Concerned

Part 1

"Mr. Grayson."

"Mr. Grayson."

"Mr. Grayson?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Grayson. Am I interrupting something more important to you this morning than learning all there is to know about the end of the Civil War?"

Dick turned his head back from where he'd been staring out the window to look at Mr. Weidman. The man wasn't a bad guy, he wasn't even a half bad teacher but this just wasn't the day for it. Dick managed polite, that was about the best he could hope right now. Concentration on history wasn't an option.

"I'm sorry."

The man softened a little as he stood next to Dick, seemingly answering some question for himself as he regarded the boy. "We were talking about the effects of Lincoln's assignation on Reconstruction." Normally he would ream out anyone he even suspected of not paying full attention to whatever they were supposed to be thinking about that day but after a moment he simply walked back to the front of the classroom and directed his attention elsewhere for the rest of the period. Thank God. "Miss Conners, would you please enlighten us about the economic ramifications of…"

The voices droned on in the background and the students who had been looking over at Dick with mild interest returned either to their own daydreams or the teacher's lecture. Sitting in the hard, straight-backed chair, Dick was trying to find a comfortable position but wasn't having much success.

His back was killing him almost as much as his ribs were. He'd been out patrolling with Bruce last night as usual but somehow Dick's hands had slipped slightly on the rope causing him to misjudge a landing and he'd ended up slamming against a brick chimney instead of landing beside the thing. He was sure that at least two, maybe three of his ribs had broken and his back was a solid mass of bruising and scrapes. Somehow Bruce hadn't noticed and he'd been able to hide how much it was hurting on the way back to the cave. Barely.

This morning he'd showered, taped himself as well as he could and made sure to wait until he'd heard Bruce leave for the office before coming downstairs, purposely late so that he could get out quick before Alfred caught on. Dick was trying to just soldier on, but he was in some serious pain here. Sitting without moving or leaning against anything was doing a number on his back as well and he could feel every muscle tightening up and beginning to cramp. It hurt to breathe and he knew he should-at the least-be home in bed. In fact he should probably be in a hospital or Leslie's clinic or someplace.

Shit.

Finally, finally, after another half hour the bell rang and Dick wondered how he was going to stand up, let alone make it to his next class. He could barely move and it was going to be pretty much impossible to carry this off all day long. Gym was going to be a bitch.

Damn.

But if he'd stayed home that morning Bruce would have found out that his ribs had been broken last night. He would have insisted that Dr. Leslie check him, tape him up and she would have made him miss a few days of school and since he'd already missed fifteen days since the start of the year he couldn't afford any more. He'd be risking summer school and Bruce would be major pissed, all the summer plans would have to be scrapped and Dick would be to blame.

He'd had no choice; he'd had to come to school no matter how crappy he felt. Now if he could just figure out how to stand up and walk with no one being the wiser.

The students filed out of the room, leaving Tom Weidman alone with the Grayson kid. He'd been watching the boy all period and it was a no brainer that the kid was in some serious pain. It could have been the result of a sports injury or a fall off a moped or something along those lines. It was possible that he'd been in a fight or-and this was the one he was concerned about-someone might have done this to him on purpose.

Grayson was a smart kid, a good student and wasn't a troublemaker but something about the boy was 'off', not right. He lived in some kind of broken home for one thing and Tom had noticed that he had a 'guardian' instead of parents listed in his records. Well that wasn't necessarily anything, but he'd missed a lot of school this year. He didn't seem to have a lot of friends, kept to himself a lot. He seemed friendly enough when you talked to him, just didn't mix with any crowd.

There could be a lot of explanations for that but the one Tom kept coming up with, the one that seemed to fit, was that someone was beating the hell out of the kid-and regularly-and the kid was like a lot of abused kids who tried to keep the secret. Dick seemed to have a lot of bruises and more sprains than most kids. The boy came to class with black eyes and taped knuckles every few months. He was defensive and withdrawn when Tom had tried to draw him into any kind of personal conversation. Dick was always polite enough, but he never gave out any information about his home life and that was enough to make Tom suspicious.

And Dick often seemed tired a lot, too, like he wasn't getting enough sleep for some reason.

If he was hiding something, maybe it was something that should be brought out for the child's sake. He sat in the seat beside the young man; all the other students had left. They were alone together.

"You alright?"

Dick was slowly closing his backpack, almost ready to leave for his next class. "Fine." He just sat, seeming to gather his strength, tried to stand and swayed back into his chair.

Tom just watched, saw the way his face went white with pain. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. Someone do this to you, son?"

Dick's head whipped around, the vivid blue eyes staring a challenge to the man. "No one did anything to me. I just twisted my back in gym yesterday. It's nothing. I'm OK." His voice was quiet, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

"There's blood coming through your shirt."

Damn scrapes must have opened again. "It's nothing. I told you, I'm fine."

The teacher reached across the narrow aisle and carefully lifted the hem of Dick's blue tee shirt until the rib tapes were uncovered, now stained with the seeping blood. "That looks like it hurts."

"I'm fine. I told you, I just hurt myself in gym yesterday. It'll be OK in a day or two, I'll just take it easy and it'll…"

"Dick, look, um, when I was in school my father had this really bad temper. He'd have a bad day at work or someone would cut him off driving home or something and he'd need to take it out on someone. One night he broke my arm in three places and would have done more if my brother hadn't laid him out for me."

Cripes, he thought Bruce or someone was hitting him. "…It's nothing like that. I mean, I'm sorry that you had a shitty family, but it's not like that for me."

"Come down to the nurse's office. We'll get some fresh bandages on that."

"I can't-I have to get to class. I'm late." He forced himself to stand, hiding the grimace of pain. "It's nothing like what you think. Honest." He started toward the door. "I know you're trying to help, but it's fine. I'm really OK. I don't need any help, I don't need the nurse. I really don't."

"Dick-if you need, if you want to talk to anyone-you can call me. Here or at home, it doesn't matter. You can call me anytime."

"I gotta go."

Tom followed him out the door and touched his arm. "Come with me." He opened the door to the teacher's lounge two doors down from the classroom they'd just left.

"I'm late for class."

"I'll write you a note." There was no one else in the cramped lounge; all the teachers were elsewhere at the moment. He sat Dick on a stool next to the small sink. "Take off your shirt." Getting out a first aid kit he quickly cleaned off the seeping scrapes, wiped them gently with antiseptic and covered them with enough bandages to stop the blood. Going to his small locker he took out a clean navy blue button down shirt and slipped it over Dick's arms, helping him with the buttons.

"You call me, day or night, you hear me?"

"It's not what you think. It isn't. I was just clumsy. That's the truth."

Weidman nodded. It was obvious he didn't believe a word of it. "I'll write that note for you."

After Dick had left Tom went down to the nurse's office, Mrs. Metzger was having a cup of tea at her desk.

"You look like you have something on your mind, cuppa tea help?"

"Sure, thanks." She handed it to him black. The woman didn't believe in sugar or cream, just the purity of the steeped leaf itself.

"So…?"

"You know the Grayson kid?"

"Dark hair, smart, junior class?"

"That one, you know him at all?"

"Not all that well, no. He's been in a couple of times for an aspirin or something, nothing major. Well, come to think of it, he had the flu a few months ago and said that there was no one home to get him so he ended up taking a nap here for a couple of hours. Why do you ask?"

He sipped his tea. Damn the woman made it strong. "I have a suspicion that he may have a problem."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I think he's either being bullied pretty badly by someone or he's being abused at home and I lean toward home."

"That's a serious charge, do you have anything to base it on?"

"He's often injured-sprains, bruises, that sort of thing. There was a black eye a couple of months ago-and this morning he was roughed up enough that he could hardly get to class. I tried to talk to him about it, but he pretty much closed up, insisted that he'd hurt himself in gym yesterday. You know, the usual evasions."

"You want me to follow up on this, Tom?"

He finished his tea, he had meeting in a minutes. "Yeah, I do, but tread lightly, OK? He's running scared from something and I don't want him to bolt. Don't ask him directly, at least not yet and I'll get Carl to watch him during Phys Ed, see if he notices anything." He got up to go. "Do you know anything about his home life?"

She shrugged. No, not really. The boy wasn't a troublemaker and didn't have any kind of chronic condition she needed to watch, she hadn't had any reason to really go through his records but would now. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks. Later."

Dick had managed to get through the day by taking too many Advils, but gym was going to be a real test of mind over body. He had gym last period and he noticed the teacher, Carl Seyfert, wandering through the locker room when they were changing and that he'd stopped to talk to Jim Collins at the end of the row while actually trying to cop a look at Dick's back.

Shit.

He'd turned his back to the wall, but from the expression on Seyfert's face, he'd caught enough of a glimpse to bug his eyes out. He shouted at the boys to move out but stood blocking Dick when the room had emptied. "You feeling alright, son?" Seyfert had never called him 'son' in the two and a half years Dick had been in his classes. If he ever had reason to call him anything it was always 'Grayson' and usually he'd just point. He even touched his arm to keep him where he was after everyone else had walked out to the gym.

"Fine."

"You having a problem with someone in school?" He was talking with his head down so the other kids wouldn't hear. "You cross someone you shouldn't have?"

Dick sighed. Damnit, Bruce would be pissed if anything got out about-well, about anything. "Mr. Weidman asked you to check me out, didn't he? I told him that I'm fine; I'm just clumsy sometimes. That's all. It's no big deal. I hurt my back myself with no one's help." He was keeping his voice down as well as the teacher. No reason to broadcast anything.

"You don't strike me as a klutz. You want to tell me how it happened?"

Christ. "I slipped and fell. Honest, that's all that happened." Sort of. On a rooftop at three in the morning while patrolling with Batman.

They walked into the gym office. "You see a doctor?"

"No need. It's nothing."

Seyfert called out the locker room door, "Hey, Jim." The assistant football coach was doing something on the sidelines out in the main gym. "Take my class for a few minutes, will you?"

"Sure, Carl."

He took Dick's arm, "Every single one of your teachers today have noticed that you're moving like you're hurt so I want to make sure you're really as alright as you say you are." He steered Dick back towards his locker. "Take your shirt off so I can see for myself.

Dick was stuck. If he refused they'd call in the principal or someone and if he took his shirt off he was screwed.

"What is this, a strip search?"

"C'mon, son, you know that we're just concerned about you. If you want I'll call another teacher in here as a witness."

He was trapped and he knew it. As carefully as he could he lifted the tee shirt over his head and turned around so the teacher could see the bandages.

"That's enough, get dressed in your street clothes."

"Why, what are you going to do? I told you, I just tripped, for Chrissake. No one hit me, no one beat me up and no one is out to get me, OK? I just frigging tripped."

Seyfert handed him the gym shirt he'd just taken off, the one he'd been wearing for about five minutes. There was blood on it already. "How old are you, Dick?"

"Fifteen. Why?"

The man didn't answer, just nodded in dismissal. "Why don't you just finish out the period in study hall?"

An hour later, just as the students were leaving for the day, the two teachers, Weidman, Seyfert along with the nurse were in the principal's office discussing their suspicions about Dick Grayson.

"You know that by law I have to call this in to DYFS immediately. After that they decide what to do. It's out of our hands." (Note: this stands for Division of Youth and Family Services and is pronounced Dye-fuss)

"For God's sake, Bill, you should have seen the kid's back-it looked like someone used him for a punching bag."

"Carl?"

"He's right, Bill. He showed all the classic abuse signs. He was defensive, angry, insisted that it was his own fault…"

"Is that possible? Is it possible that he just fell down the stairs or something?"

"I've had this kid in gym class for almost three years now and I'd call it a long shot. He can move when he wants to. He doesn't seem interested in any of the sports we offer, but the kid is built like an athlete and he's pretty damn coordinated. I think someone did this to him."

"Mrs. Metzger? Do you have anything to add?"

"Well, the boy needs to be protected if there's a problem, of course, but you do all know who the system will be going up against, don't you? The Grayson boy is an orphan-I gather the poor thing actually saw his parents die right in front of him when he was around eight or nine-and Bruce Wayne took him in. He lives on that big estate about five miles from here."

"The one behind those big stone walls and the gates? Bruce Wayne, as in 'Bruce Wayne'?"

She nodded. "And Wayne is one of the richest men on the entire planet. He'll have a defense team and a publicity machine that will demolish anything that isn't airtight. If you want to make sure that boy is safe, it has to be a strong case or the state will lose and then God knows what will happen to that child."

"So…"

"So make the call. If the kid is being abused we have to report it."

"And we all know that no one can know about this. Legally this is confidential until-or if-any charges are filed. Don't tell your families or any of the other staff. And don't say anything to the child."

"He knows that we've seen the injuries."

"Hell. Well, don't say anything else to him. Our hands are legally tied with this."

"He's a smart kid, he's bound to figure out that we have to do something."

"If he's being abused he'll probably thank us."

"And if he isn't?"

"Then that's a good thing."

"Let's hope Wayne thinks so."

"Let's hope Wayne doesn't get his jollies beating up kids."

"And if we're wrong, let's hope he's not into lawsuits."

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"Master Bruce, there's a Ms. Clarke calling for you from DYFS. She says it's a matter of some importance."

"DYFS?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is Wayne, how can I help you?"

The voice on the other end of the receiver was as cold as his own could be. "Are you available this evening, Mr. Wayne?"

"Available for what?"

"I'd like to interview you, if you'd agree to it. I can be there in five minutes, I'm just outside your gate."

"Usually interviews are arranged through my office, Ms Clarke, if you'd like to call in the morning I'm sure that we can arrange…"

"Thank you, no. I'd prefer to meet with you now, if I could."

"…Regarding…?"

"I'll be happy to explain it to you in person, Mr. Wayne, but I strongly suggest that you see me."

A social worker wanted to see him now? Hell, that meant something about Dick and it meant that there was some kind of trouble or they'd have called during business hours and met him at his convenience.

Bureaucrats. It was always best to try not to antagonize them.

"In that case, come in. Follow the drive to the main house."

#####################################

She was a woman of her word. Inside of five minutes-less, actually-she was ringing the bell. Alfred showed her into the study and Bruce rose to greet her, offering the usual pleasantries. She declined coffee or tea.

"I'd prefer just getting down to business, if you don't mind."

"What business do you have with me, Ms. Clarke?"

"Is Richard home?"

"He's up in his room doing homework, did you wish to see him?"

"In a little while, yes, until then he can just stay where he is." Bruce was annoyed at the woman's attitude, coming into his home and telling him where his son could be was a bit much. "I have to tell you that I'm here to look into a suspicion that your ward might be living in an abusive situation. I'd like to speak first with you, look through your home here to make sure that it's appropriate for a child to live in and then talk to Richard privately. Are you willing for me to do this?"

Of all the possible things she could have said to Bruce, suggesting that Dick was being abused in some way was probably the most outlandish thing she could have come up with.

"Might I ask who has suggested something this absurd?"

"If I find reason for an investigation you'll be allowed to know who made the report, until then it's privileged information."

Bruce just stared at her. Jesus. Dick an abused child? What bullshit. "And if I decline to answer your questions or ask to have my lawyer present?"

"That's your right, of course, but in that event I would be forced to remove Richard immediately to prevent any possible injury to the minor."

"Ask anything you wish, Ms. Clarke. Please be seated." They sat in the two leather club chairs on either side of the lit fireplace. It crackled softly in the background.

"First of all, may I ask who was the gentlemen who answered the door? I gather he's some sort of servant?"

"Alfred Pennyworth has been with the Wayne's since before I was born. He's family."

"And Rickard is an orphan you brought into your home shortly after the deaths of his parents seven years ago, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And before that time, you didn't know the boy? You weren't a relative or a family friend of some kind?"

"I first met Dick the night his parents were killed. I happened to be there when it happened and I went over to try to comfort the child."

She didn't seem impressed. "And what made you want to take him in, give him a home? He has relatives, doesn't he?"

"His family made it clear that they were either unwilling or unable to take him in. I did so because-obviously-I felt sorry for him and because my parents were also killed when I was young."

"You felt an affinity for the boy?"

"Yes."

"It seems that you managed to speed the process of foster guardianship quite a bit, according to what I've read. Money does tend to grease the wheels, doesn't it?" Her implication was insulting and Bruce was getting angry.

"I didn't buy Dick and I didn't bribe anyone to 'speed the process', as you put it. He was a traumatized child who needed a stable home as quickly as possible. Commissioner Gordon saw the same need I did and he personally delivered Dick here within a week of his parent's deaths. The paperwork was finalized about a year later."

"And do you feel that this is a suitable home for him? You're a single man with a reputation as-forgive me, Mr. Wayne-a busy man and one who is largely concerned with his own pleasure and social life. Do you think you're a suitable father figure for Richard in terms of being an example to him?"

Bitch. "Dick seems to me to be a generally happy and well rounded young man. And yes, I think I'm a good parental figure for him. He seems to be doing quite well."

She just gave him a level look. "It's been brought to our attention that Richard is often absent from school and that he often seems to be injured." She looked at her notes. "He's had numerous sprains, bruises, black eyes and the like over the last two and a half years he's attended Steadwell Academy. Could you explain to me how these injuries occurred?"

Christ. "Dick is an athletic young man. He works out in the gym we have down stairs daily. Sometimes he hurts himself there. He also skis, rides horses and is a generally active teenager. That's how he hurts himself."

She was writing in her notebook. It was disconcerting.

"He also worked as an aerialist with his parents-I assume you have in your notes that he was raised in a traveling circus. He's an accomplished acrobat and gymnast. He's continued his training in those fields and it's inevitable that he have an occasional injury."

"And you consider such activities acceptable?"

"The boy is talented and enjoys what he does. Yes, I consider it acceptable."

"Have you ever struck Richard?"

No, but I could strike you, bitch. "Of course not."

She checked her notes. "I have a report that you have struck him across the face at least once in public, Mr. Wayne, would you care to tell me about that incident? It was witnessed in the parking garage of Wayne Enterprises about six months ago."

That had happened on the anniversary of the Grayson's deaths, always a bad day.

Dick cut school, boosted the Porsche and went joy riding. Barry had caught up with him and driven Dick and the car to the office. Dick had sassed Bruce and Bruce had-it was true-backhanded him. He had also immediately apologized and Dick had promised never to pull a stunt like that again. He told the woman the bare bones of what had happened.

"Are there any other times you've struck him, Mr. Wayne?"

"No."

"Has Mr." She checked her notes, "Mr. Pennyworth ever struck or disciplined Richard?"

"Never."

"There are also reports that he has been sent to school when he was obviously ill and when the nurse tried to send him home was told-by Richard-that there was no one home because, and I'm quoting. 'Everyone is in Europe.' He ended up spending the day sleeping in the nurse's room. Could you comment on that?"

Hell and damnation. "Dick was left here once for two days because I was called to London on an emergency and Alfred-Mr. Pennyworth accompanied me. Friends were looking in on him and he had all the needed phone numbers. Dick is also a remarkably independent young man." Dick had insisted that he would be fine-which he was-and the entire JLA was aware that he was staying alone and making sure he was fine. He couldn't have hurt himself if he'd tried.

"Richard is fifteen and a minor, Mr. Wayne. May I speak with him now?"

It was apparent that she wasn't impressed so far. He stood and indicated that she was to follow him. They made their way quickly up the grand staircase and down the long hallways to Dick's closed door. They could hear the sounds of Springsteen coming through it. Bruce knocked and a few seconds later Dick opened it. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved Tee shirt that revealed the bruising on his arm that went up to his shoulder.

"I AM doing my homework…oh, sorry."

"How did you get that?" Bruce was looking at the injury. Damn kid, never told him when he was hurt.

"I slipped last night. It's nothing."

"Why didn't you tell me or Alfred?" So that's what this was about. Hell.

"I told you, it's nothing." Dick looked past Bruce to the social worker.

"Dick, this is Ms. Clarke, she'd like to speak with you privately. Just answer whatever she asks. I'll be downstairs." Bruce turned and left and the strange woman stood in the doorway.

"May I come in, Dick?"

He stepped aside and gestured her in and to a chair by his desk. There were several textbooks open there. He really had been doing his homework. He turned the music off.

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

She was looking around the room. Like the rest of the house it was a showplace, but this room was lived in, unlike the museum she'd been walked through. It was a typical teenager's room, although a particularly well appointed one with state of the art entertainment equipment, computer and flat screen TV.

She smiled at him just enough so that he was supposed to think that she was his friend. "This is quite a house, Richard. You seem to have just about everything anyone could need in here." She was taking in all the stuff in his room-the clothes, the electronics, the size of the suite he lived in. It was bigger than her apartment. "That's a nasty bruise you have on your arm, how did you get it?"

"You heard what I told Bruce, I tripped last night."

"Why didn't you tell him about it, or Mr. Pennyworth? It looks painful."

"It's nothing, just a bruise."

She also noticed how stiffly he was sitting. "Did you hit your ribs or your back when you tripped?"

"A little, I'm alright." This was a no-brainer and it wasn't like he'd never met a caseworker before. She might as well have had 'Child Welfare' tattooed on her forehead. "Someone thinks Bruce or someone is hitting me, right? He's not. No one is. I just tripped."

"Some people are concerned about you, we just want to make sure that you're not being harmed in any way." He didn't say anything. "Has Bruce ever hit you, Richard? For any reason?"

"No."

"I see." The boy was clearly lying. I have a report that Mr. Wayne slapped you a few months ago in public because you had cut school and taken one of his cars. Is that true, dear?"

He shrugged a 'yes'.

"Why did you cut that day?"

"…It was a bad day, OK?" He was clearly uncomfortable with that.

So much for the happy picture Wayne had tried to paint for her. She changed the subject slightly. "Has Mr. Pennyworth ever struck you?"

"Alfred? God, no. Alf wouldn't hit a fly."

"Do you like Mr.…Alfred?"

"Of course I like him. Alfred is great."

"What were you doing when you tripped last night, Richard, would you tell me?"

No frigging chance in Hell. Think fast. "Last night I was working out in the gym and missed a catch on the high bar. It happens sometimes. It's no big deal."

"You like gymnastics, do you?"

This woman was getting on his last nerve, coming in here and asking questions that were none of her business. Pain in the ass. "You read my background, I was raised to be a circus flyer. I've been doing this stuff since I was three."

"Oh, yes, of course. That must have been exciting, traveling all over." She smiled again, trying to be his friend. "Do you ever see any of your real family, Richard? Are you on good terms with them?"

"Not since they tried to get control of the trust fund my parents left me. Well, except my grandfather. I see him when I can."

"You're close to him? Would you like to live with him, Richard?"

Dick went still, he knew where this was going. "Look, Ms….Clarke? I want to stay where I am. I don't want anything to change. I want to stay with Bruce. He treats me just fine and so does Alfred. After my parents were killed he was the only one who gave enough of a rat's ass to give me a place to live and he's-he's good to me. Sure he's a little stern sometimes," Dick gave an inward laugh at that-sometimes? "But he cares about what happens to me. If you send in some report saying that I should be moved I'll petition the court for legal emancipation and just do what I want, so don't waste your time."

"Mr. Wayne has admitted to striking you, Richard and you tried to deny that it happened before you admitted it yourself. You're a very smart young man, you have to understand that neither of those things are acceptable under any circumstances."

They were on two different sides of the fence and this woman had obviously already made up her mind.

"You can't make me move."

"I have to do what I think is right to protect you, that's my job. I understand that your grandfather lives somewhere in Europe? That complicates things, but I understand that you'd rather be with someone you're close to and I'll do whatever I can to help you." She stood up, ready to leave. "You can trust me, Richard, all I want to do is help you."

"Then leave me alone." He walked with her down to the front door, still moving stiffly. "I told you, Bruce didn't do anything to me and he never has, other than take care of me and give me a home. I want to stay here with him and with Alfred. If you try to force me out, you'll lose because I'll fight as hard as Bruce will to keep me right here."

"I'm sorry, Richard." Opening the front door he saw the squad car from the local PD. It was just sitting there with two cops leaning against the fender. They walked up to where Dick and the woman were standing in the doorway. Bruce and Alfred had come into the entranceway when they'd heard the voices coming down the stairs. "Officers? Richard will be coming with us this evening. Mr. Pennyworth? Would you please gather enough of his clothing for a few days? Mr. Wayne, our office will contact you in the morning."

"Fuck you. No. I'm not doing this."

The two cops were standing between Dick and the door in case he bolted back inside. "C'mon, son, no one wants to hurt you, this is for your own good."

"Bruce! Stop them."

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sure that you'll call your lawyers and you can file a protest in the morning but this evening Richard is being removed from your home for his own safety."

"Bruce, this is bullshit-tell her!"

"Ms. Clarke, at least let the boy stay the night…"

"With your resources, Mr. Wayne, what assurance would I have that either of you would still be here in the morning? He needs to come with us until we can finish a more complete investigation into his welfare."

Dick was near tears, pleading. "Bruce…" The police each had one of his arms and were trying to lead him to their car.

"I'll get this settled, you know I will. Dick-go along with them tonight…"

"No!"

"Go along with them for now, you know it's all garbage and we'll prove it. You know we will-you know that."

"But…"

"We'll win this thing. I promise." Bruce gave him a small nod, telling him it would be alright. It would. Go along for now and it would be OK.

"Our office will be in contact with you, Mr. Wayne."

"And my office will be in contact with you, Ms. Clarke. You can take that to the bank."

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