Chapter Two

Dick's confinement was lifted the following day. He began his return to JDC society by trying to force down his lunch without noticing the sickly gray-tinged meatloaf. He sniffed suddenly. What was that smell? He looked suspiciously at a dark, runny mess that the cook had called *greens*. He grimaced and suddenly put his fork down. He wasn't hungry anymore.

"Hey, Acrobat!"

Dick's downcast features brightened considerably as he turned towards the sound of McEwan's voice. The pickpocket was a sight for sore eyes. The two boys greeted each other like long-lost brothers. McEwan's face was still swollen and discolored from his beating; his right arm was in a cast. Furthermore, his movements showed that he was still in obvious pain, but he was alive and looked in high spirits.

"Hey, bro . . . all hail the conquering hero . . . " McEwan said smiling. He spoke with some difficulty through only one side of his mouth.

"Hi, Fingers, I'm glad to see you're okay . . . How've you been holding out?"

Dick looked meaningfully at the older boy.  The Vigils were still around terrorizing the other juvies. It was only a matter of time before the gang came looking for them. McEwan put his good arm around Dick's shoulders and moved in closely.

"You mean aside from the two broken ribs, broken arm, multiple cuts and contusions, slight concussion, and possible damage to my spleen? Never been better!" Both boys grinned. "Come on, kid . . . let's talk outside."

With a stiff jerk of his head, McEwan indicated he wanted Dick to follow him. Then added sotto voce, "This place ain't safe, kid."

The two boys stood outside near the area around the fence known as the DMZ. This was a ten-meter strip that ran immediately inside and along the perimeter fence. It was clearly marked with a one-meter high single strand of barbed wire. At regular intervals, a small sign with the letters DMZ hung from the strand, swaying in the crisp spring breeze.

The DMZ had clear line of sight with the thirty foot manned guard towers, which were posted on all four compass points of the outer fence. The DMZ was a shoot to kill zone. Dick had to remind himself that he was incarcerated with some of Gotham City's most vicious juvenile delinquents.

"Okay, Fingers, what's up? I don't like being this close to the DMZ . . . gives me the creeps . . . I can almost *feel* a set of crosshairs on my back." Dick looked up at the guard towers nervously.

"Hang loose, Acrobat . . . Rumor control has it that Blade's segundo . . . his number two man . . . is making his play for the numero uno position." McEwan's expression looked grim. "Guess who he's gonna try to take out in order to prove himself worthy of the title?"

Dick swallowed.

"Me?" His voice was a dry whisper. How could he be making enemies? He wasn't even old enough to walk to the corner drug store by himself. An icy hand clutched his insides. McEwan nodded grimly.

"Blade ain't too thrilled about your continuing soundness of body, either . . . you made him lose face in front of the Vigils. He may be out of here, but the grapevine says that he's pretty much still calling the shots from the outside, and there're are still several Vigils here who no doubt want to publicly prove their personal loyalty to him. You've become a human target, kid . . . a walking dead man. We've gotta get you outta this joint . . . the air here ain't healthy for a growing boy."

"That's all I've been thinking about since my first day, Fingers! But, there's just too much *security* here." Dick's dark blue eyes ruefully indicated the guard towers and nine-foot fences with rolls of razor wire on top. "Uncle Carl taught me all he knew about being an escape artist . . . Unfortunately, all of his tricks were really just illusions . . . you know . . . everything was set up to ensure that he *could* escape!"

Dick shrugged his shoulders helplessly. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and scuffed his sneakered toes on the tarmac, a picture of abject forlornness.

"He never showed me how break out of a *real* prison with *real* stone walls!"

"Hey, not to worry! You know what they say," McEwan said smiling expansively. "Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage . . . I guess we'll just have prove 'em right."

"That's about the *dumbest* thing I've ever heard, Fingers!" Dick scoffed.

McEwan's smile broadened, and he held out his left hand as if to fend off an attack.

"I beg to differ, kid . . . It appears to me that the stalwart words . . .  'Let him go, Blade!' . . . uttered by a certain junior-hero-in-training . . . might just go down in the annals of the dumbest things ever said!" McEwan placed his arm on Dick's shoulder. "Although, I must admit . . . those were just about the sweetest words that *I've* ever heard. Kid, you saved my life . . . I owe you, and I always pay my debts."

Dick shook his head.

"Fingers, it's too dangerous for you to be seen with me. I think it'd be better if you just kept your distance until this is over . . . there's no sense in the both of us going down."

"Sorry, Acrobat, there's just too much noise out here. I can't make out what you're saying!"

"Fingers, really, I don't think--"

"Sorry, kid, you're coming in garbled!" The buzzer ending the outdoor rec period sounded.

"Come on, play time's over. We've gotta go back in. Besides, there're some friends I want you to meet."

The two boys began the long walk back into the relative safety of the detention center.

*****

"It won't be easy."

"Now that's a revelation," McEwan said. "Tell me, Jay Dee, do you have any more pearls of wisdom?"

The other members of McEwan's underground network looked at each other then turned their eyes to the boy who'd spoken first.

"I'm only trying to make sure that the Acrobat here understands the risks," he said shrugging. McEwan had introduced him as Jason (Jay Dee) Dieters, a computer-electronics whiz kid.

He made Dick extremely uncomfortable. The overhead lights reflecting off of his glasses made him appear almost eyeless. His scraggly blond hair looked like he hadn't washed it in about a month; indeed, the whiff that Dick had inadvertently inhaled when he initially passed by Jay Dee confirmed it. Compared to him, the circus stables had smelled lemon fresh.

McEwan walked over and stood behind Dick, placing his good hand on the younger boy's shoulder.

"Risk? Why our young Acrobat here *lives* for risk. He *thrives* on risk! Risk is his business . . . Dick laughs in the face of--"

"--Yeah, sure . . . and he hides in the shadows from the Vigils . . . " Jay Dee said wryly.

Dick lowered his head and blushed furiously.

" . . . as do we all!" added McEwan, giving Jay Dee a warning look. Jay Dee had the grace to look abashed.

"Sorry, kid . . . nothing personal," Jay Dee said apologetically. "I mean, you *did* mop the floor with Blade . . . saved McEwan's butt . . . and lived to tell about it . . . that's more than any of *us* will ever do. At least in *this* lifetime." Jay Dee's outstretched arms took in the other members of the Network.

"Okay, back to business," McEwan said impatiently. "We've got to break the Acrobat out of JDC before he's either killed or maimed or both! He's being targeted by Blade, who's out for vengeance, *and* by Napalm who wants to move in on Blade's territory."

"And I believe that that's just about as close to a near-death experience as anyone can get and still be walking," Jay Dee said dryly.

"You are just full of helpful little aphorisms today aren't you, Jay Dee?" McEwan said growing annoyed. "Look, do you have a problem with the job?"

Jay Dee looked surprised at the unexpectedly harsh tone of voice; he set his jaw stubbornly.

"Is it too much for you?" McEwan pressed.

Jay Dee crossed his arms and shook his head no.

"If you want out, let me know now, 'cause when we start the ball rolling there'll be no turning back," McEwan warned. "I'll expect a hundred and ten percent from you and everyone else involved. Clear?"

Jay Dee stared at Dick for a long moment, holding his eyes as if gauging the younger boy's worthiness then slowly nodded his head.

McEwan's hard glare took in the others.

"That goes for all of you. If there's anyone here who wants out, now's the time . . . no questions asked." He paused, allowing each of the young men to hold his own counsel. After a few minutes McEwan's smile returned with a tinge of pride.

"Okay . . . Thanks, guys, I knew you wouldn't let me down . . . First things first . . . Acrobat, let me introduce the rest of the . . . Network." McEwan smiled enigmatically. He indicated the boy seated immediately to Dick's left. "Roger--"

"--Call me Montana," the boy in question interrupted, offering Dick his hand. They shook.

" . . . Davis." McEwan finished.

"Are you from Montana?" Dick asked. The others burst into laughter.

Montana smiled sheepishly.

"No, I just like horses."

"Oh, you ride?" Dick's eyes lit up excitedly. "I was taught some really cool tricks by the Donner Twins . . . they were the circus trick riders--"

"No, kid," McEwan said. "Montana doesn't ride . . . he's never even been *near* a horse!"

"Hey, Officer O'Brien let me pet his horse that one time, remember? Over on Gotham Central Park?" Montana protested.

"You mean after he caught you pocketing candy bars from the sidewalk vendor?" Jay Dee said, smirking.

Dick looked confused.

"I don't understand . . . If you're not from Montana, and you don't ride horses . . . then why . . . ?"

"Why do I want to be called Montana?" Montana shrugged. "I saw a picture of it once in a _National Geographic_ magazine . . . it had open sky . . . beautiful mountains with streams and rivers and forests . . . and best of all, it had herds of wild horses called 'mustangs' . . . I guess Montana must be the most beautiful place in the whole world!"

Montana stared off into space lost in his thoughts momentarily. Abruptly, he snapped back, then grinned embarrassed.

"Anyway, soon as I get out of here, I'm going there . . . and when I do, ain't no one ever gonna make me come back to this dump!"

Dick didn't know what to say. He looked to McEwan for assistance. McEwan rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry, kid . . . he's been on his way to Montana for as long as I've known him! But he's the best locksmith I know, so I put up with him."

McEwan walked over to a blond, blue-eyed giant who looked like a cross between a linebacker and Captain America.

"Next, we have Daniel Goulet . . . called the Ghoul 'cause he's so frigging ugly!"

Ghoul grinned broadly, completely unperturbed by McEwan's unflattering description. Dick noted that "the Ghoul's" all-American good looks made him seem more like a matinee idol than someone who'd break mirrors.

"It's a curse, kid . . . the jealousy, I mean . . . but guys like you'n me . . . babe magnets, y'know . . . ?" Ghoul glanced over at Dick who clearly didn't understand what he meant. The others looked away to hide their smiles. "Well, anyway . . . guys like us, kid, we just gotta learn to live with the blessings that the good Lord has given us and forgive those who would covet our--"

A sudden assault of flying paper wads stopped Ghoul in mid-sentence.

"Shaddup!" "Somebody gag him!" "Excuse me while I throw up!"

"Hey, cut it out! Come on, guys . . . " Ghoul yelled helplessly from under the barrage of paper.

"Ghoul's a bit immodest, but he's a *big* help when we have to move heavy objects," McEwan said dryly. "Next, everybody's favorite sycophant and gadget guru. . . Eddie Lucca."

"Hey, everybody calls me Lucky," Lucky said, giving Dick a friendly wave. Dick liked him instantly.

"What's a syco . . . synco . . . what Fingers said?" Dick asked.

"Ignore him, young Acrobat," Lucky said dismissively. "McEwan simply attempts to cast unfounded aspersion upon my unsullied character."

"Huh?" More big words. If Dick hung around these guys much longer he'd need a dictionary!

"Last but not least," McEwan said, ignoring Lucky, "Jason . . . Jay Dee . . . Dieters . . . resident electronics whiz kid and all-around cynic."

Jay Dee gave Dick a wry salute.

"All right, now that the introductions are out of the way, let's get down to business."

Chapter Three

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