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Gunshots in an alleyway. Two bodies fall … and then a third.
Matches watches the rich boy collapse. Having money didn’t protect him; having his parents there didn’t save him. The mugger grabs wallet and jewellery and flees. He doesn’t notice Matches hiding behind box, and then he’s alone with three dead bodies, one of whom is the same size as him.
Who looks lot like him, actually.
Matches gets an idea. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea but he doesn’t have time to think about it. He wraps the rich boy in a scarf the mother dropped, and drags him into a nearby building he knows is empty. He hides the body as best he can, takes the jacket for himself. There’s blood all over it. Maybe it will stop anyone from noticing his ratty clothes. He goes back to the two adults and starts screaming like it’s his parents who’ve been shot.
It works like a charm. An hour later he’s tucked into a blanket at the police station with cops trying to ask him what happened. He sticks to blubbering and one-word answers and tries to hide his Crime Alley accent. He figures out his name is supposed to be Bruce.
Then one of the cops says, “Bruce, your family’s butler is here to take you home.” Shit. Matches didn’t count on someone showing up who would recognise Bruce. The man in the suit raises an eyebrow at him, but takes him by the hand.
“Come along.”
Matches doesn’t need to fake his sniffles. They drive in a very rich car to a very rich house. He gets sat at a kitchen table with a mug of cocoa in front of him and the butler says, “Now, you are certainly not Master Bruce. What is your name, young sir?”
“Matches, uh, Matthew Malone.”
“Thank you, Master Matthew. I am Alfred Pennyworth, butler to the Wayne family.”
Oh crap. Even Matches knows that name. “Wayne?!”
“Indeed. May I ask where Master Bruce is?”
“He – I mean – he was – ain’t no one gonna recognise him now. And I jus’ thought, he don’t need his money no more, and I – I know it ain’t right, but – ”
Alfred pulls him into a hug. “You have had a great shock tonight, Master Matthew, and it’s time for you to get some rest.”
Matches thinks that Alfred has also had a big shock and isn’t thinking any too straight. If it means sleeping under a roof tonight, Matches is keeping his mouth shut.
***
Matches wakes up with sunbeams coming through a window onto his face. The room doesn’t look like a kid’s room – it would be so creepy to sleep in Bruce’s bed – and the door isn’t locked. Matches thinks he remembers how to get to the kitchen, and wanders through the halls gaping at all the rich-people art and ornaments lining them. The kitchen is empty, but the back door is open and there’s muffins on the table. Matches filches one and ventures outside.
He follows the sounds of a shovel to Alfred, who’s digging up a flowerbed. He’s pretty far down already, and there’s something wrapped in a blanket laid on a bench – oh.
Alfred looks up. “My apologies, Master Matthew. I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”
“…You found him.”
“I did.” Alfred scoops another shovel of dirt out of the hole.
“And you didn’t tell the cops?”
“I have had ample time to think things over tonight, and with your agreement, the best course may be to continue your ruse.”
Matches is confused. “Why? So you can keep your job?”
“I assure you, my pension and savings are more than adequate. That does not concern me.” Then why – ? “If I had the slightest faith that the police would treat you fairly, I might have considered another course of action. They will be looking for someone to blame.”
Matches sits down hard. “They’d say I done the whole job. They’d put me away forever.”
“Precisely. There has been enough harm done tonight, and I do not wish to add to it.”
Matches is going to start crying again. “But you don’t know me. I could be a real crook.”
Alfred sets own his shovel and comes to sit next to him. “I believe I have seen enough to judge your character, no matter what actions desperation may have driven you to.”
Matches looks over at the still form on the bench. It’s not fair; Bruce isn’t even going to get a funeral, and a Crime Alley street rat doesn’t deserve … any of this. “I don’t even know how to act rich.”
“No one is born knowing such things. They can be taught.” Alfred sighs. “Thomas and Martha Wayne would never turn away from a child in need. And as you said earlier, they have no more use for their wealth.” He sounds sad, and he must have been up all night. “I shall not force this on you. If you prefer, I can arrange a living situation for you – something better than juvenile detention, that is.”
But then the cops might try to pin the whole thing on Alfred. And even if they don’t, he’ll be all alone in this huge house, missing people he cares about, and he’ll have to deal with the funeral and everything too.
“I want to try. This. With you.”
“I look forward to your company, Master Matthew.”
“…I guess you oughta start calling me Bruce.”