Joe awoke to the sound of knocking at their front door. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock which read 12:08 am. He grunted in surprise and grabbed the bat next to him. Slowly he went to the door and keeping the chain locked, he opened it.

"Joe, it's me!" a familiar voice hissed urgently. "Quick let me in!"

"Zeke?!" Joe whispered back in shock. He shut the door, unfastened the chain and let the youth in. "What are you doing here?!" He asked as he fastened the door shut again.

"I know, I know," Zeke muttered. "I know you made it clear that your parents aren't supposed to find out but I wasn't thinking straight and I figured maybe you can help—"

"Whoa, Zeke, slow down!" Joe said, turning the lights on in the kitchen. He offered Zeke a seat. "Now, what's going on? Where are Sam, Hank, and Carl?"

"I—I don't know, Joe! It happened so fast!" Zeke stammered loudly and nervously.

"Shhh!" Joe warned. "My brother's upstairs, keep it down!"

"Sorry, are your parents—?"

"No, they're out of town."

Zeke nodded slowly, trying to take a breath.

"Okay, so what happened?" Joe continued.

"The Trumps. I don't know how they found out but they did. They knew we'd be there at the docks. They came with their baseball bats, jack knives, clubs, blackjacks.... it was real scary, man. I mean, the Keepers have always managed to keep everything under control and in place but ever since the Trumps have been recruiting other gang members they've doubled and turned most of the gangs into book clubs! They creamed us! There were more than thirty of them, I'd say. The Keepers have only twenty or so members."

"So that's what happened down at the docks?"

"The meeting wasn't supposed to start before one o'clock but everyone is usually there before then anyway."

"But I thought you weren't going?" Joe asked.

"I didn't," Zeke said. "But Carl came to the Yard and told me what had happened."

"So what did happen?"

"They were attacked. The Trumps jumped on 'em. It was the perfect opportunity to. Everyone was so unprepared for it since as a rule you're not supposed to bring any weapon to a meet."

"Cheap hoodlums," Joe growled, "on the offense against guys with no defense or offense!"

"I know," Zeke snarled with a clenched fist, his fear and nervousness replaced with anger.

"What did they do?"

"Keepers don't go down without a fight. Carl told me they grabbed nets nearby and broke glass windows for anything they can use to defend themselves. Some Keepers ran to warn the others or call for backup but few of them got past the Trumps that surrounded the place. They were outnumbered, man. Carl saw Sam go down and Hank was trying to help him. But then Head told him to warn others. I guess he managed to get around the Trumps and to me."

Joe nodded. "Okay, let's go, we have to get to the Docks."

"I don't know, Joe," Zeke mumbled. "Maybe we should stay at the Yard and wait for any others to come."

"We have to get to Head and help the others otherwise there will be nobody to wait for at the Yard!" Joe urged as he put his jacket on. Zeke nodded walked into the living room to wait for Joe.

"You sleep in your clothes…and in the living room?" Zeke asked, only then realizing Joe was fully dressed and the pillows and blanket were strewn on the sofa.

"Only on meet nights," Joe said.

"Oh," Zeke understood. "So, ummm, what about your brother?" He spied a family photo nearby and felt his eyes stinging a little with sorrow and a little envy.

"He'll be fine," Joe muttered somewhat angrily as he packed his bag with a few clothes.

"Does he know?" Zeke asked.

"It's better he doesn't," Joe answered. "He won't understand."

Zeke smiled at him sadly.

"My big brother didn't understand."

Joe laughed. "Bet you wished you didn't have one in the first place."

"He got killed in the crossfire between some gangs."

Joe paused guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I was fifteen then. He was just a year older than me. He'd be eighteen now."

"Frank's eighteen," Joe said. "I'm just a year younger than him." He turned to Zeke with the backpack slung over his shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, Joe," Zeke said. "Your brother's probably been telling you that too. Even if he doesn't know exactly what's going on, he knows something's wrong. That's what big brothers do. Maybe you should just stay here the rest of the week and spend it with him."

"I've got my other brothers out there too and they need me more than he does" Joe said quietly, secretly mulling over everything Zeke and Frank had said earlier. "Let's go."

"Don't say I didn't try," Zeke mumbled. "Okay."

"So where exactly do the Trumps stay?"

"Nobody knows 'cept them. But Carl managed to pick this out of one of their pockets in the scuffle," Zeke handed Joe a small wrinkled piece of paper. "It's the abandoned theater downtown. It's a big rundown place, easy to hide in but not so easy to hide."

"Why would a Trump be holding one of these? Wouldn't they already know where the hideout is?" Joe asked.

"Not if they were a new recruit," Zeke pointed out.

"Right," Joe threw the flyer onto the kitchen table and he and Zeke walked out the front door, carefully locking the door behind them.

"What'd you bring?" Zeke asked Joe as the Hardy slipped the keys under the doormat.

"Nothing in particular," Joe said with a sly smile.

"Exactly what we need," Zeke teased. The two walked down the sidewalk toward downtown Bayport.