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The second Wayne spotted them, his expression turned from mildly hungover to straight up disappointed.
“Again?” he asked, dejected. It was almost like kicking a puppy. Jerry cringed underneath the ski mask.
“Yeah, Mr. Wayne. Sorry.”
“No, I know it’s not your fault,” Wayne stood from his desk, holding his hands, “I just had a really nice lunch planned today, you know?”
One of the new guys -- Bill? -- stuck his head around Jerry’s shoulder. “Hey, maybe they’ll ransom you out before noon, you never know Mr. Wayne!”
Wayne nodded, looking doubtful. Jerry zip tied his wrists together, fondly remembering the time the billionaire had accidentally slipped the cuffs several kidnappings back.
Halfway to the getaway car, he’d tapped Jerry on the shoulder, asking quietly if he could "re-do them" so the boys didn’t get in trouble. He’d been downright polite as Jerry reattached the cuffs, waiting patiently for him to finish.
Wayne was an odd duck. After months of repeat kidnappings, there was no doubting that.
“Now your favorite part,” Jerry said, trying to keep things light. He pulled the blindfold from his pocket, “Stop me when it gets too tight.”
Wayne bent his head forward, letting Jerry drape the blindfold across his eyes. He made a quiet noise when it was tight enough. Jerry knotted it and pulled back.
Not a single Fifty Shades of Grey joke was made, which was an improvement over last time. Jimmy still blushed when it was brought up.
Bill took point, leading them toward the exit as Jimmy cleared the path behind them with his rifle.
“The usual?” Wayne asked as Jerry marched him down toward the waiting van. For a suspiciously big guy, he looked awfully small all of a sudden. Tired, maybe.
Jerry’s heart twitched a little in his chest. He cleared his throat.
“No physical damage,” he said, watching Wayne’s shoulders perk up a little, “You can keep your clothes on as long as you promise to look sad in the photo.”
“I can do that,” Wayne said cheerfully, knocking his shoulder into Jerry’s. “You’re the best.”
Jerry was far from the best. But he appreciated the sentiment.
Wayne continued chattering along, filling the silence.
“You know, Salvatore’s people always punch me in the stomach right before the proof of life photo,” he said, nose wrinkling. Jerry opened the van door, watching carefully to make sure the billionaire didn’t fall. “I even tell them I’ll look beat-up and sad, but I don’t think they trust my acting abilities.”
Bill made a disgusted noise.
“You’re a great actor, Mr. Wayne,” Dillon called out from the passenger’s seat of the van, Craig nodding alongside him in the driver’s seat, “They’re just assholes.”
“Aw, thank you Dillon.”
The fact that Wayne could recognize their voices would’ve been terrifying a few months ago. Now it was reassuring.
Jimmy and Bill closed the doors, jumping into the back with Wayne and Jerry. With a tap on the driver’s seat, they were off.
“So,” Jerry said, desperately trying to keep Wayne’s mind off of past kidnappings and his missed lunch, “Do anything fun recently?”
It was a bit of a loaded question for a billionaire, but Wayne seemed to think about it, head tilting.
“My kid got an award for the science fair,” he said, to sudden raucous applause from everyone not driving (and a nod from Craig, who was, currently, driving), “Third place. I’m so proud of him.”
“That’s great,” Jerry said, and meant it. “Dick, right?”
“Jason,” Wayne said, smiling under the blindfold, “I have two kids now. Dick is the oldest.”
“Right,” Jerry said, turning pink. How could he have forgotten that? Wayne was only in the news every thirty minutes. “What was it about?”
“Carbon,” Wayne said, then looked mildly pained, “And, uh…some metal? A bunch of things that are super complicated. He’s really smart, though.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. Keeping up with him and Dick has been tough, though. Especially with the press everywhere.”
Jerry made eye contact with Jimmy over Wayne’s head. “I can imagine.”
“You’re trying your best, Mr. Wayne!” Bill said from next to Jimmy, punctuating the words with his rifle. “Fuckin’ reporters just wanna make money. Um, excuse my language, sir.”
Wayne smiled, a soft sort of half thing under the blindfold. “I don’t recognize your voice.”
“I’m Bill,” Bill said, looking starstruck and more than a little awed, “I’m new.”
“Let me guess. You’re a….Taurus?”
Bill’s eyes went impossibly wide as Jimmy snickered. Wayne grinned, seemingly pleased.
“So I was right.”
“How did you know that!” Bill cried, still holding onto his rifle, “That’s crazy, man!”
“I think I’ve guessed almost all of yours correctly,” Wayne turned to Jerry, the gesture losing a little effect as he was still blindfolded, “Except Jerry. He won’t tell me if I’m close.”
“It’s because I don’t trust Scorpios,” Jerry replied, crossing his arms. Wayne huffed in offense, but he was still smiling. “Sneaky little fuckers.”
“I’m a cusper,” Wayne protested, “You like Libras!”
“Of course I like Libras. Who doesn’t like Libras?”
The ride devolved from there, as it usually did. Wayne attempted to glare Jerry into revealing his zodiac sign (“for professional purposes!”) until the billionaire gave up, unable to muster any additional vitriol.
He then tried to read Bill’s entire horoscope from memory, despite neither of them knowing exactly when Bill had been born. Jerry tuned out the discussions of ‘houses’, content to relax with a kidnapee he didn’t have to intimidate every ten seconds.
Once they were at the safehouse, Jerry jumped up, sliding open the van door and pulling Wayne out. The billionaire let them lead him into the building, down the hallway, and into the cell with his typical lack of protest. Once inside, he slumped inwards, sighing softly.
Jerry cracked immediately,
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Maybe they’d jostled him too much. He turned to Jimmy, who shrugged. Had Bill even checked for an injury--
“Could I just hang out with you guys in the breakroom?” Wayne asked, looking toward Jerry’s voice. His head dipped toward his chest. “It just gets so quiet in here, and I like talking to you.”
Jerry glanced at Jimmy, who shrugged again. Real eloquent fuckin’ guy, Jimmy.
He cleared his throat again.
“Promise to look sad in the picture?”
Wayne’s head snapped upward. “Extra sad!”
Ah, fuck it, what did he care?
“Fine. But no trying to escape before the ransom’s phoned in.”
“I’m as invested in this as you are, Jerry,” Wayne said, sounding genuinely serious. He held his bounds hands out. Jerry rolled his eyes, grabbing the billionaire by the elbow.
“Craig’s making chili,” Jimmy added as they walked back toward the breakroom, “Special family recipe. You want some, Mr. Wayne?”
“I’d love some,” Wayne said, then frowned, “Do you know if it has any gluten in it?”
Ten minutes later, Craig was holding up the final piece of recycling he’d dug through, squinting at the label. Around him, the safe house’s cans and plastic containers were spread across the floor, carefully arranged into piles.
“I don’t think it has any gluten in it, Mr. Wayne,” he concluded, “But short of calling my Ma up, I can’t say for sure.”
Wayne, who was seated at the tiny kitchen table, nodded. “Of course. I’m so sorry for the trouble, Craig. You really didn’t need to go through everything. I can eat the ramen.”
The aforementioned lone brick of stale ramen sat on the table in front of him. There were several protests around the room as Wayne gestured at the package. Craig looked downright murderous.
Jerry pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.
“Maybe try a little, and see how your stomach is in a few hours?” Bill asked, “My sister is lactose intolerant, and she always does that with new foods she’s unsure about.”
Wayne nodded again. “I’ll try some, then.”
The grumbling around the room settled. Jimmy grabbed the brick of ramen and threw it in the trash, getting several nods of approval from his coworkers.
Note to self, Jerry thought, buy Wayne-friendly snacks for next time.
An hour passed before Jerry worked the nerve up to interrupt Wayne and the boys. With a sigh, he stood and grabbed the camera, slinging it over his shoulder.
“Proof of life time,” he said, before he could lose his nerve, “Employer will be getting antsy.”
Wayne stood, holding out his zip tied arms to be led to the backdrop. “Who is it this time?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, buddy,” Jerry said, genuinely wishing he could, for a moment, “You piss off a lotta people, though.”
“I know,” Wayne said, whether in response to both of those statements, or only one. “Are you going to take the blindfold off?”
“How else can we see your acting?” he teased, getting a smile for his trouble. “And with half your face covered, you could be anyone.”
Wayne chuckled at that, letting him position him against the backdrop and tug the blindfold off. He blinked up at Jerry, vivid blue eyes softening into something he couldn’t identify.
“Ready?” Jerry asked, holding up the camera.
Wayne squared his shoulders, then dropped them. His expression sobered, drowned puppy eyes emerging in full force. “Ready.”
The pictures came out good. Jerry uploaded them to the cloud as Wayne revisited his earlier rant about Maroni’s people, gesturing wildly with his bound hands.
“--and then they took my clothes off, like, who does that?” Wayne said, drawing in a deep breath, “It’s humiliating. Which I know is the point, but they just could’ve pulled up my browser history, or something.”
Jerry frowned. Yeah, he could imagine some pretty dumb shit in Wayne’s search history. Probably something like “how do I tie my shoes?” or “is it illegal to pet birds?”
Poor guy.
“So anyway,” Wayne said, leaning toward Jerry, “Did they turn out okay? I hope my facial expressions were accurate. I was thinking about my parents being murdered in front of me as a child.”
Um.
“No yeah, they were great,” Jerry said, not touching that with a ten foot pole, “Real scared looking.”
Wayne beamed. “Good.”
Three hours later, Jerry received a text confirming the wire transfer. Wayne was good for his money usually, or his butler and board of directors were, and clocked them a cool two million for their trouble this time.
The last time Jerry asked about how much money he usually got kidnapped for, Wayne had mumbled something about kidnapping insurance and shrugged, which was good enough for Jerry. Money was money, after all.
Wayne was out cold on the couch in the breakroom, a sweatshirt folded up underneath his head. Jerry shook his head as he spotted Jimmy keeping watch nearby, recalling how tired Wayne had looked earlier that morning.
Well. If a kidnapping plot could help a billionaire playboy sleep off his hangover for a few hours, it was a win for everyone.
“Mr. Wayne?” he asked, holding a hand out. Did he shake his shoulder? That might startle him. “Mr. Wayne, it’s time to go.”
Wayne snapped awake as Jerry’s hand brushed his shoulder, contorting around the zip ties to sit up. Wide blue eyes met his, filled with panic.
“You’re okay,” Jerry said, “You’re safe. It’s just us.”
The billionaire sat back with a forced exhale, rubbing his face with his bound hands. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said, clearly put out. Half of his hair was sticking up, pulled out of its perfectly gelled style. “What time is it?”
“Early afternoon,” Jimmy said from behind him, “You might still make lunch if we drive quickly.”
Wayne brightened considerably at that. He looked at Jerry, hopeful, “Can we?”
Fuck. Well, what was one more law broken?
“Craig!” Jerry called over his shoulder, raising his voice, “Get your ass in here!”
“I’m actually a really good driver,” Wayne said as Craig jogged their way. Jerry doubted that. “I have a license and everything.”
“What’s up, boss?” Craig said, clocking Wayne’s hair and smirking slightly.
“Need a quick ride back to the extraction point. We should--” Jerry faltered, turning to Wayne, “Unless your restaurant is closer?”
"It is."
Craig pulled the keys out of his pocket, clicking his tongue. “Door to door service, baby.”
Wayne looked thrilled. “The tabloids will love it.”
Jerry sighed, pulling the discarded blindfold from earlier out of his pocket.
“We’re still wearing the ski masks, guys.”
It took a fair amount of maneuvering (and threats) for Craig to get them in the valet line for the restaurant, but he managed.
Wayne was buzzing with excitement as they pulled up to the entrance, glancing at Jerry and Jimmy every ten seconds.
“Do you think you could like, get out and march me up to the door? Maybe with the rifles, too? So they don't try to talk to me?”
Jerry looked at Jimmy, who shrugged. “Yeah, I think we could do that.”
Craig parked in the valet lane, waving them on. “Don’t take too long. I might have to shoot someone.”
Wayne laughed. Jerry didn’t. Jimmy, in his infinite reticence, merely opened the van door and slid out with his rifle.
There were a few screams (and camera flashes) as they hauled Wayne out between them, walking him toward the doors. At the threshold, Jerry reached into his pocket, pulling out a knife.
Wayne didn’t twitch as Jerry cut the zip ties on his wrists, waiting patiently as he removed the blindfold next. The billionaire smiled at them both as his eyes were revealed, beatific.
“Thanks again for today,” he said, “I really liked the chili. Please let Craig know it was delicious.”
“Of--of course,” Jerry said, smiling awkwardly, “Until next time?”
“Just send me a calendar request before you show up,” Wayne said with a wave of his freed hand, “I’ll have my receptionist move my appointments around. Should be easier.”
That kind of defeated the point of a surprise kidnapping, but considering it was Wayne, Jerry was willing to agree. “We can do that.”
“Great!” Wayne smiled again, cameras flashing behind him. “See you in a few weeks!”
Jerry and Jimmy were left standing awkwardly on the front steps.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Jimmy murmured, shifting nervously. “Craig’s waiting.”
Jerry shook his head.
“Fuckin’ Scorpios.”