PART TEN: Reality
“Selina, this is Bruce. I haven’t seen you in a while, and you weren’t at Lucius’s party. Which is fine, by the way Anyway, if you could call me or come see me, that would be great. Thanks.” Now that Alfred was finished reading Bruce’s letter, he just held it out in front of him, staring at it.
“So, do you think it’s good?” Bruce asked.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Alfred said. “I mean, if I say it’s bad, you’ll still send it.”
“Of course,” Bruce said, smiling.
“Well…” Alfred said, stretching the word out for seconds.
“Well, what?” Bruce said.
“It doesn’t matter, right?” Alfred said, smiling dryly.
“No, it doesn’t,” Bruce said, but his anxious face said something else. “But, just so I know, what’s wrong with it?”
“Nope,” Alfred said. “If I can’t change your mind, there’s no reason telling you.”
“Alfred, come on,” Bruce said. “Just tell me.”
“No,” Alfred said, and tucked it into a folder. “I will mail it now.”
“Alfred Pennyworth—”
“Ah, don’t get snippy with me,” Alfred said. “You said my opinion doesn’t matter.” He walked outside, and a pouting Bruce followed him to the mailbox. He stuck it in, closed the mailbox, and raised the little flag. They walked back to the house, and closed the front door.
“You forgot a period,” Alfred said, smiling, and Bruce, scowling, opened the door and walked back to change it.
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“Mr. Maroni, I believe you’ve taken some things of mine,” Carmine Falcone said to Sal “Boss” Maroni, who was strapped to a chair.
“What does that mean?” Maroni retorted, brows furrowed.
“I don’t tolerate thieves, Mr. Maroni,” Falcone said.
“What? What did I steal?” Maroni said.
“And like all sinners, you have to be punished,” Falcone said, drawing a knife from his pocket.
“What did I steal?! What did I steal?!” Maroni cried out frantically.
Falcone put the knife to Maroni’s throat and whispered, “Everything.” Then the deed was done, and Maroni slumped down in the chair. Falcone turned to Milos behind him. “Please clean this up. This is a decent establishment, and we cannot claim decency with a mess.”
“Yes, sir,” Milos said, and got to work.
Falcone now walked to his children. “Sofia,” he said.
“Yes, Papa?” she answered.
“Molti problemi,” he said. “Many problems. Go find Alberto.”
“I think he is in Metropolis, Papa,” she said.
“Arrange something,” Falcone said.
“Yes, Papa,” she said, and walked from the room.
“Mario,” Falcone said. “We are in deep trouble. First our clients start to disappear, and now we will be held responsible for the death of Maroni.”
“You are responsible for the death of Maroni,” Mario said.
“We have to do something about it, about that green man,” Falcone said.
“I don’t know what you can do about the Riddler, Papa,” Mario said.
“Do I hear disrespect in your words, son?” Falcone said.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Mario said. “Sir.”
“Do you think I want to do this?” Falcone demanded. “Do you think I—”
“Yes,” Mario interrupted. “I think this is exactly what you want to do. I’m leaving.” He turned.
“Don’t walk away from me!” Falcone yelled. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!”
Mario turned to face him. “Or what?”
Falcone drew his gun and shot. Seconds later, Mario’s body was in the doorway. Dead. He turned to Milos.
Milos was shaken. “Carmine, how could you—”
His voice was interrupted by the sound of two gunshots. Falcone lowered his pistol and brought a hand to his eye, wiping a tear away. “Just business.”
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“Say, Harley,” the Joker said to his accomplice.
“Yes, Mistah J?” she answered playfully.
“Whatever should we do with Mr. Arkham?” Joker said.
Jeremiah Arkham sat in the chair in front of them, tied up. “What do you mean?” he said.
“I don’ know, Mistah J,” Harley said.
Arkham was sweaty and scared. “Dr. Quinzel, how could you let this, this madman—”
“Hmmm,” Joker said, interrupting. “You’re sure there’s nothing you can think of?”
After a moment, Harley said, “Let’s kill him!” She laughed.
“That’s my girl!” Joker said, laughing, too.
“What?” Arkham said. “Get me out of this van! Get me out!”
“Would you like to do the honors, Harl?” Joker said, handing Harley a large needle labeled, “JOKER VENOM”.
“Oh, would I!” Harley said, and took the needle.
“Dr. Quinzel, please!” Arkham said. “Harleen!”
Ignoring him, she laughed as she plunged the needle down into his neck. She gave Joker a high-five, and they started to drive away.
“You know,” Joker said. “When I first saw that you were going to be my new doctor, I didn’t know if you’d be as good as dear old Ruth.” He breathed in, and then his face became a choked up expression of pride. “But the fact is, you’re just more fun!” Harley smiled, and Joker reached under his seat. “I have something for you. Here.” He handed her a black and red jester’s costume.
“Oh, Mistah J,” she said. “I’m in love!”
“That makes one of us!” Joker said, and they laughed.
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“Why do you have me here?” District Attorney Janice Porter asked, frightened. She could just barely make out the shape of a tall man in the dark room.
“Because you were going to tell,” the man said. He stepped forward, and she could see a needle in his hand. “And that’s my job.”
