in between me and that pompous owl.”  As they entered, Wayne glanced over at one of the performers’ trailers in the distance.  On the front read the name of the circus promoting his hospital charity: J.N. Biggrin’s Circus Spectacular.  He had heard Ms. Qunizel mention the name several times over the phone, and had of course read it on the contract he signed.  However, seeing it in big, bold white letters seemed to spark the side of his brain that locked away countless tidbits of criminal trivia.
“J.N.,” he whispered to himself as he and Selina looked for their seats.

Once the last mom and dad had purchased little Timmy and Sally’s ticket, the charity money was gathered together, rubber-banded, and placed into several bank bags.  An armored truck then pulled up near the ticket booth and the duo of uniformed men loaded the cash inside.
“I’m surprised they didn’t want us to wait until after the show to do this,” said one of the guards.
“Why, did you want to see the clowns and the funny elephants or somethin’?” joked the other one.  “Gotta go by Bruce Wayne’s orders.”
“Wayne told us to take this to the hospital early?”
“Wayne’s too busy for that, dummy.  Someone workin’ for him did.”
“Oh.”  The guard shrugged as he joined his co-worker back up front.  As the truck drove away, so did another vehicle; a black van which blended well into the shadow of a large oak tree near the circus parking lot.  Behind the wheel, the Night Hawk made sure that he and his fellow vultures stayed at a precise distance.  Like the Penguin said, timing had to be perfect.
Even before his training, Bruce had learned a valuable lesson that aided him in his war against crime ever since.  It was something his father once taught him.  His father had acquired a new painting from a collector in New York, a stunning vision of a lively village in 17th Century Germany.  He asked Bruce what he saw in the painting, and the young boy would point out a baker selling his bread on the corner, or a sizable woman tending to her energetic children at the market.  Thomas then told his son that while it was important to pay attention to little details like that, it was equally important to be aware of the entire picture.  So when he asked Bruce what he saw again, he was given a full description of the scene.
Be aware of what is going on in the entire picture.  If that advice had ever helped Bruce, it certainly did so that night.  While those around him focused on the current comical performances by clowns and stuntmen in ape-suits, Bruce shifted his attention constantly about the Big Top.  Those initials he saw on the trailer outside, “J.N.” had aroused his curiosity.  And for a crime-fighter, curiosity was quickly followed by suspicion.  And along with his father’s wisdom, that suspicion paid off.
Two acrobats who seemed at first to simply be preparing themselves for a flying trapeze performance suddenly appeared to be tinkering around with something.  It was difficult for Bruce to tell just what it was… until he caught a split-second glimpse of its shadow.  It was an Uzi 9mm!  He immediately rose and looked for the most efficient way to exit through a sold-out crowd.
“Show boring you, Bruce?” asked Selina with a slight laugh.
“No, of course not,” smiled Bruce.  “I just remembered I have a call to make.  You know me, it’s always about business.”  Selina rolled her eyes as Bruce departed, leaving her right beside Mayor Cobblepot.
“Damn rude of old Brucie to bail out on such a fine piece of cornbread such as yourself,” whispered Oswald.
“Calling me a horse must have been too good,” sighed Selina.  “Because now you’re referring to me as a side dish.”
“Oooh, this kitty scratches,” laughed the mayor.
“And bites… so I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”  Oswald continued to snicker to himself as he turned back to the show.
A massive purple ball with green polka-dots then rolled in the performers’ entrance, leaving the crowd in awe.  It continued to roll until it parked itself in “center-stage”… and that’s when all Hell broke loose.  Like a peeled orange, the ball opened into four sections.  At the end of each section was a circus performer carrying some sort of deadly weapon:  A clown with a pistol, an acrobat with a Tommy gun, a juggler juggling three grenades, and a strong man with a bazooka.  In the middle stood Harleen Quinzel, now, of course, dressed in the white and black face paint, and black and red jester costume of her villainous alias, Harley Quinn.  She stood behind a cannon that was aimed right at Mayor Cobblepot.  As the audience gasped in sheer shock, out rode two small, rainbow-colored clown cars.  Out of them stormed even more gun-toting circus folk, who ran into the audience and began to demand the wallets and jewelry which belonged to the frightened elite.  It was then that the malevolent star of this show-gone-wrong made his entrance atop a full grown elephant which also sported clown make-up.  The super-villain somersaulted off, and was handed a microphone once he landed.
“How’s that for a Finale, folks?” he screamed before laughing through his death-white face and red-lipped grin.  His clown suit matched the design of the ball, and that included the flowered derby that sat on his full head of green hair.
“In case you Bible Belt baboons haven’t left your moon-shine barns and trailer parks long enough to hear about me, I’m the Clown Prince of Chaos, the Hell-Spawn of Hilarity, the Master of Mirth and Macabre!  But you can all call me…”
“The Joker!” exclaimed Harley as she leapt in front of him.  The Joker groaned a bit to himself at the interruption before shoving Quinn away.

The armored truck drove up behind the Wayne Memorial Children’s Hospital, where two guards waited to help unload it and deliver it to the administration office.  However, no sooner had they opened the truck when the black van raced around and opened its side door.  Two Night Hawks fired machine guns at the four guards, who quickly took cover.  They tried to fire back at the gunmen, but were suddenly ambushed by two more Night Hawks that had leapt off the top of the truck.  The newcomers swiftly had the guards dozing with a thick green gas, which shot out of the umbrellas in their hands.  Trick umbrellas had become a trademark of the Night Hawks in recent strikes.  Their allies in the van then jumped out and ran up with loot sacks.  And with the expert timing they were trained to accomplish, they cleaned out the truck’s rear contents.  No police there to thwart them, and no masked vigilante.  The one known as Batman was about to make his appearance miles away.  Even he had been made a fool night.

“No folks, if you’ll just shut your screaming pies-holes and generously donate a tidy contribution to the J.N. Biggrin’s Circus Spectacular Greedy Funnyman’s Fund, everyone will go home happy!” assured the Joker over the microphone.  “Well, at least everyone will go home!”  After another round of laughter, the smiling psycho looked over to see Mayor Cobblepot “valiantly” rise to his feet.
“I don’t know how you play out in other towns, buddy!” shouted Oswald.  “But I run Gotham Hill, and I promise that you will not get away with this outrage!”
“Well, let me ask you something, mayor?” replied the Joker.  “How thick is that big jelly belly of yours?  Can it absorb the shot that Harley-Bear here is about to fire out of that cannon if you don’t sit your king-sized caboose back down?”  Cobblepot gritted his teeth as he looked over to see Quinn on the verse of lighting the cartoon-like, but nonetheless deadly weapon several yards in front of him.  Harley giggled like a tickled child until she looked down to see that a sudden sharp breeze extinguish her match.
“Oh, fudge!” she whined.  She then dropped the match itself when she saw a grim shadow cover both her and the cannon.  She and many others looked up to see Gotham Hill’s now almost legendary masked vigilante Batman drop from the rafters and land right in front of Harley.
“Little girls don’t need to place with fire,” said Batman in a chilling whisper of a voice.
“Um,” gulped Harley, who then pointed at the Joker.  “Talk to him, he started this!”
“Tattle-tale!” growled the Joker, who motioned for his gang of performing goons to attack the man in black.  Harley back-flipped out of the way as two bulky clowns rushed Batman, only to be the victim of a dual Judo Flip.  Another clown charged him with a knife, but was kicked square in the jaw.  Then, one of the acrobats he spotted earlier began firing at him from above with the Uzi.  Batman rolled back to avoid the gunshots, removed a razor-sharp Batarang from his utility belt, and flicked it at the firearm.  When the gun was knocked away, the acrobat lost his balance and fell into the net below.  The other acrobat foolishly tried to swan dive down on Batman, but was stopped in mid-air by a punch to the gut!  The juggler who had appeared in the Joker’s giant ball then pulled the pin out of one his hand grenades (while still juggling all three of them) and threw it at the crime-fighter.  The juggler laughed as the grenade exploded at Batman’s feet, but then gasped when his would-be victim walked through the smoke covering his face with his cape.  The juggler tried to throw another grenade, but Batman threw three balls connected by a thin rope at him instead.  In seconds, the thug was lying on the ground, tied up from neck-to-feet.
While all this was going on, Selina Kyle watched Batman’s work with great admiration.  Lucius Fox was quite impressed as well.  Cobblepot, not so much.
“What’s wrong, Mayor,” said Selina.  “Still embarrassed that you couldn’t be the hero?”  Kyle then turned to see that Cobblepot was making his exit.
“There’s something familiar about how that man fights,” said Lucius.  “I’ve seen it before.”
“Darn shame Bruce isn’t here to see this,” added Selina.  “Then again this kind of stuff probably bores him.”
Back in the battle, Batman slugged the strong man three times, but the punches had little effect on then.  The behemoth then swatted him down with a back-fist, and lifted his bazooka.
“You might think you’ve ruined our little party,” laughed the hefty henchman.  “But I’m gonna make hor’dourves out of ya!”  However, as he about to fire, Batman grabbed a nearby loose piece of concrete and threw it into the barrel.  Once the strongman pulled the trigger, the impact knocked him completely out.  Batman rose and finally made his way over to the Joker, who was actually applauding him!
“You always got to expect something extra at these shows, don’t ya?” he snickered.
“I know who you are,” said Batman.  “Question is, what are you doing in Gotham Hill?”
“Heard you Southern folk liked hoe-downs and jamborees,” said the Joker with a mocking accent.  “So I thought I’d rustle you up a whole pot-full of homemade humor!”
“You put children in danger tonight, Napier.”  The Joker seemed modestly surprised at the mention of his real last name.  “I won’t allow that in my town.”  As Batman drew closer to him, the Joker removed a pistol with a foot-and-a-half long barrel from one of the “magic” pockets in his purple suit.  Batman did not so much as flinch when a bright red and yellow flag popped out of it.  However, he had no chance to react at all to the giant mallet that struck him in the back of the head.  The one holding the over-sized object was the eerily adorable Harley Quinn.
“BANG!!!” laughed the Joker before he and Harley heard police sirens outside.  The two dashed to one of the clown cars, and then raced out the rear exit of the Big Top.
“Who was that freak?” gasped Harley.
“Look’s who’s talkin’.” smirked the Joker.

Wayne Manor sat on a plantation owned by the family since before the Civil War, and Bruce took pride in the fact that not a single slave ever worked in its fields.  Granted, African-Americans did work for his ancestors, but were treated and paid fairly.  Bruce still had to endure ridicule from several local supremacy groups for that, but he often ignored the rants of the bigot.  The eventual cessation of hatred in Gotham Hill was something he firmly believed in… something his parents died for.  However, it was not an issue that he could deal with tonight.
In the short span of a few years, Batman had turned an underground fall-out shelter that Thomas Wayne’s father had built in the 1950’s into a technological marvel he called the BatCave.  It was here that he kept all the secrets of his dark alter-ego.  It was here were he used a beyond-its-time crime computer to track down criminals and predict their next move.  And it was here where he could be alone with his thoughts when something troubled him… like the headline in that morning’s Gotham Constitution:
CHILDREN ROBBED WHILE POLICE HANDLE BIG TOP CHAOS.  The Night Hawks had struck again, this time jeopardizing the welfare of terminally ill youths.  And once again he had been too involved in other matters to stop them.  But then again. he couldn’t have just left countless innocent people to suffer at the hands of Napier.  And speaking of Jack Napier…
“That file you requested, sir,” said Alfred as he handed Batman a disk and fresh cup of coffee.
“Thank you, Alfred,” said his employer as he placed his disk into the crime computer.  As he took a sip of the coffee, he studied Jack Napier’s file and criminal record (before and after a chemical plant accident transformed him into the hideous clown that Bruce had dealt with last night).  Alfred was then quick to notice a look of confusion develop on his face.
“Does something bother you about this rogue, sir?” he asked.  “Aside from the obvious?”
“I don’t understand it, Alfred,” said Batman.  “Napier and this ‘traveling show’ of his have struck primarily in places like Metropolis and Central City.  I understand that Gotham Hill is starting to come into its own, but we certainly haven’t reached the caliber of those cities.”
“Perhaps those Night Hawks you’ve been pursuing gained his interest.  Perhaps he has formed some sort of unholy alliance with that Penguin fellow?”
“No,” sighed Batman.  “If that chemical plant accident proved anything, it was that Napier does not play well with others of his breed.”  Then, the crime-fighter suddenly rose as he spotted something very intriguing on Napier’s record.  “Unless he… oh my God!”

“So let me get this straight,” said the Joker as he paced back and forth inside what used to be the main office of the Golden Gander Hotel.  He was surrounded by members of the Night Hawks, as well as his jubilant jester Harley Quinn.  The Penguin sat and watched him from his desk in the darkness.  The Joker was no longer wearing the clown suit from the circus, but instead a purple tuxedo with a yellow dress shirt and a purple bow tie with yellow polka dots.
“I lose my gang, I lose my front operation, and I almost get my own face smashed in by some giant flying rodent, and it’s all because you needed a diversion, Bird-Face?”  The Penguin rose and waddled his way out of the shadows to reveal the real mastermind behind the biggest crime wave in Gotham Hill’s history; Mayor Oswald Cobblepot!
“Oh, calm down, Chuckles,” smiled Oswald.  “I’m giving you a pretty generous cut, aren’t I?”  He then snapped his fingers, and one of the Night Hawks threw a suitcase to Harley.  She opened it to confirm to her “boyfriend” that it was indeed filled with the promised pay-off.
“Money doesn’t buy mirth!” hissed the Joker.  “But I guess this will do for now.”
“Why don’t you stick around?” offered Cobblepot.  “I could use a good madman like you again.”
“I’ve had enough of playing second fiddle to a low-life politician, Mayor.  Consider this the end of our little play date.”  Without a word of farewell, the Penguin returned to his desk, and the Joker and Harley made their way out.
“I’d like to be alone, fellas,” asked Cobblepot of the Night Hawks.  And in mere seconds, they had vanished from the room.  The mayor then sighed as he lit a cigar.
“I sure hated doing that to ya, Brucie!” he said as he looked at a photo of himself and Bruce Wayne shaking hands and smiling at a society banquet.  “You’ve always been a good friend.”  Then, as he propped his chair back and placed his feet on the desk, his mind ironically drifted back to a time in his life that he had tried to block out of his memory…
“Bird-Beak!” screamed one boy as he shoved a young Oswald down into the mud in the Gotham Academy Young Gentleman’s School.
“Fattie!” laughed another as he grabbed the umbrella that Cobblepot’s paranoid mother always forced him to carry every time he went out.  Then, one of the bigger lads lifted him up and drew his fist back.
“Freak!” he shouted, as his fist flew towards Oswald’s dirty, tear-filled face, a hand caught it.  The bully caught one good glimpse of model student Bruce Wayne before he was shoved to the ground himself.
“Leave him alone,” ordered Bruce.
“Oh, you wanna fight, Baby Bruce?” growled the bully after he had risen and brushed himself off.
“No, I don’t want to fight,” said Bruce.  “But I will if I have to.”
“What is going on out here?”  The bellow came from the students’ aging instructor, who particularly had his dagger-like eyes on Bruce’s foe.  In his great wisdom, he knew Wayne could not have been the one who started the trouble.
“All of you, get inside now.  Recess is over… for you anyway.”  The bully gave Bruce one final dirty look before he and his “gang” walked inside.  Bruce ignored it and tried to help clean some of the mud off Oswald.
“Thanks, Bruce,” said Cobblepot.  “Someday, I’m going to show them.  I’ll be the guy that everyone listens to, because I’ll let them have it if they don’t!”
“You want to be mayor just like your dad?” smiled Bruce.
“No way, that’s boring!  I wanna be a big time crime boss like Al Capone!”
“But Oswald, Capone’s the bad guy.  Nobody likes the bad guy.”
“Oswald!”  The two boys looked over to see the tall, skeleton-like figure of Victor Cobblepot, Oswald’s father and the mayor of Gotham Hill at the time.  He stood along with two of his bodyguards at the schoolyard gate.  “What did I tell you about talking to Thomas Wayne’s son?”  Oswald was a bit embarrassed by the bad timing of Victor’s arrival.  His father was to make a re-election speech in the school auditorium that afternoon.
“Sorry, dad,” muttered Oswald.  He then turned and gave Bruce an awkward frown before walking away…
The fire in his father’s eyes still haunted the adult Cobblepot as he stepped out to the balcony and watched Harley Quinn and his “temporary business partner” make their way to their clown car below.

“What now, Dumplin’?” asked Harley once she and her pasty-faced sweetie-pie reached the car.  “We gonna leave these country bumpkins for people more our style?”
“Not a chance,” snickered the Joker.  “Why, we’ve only just begun here, Harley-Bear!  Time to start my Three-Part Plan!”
“Three-Part Plan?  Sounds yummy.”
“Oh, it’s scrumptious!  First, we get rid of that bat-creature!  Second, we knock the bird up there out of his nest!”
“And what’s number three, Pookie?”  The Joker opened his trunk to reveal a sizable purple canister with a grinning skull and crossbones on the label.
“We send the rest of this town laughing… all the way to the grave!”

To Be Continued…

Description
BATMAN:  SOUTHERN KNIGHT
PART TWO:
“HE WHO LAUGHS LAST”
Based on the DC Comics Characters created by Bob Kane

Like the blood-thirsty birds of prey they were, two of the black-clad Night Hawks perched themselves on the top floor balcony of the abandoned Golden Gander Hotel and looked down at the city below, waiting for their moment to strike.  Their leader, the umbrella-welding underworld mastermind known as The Penguin, sensed their anticipation from the shadows of the darkened room.
“I know you are eager to take flight, my Night Hawks,” he hissed.  “The mindless rabbits of Gotham hop about below, taking their pathetic existence for granted, not knowing when they will bare the unfortunate title of ‘victim’.”  He then removed a silver pocket watch from his jacket and opened it.  “But it is not yet time, and timing is the key this evening- as we go in for a big kill.”
“What about… him, boss?” whispered the Night Hawk to The Penguin’s left.  “Can we trust him to do his part?”
“He doesn’t seem to have all his eggs in one nest,” said the Night Hawk to his right.
“Fear not, my friends,” said the Penguin.  “Like all fools, his greatest desire is to be the center of attention.  And tonight, I have seen to it that he gets his wish.  All eyes will be focused on him… and not on you.”  The two Night Hawks gave a pair of cackling laughs, which were echoed by two dozen of their associates on the roof above them.
Even in a humble place like Gotham Hill, a celebrity like Bruce Wayne couldn’t escape being hounded by the media no matter where he went… especially an event like the circus where all the profits would go to the Wayne Memorial Children’s Hospital.  Everyone from well-respected news reporters to tabloid low-lives asked him questions about the charity, the new WayneTech division, and of course, about the lovely blonde in red that was draped on his arm, a brilliant and dedicated representative of the Gotham Hill Animal Rights Association named Selina Kyle.  Few questions were asked about Lucius Fox, despite the fact that he had accompanied Wayne and Kyle, and was recently hired as head of WayneTech.  Another unfortunate example of many citizens still trying to attach themselves to what should have been a forgotten part of their town’s history.  At least Mayor Cobblepot showed enough class to shake his hand when he met the trio at the entrance to the Big Top, though Bruce was sure Oswald had ulterior political motives for doing so.  Bruce had known Oswald since their days in private school, and he also knew how Oswald could play to all crowds for his personal benefit.  The mayor then wandered his eyes over to Selina and was quick to kiss her right hand.
“Oh Brucie, where do you find these fillies?” he smiled with a bit of a growl.
“If you please, Mr. Mayor, I don’t desire to be referred to as a horse,” said Selina as politely as she could.
“Ooooh, a Hell-Cat then perhaps?” winked Cobblepot.
“Same old Oswald,” laughed Bruce as he shook his hand.  He then turned to his beautiful and very spirited date.  “Shall we take our seats, Ms. Kyle?”
“Sounds like a good idea,” said Selina, who gave Oswald one last awkward glare.  As they walked in, she whispered to Bruce:  “Make sure you sit in between me and that pompous owl.”  As they entered, Wayne glanced over at one of the performers’ trailers in the distance.  On the front read the name of the circus promoting his hospital charity: J.N. Biggrin’s Circus Spectacular.  He had heard Ms. Qunizel mention the name several times over the phone, and had of course read it on the contract he signed.  However, seeing it in big, bold white letters seemed to spark the side of his brain that locked away countless tidbits of criminal trivia.
“J.N.,” he whispered to himself as he and Selina looked for their seats.

Once the last mom and dad had purchased little Timmy and Sally’s ticket, the charity money was gathered together, rubber-banded, and placed into several bank bags.  An armored truck then pulled up near the ticket booth and the duo of uniformed men loaded the cash inside.
“I’m surprised they didn’t want us to wait until after the show to do this,” said one of the guards.
“Why, did you want to see the clowns and the funny elephants or somethin’?” joked the other one.  “Gotta go by Bruce Wayne’s orders.”
“Wayne told us to take this to the hospital early?”
“Wayne’s too busy for that, dummy.  Someone workin’ for him did.”
“Oh.”  The guard shrugged as he joined his co-worker back up front.  As the truck drove away, so did another vehicle; a black van which blended well into the shadow of a large oak tree near the circus parking lot.  Behind the wheel, the Night Hawk made sure that he and his fellow vultures stayed at a precise distance.  Like the Penguin said, timing had to be perfect.
Even before his training, Bruce had learned a valuable lesson that aided him in his war against crime ever since.  It was something his father once taught him.  His father had acquired a new painting from a collector in New York, a stunning vision of a lively village in 17th Century Germany.  He asked Bruce what he saw in the painting, and the young boy would point out a baker selling his bread on the corner, or a sizable woman tending to her energetic children at the market.  Thomas then told his son that while it was important to pay attention to little details like that, it was equally important to be aware of the entire picture.  So when he asked Bruce what he saw again, he was given a full description of the scene.
Be aware of what is going on in the entire picture.  If that advice had ever helped Bruce, it certainly did so that night.  While those around him focused on the current comical performances by clowns and stuntmen in ape-suits, Bruce shifted his attention constantly about the Big Top.  Those initials he saw on the trailer outside, “J.N.” had aroused his curiosity.  And for a crime-fighter, curiosity was quickly followed by suspicion.  And along with his father’s wisdom, that suspicion paid off.
Two acrobats who seemed at first to simply be preparing themselves for a flying trapeze performance suddenly appeared to be tinkering around with something.  It was difficult for Bruce to tell just what it was… until he caught a split-second glimpse of its shadow.  It was an Uzi 9mm!  He immediately rose and looked for the most efficient way to exit through a sold-out crowd.
“Show boring you, Bruce?” asked Selina with a slight laugh.
“No, of course not,” smiled Bruce.  “I just remembered I have a call to make.  You know me, it’s always about business.”  Selina rolled her eyes as Bruce departed, leaving her right beside Mayor Cobblepot.
“Damn rude of old Brucie to bail out on such a fine piece of cornbread such as yourself,” whispered Oswald.
“Calling me a horse must have been too good,” sighed Selina.  “Because now you’re referring to me as a side dish.”
“Oooh, this kitty scratches,” laughed the mayor.
“And bites… so I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”  Oswald continued to snicker to himself as he turned back to the show.
A massive purple ball with green polka-dots then rolled in the performers’ entrance, leaving the crowd in awe.  It continued to roll until it parked itself in “center-stage”… and that’s when all Hell broke loose.  Like a peeled orange, the ball opened into four sections.  At the end of each section was a circus performer carrying some sort of deadly weapon:  A clown with a pistol, an acrobat with a Tommy gun, a juggler juggling three grenades, and a strong man with a bazooka.  In the middle stood Harleen Quinzel, now, of course, dressed in the white and black face paint, and black and red jester costume of her villainous alias, Harley Quinn.  She stood behind a cannon that was aimed right at Mayor Cobblepot.  As the audience gasped in sheer shock, out rode two small, rainbow-colored clown cars.  Out of them stormed even more gun-toting circus folk, who ran into the audience and began to demand the wallets and jewelry which belonged to the frightened elite.  It was then that the malevolent star of this show-gone-wrong made his entrance atop a full grown elephant which also sported clown make-up.  The super-villain somersaulted off, and was handed a microphone once he landed.
“How’s that for a Finale, folks?” he screamed before laughing through his death-white face and red-lipped grin.  His clown suit matched the design of the ball, and that included the flowered derby that sat on his full head of green hair.
“In case you Bible Belt baboons haven’t left your moon-shine barns and trailer parks long enough to hear about me, I’m the Clown Prince of Chaos, the Hell-Spawn of Hilarity, the Master of Mirth and Macabre!  But you can all call me…”
“The Joker!” exclaimed Harley as she leapt in front of him.  The Joker groaned a bit to himself at the interruption before shoving Quinn away.

The armored truck drove up behind the Wayne Memorial Children’s Hospital, where two guards waited to help unload it and deliver it to the administration office.  However, no sooner had they opened the truck when the black van raced around and opened its side door.  Two Night Hawks fired machine guns at the four guards, who quickly took cover.  They tried to fire back at the gunmen, but were suddenly ambushed by two more Night Hawks that had leapt off the top of the truck.  The newcomers swiftly had the guards dozing with a thick green gas, which shot out of the umbrellas in their hands.  Trick umbrellas had become a trademark of the Night Hawks in recent strikes.  Their allies in the van then jumped out and ran up with loot sacks.  And with the expert timing they were trained to accomplish, they cleaned out the truck’s rear contents.  No police there to thwart them, and no masked vigilante.  The one known as Batman was about to make his appearance miles away.  Even he had been made a fool night.

“No folks, if you’ll just shut your screaming pies-holes and generously donate a tidy contribution to the J.N. Biggrin’s Circus Spectacular Greedy Funnyman’s Fund, everyone will go home happy!” assured the Joker over the microphone.  “Well, at least everyone will go home!”  After another round of laughter, the smiling psycho looked over to see Mayor Cobblepot “valiantly” rise to his feet.
“I don’t know how you play out in other towns, buddy!” shouted Oswald.  “But I run Gotham Hill, and I promise that you will not get away with this outrage!”
“Well, let me ask you something, mayor?” replied the Joker.  “How thick is that big jelly belly of yours?  Can it absorb the shot that Harley-Bear here is about to fire out of that cannon if you don’t sit your king-sized caboose back down?”  Cobblepot gritted his teeth as he looked over to see Quinn on the verse of lighting the cartoon-like, but nonetheless deadly weapon several yards in front of him.  Harley giggled like a tickled child until she looked down to see that a sudden sharp breeze extinguish her match.
“Oh, fudge!” she whined.  She then dropped the match itself when she saw a grim shadow cover both her and the cannon.  She and many others looked up to see Gotham Hill’s now almost legendary masked vigilante Batman drop from the rafters and land right in front of Harley.
“Little girls don’t need to place with fire,” said Batman in a chilling whisper of a voice.
“Um,” gulped Harley, who then pointed at the Joker.  “Talk to him, he started this!”
“Tattle-tale!” growled the Joker, who motioned for his gang of performing goons to attack the man in black.  Harley back-flipped out of the way as two bulky clowns rushed Batman, only to be the victim of a dual Judo Flip.  Another clown charged him with a knife, but was kicked square in the jaw.  Then, one of the acrobats he spotted earlier began firing at him from above with the Uzi.  Batman rolled back to avoid the gunshots, removed a razor-sharp Batarang from his utility belt, and flicked it at the firearm.  When the gun was knocked away, the acrobat lost his balance and fell into the net below.  The other acrobat foolishly tried to swan dive down on Batman, but was stopped in mid-air by a punch to the gut!  The juggler who had appeared in the Joker’s giant ball then pulled the pin out of one his hand grenades (while still juggling all three of them) and threw it at the crime-fighter.  The juggler laughed as the grenade exploded at Batman’s feet, but then gasped when his would-be victim walked through the smoke covering his face with his cape.  The juggler tried to throw another grenade, but Batman threw three balls connected by a thin rope at him instead.  In seconds, the thug was lying on the ground, tied up from neck-to-feet.
While all this was going on, Selina Kyle watched Batman’s work with great admiration.  Lucius Fox was quite impressed as well.  Cobblepot, not so much.
“What’s wrong, Mayor,” said Selina.  “Still embarrassed that you couldn’t be the hero?”  Kyle then turned to see that Cobblepot was making his exit.
“There’s something familiar about how that man fights,” said Lucius.  “I’ve seen it before.”
“Darn shame Bruce isn’t here to see this,” added Selina.  “Then again this kind of stuff probably bores him.”
Back in the battle, Batman slugged the strong man three times, but the punches had little effect on then.  The behemoth then swatted him down with a back-fist, and lifted his bazooka.
“You might think you’ve ruined our little party,” laughed the hefty henchman.  “But I’m gonna make hor’dourves out of ya!”  However, as he about to fire, Batman grabbed a nearby loose piece of concrete and threw it into the barrel.  Once the strongman pulled the trigger, the impact knocked him completely out.  Batman rose and finally made his way over to the Joker, who was actually applauding him!
“You always got to expect something extra at these shows, don’t ya?” he snickered.
“I know who you are,” said Batman.  “Question is, what are you doing in Gotham Hill?”
“Heard you Southern folk liked hoe-downs and jamborees,” said the Joker with a mocking accent.  “So I thought I’d rustle you up a whole pot-full of homemade humor!”
“You put children in danger tonight, Napier.”  The Joker seemed modestly surprised at the mention of his real last name.  “I won’t allow that in my town.”  As Batman drew closer to him, the Joker removed a pistol with a foot-and-a-half long barrel from one of the “magic” pockets in his purple suit.  Batman did not so much as flinch when a bright red and yellow flag popped out of it.  However, he had no chance to react at all to the giant mallet that struck him in the back of the head.  The one holding the over-sized object was the eerily adorable Harley Quinn.
“BANG!!!” laughed the Joker before he and Harley heard police sirens outside.  The two dashed to one of the clown cars, and then raced out the rear exit of the Big Top.
“Who was that freak?” gasped Harley.
“Look’s who’s talkin’.” smirked the Joker.

Wayne Manor sat on a plantation owned by the family since before the Civil War, and Bruce took pride in the fact that not a single slave ever worked in its fields.  Granted, African-Americans did work for his ancestors, but were treated and paid fairly.  Bruce still had to endure ridicule from several local supremacy groups for that, but he often ignored the rants of the bigot.  The eventual cessation of hatred in Gotham Hill was something he firmly believed in… something his parents died for.  However, it was not an issue that he could deal with tonight.
In the short span of a few years, Batman had turned an underground fall-out shelter that Thomas Wayne’s father had built in the 1950’s into a technological marvel he called the BatCave.  It was here that he kept all the secrets of his dark alter-ego.  It was here were he used a beyond-its-time crime computer to track down criminals and predict their next move.  And it was here where he could be alone with his thoughts when something troubled him… like the headline in that morning’s Gotham Constitution:
CHILDREN ROBBED WHILE POLICE HANDLE BIG TOP CHAOS.  The Night Hawks had struck again, this time jeopardizing the welfare of terminally ill youths.  And once again he had been too involved in other matters to stop them.  But then again. he couldn’t have just left countless innocent people to suffer at the hands of Napier.  And speaking of Jack Napier…
“That file you requested, sir,” said Alfred as he handed Batman a disk and fresh cup of coffee.
“Thank you, Alfred,” said his employer as he placed his disk into the crime computer.  As he took a sip of the coffee, he studied Jack Napier’s file and criminal record (before and after a chemical plant accident transformed him into the hideous clown that Bruce had dealt with last night).  Alfred was then quick to notice a look of confusion develop on his face.
“Does something bother you about this rogue, sir?” he asked.  “Aside from the obvious?”
“I don’t understand it, Alfred,” said Batman.  “Napier and this ‘traveling show’ of his have struck primarily in places like Metropolis and Central City.  I understand that Gotham Hill is starting to come into its own, but we certainly haven’t reached the caliber of those cities.”
“Perhaps those Night Hawks you’ve been pursuing gained his interest.  Perhaps he has formed some sort of unholy alliance with that Penguin fellow?”
“No,” sighed Batman.  “If that chemical plant accident proved anything, it was that Napier does not play well with others of his breed.”  Then, the crime-fighter suddenly rose as he spotted something very intriguing on Napier’s record.  “Unless he… oh my God!”

“So let me get this straight,” said the Joker as he paced back and forth inside what used to be the main office of the Golden Gander Hotel.  He was surrounded by members of the Night Hawks, as well as his jubilant jester Harley Quinn.  The Penguin sat and watched him from his desk in the darkness.  The Joker was no longer wearing the clown suit from the circus, but instead a purple tuxedo with a yellow dress shirt and a purple bow tie with yellow polka dots.
“I lose my gang, I lose my front operation, and I almost get my own face smashed in by some giant flying rodent, and it’s all because you needed a diversion, Bird-Face?”  The Penguin rose and waddled his way out of the shadows to reveal the real mastermind behind the biggest crime wave in Gotham Hill’s history; Mayor Oswald Cobblepot!
“Oh, calm down, Chuckles,” smiled Oswald.  “I’m giving you a pretty generous cut, aren’t I?”  He then snapped his fingers, and one of the Night Hawks threw a suitcase to Harley.  She opened it to confirm to her “boyfriend” that it was indeed filled with the promised pay-off.
“Money doesn’t buy mirth!” hissed the Joker.  “But I guess this will do for now.”
“Why don’t you stick around?” offered Cobblepot.  “I could use a good madman like you again.”
“I’ve had enough of playing second fiddle to a low-life politician, Mayor.  Consider this the end of our little play date.”  Without a word of farewell, the Penguin returned to his desk, and the Joker and Harley made their way out.
“I’d like to be alone, fellas,” asked Cobblepot of the Night Hawks.  And in mere seconds, they had vanished from the room.  The mayor then sighed as he lit a cigar.
“I sure hated doing that to ya, Brucie!” he said as he looked at a photo of himself and Bruce Wayne shaking hands and smiling at a society banquet.  “You’ve always been a good friend.”  Then, as he propped his chair back and placed his feet on the desk, his mind ironically drifted back to a time in his life that he had tried to block out of his memory…
“Bird-Beak!” screamed one boy as he shoved a young Oswald down into the mud in the Gotham Academy Young Gentleman’s School.
“Fattie!” laughed another as he grabbed the umbrella that Cobblepot’s paranoid mother always forced him to carry every time he went out.  Then, one of the bigger lads lifted him up and drew his fist back.
“Freak!” he shouted, as his fist flew towards Oswald’s dirty, tear-filled face, a hand caught it.  The bully caught one good glimpse of model student Bruce Wayne before he was shoved to the ground himself.
“Leave him alone,” ordered Bruce.
“Oh, you wanna fight, Baby Bruce?” growled the bully after he had risen and brushed himself off.
“No, I don’t want to fight,” said Bruce.  “But I will if I have to.”
“What is going on out here?”  The bellow came from the students’ aging instructor, who particularly had his dagger-like eyes on Bruce’s foe.  In his great wisdom, he knew Wayne could not have been the one who started the trouble.
“All of you, get inside now.  Recess is over… for you anyway.”  The bully gave Bruce one final dirty look before he and his “gang” walked inside.  Bruce ignored it and tried to help clean some of the mud off Oswald.
“Thanks, Bruce,” said Cobblepot.  “Someday, I’m going to show them.  I’ll be the guy that everyone listens to, because I’ll let them have it if they don’t!”
“You want to be mayor just like your dad?” smiled Bruce.
“No way, that’s boring!  I wanna be a big time crime boss like Al Capone!”
“But Oswald, Capone’s the bad guy.  Nobody likes the bad guy.”
“Oswald!”  The two boys looked over to see the tall, skeleton-like figure of Victor Cobblepot, Oswald’s father and the mayor of Gotham Hill at the time.  He stood along with two of his bodyguards at the schoolyard gate.  “What did I tell you about talking to Thomas Wayne’s son?”  Oswald was a bit embarrassed by the bad timing of Victor’s arrival.  His father was to make a re-election speech in the school auditorium that afternoon.
“Sorry, dad,” muttered Oswald.  He then turned and gave Bruce an awkward frown before walking away…
The fire in his father’s eyes still haunted the adult Cobblepot as he stepped out to the balcony and watched Harley Quinn and his “temporary business partner” make their way to their clown car below.

“What now, Dumplin’?” asked Harley once she and her pasty-faced sweetie-pie reached the car.  “We gonna leave these country bumpkins for people more our style?”
“Not a chance,” snickered the Joker.  “Why, we’ve only just begun here, Harley-Bear!  Time to start my Three-Part Plan!”
“Three-Part Plan?  Sounds yummy.”
“Oh, it’s scrumptious!  First, we get rid of that bat-creature!  Second, we knock the bird up there out of his nest!”
“And what’s number three, Pookie?”  The Joker opened his trunk to reveal a sizable purple canister with a grinning skull and crossbones on the label.
“We send the rest of this town laughing… all the way to the grave!”

To Be Continued…