Chapter Eight

"Mi-Hyun said that they'd torch their store tomorrow night if her father didn't come up with the money. Oh, Jamie, it's just too much! Zucco's after Dick and now he'll destroy the Chu's business. How can one man be so evil?"

"He's not evil, Kat . . . just misguided," Montana broke in facetiously. McEwan and Kat just looked at him. Montana swallowed his laughter and slinked off to bed. "No sense of humor. Sheesh!" The backroom was filled close to overflowing. The boys had set up enough army cots and sleeping bags for each of them, plus the bed that Dick currently occupied.

Dick listened quietly as Montana crawled into an empty cot. He heard a sleeping bag being zipped up accompanied by the muffled sounds of Montana settling in. This was soon followed by slow measured breathing as he fell asleep. As soon as Dick was sure that Montana had fallen asleep, he crawled slowly out of bed. He grabbed Elinore and studied her in the room's dark shadows for a few moments.

It would be hard to take her with him, but he couldn't bring himself to leave her. She'd been with him all of his life. She was all he had from before. No, he wouldn't abandon her. Setting his jaw in grim determination, Dick tucked her inside his jacket. It made for a snug fit, but it was doable.

Dick moved silently across the room. He paused at the door and listened carefully. Low voices. McEwan and Kat were talking sotto voce. Dick slowly opened the door and checked the hallway immediately on the other side. Empty. The voices were coming from the abandoned nightclub's kitchen area. Dick crouched low and moved in a bit closer.

"But what will you do with him, Jamie?" Kat asked. "He's only nine. He needs a home . . . parents . . . people to take care of him."

"I can take care of him," McEwan protested. "I've taken care of him so far, haven't I?"

"Oh, sure," Kat scoffed. "This is the perfect home for a little boy. An abandoned building in the middle of Crime Alley . . . a real high class neighborhood populated by hookers, drug addicts, and perverts . . . Yeah, Suburbia USA!"

"So what should I do, Kat?" McEwan asked. "Return him to the JDC? That would be *real* smart! Why don't I just hand deliver him to Zucco and cut out the middlemen?" McEwan sounded angry. "Don't you see? The little Acrobat's life is in danger every day that Zucco and the Vigils are allowed to run free. And nobody cares! The system is too busy giving orders and telling the kid's circus people that they're not *suitable* to take care of him. That it's too dangerous for a kid to live in a circus. Meanwhile, no one's paying any attention to the fact that they've locked him up in a cage with predators who are more dangerous than any lion ever found in a circus!" McEwan paused. "I *can't* abandon him, Kat. He's got no one left . . . no one except a stuffed elephant for crying out loud. The kid *needs* me, Kat. *I* need him."

Dick was sitting on his haunches on the other side of the wall separating the front room from the kitchen. He felt himself near a breaking point. If he waited any longer, he'd start crying again. No! He wouldn't cry . . . He was almost ten years old. He wasn't a baby anymore. He liked McEwan . . . a lot! . . . but as long as he stayed with him, McEwan, Kat, all the others were in danger. He *had* to leave.

Haly Circus might be gone, but he knew that their next location was the LexDome in Metropolis. Their first show was a scheduled charity benefit for the LexCorp Foundation. The Flying Graysons were supposed to be the opening act. Dick didn't know who would be in center ring now, but the show must go on. Dick reflected on how he felt about it. Intellectually he accepted it . . . that's show biz after all. But he knew that in his heart, he'd never be able to face going on without his Mom and Dad. After all, they had been The Flying Graysons--a family act. At the moment, he didn't believe that he'd ever be able to go on as a solo.

Maybe Pop Haly would let him stay on as a roustabout, he thought hopefully. He shook his head sadly. No, to return to Haly Circus would only place them *all* in peril. No matter where he went or with whom he stayed, as long as Zucco was after him (he recalled McEwan's explanation about the gutted-out buildings), anyone who gave him shelter was in mortal danger.

The best thing for everyone involved would be for Dick Grayson to simply disappear. As Dick began to move stealthily to the entrance, the voices from the kitchen stopped him.

"Jamie, I know how you feel, but Dick isn't Bobby. No matter what you do, you'll never bring Bobby back. You're not being fair to Dick, Jamie. Your guilt over Bobby's death is only hurting Dick's chances of ever finding a decent home!"

"That's not true, Kat!" McEwan replied in anger. "You *don't* understand. You couldn't! Your family doesn't live in a neighborhood that resembles Beirut . . . a war zone! None of your family has ever faced anything more frightening than a ruined dinner party! When those gang members *accidentally* killed Bobby, I discovered that Zucco was behind most of the gang activity in my neighborhood. I swore then that I'd do everything in my power to stop him. If stopping him means helping the little Acrobat, then that's the way it is! That kid's a direct line to the Vigils, and from them, Zucco!"

Dick swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. So that was it. He was just a means to an end. McEwan was just using him. Well, he'd show him . . . he'd show them all. He didn't need anybody. He could take care of himself. Hadn't he proven it time and again that he could hold his own?

"I'm outta here!" Dick whispered fiercely.

Unknown to Dick, as he left the abandoned nightclub, Kat and McEwan kept on talking.

"Jamie, if I thought for a minute that what you just said was true, I would've taken Dick and left long ago. You're not using that boy to get back at Zucco. You're helping him because that's the kind of person you are. You're always helping people in trouble. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were some kind of vigilante do-gooder. But I don't think you have the butt for spandex tights." She added the last part with a smile.

"Oh yeah? Says who?" McEwan replied with a suggestive smile. "Wanna test out your theory?" At her answering smile, he took her hand and pulled her to him. "This isn't exactly the Gotham Hilton, but I just happen to have a sleeping bag for two."

"Hmm-mm. 'Just happen,' huh?" Kat said. Without another word, McEwan kissed her fiercely. Not yet seventeen, their relationship had crossed the line months ago. They were always careful, but even so the newness of the experience still hadn't worn off. McEwan turned from her and quietly crossed over to the back room to retrieve the sleeping bag.

On impulse, he walked over to the lone twin bed to check on Dick. McEwan's heart stopped. The kid was gone! He threw the sleeping bag on the bed and rushed out of the room.

"He's gone! The kid's gone!" McEwan's voice was on the edge of panic. "I'm going out to search for him. If I'm not back in thirty minutes wake the others." He faced Kat, his eyes agonized. "What if he heard us? What if he heard what I said about--?" He couldn't finish. Not waiting for a reply he quickly left.

****

"Good morning, Mister Wayne. Everyone's already waiting for you."

"Thank you, Maggie. Hey, is that a new hairstyle? Looks good!" Wayne smiled pleasantly at his executive secretary. Maggie's heart fluttered for the umpteenth time.

"Down girl," she muttered as Wayne stepped into the executive conference room. "Bruce Wayne is *not* looking for love in his own backyard! Or in his front office for that matter," she added.

The atmosphere in the conference room became electrified as soon as the head of the largest corporation on the East Coast walked in. Lucius Fox grinned to himself. The secret behind Bruce Wayne's success was that everyone saw him differently. The men and women sitting around the conference table saw him as an enigma, a brilliant financier and futurist whose ability to read the market and anticipate future trends kept Wayne Enterprises on the forefront of business and the cutting edge of technology.

Fox saw him as a loyal friend and employer. There were those who saw Wayne as "that zany zillionaire," as a certain Gotham gossip columnist had once referred to him, but Fox knew better. Wayne had a mind as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel, and as brilliant as the brightest nebula in the sky. In short, if Wayne was believed to be a careless playboy, it was because it suited him. There were many a business rival who'd underestimated the "Boy Billionaire" and had ended up the loser.

"Gentlemen, ladies, good morning," Wayne greeted. Fox stood and offered his hand. Wayne shook it warmly. "Lucius, thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice."

He placed his briefcase at the head of the conference table, but instead of taking his seat immediately as Fox had expected, Wayne hesitated. He looked at the assembled group. In addition to Fox, his right hand man, two men and two women, la creme de la creme of Wayne Enterprise's corporate lawyers, looked back at him. Finally, he took his seat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I called you here today for a personal problem . . . by personal I mean, something that affects *me* personally . . . not Wayne Enterprises." He paused to allow it to sink in. He saw several looks flash across the faces of his lawyers and almost smiled. Their looks showed that whatever they thought he was going to talk about, it was something that his mother would have highly disapproved of. Well, sorry to disappoint them, he thought.

"Two weeks ago, I attended the charity circus benefit given by Haly Circus. While there, I witnessed a heinous crime as it was being committed . . . the murder of John and Mary Grayson, the circus aerialists. The Flying Graysons left a son . . . you might remember him from the news programs . . . a nine-year-old boy and a brilliant aerialist in his own right. In fact, he'd just wowed the crowd with his quadruple *Death Drop* spin prior to his parents' fatal plunge."

At their nods, Wayne continued.

"What you may *not* be aware of is that the boy was not allowed to remain in the custody of the circus owner, Mister Harrison H. Haly, AKA Pop Haly, who also happens to be the boy's godfather . . . nor was he placed in a foster home. Richard John Grayson, a boy of nine, a boy who'd just witnessed the murder of both of his parents, was remanded to the custody of Child Welfare Services and placed in the Juvenile Detention Center, until I understand, a suitable foster home could be found."

The hardened lawyers gasped in shock. "Outrageous!" "How awful!" "How could something like this happen?"

Wayne looked at Fox. Fox nodded and stood. "Ladies and gentlemen, please . . . may we return to the topic at hand?" The lawyers quieted, although Wayne noted that one of them looked particularly upset. "There's a little more. Mister Wayne has called us here today to draw up a petition in Family Court requesting that custody of Richard Grayson be granted to him." The news was greeted by shocked silence. You can hear the conference room clock ticking, Wayne thought sardonically.

"But, Mister Wayne," Jayne Dover sounded apologetic. "Sir, you're unmarried . . . Family Court will never award custody of a minor child to a bachelor."

"Never say never, Jayne," interrupted Bob Stevenson. "There is precedent here. Especially, if Mister Wayne offers to legally adopt the boy, *and* make him his heir?" Stevenson looked towards Wayne for confirmation. At Wayne's nod, he continued, "What judge in his or her right mind would deny *that* kind of opportunity for an orphaned child?"

John Hawkins jumped in. "The media circus alone would guarantee a legal victory--"

"NO!" Wayne's raised voice startled them all into silence. "I will *not* turn this boy's tragedy into a media event! I called you in because you've proven in the past to be the best! I want the best legal defense to help me adopt this boy; but if the court decides against me, then I want the best possible defense to help place this boy in a loving home. I *don't* want to see him sent back to the JDC!"

"Excuse me, Mister Wayne." Wayne turned to Mary Margaret Scott who'd spoken for the first time. She was an older woman, who'd graduated from law school summa cum laude at the age of forty-five. She'd joined the Wayne Enterprises' legal staff six years ago, and had proven her worth time and again. She'd also been the one who'd earlier looked deeply affected by the boy's predicament. "I thought I'd heard in the news that the boy had run away from the JDC. Has he been returned?" Wayne shook his head.

"No, currently the boy's whereabouts are unknown. But that's neither here nor there, Mary Margaret. I want the petition done in absentia if necessary. I'd like the boy to see that there's someone out there who cares about his health and welfare; someone who wants only the best for him."

"I understand, sir . . . and may I add that I'd be proud to lend whatever assistance is necessary. You see, Mister Wayne . . . *I* was adopted as a child. CWS had tagged *me* as unadoptable. I was the child of an unmarried welfare mother hooked on heroin . . . father unknown . . . I was believed to have suffered brain damage from my mother's addiction." She paused, then smiled. "My adoptive Mom said that the moment she laid eyes on me, she couldn't stop thinking of me. She and Dad had gone to the orphanage to adopt a baby, and instead they left with me. I was five. I'd been hiding underneath the stairs all day. I can't remember why . . . I just remember being scared for some reason and wishing that my new Mommy and Daddy would hurry up and come get me. They did." She smiled, her eyes tearing up. "Whatever help you need, Mister Wayne, you've got it."

"Thank you, Mary Margaret," Wayne said quietly. The rest of his staff looked around uncomfortably.

"Mister Wayne," Hawkins spoke up. "I apologize for my earlier crack about a media circus. Sir, if there's any way I can help you get custody of that little lost boy, I will." The rest of the corporate lawyers murmured their support. Wayne nodded and thanked them all.

It was a subdued group of fast-tracked, high-priced lawyers who filed out of the executive conference room.

"Lucius, can you wait a moment?" Wayne's quiet voice stopped Fox before he left. Fox nodded and returned to his seat. Wayne poured himself a glass of orange juice and raised his eyebrow at Fox.

"No thank you, Bruce." Wayne nodded then gulped down the contents in a single swallow.

"Twenty years ago, Lucius, my parents were murdered in front of me. I've never forgotten. It's a pain I live with every day, a loss I've never been able to put aside." Wayne spoke quietly, staring at the empty glass. In his mind, he heard his mother's laughter as they left the Monarch Movie Theater. He felt his father's warm hand on his shoulder. He suddenly saw the gun flash . . . his mother's pearls falling in slow motion onto the pavement below. His mother's screams rang in his mind. It was an old black and white 8-millimeter tape on continuous replay. 

His mother's screams were replaced by the Flying Graysons' terrified cries as they plunged down to center ring. Their little boy's frightened *NO!* echoed over and over. Wayne ran a hand surreptitiously across his eyes.

"His face haunts my dreams, Lucius. Each night before I finally fall asleep, I see him kneeling there in the spotlight between his parents. I see him . . . I see myself." Wayne looked up at Fox. "I can't let him down, Lucius. I can't let this 'little lost boy' believe that there's no hope . . . that there's no one left who cares what happens to him."

"Bruce, whatever I can do . . . " Wayne nodded and stood. He walked over to the great picture window that overlooked the Gotham City skyline.

"Thanks, Lucius. I want this matter handled quickly and efficiently . . . all *I's* dotted and *T's* crossed . . .all *whereas's* and *wherefore's* in the appropriate places. You know the drill . . . I want Jason Bard Private Investigations brought in on this. Tell Bard I want him to personally find out if the boy has any living relatives that the authorities might have missed. I want everything humanly possible done to help this boy, Lucius . . . and then I want the *im*possible . . . Give me a complete report first thing tomorrow . . . Oh, and have Maggie check on the status of the remains."

Wayne dropped his voice.

"It's been almost two weeks now, and I understand that there hasn't even been a funeral yet." 

Fox nodded and stood. As he opened the door, Wayne's quiet voice stopped him.

"And Lucius, I owe you." Wayne heard the door close quietly behind him. He stood looking out on the panoramic view. Somewhere out there was a small, frightened boy. "I know how you feel, son . . . your world has come to end . . . and it seems that no one cares. I swear on my parents' graves that I'll do everything possible to show you that there *is* someone who cares . . . someone who wants to help. Stop running, son; let me come to you tonight . . . let me bring you home."

Wayne didn't realize how prophetic his statement was.

****

The lengthening shadows told Kat that it would soon be sunset. They'd been searching for almost fifteen hours now, and there was still no sign of Dick. She looked over at Jamie. He'd been too distracted to drive, so she'd forced him to sit on the passenger seat. He looked worn out. The others had fanned out and were combing the streets on foot. She and Jamie must have questioned over a hundred people. No one had seen one small, blue-eyed, dark haired boy. Or, at least, no one claimed to have seen him.

Kat pulled over to the curb.

"What are you doing?" McEwan asked. "We haven't searched this neighborhood yet!"

"Yes, we have! Oh, Jamie, we've searched it twice already. And the next street over, and all the streets after that!"

"Then we'll search it, again, dammit!" McEwan yelled. "He's gotta *be* someplace. A kid can't just disappear!" Kat burst into tears. The pressure had become too much. The worry, coupled with the guilt that somehow it was her fault, finally took its toll.

"It's all *my* fault!" She yelled. "Go on, say it! You've been thinking it all day long! If I hadn't pushed you, last night . . . if I hadn't made you say those awful things, he might not have run away . . . it's all my fault." Kat began crying in loud brokenhearted sobs. McEwan couldn't believe it. He'd been kicking himself all day for Dick's disappearance; apparently he'd been so busy blaming himself that he hadn't noticed the pain that Kat was going through at the same time.

"Hey, Kat, don't . . . please don't cry. Of course it isn't your fault. If anyone's to blame it's me. I'm the one with the big mouth remember? I'm sorry I yelled at you . . . I'm just scared. Zucco's people . . . the Vigils . . . those men you mentioned earlier . . . any one of them could've bagged him . . . even . . . " No! McEwan wouldn't say it; he wouldn't even think it! The Acrobat was all right . . . he was just lost, but he was all right. I have to believe that, McEwan thought fiercely. I have to believe that Dick's still alive.

"Jamie, he's so completely alone now," Kat sobbed. "What are we going to do? We need help . . . we can't do this alone! Please, Jamie, we need to go for help! For Dick's sake!" McEwan nodded. *Going for help* as Kat put it, meant going to the police, which meant going back to the JDC.

"Let's go," McEwan said.

Chapter Nine

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