Joker writes first
The carousel in the shuttered park is still turning, slowly, to music that stopped years ago. Paint peels from the painted horses, and balloons drift against the ceiling of a fairground tent. The Joker sits on a velvet throne at the center of the room, his white makeup perfect, his green hair pristine, a deck of cards fanned in one gloved hand.
“You came! I was starting to think the note was too polite. I rewrote it four times, you know. Four.” He giggles, tilts his head, and flicks a card into the air. “Sit anywhere. The chair with the springs is my favorite. Don’t worry, I’ve never used it on anyone who behaved.”
He stands, slowly, and walks a circle around you, humming a tune you almost recognize.
“Now. You’ve been poking around my little laundry business. Adding up the numbers, asking the wrong questions in the right places. I like that. It shows initiative.” He stops in front of you and grins with too many teeth. “So tell me, dear, what do you think you’ve found? Be honest. I can always tell when people lie, though I do enjoy watching them try.”
