Chapter One: Joker
From the audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj
Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum, audiolog number fourteen. April the third, nineteen forty.
Today was a very special day. It was the day that we accepted into our family the crazed abductor-slash-killer, Doctor Jonathan Crane. Yes! A real doctor, not unlike myself. And in fact, a doctor of Psychology, no less! Needless to say, I have awaited this day with great anticipation. I could barely contain my excitement upon meeting the man face to face! He is, quite astonishingly, rather ordinary in appearance. Nothing of note to alert one to his history of mischief. But of course, that is what makes him such a tantalizing subject of study!
For the last few months, Crane’s fate had been tangled in the court system. Thankfully, the judge saw reason, and our man was deemed criminally insane, and therefore, was not to be held wholly criminally responsible for his misdeeds. And, as such, he was to be transferred from Blackgate Prison to Arkham Asylum where he could be properly treated. While his exact diagnosis was not thoroughly arrived upon, it seems clear enough that he has suffered from deep trauma. Years of childhood bullying and a very unconventional family situation molded him into the monster he’s become. It will fall upon myself to get to the bottom of it and to help him move past these psychological scars.
I must confess, however, that my interest in him is only part of a much grander picture. Jonathan Crane himself is a worthy specimen of study in his own right, do not misunderstand me. However, the greater subject, in my estimation, would be the dark figure he danced with under the pale moonlight. The Batman.
I have laid awake for many nights wondering upon this fellow. What deep psychological burdens would spurn someone to set out - night after night - to fight crime? What is the significance of the bat itself? And what is his connection to Crane? Why would he spend all of his time and effort towards finding this specific villain, only to disappear without a trace after he’d been apprehended? Oh, I just have so many questions! So much wonder! Indeed, in my mind, there exists no singular being on this Earth more perplexing as this man of the night.
Crane will be my access point in gaining a further understanding of this Batman. If I can decipher a link between them, perhaps I may come to understand their personal connection. It is personal, after all. I am sure of it, and I aim to prove as such. Indeed, when I am finished with my investigation, perhaps I may even come to determine the true identity of this shadowy figure!
I have my first proper session with Crane tomorrow. I cannot tell you how excited I am. And though it will be difficult, I must focus all my attention on Crane himself before moving into ‘Batman territory’. It is, after all, my primary goal as a doctor of the asylum to grant this man healing. These are extraordinary times, and how fortuitous am I to be at the center of it all!
This is Doctor Hugo Strenj, logging off!
From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City
Case No: HS 04/03/40/3311
Full Investigative Report: Joker
Reporting Officer: Cptn. James Gordon Date: Apr. 3, 1940
We received the call at 0700 hours. I had just arrived at the office and sat down for my morning coffee when my partner, Stanley Merkel, burst into the room with the news. Someone had been flayed alive down by the docks, and another joker card was left at the scene. I kissed my cup of joe goodbye with three deep swallows and threw my coat back on.
We arrived there amidst a flurry of other police cars. The joker killings are already serious business on our radars. And they seemed to be getting more and more brutal with each instance.
The first incident was a bank robbery. He killed every one of the hostages before leaving the scene, but at least he made their deaths quick by shooting them in the head. He left a joker card on the front desk, and smeared a big “J” on the wall behind it. According to witnesses from outside the building, he wasn’t alone. About a dozen others accompanied him, all wearing expensive suits and ties, complete with red balaclavas over their heads to mask their faces. The Joker himself (as we’ve been calling him) basically dresses like a clown. Short dyed green hair, pale makeup, bright red lipstick, and a striped purple suit. The guy’s a wacko. See Case No: HS 03/02/40/2711 for all the details. It’s a doozy.
A week later, officers were called to the scene of a homicide. Or, at least, that’s what was called in on a tip made from a payphone. Our guys got to the scene just in time for a bomb to go off. Lost a lot of officers that day. Thirteen, to be exact. A couple of them I could have come to consider friends. Case No: HS 03/9/40/2800 will tell ya the rest. Another joker card was found at the scene. On the back it read, “Where are you, Betsy?”. Or, so we thought at the time. His handwriting wasn’t the best. Given what we know now, we’re thinking it was “Batsy”, as in Batman. Changes the whole game.
I, of course, was on vacation for that one. What better way to celebrate the reconciliation of my marriage than by cutting and running, only to come back for a bunch of funerals? Barbara’s a good woman, though. She understands the call of duty - to stand your ground and protect one’s home, even if I don’t entirely comprehend this ridiculous compulsion I have on my own.
So then the third strike occurs. A couple of youngsters, 12 and 10, out playing in the streets picked up by the red masked gang. Tortured and burned alive. It was disgusting. A bunch of the crew must have revolted during the incident, because four of them were decapitated and left in the same alleyway where those poor kids were found. The joker card at the scene had a picture of a crying clown on the back, and the accompanying text, “I’m beginning to run SHORT on ideas. Please come play with me!”
One sick puppy. That was Case No: HS 03/14/40/2929.
That was when I gave Loeb a piece of my mind. We weren’t spending enough of our resources towards finding this guy, and our force was getting obliterated because we didn’t take it seriously enough from the get-go. In response, he promoted Flass (the second time in so many months, just to keep him on the same level with me) and then he put him in charge of the case. I’ve since been made into the paperwork putz for any and all things Joker-related.
That leads us to today’s piece. Howard Branden. Head of the local special weapons tactical unit, and all around hothead. He was the one we found flayed alive down by the docks this morning. Some kind of poem was written on the back of the joker card this time. Whatever my thoughts on Branden had been (none of them good), no one deserves to die like that. I don’t know if I’ve ever come across a more gruesome scene in my career. Certainly, the Zsasz incident from last year was tough to swallow, but this looked like something out of hell itself.
Upon reading the note, we finally realized it was Batman that the Joker was trying to summon all along. Branden headed up the chase of him last Summer. Incidentally, that happened at the docks too. This was a message. Joker isn’t gonna stop until Batman comes out to play. I don’t know how in the hell he knew about Branden’s ties to that event - and perhaps therein lies some kind of clue - but the fact is, he’s painting a target on the backs of anyone and everyone who has any kind of history with the Batman figure. And that includes me. These killings are just going to get more and more targeted. More grueling. More… high stakes, for lack of a better term. I’m terrified for what comes next.
And I’m furious that it all rests on the shoulders of Arnold Flass. Sorry, “Captain Flass”.
P.S. Someone leaked the Joker’s note to the papers. This day just gets better and better.
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
Despite my promise to Alfred, I knew that I must contact Captain James Gordon as soon as possible. As such, I had decided to don my old uniform only one day on from reading about the latest Joker affair. Surely, he would be able to put my fears to rest and assure me that he had the matter under control. And if not… well, then I would have no choice but to spring back into action and to help him find the scoundrel.
Quietly, I slipped down the steps of my humble abode and crept through the mansion’s maze of rooms towards the hidden entrance to the cave. This, I must add, was a hole in the wall, blockaded by a large bookcase. I stared at the Batman armor a few moments, determining that it had not fared well in the short time I had been utilizing it. There were bullet holes drilled into a few spots, and the stitching of the fabrics had only further unraveled in those spots since I had hung it out on display like a self-congratulatory memento. The cape, too, had seen better days. I reflected then that if I had been able to construct a new ensemble, I would opt instead for all black. After all, the more I could blend with the darkness of the night, the easier it would be to conceal myself from passersby. Affirmatively, I do recognize now that such a sudden change of heart seemingly came from oblivion. I could not convincingly rationalize it to myself, except perhaps to say that I now found myself wanting to blend further into the shadows of obscurity, and that the personality of the Batman had already begun to take on a mind of its own (and he was a rather capricious fellow at that).
It was of no matter now. My singular option was to adorn myself in those exceedingly subpar accouterments when I came face to face with Gordon. As such, I removed them from my display case and threw them into a duffle bag, exiting the premises as carefully as I’d entered so as not to wake the dutiful butler of the abode.
As Inconspicuous as it could be managed, I drove myself in the old Hudson7 Roadster towards Gordon’s neighborhood, eventually parking in the same untenanted alleyway as I had the previous two times I had met with him. Dashing through from one piece of coverage to another, using the shadows to conceal my movements as best as I could, I progressed my way to the rear entrance of the Captain’s quarters. Dratted luck it was that his wife caught sight of me first, and I saw her jump with a gasp through the window at the sight of me looming about the railings of their veranda. I hadn’t been careful enough, and that confounded gray material stuck out too much when I failed to properly utilize my cape for coverage. To my good fortune, however, no lasting harm was done, as Jim peered his head from around a corner on full alert, and sighed as he came outside to join me. Whether it was a sigh of relief or of frustration, I still cannot say for certain.
“So you do read the papers,” he folded his hands behind himself and rocked back upon his heels patiently.
“What have you got on him?” I immediately got down to business.
“Not a lot.” Jim cocked an annoyed eyebrow at me, clearly perturbed by my matter of reappearing after so long a time. “Thanks for scaring the bejeezus outta my wife. Gonna be fun explaining this whole thing to her tonight.”
I felt a rush of blood go to my head at the sheer awkwardness between us. I had to remind myself that this was not who the Batman was, but rather it was Bruce Wayne who struggled with human interaction. My true self wasn’t human at all, and thus, I must do my utmost to ignore it. As such, I stared at him harder, willing him to continue on.
“She forgave me, not that you care.” Instead, he doubled down, trudging onwards with personal details of his life rather than the information I truly desired. I should have known it then, that my lack of interest in forging relationships was one of many issues still plaguing me from my earlier childhood traumas. However, I was as yet still unfazed by it, consumed with a greater yearning to solve intricate puzzles such as these. His eyes tore into me then - contemplating my inner nature, weighing whether or not I was actually one and the same with his species - and after a brief moment, they fell away, dejectedly. “And why should you? I don’t know the first thing about you.Ya know… this one-sided partnership we’ve got going is gonna be our undoing, eventually.” Was that what this was? A partnership? There seemed to me a very thin line between being allies and individuals who were using one another. “That is, assuming you’re back in the game for good this time…”
“People are dying so long as I stay hidden. That’s the reason I’m here.” In truth, I hadn’t the faintest idea whether I believed those words to be sincere or falsity at the time.
“Fair enough. Can’t say I’d feel any different in your spot.” He adjusted his glasses and took a long, deep sigh. “He’s been trying to taunt you back into action this whole time. Little notes here and there. The poem was the first instance where we could make an affirmative connection. Tell me now, do you have even the slightest idea who this maniac is or what he wants with you?”
“Not a clue, Jim.”
“Figures. The hunter has become the hunted. I assume you made the Branden connection too, huh?”
“I did. So the Joker has insider knowledge of my run-ins with the GCPD.”
“That’s all we know,” he shook his head sadly. “That, and that he’s running around with a crew that wears black suits and red balaclavas. The other victims appear to be random. Unless, that is, you know more than you’re leading on. Again.”
“Not this time. I’m in the dark.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Square one.” I turned and mounted the railing, ready to make my departure.
“Hey! Where are you going? How do I get in touch with you if I find anything?”
“Be detailed in your broadcasts, I’m always listening,” I lept.
“Always… wha?”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
I fell then, kicking off from the side of the opposite building and swinging from the rails of another veranda to land upon the concrete pavement below. It was rather more graceful than I’d anticipated, and I was certain that it would only add to my air of mysticism. From above, however, I could vaguely discern Gordon’s profanity-laced curses, and realized I’d impressed him not at all. The thought of it still agitates me all these years later.
I scoured the streets that night, on the lookout for anything seemingly out of the ordinary in the red light district. There were the usual drugged out addicts lining the alleyways, prostitutes in search of johns for the evening, and all that sort of ilk. The degenerates, as the papers often referred to them. To me, however, they were the ones who had been thrown away by the system. The poor, unfortunate souls who’d been dealt an abysmal hand by the fates as well as the whims of the ignoble ones in power. There were no men in suits wearing red balaclavas, nor any sign of anyone dressed as a clown or court jester. Indeed, there was nothing and no one I could ascertain any relevant info on this night, and in the early hours of the morning I gave up and retired to my Roadster.
I had trouble sleeping away the remaining hours of the morning. I had allowed myself to become too distracted, by the poem, by the upcoming elections, by the potential aims of this joker character, and as well, my current status as a vigilante. I knew I could not hide these affairs from Alfred for too long, if indeed he had failed to notice my absence earlier that morning to begin with - to which, I had my doubts. I had determined that the best course of action would be to visit with my good friend, the laboratory technician, Lucius Fox. If I were to in fact renew my efforts in vigilantism, the first thing that needed doing was to ensure that it was a worthy endeavor. That is, I would need a host of new utilities that could sufficiently aid me in this preposterous new game of cat and mouse.
I entered the lab to find the man toying with a slew of odd contraptions, such as was the norm. He turned his head in alarm at the sound of my approach.
“Mr. Wayne! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Business, I’m afraid,” I smiled in bashful regret. “ I don’t suppose you’ve kept up with the latest news in the papers?”
“No, not particularly,” he sighed in apology. “Something to do with Wayne Enterprises, I presume?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid. It pertains to a certain… criminal. A villain. One that’s determined to smoke-out the Batman, it would seem.”
“Oh,” Lucius nodded in remembrance, “I think I did hear about that. And have you any ideas as to what this Batman fellow might do?” He played coy.
“I don’t believe he has any choice but to play into the scoundrel’s hands, lest the killings go on indefinitely. If you know of any viable alternatives, please do indulge me, my good man.”
“Mmph,” he frowned. “Don’t suppose I do, Mr. Wayne. But if he were intent on fighting back, I might be inclined to offer some aid on that front. What did you have in mind?”
Although we appeared to be completely alone inside the lab, I inched closer towards the man, lowering my voice conspiratorially and said, “My suit is looking a bit worse for wear, Mr. Fox. I was wondering if another one mightn’t be assembled.”
“Consider it done,” he smiled.
“And,” I added, “perhaps some modifications. Suggestions only, of course.”
“Do indulge me.”
“The first suit didn’t weather the elements for too long. I’m afraid I might need something a little more… resilient, if you catch my meaning. Rainy season, and all that.”
“I believe I do,” Lucius confirmed.
“Splendid. As well… would it be possible to make it all black this time?”
“It would be. Why the change of heart, though? I thought you wanted your enemies to see you, so that they could know the apparition was real.” What he’d said had been true once, but not this time.
“In this instance, my friend, it’s likely best I stayed hidden as much as I am able to. If he and his goons are out to hunt me, there are many variables I still need to discover about them. It is the safest option.”
“Right you are. Anything else?”
I thought about it momentarily. There had, in fact, been something that had been gnawing at me since the night before. Suffice to say, the sheer inconvenience of having to roam about the town in a beat up old vehicle in hopes of avoiding run-ins with the authorities was growing simply intolerable. And the thought of Alfred continuously playing the chauffeur when he was so vehemently against these ventures to begin with was all too much to even consider on an indefinite basis.
“The Batman needs a vehicle. Something powerful. Fast. Armored. And most of all, secure from outsiders who might discover its whereabouts while I am away from it.”
He blinked in surprise. Indeed, if I’d had any misgivings about returning to this rather dodgy form of work, it would appear that in this moment I had unintentionally laid claim to a certain determination in seeing this through. All he could muster was, “I’ll see what I can do.”
With all this out of the way, I departed for home.
For the remainder of the night, my eyes and my mind were both glued to the newspaper article and the poem addressed to my alter-ego. I knew in my heart that the clues I required were there, buried beneath the text in some way. However, a certain knowledge of the fellow was necessary in discerning them. For instance, precisely how clever was this devil? How deep in the details was he able to bury himself? Would the clues be simplistic, complicated, or convoluted? A word here, pieced together with another one there? Was I to be looking for backwards spellings? Adjacent codings? No, surely not! There was nothing at all of that sort. For the life of me, I could not seem to decipher a hint.
I thought then, perhaps, this Joker character may have been much more shrewd than I’d imagined after all. He had, in truth, managed to pull off a great deal of terroristic acts within a very short time, all the while successfully avoiding capture. And this poem, while both crude and rather gauche at first glance, may in fact have been constructed with careful deliberation. If this were indeed a man of intelligence, I would need to look deeper.
To begin with, many might be quick to look for clues relating to the where of the crime. I am embarrassed to disclose, that was where my head first jumped to as well. However, I quickly decided this was a man I could not afford to underestimate, and so I would need to assume I was dealing with a rather perspicacious actor in the Joker. This villain would not be one to simply spell things out for me. He could find the targeted victims, no matter where the GCPD attempted to hide them. The subject of infinite importance was not in the where, therefore, but in the when. When would Mayor Wilson Klass be targeted?
I scanned the page numerous times, again and again. So many options, too many variables to consider. Words, syllables, lines, verses. At last I could take it no more and produced a pen to begin scratching down numerals beside, below, and atop the discombobulation. Indeed, it only made the puzzle seem more unnervingly disarrayed upon finishing my notations, but there was something specific I was looking for in the numbers: the year. 1940.
I blinked away the sleep that threatened to overtake me, but alas, somehow lost the battle in the end. As things stood, I’d not managed to find the numbers I was looking for, and on the following day I would be much too busy to pay any mind to it.
From the audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj
Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum, audiolog number fifteen. April the fourth, nineteen forty.
Today, I have with me the infamous Doctor Jonathan Crane, known widely around Gotham for his many abductions and drug experiments performed upon its citizens. This will be the first of what I hope to be many successful sessions, where I may delve into the subject’s past in an attempt to uncover sources of his traumas and how it may relate to his criminal behaviors.
Hello, Jonathan. Er, excuse my rudeness… Doctor.
Crane: Hmph.
Strenj: I see we are a tad bit apprehensive this morning. Completely understandable, I assure you. I am not here to judge you, my good sir. I am merely here to aid you in your quest for healing.
Crane: Healing, what a load of tripe!
Strenj: Now, Jonathan, don’t be like that. You and I come from very similar backgrounds in psychology! I, being a man of Germany, am interested to hear of your experiences in your education in America, and was hoping we could compare notes. I find you very interesting, my friend. It is my hope that we can learn from one another throughout the course of our time together.
Crane: Hah! German! Here I was thinking I was the only criminal in the room!
Strenj: Uh, yes… yes, it is an unfortunate business that has transpired there over the last few years.
Crane: Unfortunate!? You really have a knack for understating the facts, Strange.
Strenj: It’s Strenj.
Crane: No, It’s abominable! It’s detestable! I tell you, my crimes were in the name of science! What’s your excuse!? You’re invading entire countries! The world has barely had time to breathe since the Great War, and here you are bringing it allllll back!
Strenj: Doctor, I fear we are getting off course here. Now, about your crimes -
Crane: Interesting deflection, Doctor. It seems I may have struck a nerve.
Strenj: I assure you, Jonathan, I am not offended, I just want to speak with you about your history -
Crane: My history has nothing to do with anything!
Strenj: Now, now, as men of science, we both know that isn’t true.
Crane: I’ll show you what I know!!!
(Loud noise)
Strenj: Nyah!
(Crashing sounds)
Guards! Guards, help me!
(Squeaking door, followed by rushing footsteps amidst a bodily struggle)
Crane: No! Don’t! Don’t hurt meee!
Strenj: Subdue him! Use the needles!
Crane: Naaaaaa!
Strenj: (Heavy breathing) I am sorry, Doctor. This is not how I pictured our meeting together. I did not want to have to medicate you, but do you not see that you have given me no other alternative?
Crane: I’m sorry! Pleeeease, I won’t… I won’t!
Strenj: No, you will not. I do not know how you managed to get out of your restraints, but if we are going to build trust in this relationship, it is imperative that we be left alone with one another. Therefore, moving forward, the good Doctor will need to have his sedatives increased before each session.
Crane: (Whimpering noises)
Strenj: Worry not, my friend. In time, we will become the greatest of chums. You will see. Unfortunately, this will have to be the end of today’s session. Perhaps next time we will have you in an improved disposition. This is Doctor Hugo Strenj, logging off!
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
The day following, I awoke to find my trusted butler and confidant sitting at the breakfast table, glowering fixedly over the previous day’s newspaper.
“Criminy, by jove! I just can’t bloody well figger it out!” he threw the paper violently down upon the ground.
“Erm…” I stood in utter disbelief, not being able to fully comprehend the scene before me.
“Well,” he glared at me angrily, “don’t just bloody well stand there gaping. Ya done ‘n caught me in the act, so let’s have it then.”
“You… were you trying to decipher the poem for yourself, old man?”
“Yer damn well right I were! Sodding rubbish, I tells ye. There ain’t nuffin’ makin’ any wanking lick o’ sense, Master Wayne! The man is a loon! A complete and total nincompoop!”
“I’m at a loss for words, old chap,” I couldn’t help but smile to myself at that. “Surely, you don’t mean your vast experience in crosswords and sudoku puzzles was no match for this scoundrel!”
“Now you look here,” the man stood up and stared me hard in the eyes. “You may think yourself a right bonny detective, what with yer new age techno gadgetry and them bollocks science experiments you perform with Mr. Fox. But I have me the raw wits of an Englishman, something you won’t ever understand! And I am telling you, the Joker’s a blithering nitwit!”
I was already enjoying this exchange immensely. “Pray tell, wasn’t it you who made me swear an oath that I was to be over and done with this investigative business for good?”
“Aye. I done and told ye, get on wif it then,” he folded his arms grumpily, much as would a child awaiting his due punishment.
“And yet here you are trying to solve this charade so that you might take all the credit for yourself.” I could do nothing to stop the grin paving its way across my face.
“I made you swear it. I didn’t say nuffin’ about meself,” he sulked.
“And if you had, in fact, managed to solve the case all by your lonesome, old man… what would you have done then?”
Alfred squinted in anger at me, yelling, “Ye can stand there lookin’ smug about it all ye want, Master Wayne. You and I both know it were the Batman who’s the only one this madman will allow to play his twisted little games. I thought if I were at least able to spell out the details, I’d at least be limiting the amount of danger ye’d be putting yourself through this time. But it ain’t bloody well resolvable!”
“I see!” I chuckled rather uncontrollably then, and he stood in place gawking at me pitifully until I was done.
“Are you quite finished then?”
“I’m sorry, my friend. I just wanted to make sure I was clear on the specifics. You do, in fact, believe it is my duty to re-don my cape and cowl after all, is that right?”
“Ain’t no other way around it I can see. That psychopath is just gonna keep on murderin’ people if the Batman don’t come back. But it don’t mean I hafta damn well like it.”
“I’m glad we are at least seeing eye to eye on this, then.” I bent down and picked up the newspaper from the ground, straightening it out and placing it back upon the table.
“Let’s have it, then. What have you managed to find in your musings?”
“Whatever do you mean? I haven’t paid it a second thought since yesterday!”
“Don’t fink me an idiot, Master Wayne. I know damn well you pencil-scratched a copy fer yer own self and likely fell asleep wif it in your bedding. Out with it. How’d ye manage to outwit this old man now?”
I floundered for a moment, contemplating how best to approach the matter. Shrugging, I ran back up the stairs to my bedroom and retrieved the paper with my numbered notations. When I returned, Alfred had somehow managed to wear an even more grave expression upon his face.
“Relax, my good man. I haven’t discovered anything of use. We’re on a level, you and I.”
“Hah! Ye see?! There ain’t no answer at ole!”
“I’m admittedly not so sure of that,” I presented my worksheet to him.
My dear caretaker stared at the paper bewilderedly. “Blimey! Yer just as slogging mad as this Joker fella,” he huffed.
“I’m looking for a date.”
“What the bleeding hell does that hafta do with anything? Master Wayne, you’re one of this town’s richest, most eligible bachelors. Surely, you can -”
“A calendar date, Alfred. The clue we’re looking for lies in the numbers. If I can somehow discern the year I’m looking for, it might be that we can determine the other pieces from there.”
“...Ye mean month, day, time…?”
“Precisely.”
“Mmhmm,” he peered down at the paper once more. “Then assuming he don’t wanna plot to kill someone more than nine months from now, we’re looking for 1940.” We both studied the lines a few moments more. My notations were as follows:
0 My dearest Batsy,
1
1 ‘Where, oh, where have you gone? syllables 6 words 6
2 I’ve looked everywhere since coming to this city, 12 8
3 I’ve reaped chaos and fear and any such con, 11 9
4 Yet you’ve turned a blind eye to these indignities. 12 9
2
5 At last, however, it’s really no matter, 11 7
6 For my new plan revised, you shall not ignore, 11 9
7 Because, you see, the next heaps of blood splatter, 11 9
8 Will lay waste to the most crucial of Gotham’s core. 12 10
3
9 First on the list is Mayor Wilson Klass, 10 8
10 And second, his left hand man, the cowardly commissioner, 15 9
11 Third you must guess, and you won’t get a pass, 10 10
12 And the fourth works in tandem with a ruling positioner. 15 10
4
13 Enough with the poetry, 7 4
14 Let’s see if you can stop me!’ 7 7
Parts, or paragraphs: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4.
Lines: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 , 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 to 14.
Syllables: 6, 12, 11, 12, 11, 11, 11, 12, 10, 15, 10, 15, 7, 7.
Words: 6, 8, 9, 9, 7, 9, 9, 10, 8, 9, 10, 10, 4, 7.
“I dunno how ye intend to work anything out of this, Master Wayne.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’ll be the one doing it for me, then,” I smiled.
“What’s this, now?”
“Surely you haven’t forgotten, I’m off to Harvey’s luncheon this afternoon. And that leaves you alone who can mangle with this madness.”
“Oh, poppycock!” Alfred cursed to himself.
“Might be best to skip the crosswords for today, chap,” I chuckled. It was a short-lived humor I enjoyed, however, as I quickly came to realize Alfred had neglected to make my breakfast that morning.