"Freak," the Joker spits back at him in a halfhearted imitation of his accent and an exquisite imitation of his contempt.

"Why don't we cut you up into little pieces and feed you to your pooches?" he suggests, producing a knife from somewhere in his jacket. "Hm? And then we'll see how loyal a hungry dog really is."

The minions come up to haul the Chechen away. "It's not about money," the Joker explains, although it's debatable whether anyone is listening. "It's about... sending a message." He pulls a phone out of his pocket; dials.

Cheerfully: "Everything burns..."