Lucy In The Sky

Quinn/ Santana

Humor/ Drama

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Glee

Warning: I will be George RR Martin-ing these characters. Do not get attached.

Prologue: The Kansas City Shuffle: Part One

An old telephone sat on a nightstand between two beds. It did not ring.

P. Figgins sighed tiredly as he made his way through the barren parking lot. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep. He spent a majority of his day fielding phone calls, placing bets, and collecting them. Well, not all of them. The briefcase in his hand suddenly felt heavier, as he thought of one of the bigger debts calculated inside. Soon, he would have to collect, or he would have to pay the price.

As he got closer to his vehicle, he could just make out the sounds of footsteps behind him. It was not unusual for there to be other people in this garage at night. However, his was the only vehicle parked in the area. Suddenly nervous, he clutched the briefcase to his chest and walked faster. Reaching his car, he pulled out the key fob and pressed unlock, desperate for the safety inside. There was a soft POP behind him, and he knew no more.

When his body was discovered, the briefcase was gone.

"Send him in," Shelby Corcoran drawled from behind her desk. She hated the late night appointments. You never knew who could walk in. If she didn't have her trusty staff around the clock, she wouldn't bother. Shuffling the papers on her desk, she clutched the six shooter stored inside her desk, ready for trouble. Late night clients were unpredictable. You never know what sort of sucker bet brought them to her door. After her 'staff members' frisked the client, dubbing him clean, she released her piece and stood from her desk to greet him. "So what bet have you come to place so late at night?"

"No bet. I'm here to collect."

Before Shelby could react, both of her body guards dropped dead, knives protruding from their necks. Shelby reached for her gun, but as she took aim, her assailant grabbed from her shelf and she watch her prized possession, a baseball signed by Derek Jeter himself, come hurtling at her face.

All books and logs were gone before the cops arrived.

Rachel Berry was going to be a star. That's what her Daddy said. She already had the money, and the clout, because of Daddy, but she wanted make a name for herself. She wanted to see her name on Broadway, with Daddy's influence, of course. She had her amazing boyfriend supporting her, and a call back for Funny Girl for the starring role of Fanny Brice. Either her killer pipes were gonna get her the role, or her killer friends were. Show smile on her face, and entourage behind her, Rachel stepped out of her penthouse, ready for her future Academy award winning role. What she was not ready for, was the bullet that ripped through her skull like butter, exiting violently into the wall behind her. Rachel Berry was dead before she hit the ground, her Broadway smile permanently fixed to her face.

In the bustling streets of New York, not a single witness saw the shooter.

An old telephone sat on a nightstand between two beds. It rang.

The blond haired woman hurriedly made her way through the empty bus terminal, ticket and suitcase in hand. She needed out of the city, and fast. The last race ended poorly for her and she only just managed to escape the bookie's goons. She grabbed her emergency kit from her car and ran to the bus terminal, ducking through alleys to lose her tail. She didn't even bother telling anyone, leaving her furnished apartment and shitty job behind. Glancing at her watch, she saw that in her haste, she managed to get to the depot hours before the next bus would arrive. Settling into and worn plastic seat, she sighed. It wasn't ideal, but since she had left the race track at the dead of night to avoid being followed, she had little choice. She only had to wait four more hours. Four hours, and then she would be free. Despite her discomfort, and the eeriness around her, the blond began to drift off to sleep.

The sound of shuffling woke only her a few hours late. She jolted up in a panic, only to relax upon realizing it was a homeless woman behind her.

"There was a time."

The foreign voice made her jump. Spinning around, she saw a wheel-chaired man had rolled up next to her seat. He grinned at her in apology, hands neatly folded in his lap. The blond glanced at her watch. "It's 4:35."

The man smirked. "No, I didn't ask for the time. I said there was a time."

"...Okay," the blond replied, confused.

"Take Lucy Liu back there. Quite the fucking smoke show, huh?" The blonde glanced back at the young homeless woman, who had obviously seen better days.

"She's a junkie. A homeless junkie."

The man smiled, "Yes, but there was a time, when she was young, hot and had the world at her fingertips."

"OK, whatever." The was silence for a moment, before he spoke again.

"I'm Shue," he said, nodding, "I'm from out of town."

"Look, Mr. Shue..."

"Just Shue."

The blond hummed, looking away. She did not care what his name was. She really did not care to introduce herself either. She was a wanted woman. A dead woman walking. The less anyone knew of her, the better.

"The reason I'm in town, in case you were curious, is because of a Kansas City Shuffle."

"Sorry?" she asked, confused.

"The Kansas City Shuffle. While everyone is looking right, I move left. The one I'm here for has been 20 years in the making."

The blond scuffed at the idea of the wheel chaired man moving stealthily on anyone. Realizing she still had time before her bus arrived, she sighed. "20 years, huh? Well you might as well tell me more, you seem to want to get this off of your chest. Besides, I'm not going anywhere."

"No. No you're not, are you?" Shue said jovially.

Before she could comment, he continued on, "It's no small matter. Tons of planning. Lots of bastards involved, that really don't have anything to do with each other except for a small amount of chance and unfortunate coincidence. It all starts with a horse."

"A horse?"

"A race horse, that people called a sure thing. Aqueduct Racetrack. 1990. What they call a drugstore handicap. Doctor pumps him full of enhancement drugs. Makes him fast. Unbeatable. It's meant to be kept hush hush, but soon all sorts of motherfuckers find out about it. Including this kid name Russ. He places a bet with his bookie. A huge one. 20 Gs. Won't be able to cover it if he loses, but Russ believes in the sure thing. He has big dreams. Dreams of a nice house in the suburbs for his family. A nice yard with a picket fence. The American dream, you know? He brings his kid to the track, and they watch the race together, smiles on their faces as their horse rounds the final stretch in the lead when bam! Horse crashes and dies, only a foot from the finish line."

"Oh fuck."

"Oh fuck is right. Russ panics, tries to run them back to his car, get them home. But he gets separated from his kid and panics, yelling her name. Ends up surrounded by thugs, who beat the shit out of him. They tell him that they took his daughter and that her blood was on his hands. They drag him to their bosses and they kill him. Suffocate him. They call in a specialist to kill his daughter. No one else would kill a kid, no matter how much they were paid. They murdered Russ, his wife, his bookie and his kid. Complete shit show."

"Fuck," the blond exclaimed, "Shit. Jesus."

"Fuck shit Jesus, is right my friend."

"Why did they kill the family? They were innocent. I don't understand."

"It was a new outfit in town. They were sending a message: don't bet on fixed horses with them."

The blond stares at Shue in awe. "That's a hell of a fucking story. But what does that have to do with the Kansas City Shuffle."

Shue leans back in his chair. "Everything. And nothing. That was the beginning. The catalyst. You see, this is a Kansas City Shuffle. You see the point is, I make you look right," he said pointing behind her. She looks, noticing that the homeless woman is gone. She turns back to her Shue, only to find the wheelchair empty. She feels hands on her neck as she's immediately filled with dread. "And I move left."

Shue twists his hands, breaking the blonds neck, letting her slump forward, dead. He removes his hat and places it on her head, before moving her into his wheelchair. "Sorry Blondie. Can't have a Kansas City Shuffle without a body." The homeless Asian woman from before reappears, nodding at Shue, before wheeling the body away, muttering about always being the distraction.

Shue walks out of the bus station, whistling a tune.