Warnings again. Please be aware this is not my usual comedy fic. This chapter contains scenes people may find upsetting. Email me if you want to know more about it before reading.
Taken
Part 2
Santana dropped the phone and stared at it for a couple of seconds. Then moved.
She swept everything into her briefcase and ran for her car hitting speed dial number three on her phone as she jumped into the vehicle. Plugging her phone into the stand connecting it to the car the ringing tone rang out through the car's sound system. She sped out into the city running every red light that tried to stop her.
"Quinn, it's me. I need a favour. I'm going to send you an audio file and I need it analysed. Right now."
She tapped a couple of buttons her eyes flickering from the road to the display screen until the audio recording of the phone call she had made with Sugar was flying through cyberspace.
Eleven point four minutes later Santana pulled up at Brittany's house, (a new world record) and hammered at the door until a bleary eyed Brittany opened it with a baseball bat gripped tightly in her hands.
For a split second Santana allowed herself to be relieved that Brittany was alone or she wouldn't have known what to do if that trout mouthed fuckface had been there. Although according to Sugar he hadn't darkened their doorstep and it wasn't serious, they'd only been on one date. She didn't ask, okay? Sugar offered the information without prompting. She was reliable like that.
"Which room is Sugar's?
"What's happened?" Brittany asked immediately on edge from the rude awakening and Santana looking absolutely stricken in the middle of the night in her house.
"I got a call from her about twenty minutes ago. There were people in the apartment, she was taken."
Brittany followed her into Sugar's bedroom and watched in shock as Santana tore the place apart looking for clues. She found a diary and flicked through it. Nothing.
Santana looked over at shell-shocked Brittany her heart breaking again at the sight. Her phone rang and she snatched it up and set it on Sugar's desk switching to speaker phone.
"Quinn. What have you got?"
"They were speaking Albanian. Based on their accents and dialects they must be from the town of Tropoja."
Santana looked over at Brittany who was listening intently, her face white, her lips thin and severe.
"The place is ground zero for scummers. Even the Russians give these guys a wide berth. The one you spoke to, his name is Hunter. We have intel that a mobster boss by the name of Hunter Hoxha moved to Paris about six months ago. If he's the one, he's big fish. The tattoo is a group id. Am I on speaker or are you by yourself?"
"Speaker. Britt's here."
"Hey Britt," Quinn said softly.
"Hi Quinn."
"Tell her, Q."
"The speciality of the groups coming out of this area is trafficking in women."
There was a terrible silence. The baseball bat in Brittany's hands clattered on the desk top with a clatter.
"Keep going," said Santana.
"Their previous MO was to offer women from emerging eastern European countries like Yugoslavia, Romania, Bulgaria, jobs in the west as maids or nannies. Once they had smuggled them in they'd addict them to drugs and turn them into prostitutes. Lately however they've decided that it is," Quinn could be heard taking a deep breath over the line, "more economical just to kidnap travelling young women."
"Oh my god."
Santana ran to Brittany as she threw up. She tucked back her long blonde hair over her shoulder and held her tight as she shook in her arms. Brittany clutched at her as she asked, "What else, Quinn?"
"Based on what else we know about the way these groups operate our analyst says you have a 96 hour window from when she was grabbed."
"96 hours until what?" asked Santana.
"To never finding her again."
"No," Brittany sobbed into Santana's neck.
"I'll get her back," Santana insisted, wrapping her arms around Brittany's shoulders holding on to her for dear life. "I promise."
"I got you on flight 228 in 65 minutes."
"Quinn-" Brittany began to speak.
"Already booked you on it, Britt."
"Thank you." Brittany's cool, quiet voice reached Quinn down the line.
Brittany detached herself from Santana's embrace. Her hands slid down Santana's arms and she tangled their fingers together. "I'm going with you."
"Are you sure?" Santana asked her in a hushed voice, watching warily as Brittany's expression hardened.
"I was in the agency for eleven years, Santana. I'm not about to sit idly by while my daughter is kidnapped."
Santana glanced over at the photo Sugar kept in a frame on her desk. Sugar and her moms at the beach. A whole family, happy together.
"You haven't been active for years."
"That doesn't mean that I am not a heavily skilled operative who can kill you with just her pinky."
"You should let me take care of this."
"What, and wait by the phone for you to never call me while my wife and daughter are in danger?"
"Ex-wife," Santana corrected quietly. "Britt, I'm sorry," she said as Brittany took a step away from her.
"Don't you 'Britt' me," Brittany glared at her. "I happily left the agency to raise our daughter because she is the most important thing in the whole world and that is why I am going to find her. Once upon a time we were the greatest two shot the agency had ever seen. Want to see if we've still got it?"
Santana stared at her, she looked astounded at the accusation they might not possibly still be awesome together.
"Of course we've still got it. I'm Santana and you're Brittany. There's nothing better than that."
"Fine then."
"Fine."
I am Santana Lopez. I can kill you with my bare hands. I spent twenty five years hounding, harassing, chasing and bringing the beat-down to scum the world over. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen is sitting opposite me and I'm trying so hard not to stare that it's making my underboob sweat.
I'm going to get our daughter back.
Quinn somehow got them on a private plane to Paris. The cabin was empty aside from the two of them and the solitary flight attendant who was having the easiest flight of her life as her charges asked for nothing but 'to not be disturbed'.
Santana had taken to playing the terrible recording over and over again clicking her phone and pressing play every three seconds. It had turned into a nervous habit as her arm flicked in the air to reset the audio.
"Good luck. Good luck. Good luck," was repeated constantly until the words became engrained in her mind.
"Would you please stop playing that?" Brittany asked from where she sat opposite her, dressed in a dark turtle neck and a leather jacket with dark jeans and long brown boots. Her hair was tied back in a tight high ponytail. Santana thought she looked beautiful, and very distracting. That was one reason she wouldn't look at her. Santana switched off the audio player and stared out of the window.
My name is Brittany Pierce. I can kill you with my pinky finger. I spent eleven years terrorising terrorists, destroying drug cartels, making grown men cry, and striking fear into the hearts of hardened criminals all while romancing the toughest most stubborn goof the world has ever known.
I'm going to get our daughter back.
Every mission had a mantra. Something to remind Brittany of her humanity and this was as real as it got. This shook her to the core, but if anyone could get Sugar back, it was her and Santana as a team. They always worked better as a team.
Brittany spent the past three hours watching Santana pretend not to watch her. They hadn't spoken much to each other. After all they'd been through together and what they were going through now, what was there to say?
The last time they had sat in heartbroken silence together was another plane ride, years ago. Santana hadn't looked at her once during the whole flight that time.
It had taken Brittany almost a month to find Santana in Siberia. Brittany wasn't sure that Santana had even understood the lengths she had gone to just to serve her those divorce papers. Okay, Santana Lopez was not an easy person to track down even if they are-were-married, but still, a little appreciation.
And once she did find her, Santana had calmly asked her to untie her from the freaking meat hook she was dangling from! Which Brittany had done of course, but there wasn't even a please or thank you attached to the request. Just, "Dammit, Brittany, get me down so we can discuss whatever it is you wanna discuss!" Then once they made it to safety Brittany had handed her those documents and all Santana had said was, "Okay."
Okay is bullshit though. None of it was okay. Especially not the part where Santana gave up on their family so easily.
Santana's anxieties shone through as her leg shook as she tried not to tap her foot against the ground bursting for something constructive to do. Anything that wasn't sitting on a plane for eight hours. Eight hours down time out of ninety six.
Brittany went and sat down next to her and laid her hand on Santana's thigh in an attempt to calm her. Santana shot up out of her seat.
"Can this plane go any faster? I'll go find out."
She didn't get very far as Brittany tugged her back down into her seat.
"Santana," she said quietly. Santana took her hand and squeezed it tightly. Slowly, she relaxed into her seat, gradually finding comfort in Brittany's proximity until they both found some rest for the last few hours of the flight.
Outside the address Sugar had given them Santana stood near the main security door with a bag of groceries wrapped up in her arms.
"Why don't we just break in? We don't have time for this," Brittany stood nearby looking around impatiently with her arms crossed.
"We can't risk them going underground if the authorities get all over this."
Eventually an old lady exited the building and Santana cracked her a charming smile and a smooth, "Merci," before darting into the building, before the door shut and locked itself, like she was meant to be there.
"Fifth floor," said Santana, dumping the groceries against the wall of the lobby, but Brittany was already running up the first flight of stairs.
At the apartment Brittany jiggled the door handle but the doors had been locked.
"We'll go in the window." Santana opened the window on the stairwell and climbed out onto the ledge.
Brittany rolled her eyes and reached inside her jacket pulling out a leather wallet containing a selection of lock picks. She stuck her tongue out in concentration and began picking the lock to the apartment.
Outside, Santana shuffled along the narrow ledge which ran around the walls containing the cold, hard courtyard five floors below. She was stretched out to her fullest height as she held onto another ledge above by her fingertips.
Brittany cursed as her pick snapped and the door remained locked. She slammed her palm against the wood panel in frustration.
With a great sigh of relief Santana elbowed a small glass pane into the living area and reached in to open the window. She scrambled in over the windowsill and staggered to her feet to face another intruder in the foyer.
She lowered her combat ready hands and observed the now horizontal front door Brittany had kicked in. She was standing over Sugar's scattered luggage, strewn by the door. It hadn't even made it to Sugar's bedroom.
In grim silence they walked through the main living space which had been left a mess. A table was overturned and a vase smashed on the floor. On a side table Sugar's purse lay there untouched. No regular thieves would have left a purse, especially one filled with crisp new Euros. Santana looked out over the courtyard to the windows opposite.
"If this room was where the struggle began then Sugar must have been watching Kitty from one of the rooms on other side of the building."
Wordlessly both women made their way around the building to the bathroom opposite the front entrance, then, with dread, they checked the room next to it; the bedroom.
The room looked as though it had been ransacked. Even more so than the living room. Sugar had left a wake of destruction from her abduction.
Santana started up the recording of Sugar's phone call again and both parents listened to their daughter's frightened voice and followed her movements in time to the playback. Together they crawled under the bed putting themselves in her position, reliving her experience. Brittany reached over and took Santana's hand as Sugar cried down the phone, Santana's head jerked up and bumped against the underneath of the bed as Sugar screamed on the recorder as she was taken.
Determined they crawled out again and searched the room. A mirror on the wall had been smashed, shards were scattered on the floor and some remained in the frame hanging on the wall. Brittany examined the area of impact, her gloved finger coming away with a trace of blood and a couple of dark hairs.
"It might not be hers," Santana said quietly and unconvincingly.
"It had better not be," said Brittany as she bagged up the evidence.
Santana heard something crunch underfoot. She looked down to find the phone she had given to Sugar broken to pieces on the floor. Someone had stamped on it crushing the components and rendering the device useless. She searched through the pieces and took out the intact memory card.
At the nearest Paris metro station Brittany hovered over Santana's shoulder as she tapped away at one of the photo booths installed for tourists to print off their holiday snaps from their phone or camera's memory cards. Sugar's photos loaded on the screen and Santana scrolled through them. One of Sugar asleep on the plane, at the airport collecting her luggage, one of Kitty and Sugar together waiting in line at the taxi rank.
"Who took that photograph?" Brittany asked as she peered intently over Santana's shoulder. Santana zoomed in on a reflection on a perspex poster board near to the girls in the photo. Her fingers danced over the screen as she swiped the picture and zoomed in on the reflection. The close up image loaded and they both stared at the face of their first lead; Brody. Brittany reached over Santana who was glaring lasers at the face and pressed print.
"I'll take him," Brittany said, leaving no room for discussion. "You see if Will still works here." Brittany stared at the newly printed picture with fire in her eyes.
"We should stick together," Santana suggested. "You might be... uh... rusty."
Brittany raised an eyebrow. "We should split up because it will get us to Sugar faster and we don't have any time to waste."
"Britt," Santana said softly, knowing there was no arguing with her at the moment. "Be careful, okay?"
Brittany kissed her on the cheek and walked away towards the trains. Santana blinked, stunned, and reached up to touch her cheek as she watched her go.
At Charles de Gaulle airport a very bored looking Brody flipped through the pages of a well worn magazine as he waited for the travellers from the latest flight roll out of the baggage claim and into the free for all that was the arrivals lounge. Little did he know how much more exciting his day was soon to become.
He caught the eye of another man across the lounge who nodded his head towards a young girl with a backpack just off the flight from Stockholm. Within a few seconds he had dropped his magazine and was tailing her out the automatic doors heading for the taxi rank and being sure to get in line behind her.
"Hi," he smiled at the girl.
"Hi," she replied with a friendly nod.
"I'm Brody."
"I'm Harmony."
"On holidays?" He asked in his stupid cocky accent.
"Yes," she smiled happily.
"Me too!" He grinned and then took a well rehearsed moment to look around. "You know, the cabs here are so damned expensive. You want to share one?"
"Sure, why not?" Harmony shrugged.
"Great!" said Brody, happy this was so easy, and jumped to open the cab door for her.
"Excuse me," said Brittany, stepping in front of the lucky girl and grabbing Brody by his head then forcing him into the back seat by his skull.
"Hey!" the driver yelled in surprise at the struggle now taking place in the back of his car.
"Drive!" Brittany ordered him who then promptly hurried out of his seat and ran to find some security.
Brittany pinned Brody's arm around his throat and threatened to pop his shoulder with the pressure. "The American girls from yesterday," she began.
"I don't know! I don't know!" Brody wailed in pain.
Brittany punched him in the ribs and he yelped. "The next rib will drive into your lungs," she spat at him. "The two American girls from yesterday. Where are they?"
The door behind Brittany opened and the spotter from the lounge who had assisted Brody earlier pulled her out from the back-seat by her legs and dropped her to the concrete outside. He kicked her as she landed face first on the ground but she kicked up her long, strong legs and hit him in the groin. He doubled over in pain and then used his position to rugby tackle her up against the side of the vehicle. He reached back with a sneer to punch her but she quickly deflected his shot then jabbed him in the throat. While he was distracted with trying to breathe she smashed his face into the taxi's bodywork. He tumbled to the ground and stayed down.
A glance at the taxi showed Brody was gone but hadn't made it very far as she spotted him half running, half limping up the slip road to the ring-road surrounding the airport. Brittany slammed the open car doors shut and jumped into the driver's seat. She wheel spinned out of the parking bay, ramming into a luggage trolley and narrowly missing the taxi driver who had returned with two security guards.
The car jolted with the speed she used to turn up the ramp to chase down Brody who was running as fast as someone with broken ribs could. His breath was ragged as he made it to the top of the ramp, probably achieved with the motivation of pure fear. He turned and ran along the feeder road facing the oncoming traffic so Brittany couldn't follow him.
Brittany did not give a flying fuck about oncoming traffic. At the top of the ramp she did a handbrake turn and skidded into the column of cars all heading her way. The single lane of traffic screeched to a halt and cars began to pile up.
Having no other option Brittany abandoned the car in the middle of the carriageway and completely blocked the road. Brody turned and hissed with dismay as he saw the very angry and very determined woman running after him. He held his ribs as he stumbled along but Brittany was unrelenting and was quickly gaining on him. He leaned over the concrete wall of the flyover and saw a lorry parked underneath the bridge he was on. With Brittany almost upon him and no other way to escape her, he climbed up and over the chest high concrete wall and half jumped, half fell to land on top of the lorry below.
Brittany watched him as he clambered down the cab of the truck and staggered out onto the road, forgetting his highway cross code and keeping his eyes upon her as he backed away out in front of the truck. A sixteen tonne truck driving past the parked vehicle had no time to slam on the brakes. The horn blared and Brody turned to see a radiator grill a metre away from his face.
Brittany winced and turned away. Without looking back she retraced her steps back to the subway station and the train into the city, all the while hoping Santana had more luck. At least now they knew the gang were still operating in the area. She pulled out her phone and dialled Santana.
Santana sat outside a café with a cup of coffee and a broadsheet newspaper obscuring her face and indeed the top half of her body. Further down the road was a government building, the only clue as to its identity a CCTV camera overseeing the heavy doors. Shortly after five pm a curly haired man in a suit and tie and long overcoat exited the building and walked away down the road straight past Santana's café. Once he had passed, Santana folded her paper and, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, followed in the same direction as the man.
Shortly after they reached a busy area of the city where shoppers, tourists and workers bustled around in the rush hour. The man didn't look around but stopped at a busy road crossing. Santana stepped up next to him and they both appeared to scan the traffic looking for an opportunity to cross.
"Just like the old days," said the man with a chuckle.
"Would you prefer it any other way?"
"Between you and me? No. But now that I sit behind a desk the world looks different."
"You mean it looks boring as hell."
"I mean, different. Okay, a little boring. But is being retired any more interesting?"
Santana looked around the intersection. "It was, at least until my daughter disappeared in Paris, yesterday." The man looked up, instantly more alert. "She and her friend were marked by a spotter at the airport. Albanians took her."
The man's demeanour turned stony faced. "How do you know this?"
"I'm retired, not dead," Santana scoffed.
"And I assume you don't want to go to the police."
"I was told I have 96 hours. That was 16 hours ago."
"Okay, first we should find the spotter."
"Already taken care of. And he's dead."
"You found him that way?" He turned to her angrily. Santana said nothing. "Santana, you cannot just run around tearing down Paris."
She turned to face him. "Will, I will tear down the Eiffel tower if I have to."
"Don't forget who you are talking to," he hissed at her.
They both faced each other at the side of the road all pretence at not knowing each other forgotten.
"I thought I was talking to a friend."
"You are," Will insisted. "But please remember, your friend has a desk now." Will reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a business card.
"W. Schuester, Deputy Director, Internal Security," Santana read aloud. "That's cute, Will. I guess that means you can wear all the sweater vests you want." Santana tucked the card away and carried on regardless. "The Albanians?"
"They showed up from the East six, seven years ago. Fifteen to twenty of them. Now, there are hundreds. We don't don't even know how many... and dangerous."
"So I heard. Where do I find them?"
"The best place to start is Porte de Cliche."
Santana walked off without so much as a thank you. She crossed the road, willing to waste no further time now she had her lead.
Will shouted after her, "Try not to make a mess." As he watched her disappear into the crowds he dialled a number in his phone.
Schuester residence
"I'm sorry, my darlings.. The big scary bears will have to stop scaring small children before bedtime for a moment because Papa has a phone call." Will looked up at his wife from his story telling seat on the end of his daughter's bed with a smile. "It's your assistant," she said with a smile offering him the phone.
"Ah thanks, Emma." He turned to his children, "I'll be right back," leaving them both with a kiss each. He took the phone from his wife and took it to the bathroom so he wouldn't be overheard.
"Oui? Finn?"
"She visited a car hire place and a temp agency."
"Was she alone?"
"Yeah, it's all quiet."
"Not for long. Don't let her fool you."
In the middle of Paris' red light district, Porte de Cliche, a well dressed young man with impeccable hair stood next to a signpost nervously clutching tight hold of his messenger bag and watching the business side of the street not far away. A car pulled up next to him and the window wound down.
"Kurt Hummel?"
"Yes?" the young man replied.
"I'm Ms. Motta. Get in," said Santana.
Kurt looked relieved as he recognised the name and got into the vehicle with only slight hesitancy. Once seated he opened his bag. "Here is my resume. The employment agency said we would be doing translation."
Santana watched the prostitutes over the road. Without looking she took the proffered resume.
"Yes. Albanian to English. You do speak Albanian?"
"Albanian, Croatian, Serbian. I ran an amateur dramatics society before the war began in Pristina. We could perform in four languages."
"What's your rate?" Santana asked, interrupting him before Kurt could tell her his life's story.
"My rate? Um usually twenty five Euros for the first 3 hours then it goes up to-"
He looked back as someone got into the car in the back seat.
"She's with me," Santana explained. "Well not 'with me' 'with me' but... you know what? Never mind, it's complicated... And none of your business."
"Hey," said Brittany.
"Hey," said Santana, glancing at her in the rear view mirror. "You okay?" Brittany nodded in the mirror. Santana looked away when their eyes met for too long. "This is Kurt."
"Hey Kurt," Brittany slapped him on the shoulder. "I like your hair. I've never seen hair that big before."
"Um, hello...?"
"Ms. Motta."
"Ms. Motta? But that's your name," he looked at Santana.
"Yeah, well. Long story. Okay," Santana interrupted. "Here's ten hours money. Wait here." She climbed out of the car.
"Ms Motta! I don't understand. What is the job exactly? Because I'm not into that sort of-"
"Right now the job is to wait here."
He watched as she walked over to the prostitutes.
"Hi," Santana grinned at the nearest woman.
"Yes, darlin', you looking for a date?"
"I love your dress," Santana reached out and ran a finger over the short dress exposed from under a small denim jacket. "Is that silk?"
"Hell, I don't know headses from tails," the woman giggled coquettishly. "Do you want to know prices?"
"Just the way it falls, it must be silk. How it compliments the natural curves of your body."
Brittany snorted at the look on the hooker's face. Kurt stared in bewilderment at the scene in front of him. "What is she doing? That woman's fashion sense is abominable."
"That woman has absolutely no game," he heard Brittany sigh from the back seat.
The woman's jokey façade faded. "The rate is forty Euros for standard."
"Standard? Could you be more specific? Because back home standard covers a range of possibilities." The woman looked unimpressed. Maybe she wasn't as dumb as she sounded. "Like kissing you know, closed lips, open lips."
"Listen if you're not buying, piss off," the woman shook her head as she began to walk away from the time waster.
"I didn't say I wasn't buying," Santana followed her further along the stretch of street. "I just want to get comfortable before I purchase."
The woman sauntered over to a kerb crawler and flashed a vivid smile and an eyeful of cleavage through the open window.
"It's like this new TV I bought," Santana followed her around as she tried to pick up another customer. "I must have read the manual from cover to cover so many times."
"I don't give a hoot, honey. You're going to get me in T-R-O-U-B-L-E," she spelt out the word for extra emphasis, "if you don't buy."
Santana perked up at the information. "Trouble, really?" She asked, eagerly. "With who?"
"Piss off."
"Okay, okay. Listen, I'm sorry. If I want a package deal do I get a discount?"
The woman sighed as another car drove away. "You've cost me two now."
Over the road a large brutish looking man got out of a shiny silver car with tinted windows and marched over to where Santana was perceivably harassing the woman.
"Oh boy," the woman muttered. "You'd better leave."
"I thought we were negotiating!"
The woman stepped back in apprehension as her pimp walked up to them. "Azimio, I swear its not my fault!" her voice shook.
The mountain of a man slapped her then towered over Santana menacingly. "Why are you bothering one of my girls?"
Kurt looked horrified. "Should we go help?" He squeaked to Brittany.
"Nah, she's doing great," Brittany reassured him.
"Hey, listen up, brother. This is none of your business," Santana answered back cockily as they circled each other.
"She is my business," said the man. "And if you're not spending money then you are costing me money."
"I was negotiating," Santana said with a laugh, trying to shrug it off.
"No negotiating. The price is the price and now you owe me for the two that got away."
Santana spluttered with indignation. "I don't owe you shit."
Azimio shoved her back following her stumbles until he had her pinned against the wall.
In the car Kurt and Brittany watched. Kurt with his mouth hanging open and Brittany watching calculatingly as she noticed Santana grab his jacket in the appearance of steadying herself and attach a bug to the underneath of his collar.
"What about now? Should we help her now?" Kurt asked.
Brittany patted him on the shoulder, "She's almost done. Don't worry your pretty little hair."
"Fifty Euros or I kick your ass."
"Sure, sure, okay," said Santana her voice a bit higher than normal. "Chill out, jeez." She pulled out a handful of notes and picked out a fifty. "Here's your fifty," Azimio snatched the rest of the cash.
"Hey!"
"And another fifty for being an asshole. Now get the hell out of here." He pulled her away from the wall and shoved her towards the road. "If I see you again I will kill you." Azimio stomped back to his car without looking back.
"Not if I kill you first," Santana muttered under her breath.
Santana returned to her rental car where Kurt stared at her, open mouthed, as she settled back into her seat.
"Ms. Motta. Look, I don't know what kind of job I'm supposed to do for you but-"
"You're to translate," said Santana pulling a two way radio from the glove compartment and switching it on.
"I see you still have no game," came a snicker from the back seat.
"I have a fuckton of game!" Santana insisted.
"Can't even pull a hooker."
"I wasn't supposed to!" Santana spluttered then huffed as she witnessed Brittany's smirk.
The radio picked up Azimio's voice, transmitting his words from the bug.
"Now, translate this."
The radio crackled and Azimio's voice came through speaking fast conversational Albanian. "Translate," Santana prompted.
Kurt listened closely. "They're talking about you."
"What about me?"
"They're not saying nice things."
"Be specific."
"They're saying, uh, if you'll pardon the expression, what an 'asshole' you are." Santana shrugged. "Look, if you can explain to me why we are doing this then maybe-"
"Just translate." Santana watched Azimio's car over the road.
"Kurt," Brittany says softly. "We need to know what they're saying. Please."
"One of them is saying the sausage gave him heartburn. The other one is suggesting something his grandmother used to give him. Do you really want to hear all this?" He asked, puzzled at the inane chatter they were so interested in.
"Every single word."
"Now they're talking about football. The game between Lazio and Marseilles."
Santana leaned back into her seat and closed her eyes as she listened carefully. Brittany reached over and rested her hand on Santana's shoulder. Santana reached up and squeezed her fingers. If something didn't turn up in the men's conversation, they would be in trouble.
Kurt noticed the tension.
"Perhaps if I knew the purpose?"
"You're better off not knowing," said Santana. "Is it still football?"
"No. One is on the phone. He has to do a job at the construction site. Something about fresh merchandise giving problems." Santana eyes snapped opened and she gripped Brittany's hand tighter. "Ms Motta, I don't understand any of this."
Over the road Azimio's car began to move.
"You're not supposed to," said Santana while leaning over and opening Kurt's door. "I asked for an Albanian to English dictionary. Did you bring one?"
Kurt fumbled in his bag and handed her the book.
"Thank you, Kurt," Brittany smiled at him. "We wont forget your help."
Santana drove off leaving Kurt staring after them completely befuddled. He didn't pay any attention to the unmarked car which then followed them out of the area.
At a huge construction site at least a hundred square acres in size heavy machinery, diggers, bulldozers and cranes worked under powerful spotlights lighting up the site. Workers in hard hats milled around finishing up for the evening.
At the workers compound and rest area Santana and Brittany sit in their car, parked up with the workmen's vehicles. They watched a group of men line up outside of a sizeable port-a-cabin. The kind of lightweight building available for the work crews to use for their breaks. They watched the first in the line hand the man on the door some cash and then receive a card in return. The man entered the building only for Azimio to exit shortly afterwards. He spoke to the doorman and took a large handful of cash from him then walked away.
"Do you think they let women in?" Santana pondered.
"Do you think I care?" Brittany answered grimly. She tucked her hair into a woollen beanie hat.
"What are you doing? You're not going in there!"
"Santana, if she's in there..."
"She wont be. 96 hours, remember? It's too early. You wait here. Just... do it, Britt. Wait here and back me up when shit goes down."
"You know you'll have to let me at them eventually," Brittany said, acquiescing to Santana's request.
"I will. Don't worry about that," Santana gave her a half hearted, lopsided grin.
"Don't kill anyone without me."
"I've been trying recently not to make promises I cant keep."
Santana joined the line, her jacket turned up and Brittany's beanie hat hiding her hair. Her disguise was in vain as the guy on the door didn't even glance at her as he took the money and handed over a piece of cardboard with a number on it.
Inside the cabin Santana paused to take in the dull blueish lighting and muted atmosphere. There was no talking only some coughs and quiet groans. The single room had been divided with curtains into cubicles with numbers pegged to the front of them.
Santana walked slowly down the aisle in between the opposing rows of curtains until she found the one with her number on. With her heart in her throat she slid open the curtain.
Inside was a girl lying on a single bed, half dressed. Santana stared at her from the makeshift doorway. The young girl was pale and sweating and her dark eyes had the pupils dilated. As she raised her arm to beckon Santana, she noticed the needle puncture marks running up her bare arm.
Grim faced Santana closed the curtain and silently looked in the next stall. Another girl was in there, naked but partially covered by a bed sheet, and again she had needle marks along her arm.
She checked another. A man was dressing with his back to her. She checked the girl. Unknown.
In the next cubicle a man sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. The girl he had paid for sat in front of him on his lap. Santana's eyes were immediately drawn to the leather jacket lying on the chair next to the bed. It was her own, the one that Sugar had 'borrowed' from her to take to Paris. The last time she had seen that jacket was on Sugar at the airport as she waved goodbye.
Santana looked back to the girl but her face was obscured by her long brown hair. With a snarl Santana grabbed the man by his ears and ripped him away from her. She threw him to the floor then grabbed him again and punched him in the face. The man slumped to the floor and stayed down.
The girl hadn't reacted at all during the one sided scuffle taking place right next to her. Santana tentatively reached out and gently brushed her hair to the side. To her pure relief it wasn't Sugar. The girl stared off into space as Santana pulled her shirt back up her arms and onto her shoulders covering her up. She grabbed Sugar's jacket from the chair and held it up to the girl's face making sure she could see it.
"Where did you get this jacket?" Santana asked in a low voice. "Where did you get it?"
In accented English the girl said, "I'm good."
"Who gave this to you? Who? Who gave this to you?" Santana insisted desperately.
"I'm good," the girl said again, dazed and swaying slightly.
The curtain door was thrown back and a man stared in at them, looked over at the unconscious client on the floor then lunged for Santana.
Santana knocked his arm to the side with her backhand and kneed him in the crotch, then kicked him to the floor for good measure. She grabbed a belt hanging over the chair and wrapped it around his neck and jerked it sharply, pulling it tight. The man panicked and began to elbow her frantically. She jumped backwards to avoid his sharp jabs without releasing her tight grip on the belt and they stumbled together down the centre of the makeshift corridor, the man grabbing at the curtains either side as they went until they hit the solid outer wall of the cabin.
Girls screamed and men ran around in various states of undress at the disturbance. The man elbowed Santana again, slamming her viciously back against the wall and as she flinched he tried to turn around within the noose at his neck. Santana threw him by swinging the belt and smashed his face into the wall. He fell to his knees and she kicked him in the chest then punched him until he fell to a broken heap on the floor.
Straight down the aisle another man ran at Santana with a knife but she kicked his armed hand away and then kicked him in the balls. She grabbed him by the neck and something crunched under her hands as she twisted his head and threw him aside. A third man appeared, "Hey!" he shouted and brandished a pistol. Santana instantly chopped his arm down so the barrel no longer pointed at her and the weapon clattered to the floor. She karate chopped him in the neck then kicked him in the groin and he collapsed to the ground.
Another man entered the building with a gun already drawn and fired blindly at one of the girls who was running screaming towards him as she tried to escape from the fighting.
Using the distraction the girl provided Santana picked up the pistol at her feet and as the girl fell lifeless to the ground the gunman only had a second to look up to witness Santana shooting him twice in the heart.
In a nearby worker's mess cabin a small group of men had been calmly enjoying their break, among them Azimio, who gleefully counted his pile of cash only to be rudely interrupted by the sound of gunshots nearby.
Azimio looked out of the window to see men and a couple of girls fleeing the building opposite. He pulled out a pistol and barked orders at his men.
Santana wrapped her stolen jacket around the girl she had found in its possession and led her out of the back of the building, toward the car where Brittany was waiting with the engine running. She bundled the girl in the back of the car and buckled her in.
A bullet smashed the window over Santana's head and she ducked further behind the door, blindly firing back around the frame. She hit one of the four men firing at them in the chest and continued to shoot until one of them pulled out a semi automatic rifle. She dove into the back seat, climbing over the girl and Brittany wasted no time in pulling off.
Brittany's time spent waiting in the car had not been wasted and she sped across the yard making men scatter until she reached the stack of fuel drums used to run the generators running the spotlights and other machinery. She skilfully skidded the back of the car on the muddy ground and into the fuel drums toppling them across the open yard and spilling petrol all over the area. With another pre-planned manoeuvre she knocked over a burning drum the workers were using to keep warm through the cold evenings. As fire met petroleum the spilled drums combusted, blowing up with a roar and making Azimio and his men run for cover as the ignition erupted into a fire ball. Under shouted orders from Azimio the men ran for their parked 4x4's and give chase.
Santana peeped over the door frame through the broken glass from where she was shielding their comatose passenger to find them driving through the midst of the main construction area. Brittany manoeuvred around the busy heavy machines still working, swerving around a monster dumper truck. Behind them three pick up trucks gave chase.
The ground was uneven, wet and muddy and the hire car did not like it. It responded poorly to the rough conditions compared to the pick ups. A shot rang out from behind them and Brittany fought to keep control of the vehicle around the rough track.
One of the pick ups pulled up alongside them and overtook Brittany as she drove up a makeshift dozer track up the side of a huge gravel mound. At the top the pick-up pulled a handbrake turn skidding on the gravel to get a straight head on shot at Brittany. The driver stuck his arm out of the window and pointed his pistol at her hesitating as he realised she was accelerating. She ploughed straight into the side of his truck flipping it over and the pick up rolled over and over down the back of the bank of gravel. Her momentum was too much and Brittany had no choice but to follow the truck over the edge.
The hire car hit the ridge head on so Brittany had a better chance at keeping control of her vehicle. The car slid down the bank, wheels sinking into the stones. At the bottom of the slope Brittany span the steering wheel to avoid the wrecked overturned pick up and sped off on solid ground.
She took a second to look into the back seat at Santana who was staring back at her with a pained look on her face as she held the girl steadily to prevent her from being flung around in her seat.
"Don't you say a word about my driving," Brittany winked at her, then her eyes widened as she saw two more pick up trucks hit the flat ground behind them having followed her down the hill. Brittany grasped the steering wheel tightly and let out a controlled breath.
"Here we go again. Hold tight, ladies."
Brittany put her foot down and sped further through the site but the rental was no match for the power of the their pursuers' 4x4's over the rough ground and they soon caught up. One of the cars pulled up alongside and fired at her. The shot whistled past Brittany's head through her window and out the far side.
"You fucking-"
Brittany could hear Santana spluttering expletives behind her. With a grimace she turned the steering wheel sharply and confidently rammed the truck next to her so the driver didn't have a chance to shoot again. She pulled back then drove into him again pushing his truck further off the track and then hit him the hardest time yet forcing his two left side wheels to ride up the side of another gravel bank with two wheels on the ground and two on the slope. The driver sneered at her for a split second until his truck hit a signpost flipping his vehicle 180 degree, toppling it over and skidding around on its roof.
Azimio swerved around the upturned truck and drove on, he was the only remaining driver in the third 4x4.
Brittany looked around for the last pick up but couldn't see him anywhere in her rear view. As she reached the end of the second gravel mound to find Azimio bearing down at her from the track running around the other side of the gravel. Brittany accelerated and the car bounced onto a rougher, muddier area of the construction site. Santana groaned in the back seat as her back was jarred relentlessly. The wheels groaned just as much as Santana under the bumps and potholes they were forced through.
Azimio pulled alongside the car and fired at them his shots wildly off because of the terrain. Santana held the girl beneath her shielding her body with her own and wildly pointed her gun out of the window firing at Azimio. Brittany slammed on the brakes and the car skidded 180 degrees, around the side of a giant rock crushing machine of some kind, then she accelerated again. Azimio cursed and changed direction hurriedly falling behind the car again. Brittany aimed for a particularly muddy puddle and the mud splattered out from their wheels spraying mud all over Azimio's windscreen. He fumbled for the wipers and while temporarily blinded he leaned out of his window only to drive head on into the raised bucket of a parked up digger. The teeth of the bucket ran straight through his wind-shield and the pick-up truck's chase finally ended embedded on a twenty tonne immoveable object.
The rental car trundled on to the checkpost at the entrance to the site. Brittany blasted the horn causing the security guards to scatter as she smashed through the barrier and skidded onto the main road.
"I don't think the hire company are going to let us hire anything from them ever again," Santana said from the back where she peered around looking out for any remaining threat.
An unmarked car followed them through the streets back to the heart of the city. In the car the driver was mid conversation on speaker phone.
"I told you she wouldn't stay quiet for long." Will's voice came through on speaker phone.
"What do we do now?" Finn asked.
"Now, she's in action my guess is she will lose you," Will said crossly and then hung up abruptly. Finn checked the junction and indicated to follow them.
Brittany watched the car following them with interest. Santana noticed her peering into the mirror from the back of the car. "What is it?"
"We're being followed by a complete moron."
The traffic light ahead of them began to turn red so naturally Brittany stepped on the gas and high tailed it around the car in front before running the light. She did a U turn in the intersection and turned back on herself to return down the same stretch of road giving Finn the one fingered salute as he stared gormlessly at her while blocked in by traffic.
"Dammit," he slapped his steering wheel and sulked until the light turned green. As he drove off his face scrunched in confusion. "Wait a minute. Who was that?"
Santana popped the lock of an old VW Golf in a quiet side street and opened the door while Brittany carried the unconscious girl over from their battered rental. While Brittany gently settled the girl into the back of the car Santana pulled the bundle of wires from the steering column. "Uh, San-"
"I'm driving, Britt," Santana said immediately. "I appreciate that we are alive right now, thank you and all that, but seriously, my spine is in my skull right now."
The engine spluttered to life and she shut the driver's door hurriedly as though Brittany could pull her out of the seat at any moment. Brittany rolled her eyes and looked at her silent companion next to her but received no reaction. She took hold of the girl's hand and squeezed it as Santana drove them away.
Santana rapped her knuckles on the front desk of a small, worn hotel she had driven them to. A man sat behind the counter, his feet resting up on the desk and his dreadlocks hung over the back of his chair. He jolted awake at the sound of company, his feet hit the floor and his eyes widened as he recognised his customer.
"Santana! How are you?" he asked with a genuine smile. Santana reached out her hand with a smile and they shook.
"Hello, Joe. How's the wife?"
"Ahh, still in charge," Joe grinned. "Been a long time since I've seen you."
"Way too long," Santana agreed.
"The usual accommodation?"
"Plus two this time."
Joe turned and reached for a key, handing it to Santana. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks, Joe."
He nodded at her and let her get on with business.
Once they were safely up in the room Brittany gently lay the girl on the bed while Santana set up an IV drip. The girl was pale and sweating profusely, and was still unaware of what was happening around her as Santana and Brittany took care of her.
Santana bent a wire coat hanger into a loop and hung it from a wall mounted lamp to hold the IV bag up. Brittany watched wide eyed from the end of the bed as Santana inserted the IV into the girl's arm taking her time while she struggled to find a vein.
Brittany picked up the leather jacket Santana had found at the construction site and dusted it off. The jacket didn't stop moving in her trembling hands and tears gathered in her eyes. Wordlessly, Santana led her over to the couch and they curled up together, Sugar's leather jacket covering their legs.