Filthy Rich

Chapter 2

In fact, Dick’s injuries were minor, looked far worse than they were and barely slowed him down. By three that afternoon he was water skiing with the other boys and making plans for a trip to the main island later for a possible dinner and visit to an under age club—or at least that’s what they told Bruce. Tom and the boys were putting the skis away when Bruce came down to discuss the evening.

“What underage club?”

“You know, the one by the big dock, the one the cruise ships use.”

Bruce took the flyer Dick handed him. “This doesn’t say anything about it being underage.”

“…Bruce…”

“I’ll come with you, make sure it really is for minors.”

“Bruce—Jesus, c’mon.”

He stared Dick down, his arms crossed over his chest, unblinking. “If you can convince Tom to go with you, I’ll consider it.”

Dick stopped, Tom was better than Bruce, hands down. “Okay.”

“I’d be happy to take them over, Mr. Wayne. ‘Be a nice change to see another island.”

“If you’re sure that you don’t mind—take Traver along with you. Thanks, Tom—this is good of you.”

Within fifteen minutes it was a done deal. The kids, including Traver would go over to the main island, a three and a half mile boat trip, find dinner at one the dozen or so restaurants within walking distance from the harbor front. After eating they’d probably end up at the club with Tom watching to make sure nothing happened which shouldn’t.

“But Master Bruce, do you think Tom is a sufficient chaperon after Roy’s misadventure last evening?”

“Tom wants to keep his job; he’ll be fine and so will the kids. Besides, Dick and Roy shouldn’t have any trouble losing him and doing their work.”

“Work?”

“You didn’t think that Dick really wanted to hit some club, did you, Alfred?”

“Well, no but I’d certainly not put it past Master Roy.”

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough with Dick and the rest mentally preparing themselves for the night ahead, the four youngsters lazing on the beach. “I told you, the girls said that they’d meet us at the currency exchange kiosk at seven.”

“And what makes you think they’ll be there?”

“Because they know that you’re connected with Bruce.”

Dick shook his head in disgust. “Jerk.”

Later, walking up the path to the main house for showers and a change of clothes before they left, Dick spoke quietly to Roy so no one would overhear. “You sure about the timing?”

“Of course I am.”

“What about Wally?”

“He’s on the same page we are don’t worry about it”

“You sure he’s coming? He doesn’t look so good.”

Roy looked through the palm trees at Wally still lying on a chaise down on the beach; he hadn’t moved in hours and that was about as unusual for him as you could get. “…Sure.”

A couple hours later, showered and changed, the boys were ready to go when they made their way to he boathouse. Tom and Traver were waiting, the engine gassed up and everything set. Just as they were about to shove off Wally’s hand flew over his mouth, “Ohcrappp…” as he scrambled over the gunwale, followed by the sounds of retching coming from the bushes. Dick and Roy exchanged a look and, without sympathy, Dick climbed out to ask. The others heard an indistinct and halting conversation and then Dick was back.

“He has sun poisoning.”

Roy laughed, clearly not feeling his friend’s pain. “Idiot.”

“Roy…”

“Seriously, he has red hair and freckles, he’s frigging Irish and he stays out on a tropical beach for what—eight hours? Idiot.” So much for Wally being part of the evening. “So, sucks to be him—let’s go, c’mon!”

Dick hesitated a very short moment, they weren’t doctors and Alfred was here. Besides, if it was really bad they’d take him to the hospital by boat. A shrug. “Okay.”

Tom didn’t care, this was just part of his job-babysitting a couple of spoiled teenagers and since he couldn’t afford to lose his job then babysitting he’d do. Dick was still all right but these friends of his—Christ. The one who’d just tossed his stomach, he wasn’t too bad, if a little hyper but the other kid, Roy…talk about having loser stamped on his forehead.

Attitude, snotty cracks, loud, annoying—you name it. Just so long as Trav didn’t get any ideas that this was acceptable then the kid could do whatever he wanted and Wayne could take the blame when he wrecked a car or something.

Obnoxious jackass. He’d thought that Dick would have better taste in friends than that but there was no accounting…

Half an hour later they were tied up at the private marina and headed for the secure, long term parking garage. Wayne, naturally, kept a car there just in case. It wasn’t his usual tricked out import, but a top of the line Lexus sedan, loaded—of course it was. Tom drove.

“Okay, where to?” Roy was revved.

“I think Mr. Pennyworth made reservations for us at…”

“Reservations? Alfred’s idea of a dinner involves linen napkins and finger bowls—screw that. Tom, you guys have dinner here on Bruce, okay? Come on, Grayson, we’re gone…’meet you back at the boat by—say midnight? Okay? Good, later.” Dick didn’t say anything, just laughed as he and Roy disappeared around a corner on foot.

Tom and Traver looked at one another, unsure what to do now. “Hell, we have to wait, it’ll be my ass if I leave them or come back without them. Let’s see what Alfred’s idea of an acceptable restaurant is, Trav.” He was trying to put a good spin on this but—hell’s bells.

Tom could kill the two spoiled brats who’d just ditched them. He didn’t care for himself because he didn’t want to hang out with a couple of teenagers anyway but to leave Traver like that—snotty punks. If he wasn’t worried about his job he’d say something but he’d have to settle for everyone getting back to the island in one piece at a reasonable time.

Rich kids could do anything, they learned that fast and it was a lesson Dick seemed to be absorbing too damn well. Maybe that friend of his had some cushy set up like he had with Wayne, but this was just bullshit.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Fine. Hell. He handed the car over to a valet at the door of the ridiculous four star place they had a table. “We have reservations, four for Wayne. I know, two of our party had to cancel at the last minute, sorry.” There was, of course, no problem. Bruce Wayne was, after all, Bruce Wayne.

The dinner stretched on for hours, at least two. The food was amazing, even Tom had to admit that but it wasn’t stuff any kid would want to spend time on—all heavy French sauces and endless courses and he could see Traver was upset that the other kids had dumped him. That pissed him off—no one messed with his kid.

The rich really were different, they were more obnoxious, even the ones he thought were okay, like Dick, but it turned out that he was just like the rest. The boy had to have seen more than his share of rich jerks as they came through the door of the Manor. You’d have thought he’d know better than that with his crappy background but it looked like Alf’s teaching had an effect and Dick was on his way to rich assholedom.

It was a disappointment to Tom who liked the kid, but it was probably a tide no one could really resist. When you have that much money—which equaled power—every door opened and no one had the balls to say no to you for any reason. In a way Tom felt sorry for the kid. He might be riding for a fall, if anyone had the nerve to knock him down a peg or two.

Dinner finally finished, the two strolled along the water front, past all the fancy hotels and shops full of people—locals, drunk college kids on break, middle aged anniversary couples, retired people having a good time. It was bright and noisy and he was getting more irritated at the ‘young master’ by the minute.

Damn brat. He’d been all right when he was helping Trav, seemed okay when he was home but put him with that jackass and he turned into…yeah, he turned into just another rich jerk.

By ten he and Trav were both getting tired but had to wait around until the two others were back from wherever the hell they’d taken off to. There was no choice because there would be hell to pay of he had the stupidity to go back without one of them, let alone leaving them both here.

“C’mon, Trav, we’ll wait back by the boat. Maybe they’ll be back early.”

“Sure they will.”

Crap.

Ten-thirty.

Sure, Dick had been good about helping Trav but this was flatout fucking rude. It had been a long day, tomorrow was going to be long, too and some of them had an actual job they had to think about.

Eleven.

It was starting to get a little cool sitting here on the damn dock, it being the tropics notwithstanding. Even if they showed up now it would be another hour, at least, before they could reasonably expect to be crawling into bed. Trav was yawning and so was Tom. He shook his head—he had half a mind to say something to Master Bruce and that was the damn truth.

Eleven fifteen.

He heard something big out in the water, like maybe a porpoise or a whale or something like that. It wasn’t close enough to see in the dark but he could hear it out there swimming back and forth, sometimes splashing and sometimes just making watery swimming sounds. Hell—anything that big could swamp the boat they had. Maybe it would be better if they stayed here for the night and went back in the morning.

Oh yeah, the Master would love that. Sure he would.

Quarter of twelve.

The crowds were thinning out as the tourists went back to their hotels. The shops were closed down and even the restaurants were serving their last meals. The bars were, however, going strong with no signs of slowing down.

Nothing. Not a sound other than the damn waves lapping. No party noises aside from some bash maybe a mile down the beach at one of the big hotels and a few drunks stumbling along, laughing at Christ knew what. Tom stood up, his ass was getting sore from sitting on that damn piling for so long.

Midnight.

Steps on the other end of the dock, more than one person coming closer, closer and then under the lights—no, wrong couple. Just a couple of college kids looking for someplace to be alone and taking a wrong turn from their hotel—dumbasses. The girl was a looker, though but still, dumbasses. Too many damn drunks on this island.

Twenty after Twelve.

Nothing. No one. Tom shifted his position again. Traver was in the boat just watching the reflections on the water and close to nodding off.

Ten to one.

Footsteps. This time it was actually the kids, finally and about damn time. “Where the hell were you?”

Dick and Roy exchanged a smirking look. “We had dinner over by the Hilton and then we met these girls, they said they were from Ohio State and we went swimming. Then we took them back to their place at the Marriot. We saw part of a set by Keith Urban—they were big fans—then we went for a walk and, c’mon, Tom—you know how it is.”

“You two waited in the boat the whole time? What the hell did you do that for? We told you we’d be back around midnight.” Roy put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, his fingers barely brushing the bruises on his friend’s neck. “You made me proud, junior.”

“I had a good teacher.”

“Damn right you did.”

That was more than enough for Tom. “Get in the boat. It’s late and you were supposed to be back almost an hour ago.”

“Jesus, Tom, lighten up will you? It’s vacation.” But the kids got into the speedboat, Dick offering to drive since he knew the channel better in the dark. Forty minutes and they were tying up back in Bruce’s boathouse. “’Sorry you had to wait, Tom—really. Sorry. Get some sleep.”

The parties separated to their various accommodations without another word but plenty of bad feelings.

Dick and Roy walked into the main house, Bruce waiting for them. Smiles turned serious as they sat at the dining room table for what looked like a business meeting. “You both all right?”

“Fine; you?”

“Yes. Someone tipped off the importers; they got wind of a trap. We’ll have to keep an eye on them and go back, probably sometime tomorrow.”

“What about Garth, did he report in?”

“He saw a float plane jettison some bundles of cocaine which have been recovered but the plane itself was already airborne and he was unable to stop it but they’re tracking it—looks like it’s headed for the Bahamas. You boys will be working again tomorrow.”

“No problem.”

“Wally all right?”

“He should be good to go by tomorrow. Alfred is taking care of him.”

“Tom suspect anything?”

“’Just that we’re self-centered jackasses.”

“Good.”

“Dick—I need you to help me in the morning to arrange a set up for later. Roy, give Tom some story about him being grounded or something, will you?”

“You got it.”

The next day Dick didn’t make an appearance on the beach until after lunch, he was quiet and subdued. Tom wondered just what the Master had done to him.

TBC
 

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