Camera Shot Freezes On…

Barbara Gordon talking with her worried father in his office

Police examine the deserted, parked Batmobile

Barbara Gordon talking to a canary in her apartment

A handwritten letter to Batgirl, apparently left by Batman

Tentacles shoot out of the Batmobile’s steering wheel

Arms wrapped in wires, Batgirl sits frozen at the wheel

Remote-controlled Batmobile swerving all over the street

The stalled vehicle is approached by The Joker

The Joker watches as a crate bearing Batman and Robin is opened

The grim faces of the bound Caped Crusaders

Makes Ambulance Business Thrive

Undine’s dream was interrupted by a purple-gloved hand shaking her awake.

“Undine,” said the Joker. “Arise! I have a new trio of treasures for you to behold, my merry minx! You’ll never guess what has come into my possession this time.”

“A trio? So you’ve captured Batman and his friends again,” murmured the blonde bombshell. “What else is new? Can I go back to sleep?”

“There will be plenty of time for you to sleep when we are permanently rid of the Caped Crusaders! Now I want you radiant and presentable within the hour.”

Unable to impress his moll with his exploits, the Joker departed from the wildly decorated upstairs office and descended into the concrete and brick décor that marked the majority of the warehouse. He decided that relaxing in Batman’s car would be just the thing to bolster his ego. Clutching the remote that gave him complete control of the vehicle, he returned to the Batmobile and hopped into the passenger seat next to Batgirl. He gave her a toothy grin.

The next fifteen minutes ticked by slowly for Batgirl. In addition to being forced to listen to her captor’s constant hoots of amusement, she was made to play guinea pig for his warped experiments. While she sat strapped to the seat, the Joker fiddled constantly with the remote control. He made one tiny adjustment after another to see just how tight he could get Batgirl’s seat belt straps without making her pass out. Finally growing bored with his sadistic game, the Joker adjusted the control to let her have a little breathing room. He called out to two burly goons standing nearby.

“Bring that Bat-box back out here! I’m tired of waiting!”

The huge crate bearing the bound Caped Crusaders was quickly hauled back in and tilted before the parked Batmobile. The lid was pried off to reveal Batman and Robin still inside, defiant, but helpless.

“Well, what’s it going to be, Batman?” said the Joker. “Bats pushing up daisies? Or are you ready to finish off our fair city’s police commissioner?”

“The answer,” replied Batman. “… is no! You can do what you like to us, but under no circumstances will we aid or abet your devilish designs upon the Commissioner’s life.”

Robin did a double take at hearing this.

“What do you mean ‘no’? Didn’t you hear what he said? He’s going to kill Batgirl -- and we're next!”

“Buck up, chum,” Batman counseled, twisting to look at his partner. “Being on the side of right isn’t always a bed of roses.”

“Who do you think Gotham City can afford to do without, Batman? Us or Commissioner Gordon?”

Shock registered across the Caped Crusader’s face as Robin’s unspoken meaning became apparent.

“Robin, are you suggesting … that we help this madman with his nefarious deeds?”

“I think we should do whatever it takes to stay alive,” said the Boy Wonder. “That’s sure as heck what I plan to do!”

“Well, at least this young man shows promise,” said the Joker. His grinning white features were suddenly blocked from their view by Batgirl’s frantic face. She strained her neck desperately against the seat belt straps.

“Robin, don’t do it!”

The Joker clamped a hand on her face and shoved her head back against the seat.

“Quiet, you!” he said. He waggled the remote control under her nose. “One more comment like that and I’ll make that seat belt even tighter than you’ve experienced before!”

“You’ve put her through enough already, you fiend!” yelled Batman.

“You see, Batman?” exclaimed Robin. “If you can’t stand watching Batgirl in discomfort, how do you think you’ll feel watching her die?”

“Robin, your trepidation is understandable. Our situation is grim, however, I cannot allow you to become a pawn in this maniac’s scheme!”

The Boy Wonder glared back at him. “All my life I’ve been doing what you told me to! And you know what? It’s finally beginning to dawn on me that you’re not that bright! I can’t believe I’ve been taking orders from you all this time!”

“That always baffled me, too,” mused the Joker.

Turning to his captor, the Boy Wonder said, “Joker, you didn’t say anything about both of us having to take part in the Commissioner’s death in order for you to release us.”

“I suppose I didn’t make any such stipulation.”

“Robin, you don’t know what you’re saying!” said Batman.

“Oh, leave him alone, you big bully,” the Joker interrupted, waving his purple-gloved hand. “Untie this fine lad, boys. This other fellow seems to be an unhealthy influence on him.”

Robin waited as the Joker’s stooges cut away the wires binding him to Batman. The henchmen then pulled him from the large crate that had served as his prison. Robin wiped bits of sawdust from his red-breasted uniform as one of the stooges kept a machine gun trained warily on him.

“Now, you’re to go straight to the Commissioner’s office,” instructed the Joker. “If that dimbulb police chief is in there with him, send him on some errand to get him out of the room for a few minutes. I assume that’s all the time you would need to throttle our dear Commissioner. You are strong enough to finish him off by yourself, aren’t you?”

“Plenty strong enough,” replied Robin. “And a few minutes is more than enough time.”

“Good, good. Now, you must follow my playful plot to the letter. I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy being ground into the pavement by the wheels of your own Batmobile.” Joker waved the remote control as he patted the steering wheel for emphasis. “And just in case it occurs to you to pull a fast one on ol’ Uncle Joker, don’t forget what will happen to Batgirl if you deviate at all from your appointed course -- my usual support for deviance notwithstanding.”

Batman’s chest slammed the front of the crate as he strained against his bonds. He fixed the Clown Prince of Crime with a glare.

“Joker! You listen and you listen well, you heinous hyena! If any harm befalls her due to your shenanigans, I'll make you regret it to your dying day.”

Looking amused, the Harlequin of Hate clasped his hands together melodramatically.

“Oh, how touching; how romantic! You seem to have a great deal of affection for her!”

Batman was taken aback. “Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, I suppose I do. She is without a doubt … the most beauteous, the most able, the most spectacular automobile on the face of the Earth.”

“Err ... no, I was speaking of Batgirl,” said the Joker, his eyebrows rising.

“Batgirl? … yes, well, certainly Batgirl's safety is of utmost concern to me.”

“Oh! Of course it is! Hoo hoo! He certainly sounds terribly concerned for his comrade, doesn’t he, boys?” the Murderous Mountebank cackled. The henchmen laughed in agreement.

Biting back an inappropriate response, Batman answered through clenched teeth.

“Batgirl is fully aware of the high regard I hold her in, Joker. That being said, under no circumstances are you to scratch … scrape … dent … smoke tobacco in … weave needlessly in heavy traffic … or drive in excess of posted highway speed limits -- this automobile! Do I make myself clear? Furthermore, you will not touch any of the interior …”

“Yes, yes, put all that in a memo, won't you?” said the Joker, giving an exaggerated yawn. The Funny Felon punched a button on his remote contraption to start the engine of the magnificent car.

Upstairs in the bizarrely decorated office, Undine heard the powerful motor and got up from the television show she’d been watching. She went to the window overlooking the warehouse floor to see what was going on.

“Now, on your way, Boy Wonder! And no delays,” the Joker was saying.

“I’m going, Joker,” said Robin grimly. He started jogging off on his horrible assignment.

Beaming with pleasure, the Joker turned to Batgirl in the next seat. “We'll just tag along behind the dear boy to ensure he doesn't suffer a change of heart or get lost along the way.”

As Robin trotted from the warehouse, one of the Joker’s goons spoke up. "But boss, I don’t remember Robin actually promising to kill Gordon. Did you hear him say that?”

“I'm not sure that I did, now that you mention it. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t promise not to kill Batman. Because that’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to blow him into an infinitely advanced stage of rigor mortis. Well, not me, personally -- I just had this suit dry-cleaned -- but make no mistake, Batman, your final curtain is falling! Boys, make sure the Caped Crusader here has ample opportunity to see what good care I’m taking of his precious chariot … then fill him full of lead!”

The two henchmen hefted their guns, grinning in anticipation. Seeing that Batman was about to die, Undine briefly wished that she wasn’t still clad in her nighty. She considered getting dressed and going downstairs to witness the momentous execution up close, but then decided it wasn’t interesting enough to go through the effort of picking out an outfit. Plus, there was the risk of icky bloodstains. She decided that a long-range snapshot would be more than adequate to mark the occasion.

Through her palms, still tied to the steering wheel, Batgirl could feel the Batmobile kicking into first gear.

“Now, let’s see, silly me, what was it that Batman told me not to do to his car?” the Joker asked.

The Batmobile suddenly lurched forward into a group of garbage cans. There was a loud clatter as the cans toppled about in all directions. The Joker laughed in delight as he maneuvered the car around the warehouse.

“Oh, that’s right! I’m not supposed to scratch it! And what was that other thing I was to be certain to avoid?”

Batgirl turned her head at a loud scraping sound coming from her left. The teeth-grinding noise continued as the Batmobile grazed the edge of the rusty garage door in its exit from the warehouse.

“Why, I believe it was to avoid any scrapes!” howled the Joker in laughter.

Batman was straining against his bonds, a tortured expression on his features. Through the Batmobile’s rearview mirror, the Joker intently observed the Masked Manhunter’s anguished reaction. The cherished image of a grimacing Batman, surrounded by gun-toting lackeys, slowly receded in the distance as the car left the Caped Crusader behind. The Joker sighed.

“Ah, you know, I’m really going to miss him.”

“Then let him live, Joker!” exclaimed Batgirl. “It’s not too late to stop your men!”

“Oh, just listen to yourself, my dear: so innocent, so naïve in the ways of men. Batman and I have too much history, too many occasions of wounded dignity and bruised countenances. Water passes under our respective bridges no longer.”

“But wouldn’t that be the worst punishment you could put Batman through? Forcing him to live with the knowledge that you had set him free?”

The Joker sat with furrowed brow, mulling over this notion.

“Hmm. That’s not bad,” he said after a moment. “Not too shabby an idea at all. Maybe I’ll take that approach with Robin after I show him Batman’s corpse!”

“His corpse?! Why are you doing all of this, you monster?” Batgirl said, tugging angrily at her bonds. “And why is it so important to you that Commissioner Gordon die? He’s a fine, decent man just doing his job.”

“Yes, I guess it is a bit of a stretch to expect you to believe that I care whether Gordon lives or dies. Sadly, the Caped Crouton’s real family is unknown to me and beyond my clutches. So, I’m just forced to work with the material that’s available. Now then, didn’t Batman also mention something about dents in his car?”

The Joker applied the vehicle’s brakes, but not before the Batmobile rammed into a pedestrian, knocking the unfortunate man to the ground unconscious. It was obvious to Batgirl that the Joker had intentionally waited too long to hit the brakes. She saw that the fallen man was William Wumpington, the manager of the Savings and Loan that had recently been robbed. Paying no attention to the injured man, the Joker drove on.

“And what was that Batman said about smoking in his car? Hmm, let me puff thoughtfully on this cigar while I try to remember.”

“Joker, you fiend!” Batgirl said. “You must stop this!”

Joker used the Batmobile’s cigarette lighter to light his obnoxiously large cigar.

“Say, did you see which pocket I removed this cigar from? It was the left one, correct?” the Joker asked, taking a tentative puff. “Hope this isn’t one of the trick ones. Oh, good -- it’s a Cuban.”

Smoking contentedly, he replaced the cigarette lighter. As soon as the lighter was inserted back in its socket, a new light lit up on the Batmobile’s dashboard.

“Self diagnostic test initiated,” said a computer voice from within the vehicle.

“Self … what?” said the Joker in astonishment. Pinging noises sounded from the handle-bars of the steering wheel.

“Foreign elements detected,” said the computer voice. The Joker didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it.

The engine seemed to cut off for a second before restarting hesitantly. His concern building, the Joker looked down at his cigar and quickly tossed it out of the car.

“Litterbug!” castigated Batgirl. “I hope that doesn’t start a fire.”

“There!” the Joker said bitterly to the dashboard, ignoring her. “The Cuban’s history! I hope you’re happy now, you infernal instrument! The foreign elements are gone!”

Hearing some odd engine sounds behind him, Robin slowed his pace and looked back at the Batmobile. It was jerkily stopping and starting in the middle of the street, seemingly torn on what it wanted to do.

Inside the car, Batgirl felt the coils about her arms loosen. She pulled fiercely and managed to yank her right arm completely free of the wires. The tendrils, however, tightened again about her left arm and the car gradually picked up speed. The Batmobile’s internal scan had interrupted the control of the Joker’s remote, but only temporarily. Whipping out her free arm, the Dominoed Daredoll backhanded her captor in the nose.

SMEK!

The Joker cried out as his head snapped back.

“Ow! What did you do that for?! I didn’t hit you!”

Batgirl blocked an answering fist from the Joker.

“You fell for the Dynamic Duo’s trick like an amateur!” she said. “You should have learned by now that Batman would never allow a cigarette lighter in the Batmobile! You foolishly activated the self-diagnostic test for him! All he had to do was order you not to smoke!” She used her forearm to misdirect another punch from the Joker.

“We’ll see who has the last laugh, Batgirl,” he growled, falling back on some old standard quips while he concentrated on punching out his traveling companion. Before the Joker could connect with his first blow, though, Batgirl seized the remote control from him. He grabbed for it, but she tossed it down the left side of the car seat. He gripped her by the throat with one hand and stretched over to reach the device with the other. Batgirl used her lone free arm to grab him by the belt. Giving a good yank, she lifted and tossed the Joker from the moving vehicle. He landed headfirst in the street.

Robin was already sprinting towards the fallen villain. As the Batmobile approached, Batgirl called out, “Robin, get in! They’re about to shoot Batman!”

Changing direction, Robin leaped into the passenger side as the car shot past. Batgirl retrieved the remote control from beside her and manipulated it based on how she had seen the Joker use it. She guided the speeding Batmobile through a series of shaky turns to get it headed back in the opposite direction.

“I need two hands for this,” she told Robin, gesturing at her left arm. “Help me get rid of these coils and turn this device off!”

Working as a team, the pair quickly figured out how to disable the remote, free Batgirl’s arm, and return full control to the driver.

“Thanks,” she said. “For awhile, you had me worried that you were really going to kill Commissioner Gordon!”

“Aw, you know me better than that, Batgirl! Batman’s had me practice ‘Plan 47Z’ so often that I could recite the words in my sleep! I wasn’t sure our turncoat routine would fool anybody, but I guess you can’t overestimate the Joker! Gosh, how far back to the warehouse?”

Back at the Joker’s hideout, the two henchmen’s attention was focused upwards at the office window and the scantily-clad Undine. The comely moll had found a camera with which to record the execution for posterity, but now there were problems with the flash bulb. The henchmen watched intently as she fiddled in frustration with her camera, trying to get it to operate. Like true gentlemen, they politely refrained from murdering Batman in cold blood until she finally gave them the thumbs up sign.

Undine eagerly framed up her camera shot as the two thugs took careful aim at Batman’s skull. The goons paused as they heard the great roar of a high powered engine, and turned to see the Batmobile rocketing towards them.

“Look out! They’re tryin’ to run us over!”

They took several quick steps away from each other to place themselves out of the path of the oncoming vehicle. As Batgirl steered the Batmobile between the vile pair, Robin declared, “Hold on for Emergency Bat-Turn!!”

He wrenched down a handle in the door of the Batmobile, unleashing a large pair of parachutes from the back of the car. The gun-wielding hoodlums were instantly swept off their feet, consumed by the twin parachutes. The Batmobile whipped a U-turn around Batman’s crate and screeched to a halt. The goons grunted as they tumbled and rolled across the concrete floor to land in a billowy white heap.

Inside the office, Undine ducked down out of sight of the window. She heard four SMACKS! in rapid succession. Batgirl and Robin were pummeling the engulfed, thrashing thugs senseless. As the heroic pair proceeded to go about freeing Batman from the crate, Undine hastily scrabbled about the office floor. She grabbed some clothes off the rack and snatched up what little money she could find. She could make out vague snatches of conversation from downstairs as Batgirl congratulated her allies on the success of their plan.

“Now they’ll be headed up here for me,” she whispered to herself. “I have to leave immediately! But where can I go?”

She grabbed up a handful of mail that the Joker had received in the last week: a credit card offer from Gotham First National Bank, a postcard of well-wishes from someone named Madame DeBase, an invitation to a party at Hef Hughner’s mansion. Opening the back door, she snuck down the rear staircase.

Several minutes later, wounded pedestrian William Wentworth Wumpington was being loaded into an ambulance as the Batmobile drove up.

“I don’t see any sign of the Joker,” said Batman, jumping from the car.

“Is Mr. Wumpington going to be okay?” Batgirl asked the ambulance driver.

“He should be fine,” said the driver. “We’re only a few minutes from Gotham General. We’ll get them there on the double!” The ambulance took off with its sirens blazing.

“First Wumpington gets robbed by the Siren, and now this,” said Batman, shaking his head. “This just isn’t his month.”

Batgirl froze in her tracks.

“Wait a minute. Did the driver just say ‘we’ll get them there’?” she said.

“Gosh, how many people did you run over, Batgirl?” asked Robin.

A little girl ran up to them from a nearby yard. “Hey, Batgirl,” she said. “I saw what happened to that white-faced man you fought with! He pretended he was knocked out when the ambulance got here. They put him in the ambulance along with that man who really was hurt.”

Three blocks away in the back of the ambulance, the Joker could make out the little girl gesturing and pointing towards him. He watched as the Terrific Trio turned in his direction, their surprised, open mouths visible even from that distance.

“Bah! Children: nature’s most cursed creation!” he grumbled. He watched the caped trio race back to the Batmobile.

“And Batman’s still alive! Egads, how could those nitwits bungle such a simple execution? Well, they can ponder their inefficiency from the jail cell they’re no doubt currently bound for -- no great loss there. Undine, on the other hand, will be missed. I wouldn’t really mind losing henchmen constantly if I could just hang onto a moll once in awhile.”

He paused reflectively. “But why does this trouble me?” he wondered, exploring his feelings just as Warden Crichton had urged him to do.

“Frail femininity, while pleasing to my artistic eye, has always had its share of drawbacks. Why, I would have probably won half my battles with the Bat-folk if I’d had molls that were minimally useful.” Unaware that Undine had been able to escape the warehouse, the Joker rubbed his chin.

“Mmmm. That does it -- no more fragile fashion-plates for me! Next time, the woman by my side will have some muscle and aggression to go with her curves!” His train of thought was interrupted by the gentle bounce of the ambulance as it pulled up into the hospital driveway.

The Batmobile rumbled into the hospital parking lot only minutes behind the Joker.

After searching the parking lot in vain for their nemesis, the three crimefighters headed for the information desk located just inside the sliding main doors.

“We have reason to believe that the Joker is loose in your hospital!” said Batgirl. “Do you know of anything here that would attract his criminal interest?”

The woman at the desk thought for a moment.

“Well, there are rare and valuable drugs in the pharmacy,” the woman speculated.

Quickly Batman decided, “Not the Joker’s style.”

“How about a patient? There’s a major operation scheduled for this afternoon: a spleen replacement.”

“Batman! Look at the name of the patient,” Robin said, peering at the woman’s clipboard. “It’s Egbert!”

“Of course - the night watchman at the Gotham City Waterworks. He happens to bear a startling resemblance to his cousin Alfred, the butler of millionaire Bruce Wayne.”

“A spleen replacement? Isn’t that the most delicate of surgical procedures?” said Batgirl.

“The patient was wheeled into the operating room just a few minutes ago,” offered the information lady. “The procedure is being observed by visiting doctors from around the county as a test study for similar surgeries in the future.”

“The Joker thinks that Egbert double-crossed him at the Waterworks,” remembered Robin. “And if he saw Egbert go by on that gurney…”

“Quickly, which way to the operating room?” asked Batman.

The Caped Crusaders charged into the operating room just as the surgery was about to commence. The eerily familiar figure of Alfred’s cousin lay peacefully on the operating table. Rows of seated doctors watched as a figure clothed from head to toe in a green surgical gown and mask picked up a scalpel and brought it within centimeters of the unconscious form. Robin raced across the room and tackled the blade-wielding figure, knocking him to the floor, but the smocked man was immediately back on his feet.

“Haven’t had enough yet, huh? Are you sure you’ve got the stomach for murder?” Robin asked, and belted his opponent in the gut.

KLOMP!

“Don’t be alarmed, care-providers!” Batman called out to the astonished gathering as he gripped the gasping foe in a headlock. “Under this innocent-looking surgical cap, you’ll find a head of hair of a hue quite peculiar for a renowned surgical practitioner!”

In one motion he ripped the surgical cap and mask off to reveal a red-faced doctor trying to catch his breath. Instead of finding green hair, they were staring at a completely bald head.

“Holy Rogaine!” yelled Robin.

“What … on … Earth … do you think you’re DOING?!” the surgeon managed to gasp as Batman released him.

“Strange. I seem to be mistaken,” said the Caped Crusader.

“We’re very sorry, sir,” said Batgirl, assisting the doctor to a chair. “Do you think you’ll be able to continue with the operation?”

“I very well may be able to if you three will get … out … of … my … sight!!”

“My apologies, sir,” said Batman. “If you ever need …”

“OUT, YOU BRAINLESS BUFFOONS!” bellowed the surgeon, his cheeks now red from rage in addition to exertion. The Terrific Trio wisely departed without another word.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Batgirl said once they were back in the hallway. Robin had a guilty expression on his face.

“Gosh, Batman, I didn’t mean to …”

“Crime fighting can be a messy business, chum. Put it out of your mind,” said Batman. He raised a finger as his deductive abilities produced an explanation for their mistake.

“I’m sure the Joker would have wanted to disrupt that operation … unless he never found out about it … because he never left the ambulance parking lot!”

“Gee Whillikers, yes!” said Robin. “That’s it!”

“You mean he just snuck into another ambulance and stole the keys?” asked Batgirl.

“Precisely! To the Batmobile!”

Back in the operating theater, the doctor had regained his composure. Calling for calm from the audience, he proceeded to begin the operation. He leaned over to carefully make an incision. Suddenly, his head jerked up as an unforeseen spray of matter hit his mask. The assembled doctors gasped as long pink strands spurted up from the patient’s prone form. The air was suddenly filled with the stuff as it continued to rocket upwards with unusual ferocity.

One doctor recoiled as some of the stringy substance landed on him. He took a closer look at it. “Isn’t this … silly string?”

“I didn’t even make the incision!” protested the surgeon.

From the mid-section of the patient, there slowly emerged a tuft of green hair, followed by a white forehead and a pair of devious eyeballs. As the doctors gawked in amazement, the top half of the Joker suddenly sprouted from the operating table, cackling madly.

“Oh, what a special occasion!” he cried, spreading his arms. “Egbert has just given birth to a beautiful, bouncing, baby boy!”

The surgeon’s mouth hung open in amazement.

“This calls for a celebration! Have a cigar!” said the Joker, taking a stogie from his right pocket and placing it in the doctor’s mouth.

The cigar predictably exploded seconds after the Joker lit it, leaving a black circle of soot around the M.D.’s mouth. Several observers raced from the viewing gallery to locate Batman.

The Joker jumped up onto the operating table, dislodging the patient’s torso and legs, which fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the Joker. “This seems to have been a difficult birth for poor daddy! The intensive labor has left him quite frail!”

The observing physicians could easily tell that the torso and legs on the floor were fake replicas constructed of metal and plastic. Eagle-eyed viewers recognized the parts as items left over from the Clown Prince’s brief flirtation with robot accomplices.

“May I have a drum roll, please?” cried the Joker, commanding their attention. Seizing up a pair of steel surgical utensils by the blades, he tapped out a drumbeat on the flabbergasted doctor’s bald head.

“Respected members of the Gotham medical community! I come before you today in the spirit of mischievousness and tomfoolery!”

“Wh-who are you?” cried one of the out-of-town physicians.

“I am the sworn enemy of the mundane and the predictable! I am the wild card in the deck!”

The Joker whipped out his business card, which burst into flames before anyone had a chance to read it. He tossed it into a nearby waste receptacle, which promptly began burning as well.

One of the doctors had managed to catch up with the Terrific Trio out in the parking lot. Seeing her frantic gestures, they knew her message before she even spoke. With Batman in the lead, the three dashed off in the direction of the woman’s pointing finger.

Back amidst the pandemonium of the surgery, the operating physician was closely scrutinizing Egbert's head. It seemed to be a real cranium rather than artificial, and he thought he saw the nostrils inhaling and exhaling.

“What is this, Halloween?” yelled a third doctor.

“Halloween, you say?" said the Joker. "You can rest assured, my good man, that when I start basing my humorous hi-jinks on holidays, you won’t have to ask if it’s the case!”

Detecting an odd angle to Egbert’s neck, the surgeon cautiously lifted the green sheet hanging down both sides of the operating table. Underneath, he saw the night watchman’s inert body lying on a thin bench that angled down away from the false top of the operating table. The slant of the bench allowed Egbert’s feet to rest on the floor while his head lay up in full view where everyone expected to see it. The letters “w-a-s-h-m-y-f-e-e-t” painted in green on the night watchman’s toes were evidence that the Joker had been concealing himself there under the table before the physicians had arrived.

“Like it?” the Joker asked, regarding the trick table. “It’s an old magician’s gimmick for the sawing-the-man-in-half gag. Here, watch this!”

He briefly passed his hand in front of his face, then spit out a round white ball into his palm. After a moment, a second ball emerged from his mouth, then a third and a fourth. He held the balls up for the surgeon’s inspection, then threw all four into the upper section of the viewing gallery. They exploded, unleashing a stench that smelled like something out of the toilet at the ballpark. The room’s occupants groaned in objection and covered their noses.

“This way, Batman!” yelled a voice down the hall. Vaulting from the operating table, the Joker seized the case containing the donor spleen for Egbert.

“Do you mind if I borrow this? I’m running low on dog food!”

Unleashing another blinding cloud of silly string from his pockets, the Joker headed with the spleen for a nearby window. Before anyone could lay a hand on him, he was gone. The crimefighters burst into the room to be greeted by poor visibility and an obnoxious odor, but no Joker.

Several hours of fruitless searching later, the Batmobile returned slowly to the Batcave. After previously checking that all of the Joker’s wiring was purged from their vehicle, Batman and Robin had dropped Batgirl off at her cycle. They were now left alone to ponder their failure.

“But he only stole the donor spleen!” said Robin. “It was a completely pointless crime!”

“Precisely, Robin,” said Batman. “The Joker’s standard M.O.! How could we have overlooked it? My failure to take that into account is the primary reason for his escape.”

“Lucky for Egbert that we still had that spare bison spleen stored in the Batcave.”

“Yes, the doctors say he should pull through just fine if he can resist the occasional temptation to stampede.”

The Batmobile rumbled into their cavernous headquarters. As the rotating parking pad automatically turned the stopped vehicle to point back in the opposite direction, the duo disembarked to be greeted by their faithful butler.

“Welcome home, Master Bruce and Master Dick,” said Alfred. “You have the undying gratitude of the entire Pennyworth clan for saving poor Eggy.”

“It was the least we could do after all the times you’ve assisted us, Alfred,” Batman said.

“Oh, lest I forget,” said Alfred. “I have boxed up the items you requested and arranged for their destruction and removal.”

"What's being destroyed and removed?" asked Robin. He saw that a row of neatly organized boxes lined the wall of the cave. He read the precise printed lettering from the top of the nearest box.

“Why, it’s the old Bat Erupting Volcano-Detector! I always hoped we’d get a chance to use it in the field!”

“As did I with the Bat Ghost-Repellent and our other polter-cides,” said Batman. “Their development seemed so vital at the time.”

“And we’re finally throwing out the Bat Gang-Plank-Extender? That thing’s been gathering dust for years!”

Alfred coughed discreetly. “I beg to differ, sir.”

“Gosh, Batman, are you getting rid of the Bat Music-Analyzer, too?” asked Robin, reading from another box.

Batman was staring off into space, his face solemn. “Do we dare? Can we afford to part with even a single item in our crime-fighting arsenal? Yesterday I had dismissed the Topsy-Turvy Bat Gravity-Reversal Corrector as a colorful, but space-wasting extravagance. Today …. I just don’t know.”

“Holy Indecision!” said Robin. “Sounds like the Joker’s got you second-guessing yourself.”

“Might I point out, sir, that even a structure as impressive as the Batcave does have its spatial limitations,” offered Alfred. “You cannot keep everything.”

Batman paused to consider Alfred’s words, then nodded grimly. “You’re right, Alfred! My concern over this scoundrel threatens to turn me into a packBat!”

Alfred briefly considered resigning over his employer’s play on words, but his unswerving loyalty prevailed. Batman had, after all, just saved his favorite lookalike cousin.

“I sure hope we get another shot at the Joker soon,” said the Boy Wonder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until he’s back behind bars!”

“Yes, Robin. We must remain constantly vigilant for wherever -- or whenever -- the Joker may strike!”

YOU’LL NEED TO STAY CONSTANTLY VIGILANT FOR MORE THAN THE JOKER, BATMAN! FOR AT THIS VERY MOMENT, A SULTRY TEMPTRESS BY THE NAME OF MADAME DEBASE IS RECRUITING UNDINE INTO THE RANKS OF HER ARMY OF SUPER VIXENS! WHAT PERFIDIOUS PLOT IS HATCHING IN THE MADAME’S CUNNING MIND? FOR THE HARROWING ANSWERS, PROCEED TO:

A Humbling Night, which will be concluded next week!

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