Right of Last Refusal (II)

He spent the drive going over maps, and specifically the marks indicating the locations of the payphones he'd been called from. Clever as Richard had been in his night-time contact, that didn't do jack to the answering machine's ability to record the number. While Tony was still a bit iffy on the pattern, the payphone locations still painted enough of a path for him to decide on a destination that wasn't just a vague "somewhere in the flyovers." More specifically, western Indiana. That wouldn't help much with finding the guy once he did catch up to him, granted. And while he had… procured copies of traffic camera shots from those places around the relevant times and dates – thanks Rhodey! – they weren't enough to identify whatever ride Richard was using. Assuming he wasn't just bussing or hitch-hiking, but Tony had the gut feeling that he wasn't. Richard Rider was an even bigger grease monkey than he was.

Tony was pretty sure that Rhodey got a lot more latitude than he should when fulfilling Tony's requests. People in the Airforce and Government were probably colluding or otherwise enabling James Rhodes to act outside his mandate as USAF officer whenever Tony was involved. Because return on investment into the next goose that lays the golden bombs, don't you know. But it was times like these when Tony had both a need and the interest in testing the boundaries of their relationship. It seemed those boundaries were quite broad indeed.

It still didn't give him a lead on Richard's ride though.

Looks like he'll be slumming it.

Perfect. It'd been way too long since he'd last done it.

The relevant payphone in Quincy, Illinois didn't meet his criteria. Neither did the one in Peoria, or any of the other towns in Indiana, not even Indianapolis. Richard was sure getting around. If only he'd left something more behind! As it was, the only thing Tony did achieve while on the trail was developing a strange kinship with crows from feeding them whenever he stopped for lunch at out of the way diners and roadside stops. And the occasional raven. Geriatric ones. He was pretty sure one of them hitched a ride on his truck at one point because how else could he run into the same raven two towns in a row? When Tony got to Cincinatti, though, he struck gold: the payphone was right in front of a KFC. Even better, the shop was one of the smaller branches and apparently didn't merit 24-hour guard. What it did have, though, was a parking lot and exterior security cameras.

Tony pulled into a public parking lot the next neighbourhood over where the off-roader wouldn't look too out of place. Then he put on his biggest pimp shades, pulled up his hoodie, went out for some fast food and had a nice afternoon out in the town. He wasn't that recognizable yet, being still more of a reclusive heir than the drunkard playboy he'd probably degenerate into over the next few years, but better safe than sorry and the disguise wasn't too on the nose.

Correction, he wasn't that recognizable to people but his implausibly persistent raven buddy found him just fine. Though he was starting to think it was his food he was really after considering the timing, the opportunistic little scavenger. Then again, the not so little guy did fly off and return with a surprisingly fine and shiny glass button, so maybe there was more quid pro quo going on than Tony was willing to presume.

The weather was still pretty cool so nobody batted an eye at his hood at least, shades or no. Which was good because they gave plenty of double takes at the raven instead.

He finished his uneventful day with a dinner at a restaurant, so he could go to the bathroom and change into his grease monkey clothes after he was done. Then he left via the service entrance with his travel clothes in a backpack as if he belonged there. Made his way back to the next neighbourhood on foot. He never aimed even vaguely in the same direction as his car just to be safe.

Scoping out the area was straightforward enough after the trash digging and social engineering he had to pull off during his Pentagon hack. It was actually kind of disappointing he didn't need to make any fake calls to people. He didn't have to dig through even one upended can of trash! But the security system was familiar enough to him that he knew where to chip the walls and what wires to cut and look ma, no alarms! Sure he was all over the security cameras, but even if he lost all sanity and didn't delete tonight's tapes, that's what the disguise and ski mask was for.

Once he was in – the locks on the doors were complete shit – finding the right day's tape was child's play. KFC had very helpful labels on everything. Playing it on the store's own system was just as simple, and so it was that he finally got to see Richard Rider in the flesh. More importantly, he got to see the car he drove up in.

It was a Rolls Royce of all things. One that looked fit to break apart at the next sudden stop, though that wasn't the only thing that felt off about it. Still, he had what he came for.

Since he didn't have time or inclination to stay and copy anything, he just took the tape with him when he left. After snapping a few polaroid photos of the car on-screen and deleting the footage of that evening of course.

Then he exited via the back, travelled to the other neighbourhood and then the next neighbourhood over, changed clothes in the first semi-dark alley he could find that wasn't so slummy that he should worry about being jumped like in the big city, and doubled back to his car in the same clothes he left it in. From the direction semi-opposite where his theft had just taken place just to be doubly sure.

When he got in the car, the on-board answering machine had one message from his old man and one from his mother. He deleted the first one without listening to it. Well, he deleted it and then suffered the mother of all jumpscares when Raven Buddy cawed at him through the window. Where had he shown up from? Why? And was he going to stand on his rear-view mirror and possibly bend it all out of shape when he took off? And where did he get off looking at him so judgmentally?

"You are nobody's buddy," Tony flatly told him through the door screen. "I hereby name you Cawboy."

Oh God, he was anthropomorphising a bird now! First it was the hippies and now he was doing it too!

Tony Stark glared at the bird, vainly blew his car horn at it until passers-by started cussing him out, then looked pointedly forward and drove off while pretending it didn't exist.

He waited until he left town and was driving down the highway before he hit play on the second message. His mother. It was what he had come to expect. 'Tony are you alright, your father is in a right state and I'm just worried, please call back as soon as you can.' Pretty routine. He drove through the night and only pulled over at a roadside motel just before dawn, when he could be sure no one was awake in the house. Then he called back and left his 'I'm fine' message. God forbid either of his parents pick up and make him blow up over them conveniently being home only when he wasn't.

All in all pretty routine so far. He should be good for at least another week and a half before Howard Stark ran out of patience with his stray child and swooped in to retrieve him. So long as he didn't find and deactivate the satellite locator beacon that was surely in the car somewhere. But this once Tony would prioritise the mission over his righteous feud with mister Stark Senior.

A week and a half would be more time than he really needed anyway.

And it was. Especially after he started filing missing car reports in every town he stopped in to get the cops to do the drudge work. They usually got back to him without needing bribes too, small town police were great! He saw way too many photos if this or that car that may or may not be the one he was looking for, based on traffic and security camera shots that were too many to hack and steal and dig through on one's lonesome. Tony always said no, though, when they called him in and showed him pictures. Even when it was the right one. Which happened more and more often until he finally struck gold and the missing car report came back with a potential match that was still in town.

Columbia, Missouri.

The bad part of town.

More specifically, a rundown motel on the very fringes of where the bad part of town meshed (badly) with the part that still tried to maintain some veneer of respectability.

Anthony Edward Stark stared at the car, aghast.

Then he went back to his car and phoned the police, telling them he'd seen the car on the way and that it wasn't the one he was looking for. But they could close the case because he'd just heard from home that it had been found so it was alright now please and thank you.

And then, because the early hour could go fuck itself thank you very much, he stormed over to the door whose number he'd charmed out of the perky receptionist and pounded on it until it opened with a violent yank five minutes later.

"You have a Rolls Royce Corniche!" Tony Stark shrieked in outrage.

Tall, rugged and built like a brick shithouse sleepily glared between Tony and the finger being shoved in his face. Then he turned away and smashed the door in his face.

Tony gaped, but threw the door back open despite how the sight of a switchblade being tossed on the bed made him break in a cold sweat. "A Rolls Royce Corniche!" He yelled as he stormed into the tiny motel room after its occupant. Because it bore repeating. "How!? That car won't be on sale until fall! Even my rush order isn't done yet!"

Richard Rider completely ignored him in favour of pulling his pants on. Because he'd answered the door in his boxers, did he mention that? "Way to make a guy feel inadequate, by the way, you're a fucking Greek god," Tony said faintly, indignantly jealous of the man's body. Every single chunk of it. "There has not been a moment in my whole life when I felt more insecure in my manhood, so great job there Brick!"

"You've always been insecure, Wonder Boy," Richard grunted without looking at him while pulling on yesterday's shirt.

"Who, me?" Tony gibed to avoid confronting how true that was. "Who is it that avoids my calls and fell off the face of the Earth again?"

"What are you doing here, Tony? And where's your minder?"

"I'm reconnecting with an old buddy and perfectly capable of going on a road trip by myself, thank you very much!"

"Your minder, Tony."

"But you couldn't possibly mean Rhodey," Tony gasped disingenuously. "Why, he can't be expected to trail after little old me all the time! He's military don't you know."

Richard Rider closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. "Please tell me you didn't run away from home."

"You didn't run away from home."

Richard groaned. "Goddamn you, kid, I don't need this today."

"Oh you so aren't old enough for this attitude, and what the heck is 'this' even supposed to mean?"

"Get out."

"You mean you've had enough of me already!?" Tony gasped exaggeratedly to conceal his dismay at being rejected so harshly. "Has your bullshit tolerance truly fallen so low? Say it ain't so!"

"Out, Tony. I don't want to see you for at least another hour."

Tony made sure not to show any of his relief on his face. "Get breakfast and the morning newspaper while you take a shower and prepare for your inevitable defeat in our crossword fight, roger that!"

"OUT!" Richard yelled, tossing a pillow that Tony barely closed the door on in time.

Ah, boarding school nostalgia. Isn't it grand?

The relief Tony felt on the way out was almost like that moment of ultimate bliss just before crashing down from a crack high. Actually no, fuck that shit. Crack had nothing on being high on your own supply.

The feeling buoyed him through his entire fast food run and the take-out he bought on top of it to share with Richard. He might have skipped all of yesterday's meals in his rush to reach Columbia before Richard left – which may be why Cawboy had finally fucked off wherever – but it was no reason to stuff himself by himself. That would be inhospitable!

Unfortunately, his wilful dismissal of the simple fact that Richard was the one in the position to be inhospitable (or not) came back to bite him when he returned exactly one hour later on the dot. Which is to say, he had gone way too far in refusing to make assumptions about Richard Rider, as became dreadfully clear when he walked in on the man the second time.

"Honey, I'm home!"

"Yes sir, that's him right now," Richard said in the telephone, then held out the receiver for him to take.

Tony looked at his supposed friend, taken aback. Then the blood rushed out of his face and he glared at him, awash in betrayal.

Richard Rider pointedly glared back and motioned with the receiver a second time.

… That utter bastard, but what else could he do but comply?

Tony Stark angrily dumped the food on the table, took the receiver from the hands of his treacherous, dastardly excuse of a friend, brought it to his ear and said "Hello."

"ANTHONY EDWARD STARK!" Screamed the angry, angry and angry voice of Howard Anthony Walter Stark. "YOU ARE IN SUCH TROUBLE!"

Fuck his life.