The Further Adventures of The Joker (34 page)

“Certain of it! And the man who convinced Hitler of it would be a hero of the Reich.”

“Is that a fact?” the Joker said. “Let’s just go over the whole plan once more . . .”

The Brownshirt rally had been a great success. Adolf Hitler had stood on the little balcony on the third floor of the Chancellery in Berlin and harangued the crowd for the better part of four hours, often repeating himself for greater emphasis. Now, as the applause died down and then rose again, he came in from the balcony, wiping his brow with a large handkerchief. Although it was a cool day, he was perspiring. These speeches took it out of a man.

He threw himself into an armchair, moodily pushing back the fold of dark hair that had become his trademark. Then he looked up abruptly. He suddenly knew, with a sixth sense that rarely failed him, that he was not alone in the room.

“Who iss dass?” he asked, his voice harsh.

There was a movement to one side of him. A tall figure in clown’s costume stepped out from behind a drapery. The man had green hair, red lips, a dead-white face. He was grinning—a horrible rictus of a smile that stretched his face from ear to ear.

“Hi, there,” the Joker said brightly, stepping out into the middle of the room.

“It iss dass Joker!” Hitler exclaimed. “Herr Obermeier told me that you were in Germany and wanted to see me. I agreed. But this is not the usual channels . . .”

“No, it’s not,” the Joker said. “You’ve heard of me. right?”

“Of course!” Hitler said. “I love the way you constantly confound that beefy Batman and his catamite boyfriend Robin! I follow all your exploits! It is a pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are unorthodox.”

“Unorthodoxy is what is needed to fight a war,” the Joker said.

“Exactly what I have told my generals,” Hitler said. “But they just snicker and say, ‘Leave the fighting to us, mein Führer; war is for professional men.’ ”

“But you know better than that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!”

“And I know it, too,” the Joker said. “Listen, Adolf, I’ve been studying this Shuffling Plan—”

“You mean the Schiefflin Plan,” Hitler said.

Hitler seemed almost mesmerized by the tall grinning figure. He followed as the Joker led him to the desk. Taking a large map out from his cape, the Joker unfurled it.

“Now look here. This shows present positions. Don’t worry about how I got this! Your secrets are safe with me! Now then, look, you’ve got Manfred’s divisions here and here, and Von Rundstedt is sitting on his ass over here near the Swiss border, and Keitel is larking around in front of the Maginot Line. Well, why not pull them all out, except for Keitel near the Swiss border. He can make a diversion, make them think you’re going to hit elsewhere. But you take all these guys, and the motorized panzers, and push them straight through here.” The Joker’s gloved hand came down hard on Belgium and Holland.

“It is what I want to do,” Hitler said, almost in a whisper. “But if it goes wrong . . .”

“Adolf,” the Joker said, “I’ve been doing stuff like this for quite a while. I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I’m listening,” Hitler said. “But can I get you a drink?”

“Later. For now, pay attention. You have to put your mind into an outrageous scheme and then do it without looking back. You got me?”

“Yes, yes, it is what I want to do. But the generals—”

“Who rules Germany? You or the generals?”

Hitler looked up. His eyes were on fire. His hands trembled as he seized the Joker’s hands in both of his and shook them fervently. “Joker, I’ll do it! This is too big for generals to sit back advising caution. I would probably have done it anyhow. But you have convinced me that now is the time. Joker, how may I reward you?”

“Just scratch a few words on a piece of paper telling what I’ve done for you and for Germany,” the Joker said. “I want to show it to my girlfriend.”

On May 9, the Joker visited Hitler again to make sure that the Führer had everything straight. Hitler was glad to see him. He had been haranguing his generals and setting up the new plan. There were a few details he was unsure of, however. The Joker was able to clear these up for him. On the Joker’s advice, Bock’s army group B was combined into two armies rather than its former unwieldy three. The detached army, the 18th under General George van Kuchler, was detailed to attack the Netherlands. Runstedt’s army advanced on May 10. They were on a broad front between the middle Meuse and the Moselle. They drove forward with forty-six divisions, seven of which were armored. On the Joker’s insistence, they were backed by twenty-seven divisions. While they were preparing for the attack, Von Leeb’s army group C, composed of two armies, threatened an attack on the Maginot Line, thus pinning down large numbers of French troops.

Von Runstedt’s forces rumbled forward in the blitzkrieg. It brushed aside the weak Belgian resistance in the Ardennes and fought through two understrength French armies still equipped with horse cavalry.

Hitler didn’t like to have the Joker around his headquarters because the man’s crazy smile unnerved his staff, and there was always the fear that the generals would think their leader too much under the influence of an American crazy. The Joker grinned when Hitler told him this, saying, “Hey, I know when I’m not wanted,” and took up residence at the Princeknacht, the best hotel in Berlin at that time. There he had a direct line to Hitler, who also picked up all his bills.

By mid-May the die was cast. The Allied armies were retreating in confusion, German tanks were completing a huge envelopment, and the British Expeditionary Army was retreating to the dead end of Dunkirk. It looked like the war was over not long after it had properly begun.

The Joker returned in triumph to the spa in Bad Fleishstein; back to his stolen art treasures, and Petra. In his pocket was a letter signed by Hitler, praising the part he had played in the glorious victory and declaring him a Friend of the Third Reich, First Class.

Back at the spa, the Joker went straight to his chalet. He saw the first sign of trouble as he approached, There were several armored cars packed in the grass around his house. When he came in, he found Germans in air force uniforms taking out his treasures. They had found it without difficulty. There aren’t a lot of places to hide a huge assortment of paintings, statuary, and jewelry in a small rented chalet.

“What do you guys think you’re doing?” he asked.

A young lieutenant came up to him and snapped his heels as he saluted.

“Lieutenant Karl von Krausner, at your service,” he said. “How may I serve you?”

“Easy,” the Joker said. “You can tell your goons to put all of my stuff back where they found it.”

“You claim this as your treasure?”

“Of course I do! It’s been in the family for years!”

“And do you always travel to Europe with uncountable millions of dollars’ worth of Italian art treasures?’

“You’re damned right I do,” the Joker said. “I like to have good art around me, not these tacky magazine repros.” He gestured at the artwork on the chalet’s walls.

“There is nothing I can do,” Lieutenant Von Krausner said. “These objects are confiscated under the direct orders of Field Marshal Goering himself.”

The Joker cooled off immediately. He recognized the name of the second in command in Germany, and head of the Luftwaffe, Germany’s air force.

“There must have been some mistake,” the Joker said. “I have permission from the highest authorities.”

“I know nothing of this,” the lieutenant said. “You will have to take it up with the Reichs Marschall himself.”

“Where’ll I find him?”

“He is presently a guest at the spa.”

The Joker hurried back to the hotel and asked the manager where Goering was.

“He is in his suite,” Gerstner said. “But he left orders not to be disturbed.”

“Big deal,” the Joker sneered, and hurried off despite Gerstner’s protests.

The Joker bounded up the stairs, pushing people aside as he hurried down the hall. He reached the door of the special suite. There was something familiar about it. Yes, of course, this was Petra’s suite! The Joker was getting really angry now. What were these people trying to put over on him? There was a German soldier with a Schmeisser machine pistol on guard at the door. The Joker pushed past him, ready to knock.

“Nein!”
the soldier shouted. He fumbled for his gun.

“Cool off, baby,” the Joker said to him, and, reaching into his pocket, took out a handful of a white substance and threw it into the soldier’s face. The guard sneezed violently, three times, then sagged to the floor unconscious.

“The new Joker sleeping venom always works,” the Joker mused. “He’ll wake up in a couple hours with a hangover and a memory of snowflakes.” He tried the door. It was not locked. He opened it and barged in.

Inside the room he heard the sounds of laughter from the bedroom. One of the voices had a high-pitched, slightly hysterical voice. Petra. The other was deep and gruff and weird. That had to be the Field Marshal. The Joker walked into the bedroom.

There he saw Goering sitting in an easy chair. He was a huge fat man with a particularly obnoxious expression. His sleeves were rolled up revealing forearms like hamhocks. His military jacket with the many rows of medals had been hung neatly over a chair. The Field Marshal was just leaning forward to pour champagne into two tall glasses when the Joker entered. Petra was also in the room. She was wearing her negligee, her blonde hair unbound and falling loosely around her shoulders. On the bedside table next to the champagne there were various drugs and little bottles with syringes. A phonograph was playing a German army march. The midday sun, streaming in through the Venetian blinds, showed the craters and pits in Goering’s face. It was said that he suffered from many different diseases, all of them brought upon by drugs and unhealthy living.

Petra was the first to react. “Why, Joker, I thought you were still away. I would like you to meet my very good friend, Field Marshal Hermann Goering.”

“I have heard of you,” Goering said. “You are the crazy American who has been advising the Führer. Though, of course, the Führer needs no advice.”

“He needed some when I saw him last,” the Joker said.

“The Führer never needs advice,” Goering said. “To say otherwise is treason.”

“I’ve got a signed letter from him thanking me for my help and declaring me a hero of the Third Reich. And now you go stealing my treasures. How did you find out about it in the first place.”

“Word gets around,” Goering said, giving Petra a sidewise glance.

“I can see that it does,” the Joker said. “I want it back.”

“Oh, I’m afraid that would be quite impossible,” Goering said. “These art treasures that you stole from the Italians are actually German property. We’ve had a claim on them for over two hundred years.”

“Then you should have picked them up yourself,” the Joker said.

“Why do that when we had your services to do it for us so much better? No, my dear Joker, they will stay in the army depository at the camp here in Bad Fleishstein. You will be recompensed for your services. Shall we say a thousand marks?”

The Joker sneered. “I’ve stolen treasure worth millions of dollars and you’re offering me a lousy thousand marks?”

“Well,” the Reichs Marschall said, “I suppose I could make it two thousand. That’s the absolute top.”

The Joker paced up and down the room. He was getting agitated. Then he managed to calm himself. He looked at Goering, who had now put on his jacket, buttoned it, straightened the collar, and stood, trying to look every inch a warrior and commander. The Joker remembered what he had heard about Goering; how much the man wanted to excel in martial deeds.

“Listen, Goering,” he said, “I want that stuff back. I stole it and it’s mine.”

Goering shrugged, a gesture that made his belly ripple. “Well, so, what is that to me?”

“Only this,” the Joker said. “Maybe we can do a deal. Maybe I can do something for you, and you can give me back my stuff in return.”

The fat Reichs Marschall laughed. “What can you do for me? I am the second most powerful man in Germany.”

“I’m aware of that,” the Joker said. “But your influence at this point isn’t quite what it might be. There’s something you want, isn’t there? Something you want badly, and Hitler won’t give it to you.”

“Damn you!” Goering said. “How do you know these things? You are a devil!”

“No, I’m a joker,” the Joker said. “People like me know all sorts of things. It helps being crazy. You know more that way. I happen to know that you’ve begged Hitler to let you and your Luftwaffe kill off the British army at Dunkirk, entirely on your own.”

“Yes, well, that is so,” Goering said. “I’ve told the Führer over and over again to call off the troops. It’s risky to use them against a cornered enemy. We need them for the big onslaught against Russia. And I have the English swine trapped on the Dunkirk beaches. My planes can easily finish them off with no help from anyone.

“Suppose I could set that up for you?” the Joker asked.

“You could do this? But it is quite impossible!”

“But suppose I could?” the Joker asked. “Would you make a deal?”