The Joker's Concubine

Chapter 3

He lead the way to a older motel a couple of blocks away. Her ankle was still throbbing, and she’d had to walk barefoot most of the way. The gash on her head had stopped bleeding, but her mind still felt fuzzy. She tried to focus on the figure of the man ahead of her. He walked with a bizarrely graceful gait, like a dancer who’s just one step out of time with the music.

She followed him up the steps to a room at the end of the row. He pulled a key from his coat pocket, and unlocked the door, gesturing for her to enter ahead of him. The tiny room didn’t look lived in. There were no items on the tables or the bed. She turned to face him as he closed the door behind them.

“Money first,” she stated. She’d learned her lesson on that one, especially where the stranger fellows were concerned. She still wasn’t convinced he had the $200.

He reached into his pocket again, and brought out a roll of $20 bills. Her eyes widened in surprise. Must be a dope dealer, she thought to herself. That would explain his odd behavior. The dopers were always a bit on the special side.

He didn’t count the money as he tossed it on the bed stand. It sure looked like more than $200. She looked at him. “Ok, good enough,” and she reached behind her to unzip her dress.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he said as waved his index finger at her. “I never told you to undress. I have you all night. You’ll do what I say when I say it, and nothing else.” His voice was dead calm. She wondered once again just what exactly she’d gotten herself into. He pointed to a chair beside a rickety table. “Sit,” he ordered, while removing his coat and hanging it on the chair opposite her. He took a seat, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his arms over his chest.

She stared across the table into his eyes, and for the first time she felt that she was perhaps dealing with something deeper than a random drug dealer down on his luck. For all his unusual behavior, his eyes were clear and intelligent. None of the dullness that she would normally expect from someone of his type. His expression was keen and thoughtful. She glanced at his grotesque scars and wondered how he’d gotten them. He might have been a handsome man before them. In all honesty, he might be a handsome man now if he were cleaned up a bit.

He noticed her attention. “You’re looking at my scars. And you’re wondering how I got them.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not going to tell you. It’s inconsequential at the moment.”

“Whatever floats your boat, honey. I’ve seen it all.”

“You’ve never seen anyone like me….I can promise you that.” She suspected for a moment that he might just be right. “What‘s your name, oh grand lady of the night?” He gave her an amused look.

“Desiree. Yours?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a name.”

“I’m not everyone.”

“I gathered such.”

“You see,” he mused, leaning forward across the table, and forming a steeple with his hands, “people have names. I’m not a people.” She grinned a little at the odd turn of phrase. “I’m a concept. I’m an ideal. I’m an agent of the forces of the universe…the forces of chaos.” She stared across at him, momentarily frightened by the fact that he said these things in the most mundane, casual tone of voice. He might have just said, “Hi, my name is John and I’m a salesmen” for all the emphasis he gave the words. He wasn’t stating anything great or special…just a fact.

“Why?” she asked.

His opened his hands and laughed. He had the oddest laugh she had ever heard. Slightly shrill and almost, but not quite, maniacal. “I do it because it’s necessary. I do it because somebody needs to. I do it because it balances the universe. But mostly? Mostly I do it because it’s fun.” The cold chill of fear ran through her. She knew that this was undoubtedly a most disturbed individual. “You see, I’m the kind of person that I just…do things you know. I do them because they’re fun, because they strike my attention. Why do you think I brought you here tonight?”

“For sex, I assumed?” she suggested with an ironic hint in her voice.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!" he called out in a sing-song voice. "I brought you here because I saw you crying on the bench, and I thought you might be interesting to talk to. I was bored. ”

“You’re paying me $200 for conversation?” Her surprise was evident on her tired face.

“What can I say?” he shrugged. “Talk is cheap. But listening isn’t. Listening is almost impossible to find. Especially for a guy like me. I’m a freak…who wants to listen to what a freak has to say? Unless of course he’s saying it in a rather…dramatic way. Which is of course what I often resort to. It’s the only way to get people to listen. They won't listen to a random philosopher. They listen to guns. Bombs. The evening news. These things.”

Guns and bombs. The Evening news. Oh, my god. She knew then of course. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t recognized him before. Of course she knew exactly who he was. So did all of Gotham. She was used to seeing him on the evening news in his lurid face paint and crazy clothing…but this was beyond a shadow of a doubt the psychotic killer known simply as The Joker.

“Your head must be clearing. I see the hint of recognition in your eyes.”

“Uh, no, No.”

“Don’t lie. I despise liars. You know now exactly who I am, and you’re afraid that I will kill you because of it.” She gulped.

“Well? Are you? Going to kill me, I mean. I guess I always figured that if you stayed in this business long enough, it was bound to happen.”

He considered her gravely for a moment. “Hmmm…” he smiled broadly at her. “You know? I haven’t really decided yet. I suppose it depends on how good of a conversationalist you are.” He raised his eyebrows, smiled at her, and then threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed.