Disclaimer: I still own nothing...

A/N: In response to a certain review, this story was originally going to be a "Law and Order: SVU" story, but I decided that Jordan seemed more like someone who would fly to Mexico to find the man that killed her father. Who knows, maybe Stabler and Benson will be somewhere in here...

Note: All italicized items are Jordan's thoughts and flashbacks, so sorry if I'm confusing anyone.

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"Nothing ever stops all these thoughts and the pain attached to them" -Mike Shinoda, "Figure.09"

Unknown Slum

Outskirts of Mexico City, Mexico

Jordan and Woody hurried through the winding streets of the slum they found themselves in, trying to ignore the hostile stares they were recieving. It was brutally hot outside, so the hand that clutched her gun was slippery with sweat. With every person that they passed, Jordan thought to herself, Does he know who murdered my father? Does she? It was tempting, the idea of randomly pointing her gun at people and demanding answers, but she knew that an action like that wouldn't accomplish anything.

"I hate being an American sometimes," muttered Woody.

"I don't understand why you're wearing a suit when it's 98 degrees out," said Jordan. "That's why we stand out."

"I can't help it; that's all I brought." He unfolded a torn page from the phone book and stopped in front of a dingy hovel. "This is it."

"Are you sure about that?" She pointed around. "They all look alike, and none of them have house numbers."

"I'm 50 percent sure. And that's better than nothing." He knocked on the red-painted wooden door.

"Que estas asi?" a man called from inside.

"Alejandro Hernandez? Is that you?"

"Si. Er, no hablo ingles."

"You spoke English pretty damn good back in Boston," Woody answered.

"Go away!" Hernandez yelled. "I don't want to have anything to do with any more American police."

Jordan pounded on the door. "Open the goddamn door, Hernandez!" she shouted.

The elevator door closes, forever seperating me from my friends and family. I hit the door, bruising the side of my hand. "Garrett! Lily! Nigel! Bug! Dad!" Woody grabs my arm. "There's nothing more you can do!" he says. Screams and crying- then I hear nothing over the pounding in my head.

The door opened a tad. Half of Hernandez's face became visible. "Que haces aqui?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Information," Woody said offhandedly. "Can we come in?"

"Is it just the two of you?" Woody nodded. "Then, si."

They found themselves in a medium sized room with a dirt floor. A rusty stove sat in one corner; the only furniture in the whole place was a mattress on the floor. "I'd say welcome to mi casa, but it's not much of a house- at least by American standards," Hernandez said, laughing nervously. "But I know you didn't come here for social reasons."

"Like he said, we need information," Jordan said.

"Who are you?"

"That's not important. We're here for information, not to introduce ourselves."

"What kind of information do you need, and how much are you willing to pay?" Hernandez asked.

"500 American, if your info's good," said Woody.

Hernandez nodded. "It is, as you say, a done deal."

"Tell us everything you know about the Black Dragons," Jordan commanded.

Their informant crossed himself, a look of sheer terror on his face. "500 is nowhere near enough for that," he croaked. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to find someone else."

My father's eyes, silently pleading to me. "Jordan!"

Jordan aimed her gun at Hernandez. "I didn't want to resort to this, but it seems that you've left me with no choice."

"You- you wouldn't shoot a man in cold blood, would you?"

The woman identifying her husband's body lay slumped over on the floor. Her eyes were still open, a look of shook on her still face. She had no idea that she would lose her life today. "8 DOA's," the paramedic says into his radio. I stare at the woman, knowing that her children are now orphans.

"If he gets in my way, then yeah, I will."

"The Black Dragons are the most feared and powerful gang in the country," Hernandez whispered. "They're led by a man known only as El Primero. Supposedly he had a son that died in America. I really don't know much about them, other than they have many of their members in influential government positions. I do know the name of one government bureaucrat: Jose Santos. He does paperwork for them- which includes keeping a list of their hits."

"No one needs to know about this," Woody ordered as he threw a wad of cash at him.

"If we find out you're wrong, then I'm coming after you," Jordan added as she holstered her gun.

The two Americans walked out the door of the hovel, leaving a terrified Hernandez alone with his money.

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"I told you, I know nothing!" Hernandez pleaded to the large men that had broken his door down.

"We saw the two Americans leave this miserable excuse for a house," one of his assailants spat. "We want to know why."

The other one grabbed him by the throat. "Why were they here?" he shouted.

"All right, all right, I'll tell you," Hernandez whimpered. "They wanted to know about the Black Dragons. I- I don't know why. The woman almost killed me. Then they paid me and left."

"What did you tell them?"

"Just a name," he whispered. "That's all. Please don't kill me!"

The other man took out a knife and stabbed Hernandez in the back. "Don't mess with the Black Dragons," he hissed.

They threw him to the floor and left. Gasping for breath, blood pouring over the money that littered the floor, he dragged himself over to his mat, where his rosary lay. "Hail Mary," he whispered, then lay still, the beads clutched in his lifeless hand.

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Read and review; the next chapter will be up soon!