Chapter 4: Arkham Asylum

They say only the worst criminals wind up in Arkham, but that isn't true. The worst criminals wind up on Wallstreet.  Arkham isn't even truly a home for the criminally insane, it's a home for everyone that society wants to forget about. It's nightmare fuel to keep children in line, and medicated people too scared of retaliation to ask to switch to a different prescription. 

As Bruce Wayne, I'd tried everything I could to fix Arkham. But I truly think it's hopeless. The place is more corrupt than the GCPD, and for a long time I didn't think such a thing was possible. The guards are abusive, the doctors all quacks, and the bureaucratic red tape surrounding the place makes admission and release a nightmare. I think the city would be better off if the institute was shuttered for good.

But it's what I have to work with.

When Oracle confirmed that the Joker was locked up in Arkham during Minstrel's attack, I wasn't surprised. The crime didn't seem to fit Joker. It wasn't too hard to eventually convince Gordon that our Minstrel likely bought some Joker Venom off the self-titled Clown Prince. 

"But," Gordon said to me, "what in the hell could someone have that the Joker of all people would want?"

I was glad he asked the question. I myself had been wondering it since I first realized that Joker couldn't have been behind the attack. An average college student couldn't just walk up to Joker with three-week's pay and ask for a gallon of his most well-known weapon. 

The entire situation was too strange. The Venom was more than just Joker's favorite weapon, it was his calling card. He'd never let just any one run around with it, no matter how much money they gave him. Minstrel had to be special in the Joker's eyes, or at least have something special to trade for it. The idea of what the Joker would consider special bothered me, because it could only spell trouble for the people of Gotham.

Joker was the only lead I had, I needed to talk to him. I recruited Nightwing to come with me, in case any complications arose while we were at Arkham. I didn't need to be alone during another riot in the facility. But I didn't just want him to have my back in a fight. I'm not infallible, and I knew that an extra set of eyes could be invaluable in this case. And out of all my apprentices, Dick Grayson was probably the one I worked best with. 

The orderly that led Nightwing and I through Arkham to the Joker's room was named Clifton. He was a short, thin man who looked like he'd be more suited to taking care of the elderly than working at Arkham, with deranged criminals that wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Clearly aware of that fact, Clifton had two night sticks and a taser attached to his belt. Odd attire for an orderly, but warranted in this case.

"He's right through here, Mr. Batman," he said while leading my partner and I through a long, narrow, corridor.

"Just Batman will do for him. Mister works for me, though. Please call me Mister," Nightwing joked.

The orderly smirked, "Okay, Mr. Mullet."

"It was popular back then," Nightwing protested.

"No it wasn't," I said. To the orderly, I asked, "how many nurses usually tend to him?"

The orderly stopped in front of a cell door and reached for a ring of keys on his belt. The door was a large, rusted sheet of metal with one viewing slot at the top. On the left side was a series of shiny, new locks. All analog, but well-built. I estimated that it would take me about three minutes to pick them if I needed to. 

Turning to me, Clifton explained, "A physical lock is better given his computer skills. And it's usually just me, sir."

"You?" Nightwing's tone was a bit more surprised than polite. He began stammering, trying to undo the personal injury.

Clifton held up a hand, "Nah, it's cool. I know what you're thinking: tiny dude like me? Weighing one hundred forty-one pounds? No way I can stand a chance if this fool goes on a rampage again. And you're right. But what no one ever seems to realize is that everyone thinks like that." 

He pointed to each cell surrounding us, one by one, counting off their occupants. 

"Killer Croc used to be in that one. Next to him was Mr. Freeze. Pyshco Pirate. Condiment King. Cat Man. Solomon Grundy. I treated all of them, and confronted some of them during riots. They usually leave me alone, since they don't see me as a threat, or anything interesting enough to kill."

He tapped the Joker's cell, which he was still struggling to unlock. "As for this guy? People used to draw straws when it came to check on him. But I wasn't as scared as most, so I just started volunteering. For every minute I spend with him, I get fifteen from the orderly pool added to my time card. My student loans will be all paid off in six months."

Nightwing was impressed. I wasn't. I was too busy counting locks.

"Seven locks. That's a fire hazard."

Clifton turned to me and raised a sarcastic eyebrow, "I don't think a man that dresses in a militarized children's costume and punches people for a living should judge us. And I'm one of your fans, Batman."

"No one deserves to die in a fire," I said.

Clifton shrugged. "If Heaven is a place on Earth, then why can't Hell be?"

The last lock finally gave way. The "click" of the bolt sliding out of place rang around the entire hall. Clifton jumped when he heard it.

The Joker was crouching in the darkest corner of the room. His head resting in his knees while his arms hugged himself, the man looked like a frightened toddler during a thunderstorm. Not phased by his latest ruse, I walked into the room and prompted Nightwing and Clifton to follow.

"Joker," I commanded.

He whispered something I couldn't quite make out.

"Hey, Joker," Clifton said, "you got visitors today. No, it's not Harley Quinn. And no, it's not Jennifer Lawrence in a Harley Quinn costume, so don't even ask again."

He whispered something else. 

Nightwing hummed suspiciously, "I don't know, Batman. Maybe we really did catch him on a bad day."

I raised a hand to hush my apprentice up. Leaning closer, I struggled to make out what he was saying. His voice was hoarse and his speech fast, but eventually I realized that he was reciting a song. 

"Now the world don't move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you may not be right for some. It takes diff'r'nt strokes, it takes diff'r'nt strokes, it takes diff'r'nt strokes to move the world. Now the world don't move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you may not be right for some. It takes diff'r'nt strokes..."

On and on, he sang the theme song to Different Strokes. I never liked the show, but Dick was obsessed with it for a long time. I never understood why.

Clifton walked up and poked Joker with his nightstick.

"Hey!" The clown suddenly said as he jumped up, "Buy a guy dinner first!"

I raised the Joker into the air and threw him onto his bed.

"Uh-oh. I didn't know this was a lemon slashfic!" He laughed at his own joke.

"We have questions for you, Joker." Nightwing said as he approached the clown.

Joker ignored both Nightwing and myself, and turned back to Clifton. "I sure hope you wore your Helmut when we...you know." 

Clifton's eyes widened in horror. He raised his stun gun and pointed it straight at the Joker.

"Why did you say that name? WHY DID YOU SAY THAT NAME?!" 

Nightwing came at Clifton from the side and threw him to the ground, disarming him in the process.

"How did you know my first name!" Clifton continued to scream.

The Joker blushed like a school girl and shrugged. "What can I say? I know a lot of things."

"Calm down!" I ordered the screaming youth. He immediately hushed. I told him to leave us alone and take some time to cool off. 

"He knew my name, Batman!" The orderly protested, "No one knows my name except H.R.! How did he find out? Why did he find out!" 

"To get you to react exactly as you are now, so leave," Nightwing said as he began to walk the orderly out of the room.

From the scowl on his face, I could tell that Helmut Clifton wasn't interested in leaving. He relented nevertheless and allowed Nightwing to guide him out the door, closing it behind him. Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief. If he wanted, Clifton could have just told us to leave. If he'd done that, Nightwing and I would have to go through the trouble of sneaking back in again, and I didn't want to waste any time doing that. I owed the young man my gratitude for letting us continue. 

"Well, well," the Joker began, "We're finally alone." 

He leaned in close and whispered, "Brucey."

I ignored his taunt and remained focused on the matter at hand.

"There was an attack on a fraternity house last night. Joker Venom was used, and now there's a criminal taking credit.  His motif has some similarities to your own."

The Joker gasped, "I am appalled, Batman! While I have been known to don the Vaudeville shirt and straw hat, my style could hardly be compared to such offensive theatrics as a Jim Crow show!" 

"So you do know," Nightwing said, stepping forward. "Tell us everything. Who is this clown?" 

"Why, I believe this rogue calls himself Minstrel, doesn't he?" The Joker said with a demonic chuckle, "Or at least that's what they said on the television." 

"There's no television in this room," Nightwing said, glancing around the small cell to be sure. Indeed, the only things in the room were a bed, toilet/sink, and a card table in the far Northwest corner.

The Joker tapped his temple, "I meant the TV in my head, Sherlock! I keep the ol' idiot box safe and sound right here."

"A fitting place," I commented. "What connection does Minstrel have with you?"

"I believe we're both Tauruses and our mothers dreamed of fish before we were born." 

Nightwing groaned in annoyance. Despite all his experience, he was still a little green, and he didn't realize that Joker just admitted to knowing Minstrel well. 

"Why did you give him the Joker Venom?" I asked. "Did he pay for it? Or did he find and rob one of your storehouses?" 

The Joker turned his head, and I followed it to see a magazine page taped to the wall. Printed on the thin, glossy paper was the image of a window looking out to a thick blanket of leaves and vines. Rays of sunlight passed through the plants, creating slanted beams of warm light that almost felt real. 

"What a pretty day," he remarked.

"Answer the question," Nightwing snapped. 

The Joker turned to him again, "I already told you everything you needed to know, bird brat! If I just gave you all the answers, that would spoil the ending." 

He jumped onto his bed and raised an impassioned fist into the air, "These people demand drama! Blood! Mystery! SEX! If we fail to supply, then they won't vote for our story! Or even leave a Kudos!"

I didn't respond. There was a question I wanted to ask the Joker, but I wanted to see if Nightwing figured it out first. I gave him a look, and my partner immediately recognized it as a signal to think deeper. His face relaxed as he took a deep breath in, but the relaxation didn't last long. With the turn of the cogs within his brain, his face slowly began to twist and scrunch itself up as he concentrated harder. After a while, this strain disappeared, too, and a smile spread across his face.

"How old was Minstrel when you adopted him," Nightwing asked.

Joker's smile grew even wider as a glee I'd never seen him express took over his eyes. He sat back down on the bed and leaned so close to my face that it set off every alarm in my mind. The skin of his face was as pale and dry as a corpse's, and his eyes as yellow as his teeth. Though is breath were oddly minty fresh, his body smelled heavily of charcoal. Had I not grown accustomed to being this close to the Joker before, I might have recoiled in shock and disgust. 

"My dear, darling nephew came to me when he was fifteen years old. Harley was so overjoyed; she'd always wanted a son or a little brother, dear Minstrel could be both. And he was Black! That's really en vogue for adoption right now, you know?"

I didn't say anything. Letting Joker talk was the best way to deal with him.

"Do you want to see a picture of him!" His scream was hysterically high, as if he were making a desperate demand rather than asking a question. 

He scurried on all fours like an animal to the other side of the room. Lifting a brick from it's setting, he pulled out a bundle of papers from within the wall, then stood up and walked towards me with pride.

"Here," he said as he thrust the bundle in my face, "my darling baby boy. I think." 

I leafed through the pictures one by one. As anyone would expect, they looked like something a child would draw. They were all stick figures with large, circular heads and wide grins. Minstrel was drawn with brown crayon, where as Joker was drawn with a purple one. The activities they performed varied from murdering dogs to swimming at the beach. 

One picture in particular caught my eye. Joker, Minstrel, and what I assumed was Harley stood together with their arm-lines connected. Like a family holding hands. In the distance, there was a giant circus tent on fire with silhouettes running around frantically. 

Was this another one of Joker's fantasies, or was he openly telling me that Minstrel was a circus child? It would definitely explain how the two met, but it didn't bring me any closer to figuring out who he was. Joker didn't usually travel far from Gotham, but that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't have gone to any circus in the world and recruited a kindred sociopath. 

I made a mental note to look into circus disappearances later. There was still the matter of the Joker giving Minstrel access to the Venom. Clearly, Joker was suggesting he gave it to him because of his relationship with Minstrel. But that explanation alone didn't tell me everything I wanted to know. Was Minstrel only acting under his "uncle's" orders, or was his uncle the one playing second string this time? 

"If Minstrel was running around with you and Harley since he was fifteen," Nightwing said, "How come we've never met him before?" 

Joker gasped and grabbed his chest, "Clutch the pearls! Do you seriously believe that I would send a CHILD into the field of our work before their training was complete? What kind of irresponsible sociopath do you think I am!"

Nightwing snickered. I glared at him. He stopped snickering.

"I do hope you enjoy him, Toy Wonder," the Joker said, "I made him specifically to be a playmate to you. Once you took over from daddy here." 

"We've heard enough." I said.

"What? He told us nothing-"

"We've heard enough," I said again. I gave Nightwing a look, and his protests ceased. There was little else we'd hear from Joker, at least that night. And even if we did hear more, I didn't want that madman guiding our investigation. It was time for Nightwing and I to continue investigating on our own.

The Joker nodded vigorously and clapped his hands, "Good Batman! Now go! Solve the Mystery of the Minstrel with the clues I gave you! Go be the hero! Godspeed to you both!" 

He laughed all while we walked out of his cell. We could still hear him from the other side of the door once Clifton locked it again.