Reunited At The Minstrel's Show

Ever since the first night, Batman had been worried about the Minstrel making a reappearance. The tense political situation in the wake of the Twin's Shooting only made him even more nervous. Problem was the Batman can't be nervous. The Batman can be concerned, cautious, uncertain, but never nervous. Perhaps if Batman could be nervous, then Comissioner Gordon would have taken his warning more seriously.

The Namzmiren case happened two months before Minstrel even appeared. The trial started days before his first attack. Still, Batman was certain that he would act in response to it. Considering his commitment to fighting racism, it made sense that Minstrel wouldn't ignore the case. But perhaps Batman was so determined that Minstrel would strike because he needed it to be true. Strategic minds like Batman couldn't tolerate unpredictability. He needed to find a pattern to Minstrel's behavior, just as he was constantly searching for a pattern in the Joker's. 

It happened on a Sunday night. Minstrel appeared on the news again, but he wasn't alone. He stood upon a stage of purple curtains with a medical operating table on either side of him. The man and woman strapped down to the tables didn't appear very jazzed to be there. 

"Greetings citizens of Gotham. It is with a heavy heart that I inform you there has been an increase in cancer diagnoses in our city. In the interest of educating the masses and securing public health, I have recruited two volunteers for this educational surgical theater." 

Minstrel walked behind the table on his right, the one the woman was strapped into. Her hair was a mess across her face, and her makeup was smeared by tears. Slowly, with the type of care and love as one would give to a mother, he placed his hand upon her shoulder, then spoke with an equally nurturing tone.

"Now, now, Rachel, dear. It'll be all right. But Mammy needs your help. Tell the good people what ails you."

With a whimpering voice fighting back cries of terror, she stammered out her obviously scripted response. "T-t-Tounge cancer. There's a lump on my tongue and it makes me tell lies." 

The corner of Minstrel's mouth ticked up in a sadistic grin. "Good, dear, good. Doesn't it feel better to tell the truth? But don't worry, Uncle R will remove that horrible lump from your mouth and stop those god-awful lies." 

"Please. I made a mistake. I never meant to-"

"Moving on!" His sudden, sharp cry made the woman's body jerk in surprise. She didn't finish her thought or even let out a wail. Her mouth stayed firmly closed.

Minstrel walked over to his other hostage, masquerading the same innocent concern and placing an equally tender hand upon the man's shoulder.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me!" The man barked at Minstrel with the confidence of one that wasn't tied to a table. Inside, he surely must have been shaking at the uncertainity of his fate, but his outward expression didn't betray any signs of that fear. 

"Calm down, calm down Oliver. It's only me, your good pal and man-friday, George. Now, now my dear, tell the kind people about your affliction." 

"When I get out of here, I am going to take off your head and use it to practice field goals!" 

Minstrel made a big show of rolling his eyes, "We get it, you played football!" 

Minstrel moved his hand off Oliver's shoulder, then proceeded to point down to his crotch.

"You see, boys, girls, and those undecided, the problem is with little Olly. He's growing ladies, but not in the way you'd want." 

The Minstrel laughed at his own joke, then took a step away from Oliver and retook his initial point between the two tables. He reached behind his back and pulled out two latex gloves and a surgical mask. He began putting those items on as he continued his monologue.

"This cancer is not born like ordinary cancers, so Chemo won't work. It's a cancer born in the mind, which leads to malignant growths in the body. Take Ms. Rachel Walters here, who's been suffering from this cancer since she was in college."

Rachel began to cry at her table, and Minstrel raised a shushing finger that she did not obey. He only shrugged and continued his story.

"Miss Walters was the victim of a sexual assault during her sophomore year. Or was she? She picked out her fellow student, Leon Anderson in a line up, and told tales of how he degraded her and called her a white bitch during the assault. The accusations landed young Leon in jail without bail, where he awaited trial for half a year. He never saw trial, however, and committed suicide in his jail cell through self-inflicted sharp object wounds. A private investigation concluded that his DNA didn't match the suspect's, a fact which the city was well aware of even while Mr. Anderson awaited trial." 

"So the bitch lied and ruined a man's life," Oliver said, "why am I not surprised?"

"It's not true," Rachel said in a small voice. 

Misntrel smiled even wider, then eagerly walked over to Rachel. He leaned close in her face and lingered over her for a moment.

"Is that true? I made a mistake? Well, take this as your moment to set the record straight. I would hate to spread misinformation on such an educational show."

Rachel Walters took a deep breath. Then another. And then another. 

"My parents beat me for as long as I can remember. They were old fashioned and they--they didn't want me becoming a whore. That's what they'd always say, even when I was a little girl, 'don't be a whore, Rachel.' When I got to college I thought I could rebel and just live my life. I was drunk, I had sex without a condom, and when I woke up the next morning, I just knew."

"The miracle of life," Minstrel interrupted, "Oh I'm sure it was magical. Tell us all what it felt like."

"It felt awful. All I could feel was fear and shame and anger, because I knew how my  parents would react. Don't you understand how my father would have responded? He'd treat me like I was a prisoner, even worse! I had to-I had to get rid of it."

"But you didn't," Minstrel said, "You gave birth to a bouncing baby boy on the twelfth night of August, some eight months later."

"Even after I told my father that I was raped, he refused to let me abort it! I love my son, more than anything, but I was only nineteen years old. I was terrified about what would happen. I prayed to God every night, hoping that he would protect me and my unborn son, and deliver us from that awful house so he could grow up happily. And He did!"

The Minstrel yawned, "yeah, yeah, God is good all the time, all the time God is good. Let's get to the juicy bits. Why did you accuse Leon Anderson of raping you?" 

"I NEVER accused him of raping me! I never accused anyone! I went to the police and told them that it was a stranger. I tore my clothes and scratched my body up well enough to convince them, then said I was walking alone in the park when a stranger grabbed me. When they brought me into the line up, I tried to remind them that I didn't see his face, but they pressured me! They screamed at me and said it was all my fault and that if I couldn't identify the suspect then he'd walk free and rape someone else."

"So you pointed to a random person?" 

"The way they were talking, I thought maybe one of the men in the line up had already raped someone else! I pointed to someone, anyone, and they were so happy and nice afterwards. I thought I'd maybe helped some other woman get justice. I prayed that the Lord would guide my hand, and the next minute they told me that I'd done an excellent job."

Minstrel shook his head and sucked his teeth. "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. Don't you understand that none of that was your fault? It was the cancer warping your mind, convincing you that making up a fictional Black rapist was the proper way to handle the matter." 

"I-"

Minstrel stopped her before she could continue, "And you did specify that he was Black. I've read the police report. You described your attacker as a Black male, in a university sweatshirt with the hood pulled down. He called you a white bitch and other slurs and took the cash from your purse immediately after. These details, the obsession with your fake attacker's race, all of this is proof of the cancer."

More tears began to rush down Rachel's face. For a few seconds, she was a whining mess incapable of intelligible speech. She had to fight through her fear and sadness to plead for her life one last time.

"I'm sorry! I am! I apologized to his family after he died! His mother forgave me, and we even prayed together. It was my parents, not me, and everyone understood that. Why are you doing this?" 

Minstrel's eyes widened in shock at her words. He looked at Rachel, then to the camera, then back to Rachel again. Back and forth his head turned, and each time it stopped he appeared more and more confused.

"Well," he finally said after having enough of his own antics. "I know that I have an ass that won't quit and contour flawlessly, but no one's ever confused me for a beautiful Black woman before, least of all someone's mama. I'm honestly flattered." 

He walked away from Rachel to stand over his other victim, Oliver. 

"As for this young man, his symptoms are largely similar-"

"I've never done anything as bad as that c***!" 

"Language, Mr. Walcztloh! We're on local public television, not the locker room of Gotham U's football team."

Oliver looked at Minstrel indignantly, "Look, kid. I get it. You're pissed that the lady over there framed one of your brothers and made him kill himself. I get it, I do. But I'm not like her. Lots of good guys on my team nearly got ruined because of false reports, myself included. Whoever's told you otherwise is mistaken."

Minstrel reached behind his back, somehow materializing a clipboard in the process. He read from the obviously blank sheets of paper before he responded to his captive. "No, I don't think so. Obsession of a sexual nature, indicative of deep rooted racial fetishes ultimately leading to harm against others. Page's Disease, same cancer as Ms. Rachel Walters over there. Isn't that why you had three separate sexual assault claims made against you while you attended Gotham University? All by Black female students?"

"Nothing but lies! Those girls were drunk sluts that regretted it the next day and wanted to gain sympathy by playing the race card. Why don't you tell all of Gotham that none of those claims led to criminal charges while you're at it?"

Minstrel acted as though he didn't hear Oliver's protests, "And then there's the truly troublesome matter of Ms. Ariella North, a cheerleader from your short lived professional career. Her suicide caused a lot of discord in the sport's community, especially after she was revealed as an anonymous source in the Daily Planet's expose on sexual harassment of college and professional level cheerleaders across the nation. Curious timing, don't you suppose?"

"I barely even knew Ariella! And she never even said who it was that raped her!" 

Again, the Minstrel shook his head and sucked his teeth, "And once again we see the strength of this cancer's delusions. Oliver, there are photos of the two of you at a post-draft party all over her social media page. The two of you tagged each other in posts. Yet you say you barely knew her?" 

Minstrel stepped away from Oliver and reached behind the rear curtain of the stage. From there, he wheeled out a gas tank with two masks attached. The Minstrel was silent as he brought it to the front of the stage and positioned it perfectly between his two hostages. He covered Oliver's face first, and though the man screamed and cursed in a futile attempt to fight back, his breath quickly slowed and his voice slurred.

"Please," Rachel cried as Minstrel moved towards her with a mask. "Please don't do this. I know what I did was wrong, and I live with this guilty conscience every day. Don't destroy your own soul just for revenge. You can be the better person here, a model for all your peers. I'll do whatever else you want until you think I've been punished enough. But please don't hurt me." 

Misntrel smiled down at her. After taking a huge, deep breath that puffed his chest nearly a mile out, he began to sing in a sweet, melodious voice. 

"I don't really care if you cry. On the real you should have never lied. Baby don't you see the madness in my eyes? I just really want you to. Die..."

The rest of Gotham didn't get to know the fate of Rachel Walters and Oliver Walcztloh until the next morning. At that very moment, the feed was terminated. 

It wasn't Misntrel's doing, of course. If he had his way the broadcast would have continued to show all the gruesome details. He had no interest in sparing the sensitive audiences of Gotham a high-definition, front stage glimpse of him cutting out Rachel's tongue and castrating Walcztloh. Of course, the recorded footage still made it's way on the internet anyway, no matter how hard Batman and the Oracle tried to stop it from leaking.

"I heal their cancer," Minstrel said as he showed Rachel's cut tongue and Walcztloh's dismemberment to the camera. He tossed both over his shoulder haphazardly, then discarded his gloves and mask in a similar fashion. Minstrel reached behind his back again, and pulled out a small tube.

"And now I make them beautiful!"

He walked over to Oliver's still unconscious body, then pressed down on the tube. A spray of black liquid shot out and caked onto Oliver's face. In less than two seconds, Walcztloh was as dark as the Minstrel, but he still wasn't ready. Minstrel turned the same tube upside down, then twisted the sides until a bloodred stick shot out. Before he marked the man, he turned to the camera and presented the device to the audience he still thought was there.

"Minstrelfier! For the next time your pasty ass needs Instalikes. Order right now with promocode, SHAMEC, and receive two for the price of one." 

He turned away from the camera and began walking towards Rachel Walters to begin the same process, but he didn't make it in time.

Glass rained down from above, and the Minstrel immediately ran for cover. Two figures touched down onto the stage, and Minstrel instantly recognized both.

"Batman! And, ew, put that thing away! No one wants to see ya Dick!" 

Batman and I chased him through the old theater. He threw old stage equipment and props to try and block us, but we avoided them as well as we dodged his quips and jeers.

"How did you even track me down? That's the last time I buy a VPN off an app market." 

Minstrel wound up running himself into a dead end. He was sandwiched between an old, brick wall and the Dynamic Duo themselves. Most criminals knew that wasn't a good place to be, and Minstrel was the same. He immediately dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together in prayer.

"Please dear Lord, send my guardian angel to get me out of this!" 

"A bit too late for that, Minstrel," Batman said. 

"I doubt the man upstairs is doing you favors after everything you just pulled," I agreed.

Minstrel just looked at me and laughed, "Oh you poor, confused, Nightwing. My god has no gender." 

Before I could even think to ask what he meant, a giant blast went up in our faces. Batman threw his body in front of mine and raised his cape up to shield me from the blast debris. The smoke was thick enough to cut with a batarang, and I could hardly rely on my ears because they were still ringing. Despite that, I could still hear a familiar, hyper voice over the tone.

"Run, Jimmy! I'll hold back Batman and the Brat Wonda!" 

"Harley!" Batman said in shock. Neither of us had expected her to show up, least of all to actually help Minstrel. 

It ended like these stories usually end. Minstrel got away, we tangled with Harley for a couple of minutes before we managed to restrain her. Gordon's boys showed up soon after and dragged her to the station for questioning. Paramedics told us that both Rachel and Oliver would live, but they'd live permanently disfigured by a criminal that Batman and I failed to stop.

"We failed, Dick. We failed the whole city," Mr. Brightside said once we returned to the cave.

I couldn't help but agree with him. The minute we got the call from Gordon earlier in the night, we did everything we could to arrive before Minstrel had a chance to harm his hostages. But we couldn't deduce his location fast enough. And once we finally had, Harley Quinn arrived and ruined everything, and Minstrel was in the wind again. 

"It's not a complete failure, though," I told Batman as a thought suddenly dawned on me. "Bruce, I think we have a clue who Minstrel is." 

"What do you mean? Did you notice something earlier?" 

I nodded, "Remember what Minstrel said when we first crashed in?"

"'No one wants to see your dick.' I remember. It was a pun, a play on your name to let us know that Joker told him our real identities. Luckily for us it looks like he shares his uncle's trait of not wanting to share it with the world yet." 

"No, you're wrong Bruce. Not about him knowing our identities, that's given. But the joke wasn't what you're thinking. He actually said 'No one wants to see ya Dick.' Ya as in you."

"But it's the same-"

"Just listen, Bruce! Based on that picture, we thought Minstrel had to be a circus kid, right? Well when I was a kid in the circus, I had a friend. Every time we saw each other, he would say, 'No one wants to see ya, Dick.'" 

He nodded, "So you think the Minstrel is this kid? I agree it's possible. But how do you know Joker and Minstrel didn't just find out about that joke between you and your friend?" 

"Because Harley didn't call him Minstrel when she appeared. She called him Jimmy, and my friend's name was James Byrd."