Santana leaned back in the velvet armchair, taking a deep puff from her cigarette. She let out the smoke slowly, closing her eyes.
Nothing beats relaxing in your favorite chair while wearing nothing but your favorite fedora, she thought, crossing her bare legs delicately.
"I'm worried."
Santana looked over to the bed where Brittany was lounging, wrapped in the bedsheets. She was leafing through a magazine, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
"And why would you be worried? You're never worried," Santana questioned smoothly, taking another drag from her cigarette.
"I know. But I've just been getting a bad feeling lately. Like when I eat peanut butter," Brittany replied.
Santana sighed, rubbing her temple. "Bad feeling about what?"
"There's this guy in a fancy suit. Every time I go down to The Red Ace, he's there. And he's always bugging me. Asking me boring questions."
Santana stiffened slightly, her ears perking and her eyebrows shooting up. I can't have some fuck-up bugging Brittany. It'll all be over if she lets the cat out of the bag about certain operations. Or about... us, she thought.
"Any idea who this guy is? The one who's been bugging you."
Brittany bit her nail and looked up at Santana. "I don't know. He hangs around the Diamond Lounge and talks to anybody who sits down at the bar."
Putting the cigarette out in the ashtray on the side table, Santana uncrossed her legs and stood up. She sauntered over to the bed, crawling up onto it and posing on all fours. She gave Brittany a coy smile.
The blonde rolled over, sprawling out on the bedsheets and arching her back. Santana crawled over until she was right over Brittany. "And I love you, I love you, I love you like never before," she cooed.
She placed a gentle kiss on her brow, and Brittany giggled as she made her way down to her mouth.
"Don't worry about that guy anymore, Britt," she said, her lips a hair's breadth away from Britt's. "But just to be safe, I don't want you going to The Red Ace anymore, okay? Promise me, Brittany."
For a fleeting second, Santana saw the look she loved so much on Britt's face. That mischevous look on her innocent face that said, 'Does this mean I get to be naughty?'
Brittany smirked and kissed her softly. "I'll promise... but only if you make me."
Santana let out a girlish laugh as she flipped over, pulling Brittany's smooth body on top of hers. /
"Now to the big news we wanted to share, Tana: we finally got our hands on that thing you wanted," said Noah, sitting smugly in his chair on the opposite side of the conference table from Brittany.
Brittany didn't particularly like being at Santana's meetings. Being a mob boss' wife is supposed to be fun. Last night was fun; this is not fun, she thought, looking at all the old men and the goons seated around the table, ready to give their reports and information. She listened to the men talk, but she never heard a word they said.
"That is excellent news, Noah," Santana said with a smile, looking genuinely pleased.
Brittany was pulled from her reverie to listen to her wife. She didn't quite care what she had to say, but there was something about the power and authority in her voice that never failed to turn her on. To see Santana boss around these men who were older and, in many cases, much bigger than her made Brittany want to call off the meeting and pull her lover to the bedroom immediately. But she knew it could be trouble. Only Santana's closest family and advisors knew about their marriage. It was probably bad enough that these guys were being bossed around by a woman, but a lesbian too? The mob was a man's world, and a girl like her had to be cautious.
Still, it wasn't like it wasn't kind of obvious. She looked over at Santana, in her black pantsuit and her fedora. She wore men's clothing, but had them custom tailored to specifically show off her figure. A proud woman, but also insistent on being taken seriously.
And she looked at herself, her flowing silver sequined gown hugging her curves and shining in the light. A proper lady, as her father would have said. She and Santana made quite a pair, they did.
Santana was talking again. "I want the press ready to print by tomorrow night."
The guy on the other end of the table, Tony, stood up quickly. "But Ms. Lopez, we just stole the thing last night. Isn't it a little soon to-," he started complaining. Brittany didn't like Tony. He'd always been a brown noser, sucking up to Santana. Hitting on her.
"Callate cabron," Santana hissed angrily. "I am the boss, right? Or did someone else get put in charge and you forgot to fucking tell me, Tony?"
He sat down, staring a hole into the table and looking embarassed.
"In case any of you other shit heads are getting cold feet about the operation, let me put your fears to rest. The head of security at The Red Ace owes me a favor. I caught him getting sucked off by a bellboy in a supply closet last time I was there, and I threatened to make it nastier than when I tried to out Rock Hudson." She placed a hand on Brittany's thigh underneath the table. "I had him... misplace a key to the basement floor for me. Tomorrow, we're moving it under the casino, and we'll run our operation from there. No one will expect us running an op under a casino that isn't ours, and if we're caught, we pull the plug and let Chang take the fall for counterfeiting under his hotel."
She smirked at the pleasantly surprised glances from around the table.
"This could work Tana," said Noah, giving her an impressed look and a nod.
"Of course it'll work. I've already got everything set up for you idiots. All you have to do is get the machine in there tomorrow afternoon, and by midnight, we can be all ready to start making some money. From what I can see, there's no way it can go wrong."
Brittany smiled. This woman was smart. This woman was powerful. This woman was hers. /
Blaine was nervous. He tugged on the end of his casino security uniform, but it just didn't feel right, like it was the wrong size and it was choking him. It was his first job- didn't he have a reason to feel nervous?
The sun was shining bright, and wherever he turned, it seemed like it was hitting him right in the eyes. He and the other guy they'd assigned to this job, Kurt, were standing outside the hotel, the printing press stowed away in a large metal container that they were pushing. The plan was to have any onlookers think it was a safe full of money, or a giant lockbox full of chips to restock the cashier's station on the casino floor. So far, no one had given them a second look as they'd unloaded the van and moved toward the entrance.
A few minutes passed, and finally the head of security appeared at the door, pulling it open and ushering them in. Blaine motioned Kurt over, and they both pushed the container, wheeling it through the door. The followed the head of security to the far side of the casino, through the house floor. They reached an elevator, where the security man put a key into a slot and the doors slid open. He looked at them with what seemed like hatred in his eyes.
"This elevator takes you all the way down. There's no cameras down there, so you're in the clear." He gave them the key. "That's the only way to get that container of yours up or down, so don't lose it. And remember- I didn't give it to you."
He strode away in a huff, like he had something important to do. Or like he didn't want to be seen hanging around with them.
Blaine pushed the container in the rather spacious elevator, and hit the button with a downward pointing arrow. The elevator lurched as it started to descend.
"So how did you get involved in all this?" Blaine asked innocently without looking at Kurt.
"How does anyone get involved in this shit?" Kurt countered almost angrily. "By mistake. What does it matter to you anyway?"
Blaine raised a brow, taken back by the hostility of a man with such a soft, feminine voice. "No reason. Sorry I asked."
The two men went the rest of the elevator ride in awkward silence, the whole debacle taking about a minute.
Elevator lurching to a stop, Blaine continued his trek with the container as he pushed it through the doorway. He parked the metal box in the corner of the large basement, careful to situate it behind some other wooden crates that had been neatly stacked there.
Kurt strode over to the metal door on the other end of the basement room, unlocking it and propping it open slightly with his foot. He looked at Blaine expectantly.
"Oh, right," Blaine said, pulling the radio he had off of his belt. He turned it on and set it to the frequency the boss had determined beforehand. "Noah? This is Blaine. We're in the basement."
A moment of silence, then the radio crackled. "Any problems so far?" came Noah's voice from the box.
"None. We've got the door open and we're all set for your boys to come down and start things."
"Roger that. We'll be there in an hour. Keep a low profile."
Blaine stared over at the icy looking Kurt who was sitting on a large crate, picking at his nails.
"Yeah, I don't think that's going to be much of a problem." /
"I didn't call in those favors to get you on the police force so you could dick around and achieve nothing, Sebastian."
Sebastian sighed, gritting his teeth before taking a puff from his cigarette. "I know Dad. I'm trying, alright?"
"No, you're not. Otherwise I'd have Santana Lopez on death row, waiting to sit that pretty ass of hers down in the electric chair!"
"I get it, Jesus. No one's ever brought a criminal empire down in a night, so you need to be a little more patient. These things take time."
"Shut your mouth Sebastian. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, or a little kid. You think I don't know things like this take time? You've been head detective of Vegas PD for almost a year now and you have nothing to show for it, you little fuck."
Sebastian grimaced. It was hard, not jumping over the desk and smashing his father's face into the desk until it was nothing more than a bloody pulp. No one ever talked to him like this. Only his dad.
"Look, as the state's attorney, it's my job to put people like Lopez away. To do my part to dissolve the organized crime in this country. You offered to help, and I accepted it and got you a job with law enforcement. If you're not going to actually help, I can just as quickly get you booted and on your own for a job." His father leaned back in his chair, putting his legs up on the desk and crossing his hands across his lap. He stared at Sebastian, his expression bored. "So are you going to do anything about Lopez, or are you going to start looking for a job as a blackjack dealer at her casino?"
Sebastian drew one last breath from the cigarette, and flicked the smoldering butt into his father's lap.
"Fuck!" the man yelled, scrambling to rid himself of the burning piece of ash.
Opening the door, Sebastian walked casually out, not even looking back to say, "I'll have something by tomorrow morning."
He made his way to the car, smirking at the thought of his father fuming in his office. Hopping in, he started the ignition and deftly pulled out of his spot parallel to two other cars. He had always prided himself on his driving ability.
It was only a half hour drive to The Strip, but it seemed like it took longer. Sebastian was excited. He'd gotten a tip off from a reliable informant that something big was going to happen tonight. And he'd heard from another of his insiders rumor had it that Lopez had stolen the printing press that had gone missing only a day before. A counterfeiting sting would be enough to win his dad's respect, right? Or at the very least, shut him the hell up for a week or two.
He parked in his usual curbside spot, a stakeout cops dream spot. From it, he could clearly see The Red Ace, the Changs' casino; The Silver Rush, Hudson's casino; and Diamond Dreams, Lopez' casino. They were the three biggest hotspots for criminal activity in all of Vegas, and it was up to him to find out which one was gonna be hit tonight. They weren't the only casinos in Vegas, but he was sure if anything big was going down, it would be in one of them. If he picked the wrong one, he'd be a laughingstock. His dad would have him fired. He'd never work in Vegas again.
But if he was right, no one would ever be able to say a cross word against him so long as he lived.
Flipping open his notebook, he began to peruse the notes he had taken from casing the three casinos.
"That blond broad. Rich one. She's always with Lopez, and I guess she lives at the Diamond Dream. I've seen her at The Red Ace three times in the past two weeks. As good a place as any to start looking," he said to himself, folding up his notes and stepping out of the car.
He stopped a few paces away from the door to The Red Ace. He pulled a radio from his trenchcoat pocket and turned it on. "Karofsky, I'm going to be at The Red Ace. I'm cracking this Lopez thing tonight. I need you to keep an eye on Diamond Dreams, but be careful. This might get ugly later. I'll keep you posted."
A second later, Karofsky crackled over the radio. "Roger, Smythe. I'll keep in touch in case I see anything."
Sebastian pocketed the radio and stepped through the doors of the looming casino, grinning at the women standing around the slot machines. Casinos like this were always full of beautiful women, slightly intoxicated and dressed provocatively. And his grin sent them all swooning.
He picked through the eye candy until he spotted the woman he wanted: Brittany Pierce. She sat at the bar, looking around nervously, her slim body wrapped tightly in a deep blue sequined dress, a white fur shawl draped over her shoulders. Her hair was done up exquisitely, curls framing her face, dark eyeliner and mascara making her eyes pop against her creamy white skin.
Before Sebastian could make his way over to the bar however, Brittany stood up, walking over to a group of men who had just entered the casino. He recognized the man in front as Noah Puckerman, Lopez' supposed 'right hand man.' Trailing behind were several other figures he recognized as confirmed members of Lopez' entourage.
Surreptitiously pulling out his radio, he dialed in Karofsky's frequency. "Karofsky, something's definitely going on at The Red Ace. I've got Noah Puckerman and Tony Malone in here, meeting Brittany Pierce. Get backup ready outside, I'll signal you when I find out what's up."
"Smythe, a few mobsters meeting in a casino is a regular occurence in Vegas. Are you sure you want me to get a squad together without any kind of probable cause?" Karofsky crackled.
"Karofsky, as a friend, trust me on this one. I know something is going down tonight. And as a superior, do what I ask, or you ass is toast." Sebastian switched off the radio without another word and quietly slipped in procession behind the mobsters, careful to stay a few feet behind them.
"Where is she?" Brittany asked Noah quietly.
"She got tied up with something just before we left. She says she'll be here soon, and she says... she wanted me to tell you, 'I love you,'" he replied, somewhat uncomfortably.
Brittany smiled widely. Sebastian lost the rest of the conversation as they passed a rather rowdy, drunk group of gamblers celebrating a win. He side-stepped behind a column a split second before Noah turned around, scanning the surroundings before opening a door marked with a 'stairway' sign.
I love you? Why would she want to say that? he thought. And then it dawned on him. He felt stupid for not figuring it out earlier. Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce were entangled in some kind of romantic relationship. To what extent, he wasn't sure. Girlfriends? Sex partners?
He pushed the thought from his mind. As intriguing as he found it, it was an investigation for another day. Peeking from behind the pillar, he saw the last of the mobsters disappear through the stairway door. Looking around, it seemed as though no one had noticed them.
They must have some kind of deal worked out with the Changs, he thought, looking around for any sort of security. There wasn't a single uniform in sight.
Sebastian took one look around, and high tailed it for the stairway door. He jiggled the knob.
"Locked. Shit," he said, angry at the thought that he wouldn't be able to see what was going on beyond the door without causing a fuss.
"What are you doing?"
Sebastian spun quickly, coming face to face with the chief of security.
"That area is for casino employees only. I'm going to need to ask you to go back to the floor or leave, sir," the chief said, hand resting on his sidearm.
The sidearm right next to a ring of keys. A key to this door.
"And if I refuse to leave?" he asked, giving the chief a sneer.
"Then I guess we're going down to the security room for a one on one, aren't we, wiseass?" said the chief, pulling out his handcuffs and securing Sebastian's wrists behind his back.
Sebastian smirked as the chief led him through a wide metal door marked 'Security Only.' He was led into a dimly lit metal walled room with a small table and two metal chairs.
The chief undid the handcuffs and clipped them back to his belt. He slipped the bolt on the door to the room and quietly reached for the nightstick at his hip.
Sebastian was quicker, pulling the revolver from his body holster under his jacket. He took aim and pulled the trigger, shooting the chief in the back and through the lung.
The chief grunted, shock stunning him from making any other noise. He fell forward, leaning against the door as he slid to the floor. He pulled himself over and faced Sebastian, who was reholstering his weapon.
"Probably should have patted me down before you locked yourself in a room with me. And I guess putting us in a soundproof interrogation room probably didn't work in your favor like you thought it would," he said smugly, crouching down to talk to the chief face-to-face.
The chief said nothing, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His face began to contort as the shock wore off and the pain began to seep into his chest.
Sebastian quietly pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. He unhooked the ring of keys from the chief's belt and placed it into his pocket.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry it had to come to this. But then again, this has always been a hazard in our line of work, right?" He pulled the gun from the chief's holster and took a bullet from the chamber. Slipping it into the chief's stunned hand, he stood up to admire his handiwork. "Nothing like faking a suicide chief. It's a shame you couldn't live with the guilt of stealing from the casino and rigging blackjack tables on the floor for your pals."
He slid the bolt back on the door and pulled it open quietly. Winking at the chief, he slid out and trekked down the hallway to the main floor. Taking a moment to examine the keyring. All of the keys had a small label attached, and he quickly found the key marked 'Stairwell.'
Standing outside the stairwell door, he looked to the left side of the casino, and in a moment of lucky coincidence, he saw the employee basement elevator.
He quickly stared down to the keyring, sifting through them for a key that looked like it would work for the elevator panel.
"Nothing. Which means someone other than the security team has it," he deduced. He whipped the radio out of his pocket and tuning it in.
"Karofsky, I need you and a squad of men at The Red Ace in twenty. Do you understand? I need armed reinforcements. Something is going on with the Lopez mob in the basement and we're turning it out tonight."
"I hope you're right," Karofsky crackled.
A moment of silence.
"Actually, I hope you're wrong."