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

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