Filthy Rich

Chapter 4

Two weeks later vacation was over, everyone was back home and life, such as it was, was back to normal.

The last days down on the island seemed all right on the surface but Tom saw the tension in the kids and the dirty looks the Master kept throwing at Dick. It sucked for the kid and it was all he could do to pretend that nothing was wrong when it plainly was.

Bruce Wayne, what a bastard. Or prick. That worked, too. Take your pick.

Jesus, as far as Tom could see, Dick was about as decent a kid as you could find but all old Bruce cared about was the impression he made on people he decided were worthy. Rich snobs like himself—rich, famous and with their heads so far up their…well, you know, those were the ones he cared about, not some poor orphaned kid living under his roof.

It was the last full day there that really burned, though. Tom was down in the boathouse, quietly doing some painting inside and heard the three boys, Dick and his two friends come down and sit on the chairs out on the attached dock.

“You okay, man?” It sounded like the redhead; Roy, the smart-ass and he sounded serious for once.

“…Yeah, sure.”

“C’mon, Dick—what happened? He on your case again?”

Again? Still. It’s just…you know how he is. He expects me to be perfect and won’t settle for anything less and it’s, you know, it’s…”

“Impossible? Well, yeah. You bust your butt for him and you know it, we all know it. Ollie was telling me that even Clark was saying something about how he couldn’t believe how hard you work and man, if he says it then—take it for what it’s worth, okay?” There was a silence, then, “He say something about the other night?”

“Not in so many words, he doesn’t do that, but it was pretty obvious he thought we could have done better.”

There was a choking sound of disbelief. “What an asshole.”

“Roy, knock it off.”

“Maybe I could ask Barry to talk to him, I know he thinks he should lighten up most of the time. I mean, I know that’s his thing, but it’s starting to wear thin, even for those guys.”

“Jesus, Wally—are you nuts? Do you have any idea what would happen if he thought we were talking about this? Don’t even go there, okay?” Dick’s voice sounded scared.

“…Okay, but man—you gotta have a talk with him or something or you’re gonna break. I’m telling you, Dick, seriously.”

“I’m all right, c’mon, you know me.”

“Yeah, which is why I know you won’t do it—you always say that, he messes you over and you never do anything.”

Dick’s tension level went up a few notches. “Well hell—it’s not like I don’t owe him, y’know? If he hadn’t taken me in I’d…”

That was it, Roy sounded pissed. “Yeah, I’ve heard this song before—if he hadn’t taken you in you’d be a poor waif stumbling your way through the foster care system. Well you know what? That’s bullshit. If he hadn’t taken you in then someone else would have and you’d be fine. Don’t give me that look, junior—you’re still you and you’re stronger and smarter than any three people I know and you know it as well as I do. You may not believe it, but you damn well know it so change the record and find yourself a new excuse.”

“Roy, stop.” Wally sounded like he was trying to be the peacemaker, the voice of reason. “Lay off. Dick knows he can leave any time he wants and he knows he has places to go if he has to but it’s not going to come to that because we all know that beneath his garbage, Bruce still loves him and that won’t change.”

“Cue the violins.”

“Roy, shut up.”

There was a sudden sound of a deck chair creaking and then steps—quick, angry steps, leaving the dock. After a moment Wally quietly ended the conversation. “You know, he’s right.”

“I know, but it’s not that simple. He’s still…you know.”

“Yeah.”

So they were back home and things were as normal as they ever were at the Manor. There was some big charity dinner scheduled for next week, the Master had his usual parade of stacked bimbos of the month traipsing through and Dick still had the smile on his face, the one that made everyone think that everything was fine.

He also had new bruises just about every week and Tom started making a point of writing down the things he saw and heard. He also started asking Traver if he noticed anything at school, things like Dick being absent more than a normal kid would be, skipping gym so he wouldn’t have to change his clothes in the locker room; that kind of thing.

“Cripes, dad—he’s like two years ahead of me. It’s not like we’re in the same classes or anything.”

“I know, just keep your eyes opened, okay”

“Yeah, whatever.”

But nothing really surfaced that he could pin anything concrete on. And he was watching, oh man, was he watching.

 

 * * *
 

“Hey Bruce, is something going on with Tom?”

“Hmmm?”

“It’s like he’s obsessed with me or something. He keeps staring at me, trying to start conversations. It’s starting to get weird.”

Bruce looked at Dick over his coffee cup. “Has he actually done anything?”

“Like what, touching me or asking me out to dinner or something? No, but it’s still getting a little creepy.”

“You think he may be working up to a blackmail attempt or something along those lines?”

“I don’t know, he doesn’t seem the type and he was pretty grateful when I helped Traver with his homework but, I don’t know, it’s almost paternal, like he’s worried about me or something.”

“If you want I could transfer him over to Wayne Enterprises or one of the other houses if he’s making you uncomfortable.”

Dick shook his head. “Then Trav would have to transfer schools. Nah, it’s probably nothing, forget it.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Yeah, it’s nothing. ‘Probably just my imagination.”

“The word is ‘yes’, master Dick. ‘Yes.’”

“Yes, Alfred.”

“Thank you.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but he’d see what he could find out. Dick wasn’t prone to flights of fancy when it came to this kind of thing and he had a good sense of character. Maybe Tom was interested in Dick beyond as just the boss’s son. If that was the case, he might have to fire the man and he’d really rather not.

 

* * *
 

“But the thing is that I suspect but can’t prove anything.”

“I understand. In that case the best I can suggest is that you keep watching, continue what you’re doing, write everything down you think is suspicious and then just…see.”

“…Okay.”

“Have you tried just sitting the boy down and talking with him? It may be that he’s simply afraid to turn to the authorities because of the high profile people involved. Maybe he’d open up to a sympathetic ear.”

Tom shook his head. “I kind of doubt it. He’s pretty tied up in the whole thing, ‘feels grateful for being ‘rescued’ from juvie when he was a kid. I don’t think he’ll admit anything to anyone.”

The other man sighed. “Stockholm Syndrome. It’s not uncommon in these cases.”

“Yeah, but…”

“And keep in mind that if it comes to it, you’ll be up against Wayne and his entire legal staff. You can’t just suspect, you have to get solid proof and nothing half-way or he’ll eat you alive.”

“Yeah and if I don’t, then he’ll eat the boy alive.”

“Tom, I’m just telling you to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I know and I appreciate it.” He turned to leave. “Thank you, Reverend.”

From then on Tom redoubled his watch on Dick, made a note of when the kid went to school and when he got home. He wrote down every friend who came to see him and every time he went to see a friend and there weren’t all that many. It seemed like the Master had him on a pretty short leash and there was the time Trav invited him to a birthday dinner.

“Thanks. Sounds like fun but Bruce has some stuff he wants me to do. Happy Birthday, though.”

Sure, Wayne could have had something going on or maybe he just didn’t want the kid out from under his thumb—and whatever else he had the kid under.

It was so damn wrong, what that rich bastard was doing to the kid. Making him do—things. Who knew what he used to get Dick to agree to…maybe the old man, Alfred knew what the real score was but he’d been working for ‘the family’ since Christ knew when. He’d raised the Master, for the love of Christ and so maybe that was where old Bruce got his own initiation into the things they were doing up there.

Jesus.

But the thing Tom didn’t get, didn’t understand was where the hell Child Protective Services was in all of this. Weren’t they supposed to keep a watch on the kids? Didn’t they stop in for visits, expected or otherwise? That was supposed to keep up until Dick wasn’t a minor anymore and that was at least another year, wasn’t it?

Hell, maybe Bruce paid them off, too. It’s not like he couldn’t afford to buy anything and anyone he wanted to, right?

‘Richest Man in the World’. Wasn’t that what they papers and magazines always called him? Okay, maybe he wasn’t actually number one, but he was still pretty damn rich, number seven if you wanted to know his exact position. Seven point eight Billion dollars, that’s what Forbes said he was worth last year. Okay, there’s been a downturn in the world economy but somehow he didn’t think the Master was really hurting too badly.

And, Jesus—who the hell needed almost eight billion dollars?

And, according to most reports, Dick was the only real heir in case something happened. Incredible. Not that money would make up for the things the Master put the kid through, the things he made him do, the things that were done to him.

Yeah, the rich really were different.

So, the question now became what he was going to do about it. He’d suspected for a couple of years. All he needed was proof, that was what the Reverend said and he was right, No one would listen to him if he didn’t have something to back up what he thought and it stood to reason that anyone Bruce got a hold of would be bought off. No one could resist that kind of money being thrown at them It cost Michael Jackson—what was it?—twenty million to keep that kid he was supposed to be diddling quiet.

That was chump change to Wayne.

He needed something, he needed something so obvious, and so uncontrovertible that no one would question it. He’d get it. He wanted to protect the kid. He just wanted him to have a shot at some kind of a normal life. No one should have to endure what Wayne was putting him through week after week, year after year.

He might have to bide his time but he could. He wouldn’t quit, he’d stay on the job so he could watch and be ready when someone slipped and handed him what he needed to put the perv away.

Behind bars, that’s where he belonged.

He’d do it. He could wait.

Bastard.

Perverted bastard.

Three months later he saw his chance.


TBC
 

Return to Filthy Rich