Title: The Rule Number 7 Job
Category: Leverage
Author: Trapper Creek Kaniac
Genre: Humor/Drama
Disclaimer: The usual stuff: All recognizable characters and places are not mine and are property of the brilliant writers and creators of Leverage - otherwise a certain long-haired, blue-eyed retrieval specialist would be mine - only the plot and original characters are the product of my imagination. No profit is being made other than keeping my writing skills well oiled.
Author's Note: This story was mostly inspired by the a line from the incredibly talented Mr. Christian Kane's song The House Rules: "Well rule number seven says 'don't touch the women,' but they can grab whatever they want to," and somewhat by another Kane song, Blaze. This looked a whole lot longer when I wrote it in Microsoft Word, but has a way of taking you down a peg or two, I've found. What was almost three pages in Word is now barely one and a half. *sigh*
Pairings: Implied Nate/Sophie, Parker/Hardison, and a possible moment that could be read as Eliot/Parker if that's your thing, or just Eliot being his usual incorrigible self.
Outside John McRory's Place the sun was shining down and people were hurrying about their business. Inside the bare was a different story. The atmosphere created by the dim lighting and alcohol was much calmer and more relaxed.
Nate Ford sat at a table towards the back with a cup of coffee mixed with a little Irish whiskey in his hand - far enough out of the way to blend in, but not so far back that any unwanted attention would be attracted. Next to him sat Hardison. Hardison, never far from a computer, was busily typing away on the laptop in front of him. Parker had wanted to come, but after the last time she had accompanied Nate on a client interview, Nate had decided to take Eliot's advice and have Parker sit this one out.
A few minutes passed before a young woman of about twenty-five entered the bar. She was of average height with olive complexion and delicate facial features, shoulder-length light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and blue eyes. Clarisse Beaumont: the client. She hesitantly scanned the room before her eyes fell on Nate and she made her way over to him and Hardison. If Eliot had been there he would have showed his Southern upbringing by standing and pulling out a chair for the woman before reseating himself, but Nate remained firmly seated, giving Hardison a nudge under the table to attract his attention.
Clarrise seated herself at the table with her purse in her lap.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Monsieur Ford." She spoke with a light French accent.
Nate smiled somewhat amiably. "It's what we do. This is Hardison," Nate gestured at the young hacker beside him.
Introductions were made around the table and they got down to the business at hand.
"Miss Beaumont, your story?" Nate prompted not unkindly.
"Oh, yes," Clarisse paused to compose herself for a moment. "I'm originally from France; I immigrated here four years ago for a better life after my parents were killed in a car wreck a little over four and a half years ago. My sister, Genevieve, she was thirteen, almost fourteen at the time. I couldn't find a good enough job that would support the two of us for ever long, and I didn't want to leave Genevieve at home alone while I was out working. I tracked down a distant aunt who was willing to let Genevieve stay with her. The plan was that Genevieve would stay at aunt Aly's while I came to America and then once I secured a job and a place for us to stay, I would send for her and she would become an American."
Clarisse paused her story and Nate took the opportunity to flag down one of waitresses and ask for a refill of his coffee and Irish whiskey concoction.
"As you may have guessed," Clarisse continued, "it didn't work out so well. I didn't have any problems coming into the country, everything went well. I found a job with pretty decent money and after about a year and a half, I had enough money saved up to rent an apartment that would be plenty of room for my sister and I to live somewhat comfortably. I took my test and became a legal American citizen. Now that I was settled and had a stable job and a good place to stay, I went about making arrangements to send for my sister.
That was a month and a half before the French school year ended, and we were going to wait for her to finish out the year. The day that Genevieve was supposed to leave came and she called me early that morning, though due to the time difference, it was getting towards nine in the evening on my end. She was so excited that she was finally going to be reunited with her big sister, and we agreed that right before she got on the plane, she'd call me.
She rode the metro - the subway - because Aunt Aly had to work and couldn't drive her there herself. When my sister arrived at the immigration office, before she entered the building, two well-dressed men approached her and asked her if she was going to America. She said yes, she was. The men said that they could help her, that if she would just come with them, they would provide a passage to America and a job would be waiting for her; she needn't worry about the cost of the fare, a portion of her wages would be saved and go towards paying off her dept to them - did that sound like a great opportunity? My sister declined their offer, saying that she already had her papers and a ticket into the country. But the men didn't listen. They said if she didn't come with them, and quietly, that they would find someone she loved and make them hurt.
They kidnapped her, Monsieur Ford!" Clarisse's lips trembled as tears threatened to spill out of her eyes and Hardison put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"It's okay, please continue."
Clarisse Beaumont sniffed her nose before continuing. "I had an idea of approximately what time Genevieve would call me but when the minutes kept ticking by and no word from her, I knew something was wrong.
Those men, they took her to the wharf and loaded her into a cargo ship and kept her hidden on the way over. They didn't lay a filthy hand on her, but gave her plenty of food and water and kept her comfortable. Once in the Boston Harbor, they smuggled her out and took her to their boss, Ian Bruno - her new boss, too. Her job waiting for her in America? Stripping! She was to become a prostitute and there was nothing she could do about it.
It was either submit or run the risk of something happening to her family. She was able to discreetly contact me under the watchful eyes of her boss and "protectors" and plea for help, but nobody would help us.
You are our last hope. Please, Monsieur Ford, my sister, she is only seventeen and doesn't deserve this."
Fighting back tears, Clarisse dug around in her purse and pulled out a worn photo. It was a picture of the two sisters hugging each other and grinning happily at the camera.
"May I?" Nate indicated the photo.
"Oh, yes, of course."
He picked it up and studied it briefly before turning to Hardison. "Hardison?"
The hacker pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of the photo.
The wheels were already turning in Nate's mind and the beginnings of a plan was forming. "This may be kind of a tough one, but we'll see what we can do–"
"Thank you!" Clarisse jumped up and hugged a caught-off-guard Nate.