The Joker's New Toy { Wattys 2016}

Found Memories

**

Jim Gordon was pulling yet another all-nighter at the police station, anxiously flipping through all of the Joker's old murder files on the computer. He was jittery. His arm shook erratically as he picked up his coffee mug and brought it to his lips. His body was shaking from a number of things. Lack of sleep, nerves and the fact that this was his sixth cup of coffee that evening were some of the reasons. His poor wife Barbara entered his thoughts. He knew she was home in bed right now, crying her eyes out alone.

"What have we got tonight Jim?" Batman's raspy voice reached Jim's ears.

Jim swiveled around in his chair, holding his chest. "Jesus. Can you please stop doing that? You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Well I don't think all that coffee you've been drinking will help with that," rasped Batman.

"This is no time for humor," Jim said wearily. "I'm going over the Joker's old files. And believe me, there are a lot. And God knows what other crimes he committed that aren't listed in the files. I forgot about a lot of these. This is jogging my memory now. I remember this one. Patrick McGregor found dead at his bar, hanging from the ceiling fan. Gunshot to the head with multiple stab and burn wounds, and the Joker's trademark Glasgow smile," Jim winced as he read the whole report.

**

Flashback...

"I'm tellin' ya I dun't kno' anything, please lads!" Patrick McGregor pleaded in his thick Irish accent, tears invading his eyes from pain. "Please boys, I...Aaaah!! Jesus Christ! Mother Mary!" He yelled out in anguish as the Joker took a torch to his stomach, burning into his bare skin.

Patrick's arms were tied to a rope that hung from the ceiling fan at his pub 'Mr. McGregor's Bar and Grill.' Now he dangled shirtless before the angry interrogating Joker, with Croc standing menacingly behind him. No one else was in the bar, and Croc and the Joker made sure to barricade the doors shut while the Joker tried to get answers out of this man. "Now, now, you must know something Mr. McGregor," the Joker said calmly, and stopped burning him for a moment.

Mr. McGregor's head drooped down, sweat glistening off of his forehead. He looked like he would soon faint. He shook his head weakly. The Joker clicked his tongue. "Yeah...yeah you do Patrick. Patrick McGregor," The Joker spoke in a tone one would use on a child. "You and little Joey are mates aintchya? You must be. Your little group sells his little group happy pills all the time don'tchya? And vice versa. You got a nice little trade going on between the Irish and Italian mob eh? Nice little get-togethers. How sweet. Two completely different groups coming together like that, it almost brings a tear to my eye," The Joker mocked.

"I don't...I don't know where he is," Patrick answered in a strained voice, sounding as though he were on his last leg.

"Burns not working for ya? Croc, do we have anything else to use?" The Joker asked. Croc went to the back of the bar and grabbed a beer bottle off of the shelf. He smashed it onto the counter and handed the broken bottle to the Joker. The Joker fingered it in his hand with an evil smirk. "You Irish sure do like your beer don't ya?"

"Please I..." Patrick let out another agonizing wail as the Joker twisted the broken bottle into his chest.

"Well I think we're making progress now don't you Croc?"

"Heh," grunted Croc, his mouth stretching into what appeared to be a grin.

The Joker grinned uncannily. A few months ago, Jack would have been disturbed by the fact that he was taking so much pleasure out of someone else's pain. But now, as the Joker personality was getting stronger and stronger, his normal human emotions were diminishing, and now all he saw before him was a scummy little mob man. He saw a man who had corresponded with his enemy on a regular basis, and with that thought he felt Mr. McGregor deserved all the pain that he could dish out.