Part Four
Dick led Emily into the mostly darkened house, moving from small pool of light to small pool of light made by strategically placed table lamps, pausing to kiss, embrace and share a soft caress along the way.
A few years ago, when they were in school together, Emily had a crush on Dick, never thinking anything cold ever remotely come of it. He was too handsome, too smart, too nice to ever be interested in her, she was one of the girls who everyone liked well enough, she was pretty enough, she was smart enough, she was nice enough—but not anywhere near up to the level of Dick Grayson. He was too, too—he was too good for her and so he'd stayed one of adolescent fantasies, carefully put away with her yearbook and cheer-leading sweater.
This was just of the moment, in the morning it would be over and, with any luck, they'd part as friends who'd shared a nice weekend. Nothing more.
They made their way slowly up the main staircase, their footsteps muted by the think carpeting.
"Is anyone else here?"
He pressed her up against the wall for a long moment as he leaned close to kiss her throat. "No one who'll bother us."
"But—Dick, stop, who's here?"
He pulled back a few inches. "Bruce, I guess, Alfred, maybe a couple others in the out buildings, the security people." He kissed her again. "It's all right, no one will bother us. " He smiled close to her. "They're all used to Bruce, it's fine."
That was the wrong thing to say and he knew it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "This happens all the time?"
Crap, that wasn't what he meant. "Not to me, no, but would you rather leave?" He meant it, he didn't want to force anything, didn't want her to feel threatened or uncomfortable.
"Are you saying 'let's just be friends'?"
He couldn't tell if she was kidding or not. "I'm saying let's not do anything we don't both want to do, it all." He waited but she didn't say anything. "Really, if you want me to drive you home, I will and see you tomorrow at the softball game; no problem."
Emily put her hand on his chest, rubbing just enough. "If it's okay..." She moved her other hand, turning the knob on the door behind her, letting them both into Dick's suite of rooms.
"So, explain to me how you don't have a girlfriend." She was laying on her side, facing him, her head propped up on her hand and both of them were covered by a sheet—barely. The moonlight made a pattern through the window on the bed.
"No time, got dumped, no one can stand me for more than a few months; take your pick." His hand was trailing along her shoulder. "I don't know, I'm in Bludhaven, 'work odd shifts with the department and it gets weird when a woman finds out about", he gestured around the room, "this."
"'What? They want you for your money? I guess some do but how do you tell the difference? How do you know that they don't really like you?"
"Y'see, that's the catch. Sometimes I guess they might actually want to be with me, but I've been burned a few times about it and, y'know, it's hard to be with someone."
She turned onto her back, her face still turned towards Dick. "I was engaged for awhile but he couldn't deal with me having to leave dinners or cancel plans because of mom."
"Then he was a jerk." He kissed her hand. "That sucks."
"Yeah, it did, pretty much but you can't always decide who you're going to fall in love with."
"Mmm." Somewhere in the house they could hear a clock strike four AM as Dick yawned. "Time to sleep."
"...Is this going to be weird in the morning?"
He found her hand, kissed it again. "No. Sleep."
"Jesus, I knew Grayson was connected but this is a Black Amex card. It's time to party, m'friend."
"No spending limit? Christ, Grayson landed in it." Dave flipped through the rest of the stuff in the wallet; a platinum Master Card, a platinum Visa, Grayson's badge and police ID, a few snaps of a seriously hot brunette and a couple of built guys at a cook out and again on some tropical beach and an 'In Case of Emergency' card listing no name but what was probably old Bruce's private line.
Score!
Brian interrupted his gold plated train of thought. "So, let's move before he figures out it's gone and puts a hold on it."
Their first stop was the Porsche dealer three towns over from Brixton and, with some fast talking and the unexpected help of a new and desperately needing to meet his quota salesman named George, they were driving off the lot in a new, loaded 911GT RS, black with the black wheels and standard red and black interior.
Two hundred and forty-five thousand dollars. Plus tax. Plus shipping and freight charges.
Okay, the idiot should have checked and, in a way, he did. He did call the company, the credit card company and made sure that the card hadn't been reported stolen. He asked for further ID and got it—a driver's license with a kind of smudged picture and a look at Grayson's cop badge. And he got the attitude that only the truly super rich can pull off because it's somehow inbred or something. The attitude that said 'Are you seriously asking me for ID? Don't you know who I am, you ant?'
Yes, of course he should have called, oh, maybe the bank or maybe even Wayne Manor but he really needed the sale and the manager wasn't in yet and, dammit, he really, really wanted to be the one to sell that baby and it was Richard Grayson—Wayne's son, f'God'ssake. You might as well ask Bill Gates if he could afford to pay his dinner tab.
And yes, it cost him his job as soon as the dealership owner came in and made the calls to check the legitimacy of the sale and the owner of the credit card and was told that American Express had made a call to the home number of the real card owner and been told that no one in that household had purchased anything at all that morning. They had tried to call the car dealership but their calls and e-mails were unanswered; the receptionist wasn't in yet and who was checking e-mails when one of the biggest sales of the year was in progress? He was fired three seconds after the car was reported stolen to the local Police Departments and an APB was put out on the damn car.
The owner stood behind his desk, grinding his teeth and grinding his teeth.
Idiot.
Moron.
Imbecile.
A quarter of a million dollars on wheels that could go over two hundred miles an hour and it had left almost ninety minutes ago because the salesman—ex-salesman—hadn't waited for a standard credit card check. It could be in any of four states and going.
George was going to hang for this if there was any justice. He took the bottle of Tums out of his top drawer and swallowed a hand full.
"How did the reunion go last night?"
"All the evidence seems to indicate it was a success, sir. I expect that the rental people will be here shortly to clear away the remaining flotsam and jetsam."
"Did Dick enjoy himself? He seemed a bit ambivalent about the thing when he asked about holding it here; I was hoping that he ended up having a good time, at least."
"I suspect he made out quite well, renewed old acquaintances from what I saw."
"Oh?" Bruce knew what that meant and was privately pleased for the boy. Maybe it would turn into something, let him move past Barbara Gordon.
"Alfred, any idea why a Brixton squad car is pulling in?" The Master was having his usual six AM light breakfast, consisting black coffee; one cup only.
"I've no idea, sir. Would you prefer that I deal with them?"
"If you don't mind, yes. I'll be downstairs if it's anything I need to be involved with."
"Of course, sir."
"Ah-hmm. Forgive me, Master Richard, terribly sorry to wake you but I'm afraid that there are some gentlemen here who wish a few moments of your time if you would be so good as to join them in the main library."
Dick was, of course, awake as soon as Alfred opened his door, making sure that Emily was properly covered. The conversation was conducted in whispers.
"Who's here?"
"Two gentlemen from the Brixton Police Department. They wish to ask if you might have purchased a Porsche this morning and, as I suspect that you haven't, if you could ascertain the location of you credit cards and personal identification."
Dick got up, never one for false modesty, pulled the jeans he'd tossed over a chair back on and padded barefoot to his dresser looking on top where he'd left it and around on the floor, just in case. "My wallet's gone." It was said matter of factly, calmly and without much surprise. Then, grabbing a clean tee-shirt he pulled it over his head as he went through the door with Alfred, silently closing the door behind them.
"Forgive me, but the young lady...?"
"Emily. Let her sleep, I'll deal with her when I'm finished with the police." Alfred, used to such things from the master, nodded without comment.
"Officers, is there something I can help you with?"
"Richard Grayson?"
"Yes, and I've checked, my wallet is missing."
"You're sure that it not simply misplaced?"
"Yes, I specifically remember leaving it where I always do at night and it's not there."
All right, I understand that there was a party here last evening, is it possible that one of the guests or workers is responsible?"
"That would be my assumption, yes."
"You carry cards with high credit lines?"
"I have a Black Amex card, among others. I understand that someone used it to buy a Porsche this morning? I'll make sure that everything in my wallet is cancelled—Alfred, would you pull out that list, please?"
"I'd be pleased to make the calls for you, Master Richard."
"Yes, thank you." Alfred left the room, the local police kept their thoughts to themselves.
"Anything else in the wallet we should know about?"
"My badge and ID; I'm on the police force in Bludhaven, my badge and ID card plus a few more credit cards."
"Money?"
He shrugged, "A couple of hundred dollars."
"You're an officer with BPD? Precinct?"
"Third."
"'Cop on the beat?"
"I was just promoted to Sergeant, 'started working violent crimes."
The man, the detective looked a little surprised. This kid? What, did he have to take the silver spoon out of his mouth when he took the exams or did he have a flunky do that for him, too? "You're young for that."
"I guess."
"So you were careless last night. 'You have anyone who you know was walking through the house you don't trust?"
"Not that I know of, no. The security here is usually pretty good, have you looked at the surveillance tapes yet?"
"...Not yet. Do you mind if we do?"
"No, of course not." They hadn't even checked to see whether Wayne Manor's security staff had cameras running throughout the property. Yokels. Bruce was one of the wealthiest men on the planet, he and everyone close to him were targets for any number of criminals and lunatics, of course he had heavy security on site. Dick picked up the phone beside him. "Jim? Please allow the officers to see last night's tapes, all right? Thanks. I can watch them with you if you want." Just then Alfred walked in carrying a tray with coffee and some pastries. "Jim will be here in a minute with last night's tapes, we'll watch them in the media room, if you don't mind, Alfred."
He silently withdrew, taking his tray with him down the hall to the screening room, the three men following. Two hours later they had Dave and Brian identified as wandering through the private quarters of the house, including the corridor housing the family bedrooms and suites. It seemed clear that they were the most likely suspects and a order to find and restrain them as persons of interest was entered.
"Sergeant, we'll be in touch."
"If I can do anything..."
"We'll be in touch, thank you for your time."
Alfred saw them out as Dick went back upstairs. He had some things to do today and at least one of them was making sure Emily didn't think he was ditching her or that she was just a one night stand.
He silently pushed the door open, silently simply because no door in Wayne Manor would dare to move any other way and heard her talking as he crossed the threshold. She was still in bed, sitting up but facing the large windows over looking the pool, her back to him.
"...idiots—with the security in this place and a guest list with every name..." She stopped mid-sentence, turning abruptly and closing the cell phone in the same movement. "Good morning! I was wondering where you'd gotten yourself off to." She stretched just enough to loosen the sheet nominally pulled up around her and gave him a come-hither look. "'Care for breakfast?"
TBC