A Guy Walks Into A Bar...

The Real Truth

For days, I heard absolutely nothing from my father... I went to his penthouse every day to eat and he was never at the head of table. I felt as though he was purposely avoiding me. I assumed that he was still mad at me, even though I don't have a clue what I actually did.

Weeks passed, and never once do I even catch a glimpse of him... I enquire about him, but most of his clowns rarely lay eyes on him anyway. So I know I have to ask his higher-ups. So I ask Mr. Frost, because surely he knew. And he did know...

My father was in Arkham Asylum. Apparently it happened the night he stormed out of my apartment. Frost said he returned to the penthouse, got drunk, went crazy, and left alone. He was apprehended by Batman in some shitty seafood bar in the Narrows. Five people died. One of my father's clowns, three cops, one customer, all shot by my father during his rampage.

Damn. I knew it was partially my fault. Because whatever happened in my apartment, started the series of events. My mind replayed it a hundred times, and I just couldn't understand what set him off. But I could still see the tears that had been in his eyes. But why?  And not knowing was making me worry about him...

I asked Frost if anything was being done to get him out? Was there some way? Frost just shook his head and told me he wasn't ready to come home yet. But what the hell did that mean? But that was all I was able to get out of him. He wouldn't tell me anymore. But I could see from the look in his eyes that there was a lot he wasn't telling me. If I wanted any answers, I'd have to find them myself.

So I tracked down the seafood bar where he had been arrested. I stood on the sidewalk staring at the place. Nothing special about it. It just looked like some struggling business in a bad neighborhood. The broken windows had been boarded up. The front doors were propped open, so I walk in. A metallic smell hit me instantly.

It was dimly lit inside. An old man was on his knees scrubbing up dried blood puddles. I felt sorry for him. "Isn't there somebody else who could clean this up for you?" I find myself asking.

The old man just looks up at me blankly, "Costs too much to get one of those companies that clean crime scenes. I ain't squeemish, so... You with GCPD?" He asks me.

"Yes," I quickly say. I knew he'd share more with me if he thought I was a cop.

"Look young for a cop," he says and slowly gets onto his feet again.

"I get that alot," I nod.

"Well go ahead and ask me your questions. As you see, I've got a lot of work to do. I've finally been allowed by the city to clean up and reopen," the old man takes a seat.

"You own this place?" I asks and walk further into the place. There was blood and broken glass everywhere.

"For thirty years," he nods. "I've seen a lot."

"Did you see what happened?" I ask taking a seat across from him.

"Yeah, I was here. Who else would be?" He shrugs.

"Just start with when the Joker walked in," I tell him.

"He came in from the back, like always," the old man says.

"Wait. Like always? The Joker has been here before?" I ask in surprise.

"Been coming here for twenty years. Has always just quietly sat and stuck to himself. Talked to him a few times. Seemed like a sad guy. Never bothered me none," he explains. "But that night, he was...crazy."

"How so?" I lean forward, anticipating his answer.

"He was soaking wet from the rain that night. So drunk he couldn't even walk straight. Was talking to people that weren't even there. I just minded my own business. He sat down right where you're sitting now. He started screaming and crying "Jeannie" over and over again."