"HIGH NOON IN GOTHAM CITY…

…A CITY UNDER SIEGE…"

"...BESET WITH PERSONS OF SUSPECT CHARACTER …."

"…AWASH IN A WAVE OF CRIME…"

"ONLY AN ELITE TEAM OF STALWART FIGURES STAND
BETWEEN THE CITY AND BLATANT LAWLESSNESS…"

"DENIZENS OF THE UNDERWORLD COWER IN FEAR AT
THE APPROACH OF… BATMAN AND ROBIN!"

Robin sprang to join them. “So! Thought you’d practice your lousy loitering habit right here, eh?”

Batman’s grip tightened. “Well, well, if it isn’t our old friend Whitey. Where’s the rest of your River Rat Gang?”

Unbeknownst to the Caped Crusaders, as they were interrogating the hapless bystander, Undine was merrily doing as she pleased inside the Apiculture Museum.

“Come on! I’m just minding my own business!” Whitey croaked in complaint. “Why are you rousting me?”

Batman loosened his grip to gaze grimly into the distance. “Twenty five years ago,” he intoned, “in an alley not far from this one, a man and his wife were brutally gunned down while their child watched in horror. The murderer? A loiterer; one assumed to be merely whiling away the hours to no end, but, as history has shown us time and again, today’s idler is tomorrow’s murderer! Diligent enforcement of our loitering laws would have saved that couple.”

“Maybe seventy-two hours in a cell will give you enough time to think of a more productive hobby!” added Robin, poking Whitey in the ribs for extra emphasis.

“Seventy-two hours?!”

“Assuming good behavior allows you to avoid the full ninety day sentence,” Batman replied as he yanked Whitey’s wrists behind him and Bat-cuffed him.

Robin glanced at his watch. “Holy Fractured Obligations! The last prosecution witness is set to testify in just a few minutes!”

“Let’s go!”

Each grabbing an arm, the two quickly hustled Whitey down the block towards the courthouse. Just as they disappeared from view, Undine crept out from the Apiculture Museum, her goal apparently accomplished. Clutching a huge glass-encased beehive to her sizable bust, she made a beeline for the nearest back alley.

"SO, ONE SCOFFLAW IS HAULED OFF TO FACE THE MUSIC,
SOON AFTER, ANOTHER WAITS RESTLESSLY FOR THE SCALES OF
JUSTICE TO WEIGH HER FATE."

“…and isn’t it true,” said the prosecutor, addressing the witness on the stand, “that you have witnessed the defendant attempting to take human life on previous occasions?”

“That’s correct. This marks the second time in as many years that the Siren has attempted not only mind control, but murder.”

"TESTIFYING AGAINST THE DEFENDANT: BATMAN’S NEWEST
COLLEAGUE IN THE FIGHT AGAINST CRIME – THE LOVELY AND
MYSTERIOUS BATGIRL!"

“She did. When we captured her last year, she said her voice was ruined and she would never again pursue a criminal career.”

“I have no further questions. Thank you for your testimony.”

“My pleasure, Batman.”

"YES, NOT ONLY DOES HE POLICE THE CITY STREETS, BUT
BATMAN IS GLAD TO LEND A HAND IN PROSECUTING
CRIMINAL MISDEEDS AS WELL!"

“Batgirl’s testimony was pretty damaging. You may have to testify on your own behalf, after all.”

"THE WHEELS OF JUSTICE SPIN SWIFTLY IN GOTHAM CITY.
THUS, WITHIN A MATTER OF HOURS, THE JURORS EMERGE FROM
DELIBERATIONS AND FILE SOLEMNLY BACK TO THEIR SEATS!"

The foreman of the jury rose from his seat. “Yes, we have, your honor. We find the defendant…”

“Wait a minute,” the Siren interrupted, standing to scrutinize the jury foreman.

She pointed at him indignantly. “That’s the owner of the store that I rob…uh, the owner of the jewelry store that was robbed.”

“Precisely!” said Batman. “Yet, you testified earlier that you have never set foot in the establishment. Therefore, you should not be able to identify Mr. Wumpington as such.”

“I…I…,” she stammered.

“…find the defendant guilty!” Mr. Wumpington concluded, thrusting his arms in the air.

The courtroom erupted in cheers. Batman’s brilliant legal tactics had saved the day!

“But you can’t have the person I robbed as foreman of the jury!” protested the Siren. “This is an utter miscarriage of justice!”

“Not at all, Siren. William Wumpington is not in reality on the jury, but merely a red herring – a stand in,” Batman observed, tenting his fingers contemplatively.

“You were so intent on weaving your web of lies that you forgot to count the jurors. There’s one too many today!” Robin added.

“Curses! The oldest trick in the book!” exclaimed the Siren’s attorney.

The Siren took a moment to digest this news. “So...then that means that we haven’t yet heard from the real jury.”

“Well, no, but now that you’ve admitted to robbing Mr. Wumpington, there’s hardly any point in that, is there?”

The jurors all nodded in agreement.

“Sound reasoning, Batman” agreed the judge. The judge had a well-deserved reputation for being swayed by even the lamest of arguments.

Enraged, the Siren bolted from her seat and leaped over the table before either officer could stop her. She let out an ear-splitting sonic scream and charged the bench.

Scarcely had the sound left her lips when her hypnotic cry was cut off as a swift-moving figure in purple sprang forward and clotheslined her. Pulled up short as her throat collided with Batgirl’s arm, the Siren’s feet flew out from under her and her head plummeted to the hard courtroom floor.

As she crashed to the ground in a heap, Batman and Robin stood and simultaneously slammed their law books shut: Another case brilliantly resolved by the Caped Crusaders! The defense attorney noted with some jealousy that their law books had Batman symbols on the covers.

The Siren shook her head, trying to silence the horns and drums pounding between her ears. As she lay dazed and disoriented, a group of random images flashed before her eyes:

A whirling kaleidoscope of colors --

A chorus of voices, singing Batman’s name in praise: “Da Da, Da Da, Da Da, Da Da…Batman!” --

Two-dimensional versions of the Dynamic Duo running straight into the foreground, their legs and elbows churning in perfect unison --

Batman and Robin punching two men as Batgirl swung in to kick a third, the blows strangely resulting in horn noises rather than normal sounds of human violence --

Batman and Robin shaking hands, an act apparently triggering Batman’s transformation into a ghostlike apparition, his disembodied head floating in mid-air, attached to the body of a real bat --.

Large bright yellow words swam in front of her eyes:

Menace of the Clown's Beehive

The Siren regained her senses to find herself being handcuffed by Officers Tara and Shannon. 'What can the visions mean?' she wondered, as she was hauled from the courtroom. Although unable to decipher them, she had a feeling that this was only the beginning.

"THAT EVENING, A FESTIVE CHRISTMAS PARTY BRINGS
VISITORS TO WAYNE MANOR!
UNBEKNOWNST TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD, THE
SUBTERRANEAN BOWELS OF THE PALATIAL ESTATE
CONCEAL THE SECRET HEADQUARTERS OF BATMAN!"

“Commissioner and Barbara Gordon,” Alfred announced upon reaching the massive living room. Half a dozen other well-groomed guests were already milling about.

“Commissioner, it’s wonderful to have you both here on such a special occasion,” millionaire Bruce Wayne greeted them. “Barbara, you look lovely, as always.”

"BUT LITTLE DOES BRUCE SUSPECT THAT
BARBARA GORDON IS IN REALITY BATGIRL!"

“I do love a good Christmas party,” the Commissioner said, clapping his hands together in anticipation

Barbara noticed a large old portrait hanging near the tree. It depicted a distinguished-looking couple that faintly resembled Bruce.

“My dear departed parents,” Bruce explained.

“Didn’t we pass an exact duplicate of that portrait out in the foyer?” she asked.

“Oh, you’ll find exact reproductions in a number of rooms in Wayne Manor,” Alfred assured her.

“Now then, shall we join together in a rendition of Silent Night?” Bruce said. “Our tradition here at the manor is to sing seventeen verses in seventeen different languages. It’s educational as well as uplifting, isn’t it, Dick?”

“It sure is, Bruce.”

Detecting a lack of enthusiasm in Dick’s response, Barbara suddenly ‘remembered’ something. “Say, Dad, didn’t you ask me to remind you to call the Mayor about the funeral arrangements for the Maharaja of Nimpah?”

“The Maharaja of Nimpah died?” asked Dick.

Barbara nodded. “It was the top headline in tonight’s paper.”

“We have over seventy functioning telephones here at Wayne Manor for you to choose from, sir,” Alfred offered.

“Err, yes, well, I should really call from my office. There’s some aspects of the funeral that I’m sworn to silence on.”

“Why the secrecy, Commissioner?” Bruce asked. “Concern over the disposition of the priceless knick-knacks the maharaja always brought along on his visits?”

The Commissioner lowered his voice to avoid being overheard by the other partygoers. “Let me just say that it’s related to the Joker obtaining that early release tomorrow.”

“The Joker’s getting out of prison already?” asked Dick in consternation. He and Bruce exchanged concerned glances.

“I’m afraid so. We’re trying to keep that quiet, too. Lately, there's been something of a public outcry that accompanies Warden Crichton’s annual assessments of the Joker’s reform.”

“I can’t say I share the warden’s optimism,” said Barbara.

“Me, neither!” said Dick.

Bruce held up a calming hand. “Now, Dick, who are we to question the Warden of Gotham Penitentiary?”

“What’s more, one of the Joker’s old molls has been seen frequenting establishments known to supply manpower for Gotham’s super-criminals – an ominous time for her to resurface.”

"THE HEADMASTER OF HIJINKS – BACK TO BEDEVIL
GOTHAM WITH HIS CRIMINAL MISCHIEF?
THE COMING DAYS COULD BE TRYING TIMES INDEED FOR
OUR HARD-WORKING HEROES!"

“Aren’t you Blaze from the Falseface organization?” the Siren asked. “I thought you had reformed.”

Blaze shrugged. “Ehh…didn’t take.”

“Well, at least you gave it a try. I could never reform for even two minutes. I just can’t be good - it’s not in my nature.”

“I know what you mean. Getting nabbed right now really messes up my plans. I had a commitment for gainful employment from someone who’s been hiring every super-villain moll in sight - would’ve been a real sweet gig.”

“That’s a shame,” said the Siren, feigning interest.

“It is. By the way, do you play softball?”

The Siren scoffed. “Certainly not.”

The paddy-wagon lurched to a stop and the back doors were presently unlocked and opened. The Siren stepped out cautiously and looked up at her surroundings. The stark concrete architecture of the prison loomed on the horizon in all directions. She watched a flock of birds as they flapped freely overhead before vanishing from her view behind one of the massive block-shaped watchtowers.

Two armed female guards approached to guide the Siren to her lodgings for the foreseeable future. As she was being led away, she recognized the Joker passing by in the opposite direction.

The Clown Prince of Crime was chuckling and rubbing his hands in glee. With his request for an early parole granted, he was enjoying being escorted out to the front gates – and freedom.

Warden Crichton removed his pipe from his mouth to share some words of wisdom with the hyperactive albino. “I do hope you’ll refrain from any more of this flying saucer nonsense.”

“While you’re at it, I’d stay away from pre-atomic submarines, too,” Ted the Guard warned.

“Oh, dear, you fellows don’t leave me with too many transportation options, do you?” the Joker said. A troubled look crossed his face, but only briefly. “Well, I guess I’ll be merrily motoring with the masses, then. Any other requests?”

“Yes,” said Crichton. “This time, I’d strongly advise you to avoid associating with little green men.”

“Well, you know, he wasn’t really that little – more of a mid-size green man.”

“All the same, you’d do well to exercise caution in that area.”

From a distance, several sets of eyes watched the Joker emerging from the entrance to the penitentiary. The Joker waved farewell to his escorts and strolled off down the street, whistling to himself. Several blocks behind him, a powerful car engine purred to life.

Honest Gabe’s House of Deathtraps catered to a clientele with highly specialized needs. If one required a giant magnifying glass, a machine gun-turreted sarcophagus, or an oxygen-sucking vacuum chamber, one went to Honest Gabe’s . . . and, like a snake returning to it’s skin, the Joker seemed irresistibly drawn back to this favorite old haunt.

He found the proprieter in the midst of making a sales pitch to a new customer: an elderly gentleman who was short one arm and one leg.

“It’s the latest thing for the mobility-challenged,” Honest Gabe was saying. “It’s called the bionic appendage. No longer will you hobble down the street in shame. Now you can hobble with style and panache!”

“Ahh, Honest Gabe – good to see you!” the Joker said loudly, putting an arm around the salesman’s shoulder. “Tell me, my good man, do you carry any devices capable of re-routing the control to an automobile’s steering? Possibly something that could be operated from a hand-held remote?”

“What do you need this to accomplish?” asked Honest Gabe, “and for what type of vehicle?”

“Indulge my whimsical mood, if you will. Let us say something with tendrils….unyielding, suffocating tendrils. Do you have any such device that would fit, say, the approximate dimensions of a deluxe-model hearse?”

“I certainly do, however, I only have one in stock and it’s already been reserved by King Tut.”

“Perhaps I could persuade you to part with…”

“Tut’s already paid for it and is picking it up tomorrow. If you need one, I can back order it and you’ll have it in a month.”

Honest Gabe noticed that his elderly customer had come across an item that caught his interest. The old man was standing transfixed in front of a rusty metal chair contraption. Disengaging himself from the Joker, Gabe headed over to see if he could make a quick sale.

“You’ve got a sharp eye there, my friend. Don’t let the ragged appearance deceive you. This item is a classic, no doubt about it.”

Becoming annoyed, the Joker put a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “You haven’t time for me? I’ve given you steady business for nearly a decade…and it’s the Joker you send to the end of the line?”

“Certainly we appreciate your business, Mr. Joker, but given the brief life span of most super-villainy careers, I’m sure you’ll agree that we need to do whatever we can to support up-and-coming local entrepreneurs.”

“Bah!”

This exchange went unnoticed by the old man, who was still gaping at the metal chair and the oval-shaped headpiece attached just above it. He had come to the store immediately upon hearing of its whereabouts from his old friend, Mr. Klink.

“A glorious day for the League of the New Order. The Colonel’s information was correct,” he whispered. “The key to victory over the Allies has just fallen into our hands!”

"VICTORY OVER THE ALLIES?
WHAT ON EARTH CAN THIS FELLOW MEAN?
THAT, FRIENDS, IS A STORY FOR ANOTHER DAY!"

She gestured at the House of Deathtraps. “This is his first stop on leaving prison? Not a very good sign.”

Batman nodded. “A very bad sign for those all who cherish peace and order.”

Seeing the Joker come stomping out of the establishment, Batgirl swiftly dragged her cycle off the street behind the Batmobile. The three heroes all ducked their heads for a moment, praying they hadn’t been spotted. When they straightened up, the Chaplin of Chicanery was strolling down the street, his back to them. They scrutinized him for signs of purchases he had made inside, but the only possible candidate seemed to be the hot dog he was lifting to his lips.

“I’m finished at Honest Gabe’s for the time being,” the Joker muttered into his wiener-shaped phone.

“Groovy!” he heard Undine reply. “Did you get it?”

“I’m afraid our friends at Honest Gabe’s were not as helpful as I’d remembered. They practically gave me the bum’s rush. Me, one of their most loyal customers!”

“What a drag!”

He made a furtive glance behind him. “And the Terrific Trio is creeping along on my tail wherever I go. They’re so impressed with their ‘cleverness’ that they don’t think twice about violating a man’s rights!”

The Joker paused to grimly consider his lot in life. “It seems the rest of the world has decided that the Joker is but a frivolous funster. Wellll, when I’ve finished with these uncultured boobs, they’ll cower with fear and respect before me!”

Undine spared a glance at the driver of the red-interiored roadster in which she sat. “So…what are we going to be hauling? You?”

“No, you’d better not approach in the Jokermobile. I don’t want to give the Dynamic Dunderheads any more excuses to bother me any more than they are already. Just lay low in the general vicinity of the Department of Motor Vehicles.”

“Joker’s inside renewing his license,” said Robin, keeping an eye trained on the DMV building. “What’s it mean?”

“Could mean a crime involving multiple vehicles,” Batman surmised.

“Or perhaps he’s merely trying to make sure he doesn’t run afoul of traffic police the second he gets out on the highway,” Batgirl offered.

Over at the side entrance, they could see a driving instructor holding the door open for the Joker to re-enter the building.

“My goodness, you drive well for someone who hasn’t been behind the wheel of a car in over a year,” the instructor said as he added up the villain’s driving scores.

“Well, I’ll tell you: once you’ve piloted a flying saucer, everything else is just child’s play.”

The man chuckled politely. “I see. Now, we’ll have you step over here to take the picture for your license.”

The Joker stood where he was told and struck a pose for the camera. His hand automatically rose to chest level, so accustomed was he to holding numerical placards when posing for government photographs. He favored the man with his toothiest grin as the flashbulb went off.

“All done.”

“Oh, dear, I do hope that harsh light didn’t make me look old.”

“Why, you’re as handsome as ever,” responded the bureaucrat. The instructor told everyone exactly what they wanted to hear, regardless of character, appearance or driving ability. The Joker let out a delighted squeal at the compliment and moved his hand over his face as if his pale cheeks were blushing.

The Joker’s noisy display was clearly irritating the man at the next counter, whose encounter with the DMV wasn’t going as smoothly. The hooded man turned to glare at the Joker, then returned to his argument with the woman at the counter.

“What do you mean you can’t take my photograph like this?”

“Sir, you’re required to appear in everyday attire on your driver’s license photo.”

“This is my everyday attire.”

Although he once held the entire city gripped in fear, the Wizard’s time in the spotlight had long since passed and he had been largely forgotten. Since he now lacked the wherewithal to pull off any substantial crimes, his insistence on wearing his cowl in public reduced him to being just another curious oddity on the Gotham landscape.

“I have court records that can document my connection with this outfit for over…”

His plea was drowned out by the sound of the Joker hooting and clapping his hands as he was handed a new driver’s license.

“Silence, idiot!” the Wizard growled.

The Joker’s celebration ceased abruptly. Drawing himself to his full height, he took two menacing steps toward the Wizard.

“I beg your pardon?”

Unfazed, the Wizard reached up and grabbed him by the throat. “I told you to shut up! And I don’t like having to repeat myself!”

Out in the Batmobile, Batman was saying, “Perhaps he’s upgrading the Jokermobile for some sinister purpose.

“Uh oh – looks like the Joker’s gotten into an altercation!”

The three heroes leaped from their vehicles and made toward the glass doors. They could discern the Joker inside, his fists trembling in rage as he glared at the cowled man. Then the Joker glanced over at the Caped Crusaders, and his demeanor underwent an instant change. His scowl turned into a chuckle and he held his hands up, as if offering an apology.

Batman was just reaching for the door when the Wizard, satisfied that he had made his point, released the Joker and turned back to his business at the counter. The Terrific Trio hesitated in confusion, Batman’s hand gripping the door handle. Seeing that they were starting to block pedestrian traffic, they chose to return to their vehicles.

Watching the crime-fighters retrace their steps, the Joker let out a relieved sigh. He pulled his hot dog phone from his coat. As he dialed, he could feel his anger returning.

“Undine, I’m going to need that parcel you purloined yesterday.”

“But, Joker, you let them all loose now, and we won’t have any left to unleash at the funeral.”

“Mmmm. I’ll be judicious in my usage. Now, I want you to bring it over – on foot - and leave it outside the building by the…” the Joker’s voice dropped into an unintelligible whisper.

On the other side of the building, the crime fighters had agreed that Batgirl should begin a circular route on her cycle around the perimeter of the DMV.

“One more question: how long did the Wizard spend behind bars?” she asked.

“Murdering his own brother was a crime too cold-blooded for even Warden Crichton to overlook,” Batman recalled. “The Wizard served years of hard time without ever being offered early parole.”

Batgirl rubbed her chin. “It was the Wizard that started the altercation with the Joker . . . and despite being both younger and taller, the Joker chose not to respond with violence. It looks to me like the Wizard is the one we should be following around.”

The driving instructor gulped and strove to put on a cheerful demeanor as he greeted the Wizard. To be stuck giving a driving test to one raving lunatic was bad enough, but to get two in a row was just plain horrible luck.

He led the Wizard to a waiting car, anxious to get the driving test over with. As he and the Wizard fastened their seat belts, he heard some cackling, followed by a white knuckle tapping on his window. He rolled the window down to see what the Joker wanted.

“I just wanted to thank you for all your wonderful service today,” the Joker gushed, thrusting his bleached face in the window.

At the same time, the Clown Prince furtively unscrewed the lid of a jar he held in his hands. It was the jar that Undine had dropped off for him moments before. He shook the jar vigorously just beneath the level of the window, then pretended to notice the Wizard’s presence in the car.

“Oh, hello there.” He gave a friendly wave and backed away.

When he straightened up, he saw the Dynamic Duo eyeing him suspiciously from the other side of the street. He tried to seem nonchalant as he briskly left the scene. Batman watched as the Wizard started the car and headed off on his test drive.

Seconds later, there was some excited shouting from within the vehicle. The car lurched forward in an alarming burst of speed. It veered off-course, ran over a series of orange rubber cones, and headed straight for the back of a VW bug that sat parked in front of a dumpster

>WH-HWUNCH!<

The sound was loud enough for Batgirl to hear over the sound of her bike’s motor. She turned her head to see the tail of the test vehicle sticking vertically up out of the dumpster, its wheels still spinning. She worked out that the car must have vaulted up the back of the VW bug and plummeted headfirst into the dumpster.

Snickering over by the doorway, the Joker tried to envision the Wizard’s current status: crushed, in serious pain, and surrounded by garbage.

“Tsk, tsk,” the Clown Prince muttered. “The Wizard should have slowed down! But that’s how some are! Bzzz-y Bzzz-y Bzzz-y!” He savored the scene of destruction for another moment, then scooted over to hide behind some oil drums.

The Dynamic Duo stood frozen in amazement at the pandemonium transpiring across the street.

“This must be the work of the Joker!” said Batman.

“Wait! Where’d he go?”

They bolted across the street, but came to a stop as the Jokermobile went tearing by the building at 50 miles per hour.

“There he goes! To the Batmobile!”

The two raced to the Batmobile, leaped inside without slowing, and moments later were off in hot pursuit of the villain’s vehicle.

The Joker emerged from behind the oil drums as he heard the Batmobile departing. From his vantage point, he could see his cohorts speeding a block ahead of the Caped Crusaders. He could also see Batgirl’s cycle approaching the Jokermobile, at an angle and not yet within their view.

It was hopeless for Undine and the boys, he decided. They had one Bat-vehicle behind them and another in front. Deciding it was best not to stick around to see if they squealed on him, he tiptoed off in the opposite direction.

The Dynamic Duo rounded a corner and found themselves bearing down on Batgirl’s cycle. She was stopped in the middle of the road, looking behind her, unaware that she was in their path. Batman swerved just in time to avoid calamity and the Batmobile came to a screeching halt next to the cycle.

“Batgirl! Which way did the Jokermobile go?” Robin yelled.

“I don’t think it matters. The Joker wasn’t in it. It contained some of his old gang members, though.”

“No surprise there,” said Batman. “As if there was any doubt of the tricky devil’s connection to that vehicle.”

“Gosh, Batgirl, why didn’t you keep after them?” Robin asked, “and try to arrest them?”

“On what charge? The Joker wasn’t inside and we don’t even know that he still holds the title to the car.”

“Assuming a title was ever properly procured in the first place,” said Batman, trying to contain his indignation.

“But why did the Joker go to the DMV on foot if he has a car?” Batgirl pointed out, “and how could the Jokermobile have been moving so fast if it had just come from the DMV parking lot? I suspect it just came blasting by from a side street.”

“A diversion!” exclaimed Batman. “Its sole purpose: to draw our attention!”

“Quick, back to the DMV!!” shouted the Boy Wonder.

Batgirl watched the Batmobile back up, then burn rubber as it turned around and sped back to the DMV entrance.

Batgirl glanced at the clock on her cycle. 'Well, Barbara Gordon’s going to need a stronger case than that to pull another last-minute absence from work. It’s off to the library for me.'

She slowly turned her heavy bike around, and drove off in the opposite direction.

The Batmobile promptly returned to the Department of Motor Vehicles, but by now the Joker was nowhere to be found. Once again, he had given them the slip.

Several hours of searching turned up no sign of their foe. The onset of nightfall found the Dynamic Duo back at the Joker’s first stop of the day.

Batman tapped his finger on the steering wheel. “I’m betting…that when the Joker goes into Honest Gabe’s House of Deathtraps and comes out empty-handed, it can only mean one thing.”

“That there’s something he’d wanted to carry out with him!” Robin concluded. “Which means he’ll be back!”

“Eventually. Honest Gabe has never shown a willingness to provide details of his business transactions, but I wonder what a look at his files would reveal?”

The Batmobile eased into a side alley and rumbled down to a deserted parking lot behind the store. Robin pointed excitedly.

“There’s the Jokermobile parked right by the back door!”

“And it’s well past normal business hours!” Batman observed.

The duo emerged from the Batmobile and approached the darkened structure. Finding the back door unlocked, they entered cautiously. Creeping forward, Robin peered around the large showroom. He gestured at a stack of large triangular-shaped items along one wall.

“There sure are a lot of cones in here.”

Batman nodded. “An integral component to many a deathtrap.”

As they progressed farther down the aisles, they found themselves passing under a towering assortment of deadly devices. The bizarre collection looked capable of carrying out an impressive variety of exterminations.

“Batman,” Robin whispered nervously, “A lot of these contraptions are designed to hold exactly two people, and the moldings all seem to be to our physical specifications.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “This establishment’s existence is an insult to law-abiding urbanites everywhere – but of particular offense to us.”

They cautiously explored the premises, scouring the area for clues. Their search ended as a door to a side room opened and the Joker and two burly henchmen backed out. The thugs’ arms were filled with boxes and the Joker was carrying a sack.

“Should have known,” Robin muttered to Batman. “Wonder what he’s stealing?”

Batman checked his watch and called out, “5.25 hours, Joker! If I’m not mistaken, not only have we caught you red-handed in a burglary, but you’ve set a personal record for your shortest time between prison stints.”

Dumping their armload, the henchmen separated and slowly stalked towards the heroes from opposite directions.

The Joker smiled as he spread his arms in welcome. “Ah, the Dynamic Duo . . . and right on time.”

“It’s a trap!” said Robin. “Come on, Batman, we’ll have to slug our way to safety!” The duo assumed boxing stances.

“Joker, what foul trickery have you concocted this time?” Batman called out, keeping his eyes on the rapidly advancing henchman.

“Ahh, I’m glad that you asked, Batman. It’s simply too masterful a plot for me not to share…”

Robin waited until the first charging goon was almost upon him, then fell backwards, pulling the thug with him.

“Now, as you know, the Maharaja of Nimpah was quite a wealthy fellow….”

As the Boy Wonder landed on his back, he thrust his legs straight up, sending the hoodlum cartwheeling through the air.

>CRASH!<

“Why, the press reports that he was such an avid golfer that he specified in his will that he be buried with his most prized keepsakes--eight golf clubs made of pure gold!”

Batman ducked under a roundhouse right from goon #2, then sent him staggering back with a pair of uppercuts.

>SWOK! SMACK!<

The Joker pulled a large bee hive from his sack and triumphantly held it aloft. He had kept the item with him since leaving the scene of the Wizard’s driving mishap. He shook the hive vigorously, and an army of angry bees swarmed out.

Batman watched as several dozen bees formed into an attack formation and dove in their direction. The buzzing mass swarmed in circles above the ongoing battle. The two burly thugs surprisingly chose to suddenly lie face down on the floor. Moments after they did, the bees began descending. Ignoring the supine henchmen, one bee after another alighted on the Caped Crusaders. Even the bees that didn’t come to rest on them were now hovering just inches away. Robin’s first impulse was to swat at them, but a closer look at the tiny intruders made him pause.

“Holy Hornet’s Nest! These are African Death Bees, like I saw in Londinium!”

The Joker held up a finger. “Correction, Boy Bumbler! There were, sadly, none of that species to be found in the vicinity. These are a rare strain of the South African Stun Bee!

“Assume a state of motionless, Robin!” Batman warned. “The South African Stun Bee is an easily agitated creature. It craves absolute tranquillity. We dare not move a muscle.”

“Even our mouths?”

“Our mouths, our toes, our fingers…even the tiniest of movements could be enough to set them off.”

“But we’re moving our mouths even as…ouch! OUCH! I’m getting stung, Batman!”

“Yes! (hiss) As am I!”

The heroic pair managed to keep silent and found that complete stillness made the bee stings stop. Unconcerned with their plight, the Joker proceeded with his speech.

“Now, as I was saying, there will be bouquets of flowers from around the globe at the Maharaja’s funeral…hundreds and hundreds of pretty posies to attract our little bee friends. Unfortunately, large gatherings of Gotham mourners have not historically reacted well to hordes of bees unleashed in their midst . . . and once these bees see all the frantic movement their presence inspires, they will take out their displeasure on everyone in the cathedral – security forces included.”

A bee crawled over the tip of Batman’s nose. Already feeling a numbing sensation from several stings, he held his breath and remained frozen. Cracking his knuckes, one of the Joker’s thugs approached the preoccupied pair.

“Whatsamatta, Bats? Have those mean ol’ bees decided to pick on you? Well, me and Ernie will help brush ‘em offuh you.”

Batman could only watch with distrust as the brute walked up to him and jabbed a meaty fist into his stomach.

>FUMPH!<

The second goon circled behind the motionless Robin, then gave him a vicious kick behind the knee. Robin yelped as he dropped to his knees.

“Ouch! They’re stinging me again!”

The Joker set down the empty beehive and picked up a box that had ‘Hold for King Tut’ stenciled along the side. He held it aloft to give his foes a peek at the object that had attracted him back to the store.

“Phase two will commence as the hearse attempts to drive away with the Maharaja’s coffin. The delicious device you see in my hands will correct the car’s course, disabling the chauffeur, and bring it straight to my hideout for perusal and plunder!”

“That’s what you think!” Robin managed to call out between bee stings.

“Ehh…what is the brat talking about?”

The Joker’s cellular frankfurter began to ring. He grudgingly answered it.

“Yes? I’m kind of busy.”

Undine was on the other end. “Joker! I got to thinking after hearing about that old caper where you disguised as the Maharaja - and I decided to make some phone calls. Well, dig this: the Maharaja is over in Nimpah right now – alive and well!”

“Oh, he is, is he?” Hanging up his hot dog abruptly, the Joker fixed the motionless crime-fighters with an accusing glare.

“So…this whole funeral was a charade that your stuffy Police Commissioner set up - just to trick me into being easily convicted!” He nodded to his henchmen, who returned to their task, fists swinging.

“Very amusing - turning the tables on me with a phony death announcement . . . and I’ll wager I have that meddling dolt Gordon to thank for being followed around all day, also. Well, it’s only fair that I return you to him with some instructions. Yeh-ss.”

The Joker strolled around the group as the pummeling continued. He grinned as a particularly vicious blow knocked Batman onto a table in front of him. “It was so kind of you to bring the Batmobile right to me. With all this equipment I borrowed with which to booby-trap the hearse, I would have felt terrible if it had gone to waste.”

The duo’s efforts to remain still and avoid the bees’ ire were hopeless. Their uncivilized opponents persisted in gleefully belting them around the room.

“So, you didn’t bring your usual tag-a-long, Batgirl, with you this time,” the Joker observed, ignoring the nonstop chorus of punches and slaps accompanying his monologue. “Well, she’s certainly shown more brains than you two by having the sense to avoid my path . . . however, for my own peace of mind, I’m going to have to put her someplace for safekeeping, anyway.”

Robin was gradually collapsing. In addition to being severely bruised, he had absorbed close to a dozen bee stings. His eyelids slid shut and the Joker could tell they would not be opening any time soon. He turned his attention to Batman.

“You’ll be glad to know that, with your quaint little vehicle at my disposal, you won’t be kept separated from Batgirl for very long. Rest assured: she’ll be delivered to you in style! . . . and I can think of no transportation more befitting her than your ostentatious auto.”

Batman struggled to keep his eyes open. It appeared to him that the Joker was standing at a very odd angle. Even this lopsided point of the view was deteriorating as everything started going black. The taunting voice continued.

“When next you awaken, you’ll find yourselves confined to a cozy box in my warehouse. Yeh-ss, and I’ll have a wonderful proposition for you!”

The last thing Batman heard before he lost consciousness was the Joker’s annoying, high-pitched laughter.

"HEAVENS!!

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