Legend

Joker returns

My heart stopped. "Joker," I said, and he growled at me.

"Little brother is waiting for you," he said. "But he won't live to go back to school if you don't go with me." He brought up a silver iPhone. J had one just like it although now he wished he'd gotten an Android. He turned it on and showed me an image of J, tied to a chair. He looked disheveled but not hurt. I turned my head to see the Joker looking at me malevolently. His green hair was shaded by a hat and he'd used foundation to cover his signature pallid skin.

"What do you want?" I asked, not moving.

"Payback, pretty. I don't remember what happened. One minute I was getting lucky, the next, I'm in Arkham, too weak to move. I couldn't get the lovely tapes I'd set up, apparently they aren't being kept in the evidence room." He snarled. "So we're going to have a conversation, in which I will use your little brother to inspire you to truthfulness... and then we'll see. Come on. No tricks. Your brother's life is in your hands." He shifted his grip to the back of my neck and shoved me. I went without a fuss. My first instinct was to activate the tracker, but I wouldn't put it past the Joker to have used a failsafe and I couldn't risk something happening until I was in a position to help. An ugly green van with no windows in the back part screeched up to the curb in front of Penn Station and as Joker shoved me toward it, the side panel opened. I was dragged inside and a bag put over my head. It was knotted uncomfortably tight at my neck, but not enough to cut off my breathing. I focused on the path the van was taking as somebody zip tied my hands behind my back. That wasn't bad, I knew how to get out of zip ties. It sounded like somebody was going through my purse. I heard them find the switchblade and report it to Joker.

"So you had a sting, pretty? I think I'd better find out whether you're concealing anything else," Joker said gleefully, and I felt his hands on me, squeezing and pinching unpleasantly. I kicked at him, and he slapped me, catching my ear, which really hurt. "Uh-uh, pretty. Now I'll have to take out your disobedience on your brother." He proceeded to slowly and thoroughly grope my body, allowing his scum thugs to make crude remarks. I snarled, planning my payback, but kept my focus on the movement of the van. I knew New York as a whole much better now, thanks to the simulator practice, and I could tell we were heading out of town by the same bridge I used to get home. Huh. I started to think about what was out that way, trying to figure out where his hideout was. It had to be a new place; the cops would have his old known lairs staked out. There were caves out there and Joker didn't mind setting up in them. It would have to be something like that, there weren't any abandoned properties out there; it was all old money. The van slowed, turned, and we were on an unpaved road, judging from the washboard ride. Joker fell, either against the side or on the floor, I couldn't tell, but it made me pleased. He swore at the driver, who was apologetic but there was only so much he could do. The van stopped, the engine turned off and ticking, and the door slid open. Somebody dragged me out and pulled me on uneven ground. I didn't try too hard to stay upright as I stumbled along, and staggered or fell just to be uncooperative.  Men swore at me and dragged me, not stopping to let me get back on my feet. Up some stairs and across a porch; the surface was flat, stable, and sounded like wood under our footsteps. I tripped over the door jamb and was pulled down a hall, then up a couple long flights of stairs, then down another hall. Then I was shoved sideways, into a large room, where I tripped over my feet at the abrupt change of direction. The bag was pulled off my head and I squinted against the sudden light in what used to be a ballroom. The room was furnished with great taste, which didn't seem like Joker's style.

"What is this place?" I asked as I was hauled to my feet.

"The owners are out of town. Stuffy, prissy people with a very bland decorating style," the Joker opined, looking around. "They could benefit from a makeover, but I don't intend to be here that long." He grabbed the back of my neck again and forced me around. J was tied to a chair at the wall. I didn't see anything attached to him, so I quickly activated the tracker. The Joker didn't notice; as he stalked toward my brother, his goons brought out a table. That couldn't be good.

"Wakey, wakey," the Joker sing-songed to J, following by a hell of a wallop. My brother yelled, and the Joker looked satisfied. He grabbed J's chin and made him look at me. My brother's expression went from hurt and scared to terrified. For me. Joker held out his hand and a minion put something into it. He showed it to both of us. "It's a sap. Leather, filled with lead shot." And with that, the Joker wound up and struck J in the face. J gagged and blood gushed over his chin. The Joker smiled viciously and stalked toward me. I began twisting my wrists to snap the zip ties. They didn't yield.

Crap.

Joker pulled me over to the table and pushed me down on it; my hands formed a painful knot on my spine. He pried my knees apart (thank god I was wearing jeans) and stepped between them. After a moment of observation, he pulled my blouse open and without warning struck me just below the ribs with the sap. I cried out and he smiled savagely, stroking the skin creepily. I tried to concentrate on getting my hands loose, but it was if a dam had burst with that first blow and he beat me several times all over my torso. The pain was something else and made concentration difficult. His goons watched avidly as he raised the sap again and again. When I finally did break the zip tie, I couldn't move for the pain.

The Joker paused, grinning maniacally, and dropped his weapon on my abdomen. He pressed each of the marks he'd inflicted, and I used this as a rough gauge of the damage he'd inflicted. I didn't think there was any blood pooling, fingers crossed. I needed to get me and my brother to the hospital. I couldn't see him behind the Joker. I wasn't in a condition to beat the crap out of him this time, and it seemed like forever since I'd activated my tracker. Where the hell was everybody? A memory sprang into my mind. Natasha had told me once how cut off somebody's windpipe with one's thighs, in essence asphyxiating them. She'd called it a triangle hold, and when the Joker put his hands on the table by my hips, I pulled my hands out from under my back,  flicked one leg over his shoulder, one under the opposite arm, pulled his arm across my body, and hooked my ankles. He howled and twisted, which was much to my benefit; it put his throat behind my knee and I could really exert pressure.  He writhed, trying to get away, and this hurt a lot, but I kept my focus until he stopped moving. I waited a few seconds beyond that and released him, sitting up carefully. Two goons rushed me, and I scratched--well, gouged--one of them with the curved pointed pop-up band on my brass rat that Tony had engineered, making sure that sedative got into him. He dropped as I turned to the other one, who stopped his rush abruptly, held up his hands and started to back away. I wished I could see his face behind the stocking caps the goons wore. He turned and started to run as I walked slowly over to J. I'd have liked to move faster, but it hurt too much. I heard a thunk, and looked around just in time to see the goon run head-first into Iron Man. I couldn't laugh, it hurt too much, but I grinned.