His leg was better, and I was more relieved than anyone, even Mr. J. The hyenas had stopped snapping at his cast, and he couldn't whack me with one of his crutches any longer. Gotham had a reprieve with Mr. J temporarily out of the scene (I ran his errands, but the papers critiqued that the crimes lacked his "deadly pizzaz" - Puddin' called up everyone else in the criminal underworld bragging about the flattering review), but someone else had cast a shadow on my boss's return to crime... a giant one.
Gotham, and even Metropolis, had never seen anyone like Behemoth: built like a mountain, the tabloids wondered if he was kin to Bane, also taking Venom, but Bane ripped out the spine of the reporter who published the story before he was taken back to Arkham Asylum - even criminals didn't want to be associated with him. No one was sure where he'd come from, though they were pretty sure he hadn't been born...but who had the idea to create something so terrifying, a gigantic, heartless, guiltless monster-man who ate people, raped children, had a one-track mind for killing and destruction? His arrival threw Gotham under a blanket of fear bigger than Dr. Jonathan Crane could ever produce as the Scarecrow with his fear gas, especially since the public knew almost nothing. Behemoth's grisly crime scene "after pictures" were too gory and graphic to be shown on any news channel, or in any newspaper. Dr, Crane wasn't the only one who was peeved - Puddin's usual crime sprees seemed harmless and childish now. He was basically out of a job, criminal unemployment, if you will, and he sulked around the house, plotting and planning secretively and sending me back into the kitchen to make yet another plate of nachos (which got more and more difficult as we were running out of supplies because the mayor had ordered no one go out unless it was absolutely necessary . Mr. J and I had quite the argument about his Mexican snack.)
He was getting more and more stir-crazy as Behemoth took over the city with his horrific deeds, more and more people dying and being dismembered every day - those who had actually seen him and managed to escape were driven psychotic or catatonic, sometimes both.
"They'll have to make room in Arkham for all the new crazies - there might not be room left for me if I ever go back," Mr. J cackled.
"Wouldn't that be wonderful, Harley-girl? Never having to spend a night in the nuthouse again?"
It did sound wonderful - a former pyschiatrist, I hated being straightjacketed and locked down and force-fed pills and shots and having my whole life picked apart and prodded at by some upstart Gotham U grad or a former collegue even more than my favorite green-haired alpha dog.
"Maybe having Behemoth here is a good thing, huh, Mr. J?" I said cautiously, and he laughed.
"We'll make a criminal out of you yet!"
I knew Puddin' was a crazy, risk-taking extremist daredevil since my first day on the run with him, and his impulsiveness had rubbed off on me, plus I've always been forward, but I couldn't believe how insanely stupid he was when he suggested going outside.
"Where's your sense of adventure?" he said accusingly, and I knew I couldn't back out of this one. Puddin' was right. I was brave...and he would keep me safe.
"B-but, Mr. J...what if we see him?"
He smiled slyly,
"What if we do indeed?"
He dragged me down a dark alley. I was petrified, knowing he was deliberately searching out the big beast for a confrontation.
Why did my Puddin' have a death wish?
But it was in the middle of a busy street where we found him. Mr. J and I were standing on the sidwalk when the mammoth humanoid lumbered up, plucked a woman from the crowd watching a street perfomer juggle (Puddin' could do it so much better), and ripped her in half. The crowd exploded; there was screaming, crying and people being sick in the streets everywhere I looked.
And then the shot rang out from Puddin's giant gun that just suddenly appeared, a gun the size of four regular-sized toasters stacked on top of each other and just as shiny, though purple. The bullet, one as large as both of my fists put together - huge, for something coming out of a gun - sped toward Behemoth and blew his head off his neck in a big, bloody mess that terrified and disgusted the passerbys even more. (I didn't actually see the decapitation, but Puddin' watched the whole thing almost lustfully, and they played and replayed it on the evening news).
"Gotham's in your debt," I breathed, realizing everything.
"I've got them in the palm of my hand, " he agreed, smiling wickedly.
We were enjoying dinner at the Iceberg Lounge ("It's on me," Ozzie had said) when screams ripped the air, and everyone ran to the window to look.
"It's Arkham! The inmates have escaped!!!!!"
A giant tide of red flew down the streets. Pammie lifted one elegant, green hand to wave at me from the mob as she roundhouse-kicked a cop in the teeth. He fell to the ground and the inmates ran right over him. Bane roared, tackling another officer -they both went down in the fray, but only Bane came up, blood dripping down the front of his scrubs.
"Another round, Ozzie?" Puddin' said lazily, watching the carnage, not put off at all by the sight of Zsaz taking out a SWAT team officer with his own gun and making a slash mark on his earlobe.
"Joker...this was you?" The Penguin's chubby face stared blankly in beautiful shock.
"I thought you killed Gehemoth just so Gatman couldn't. Nice job, Guddy!" Arnold Wesker's puppet high-fived Mr. J with his little wooden hand.
"Joker, you're BRILLIANT!" roared Hush.
"A toast to Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime!"
We raised our glasses, and Puddin' let out a manical laugh, but drank to his own health after making a half-hour long speech and gassing six patrons in the Lounge.
Life was so good!
Author's Note - Sorry for the long wait (my first novel - almost done! Yes!), but I hope this holds up to previous standards. I apologize if the violence seems too much. I tried not to make it overly descriptive.
-SBR