Alfred Pennyworth set down the canapés and went over towards the foyer. The reason he was taking personal charge of meeting these newcomers was the dress code violation of nylon stockings stretched over their heads with clown masks underneath the ensemble.
Not to mention they seemed to be the entourage of a fellow who bore a remarkable resemblance to that person on the news who was promising to kill wholesale until the Batman turned himself in.
"May I help you?"
The leader of the group turned towards Alfred. "Well, yeah, you can. If you can just take us straight to Harvey Dent that'd be real swell."
Alfred gave them a quick once over, and found many, many deficiencies. "I'm afraid that's not possible."
The fellow needing make up tips quickly produced a knife. "Oh you can't pull that on me ..." and shoved the weapon practically in Alfred's face. "...because I know, really know that once you step outside the box, everything's possible. I mean, take my face, for example. Wanna know how I got these scars?"
With an index finger, Alfred nudged aside the blade just enough so he could speak clearly. "Let me guess; one night you got incredibly drunk along with swallowing a handful of mescaline. You woke up the next morning with those self-inflicted facial decorations and, to this day, have no memory whatsoever how that could have happened. In order to cover up that you performed a little amateur plastic surgery while off your face, you invent a whole bunch of conflicting stories to insinuate a nihilistic personality, and in no way covering up the most embarrassing night out you've ever had."
For the first time, the Joker didn't look like he had anything to say. From the looks of his tag-alongs, they were pretty surprised by this as well.
"Here's a suggestion; don't pull that on someone who's been in the British Theatre."
"... I ... we'll just go ..."
Alfred nodded, with a genial smile. "You do that."
The goon squad were bundling back into the elevator. The Joker stuck his head out before quickly hitting the 'down' button before shouting out; "We'll be back!"
Alfred was already inputting commands into a specially modified blackberry. "No you won't ..."
Bruce wandered towards his butler, looking at the closing doors. "Alfred? Who was that?"
"The Joker, Master Bruce. Presently going down your private elevator."
Bruce recalled the opening spiel of the realtor when first inspecting the place. "The elevator with no exit hatch, armour plated, and we can remote control to stop inbetween floors?"
Alfred finally sent the commands. "The very same." He picked up the tray he set down earlier. "Would you call Lieutenant Gordon? We might need that elevator in the near future."
Alfred would have made the call himself, but the canapés would not serve themselves...