Work Text:
“We don’t want the sentence reversed,” Mrs Carchidi told Bruce very earnestly. “We just want what is owed to us.”
Bruce, somehow, still looked resistant to the idea. Jason would bet good money that it had more to do with the fact that Dick had brought Mrs Carchidi here personally and introduced her as a friend than with the case itself. Sure, it would mean taking on one of the most prominent criminal organizations in New Jersey, but when had that ever stopped them? Nah, this was just Bruce’s weird hang-up about ‘personal’ business again.
“Still, a lawyer-“ Bruce was saying, but Mrs Carchidi just talked over him.
“I know my husband was stupid for taking the fall for Mr Belevich’s murder. He’s always been a pushover, and when someone as powerful as Mr Santoro tells you to do something… But I want that restaurant back, for him to return to once he’s released. And for my daughter, because it was always supposed to be hers one day. We have nothing - nothing - I can barely pay our rent, and meanwhile, his daughter is throwing the biggest wedding of the year. That just ain’t right, Mr Wayne. It just ain’t right.”
Dick was beaming already. Tim had started typing the moment she used the phrase “for my daughter.” They all knew Bruce was going to say yes.
“So that’s the mansion, huh.”
Even from where they had parked slightly out of sight, Jason could make out three security guards and seven surveillance cameras. The fence was tall and electrified. Even Cassie would have problems entering that.
The rest of the neighbourhood spoke of the same kind of affluence, if not quite as much security. It was the kind of place where there wasn’t any public transportation because everyone owned a car (or was driven by a chauffeur service) and the maids were live-in. There were barely any cars parked on the road, with the notable exception of a small white van parked three spaces behind them.
“They’re so unsubtle,” Tim grumbled. “I bet there’s only one bug in the mansion and everyone knows where it is.”
“You’re just still pissed you can’t crack his bank security without the codes.”
Tim didn’t dignify that with an answer.
Jason laughed anyways and unlocked the car doors. “Alright, you two go be official.”
Cassie’s grin matched his. She liked playing tricks on law enforcement. Tim just smirked.
Walking into a local FBI headquarter never got old.
Cassie’s clever fingers had gotten him the badge, Tim’s clever fingers put him onto the guard’s list, and boom, Jason was walking through security giving his best federal agent impression.
He knew he looked the part. His suit was well cut, but not too expensive, and his hair was gelled back, the white streak dyed black so as not to stand out. He had less bags under his eyes than most of the people here, but eh, whatever. He had the look-at-me-I’m-armed-and-important swagger to make up for it.
Calling out a greeting to the secretary of the department he was headed to, he identified himself: “Agent Walsh. Good morning, Ma’am. I was directed here by Agent Carson - she wanted me to pick up a file, uh,” he made as if to check his phone, “file NYE 372-E. The Adkins case.”
The secretary smiled politely. “Yes, I received her e-mail. You will find the file in room 405. Second door on your right.”
“Thank you.” As Jason moved down the corridor, he murmured, “Good job, Tim.”
There was a quiet snort in his ear but no answer.
Undeterred, Jason continued: “Okay, I’m in the room, now. Let’s find those recordings… oh.”
For a long minute, there was only silence.
Finally, Tim asked: “What are you waiting for? Copy the content, Jason, I don’t need to explain how a flash drive works to you.”
“Uh. Tim. I think we’ve got a problem.”
“What?” Bruce cut in, presumably to keep Tim from yelling at him.
Jason would feel grateful, except he was mostly feeling doomed right now. “They’re tapes. Like. Actual tapes. VHS tapes.”
“….are you kidding me.”
“I wish.” Jason took a closer look. “I got about thirty tapes here for the last year alone.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Take them,” Bruce finally said. “We’ll find a VHS player somewhere.”
Jason had already grabbed and emptied one of the file boxes and was now stacking VHS tapes inside. “I’m not gonna be subtle walking out of here with this. That secretary was deeply uninterested, but no one is that uninterested.”
A loud, wailing sound almost made him drop the tapes. It took him a second to register it as the fire alarm.
“On it,” Tim said. “You have about six minutes until someone will check whether the room was evacuated properly.”
“I love you.”
“Turn left when you exit the door.”
“So no hacking his accounts then,” Bruce stated.
Tim shook his head, a deeply unhappy pull at his lips. “The tapes didn’t capture him transferring his .”
“So what’s plan B?” Dick asked.
He was looking at Bruce, but it was Tim who answered. “I think he has about two million dollars in cash hidden at his house.”
Now that was what Jason called a plan B.
Bruce raised an eyebrow at this information. “You know where?”
Tim pulled up the floor plan. “He keeps going to his bedroom at the end of deals - and no, Jason, not for that reason. Going by what his business partners have spent, he’s paid out about that sum a month without flinching. Then he goes on a trip and returns with his usual suitcase.”
“Still leaves us with the problem of getting in there and getting it back out,” Jason interjected.
“Watching those tapes - who would you say is responsible for planning the wedding?” Bruce asked thoughtfully.
“The bride’s mother, Daniella Santoro. Carlo’s wife.”
“And how happy is she about how everything is working out?”
Mrs Santoro loved Dick.
It took him about ten minutes to sell her on the idea that he was the last minute wedding planner her husband had hired to make her life easier, a consideration that she apparently wasn’t accustomed to. The next morning, he was introducing her to his ‘team’.
“This is Father Adams,” Dick was saying. “He’s from the Archdiocese in Illinois.”
“Thank you so much for coming, Father,” Mrs Santoro told Bruce gratefully. “I cannot imagine why Father Joseph - he’s been our priest for years, you know, and always so polite and quite godly, I always say - I cannot imagine why he has been taken sick so suddenly. I really wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t agreed to help us.”
“It’s always a pleasure to assist in the union of two souls in holy matrimony, my dear lady.”
Jason grimaced inwardly. There had been some discussion about who would take what role. Jason was the only one of them who had actually been raised Catholic. He had quite fancied being Father Todd, but in the end, while you could memorise the relevant religious texts overnight (at least if you were Bruce), developing enough cooking skills to pass as a professional chef was beyond everyone else.
“This is our chef, Isaac Miralles. He trained in Paris.”
Jason smiled and handed her a hand-written list. “Here are my suggestions for the menu, Mrs Santoro, if you would care to look them over.”
“Of course. Nice to meet you.”
“And this is our seamstress, Lara.” Dick gestured at Cassie. “I know you have the gown and bridesmaid’s dresses, but you know how there are always last minute alterations. After all, we want the bride and her friends to look her very best, don’t we?”
“Of course.” But Mrs Santoro was clearly thinking along other lines, because she added: “I say, would you mind looking at my own gown, too? Of course, I don’t want to be too extravagant - one couldn’t overshadow Maria, though she is rather plain, poor girl… I ordered this heavenly number from Givenchy, but I do think these French people never get cleavage right.”
Cassie barely had time to nod before Mrs Santoro turned back to Dick. “Really, I appreciate your help so much. My husband just leaves everything in my hands, as if his business is any more important than the wedding of our daughter. We invited more than 300 people, after all. Really, he is too much. Now he tells me he will conduct a business deal during the reception. Can you believe it?”
Dick gasped. “No!”
“Yes! Apparently, he just started reconciling with a business rival of his and wants to use this opportunity for rapprochement. And to conduct business! At my big - my daughter’s big day!” She seemed to recollect that she was still standing next to a priest, for she added with a smile: “Really, I’m all for forgiving my enemies, Father Adams. But there is a time and a place, and our daughter’s wedding is not it.”
“I understand your sentiments,” Bruce agreed solemnly.
“Jason.”
The voice in Jason’s ear was impatient. Jason ignored it.
“Jason.”
The dressing wasn’t quite right yet. Sure, it was only supposed to go on the salad right before the reception, no wilted leaves for Jason, but he needed to let it steep until then so the herbs could really infuse the oil with their flavour. Mrs Santoro had insisted on the dressing being low in calories, so Jason had to do what he could to give it that certain extra twang.
“Jason. You’re supposed to case the bedroom.”
“Just a minute, Tim.”
“You do remember the cooking job is just camouflage, right?”
“You want me to ruin the poor woman’s wedding?” Jason demanded, somewhat more dramatically than needed. “C’mon, I know you were impressed when Santoro told Bruce that he’d offered the groom money to go away and he’d refused. And Cassie actually liked working with Maria. She can’t help her parents being terrible, Tim, do you want me to leave her without decent food at her wedding?”
Tim sighed. Jason thought it sounded fond. “…Dick is on his way. Take your time.”
Of course, everything went to shit on the actual day of the wedding. Jason hadn’t really been expecting anything else. Still, what he saw when he helped the maids bring the pre-ceremony hors-d’oeuvre to the lawn where the guests were greeted made even him pale. Or rather, who.
Trying to be as circumspect as possible, he pulled Dick into the kitchen with him. “Do you know the name of the guy Santoro killed and made Mr Carchidi take the blame for?”
Dick frowned at his tone. “Belevich Ivan Ivanov. Why?” His tone indicated he already suspected the answer.
“Fuck,” Jason groaned, “then that’s his brother, Aleksei Ivanov, talking to Santoro right now and I can’t go out there. We know each other.”
“Know each other or know each other?” Dick actually wiggled his eyebrows. Idiot had his priorities straight.
“‘Know’ functions as a synonym for ‘tried to kill each other multiple times during a turf war in Kazakhstan’ here.”
Dick sighed. In their earpieces, Tim did the same.
Jason had expected that to be it for him - sure, he was close enough to the bedroom to help out Cassie if she needed a hand, but most of this con was run by Dick’s and Cassie’s combined efforts and Tim listening through the bugs.
Dick, however, genius that he sometimes was, chose the hallway right next to the kitchen to make one of the most satisfying moves of their play. (He’d probably done it on purpose to keep Jason entertained. Sometimes Dick was awesome like that.)
“I’m so sorry, Mrs Santoro,” Jason heard him murmur. “I know this is a shock, but I just couldn’t bear not telling you immediately.”
“What do you mean? I should be outside, the ceremony is starting in three minu- OH MY GOD! THE BASTARD!”
Jason grinned.
“I found them ten minutes ago,” Dick explained, apologetically, as if it hadn’t been him that distracted Santoro away from the wedding at the crucial moment as if he hadn’t been leaning over Tim’s shoulder during the photoshop process, making crude suggestions as to the most compromising pose.
“WITH LAURA?? AGAIN? THAT’S IT, I’M OUT OF HERE!”
Jason turned back to his chopping board, whistling.
“Jason, Belevich Aleksei Ivanov is approaching,” Tim calmly informed him.
“Do I have anywhere to hide?” Jason hissed, checking the clock. The ceremony wasn’t even supposed to be over yet, Jesus.
“No. He already talked to Santoro and confirmed what we needed to know. If he reaches his associate and they compare notes, he will smell a rat immediately. Stop him.”
Jason sighed. And he had had so much fun cooking. The pastries weren’t quite done yet and the fish had come out of the oven a treat. Oh well, at least the Santoro’s kept a well-stocked kitchen. Plenty of nice, sharp knives.
“Rogers.”
Cassie dropped the suitcase behind the kitchen counter, giving Jason two thumbs-up as she ran out of the room, her copy of the bridesmaid’s dress fluttering behind her as she presumably returned to the reception. (At a wedding, a bridesmaid’s dress opened every door for you.)
Jason checked Aleksei Ivanov ’s pulse again. Yup, still alive and breathing, but also very, very unconscious. He nodded to himself and grabbed the suitcase. Time to get this baby out of here.
“You decide on the car, Tim?” he asked.
Tim chuckled. “You can put it into the one you wanted to all along, Jason. Everything’s arranged.”
“Aww, you know me so well.”
“That I do.”
(“…Where is the suitcase, Jason?”
“In the trunk of the wedding car,” Jason replied, supremely unconcerned.
Dick grinned. “A nice wedding present to help them start into a life away from the mafia, hm?”
Bruce looked around his children. Dick was clearly in on this, as was Tim. (Bruce had no illusion of Jason managing this without his knowledge.) Cassie was smiling, too. And Jason visibly couldn’t give a shit about his approval of their curse of action.
He suppressed a sigh. “And the money for our clients?”
Dick hummed. “Well, when Santoro discovered his wife had left him and the suitcase full of money was gone… he was furious. Immediately called his bank to remove her access to his funds.”
“Spelling out the access codes right into the microphones,” Tim finished for him. “Where would you like those 400 millions to go?”)
Jason was cooking again. This time, it was only for seven people, himself included, and he was following someone else’s recipe. He dished everything out on plates, but covered them for now - he was pretty sure there would be no eating for some time once Mrs Carchidi and her daughter arrived.
Dick lead them inside. The mother was blindfolded. The little girl looked so serious that Jason was sure Dick had sworn to secrecy about everything she saw. Anyway, she was probably too young to remember this place.
“Where are we? It smells delicious,” Mrs Carchidi was saying. Jason felt his chest swell with pride a bit.
“Ready?” Dick asked, then he pulled the blindfold away.
Mrs Carchidi blinked as her eyes adjusted to the lights, turned down low as they were. Then she gasped. “Dick! This is -“
“Your restaurant, yes,” Dick smiled. “I hope I remembered the colour scheme correctly?”
She stared at the large table they had set into the middle of the room in disbelief, reaching out as if expecting the cutlery to vanish. “It’s - it’s perfect. Down to the tablecloth.”
Probably sensing tears on their way, Bruce stepped forward and handed her a stack of papers. “These are all your contracts, Mrs Carchidi. You will find all the information for your new business account right there.”
Mrs Carchidi nodded numbly, taking the papers without looking at hem. “Thank you - I - How can I thank you enough?”
Jason thought about how much her surprise would grow once she’d read the account info and noticed the current balance. The team had thought the family was due some interest on their outstanding payment from the Santoros. Then he saw Tim checking his watch, and smiled even more widely.
Tim cleared his throat. “Ah, one more thing,” and turned on the tv in the corner. The news was on.
“…And there’s been a development in a crime that shocked New Jersey. Five years ago, Antonio Carchidi was convicted of killing Ivan Belevich in his restaurant. Now, the state attorney general says new evidence emerged that might prove him innocent.”
Mrs Carchidi looked up at Bruce in teary disbelief. “But - how?”
Bruce gestured at Cassie. “Santoro and Belevich’s brother argued over it when they made a business deal. She was behind the curtain, filming.”
And with that, Mrs Cardichi was crying again, hugging her bewildered daughter close. “Daddy is coming home, honey. He’s coming home. Everything will be alright.”
Jason was assembling their desert when heard the kitchen door swing open once more right after him. He smiled without turning around.
Seconds later, two thin arms were sneaking around his middle, cold hands immediately finding their usual place underneath his shirt. “You had a lot of fun on this mission,” Tim said softly.
“So did you,” Jason returned. “Admit it, you like having us all run around like your chess pawns.”
“Mmm,” Tim hummed, pulling Jason closer to him. “You’re a knight, at least. Maybe even a bishop.”
Jason chuckled. “Thanks, babe.”
He couldn’t really move like this, so he just patted the hands on his stomach softly. Their family was probably already laughing at them, hiding away in the kitchen like newlyweds, but if Tim was feeling sentimental… well, it wasn’t every day that they got to finish a case on such a resounding happy ending.
“Love you, too, by the way,” Tim murmured.
Jason smiled and pulled one of Tim’s hands up, the left one, the one where a simple golden band adorned his ring finger.
The gentle kiss he placed there was answer enough for them.