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There were maniacs on the loose and Detective Harvey Bullock had already cleaned and loaded his gun. He probably wouldn’t get to use it; he wasn’t that lucky and Gotham was too cursed for an average policeman to get to take out a serious threat.
Bullock twitched as he tried to settle more comfortably into the patrol car seat. Arkham breakouts were always a mess. Gordon’s directive to spread the experienced detectives across the city to expedite rapid responses made sense, but it didn’t make the seat any more comfortable.
Freeze had been one of the escapees this time and the snowflakes falling just reminded Bullock the misery would continue until they were all brought to ground. He diligently refrained from dwelling on the manic laughter that accompanied the most dangerous of the escapees.
As he focused on the best way to balance heating the car with conserving gas, he was startled to see someone waving him down through the swirling snow.
Gotham residents took cover during Arkham breakouts. So this figure- Man? Tall woman? Humanoid bat? Impossible to say for sure - waving him down was particularly unusual. Bundled up against the cold, the figure was bulky either from body type or clothing. Tall, no hair visible under a red hoodie, a brown leather coat layered over the sweatshirt.
Cautiously, Bullock opened the door and stood from the car. His hand lightly resting on his gun, Bullock carefully approached. Once Bullock exited the vehicle, the person had slumped against a brick wall, waiting. To the detective’s relief, hands were clearly visible and empty. In this city the gloves might be hiding dangerous tech, but those looked simply to be a wise precaution against the cold.
Still wary of the potential threat, Bullock walked closer. He could see more details now. Young, with traces of baby fat still softening the face, dressed for the weather but not as though he had planned to linger outside. Ethnically ambiguous, skin on the paler side of the spectrum, but difficult to narrow down further.
The boy, because he had to be a teenager, late teen at most, was breathing in deep, gasping breaths. There was a pattern to the breathing, possibly a technique to control his emotions Bullock speculated internally.
The kid leaned against the brick, but other than trying to keep Bullock in his peripheral vision, he remained focused on peering around the corner without losing cover. Something or someone deeper in the alley kept his attention.
It was barely 2:00 PM, yet the opening of the alley loomed in the way only Gotham architecture allowed.
Since this was Gotham with rogues on the loose, the kid probably wanted to get the hell out of dodge and into shelter. For him to stick around and even wave down a cop, this was either a trap or the kid had witnessed something big.
As he closed the gap, Bullock pinged his handheld radio twice to indicate he was out of the patrol car and checking on something. If this was a plan to kidnap a cop, at least the kidnappers would only have a 5 minute head start before dispatch demanded an update and noticed Bullock was missing.
“Hey buddy, everything okay?”
A juddering sigh responded, and then a slight jerking nod of the hooded head towards the alley.
Bullock’s hand tensed slightly where it still rested on his pistol.
“Is there something that you wanted to tell me?” he prompted.
Again, a jerky nod, but this time the kid also gestured to the alley, a hoarse whisper adding “He grabbed me and I pushed him, but he didn’t get up and I, it’s shit,” a half-hysterical bark of laughter leaked out, “I think it might be some sort of trick, but I don’t think he’s moved since he fell.”
Softly, the boy whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”
Bullock weighed his options. He didn’t particularly want to enter the alley with an unknown at his back. A traumatized kiddie could be a danger even without malicious intent. Putting cuffs on the kid would not help calm him down, and pushing somebody who grabbed you was not an arrestable offense anyway. In Gotham it wasn’t even rude, more like a survival reflex.
After a moment’s thought, Bullock flipped on his radio. “Bullock two blocks south of the Bowery library, can I get an ambo? Report of a fall on the street with possible injuries. Low priority right now.”
“Copy Bullock. We have some paramedics finishing up nearby. ETA 15 minutes.”
He met the kid’s green eyes as best he could - the teen was still clearly focused more on where he left his assailant than he was on Bullock.
“Are you gonna be okay while I check out what’s in the alley?”
Again the jerky nod. This time the rough brick caught the hood and pulled it away from the kid’s face. Dark curls were visible for the first time, a bleached lock hung limply against his forehead.
Distinctive feature, Bullock noted absently.
The kid pulled back to give him room to maneuver towards the alley while keeping cover. His hands still visible and staying out of reach, it was about as cooperative and non-threatening as Bullock could get from a Gothamite in a tense situation.
Trusting his gut, Bullock approached, his shoulder lightly touching the brick. With his gun drawn, held at waist level, and pointed towards the ground, he carefully edged around the corner.
A figure clad in bright purple was crumpled face-down in the grimy slush of the alley. Straggly green hair clearly visible. Fuck.
Bullock flipped the radio on again. “Bullock here, up the urgency for that ambo request. High priority. 2 minute check-in.”
Absently acknowledging the dispatcher, Bullock steadily pointed his gun at the downed figure, and moved closer. It was either the Joker or a decoy. No one else would be dressed like that during an Arkham breakout.
Bullock nudged the closest leg with his foot. The body resisted like dead weight.
It was too awkward to pull on a latex glove while keeping his gun trained, but Bullock would be damned before he tried to touch what could be the Joker with his good gloves.
Instead he pulled a disposable glove from his pocket and dropped it on the body that still laid silently in the muddy snow. Some rocky debris cradled the head like the world’s worst pillow. A spattering of blood near the head, but not much. Maybe a broken nose or scrapes from when the clown face-planted.
No movement. Bullock reached down, and using the glove as a barrier, gently prodded the body.
The neck hung loosely, and no breathing was evident. Pulling his left glove off with his teeth, Bullock kept his gun ready in his right hand.
With bare fingers, he shifted the loose glove to the white-colored neck and felt for a pulse. His gun held steady: it would have been cathartic to shoot.
This was hardly the first body Bullock had encountered- homicide detectives in Gotham never depended on theoretical knowledge. Yet this time the silence and stillness was shocking in the garish corpse.
It looked like the Joker. The suit was right. The body was right. The visible skin was right. Mooks hired by various rogues might mimic the look of their bosses or otherwise lean in on the theme, but the Joker didn’t generally go for straight body-doubles.
Straightening, Bullock left the examination glove on the body for the forensic techs and slowly holstered his gun. Spitting his leather glove into his right hand, he then pulled out a small bottle of sanitizer and slowly rubbed the fingers of his bare hand together as he thought.
Absently, Bullock checked in and confirmed the need for an ambulance. “I think Gordon should plan on coming down here too. Get confirmation from the EMTs just in case I’m compromised.”
After he clicked off the radio, Bullock began to piece the scene together. Kid walked down the alley. The clown followed, or was lurking behind one of the dumpsters.
The Joker grabbed the kid. The kid - young, strong, tall, had pushed the man away with reflexes born from Crime Alley based on the accent. The combination of icy streets and rocky debris meant the attacker took a hard fall. No time to regain his balance.
Minimal bleeding evident, and no smearing of white makeup indicating a decoy. The kid had no obvious blood or marks on him. So the Joker startled a would-be victim, and in a bout of karmic irony, he had fallen and broken his neck in the fall.
Bullock stepped back and carefully brushed away any signs that might have been left by the kid waiting outside the alley. Only his own footprints were visible, even the clown’s being unidentifiable scuffs in the wet slush. Bullock backed away from the body, and still keeping his eye on it, just in case, he retreated to the corner next to the kid.
“Is it him?” The kid’s voice was stronger now.
“It sure as hell looks like it.”
“Mother fucker, my first day home in years and this is what happens? What the actual fuck, Gotham?”
In spite of himself, Bullock snorted. “Seems pretty on brand, really, don’t you think?”
“What a fuckin’ mess,” the kid muttered.
He was right.
The Joker dead at the hands of a cop in defense of themselves or another victim would have been a heady victory over the stupid costumed antics that disrupted the city. Sure the cop would probably be killed by either the Joker’s men or another rogue, but Bullock couldn’t think of a single colleague worth a damn who wouldn’t take the shot.
The Joker dead at the hands of a random pedestrian was almost certainly going to be a nightmare. The kid would be subjected to interrogation by the Bats, especially with Batman’s bizarre obsession with his nemesis, and no kid deserved to get in the middle of that. Plus, even protective custody might not be enough to keep him alive long-term.
Bullock knew he was many things. A decent cop, a lover of dark beer and cheap cigarettes, and a petty son-of-a-bitch. So he had already decided what way he wanted to leap.
He hoped the kid would agree.
Because the Joker dead from an ignominious fall in a filthy alley was the kind of pathetic ending the man deserved.
“Here’s what I’m thinking. What I understand what happened - you were walking along, you’re looking for shelter. You heard the alert so you’ve got your eyes peeled. You see a body in the alley. You’re not stupid. You saw the purple, you saw a cop car, and you waved me down.”
“You’ve done your civic duty- you’re not going to go try to check on what might be the Joker or one of his stupid traps. No one would expect you to.” Bullock paused and pulled out the sanitizer, eyes still not leaving the body- “rub this anywhere he might have touched you, kid, just in case.“
After the kid accepted and began to rub it into his still gloved hands and shoulder, Bullock continued. “You have no idea what else happened. When the ambulance comes, after a quick check-up, you booked it because you’re a Gotham kid and you don’t wanna be around this shit show.”
A sharp inhaled breath and a moment of silence. “So I heard the Joker sucked so much as a clown, he tried to do a prat fall and fucked it up so badly he killed himself.”
“Damn kid, I’m going to remember that and use it.” Clearly this kid understood the pettiness that lived in Bullock’s soul.
The snow continued to fall on the still body.
More seriously, “some unknown kid offing the Joker isn’t gonna survive a week in the city. Doesn’t matter that it was an accident, doesn’t matter anything else. But the Joker dying in an accident on his own with no witnesses, well nobody can really be blamed for that. You see me?”
It wouldn’t be the truth, but it would be far more just than letting this kid be sacrificed.
“Cameras?” The kid asked hesitantly.
Bullock wasn’t sure if the kid had already clocked the lack of cameras in this area, so he indulged the question. “No working cameras. I was stationed here because Two-Face’s showdown last week included taking out the cameras around here. They’ve not been replaced yet- lower priority compared to other areas. This is the Bowery.”
At the silent nod in his peripheral vision, Bullock asked, “what should I call you? Just me, not for any report. I’m Detective Harvey Bullock.”
“You can call me Jay, detective.”
Good instincts, no last name and a nickname that might not be related to his real name at all. Bullock hoped he never saw the kid again after this. Let the kid get as much peace as the city could offer.
The body still hadn’t moved.
It didn’t move when the ambulance arrived. It didn’t move after the kid - Jay- ghosted into the breeze. It didn’t move when the forensics squad arrived. It didn’t move when the commissioner unzipped the body bag to look at the Joker’s dead face.
Joker’s skin was always pale and discolored, and Gordon was one of many who donned gloves to feel for the absent pulse. To be sure.
By the time Batman showed up, any traces had been muddled entirely.