The trunk made Baz long for the roomy hiding place that had been Rei's closet from what felt like a decade earlier. It hadn't been that long, of course. It had hardly been a week and Baz had gone from willfully ignorant outside contractor to being shoved into a trunk in an alleyway. If only his father could see him now, so successful and in no way a disappointment.
Baz blinked in the dark, listening to the dull hum of the radio that the driver turned on after everyone else left the car. His hands had gone cold, blood struggling to find its way beneath the plastic zip ties. Bruises would blossom from Jasper's gentle handling as he shoved Baz hard into the trunk, discretely pressing the muzzle of his gun into Baz's side when Cheng wasn't looking. With a little more effort, Baz could turn himself into one large bruise, mottled in a dazzling array of purples and greens, healing and bruising, healing and bruising...
The truth was, it was easier to dwell on that than to think of a way out. Baz feared there wasn't one and trying to seek out a solution would only end in frustration in failure. His thoughts spun in circles until he closed his eyes, making little difference in the darkness of the trunk, and took a deep breath. One hard kick upward only resulted in the radio droning louder, not quite loud enough to hear the lyrics, but enough to get distorted bass and drums clearly.
Maybe banging his head repeatedly against the trunk would do the trick. If not, maybe he could successfully knock himself out.
Everything was not horrible. Rei bargained his life back. She traded millions in assets for his freedom. No more blackmail. That had to count for something. He meant something to Rei.
The thought bolstered him a little.
He groped in the tiny space, cold fingers searching for anything that might help. A hard edge or an opening. How did he escape? If he could get into a secure building, surely there was a way to get out of a secure trunk. It was the opposite of what he was already good at and there had to be hope. His finger run over the rough carpeting of the trunk, over the odd shapes that accommodated essential elements of the car. The metal was smooth and cool and useless. Baz needed something sharp, something that could cut through his restraints.
Baz reached for his neck, the comforting gesture more obvious and difficult while his wrists were bound together. He rolled the signet ring around between his fingers, feeling the crest embossed in it as he tugged it across the chain like it might help him think.
The sound seemed to echo, like the trunk was a cave sending the ominous sawing sound back at him. Back and forth, back and forth.
Weren't there manual chain saws, just teeth pulled back and forth to cut down entire trees? Maybe. Maybe that could work. The worst thing that could happen was it wouldn't work and that would only leave Baz in the same position: trapped in a trunk.
Almost anything was an improvement on that.
He brought the ring to his mouth, using his teeth to wedge it between his wrists. The ties and the ring pressed into his skin. Baz needed it to fit, needed to thread the ring underneath the plastic. Jasper tried to tighten the restraints as tight as he could, but flesh was malleable. There had to be enough give to work a ring through.
His wrists rolled over the metal until he could get the ring in his teeth again. It had to be enough. The chain, the friction of pulling the plastic zip ties back and forth across it, had to be enough. It felt like he repeated the process over and over before the plastic yielded. It snapped, falling to the floor of the trunk.
Yes.
The small victory was worth celebrating, though the celebration was limited to a quiet moment laid out as wide as he could be, wiggling sensation back into his fingers. He spat the ring out again, hyper aware of the weight of it against his collar bone. Family legacy was good for something.
The music continued blaring, humming at the edge of comprehension. Louder, surely, on the outside. It was meant to drown him out. It was time to test that.
Baz squared himself up, bracing his shoulders against the rear of the trunk. A hard kick upward hadn't drawn attention. A hard kick into the back a seat offered give. He could feel the flex in it. One... two... three... He slammed his feet against the rear of the seat.
The force reverberated up his heels, rattling his bones. No one came knocking on the trunk. No one jacked the music higher to drown him out.
Four...five...six...seven. It gave, plastic crunching. Cars weren't made to contain people. They weren't foolproof containment facilities and Baz just folded down the seat of his.
He rolled out, back into the back seat so recently turned into a makeshift negotiation room. It was roomier without the crowd, desolate when empty. Through the tinted windows, there was only the bland exterior walls of an alleyway... and the driver, cell phone pressed to his ears.
Music thumped. Under it, the engine still purred. For a quick getaway?
Hell yes.
A shutter separated passengers from drivers, but a little flexibility let Baz slip through the window, albeit awkwardly, while the driver paced through his phone conversation outside. The windows were tinted. What was there to see?
Baz tumbled into the driver's seat, somersaulting through the tiny shutter. He braced himself, elbow striking the horn.
He froze, turning to the window where the bewildered driver stared back at him, still holding his phone. Both moved, lunging for opposite sides of the door. The lock clicked, then exterior handle yanked. Baz was faster.
The door didn't open.
Baz couldn't help but grin. Underestimated again. Maybe Jasper would have another opportunity to be smarter, to not consider locking up the thief he hired specifically for resourcefulness, athleticism, and improvisation.
He turned to the steering wheel, adrenaline screeching to a halt as one small wrench fell into the cogs of the machine.
Right. He couldn't drive. Temperance was so bike friendly. Cars were expensive. Insurance was worse. . Why hadn't he learned to drive again? Something so silly as being terrified and too intimidated by his father?
The driver pounded a fist against the window and Baz flinched. In a moment, he'd call for help and Cheng and the gang would come rushing out again and perhaps this time around, Cheng wouldn't be quite so polite and might let Jasper shoot Baz.
Baz fumbled for the gear shift. Pulling it out of park as he shifted into a better position in the driver's seat. He pressed the gas, lunging the car forward and sending the driver sprawling. In the side mirror, it didn't look like Baz did the man any damage so much as surprised him.
The car lunged for the end of the alley, slamming to a halt when Baz hammered on the brakes. It would be a very short getaway if he managed to get t-boned getting out of the alley, but no one was coming and Baz spun the steering wheel hard. Of all the things he could end up in, it had to be a limo.
It felt a lot like abandoning Rei, but the alternative was bursting into the bank and what purpose would that serve either of them? Cheng had culled the suggestion to shoot Baz, but would that decision hold up? It was too risky to to return to his own apartment. Baz wouldn't dream of leading Sundial back to Diego's once again.
There was the museum, though... What chance was there that Rei had time to make it to the museum before she headed to the hospital? Whatever business she had at the museum was still business she needed to take care of.
Having a destination did not solve all immediate problems. There was the issue of getting to the museum. Baz changed lanes, remembering too late to reach for the signal just to end up turning on the windshield wipers instead.
He'd been to the museum enough times to know roughly where he was going, but roads didn't 100% line up with the bike lanes and bus routes Baz was familiar with. A left at 10th ave? Centerpoint only had a handful of traffic lights and Baz had never turned left at any of the ones that crossed lanes of traffic.
After the ridiculous week of breaking into houses and drinking wine with a supermodel, he was going to end up dying trying to make a left hand turn in a limousine. That was the headline his parents would have to read: Local thief and kidnapper brought to justice by hybrid car in traffic accident. That would be his legacy. How would he survive the event? As it was, his body was so tense that hitting a pothole risked breaking his wrists.
No sirens came blaring after him. Not yet. How much time left before they did?
Baz flinched as another car horn blasted at him, but was better than a collision. Why couldn't there be a flashing signal light that meant 'I don't actually have a driver's license and took all my driving lessons in a small town'?
To be fair, it would probably be very impractical to advertise the illegality of what he was doing. Go figure. Driving without a license was the most terrifying of the illegal activities he partook in.
He followed the signs directing him toward the bridge. Over the bridge, follow the line of the waterfront. It would be fine. He was doing fine. After the first lane change, he figured out the signal and fewer cars honked at him. It was unavoidable. Even with the helpful turn signal warning he flashed other drivers, Baz still routinely forgot the car was as long as it was, longer than his dad's pick-up truck driving through the thinly populated streets in Iowa.
The Temperance Museum of History, being the tourist attraction the city hoped it to be, had plenty of very helpful signs telling Baz which lanes to take, which off-ramps to give himself heart attacks over.
The parking lot was vast and mostly empty, but the limo was too long for most spots. Bus parking? Yes, that would do the trick. Baz spun the wheel, navigating the hard corners of the lot. He angled into a spot, inch in into it until his foot slipped, plunging the nose of the car into the concrete base of a light pole. Metal crunched, the hood jutting up in a crumpled mess in front of the windshield. Baz froze.
Well... it was just the front end. Really, the damage could've been a lot worse. How much did it cost to get that kind of bodywork done?
Baz shook his head. What did it actually matter? Apparently, Rei had easily traded away shares worth millions just to free Baz from blackmail. In the time it took him to take the thing for a joyride, the stock market had probably fluctuated Cheng's net worth more than the cost of the whole limousine.
It made Baz's head spin, thinking of that kind of money.
That, or he'd given himself a bit of whiplash.
Leaving the keys in the ignition, Baz left the car, dusting himself off as he did.
The museum loomed over him, it's graceful landscaping surrounding it. Sunlight glinted off the windows, the kind that let sun in and out, but left no option to let in the breeze. There were ventilation ducts and all of that... How to get in?
Baz patted his pockets as he walked. The answer was an obvious one, painful only in the way that it wasn't the first thing to come to mind anymore. He dug a handful of cash out of his pocket, the kind of emergency cash meant for cab rides or street buskers. He could just... pay his way in, just like any normal, average person. At what specific moment had he become the kind of person whose first instinct was to enter through a window?
Maybe he could really be a normal, average person again.
__________
A/N: A sidenote, at this point, like what percentage of Baz's body is bruise.