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Filthy Rich

Part One

He opened the gate as the Bentley rolled through, the butler not even deigning to look at him as he glided past. You'd have thought the old man was the 'master' himself with that look on his face, instead of just another one of the hired hands.

Damn snob.

Maybe that was where Wayne had learned it, learned that damn attitude he had, that 'I'm richer than you are, I'm better than you are and you'll never be in my class no matter what you do'. Or maybe the old man picked it up from the 'Master' since they spent so much time together over the years.

Bastard.

Both of them. Bastards.

But then there was the kid. The poor 'Oliver Twist is my role model' circus rat, too damn smart for his own good brat that kept him from quitting. He was a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who got lucky but didn't make a pain in the ass of himself.

Punk kid, too smart by half.

And you want to know what caught his eye about the kid the most? The smile. The kid was always laughing at something, happy, kidding around, seeing the world as a great big joke and he was the only one who got the punch line. Maybe if a multi-billionaire could adopt everyone then everyone would get it, too.

Like that would ever happen.

Some people got lucky and some people got fired, wasn't that an old expression? Well, if it wasn't, it should be.

"Hey Tom, a couple of friends of mine are coming over in a little while so let them in when they get here, okay?"

"Sure, Dick. No problem."

"Thanks."

It's easy to be nice when everything's handed to you on a silver platter but maybe the kid would be all right even if he was still living in a single wide with his parents, living paycheck to paycheck. Maybe he'd still be okay.

In fact, he probably would, he was raised by the right kind of people, 'had a good family even if they were show business and everyone knows what they're like.

Okay, sure, Wayne was a 'good' employer. The money was pretty fair and he'd been decent when Joan was diagnosed with breast cancer a while back, but it's easy to be generous when all you have to do is pick up the phone and tell your accountant to write a check. He'd even shown up at the church for the funeral, sent flowers and told him not to worry about his job, take as long as he needed and then set up a college fund for Traver. He didn't have to do that. And he'd gotten his picture in the paper for his 'caring'. Caring for the little people, that's all it was. PR, making him look like Santa Claus and the Good Fairy all rolled into one.

'Good Fairy', that was rich. And he was rich. Rich fairy, that what he was and who hadn't heard the rumors? It wasn't like they were hard to miss, were they? Him and the kid? Maybe that was why the kid always had a smile on his face. You never know; that big house was never opened to outsiders unless everything was all spit and polish and the hot and cold running servants had everything under control. The whole house was never opened, though, the family areas were always shut off behind closed doors. Even when they had those big parties five or six times a year for the holidays and those charity things, even then there were parts of the house and the grounds that were closed off from everybody.

The Master liked his privacy and that was the truth. He could be doing anything up there and no one would know anything. No one. And even if they did know, what was anyone going to do about it? He owned Gotham. He could call the shots and everyone knew he had the police in his back pocket.

'Must be nice.

The kid, Dick, he wasn't a bad kid. He never seemed to get into any real trouble and from what he could gather he got good grades and all of that. But, and there was always a 'but', right? The kid didn't do anything for what he had and what he'd landed in. His parents were killed in front of him and yeah, that must have sucked but c'mon—shit happens, right? Now he was set for life but there weren't any free rides, were there? Maybe if he died his kid could end up living in the lap of luxury, to—not that he'd wish that on any kid, let alone his own one.

He was paying for it, for the big suite in the family wing, the private school, the clothes, the bikes, the ski trips and all the rest. One way or another, the kid was paying.

Well, okay maybe he did do something for it all but it wasn't like anyone was going to admit anything. Not in this lifetime.

It was Wayne. He was the one. He was paying all the bills so he was the one expecting reimbursement.

And that butler, he was in cahoots, he followed orders. He had to be in on it, whatever 'it' was.

The two of them doing—things to that kid, that nice kid, the kid who always seemed cheerful and happy.

Except sometimes. Once in a while, maybe two or three times he'd caught the kid with his guard down, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked like he was thinking about things, like he was thinking about real bad things and that just wasn't right—not in a kid like that.

Sure kids got upset about stuff but this was different, this was like whatever was bothering him was bad—really bad. The kind of bad that you didn't talk to anyone about, maybe not even a priest or a doctor.

Real bad stuff.

It wasn't right. If someone was doing that to Traver he'd…he'd—he'd stop it. He'd do whatever he had to but he'd do it, protect the kid.

Kids needed protection and adults were supposed to be the ones to give it to the, right?

Even if Dick thought that it was all right, what Wayne was doing, even if he thought that was just the price of living in the big house on the hill in the middle of five hundred acres, he'd see to it that the kid, that Dick got out.

He would. This was important.

He started thinking about it. Every time the kid went in or out the gates, every time Tom was called up to 'the house' to help with this or that he'd think about things. It was true that he never saw anything happen, there wasn't anything he could actually put his finger on but still—it wasn't right. Something up there was just plain 'off' and there was no denying it.

It was true; the kid was a big reason why he stayed at Wayne Manor. And the paycheck.

***

The next day Tom opened the main gate for Dick Grayson. The boy was home from school, riding his mo-ped and obviously loved the freedom as much as any fifteen-year-old. "Hi Tom, how's Traver doing?"

"He's good, Dick, real good. He said that he sees you in school sometimes, 'gets a charge out of it, out of knowing you."

The boy made a dismissive face for a second. "He's a good guy; is he going out for track this year?"

"I'm not sure, he said he was thinking of it, but he's having trouble with math—takes after me that way, I guess. We'll see."

"I could maybe help him if he wants. I had Foley last year and he can be pretty vague in class, a lot of people get confused."

"Thanks, but you're busy…"

"'Not that much. 'You want me to talk to him tomorrow?"

"That would be great Dick, thanks."

"No problem. I think we both have study hall third period, tell him I'm usually in the library finishing my homework, we could meet then."

About a month went by with Dick tactfully and subtly helping Traver; his grades improved and he was allowed to join the track team. Tom figured it was thanks to Dick that he was close to making the honor roll (just missing it by one C in history) and, for the first time ever seemed to actually understand the math he was doing instead of just plugging numbers into the equations. It was a nice change.

In fact, Tom was thinking that everything seemed to be going along pretty damn well for now. His son looked like he was finally back on the right path after some problems the last year or so.

Then Wayne announced that the entire household would be going along that spring to his place in the Bahamas for two weeks; maids, gardeners, even the stiff butler were all going to the private island. It would be a working vacation for most of them and they'd have some duties while they were there, it wouldn't be a complete free for all, but there would be plenty of free time and so everyone could bring someone with them—wife, husband, kid or other. It was their choice so long as it didn't get too ridiculous and all on the Boss's dime. They'd take the big plane down and stay on the man's private island with complete access to the boats and the rest. It was unspoken but understood that the family would have first dibs on the amenities but beyond that, they all had the run of the island.

Informal, relaxed, perfect weather in a tropical paradise and all expenses paid. Man, it didn't get much better than this.

A rich man's perks—not many people get to see the inside of that and that was the truth.

The entourage arrived, boated over to the secluded island, settled into the small enclave of guest cottages with the 'family' in the main house—all wood beams, light colors and sea breezes surrounded by the kind of sea views you see in the travel magazines. Tom brought Traver, of course. Annie, his wife Annie, died in a bad car wreck back when Traver was still in a stroller. "I've never found anyone who could come close to her, never have. Probably never will." That's why now it was just him and the kid—and he was a good kid, too, thank God.

"'You sure you won't be bored without any of your friends around, Trav? I don't want you bothering anybody, 'y'understand?"

"Yeah, sure, Dad. Christ, lighten up, will you? I know how to behave around Wayne, okay? You're not going to get fired or anything."

Anyway, it turned out okay because Trav ended up hanging out with Dick and a couple of friends he'd brought with him. Nice kids, all of them, or so they all seemed.

"They treating you all right?"

"Sure they are, they're pretty nice guys."

"They're not making you feel like the hired help, are they?"

"God, Dad—no, I told you they're okay. Dick was even telling me about how Bruce was talking about taking some of his staff to Aspen with them next winter, he said he'd teach me how to snowboard."

"Great, that's great, but don't you go buggin' them, right? If it happens, it happens."

"Well—yeah. I'm not stupid, you know."

Okay, there was that run in Tom had with the Master; maybe that was why he was nervous about the whole thing. He'd gone up to the kitchen to get some breakfast because the fridge in his own little kitchenette was out of eggs, thinking it was too early for the family to be up but there he was, large as life. The Master was reading that morning's Wall Street Journal. And how the hell did he get it to this island by six-thirty in the damn morning? And why didn't he just use his fancy-dancy computer to read the damn paper?

Whatever, there he was and looking a bit the worse for wear, too. Well, he saw Tom pouring himself a cup of that special blend coffee he had just for him, saw him taking out the bread and the jam which had been imported from God knew where. He didn't say anything, he didn't have to. The look he gave Tom could have frozen ice on an Eskimo's ass.

Tom just avoided him from then on, not all that easy on a tiny island, but he managed to do it.

It was strange, though. Wayne had this rep as an idiot, a lightweight, a real player but here he was reading some serious financial reports (it turned out the WSJ was his light reading). He was keeping a close eye on the kids and still managing to spend every night with some stacked brunette he'd hooked up with and make time for dinner with the local Prime Minister. Something here just flat out didn't jive…sort of like his relationship with Dick. It didn't add up.

"Trav? You make sure that you don't bother Mr. Wayne, right?"

"Yeah, sure."

Then towards the end of the first week was when things started happening, bad things.

The two kids Dick brought with him, Roy and Wally. The kid Wally seemed okay, though Roy was a real smart-ass. The other kid seemed better, more polite and better behaved but neither of them was a real problem. All right, Roy took a jet ski at one in the morning to hook up with some girl he'd met that afternoon but that was just kid stuff. Both Dick and Bruce went after him, brought him back around dawn all safe and sound, if pissed and nothing more was said, at least not that any of the help ever heard about.

The next morning, after the kids slept in but they were down on the main beach by about noon, relaxing, laying around in their bathing suits, swimming and being pretty quiet. Old Bruce must have torn Roy a new one when he was brought back because he was sure as hell keeping a low profile. Tom carried the lunch tray down for the kids, the kids thanked him without getting off their chaises and he went over to Traver, just to see what he was up to.

That was when he saw the other kids, including Dick, get up for their food. He had a fresh bruise on his back and shoulder—a big one, all black and with some major scrapes to add to the picture. He was limping, too, like maybe he'd twisted his knee or something.

"Dick, you okay?"

"Yeah, sure; just slipped last night over on the big island. 'No big deal."

"'Looks painful."

Tom saw Dick and Roy exchange a glance. "I'm fine, don't worry about me. 'Just slipped on a patch of wet dock jumping out of the boat; I'm good."

"'You have it checked out?"

"Alfred took care of it. I'll be fine, don't worry about me, Tom."

"…There's plenty more food if you kids want it."

TBC