Little Boy Lost

by: Syl Francis


Rating: PG-13

(for language and situations)

Chapter Ten

The smells were what finally forced him to wake up. Where was he? He couldn't open his eyes; it hurt too much to think. He felt sick, woozy. What happened? How did he get here?

The overwhelmingly noxious odors gagged him. He couldn't breathe without fear of losing his lunch. He sat on something hard and cold . . . the floor? . . his arms and hands were held back behind him. He seemed to be leaning against something long and hard . . . a pole? Cautiously Dick slitted his eyes open. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of a room the size of the Haly Circus big top, and his hands were handcuffed behind a pole.

A series of large paned windows ran above him at almost ceiling level. Just below the ceiling area was a series of catwalks and girders. Directly above him, a ceiling skylight allowed the silvery beams from the newly risen moon to peek through. He must be in a factory, probably abandoned.

Dick felt strangely pleased that he'd been able to assess his situation correctly. He tried to slow down his breathing, but it only made him want to take deeper breaths, which he immediately regretted. Everything started coming back. His overhearing of McEwan and Kat's conversation. His running out of the abandoned nightclub and his headlong rush into the nighttime sidewalks of Crime Alley.

He remembered running without thinking, without looking where he was going, without being aware that he was being followed. Eventually, common sense had prevailed and Dick had done what he did best. He'd taken to the higher elevations . . .

****

Dick spotted a fire escape in an alleyway and ran towards it. He jumped and reached it easily. He climbed to the rooftop of the building, then began moving swiftly and quietly above the crowded streets below. He eventually came to a momentary rest over an abandoned pawnshop. He stood and watched the street below for a few minutes, then feeling an utter sense of loss over having cut his last remaining ties to people whom he'd grown fond of, he sat down on the roof of the building.

Dick pulled Elinore out from where she snuggled inside his jacket and held her to him.

<Well, you're all alone now. Great going, Dick. You didn't even say good-bye. > His inner voice rang chastisingly.

"Yeah, well, you heard Fingers . . . he was only using me to get back at Zucco," he replied.

<Sure, he was only using you. So was Lucky when he was killed by Napalm and Gunner. Gee, *he* sure used you, didn't he? > Dick's inner voice said ironically.

"Aw, cut it out . . . what do *you* know? Nobody wants me. Mom and Dad are gone and I don't have anybody. I'm gonna go somewhere where I can be left alone!"

<Well, you're sure on the right track if being left alone is what you want! But you're not being fair to Pop and Fingers. They've done nothing but try to be your friend. It's not Pop's fault if the court says you can't live with him. >

"I know that, but why didn't he come back for me? Why didn't he tell me? Why did he just leave?" Dick's emotions finally spilled over into tears, and as he'd done since he was a baby, he held Elinore to him and cried into her soft cloth exterior.

"Because he doesn't love you like I do." The deceptively mild voice startled Dick. A shadowy figure began taking measured steps toward him. At last the light from a lone street lamp caught him: Mikey! Dick jumped up and began to edge towards the location of the fire escape. "Come on, Dicky . . . that *is* your name, isn't it? Don't be afraid. I just want to show you how much I can love you."

His heart pounding, Dick made a break for it! He never made it. He was grabbed from behind by Tommy. "Let me go! LET ME GO!" Dick shouted, struggling helplessly. As he fought with his much larger and stronger opponent, Dick accidentally dropped Elinore. Tommy almost immediately stepped on her with his muddy combat boots, ripping her faded outer covering and popping out her left eye.

"Mikey, come on, willya!" Tommy yelled exasperatedly. "He's harder to hold than a slippery eel! Hey! Watch it! Ow-w! You little . . . I'm gonna . . . " Dick had finally calmed down and thinking quickly had slammed the full force of his feet into Tommy's stomach, causing him to momentarily loosen his hold.

That was all Dick needed. He landed in a ball, did a shoulder roll, picked up Elinore, and ran to edge of the building. As he neared the edge, he mentally prepared himself for a power leap. At the last possible moment, he was tackled from behind. Elinore went flying over the edge in a graceful arc. Dick's hands were expertly cuffed behind him and he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. Mikey's cruel features smiled suddenly; he then slapped the back of his open palm across Dick's face.

The smaller boy immediately went down on his knees in a daze. He huddled awkwardly in a small tucked ball, forehead and knees on the roof. As he felt the world stop spinning, he slowly began to sit up. Looking down, he noticed bloodstains on his jacket, and red splotches dripping periodically below him. He was bleeding, probably from a nosebleed. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Puppies need to learn to love their masters. Now I already told you, Dicky, that I love you. And I want to show you just how much, but if you disobey me, and do bad things like this again, well you'll give me no choice except to punish you. Do you understand?" Dick *didn't* understand, but nodded nevertheless.

"Go on, give him the highball," Tommy broke in. "We can't transport a screaming kid across the city, and we've got to lay low all day! You *know* what they'll do to us if we're found with a kid!"

"Chill, Tommy! I *know* what I'm doing." Mikey paused to admire his acquisition. He caught Dick's chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted gently. "Just look at him, Tommy. He's absolutely beautiful! Hair the color of the night . . . eyes the color of the daytime sky . . . and his complexion . . . so smooth and creamy . . . this boy is the embodiment of pre-Raphaelite perfection, even *with* a nosebleed. And you should *see* him fly!" Dick didn't know what they were talking about, but he had no intention of finding out.

Now! he thought. While they're occupied with what they plan to do with me.

Dick was on his feet instantly, and before Tommy and Mikey could react, had executed three quick back somersaults. Unfortunately, because his hands were handcuffed behind him, he was unable to maintain his center of gravity, and on the final flip, he landed awkwardly on his right shoulder. Mikey got to him first, but before he could grab him, Dick swept his would be kidnapper's feet out from under him and quickly rolled out of the way. As he struggled to regain his feet, Tommy again brought him down from behind.

"NO! LET ME GO!" Dick screamed in frustration. He'd been so close.

"Shut up! Just shut up," Tommy yelled. "Mikey, the highball . . . now!" Mikey hurried over. He pulled out a syringe, adjusted the dose, then stabbed Dick in the upper arm. Dick's eyes widened in fear. Drugs! Ohmygod! No! He felt the night swallow him whole . . .

****

And now here he was . . . Wherever *here* was. He closed his eyes against another wave of nausea. "I must be near the sewers or the sanitation department," he muttered to himself. "Okay, Dick, got things to do and places to go . . . let's see if these cuffs are anything like Uncle Carl's. Dick ran his fingers as best he could around the metal bracelets holding him prisoner. Hmm-mm . . . they *seemed* familiar. Well, only one way to find out, and the quicker the better.

Dick knew that some of his nausea wasn't being caused by the smells around him. Mikey's eyes still haunted him. The hunger Dick saw in them sent cold shivers down his spine. Okay, Dick, Master Contortionist . . . Master Acrobat . . . Junior Escape Artist . . . let's see you reach your pants' pocket. How did Uncle Carl say to do it? Let's see . . . move the hips like so . . . twist the shoulder this way . . . ouch! Hey that hurts! . . . Of course, it hurts, Stupid! God didn't intend your shoulders to bend like that! Almost there . . . just a little bit more . . . There! Got it! Dick thought triumphantly as he held the skeleton key in the palm of his hand. And not a minute too soon, for Mikey and Tommy chose this moment to walk in.

"Ah-h. I see our guest of honor is awake!" Mikey said. "Welcome back, Dicky. Tommy and I have been waiting all day for you to rejoin us. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Not waiting for Dick to respond, Mikey continued, "Of course, you are. You haven't had anything to eat or drink all day, and that highball I gave you always makes my pets a little dehydrated."

Mikey stood smiling broadly in front of Dick.

"Tommy, why don't you bring our young guest something refreshing to drink?" Tommy nodded and left. "You know, Dick, that pole must be getting mighty uncomfortable. We've set up a room especially for you down the hall. If you promise not to try to escape I can release you and let you sleep over there tonight." He paused and gave Dick a questioning look.

Dick looked away, refusing to fall into the trap that the all-too friendly smile and demeanor were trying to set up. These creepos had kidnapped him! He was darned if he'd play along with them! He didn't know exactly what they wanted with him, but he knew that grown-ups didn't steal children just to be nice to them. For the first time since he regained consciousness, Dick was frightened.

Mikey sighed. "Okay, be stubborn. But don't take too long. I become impatient easily and when I do . . . well, I end up having to teach my puppies lessons in obedience. Most of them learn obedience after only one lesson, but some get all broken. You're kinda small . . . smaller than most of the others, but strong . . . maybe you won't get broken right away . . . but you'll learn obedience sooner or later. I hope it's sooner, 'cause I'd hate to hurt those exquisite looks of yours." He turned to leave.

A crash from the ceiling caught him flatfooted. Dick looked up in shock. The same bat-like creature who'd haunted his dreams soon after his parents' deaths came swooping in. Dick sat frozen, unable to move. He thought his heart would stop. When the creature suddenly descended on Mikey, Dick felt himself galvanized into action.

Fumbling awkwardly with the skeleton key, he immediately tried to free himself. In his haste and nervousness, he dropped the key! Oh, God! No! Quickly looking around, he spotted it about two feet away. Scooting his legs around, he was just able to reach the key with his feet; he quickly nudged it back to where he could he reach it with his hands.

Tommy, alerted by the sounds of battle from the warehouse, ran in, semi-automatic weapon drawn. Spying Batman and Mikey in the middle of a hand-to-hand contest, he tried to get a bead on Batman but was afraid he'd hit Mikey. Movement from the center of the room caught his attention. The kid . . . he was up to something! Tommy immediately concentrated on their prisoner. He couldn't let Dicky escape . . . Mikey had been almost impossible to live with these past few weeks before they found the boy. Tommy was afraid that if Mikey didn't get his opportunity to show Dicky just how much he *loved* him, then he could return to doing *bad things* again.

Tommy shivered. He couldn't go through *that* again. The last time Mikey had done something *bad* the authorities had only found a pinky to identify the missing child. Tommy was a rapist, and he knew that he, himself, was considered a sociopath by the authorities. But Mikey was a *real* sicko, and Tommy knew it. No, he couldn't allow Batman to take Mikey's new toy.

Dick saw Tommy running towards him, and closing his eyes, he concentrated intently on the job at hand.

"There's no audience, Dicky," Uncle Carl's melodious voice rang soothingly through his head. "There's no one here, except you, the locks, and the key . . . concentrate, Dicky . . . you can do it . . . Bravo! You did it!" Triumphantly, Dick held out the handcuffs, saw Tommy coming, kicked up with both feet, and connected solidly with Tommy's chin. Not waiting, he then leaped straight up from his sitting position, caught the pole, and keeping his body in a perfect L-shape, he climbed to the ceiling girders using only his hands and arms.

Batman saw the boy climbing to freedom, and not having to worry about his safety anymore, turned his full savagery on the Gunther brothers. Several kicks and straight jabs later, Mikey and Tommy were handcuffed to the same pole where they'd held Dick captive just a short time ago. Batman searched the ceiling girders . . . where was he? A small shadow crouching beneath the skylight caught his attention. Batman's normally grim looks softened momentarily. The boy had grit.

Dick stood watching the mysterious figure from the relative safety of the ceiling girders. What would he do now? Was he a friend? Dick didn't think he could ever trust another person again. He was startled by the sound of something like a small pistol shot going off followed by a soft whirring sound. The unmistakable clink of metal striking metal came soon after. The next thing he knew the bat-creature was swooping up towards him!

In seconds they stood facing each other. Dick held his position precariously. He hadn't escaped one set of kidnappers for another.

"Stay away from me!" Dick warned. "Stay away or I'll jump! I mean it!"

"Dick, listen to me, son. I know things look pretty bad right now, and I don't blame you for not trusting any grown-ups, not after Tommy and Mikey. But if you can just bring yourself to trust someone one more time, please, I only want to help."

"How do you who I am? Who *are* you?"

"I'm a friend."

"You're that Batman guy that Fingers talked about the other night," Dick suddenly realized. "He said that you wanted to send me back to the JDC. Well, I *won't* go back! I haven't done anything wrong! I *won't* go back to jail!"

"Dick, I promise you, I won't make you do anything you don't want to do. I know Fingers is your friend, but he doesn't know everything . . . and he doesn't know me. But I know *you* . . . I know what you're going through, son. Believe me, I know very well what you're going through."

"No you don't. Nobody does . . . nobody can . . . Everything was perfect with just me and Mom and Dad . . . and now everything is all wrong! Nobody wants me . . . only Mom and Dad loved me . . . and I loved them." Dick began crying. "I want to kill that monster Zucco for what he did . . . I want *him* to die!" Holding onto one of the vertical bars that crisscrossed the ceiling, Dick slowly crumpled in grief and anger.

While Dick had been talking, Batman had been surreptitiously inching himself along the steel girder to his side. Finally, as Dick collapsed, Batman gently lifted him into his arms.

"I *do* understand, son. Believe me, I know *exactly* how you're feeling at this moment. Let me take you home." In the distance, he heard the sounds of sirens already on their way. Batman fired off a jump line, and in the weak light afforded by the half moon, Mikey and Tommy witnessed the eerie sight of a man-sized bat creature fly out of the warehouse.

****

Lights off, the dark van slowly pulled up the alleyway across from Chu's Drugs. Kat shut the engine. The ensuing silence seemed deafening.

"So what's the plan, fearless leader?" Jay Dee asked. He was crouched behind the passenger seat. He looked up at McEwan. McEwan sighed and looked away. He had absolutely no clue. His arm was still useless. He and his friends did not use weapons of any kind, and he could bet on one thing: the Vigils would be armed and dangerous.

"I say we call nine-one-one," Kat said immediately.

"I second that," Montana said. "All in favor that the Network inform the police of these dirty doings, say *Aye*!"

Jay Dee, Kat, and Montana all chimed in together, "Aye!"

"The *Ayes* have it, Fingers," Montana said. "You want I should find a pay phone or something?"

McEwan looked at his friends annoyed. "Cut out the games, people. This is serious business. We've got to do two things tonight . . . stop the Vigils from torching the Chu's Drugs, *and* capture one of the creeps so's he can tell us what he knows about Dick. And since most of them can barely spell their own names, we need to concentrate on grabbing Blade. He's the only one who'll know if Zucco's got the kid."

"So who's kidding about calling the cops?" Jay Dee asked reasonably. "They're here to *protect and to serve*, right? Well, let them *protect* the Chu's and *serve* as our assault force. The Vigils won't be able to withstand the GCPD SWAT team, and when they scatter like rats, we spring our trap."

McEwan had been only half-listening, but then something clicked in his head. That was it . . . Jay Dee had actually thought up of a viable plan. Why shouldn't they use the SWAT team as their personal assault team? That *was* what they were here for, right?

"Jay Dee, I think you may have something there!" McEwan answered excitedly.

"What? What did I say? Hey, Fingers, I was only kidding! Honest . . . hey, don't kid, man! You're making me nervous!" McEwan smiled impishly at Jay Dee's discomfiture.

"Who's kidding? . . It's a great plan . . . come on, people, we have a phone call to make!" McEwan opened his door and jumped out eagerly. By the time the others had caught up to him, he was halfway to the nearest pay phone.

Chapter Eleven

Wayne had only been home about an hour when the special upstairs lamp that indicated the Batsignal was calling him went off. For the first time in ages, Wayne did not immediately experience the surge of adrenaline that usually accompanied his call to battle. He'd wanted to stay with Dick until the boy had fallen asleep.

Batman had explained to Dick that he was leaving him with a good friend, Bruce Wayne, and had dropped him off with Alfred at the entrance to Wayne Manor. He'd promptly driven the Batmobile to the cave, parked it a little more impatiently than usual, hurried to change into civilian clothes, then had literally run upstairs.

By the time Alfred had placed a bowl of steaming soup in front of Dick, Wayne made an appearance in the kitchen. He noted immediately that Dick's face was freshly scrubbed. Alfred's eyes had flashed his outrage when he'd first seen the dried blood on the boy's face. Dick ate shyly at first, but as soon as he tasted Alfred's tomato basil soup, he practically inhaled it.

As soon as the introductions were made, Dick began yawning uncontrollably. Wayne gave him a half-smile. "I think it's bedtime for you, chum. Alfred?"

"Oh, most certainly, sir. One can only imagine what this poor boy has been through if Batman had to rescue him tonight! Let's go, Master Richard . . . I'll help you get ready for bed."

"Ready? What's to get ready?" Dick asked confused. He normally removed his clothes, climbed into bed, and fell asleep!

"Oh, dear," Alfred tut-tutted. He obviously had his work cut out for him.

A half-hour later, Alfred led the exhausted boy (who was wearing a too-large tee shirt in place of pajamas) into the bedroom. Alfred had already turned down the bed for Dick.

"Up you go, Master Richard . . . There's a good boy."

"Where's Mister Wayne?" Dick asked anxiously. "Batman said that I was supposed to stay with Mister Wayne . . . Where is he?"

"I'm right here, chum," a quiet voice said from the shadows. Wayne slowly stepped into the warm circle of light afforded by the small bedside lamp. They'd put Dick up for the night in Wayne's old nursery. Much of the furnishings were child-sized, so Alfred felt the boy would feel a little more comfortable here.

An old Rocking Horse still sat patiently in the corner of the room, where Wayne had left him all those years ago. His train set, which was the last Christmas present his parents had ever given him, still waited for the train conductor's "All Aboard the Gotham Special!" Wayne felt strange, as if past ghosts were haunting him.

At first startled by Wayne's unexpected appearance, Dick slowly felt his body start to relax. Wayne's powerful presence was comforting . . . almost like his Dad. Wayne sat down on the side of the bed, and absentmindedly began to tuck Dick's covers a little tighter around him. Dad used to do that, Wayne mused sadly.

"Dad used to do that," Dick said, smiling sleepily. He succumbed to his exhaustion and fell promptly asleep.

Wayne sat a moment longer studying the sleeping boy. He'd been shocked when he'd seen him trussed up helplessly, covered in dried blood. He'd been even more shocked when Dick had managed not only to free himself, but also to escape almost entirely on his own. The boy had layers of strength that ran deeply. Wayne's heart had been pierced by the anger and hurt that the boy had espoused while on the ceiling girders.

Maybe Bruce Wayne can do more than just provide Dick Grayson with a home, he thought. Maybe, he can provide him with an outlet for his anger. Wayne reached up and lightly brushed a stray lock of hair from Dick's forehead. The boy mumbled in his sleep, then settled back again. On sudden impulse, Wayne walked over to the child-sized desk by the window and picked up the tattered and torn Elinore. He walked back to the bed, and gently placed her on Dick's pillow next to him.

As he passed Alfred on the way out the door, he noticed that his normally poised butler looked like he was about to have an apoplexy. Wayne raised his eyebrow in silent question. Alfred stepped outside with him, and promptly shut the bedroom door.

"What *is* that filthy-looking creature you just placed on Master Richard's immaculately clean pillow sheets?" he demanded. Wayne smiled holding up his hands as if to fend off an unexpected attack.

"*That* is Elinore, Alfred. Elinore is Master *Dick's* stuffed elephant. I don't have the complete story yet, but apparently, she's very important to him. I thought that maybe if she were on his pillow when he woke up in the morning, he wouldn't feel quite so . . . lonely." Alfred stared at him mutely. Wayne shrugged. "Pretty dumb, huh?"

"On the contrary, sir," Alfred replied, "it is quite an astute observation." He smiled at his first charge. "Don't worry, Master Bruce, I shall ensure that everything is in order by your return."

"Thank you, Alfred," Wayne said. "I'm late . . . I'd best go."

****

The only appropriate equivalent to the scene below was Pandemonium, John Milton's vision of Lucifer's realm. Fire trucks and other emergency vehicles seemed to be haphazardly parked, but the caped figure who looked down from the roof across Chu's Drugs knew that the vehicles were actually placed in a pattern that allowed them the maximum ease to move in quickly when the need arose. Blue, red, and yellow lights flashed brilliantly in the night, causing weird shadows to grow and shrink in a strange strobe-like effect.

The GCPD SWAT hostage negotiator had set up his command operations center slightly to the side, away from the direct line of fire afforded by the drugstore's large plate glass window. SWAT teams were dispersed on the ground around the building, as well as on the neighboring rooftops. Four feet away and unaware of his presence, a SWAT sniper held his weapon ready to fire. The Dark Knight faded deeper into the shadows.

"What do you have?" The low menacing voice made Captain Gordon jump. After almost three years of working with the mysterious Batman, you'd think he'd have gotten used to this. Gordon took a moment to catch his breath and turned towards the sound of the voice. Nine times out of ten, he wouldn't be standing where one would expect him to be. But then, there was always that ten percent chance when he was. Probably just to be perverse, Gordon groused privately.

"We received an anonymous call about a possible arson threat . . . Apparently the Vigils threatened the owners of Chu's Drugs that the building would be torched unless they paid protection money. The attack was supposed to go down tonight, but thanks to the tip, we were able to muck up their plan. Unfortunately, they have high accelerants with them . . . and several hostages."

"How many hostages?"

"We're not sure, but it looks like the four members of the Chu family, and some friends of the children. We're not certain how many . . . it could be as many as six hostages."

"It's eight." Both men whirled at the sound of the voice. Ghoul stood looking stricken in the strobe effect from the emergency lights. "Fingers, Kat, Montana, and Jay Dee. Also, Mister and Missus Chu, Mi-Hyun, and Dae-Jung." He paused then said guiltily, "I should be in there with them, but I was too much of a coward to come with them."

"Don't kick yourself, son," Gordon said. "It's not being cowardly to avoid impossible odds that you've no hope of winning against. If you *had* come with them, then we'd have *nine* hostages to worry about, and not eight. Thanks to your being out here, we now know how many people they're holding. Believe me, that's more than we knew a few moments ago, right Batman? . . Batman?" Damn! He did it to me again!

"Does he do that *all* the time?" Ghoul asked. Gordon nodded wearily.

****

He entered from the rooftop access. These old buildings' security was a joke at best, nonexistent at worst. The rusted lock didn't even require that he pick it; he simply grabbed it in his hand and pulled. It easily broke into two pieces. Batman shook his head. He descended the stairs swiftly and noiselessly, a shadow moving among shadows.

He walked into the upstairs apartments. The place was deserted. That meant that they were probably all downstairs in the store. Good, he could get Gordon's people in here then, but not yet. First, he had some civilians to pull out of danger, especially McEwan and his friends. Batman felt a slight twinge of conscience at the thought that his admonitions had probably caused those kids to place themselves in harms way.

Batman had had run-ins with James "Fingers" McEwan in the past. The juvenile pickpocket tried to play both sides of the fence. While maintaining his own personal illegal activities, he also reported any and all gang operations that he might receive wind of. Batman knew of the boy's personal vendetta against the gangs due largely in part to his younger brother's murder in a drive-by shooting.

Batman could understand the sentiment. However, he could not approve of McEwan's penchant to rob others of their personal property, even if the boy believed himself to be a sort of modern Robin Hood, who stole from the *Haves* to give to the *Have nots*. Batman was aware of the many people whom McEwan and his odd bunch of teenage anti-heroes had helped. He was even more aware of McEwan's personal crusade to keep young kids out of gangs.

There had to be a way to focus that type of energy towards slightly more legal endeavors, he thought. Perhaps Wayne Enterprises can come up with some means to help. I think that Bruce Wayne is going to have to have a talk with Lucius Fox about a Youth Center here in Crime Alley, he decided. But first things first. Let's free these hostages and stop Zucco's teenage strongmen once and for all.

Reaching the store level, Batman pictured the building schematic in his head, then found the fuse box. Too easy, he thought sardonically. That's why Zucco used these kids for the torchings. Although unbearably vicious against their victims, they were only amateurs; therefore, they were little more than cannon fodder in Zucco's war against Gotham's law-abiding citizens. Zucco sent them into the frontlines to do the dirty work, then if they were caught, there was no evidence to tie them to him.

Batman pulled the plug.

****

McEwan sat next to Kat, hands and feet bound. He was still mentally kicking himself for allowing her to come along. As if I could've stopped her, he thought sardonically. He'd told her to stay in the van, and she'd promptly ignored him. Some leader--I get no respect. He looked around at the others. Jay Dee still lay in a crumpled heap. One of the Vigils had clubbed him on the back of the head.

Montana sat next to Mi-Hyun. At least she'd finally stopped crying. She'd been huddled on Montana's shoulder for the past hour, terrified of the Vigils and what they intended to do to them. The police arrival had only heightened her fear.

"*You* did this!" Blade had screamed at McEwan. "You're nothing but a lousy snitch! I should've taken care of you long ago!" He snapped out his switchblade.

"Blade! Wait!" another Vigil stayed Blade's arm. "The *cops* remember? If they think we're killing hostages in here, there'll be nothing to stop 'em from movin' in! Ya've gotta chill, man!"

"I'll chill all right, Rat . . . I'll chill this guy into the next plane of existence."

"You're crazy, man!" Rat said. "All they've got on us right now is extortion! If you ice this guy, it'll be Murder One! I ain't going down for no murder rap, man!"

"You'll go down anyway if you don't take your hands off me," Blade said. Rat's eyes widened in fear, and he immediately dropped his hands. Blade coldly held his eyes a bit longer, but nevertheless resheathed his switchblade. McEwan let out his breath. He hadn't realized that he'd been holding it. That had been almost an hour ago.

The lights suddenly went out! Everyone was momentarily stunned into total silence, and then they all began yelling at once. McEwan quickly bumped deliberately into Kat.

"Come on!" he hissed. "Let's get under cover!" They both began crawling in the direction of the counter. Lying on his side, McEwan first gathered his knees up to his chest, then digging his heels in, he pushed. In this snake-like fashion, he managed to round the corner to the other side of the counter.

"Quick," he whispered. "Back to back . . . the ropes!" He heard Rat panicking in the background.

"What the frigging hell are they *doing*?" he screamed. "Don't they know we can blow up the whole place and take all of these people out?"

"Shut up, you idiot!" Blade yelled. "I can't think with you screaming in my ear! They've gotta know that if they try anything all of these people are dead, so--" he stopped, startled by a sudden noise. "Hey! What's that?"

McEwan stopped what he was doing. What's what? Then he heard it. The unmistakable hissing sound of *gas* being released. He turned to Kat, tried to mouth a warning, then promptly began to feel the world start to spin. He felt himself falling as if from a great height and as he slowly succumbed to the powerful sleeping agent, he heard the others in the store begin falling as one by one the gas took effect.

Chapter Twelve

A raging tempest pounded the ancient windows of the Gotham City Family Courtroom.

Today was Monday--court day.

Today a total stranger would decide his future. Dick wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. He'd wished so long and hard to be allowed to return to the circus, but now he didn't know what he wanted. The short time he'd spent with Mr. Wayne and Alfred had been the best. Alfred had even fixed Elinore for him. She'd been waiting for him on his pillow, newly patched and freshly laundered, the morning he woke up.

Mr. Wayne had scared him a little bit at first, but not anymore. Mr. Wayne understood. He'd lost his parents a long time ago, too.

Dick sat at a large table with a nice lady who'd introduced herself as Mary Margaret. Across from them sat Dr. Cunningham and a bespectacled man in a gray suit. Mr. Wayne, Alfred, Mr. Fox, and Pop Haly all sat directly behind Dick. Several members of his circus family also sat in the audience.

Trixie and Bitsy Donner smiled and waved at him. They kept looking over where McEwan and his friends were sitting and would occasionally burst into giggles. Dick wasn't sure, but he thought that they seemed to like Montana and Ghoul. Margie the Tattooed Lady sat quietly with her knitting. Occasionally she'd nod to herself as if she'd just thought of something profound. Uncle Carl sat alone, looking supremely elegant. Dick wasn't sure who looked more dignified, Uncle Carl or Alfred.

The world outside suddenly exploded in a brilliant flash of lightning; an earsplitting thunderclap answered almost instantaneously. The courtroom's dim lights flickered, threatening to go out at any moment.

"God forbid that the wheels of justice might come to a grinding halt," Dick said sardonically. Mary Margaret looked down at him and smiled from behind her glasses. Dick looked away. He was still bitter that he'd been forced return to the JDC. Wayne had done everything legally possible to stop it, but Wednesday morning Dr. Cunningham appeared at Wayne Manor and took him away . . .

****

The following morning a stern JDC aide came in to wake Dick at 5:30 a.m. Dick recognized him as Jenkins, the aide whom he'd *attacked* that day seemingly so long ago. To Jenkins' surprise, Dick was already awake. The aide silently escorted him to the JDC Director's office, told him to sit, and followed suit by throwing himself casually into one of the stuffed chairs in the lounge. Neither said a word while they waited. Eventually Dick began to make out murmured voices coming from within the Director's office. A couple of times he could tell that the voices were raised in anger.

Dr. Cunningham stuck her head out. She frowned sternly at Dick, then dismissed the JDC aide.

"That'll be all, Jenkins." Jenkins nodded and left. Cunningham addressed Dick. "Wait here, Richard. It'll be a few more minutes."

Dick nodded his head mutely. The wheels in his head started spinning. The door from the Director's office led to a short entryway, which led directly to the outside. From there one only had a relatively short walkway to the outer gates and freedom! Maybe he could *blitz* it!

As he began to mentally map out his route, Dick suddenly heard a deep voice shout out in anger from behind the Director's closed door. Dick's eyes widened momentarily. That sounded like Mr. Wayne! What was going on? The door suddenly opened and a dignified African-American man, whom Dick had never seen before, stepped out. He nodded and smiled at Dick.

"Son, would you please step in here for a moment?" Dick swallowed nervously, his escape plans temporarily set aside. Head down, Dick followed the gentleman into Cunningham's office.

Dick hadn't known what to expect, but he wasn't prepared for what awaited him in the room. Bruce Wayne, looking possibly like the sternest man he had ever seen in his life, was seated across the desk from Dr. Cunningham. His black hair and dark blue eyes gave him an aura of immense power, and Dick could see that Dr. Cunningham, despite her best efforts, was intimidated.

Dragon Lady Cunningham scared? No way!

Dick swallowed again.

Facing Mikey and Tommy had been a snap compared to this. Dick took a calming breath and met Wayne's eyes unwaveringly. He was a Flying Grayson after all; defying death was a family trait. To his surprise he saw the big man's eyes give him a surreptitious wink.

Wayne rose to his feet. To Dick he seemed to just keep on going up . . . up . . . and up. Raised in a family of aerialists, Dick was actually used to much smaller adult males. The smaller the aerialist, the easier he was to catch. Dick noticed that his mouth was open and closed it immediately, remembering his manners.

Wayne raised a meaningful eyebrow at Cunningham. She quickly made the necessary introductions. "Richard, you already know Mister Bruce Wayne, one of Gotham City's foremost businessmen." Dick nodded yes. "This is his associate, Mister Lucius Fox."

Wayne solemnly held his hand out to Dick. "I'm pleased to see you again, Dick," he said as they shook hands. Dick nodded, unsure about an appropriate response. He then shook hands with Fox.

What was going on? Why was Mr. Wayne here?

"Okay, now that that's out of the way," Cunningham said without preamble, "let's get down to business. Richard, please take a seat. Mister Wayne here has some questions for you."

Dick sat down in the only vacant seat. He felt uncomfortable in the presence of the three adults. The fact that his feet couldn't reach the floor also left him at a psychological disadvantage. Dick became aware that Wayne was studying him intently, then noticed that Wayne was trying to give him some kind of secret message. Dick watched him uncomprehendingly.

"Dick, do you know why you're here in these facilities?" Wayne's voice was gentle, but Dick detected a subtle edge to it.

Shrugging his shoulders, Dick shook his head, no. "I guess I'm being punished." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cunningham close her eyes involuntarily as if a sudden headache was coming on.

"I see . . . and just why do you believe you're *being* punished?" Dick thought he saw a sudden hard glint flit across Wayne's dark eyes.

Dick dropped his eyes and shrugged. "I don't know, sir . . . I guess I must've done something bad." The three adults could barely hear the boy's whispered response.

"Doctor Cunningham?" Wayne's voice held an underlying cold fury. "Just why do you suppose Dick believes he's being punished?"

"I assure you, Mister Wayne, we've never given the boy cause to believe that his stay is anything other than temporary until we can find him a foster home. I admit that he *did* get into an altercation with one of our juvenile inmates once and he *did* run away; however--" Cunningham gestured helplessly. "You must understand. We've always had only the best of intentions for Richard."

"So your best intentions mean keeping him here at the JDC instead of releasing him to the custody of Mister Haly, the boy's godfather, a man who's known Dick since the day he was born." Wayne's tone could have frozen Gotham Harbor.

Cunningham nodded mutely. She was beginning to feel like one of Wayne's employees on the receiving end of a severe reprimand.

"Mister Fox, would you please . . . ?" Wayne deferred to his right hand business partner. Fox opened his briefcase and took out several papers.

"Doctor Cunningham . . . Dick . . . we have here a court order remanding custody of Richard John Grayson, to the custody of Mister Bruce Wayne until such a time as appropriate foster care facilities may be found. I'm sure you'll find the documents in order, Doctor Cunningham. As you can see, they've been signed by Family Court Judge Marie DuBois."

Fox handed the documents to Cunningham. She quickly scanned them. Everything seemed in order . . . yet it didn't feel right. What would Bruce Wayne, a billionaire bachelor . . . and one with quite a reputation with the ladies . . . want with one small boy?

"Okay, Mister Wayne, Mister Fox . . . I agree that all the paperwork is in order; however, it doesn't answer the question, 'Why'? I mean why are you interested in taking Richard in? You're not a blood relative . . . you never even met the boy prior to two days ago. I'm afraid that I don't understand."

"I don't believe that you have to understand, Doctor Cunningham," Wayne said arrogantly. "As you said, the papers are in order . . . signed by a sitting Family Court judge. I believe that that is all of the authorization we require."

"Then you have been grossly misinformed, Mister Wayne," Cunningham said. Her voice was dripping ice; she was in *her* element now.

"Gotham State Child Welfare Services has the last say in the placement of any minor children. Should we feel that the placement would not be in the best interests of the child we are obligated under law to file a protest and immediately stop the placement. I happen to know Judge DuBois. She has a certain infatuation with . . . let's just say . . . big money and the power that comes with it. I can call my own judge and have my own court order countermanding yours in less than an hour. Now, why don't we play nice, Mister Wayne? Tell me exactly why you want custody of Richard?"

Wayne looked at Cunningham, and held her eyes, assessing any weaknesses. He found none. He raised his eyebrow in mock salute, steepled his fingers and nodded slightly.

"Richard, will you please wait outside? This shouldn't take much longer," Cunningham said. Dick nodded his head and walked out of the office. He was beginning to feel like a door prize.

Dick had been frightened by Wayne's anger. He seemed like a completely different person than the one he'd met the other night. Dick had felt like cowering in his chair in the Director's office and making himself as small as possible. He'd been too terrified about the prospect of going to live with Mr. Wayne to say anything in protest to the adults. He'd felt the tears in the back of his eyes threatening to spill.

Cut it out! Dick said to himself. Remember you're almost ten. You're not a baby anymore. Why did that rat Zucco have to kill Mom and Dad anyway? They never *did* anything to him.

"Good morning, Master Dick." Alfred was sitting quietly in the outer office. Dick looked at him wordlessly. "You mustn't be frightened of Mister Wayne. I've known him since he was a little boy. I assure you, his bark is much worse than his bite."

The older gentleman smiled encouragingly.

"Why is he so mad?" Dick whispered. His dark blue eyes, red-rimmed as if from crying, stared beseechingly at the impeccably dressed gentleman.

"Because he doesn't believe that a little boy who's just lost his parents deserves to be sent to a place such as this, and he would like to do something about it." Dick stared uncomprehendingly at Alfred.

"I don't understand, sir," Dick said.

"Mister Wayne would like very much for you to come live with us in his house," Alfred explained.

"How come?" Dick asked.

Alfred smiled. "Because he has a very large house that needs a little boy just like you to turn it into a real home."

"I don't understand," Dick said shaking his head. "Why doesn't he get married so he can get a little boy of his own? He's awfully old . . . just like Dad was, before . . . " Dick stopped unable to go on.

Alfred smiled inwardly at the boy's description of his youthful employer as "awfully old."

"I'm afraid that currently Mister Wayne has no plans for matrimony, and except for myself, he has no one."

"That's too bad . . . he must be awfully lonesome. We always had lotsa family in the circus: Pop Haly, Uncle Carl, Harry the Clown, Margie the Tattooed Lady, the Donner twins . . . the real Elinore . . . and just about everybody else. I miss them a lot."

Dick turned anguished eyes to Alfred.

"Why can't I stay with them, Alfred? Why can't I go home?"

"I'm sure I don't know the answer to that one, Master Dick." Alfred looked profoundly sad when he answered. The boy's heartbreak and brave front reminded him so much of another small boy from long ago.

Dick suddenly felt the tears begin to spill. Alfred and Wayne had been the first adults who had shown him the slightest compassion since his parents' death. It only served to remind him just how much he missed the love that had surrounded him since birth. Dick had tried so hard not to think about that, but now he was finding it almost impossible to think of anything else . . .

Mr. Wayne apparently wanted to take Dick home with him, and Dick wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that. He didn't really know Mr. Wayne, and his Mom had always warned him about getting in cars with strangers, and after meeting Mikey and Tommy, Dick thought he finally understood why. Now, here was Mr. Wayne wanting him to come stay at his *house*. Dick wasn't sure what his Mom would've said.

Dick studied Alfred's kindly demeanor; he seemed nice. Maybe everything would be okay. Anyway, he'd be out of this place, and it would make finding Zucco much easier, he added to himself. Batman might have stopped the Vigils, but Zucco was still at large.

Dick could overhear the conversation going on behind the closed doors. At first, Dr. Cunningham said "No," but then Mr. Fox reminded her that the judge had said "Yes." Dr. Cunningham finally said, "Well okay, but it says only until more suitable accommodations can be found."

"Fine," Mr. Wayne said coldly, opening the door, "but at least he won't be in the same place as the most violent juvenile offenders in the system. The boy's parents were murdered in front of him, for God's sake. He needs compassion, not jail!"

"I assure you, Mister Wayne, our boys receive only the best care available in the juvenile system."

"Doctor Cunningham, if your comment wasn't so ludicrous, I'd cry!"

Fox followed Wayne out the door. Wayne turned to him and shook his hand.

"Thanks, Lucius. That'll be all for now. Our session in Family Court is for ten a.m. Monday morning. I'll see you and Mary Margaret then."

Fox nodded and left.

Dick stood as Wayne turned his attention to him. He felt his neck keep going farther and farther back the closer Wayne approached. Dick couldn't remember ever having met anyone this huge before, except perhaps Jacques, the circus strong man. Or Batman, he amended. Wayne smiled gently, then lowered himself to one knee. He held Dick's eyes intently.

"Dick, I'm sorry that you were brought back here after Batman promised that you wouldn't be. But most of all, I'm terribly sorry about your parents. I know that there isn't anything anyone can say that will ever make you feel better, so I won't try. Dick, I want you to know that the judge has said that you may come and stay with Alfred and me until they can find you a more permanent home. You don't have to agree, though. There is absolutely no pressure here. What do you say? You ready to break outta this joint, kid?"

To Dick's amazement, Wayne's somber voice took on a playful tone, punctuated with a poor imitation of James Cagney. Despite everything, Dick found himself nodding and smiling in response . . .

****

That was then; this is now, Dick thought. What if the Judge says I *have* to stay in the JDC after all? What if I have to go a foster home with people I don't even *know*? What if I never see Pop Haly or Mr. Wayne or Alfred ever again? Dick felt a little surprised that the thought of never seeing Bruce Wayne or Alfred again made him feel so sad. He'd been so scared and lonely for so long, and the few days he'd spent with them had seemed so comforting, almost as if he'd arrived home.

It had made his return to the JDC all the more painful. Dick turned and looked over his shoulder. Alfred gave him an encouraging smile; Pop looked sadly at him, but managed a smile nevertheless. Wayne just looked at him intently, then suddenly his mouth quirked unexpectedly in his half-smile. That suddenly seemed to fill Dick with the courage to face whatever fate had in store for him.

Why did Mr. Wayne just seem to inspire him so? Why was it Mr. Wayne to whom he kept turning to for approval? He didn't really know, but there was something about him. He just seemed to radiate strength . . . just like his Dad used to.

That was it! Even though Mr. Wayne and his Dad were almost nothing alike on the surface, underneath they were both exceptionally strong men, able to exude confidence. That's why Dick had never been afraid on the trapeze; his Dad's confidence just blazed outwards and enveloped him in its web. He was never afraid because he knew that his Dad would always be there to catch him. Mr. Wayne had the same aura surrounding him. Instinctively, Dick knew that if he went to live with Mr. Wayne, his new guardian would always be there for him.

Dick looked towards McEwan and the others. They were all dressed neatly for court; the boys were all wearing ties and Kat was wearing a lovely sweater and matching skirt. Ghoul looked like he was going to burst out of his sport jacket. His tie looked ridiculous on his huge neck. Montana and Jay Dee looked like themselves only cleaner. Jay Dee had even tied back his hair into a ponytail. McEwan wore his signature Gotham Knights leather jacket in lieu of something dressier. He still looked better than the other guys, thought Dick.

McEwan's warm brown eyes broke into a rakish smile, and he gave the younger boy a thumbs-up. Dick noticed that McEwan's arm was no longer in a cast. As if reading his mind, McEwan suddenly stretched and bent his formerly broken arm. Dick smiled back at him. He was really glad to see that his friends were all safe. He'd felt guilty that he'd caused them to jeopardize their lives when they went looking for him, but McEwan had laughed it off . . .

" . . . Hey, Dick, we got so used to lookin' after you, that we wouldn'ta a known what to do without you! Besides, that's what friends do, remember? We take care of each other . . . "

Dick suddenly felt warm and happy. No matter what happened, he had friends and family, people who loved him and cared what happened to him. What more could a kid ask for?

Judge DuBois' pronouncement almost came as a denouement. "Having considered all of the petitioners' arguments, this Court must take into consideration first and foremost what is best for the child in question. Therefore, this Court awards custody of Richard John Grayson to Mister Bruce Wayne of Gotham City. Mister Wayne, you are being afforded one of the most challenging duties that is the privilege of this Court to give . . . that of a parent. This means that the needs, both physically and emotionally, of this child are now your responsibility. I do not award this privilege lightly. Dick's testimony of his treatment and his personal feelings based on his brief stay at Wayne Manor decided it for me." She paused then addressed Pop Haly.

"Mister Haly, I can only commiserate with what you may deem to be a second loss; however, it is not the Court's desire to be either cruel or unfeeling in the handling of your petition. Mister Haly, as the child's godfather, you are awarded visitation privileges, the terms to be determined later." Judge DuBois gave a dramatic pause. "This Court is adjourned!"

"All rise!" As soon as the Judge exited the chambers, Alfred and Bruce reached across the railing and shook hands with Mary Margaret.

Pop Haly sat still a little longer, looking resigned and disappointed. Dr. Cunningham might not have been happy about Bruce Wayne's petition, but she knew she couldn't win against his vast resources; however, she fought like a wildcat in her determination to keep Dick away from the so-called *evil* clutches of the circus. She accused Haly of only wanting the boy for monetary gain. He looked up at Dick and reached across the railing to hug him closely.

"Dicky," Pop Haly said fiercely, "you know that no matter what, we'll *always* be family. If you *ever* need me, just call or write, and I'll be on the first plane to Gotham City. Promise me that you'll call me if you're unhappy . . . promise me."

"I will, Pop. I promise," Dick said, hugging the man he thought of as a grandfather, fearing that it could be for the last time.

Soon Dick was surrounded by well wishers. His circus family had been subdued by the fact that he wouldn't be coming home with them, but they were nevertheless happy for him that he'd become the ward of one of the world's wealthiest men. The Network came over and also wished him well. Kat hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Dick blushed furiously and looked down at his feet in embarrassment.

"Well, Dick, I guess this it . . . you've got a new home, and we . . . well, we have to return to our *old* one!" McEwan said sardonically.

"The JDC! But Fingers, you helped me! You helped the police! Why do you have to go back? Mister Wayne can't you help them?" Dick looked at Wayne beseechingly.

"As a matter of fact, Mary Margaret here is *already* doing just that, aren't you, Mary Margaret?"

Mary Margaret smiled at her young client. "I most certainly am, Dick. Mister Wayne has decided that Wayne Enterprises has enough corporate lawyers on the payroll, so he's setting up a special division of the Wayne Foundation to serve as pro bono legal aide to the community." At Dick's uncomprehending look, she explained, "Free legal help." Dick's eyes shined with pride.

"That's great! Did you hear that, Fingers? Mary Margaret is gonna be your lawyer . . . and she's *really* good!" McEwan grinned at Dick's eager endorsement.

"I heard that all right, Dick, and believe me, the guys and I will take whatever help we can get to get out of JDC. Oh, one more thing. Mister Wayne is also going to offer us positions with Wayne Enterprises when we're all finally released." Wayne raised his eyebrow silently. McEwan cleared his throat. "Well, maybe not exactly with Wayne Enterprises, but we're gonna be setting up a youth center in the old neighborhood, to give kids an alternative to gangs."
He smiled at Dick. "And because you're the guy who's largely responsible for it, I want you to have this to remember me by."

McEwan removed his Gotham Knights jacket and put it around Dick's shoulders. Dick's small frame looked lost inside it. Dick looked at McEwan horrified.

"Fingers, I can't take your jacket! It wouldn't be right!"

"I *want* you to have it, Dick . . . Please, it would make me real proud to know that you were wearing it. And don't worry, little Acrobat . . . you'll grow into it!" Dick threw his arms around McEwan's neck and held him tightly.

"I'm gonna *miss* you!"

"Hey, who says I'm going anywhere? Like I said . . . me and the guys are gonna be running a youth center in our old neighborhood. Who's to say you can't come visit us now and then?"

"Can I? Mister Wayne?" At Wayne's nod, Dick gave him a smile that lit up the gloomy courtroom. Everything was going to be all right after all.

Epilogue

As they drove up the long, winding road to Wayne Manor, Dick reflected on everything that had happened to him in the past few weeks. Despite the pain and tears, there had been moments of laughter and happiness, because there were people who loved him. Dick knew now that he wasn't alone.

Alfred pulled the limo up to the front door. He stepped out and opened the rear passenger door. Wayne emerged first. He was closely followed by the newest addition to Wayne Manor. Alfred quickly closed the limo doors then hurried up the front portico to the Manor. He reached the door before his employer was even halfway there.

As Wayne and Dick stepped through the front door, Alfred cleared his throat, then quite formally announced, "Welcome home, Master Dick!"

The End

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