Chapter 9: Reunited at the Minstrel’s Show

Ever since the first night, Batman had been worried about the Minstrel making a reappearance. The tense political situation in the wake of the Sumpter Twins' Shooting only made him even more nervous. Problem was the Batman can't be nervous. The Batman can be concerned, cautious, uncertain, but never nervous. Perhaps if Batman could be nervous, then Comissioner Gordon would have taken his warning more seriously.

The Namzmiren case happened two months before Minstrel even appeared. The trial started days before his first attack. Still, Batman was certain that he would act in response to it. Minstrel's crimes were racially motivated, so it seemed unlikely that he would ignore it. But maybe Batman was only so convinced that Minstrel would strike because he needed it to be true. Strategic minds like Batman's couldn't tolerate unpredictability. He needed to find a pattern in Minstrel's behavior, just as he was compelled to find a pattern in Joker's.  

The incident occurred on a Sunday night. Minstrel appeared on the news again, but he wasn't alone. He stood upon a stage of purple curtains with a medical operating table on either side of him. Restrained against the tables were a man and a woman, neither seemed happy to be there. 

"Greetings citizens of Gotham." Minstrel began with an exaggerated bow. "It is with a heavy heart that I inform you of a health crisis in our city; a significant increase of cancer cases reported among our citizens. This cancer is a particularly nasty one, and so we would urge you all to be tested and seek treatment immediately. To help in our effort to increase public awareness of this disease, I've recruited two volunteers for a surgical demonstration. "

Minstrel walked behind the table on his right, and the camera focused on the captive woman restrained there. Her hair was a mess across her face, and her makeup was smeared by tears. Slowly, with the type of loving care one would give to a mother, Minstrel placed his hand upon her shoulder, then spoke with an equally nurturing tone.

"Now, now, Rachel, dear. It'll be all right. But Mammy needs your help. Tell the good people what ails you."

With a whimpering voice fighting back cries of terror, she stammered out her obviously scripted response. "T-t-Tounge cancer. There's a lump on my tongue and it makes me tell lies." 

The corner of Minstrel's mouth ticked up in a sadistic grin. "Good, dear, good. Doesn't it feel better to tell the truth? But don't worry, Uncle R will remove that horrible lump from your mouth and stop those god-awful lies." 

"Please." She cried, her voice shaking with futile restraint, "I made a mistake. I never meant to-"

"Moving on!" Minstrel's sudden, sharp cry made the woman's body jerk in surprise. She didn't finish her thought or even let out a wail. Her mouth stayed firmly closed.

Minstrel walked over to his other hostage, masquerading the same innocent concern and placing an equally tender hand upon the man's shoulder.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me!" The man barked at Minstrel with the confident rage of someone that wasn't tied to a table. Inside, he was probably shaking with fear, but his defiant, outward expression showed no sign of it.

"Calm down, calm down Oliver. It's only me, your good pal and man-friday, George. Now, now my dear, tell the kind people about your affliction." 

"When I get out of here, I am going to take off your head and use it to practice field goals!" The man snapped. 

Minstrel rolled his eyes, "We get it, you played football!" 

Minstrel moved his hand off Oliver's shoulder, then proceeded to point down to the hostage's crotch.

"You see, boys, girls, and those undecided, the problem is with little Olly. He's growing ladies, but not in the way you'd want!" 

The Minstrel laughed at his own joke, then took a step away from Oliver. He returned ot his initial position between the two operating tables. With a flourish of his wrists and a quick reach behind his back, the Minstrel pulled out two surgical gloves, and continued his monologue as he began to put them on.

"This cancer is not like ordinary cancers, so chemotherapy won't work to treat it. It's a cancer born in the mind, which causes later malignant growth within the body. Take Ms. Rachel Walters here, who's been suffering from this cancer since she was in college."

Rachel began to cry at her table, and Minstrel raised a shushing finger that she did not obey. He only shrugged and continued his story.

"Miss Walters was the victim of a sexual assault during her sophomore year. Or was she? She picked out her fellow student, Leon Anderson in a line up. She told tales of how he degraded her and called her a 'white bitch' during the assault. The accusations landed young Leon imprisoned without bail, where he awaited trial for half a year. He never saw trial, however, and committed suicide in his jail cell with an improvised knife. A private investigation concluded that his DNA didn't match the suspect's, a fact which the city was well aware of even while Mr. Anderson awaited trial." 

"So the bitch lied and ruined a man's life," Oliver said with a meanspirited chuckle and a roll of his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

"It's not true," Rachel said in a small voice. 

Minstrel smiled even wider, then eagerly walked over to Rachel. He leaned close to her face and lingered for a moment before he continued, "Is that true? I made a mistake? Well, take this as your moment to set the record straight. I would hate to spread misinformation on such an educational show."

Rachel Walters took a deep breath. Then another. And then another. Minstrel glanced at his naked wrist then tapped it to signal his impatience. Walters shook her head ot show she understood, and explained, "My parents beat me for as long as I can remember. They were old fashioned and they--they didn't want me becoming a whore. That's what they'd always say, even when I was a little girl: 'Don't be a whore, Rachel.' When I got to college I thought I could rebel and just live my life. I was drunk, I had sex without a condom, and when I woke up the next morning, I just knew."

"The miracle of life," Minstrel interrupted, "Oh I'm sure it was magical. Tell us all what it felt like."

"It felt awful." Rachel's voice was filled with a mix of disgust and shame as she recounted the story, "All I could feel was fear and shame and anger, because I knew how my  parents would react. Don't you understand how my father would have responded? They already treated me like a prisoner before I even did anything! I had to-I had to get rid of it."

"But you didn't," Minstrel said, "You gave birth to a bouncing baby boy on the twelfth night of August, some eight months later."

"Even after I told my father that I was raped, he refused to let me abort it! I love my son, more than anything, but I was only nineteen years old. I was terrified about what would happen. I prayed to God every night, hoping that he would protect me and my unborn son, and deliver us from that awful house so he could grow up happily. And He did!"

The Minstrel yawned, "Yeah, yeah, God is good all the time, all the time God is good. Let's get to the juicy bits. Why did you accuse Leon Anderson of raping you?" 

"I NEVER accused him of raping me! I never accused anyone! I went to the police and told them that it was a stranger. I tore my clothes and scratched my body up well enough to convince them, then said I was walking alone in the park when a stranger grabbed me. When they brought me into the line up, I tried to remind them that I didn't see his face, but they pressured me! They screamed at me and said it was all my fault and that if I couldn't identify the suspect then he'd walk free and rape someone else."

"So you pointed to a random person?" Minstrel's head twisted sideways. His wide eyes pointed at Waters with a burning curiosity that somehow seemed accusatory. 

"The way they were talking, I thought maybe one of the men in the line up had already raped someone else! I pointed to someone and their behavior changed completely--they were happy and spoke nicer to me. They congratulated me! I thought I'd maybe helped some other woman get justice. I prayed that the Lord would guide my hand, and the next minute they told me that I'd done an excellent job."

Minstrel shook his head and sucked his teeth. "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. Don't you understand that none of that was your fault? It was the cancer warping your mind, convincing you that making up a fictional Black rapist was the proper way to handle the matter." 

"I-"

Minstrel stopped her before she could continue, "And you did specify that he was Black! I've read the police report. You described your attacker as a Black male, in a university sweatshirt with the hood pulled down. He called you a white bitch and other slurs and took the cash from your purse immediately after. These details, the obsession with your fake attacker's race, all of this is proof of the cancer."

More tears began to rush down Rachel's face. For a few seconds, she was a whining mess incapable of intelligible speech. She had to fight through her fear and sadness to plead for her life one last time.

"I'm sorry! I am! I apologized to his family after he died! His mother forgave me, and we even prayed together! It was my parents, not me, and everyone understood that. Why are you doing this?" 

Minstrel's eyes widened and he recoiled in shock at her words. He looked at Rachel, then to the camera, then back to Rachel again. Back and forth his head turned, and each time it stopped he appeared more and more confused.

"Well," he finally said after having enough of his own antics. "I know that I have an ass that won't quit and contour flawlessly, but no one's ever confused me for a beautiful Black woman before, least of all someone's mama. I'm honestly flattered." 

Minstrel turned away from Rachel, discouraging her from saying anything else in her defense. With a slow, dejected shutting of her eyes, she chose not to try anyway. Her captor took some steps closer to the second prisoner, Oliver.

"As for this young man, his symptoms are largely similar-" Minstrel began, but was quickly cut off by the captive.

"I've never done anything as bad as that cunt!" 

"Language, Mr. Walcztloh! We're on local public television, not the Gotham U locker room!"

Oliver looked at Minstrel indignantly, "Look, kid. I get it. You're pissed that the lady over there framed one of your brothers and made him kill himself. I get it, I do. But I'm not like her. Lots of good guys on my team nearly got ruined because of false reports, myself included. Whoever's told you otherwise is mistaken."

Minstrel reached an arm behind his back and pulled a clipboard forward. He read from the obviously blank sheets of paper before he responded to his captive. "No, I don't think so. Obsession of a sexual nature, indicative of deep rooted racial fetishes ultimately leading to harm against others. Page's Disease, same cancer as Ms. Rachel Walters over there. Isn't that why you had three separate sexual assault claims made against you while you attended Gotham University? All by Black, female students?"

"Nothing but lies!" Oliver shouted as his body writhed against his restraints. "Those girls were drunk sluts that regretted it the next day and wanted to gain further sympathy  playing the race card! Why don't you tell all of Gotham that none of those claims led to criminal charges while you're at it?"

Minstrel acted as though he didn't hear Oliver's protests and continued speaking, "And then there's the truly troublesome matter of Ms. Ariella North, a cheerleader from your short lived professional career. Her suicide caused a lot of discord in the sport's community, especially after she was revealed as an anonymous source in the Daily Planet's exposé on sexual harassment of college and professional level cheerleaders across the nation. Rather curious timing, don't you think?"

"I barely even knew Ariella! And she never even said who it was that raped her!"

Again, the Minstrel shook his head and sucked his teeth, "And once again we see the strength of this cancer's delusions. Oliver, there are photos of the two of you at a post-draft party all over her social media page. The two of you tagged each other in posts. Yet you say you barely knew her?" 

Minstrel stepped away from Oliver before he could respond. Reaching behind a curtain at the end of the stage, he wheeled together a gas tank with two masks attached to it. He was silent as he brought it to the front of the stage and positioned it perfectly between the two captives. He covered Oliver's face first, and though the man screamed and cursed in a futile attempt to fight back, his breath quickly slowed and his voice slurred.

"Please," Rachel cried as Minstrel moved towards her with a mask. "Please don't do this. I know what I did was wrong, and I live with this guilty conscience every day. Don't destroy your own soul just for revenge! You can be the better person here, a model for all your peers. I'll do whatever else you want until you think I've been punished enough. But please, don't hurt me." 

Minstrel smiled down at her. After taking a huge, deep breath that puffed his chest nearly a mile out, he began to sing in a sweet, melodious voice. 

"I don't really care if you cry. On the real you should have never lied. Baby, don't you see the madness in my eyes? I just really want you to. Die..."

The rest of Gotham didn't get to know the fate of Rachel Walters and Oliver Walcztloh until the next morning. At that very moment, the feed was terminated. 

Ending the transmission wasn't Minstrel's choice. If he had his way, the broadcast would have continued to show all the gruesome details. He had no interest in sparing the sensitive audiences of Gotham a high-definition, front stage glimpse of him cutting out Walters' tongue and castrating Walcztloh. Of course, the recorded footage still made it's way on the internet anyway, no matter how hard Batman and the Oracle tried to stop it from leaking.

"I heal their cancer," Minstrel said as he showed Rachel's cut tongue and Walcztloh's dismemberment to the camera. He tossed both over his shoulder haphazardly, then discarded his gloves and mask in a similar fashion. Minstrel reached behind his back again, and pulled out a small tube.

"And now I make them beautiful!"

Minstrel walked over to Walcztloh's body first. With a firm press on the tube, a black spray shot out and began to stain the unconscious man's face. In less than five seconds, Walcztloh was as dark as the Minstrel, but he still wasn't ready. Minstrel turned the same tube upside down, then twisted its sides until a blood-red stick shot out. Before he marked the man, he turned to the camera and presented the device to the audience he still thought was there.

"Minstrelfier! For the next time your pasty ass needs Instalikes. Order right now with promocode, SHAMEC, and receive two for the price of one!" 

He turned away from the camera and began walking towards Rachel Walters to begin the same process, but he didn't make it in time. A shower of glass shards began to fall from above him, and Minstrel dove for cover. A second later, two figures descended upon the stage. 

Minstrel recognized them both, and pointed an accusatory finger at his intruders as he shouted, "Batman! And, ew, put that thing away! No one wants to see ya Dick!" 

Batman and I chased him through the old theater. He threw old stage equipment and props to try and stop us, but we avoided them as well as we dodged his quips and jeers.

"How did you even track me down?" Minstrel cried as he tossed a broom behind his back. "That's the last time I buy a VPN off an app market!" 

Minstrel wound up running himself into a dead end. He was sandwiched between an old, brick wall and Gotham's Dynamic Duo. Most criminals knew that wasn't a good place to be, and Minstrel was the same. He immediately dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together in prayer.

"Please dear Lord, send my guardian angel to get me out of this!" 

"A bit too late for that, Minstrel," Batman said. 

"I doubt the man upstairs is doing you favors after everything you just pulled," I agreed.

Minstrel just looked at me and laughed, "Oh you poor, confused, Nightwing. My god has no gender!" 

Before I could even think to ask what he meant, a giant blast went up in our faces. Batman threw his body in front of mine and raised his cape up to shield me from the debris. The smoke was thick enough to cut with a Batarang, and the blast rung a bell in my ears that refused to stop tolling. Despite that, I could still hear a familiar voice and recognize an equally familiar silhouette standing beside Minstrel.

"Run, Jimmy! I'll hold back Batman and the Brat Wonda!" 

"Harley!" Batman said in shock. Neither of us had expected her to show up, least of all to actually help Minstrel. 

The night ended like too damn many nights end; Minstrel got away. Batman and I tangled with Harley for a couple of minutes before we finally managed to restrain her. Gordon's boys showed up soon after and dragged her to the station for questioning. Paramedics told us that both Rachel and Oliver would live, but they'd live permanently disfigured by a criminal that Batman and I failed to stop.

"We failed, Dick. We failed the whole city," Mr. Brightside said once we returned to the cave.

Though I typically ignored his pessimism, I couldn't help but agree. The minute we got the call from Gordon about the broadcast, we did everything we could to arrive before Minstrel had a chance to harm his hostages. But we couldn't find his location fast enough. Once we finally had, Harley Quinn arrived and ruined everything, and Minstrel was in the wind once more. 

"It's not a complete failure, though," I told Batman as a thought suddenly dawned on me. "Bruce, I think we have a clue who Minstrel is." 

"What do you mean? Did you notice something earlier?" 

I nodded, "Remember what Minstrel said when we first crashed in?"

"'No one wants to see your dick,'" He quoted. "I remember. It was a pun, a play on your name to let us know that Joker told him our real identities. Luckily for us, it looks like he doesn't want to share that knowledge with the rest of the world, either." 

"No, you're wrong Bruce. Not about him knowing our identities, that's given. But the joke wasn't what you're thinking. He actually said 'No one wants to see ya Dick.' Ya as in you."

"But it's the same-"

"Just listen, Bruce! Based on that picture, we thought Minstrel had to be a circus kid, right? Well when I was a kid in the circus, I had a friend. Every time we saw each other, he would say, 'No one wants to see ya, Dick.'" 

Batman's eyes widened as the realization hit. But they quickly narrowed again as he let out an uncertain groan, "So you think the Minstrel is this kid? I'll agree that it's possible. But how do you know Joker and Minstrel didn't just find out about that joke between you and your friend?" 

"Because Harley didn't call him Minstrel when she appeared. She called him Jimmy, and my friend's name was James Byrd."