Who: The Joker and Jen What: Kidnapping Where: Renton, WA. When: Today Warnings: Death, Mayhem, Destruction, Threats, Drugging, Creeping, Insanity, and EVERYTHING THAT’S TERRIBLE.
For one, this plan was last minute. Haphazard. Foolish. Perhaps insane. But the idea had come to him and it fit the situation perfectly. The city refused to care about a bank robbery and it’s civilians in danger. They remained oblivious and unaffected by what had occurred. Fine. The police would pay little mind to clowns; even if corrupt, they should notice when their own were attacked.
People had been redirected. An off shoot of clowns caused some minor mayhem a few miles away in Renton. It was a fairly quiet town, without the issues of gangs like Seattle but still a hotspot for innovation. Gaming companies and the internet put the town on the map, along with some high name celebrities living there. People in Seattle tended to forget about it and left it by itself, unless they were to head down for business. News of clown masks spotted didn’t reach many ears and Renton’s police weren’t too concerned with them. They hadn’t caused any issues beyond some muggings on the streets. Why would people attack in Renton?
No good reason. The Joker just felt like it.
Suspicious activity had been ‘spotted’ around, but not enough to raise any brows. However, a call from a toll booth to the Seattle PD changed matters. Once directed to the front desk, a hoarse male voice - shaking, asked to speak to Jennifer Warda. The receptionist wanted why - the woman was busy, with the Joker case and Alphabet Killer - and something resembling a cough, or perhaps a laugh echoed through the line. “It’s about them. The clowns.”
The line was put through immediately. Some people did seem to care surprisingly. Detective Warda noted the sudden call to her desk--nothing she’d been expecting and definitely not something she wanted. The cases were piling up as is, and she still had two bigger problems to contend with. Her lips turned down into a grimace as Jennifer picked up the phone.
“Warda,” she answered, her voice cut from any emotion other than barely-restrained aggravation. Whoever it was needed to have a damn good reason for interrupting her work. There was the sound of a body slamming into the plastic lining the phone booth. It was for dramatics, couldn’t sound anything but bad and was if nothing else, suspicious. “This is about the clowns. You know? In the bank? I’m down in Renton-” His voice shook there and he paused, to take a deep breath to calm himself. Laughter was missed entirely. “I’ve seen them, they’ve got this guy across the street. Business suit or something, I don’t know. They took him to the old Dollar General on Haight Street.” Jennifer frowned at the strange slamming on the other line. The police department hadn’t received any new information on the clowns since the bank robbery--and wasn’t that Joker bastard just so damn careful about everything--so how did they end up in Renton of all places? Was this another idiotic game of his?
“What’s your name, sir?” The detective asked carefully, “and where are you now?”
The better question might’ve been, just why are you contacting me? Name was already prepared. “Vince Marker. I’m across the street, I saw them and ran. I don’t think they saw me but-” There was the sound of a clatter, a body slamming into plastic again. The voice that came after was a shout, strangled. “FOUR SEVENTEEN HAIGHT STREET, YOU’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING-”
A gun shot. Foot steps, before heavy breathing. It lasted for a grand total of five seconds before a laugh and the phone being hung up. She didn’t have time to react at all as the man scrambled through his explanation. Her grip on the phone tightened as Vince Marker’s voice became even more frantic.
“Wait a second, Mr. Marker,” she tried to speak over the commotion. “What’s going on? What are you--” Jennifer didn’t have time to finish her question as the gunshot echoed through the phone, followed by a laugh that sent a deathly chill along the detective’s spine.
Another victim, another game. Detective Warda hung up the phone--she needed to go to Renton. The phone was replaced and the gun tucked back into a pocket. The shot had fired into the empty street, possibly calling attention. Most wouldn’t respond to a gunshot in the middle of the street though. Few recognized what it sounded like in real life, assuming it was part of their imagination or a car misbehaving.
Adjusting his jacket, the Joker crossed back to the store. Cars were parked behind, leaving the clowns possibly trapped. Today though, they were planning. Ten clowns remained inside the dollar store, sitting about and waiting. Guns were held by each, gasoline put aside, and matches in everyone’s pockets. A few shelves up front, usually for seasonal supplies made for a bare shield. This could start out as a shoot out. This could end up as something else.
The five clowns in the building on the right were back up after all.
The Joker remained in full costume, purple jacket, green vest, dark tie, and fully made-up. He hummed, pacing about his clowns and waiting for the sound of cars. He’d make his exit then. His clowns knew the plan. Kill them all, injure Warda, get her with a tranquilizer, and exuent. It didn’t take long for the local police to be notified and, to a lesser degree, organized. Less than an hour and two Renton Department squad cars were parked at the edge of Haight Street. Four unassuming uniformed officers, and as an unmarked silver Charger pulled up behind them, one Seattle Police detective, arranged carefully across the nearly abandoned sidewalk.
The set-up could’ve been nothing--a prank on the police for the sake of amusement, if they had any luck at all that day. If not, the officers might’ve been walking into virtually any kind of situation. It didn’t take much consideration for Detective Warda to understand what the Joker was capable of--the bank robbery had proven enough of his desire for chaos as much as his capacity to plan and organize. She didn’t have much choice but to rely on the local department, all of whom were skeptical enough to consider the call Jennifer received to be little more than an exercise in paranoia.
At least they were armed.
Once the group was prepared, the small band of police officers moved toward the building, two in the front, two to secure the back entrance and Detective Warda--well, she decided to keep back and wait until the officers unlocking the door gave an indication of their situation. They were late. A half hour, a full hour, then another half passed before sirens came down the street. “Game’s on boys,” the Joker said, before offering a random pat on the back before slipping out the back door. They had it from here. The likelihood of their deaths were high but...eh, thugs these days were easily replaced. He slipped out the back, not locking the door and remaining on the back side of the building. He moved behind, hidden from the street until he came to the next door. Too sharp knocks and a bored look later and he was in, ready to wait in the former travel agency until it was time to move onward. He and the other five clowns remained in the back room, waiting. Police were likely to circle around the back but they’d be dealt with later.
As the police got to the door, the clowns saved the time of unlocking the front doors. Just as they jiggled with the lock, calling for some help, the first of the clowns adjusted his gun through the displays. He fired, hitting the first officer in the shoulder and beginning chaos. The clowns scampered backwards, kicking aside the first plastic jug of oil. The ground went slick in front of the doors and dangerous should the matches be lit. Standing a safe distance from the storefront, Detective Warda watched as the officer at the door was hit. Barely missing the man’s Kevlar vest, the bullet sank into his shoulder, blood spraying onto the officer standing beside him. The wounded man tried not to crumble to his feet, jerking away as quickly as possible away from the door.
His partner was already aiming his Glock at the attackers, firing two steady shots near the display area. Giving his partner a questioning, worried look, he hesitated a moment before stepping inside to advance on the criminals. It was a bad mistake. Jennifer reached into her jacket, notifying the two police at the back door. As they responded in the affirmative, she was already reaching for her firearm.
Somewhere at the back of the store, the sound of a breaking door frame was heard. Ten was supposedly a good number. Even, higher then what should be coming, and brute force would beat skill. However as the shots came back, one clown went down bringing it to nine. They had been told the back door would be fine and they turned, each at their own time to the sound. “Shit, boss is gonna be-” was murmured before shots fired again. Metal shelving was blasted through, sprinkling their skin. Swears were muttered before return fire came, without care for the front windows.
Three of the clowns moved to the back, motioning and guns out - rounding around the right side of the store, for whoever would come from behind. As the two officers broke down the back door, ready to offer cover fire for the men at the other side, they were assaulted immediately. Ducking behind the nearest shelf, bottles of soap and cleaning products exploded from the gunfire, spraying over the floor in a chaotic mess. One of the officers fired, quickly narrowing the clown count to eight, but the action was enough to draw attention.
Three shots to the chest and the man heaved over in pain and shock, his Kevlar vest the only protection that prevented his outright death. He weakly splayed onto the ground, covered in soap and chemicals, struggling for his gun.
The officer at the front of the store took the opportunity to advance, firing at the clowns from the other end and trying to draw their fire. What he didn’t see, however, was the man behind him. By the time Detective Warda approached the entrance it was far too late. Noting the body on the floor, she didn’t hesitate to give warning and fire. The clown was already pointing his gun by the time the bullets hit, twice neatly in the chest. He threw himself to the ground, choking in pain.
The first officer, clutching bravely at his shoulder, offered cover fire as Detective Warda advanced into the store. Clowns were down to seven - no, six - which meant it was time to get serious. None of the clowns wanted to be next, no matter what their boss’ plans for them were. To live another day was more important.
A shelving unit was pushed over in the front, intending to cause some sort of issue - if not hitting someone. “Don’t get Warda-” one hissed, just before bullets got him in the leg. He went down screaming, as the nearest clown ducked. Rapid gunfire aimed at the heads of injured police officer, striking him down as two clowns went. Four. They needed back up.
Scrambling towards the back - where things should have been clear - one of the clowns pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Down to Warda, repeat, down to Warda.” It took mere moments for the scene to end up in disaster. Detective Warda didn’t have the time to hesitate as she jumped into the fray--an attempt to afford the wounded officers some kind of distraction. Emergency units were on their way, but ten to fifteen was too large of a window. By then, they’d all be dead.
Four clowns left. Jennifer found the massive, knocked-down shelf and its scatter of contents to be inconsequential as she leaped over, one part ability and one part skill that sent her in the direct path of a distracted thug. As she hit the floor on the other side her body was already moving on its own, dancing around the clown’s attempt to hit her and knocking him out with a forceful blow from behind. He fell over, sliding across the soap-stained floor in an unconscious heap. Before the other clowns could react, Detective Warda propped her boot onto the next shelf and sent it tumbling. Even with three clowns standing, this was going well from the clown’s standpoint. They released fire, it missing with Warda’s dancing until the shelving went down. Guns were pocketed away as they attempted to dodge. The shelving formed a triangle above them, smashing into the next row - which wobbled for a moment before falling downwards again. Shelving units collapsed like dominoes, barely a moment to duck through the tunnel made before they squished those below. A horrific scream echoed through the store as one didn’t make it, leg trapped underneath.
Down to two.
Though they were breathing heavily they rounded on Warda again, from the same side, front of store. The ground was slippery and one was clutching his shoulder - but they weren’t going to give up. The boss would kill them if they did. A gun was aimed at Warda, just as footsteps came from the back door, a very different type of gun fired at Warda’s side. A tranquilizer from the Joker himself. Detective Warda readied herself as the shelves smashed violently together. She was prepared to make a move on the final two clowns--being cornered with a gun didn’t seem like too much of an obstacle. Noting the wild, desperate looks the clowns were giving her, she failed to notice as the other man approached.
It took a moment for Jennifer to realize that she’d been shot. Looking down it seemed almost trivial, even laughable when she grabbed the dart with her hand and pulled it out. Weakly dropping to one knee, she held onto it, her attention focused almost curiously on the tiny needle. Details blurred and the clowns became unimportant, meaningless. Something pulled at her, a sensation almost completely forgotten, and by the time Detective Warda fell to the floor she was already asleep. As Warda dropped to the floor, the Joker strode forward. His steps were slow, casual as he looked over her - chuckling slightly as he toed her, moving her onto her stomach. “Better then I ah, expected.” Two alive and standing and one clown in the corner with a hurt leg. Nodding to the two who’d been in the room all along, he jerked a hand towards their fallen comrade. “Get him, get out. Van. Two of you-” Now turned to the ones who’d come in with him. “Get Warda. Give her another round of this-” He tossed a vial towards the taller of the two, caught and locked into his own gun.
“Get on driving out, backup is on the way. We need this place in flames in ah, three minutes.” A pause. “What are you waiting for?”
The clowns got to work, quickly and quietly. Warda was carried out to the van in back, loaded into the white van they’d arrived in and administered another round of the chosen drug. The injured clown was carried off as well, loaded slightly more cleverly in. The Joker made a quick movement to duck out and toss a clown mask in the parking lot, before checking the line for explosives a last time.
He loved an unsolved case. With a laugh, he lit a match, placing it close - but not at - the trail of gasoline, before he slipped out the back door. He jumped into the passenger’s street and barked, “Hit the road-” He didn’t want to be here for the aftermath.