Whatever it was Floyd had thought he'd seen from the second story window, it was gone now. Maybe he was just letting that antsy feeling get the best of him. Still, he was about fifteen minutes away from declaring this job officially FUBAR. Holding on to a hostage for this long without the benefit of further instructions from their employer would have been unthinkable to him before that day, and yet there they were. Too much longer, and the whole thing was going to become untenable.
Shame, too. He'd really been looking forward to getting paid this time. And everything had gone off without a hitch a the party, too. Seemed like a real waste.
Scandal and Blake (and probably Harley, too, by now) would probably insist on letting Wayne go. Floyd felt it would be faster just to shoot him and dump the corpse, but wasn't really prepared to argue the point. Wasn't like the guy had been the worst kidnap-ee he'd ever worked with. They could do whatever they wanted with him, far as he cared. Then, they could get to tracking down the dead man that had left them high and dry--and, even worse, without any kind of payday to show for their trouble.
Suddenly, Deadshot straightened, sniffing the air through his mask.
"The hell?" he muttered. "Did somebody order a pizza?" Typical of this bunch. Just typical. Wasn't like they were wanted fugitives, or had a millionaire jet-setter tied up in the front room, or anything.