‘Ware the Servants

Mary, the new maid was dusting the smaller blue guest room, silently admiring the antiques on the bookshelf and handmade quilt covering the bed. She’d just been hired a few weeks ago to help with the general housekeeping and knew she was lucky to have the job.

Wayne Manor.

She’d been on the outside looking in since she could remember but had—of course, never set foot on the grounds, let alone inside. Back when she was in high school some of her friends had made a game out of trying to scale the wall, but the security guards always caught them and, nicely, threw them out. They never got more than twenty feet onto the grounds. Once, a few years ago, she even saw Mr. Wayne, old Bruce himself driving past on Main Street and noticed that he looked even better in person than he did in the newspapers but they hadn’t made eye contact or anything.

She told Becka about it later that night on the phone. “He’s just so stuck up; you know how rich people are, always thinking they’re better than anyone else. He’s probably really mean to all the people who have to work for him.”

“I don’t know. My aunt worked one of his big parties last year and she said he came into the kitchen after it was over and thanked everyone himself and said that they could take any of the leftovers home with them—real fancy stuff, too. She said he did it so that it would almost be rude to turn him down, like they were doing him a favor by cleaning out his fridge for him.”

“Big deal, so he gave away some stale cheese puffs.”

“No, it was good stuff; filet mignon (she pronounced it ‘fill-it meeg-non’), lobster, shrimp and a whole bunch of these super expensive cheeses and like that. She said he was real nice about it.”

Mary wasn’t convinced but kept her mouth shut. After that she started paying more attention when anyone actually made it into the big house (that’s what all the locals called the Manor) or had some face time with Mr. Wayne. Everyone said he was decent enough but then he took that kid in, that Dick kid and, man oh man—did the rumors fly then.

Boy Toy. Piece on the side. Bed warmer. Name it and that’s what the poor kid got called. Mary laughed along with everyone else at first, but after a while it didn’t seem as funny anymore, it seemed kind of mean and she stopped smiling when someone made another crack. C’mon, the kid was an orphan, shades of Oliver Twist, and he hadn’t hurt anyone. Lay off, okay?

Well anyway, Mary graduated from high school, barely. She knew college wasn’t an option and she hadn’t bothered with Vo-Tech so she didn’t have that many options after she finished school. Her parents made it clear that she either worked, went to school or took a hike. No free rides as far as they were concerned. She tried waitressing and she tried being an assistant at a local pre-school, but both were busts. She dropped the plates, spilled the drinks and discovered that she hated potty training toddlers with everything in her. She was just about to apply for a job with airport security were she’d be one of those people who make you take your shoes off and she was sleeping on Becka’s mother’s couch when she heard that they were looking for help at the Manor.

Screwing up all her courage, she called the number, scared to death. The voice on the other end of the phone asked her a few questions and seemed to lose all interest when she admitted that she’d never been a maid before, even though the man called it ‘domestic service’. Just before she was sure that he was about to hang up he suddenly seemed to change his mind and told her to come in the next day at two. The stuffy balding English guy practically sniffed when he asked her questions. “I understand you’ve never done this sort of work before, Miss Brooks?”

“No, but I clean the house for my parents. I can take the vacuum apart when it gets jammed and put it back together so you wouldn’t have to call a repairman.”

“Quite, yes. May I ask if you have any experience with kitchen duties?”

“I’m pretty good at washing dishes.”

“The only dishes we hand wash are the family crystal and the Georgian service, I trust you’re not one to drop things?” She smiled, not sure if he was joking or not. He wasn’t.
“Can you make a decent job of ironing a shirt?” She didn’t know this was a trick question; it sounded easy enough, but ironing a man’s dress shirt so that it looked the way it was supposed to is one of the hardest things you could do below stairs.

Oh, jeez, she looked a cross between blank and panic. Who irons? “…I can learn?”

“Yes, well I see. Thank you for taking the trouble to come all this way and we’ll be in touch.”

Mary knew what that meant; she’d blown it. “Mr. Pennyworth, please. Let me have a chance. I’ll be really good at this, I promise. I’ll do whatever you want, I’m never late and I never call in sick unless I really am—I never just take off to go to the beach or something. Please let me try; I really need this job and I’ll be good—you won’t be sorry and if you are you can fire me. No hard feelings, I promise.” She could see that he was hesitating. “Please?”

He regarded her like she was a bug under a microscope for two very long minutes. “I’m willing to give you a two week trial run, if that’s agreeable to you. You will, of course, be paid whether we decide to continue our association or not. Are you available to start Monday?”

Ohmigod! “Yes! Thank you, you won’t be sorry, I promise and I’ll be here early, whenever you say and…”

“I will expect you at eight AM, sharp. You will report to the trade entrance and we will supply you with two uniforms. It will be your responsibility to keep them looking presentable. I hardly need remind you that Mr. Wayne expects the highest standards be maintained in his home at all times. You will have an hour for lunch and will finish your day’s work and generally be free to leave by four. There may be some evenings when your services will be required later than that and, occasionally, on weekends as well. You will, naturally, be compensated for these times. We also ask that you sign a confidentiality agreement—speaking to anyone about the family or what you may see or hear is completely forbidden. Your starting salary is four hundred dollars per week, plus full health benefits. One meal a day is included. Are there any questions?”

So now she was at the end of her second week, waiting to hear if she’d be in or out of a job. Everyone had been nice to her; the gardeners, the man who took care of the pools and the greenhouses (who were separate from the outdoor groundsmen). The man whose job it was to make sure all the cars were running in perfect order and were so clean you could eat off the engines was sweet and funny. Even the security guards were pleasant, even if she was a little afraid of them after she’d recognized the one who always chased the local kids. Mr. Pennyworth turned out to be okay; he was stern but he was fair and she discovered a droll sense of humor that would crack her up at the worst moment, something the man seemed to enjoy.

The young master was mostly too busy to say much more than an ‘hello’ on his way to or from school and whatever else it was he did, though he seemed nice enough. She wondered if any of the rumors were true, especially after she’d learned that his bedroom suite was just down the hall from Mr. Wayne’s. He was maybe sixteen or seventeen, almost illegally handsome and looked like he played some sport, just judging from his build, but she never saw any real athletic equipment lying around. Of course, there was never anything just lying around Wayne Manor. There was a gym with lots of machines in it and a couple of swimming pools which all seemed to get used, but never when she was around. Sometimes she was asked to go get the wet towels but that was about it. Once Master Richard—as Mr. Pennyworth always called him— passed her when he was on his way down the main staircase and surprised her by saying hello to her by name, but he hadn’t stopped or anything and they’d never had a real conversation. She was surprised that he knew who she was, besides just being the new maid. It seemed sort of nice that he’d taken the trouble to learn who she was.

But she hadn’t met Mr. Wayne. He seemed to leave for work (or someplace) before she got there in the morning and he almost never came home before she left for the day. One night there was a dinner party and she saw Mr. Wayne, dressed up in a tux, greet some early guests when she took their coats, but that was it. She was pretty sure he had no idea who she was beyond just some faceless servant.

That party—that was the night she finally spoke to the young master—or, rather, the first night he really spoke to her. She was carrying a too large tray back to the kitchen, about to drop it and break all the glasses when she felt someone pull the falling tray out of her hands just as she lost her grip and landed on her behind.

“You okay?”

She saw the tray sitting safely on a table inside the kitchen door and a hand extended to help her up. “Yeah, I’m okay—thank you.” He was gorgeous, even if he was maybe a fag or something like that. He was wearing jeans and a blue tee shirt exactly the color of his eyes and he had a killer bod. Her shyness took over and she knew she was blushing, dammit. “Isn’t everyone supposed to be dressed up for this?” Oh, God, she’d said the wrong thing, she’d almost criticized him and just knew she’d be fired for it but he laughed in a friendly way, not like he was laughing at her but like they were sharing a joke or something.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to go to one of these things; I was just headed out to meet some friends.”

Sure, he was taking his Ferrari out to meet his fancy, rich friends at some nightclub he’d probably be comped into, even though he was years too young to get into one of those places. It figured. He’d end up like all those rich kids you read about in those papers in the supermarket, all those kids who have too much money and no one, ever says ‘no’ to their whole lives. He’d probably drink like a fish and have to be carried home. She bet there’d be pictures of him barfing in the street next week in the papers.

Or maybe not. He seemed…nice and he seemed like he might even be smart, he just had that look about him. Besides, he said he was going out to meet some friends and that probably meant that he had a girlfriend and even if it was a boy friend, hell—he was like a baby. Okay, maybe he didn’t look like a baby, but he was probably still jailbait and even if he wasn’t, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d be interested in her. Right? Right. No brainer. Besides, she didn’t like to cradle rob.

Never mind. Besides, if anything happened between them it would just be another fling for him and she’d probably end up pregnant and on the streets or something like that. And even if she didn’t then he’d never marry her. Who ever married the rich boss? I mean really? Okay, there was a Rockefeller who married the maid or the nanny but that didn’t last—did it? And that was like forever ago so there you go.

“You okay? You didn’t get hurt when you fell, did you?”

Mary came back to the present with a little start. The young master was still leaning over her, looking a little concerned that she might have bumped her butt too hard and like he might call for help or something. God, how embarrassing.

“No, I’m okay; sorry. Really sorry—I’m fine, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.” She let him pull her up, noticing that she had red wine on her uniform, dammit.

“Okay, I’ll see you around.” He gave her a smile to die for, “Don’t tell anyone I was here, all right? Alfred will kill me when he finds I blew this thing off.” And he was gone a moment before Mr. Pennyworth came through the corridor.

“So there you are. Have you happened to have seen the young Master? The Mr. Wayne is looking for him to help greet the guests.”

“Um…” If she lied she’d be fired, but if she told him the kid was just here he’d be mad…dammit.

Alfred seemed to read her mind and almost raised an eyebrow. “I’ll speak to him about his lack of manners in the morning. Please go change your uniform and continue with your work, if you will.” He didn’t even seem mad or anything. “However, in the future, please refrain from engaging the Family in conversation.”

The next day Mr. Pennyworth told her that, if she wanted, he would be willing to have her placed on the permanent staff, that she’d get a fifty dollar a week raise and another uniform to replace the one she’d ruined the night before. She jumped at the offer. Or, as she told one of her friends, ‘Sure, the idea of being a maid is kind of sucky, but working at the big house is a lot better than making beds at Motel Six’.

 

* * *
 

“C’mon, Mare, just some pictures; it’ll be easy. You take my camera, wait till no one’s watching and snap away.”

“Billy, I can’t, I just can’t.” A couple of months went by and I kind of liked my job. If I had all my work finished they let me swim in the pools, if no one was using them. They didn’t mind if I walked around the paths on the property during my lunch hour and they paid really, really well if there was a party of one of Mr. Wayne’s benefits or something was going on.

I saw the young Master a few times and he was always polite, but I think that Mr. Pennyworth might have said something to him, because he never did anything more than smile and maybe say ‘hello’. I never, ever said anything to Mr. Wayne and he acted like I was like a piece of furniture, which was kind of creepy but I guess it was because he’s used to having staff around to clean up after him and all of that stuff.

I know I’d hate it, myself. I mean, who wants total strangers walking around your house and touching your stuff? God—paying someone to clean your underwear is just too weird. Some things people should do for themselves and that’s all there is to it.

Then Billy started up about how much money we could make if I got some pictures of the inside of the private parts of the house and the grounds and how we’d make even more if I could get some snaps of one of Mr. Wayne’s girlfriends. He said that if there were tits hanging out or if I could get some of them doing it we’d be set for life. The problem was that I didn’t want to.

I mean, I didn’t really care about old Bruce because he’s kind of an idiot and a cold fish, but I liked the job and everyone had been pretty decent to me, y’know? Okay, I know; who cares, right? I kinda agree with that but still, I knew that they’d file all kinds of lawsuits and when I told Billy that he just shrugged and said that once the pictures were sold and published, it didn’t matter what they did because they’d already be out there.

I guess he’s right, but I still didn’t like it.

He even said that he’d be willing to forget about Bruce if I got some pictures of Dick Grayson bonking some girl and if it was another guy, even better.

That just creeped me out, it was just wrong. First of all, he’d been sorta nice to me and secondly, I knew he was still a kid, younger than I am and that didn’t seem fair. It was his house, he lived there and he should be able to do what he wants there without worrying about someone trying to screw him over. I mean, not that I ever saw him doing anything that he shouldn’t be. I kind of get the feeling that he’s on a pretty short leash, if you know what I mean.

Then Billy told me that we could make thousands of dollars. I mean a lot of thousands. Many thousands.

Well shit. Grayson might be a nice kid, but money’s money, right? He’ll get over it. I mean, I feel crummy about it, but you have to do what you have to do.

So Billy gave me this really small digital camera he got somewhere and told me to just keep my eyes open and see what I see. I still felt pretty bad about the whole thing, but I got to thinking; I mean I was dusting the main living room and looking at all this fancy-dancy art around the place I knew cost like—no kidding—millions of dollars. Even the rug was supposed to be worth more than my whole house and it just didn’t seem fair. I work all the time and so do my parents and everyone I know and we’re all just barely getting by and dammit, the whole thing about haves and have nots just really hit me.

I think it was like a week later that I heard someone in the indoor pool, I mean like voices and laughing and so, even though I was supposed to be working, I went to take a look. It was the young master and some other kids all swimming and joking around. There were three other cute guys and this really knockout brunette in an almost bikini all splashing around and looking like they were having a good time. I mean it was like three-thirty on a Thursday and they’re playing? Not one of them seemed like they were worried about getting, God forbid, to work (Work? Them? Yeah, right.) and there I was pushing a damn vacuum. It just wasn’t fair so I pulled out the little camera and took a bunch of pictures. I mean, it just made me so damn mad.

Okay, I know that the little pool party was innocent enough. No one was making out, no one lost their suit; no one disappeared into a changing room or anything. I pretended to be cleaning the media room next to the poolroom and I was watching through those big windows they have separating the two. Nothing happened that shouldn’t have and Mr. Pennyworth went in and out a few times with snacks and stuff like that to keep an eye on the kids but the pictures made it all look like a bunch of spoiled brats having an orgy. Oh, man.

But you know what? I didn’t tell Billy about these pictures or anything. I didn’t even tell him that the young master has any friends at all. It just didn’t seem right, even though I sure as hell could have used the money.

Now the Master, Mr. Bruce, he’s a different sorry. He’s kind of stuck up so maybe if I see anything about him; I may feel a whole lot different. I hate people who think they’re better than everyone. I’ll just bide my time, like my grandmother used to say.

 

* * *
 

Three weeks late I was upstairs in the family wing about to start washing the windows when I heard splashing coming from the Jacuzzi down below in the conservatory. Okay, so I’m human. I kind of snuck over and took a peek and man, oh man, did I get an eye-full. There they were, right below me and in broad daylight, no less! Mr. Bruce and the flavor of the week right down there in the water making waves, as it were and both of them naked as a couple of jaybirds. And man, they didn’t notice me, that’s for damn sure. I kind of hung back but close enough that I got some real good pictures that left nothing to the imagination, and I mean nothing.

I mean, serves him right, okay? Yeah, sure I guess you could argue that it was his house and he could do whatever he wanted there and the girl sure looked like she wasn’t complaining but, c’mon…he’s a celebrity and they’re always fair game.

Okay, so that night I gave Billy the camera and I knew he’d try to make some money for us. He said that I’d get half and since I figured that as soon as they were published I’d get fired, that seemed like the least he could give me. Two days later I was sitting on my couch, wondering if anything would come of the stupid things, the TV was on in the background and, sure enough, there was a blurb on one of those boring morning talk shows. It was one of those teaser comments, you know the kind; “And which handsome and very single billionaire seems to have been caught by the paparazzi mid-folic? Stay with us and find out after the break.”

Damn, but that made me sit up and like a minute later there they were, well, there was one of the pictures, one of the tamer ones. Old Bruce and Monica in almost all their glory with the naughty bits blurred out. Oh man.

About two seconds after that Billy was on the phone crowing about how he’d made a deal with the Star and the Enquirer and even with People to buy the things and there were all these agencies in Europe who wanted them, too. He figured that we’d make at least a quarter million dollars and we’d split that, like we’d agreed. In fact, he said that he’d already gotten the checks last night and as soon as they cleared I’d get my share.

About two seconds after that I got this call from some guy named Mr. Fox, who said he worked for Mr. Wayne and that he wanted to speak with me like right now.

Oh man, he sounded like he as really pissed and I had this really bad feeling in my stomach, but I got the idea that I really should get my butt over to Wayne Enterprises fast or my ass would be grass. He said I should bring Billy, too if I could, but when I called Bill, he said there was no way in hell that he was gonna jump just because some rich bastard told him to. I told him I thought that was a mistake, but he wouldn’t listen.

Then all of a sudden I got this feeling that maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all. I even thought that maybe I should call a lawyer but I don’t know any except my brother’s guy and he’s only good for stuff like traffic court.

Anyway, I walk into Wayne Building in the middle of Gotham and it’s like huge, I mean like a mega-place. I got stopped by this guard and he asked why I was there and he called upstairs to Mr. Fox’s office or something and then I had to carry a pass with me. Oh man. I took the elevator up to the fifty-seventh floor and the doors opened to this really fancy reception area with this really pretty girl sitting there answering the phone. She smiled at me and asked me ‘whom’ I wanted to see, then picked up the phone and some other pretty girl came and got me. I knew they were waiting for me because I didn’t have to wait or anything. She knocked on a door, opened it and this guy was sitting at his desk reading something. As soon as we walked in he stood up but didn’t shake hands or anything.

“Lucius Fox, and you’re Mary, right?” I nodded. “Please be seated and thank you for coming in so quickly, I appreciate that. Would you like something? Coffee? Water?”

I wasn’t about to ask for anything, even though my mouth felt like cotton. “Why did you want to see me, Mr. Fox?” Like I didn’t know.

He handed her a couple of the tabloids with the Bruce pictures in them. “Do you have any idea how these made their way into the hands of the press, Mary? Or perhaps you have some information about who may have taken them?”

I saw my hand trembling when I took the things from him but didn’t say anything.

“Mr. Wayne is quite upset about this, he was on the phone to me last night and again this morning. It seems that not only were these taken in his home, but their publication has aroused the interest of CWS.”

“CWS?”

“Child Welfare Services. As you probably know, Richard Grayson is Mr. Wayne’s legal ward, which is almost but not quite a legal adoption. The relationship is overseen by the state to ensure that Richard is well cared for and in not in any kind of danger, either physically or emotionally. They’ve become concerned about this and have launched an investigation.”

“Well yeah, but nothing will come of it, right?” C’mon, this was Bruce Wayne they were talking about.

He sat back in his chair and gave me this look. “I wish I knew the answer to that. It’s possible, if the agency finds reason for concern, that Richard may be removed from Mr. Wayne’s home. Permanently.”

“I thought that Dick was like seventeen or something.”

“He looks like he could be, yes, but in fact he’s still only fifteen. He’s a minor.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Clearly someone inside the household took these pictures, Mary. You wouldn’t know who that might have been, do you?”

“Well, I…”

“Because it’s not only a flagrant invasion of Mr. Wayne’s privacy but a violation of the confidentiality agreement which all employees at the Wayne Estate are asked to sign.” He moved a paper on his desk; it was her agreement with her signature on it. “There would likely be legal repercussions.”

“You mean someone could get sued?”

“It’s possible, but we’d all, especially Mr. Wayne, like to avoid any of that kind of unpleasantness.”

“…Yeah.”

“So if you know anything about these, who may have taken them, who might have made the arrangements to sell them to the papers, we’d be appreciative.”

‘Appreciative’, wasn’t that a code word for paying lots and lots of money? “I didn’t do anything, Mr. Fox I promise.” He didn’t say anything, just waited but I could tell that he didn’t believe me.

“We’ve learned that a young man named William Foster contacted the photo agency which repped the photos. He’s a former classmate of yours, isn’t he?”

Crap, they knew about Billy and that meant the jig was up. Period.

“You must realize that with the publication of these pictures, any chance of blackmailing Mr. Wayne is gone." He paused for a moment. “I also know that the pictures only brought around ten thousand dollars; hardly a fortune.”

Maybe not for someone like you. Even half of ten grand was enough for me to pay off all her bills and Billy said there’d be more when they offered the rest of the pictures, the ones with Dick and his friends in the pool.

“We’ve made it known that any outlet which tries to publish any other pictures which may exist will be immediately hit with a lawsuit. I think that it’s unlikely anyone will try to do so.”

Crap. Of course they wouldn’t, Wayne was known to be lawsuit happy and to have a bunch of fancy-schmancy lawyers at his beck and call.

“Mary?”

“Um, yeah?”

“What can you tell me about this?”

He knew she was involved. It was obvious, he knew. “Is there really a chance that Dick may be moved out of there?” Mr. Fox nodded. Yes, there was an investigation in progress. He handed over a court document of some kind, a complaint I had trouble understanding but that seemed to say something about ‘an unsuitable home environment’ and ‘a constant stream of women on an almost weekly basis, often staying overnight’. It made Mr. Wayne sound like he was sleeping with every girl he met. Okay, maybe he was, but Dick seemed like a real nice kid and he seemed happy where he was. It wasn’t fair.

“You do know that Dick’s parents were murdered in from of him when he as eight years old. Mr. Wayne took him in and has raised him since then; it’s the only home—other than with his parents—which he’s known. That’s why he’s there. Mr. Wayne’s own parents were killed when he was about the same age, I think that’s why it works with the two of them, in spite of the fact that they’re so different; they have a basic, almost a gut understanding of one another.”

I kind of knew that, well sort of, anyway. And I really hadn’t ever seen anything about the two of them doing anything disgusting together. I really hadn’t. Sometimes they seemed to be annoyed with one another but they never, ever argued in front of me or anything. I thought I’d heard raised voices once, but it was through closed doors and it could have been the TV.

“Dick might lose his home, might be forced to leave the big house because of those stupid pictures?”

“CWS is conducting an inquest this week. We’re waiting to hear their decision.”

Oh crap. “Where would he go if they, you know, if they decided that he has to leave.”

“I’ve no idea at this point. His only living relatives have already refused to take him in, so that’s not an option. He could well end up in a foster home until he’s eighteen.”

“You mean one of those places where they pay the family to take in kids?” Mr. Fox nodded. Crap again. Not that it was her problem, right?

“Look, Mary, Let’s stop beating around the bush, shall we? We both know you had something to do with these pictures and we also know that this William Foster is an old acquaintance of yours. It’s just a matter of time—and it won’t be long—before we have proof linking the two of you together. As soon as that happens you’ll be arrested as an accomplice to a crime. If you cooperate with me, with Mr. Wayne’s legal staff, we’ll see what we can do about going easy on you. If you decide to put up any more roadblocks, we’ll have to do what we can to defend Dick’s home. You understand, don’t you?”

So if I spilled and finked on Billy I’d probably get off. Hell, he was a jerk anyway, this was a no-brainer. It took me about a nano-second to decide. “Okay, I’ll get off or get immunity, right? I want that in writing or something or I won’t say anything, I’ll take the fourth amendment.”

Mr. Fox suppressed a smile as he nodded. “I took the liberty of having Legal make up an agreement.” He slid over a piece of paper which I looked at. The only thing I understood was the part which read ‘In exchange for information leading to…’ I picked up a pen and signed at the bottom next to my name.

“Okay, Billy got the camera and I took the pictures. He sold them to the newspapers and we were supposed to split the money 50-50. That’s about it.”

“That’s straightforward. May I ask why? Were you unhappy for some reason working for Mr. Wayne? Was anyone unkind to you or unfair in any way?”

“Is this for the record?”

“No, just for my own curiosity.”

“Everyone was fine but he just has so much money, y’know? I was making squat; it seemed like an easy way to make more.”

“And you never gave a thought to the people involved and what this could do to them, what the consequences might be?” He seemed more curious than angry or anything. I think I just shrugged. “I see.” He picked up the phone, waited a moment and then said, “Yes, send them up now, please.”

“Who?”

“A couple of people from Legal, they need to take a statement from you.”

I nodded. It figured.

“What will you do now?”

“I don’t know, whatever. I guess I won’t be getting a job recommendation, huh?” Mr. Fox shook his head. “I didn’t think so. I’ll find something; I’m a pretty good waitress, you can always find work.”

 

* * *
 

I saw Dick Grayson once more after that, while we both happened to be waiting on line for the same movie about six months after everything happened.

I saw him first, standing with a couple of friends, a couple of the guys who’d been at that pool party last year, the one with the pretty dark haired girl in the tiny bikini. The line was a long one and after a couple of minutes I saw him look my way, pause and stare at me for a long moment before turning back to his friends. He sort of pointed to me with his head and the other guys turned to look while Dick was obviously telling them who I was. They both gave me sort of disbelieving-how-could-anyone-be-such-a-jerk looks, bought their tickets and disappeared in the crowd by the concession stand.

It made me feel kind of bad. It’s not like I ever made a habit of stuff like that and the one time I do it, it blows up in my face. I had to talk to all kinds of lawyers and cops and even the judge back in his chambers. Billy sure as hell won’t speak to me and even my other friends have given me a pretty cold shoulder because they all say I’m a snitch.
Billy? He’s in jail for a while for, what was it? Oh yeah, invasion of privacy, attempted extortion and blackmail and a few other bullshit things.

I mean, c’mon. This is Bruce Wayne we’re talking about—the man who’ll screw anything walking, right? Okay, I feel kinda bad that Dick got some of the fall out but it’s not like they actually took him away from his cushioned little nest or anything, did they? I knew they wouldn’t—people like Bruce Wayne never have to scramble for anything, he has teams and piles of people who do whatever the hell he wants, all he has to do is flash his wallet and doors open for him.

I knew it would turn out okay for them. It had to, right?

I’m working at the diner, the one out on the highway. It’s not so bad. I have some regulars and sometimes the tips are pretty decent. I hate all the dirty dishes, though and I always have crap on my uniform, but what can you do, right?

And that CBS investigation or whatever it was? I guess that kind of got dropped because I heard the kid is still with the Master.

Rich people—it always works out for them, their shit don’t stink and they just kind of skim over all the crap the rest of the world has to slog through. It’s always the same. It never changes and it never will. I’ll always be one of the invisible people—serving other people their food, cleaning their houses and watching their kids and people like Wayne? He has no idea what it’s like.


7/27/08
 

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