Chapter Two


He was working late one night, going over the books, trying to work out how to make ends meet for the little mission with its tiny congregation that needed help, rather than being able to give it, when the kids came back.

This time there were more, at least eight, all of them with blades or makeshift clubs. Their leader kicked the door open and strode into the chapel, a long knife in either hand.

"I told you to leave your knives at home next time you came." John said as he looked up from the account books.

"I don't listen too good. Me and the boys here are gonna take this place apart, and if you try and mess with us again, we'll kill you." John asw the cold flame in the boy's eyes, and believed him. He was a general shamed in front of his army, and now he wanted to get his dignity back.

"I believe you, son. But you aren't touching God's house, not tonight, not ever." He stepped forward, and slipped into a Ninjutsu stance.

"Look at this, guys, bible-thimper here thinks he can fight!" The child who was not a child moved forward, sharp steel ready, and his army, a children's crusade lost and gone horribly wrong, moved around to flank their prey, cut him off from escape. They were out for blood.

"Lord Jesus, I could use some help about now," said John. "If you're inclined to send me some, I'd be much obliged." Leader stepped in and struck with his blades, and John dodged and dropped the boy with a kick to the torso. "Amen."

He was fending off attacks from all sides, trying to keep himself intact without doing too much damage to his attackers. He was strong, fast, and well-trained, but there were too many, and they had tactical superiority. Soon he'd have to stop pulling punches if he wanted to get out of this in one piece.

Like a midnight whirlwind storm came the shadowed figure of the Batman, through the door, and into the melee. By the time he had closed the distance, two of the punks were already dropped by batarangs to the head. He swept into the others with controlled fury and smooth dark grace, bringing the young killers down without compassion, without mercy. He struck hard and fast, and within moments, six more were on the ground.

Another two had evaded Batman, and closed after John. He grabbed the knife arm of the formost one, and broke it. The second had a nail-spiked baseball bat, which he swung with abandon at the preacher, who ducked, caught the weapon on the backswing, and punched it's owner's face in.

All was silence for a moment, as the two men stood surveying each other over the field of battle. John was first to speak.

"Batman. Been a while."

"We've met?"

"Fifteen years ago. We were living down on Jackson Street then. Dad drunk, and beating Mom again for some fool thing, looked near to killing her that time. I was eleven, hiding under a table, hoping he wouldn't start on me again."

Batman nodded his cowled head slightly. "I remember."
John continued. "You saved us. Mom left Gotham after that, took me with her. Went to school, went to seminary."

"You came back."

"God puts us where he wants us, and I wanted to work here."

"Why?"

John thought about it. "You were there for me, maybe I can be here for someone else. Besides, I've always wanted to see you again. To thank you."

The dark vigilante was motionless as a stone gargoyle. "I do what I do because it needs doing, not for thanks. You took a big risk trying to handle these by yourself. Be more careful." Sirens sounded in the distance. Batman moved as if to leave the church.

"Hey, Batman!" He turned. "Will I be seeing you around?"

"I'll be nearby."

"You know, the church is open to everybody. Stop by sometime." John realized rather suddenly that he was talking to empty air.

*******************************

"It's like this city gets brimstone fumes from hell wafting through it. Makes people crazy." Charley McCoy was musing out loud as the two of them replaced a broken window. The church had been doing fairly well, and John's encounter with the young gang had generated enough respect for him on the streets to keep potential harrassers at bay, but it was still Gotham, and things like this happened.

"Kind of makes you wonder," said John, "What it is about this place. Crime, corruption, more homicidal nuts than Arkham can hold, all running loose in this one spot." He tightened the window's frame, and tested it's security. The new pane was made of plexiglass, hopefully able to withstand future vandalism.

"Lucky thing for this city that we've got Batman and his group."

"Lucky for us, too." John agreed. "He probably saved my life a few weeks back."

Charley nodded. "These kids start early. Vicious by the time they're outa diapers, killers by the time they get into high school. The bunch you started a feud with weren't anything special."

"I was too cocky. Tried to take them all on. Outnumbered, they had weapons, and I was trying not to hurt them. Big mistake on my part."

"I hear you were doing pretty good before Batman showed up."

"I was able to keep them off me for a while. Three or four I might have handled, but a group like that, I'd have had to really hurt 'em to win."

Charley stood, examined the new window, and nodded his satisfaction. "Well, they were trying to kill you. Self-defense is self-defense."

John stood as well. "Maybe so, but I didn't feel right about crippling kids."

"I hear one of 'em had a busted arm."

John looked embarrassed. "I got a little exited, lost control for a second."

The two men went inside, and sat down on one of the pews. Charley looked deep in thought for a while, then spoke.

"Seems to me that, acting in self-defense, and not doing any permanent harm to a fellow trying to knife you, there's nothing to bother your conscience with."

"You're probably right. C'mon, we need to clean up and get ready for the service."

*******************************

That evening's service had a fairly good turnout. About three dozen people showed up, including a few faces John didn't recognize. As he led the small congregation in the singing of an old gospel hymn, his eye was caught by a latecomer entering and sitting in the back row. He was raggedly a raggedly dressed old man whose face was dominated by a scraggly gray beard.

With the musical segment over, Charley got up and preached a short sermon on the importance of hope, one of God's great gifts. Charley was a fairly good speaker, and his message seemed to make an impact on his listeners.

"God made man, and he made man to be free. He made man to be without fear! Now, the world is a pretty scary place sometimes, espescially this part of it (a smattering of amens from the congregation punctuated his speech) but God doesn't want us to give in to that fear. He wants us to conquer it! He wants us to have faith in him, and in his ability to provide. He wants us to love each other, to take care of each other. He wants us, brothers and sisters, to have hope for our future, because it's in His hands. Mankind has made the world pretty grim, and it's hard, sometimes, to see past that, but hope should never die, because as long as you have hope, you have strength!"

At the conclusion of the sermon, John led another hymn, then turned the shabby podium over to Charley, who gave the benediction. At the close of the service, the old man was first to head for the door, but John button-holed him.

"I don't believe I've seen you in here before, sir. You new?" he asked friendlily.

"You might could say that," answered the old man. "Name's John Reilly."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Reilly. Pleasure to see you in church."

"Well," Reilly said, "you did invite me." As his spoke this last, his voice changed, became the rumbling sound of power and authority John had heard twice before in his life.

"Nice getup."

"My working clothes tend to stand out in a crowd." Was that a wink? Had Batman, the Caped Crusader, just winked at him? Impossible.

"Well, it was a pleasure seeing you here, Mr. Reilly. Stop by again sometime."

"I just might do that," he answered.

That night, they found a roll of five hundred-dollar bills in the offering plate.