As it turned out, Santana didn't need the week. She called after five days, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

"Detective Fabray." She answered shortly. The deadline for one of her case files was due in an hour.

"How much?"

"Pardon?" Quinn frowned, pulling away to look at the screen. She recognized the unknown number as that belonging to a public phone booth.

"You said the department would pay. How much?"

It took a few seconds for her to place the voice and for the dots to connect. When they did, she perked up. "Santana? You want in?"

At the name, Sam, previously deep in paperwork, looked up too. "Your snitch?" he mouthed.

She nodded and turned away from her partner. For some reason, she felt like the conversation should be kept private.

"How much?" Santana repeated over the phone.

"It depends on how much information you can get us."

She heard a long blow of breath from the other side. "Fuck Quinn. You have to give me more than that."

"You know I would if I could."

There was a pause, then, "If.. If I can get you everything you need, how much would you give me?"

"It depends on whether it would be enough information to crack the case and indict Nelson."

"Indict Nelson?" Santana laughed but the sound seemed strange to Quinn's ears. Santana sounded strange today. Something was wrong. "What I intend to give you will be enough to bring down his entire operation."

"If you can do that, let's just say your rental days are over."

"Then I'm in. How soon will I be able to get the money?"

"How soon will you be able to get me the information?"

Another pause. "I'll call you when I have something. You just get the money ready."

"Wait Santana." Quinn piped up before her informant could hang up. She bit her lip as she hesitated. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm doing what you want, aren't I? Just get the money ready Quinn."

She thought she heard Santana's voice hitch at the end but she couldn't be sure and before she could, the call had ended.

She should feel happy. She should feel excited that her case was now going somewhere. After all, it was what she wanted, wasn't it? It was strange then that all she felt was a nagging worry.

"Everything ok?" Sam called her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah." She replied slowly, her eyes still glued to her phone.

"So, your snitch?"

"Yeah. She says she's in."

"Really?" His mouth split into a massive grin. "That's awesome Quinn!"

"Yeah." She dragged out the word, trying her best not to sound as unsure as she felt. It was supposed to be awesome, wasn't it?

"That means we've got Rick Nelson in the bag yeah?"

He was getting ahead of himself. It was only the beginning.

"Only if she manages to get us the information we need."

"And if she doesn't?"

"If she doesn't?" She repeated blankly and shrugged. "Let's just take it a day as it comes."

"What if she gets caught?"

She blinked. Then she'll be screwed, she wanted to say. Instead, she pursed her lips and looked back down at her phone. "Give me a minute Sam. I've to make a few calls." There was something she needed to find out.

As it turned out, a

ll it took was one call for her to find out how Santana's grandmother's condition had taken a turn for the worse. She would be needing a colorectal resection within the next three months if she didn't want the cancer to spread. It wasn't difficult to guess why Santana had changed her mind and what she would be needing the money for.

It was another two weeks before Santana next contacted her, again through a public number.

"Why haven't you been picking up my calls?" was Quinn's heated greeting to her informant. It had been two weeks since they last spoke and she had been worried.

"I told you I would call you!" Santana hissed back. The sound of traffic could be heard in the background. "Now shut up and listen bitch. I've only got a minute. Here's the first address."

Biting her tongue to keep from chastising Santana for her language, Quinn scribbled down the address provided.

"They take at least a hundred orders a day. Apparently, there's a trapdoor they use as a storage facility, but they rent a separate apartment for weighing and packaging, just seven floors up."

"In the same building?"

"Yeah. It's kinda dumb. I wouldn't do that."

"Of course you wouldn't." Quinn commented dryly. "And how do they take their orders?"

"By phone, duh. They're using a burner though so I'm not sure if you'll be able to track their calls."

"Will you be able to get me the number?"

"I can try." Santana replied after some hesitation. "I'll have to ask around though. You know that will cost."

"You worry about getting me the information and I'll worry about getting you the money."

"Fine." Santana grudgingly agreed. "Are you going to take action?"

"Right now?" Quinn quickly considered the possible options. "Unlikely. It would be wiser if we could first lock down all the locations."

"Good." Santana sounded relieved. "So my money?"

"I'll wire it to you once I've cleared the paperwork."

"Make sure no one will be able to track the money!"

Quinn rolled her eyes. Santana should know by now that she was always careful. "As if you had to remind me. Stay safe."

"Yeah, yeah." She grumbled before hanging up.

Thing turned sour about two months in. Somehow, word had gotten round to Ricky that someone had been asking about him. Unfortunately for Santana, she wasn't hard to find.

Nelson sent four of them; heavily-tattooed, muscled thugs in ripped tees and jeans. The moment she saw them, she recognized them as one of the groups Ricky sent out whenever he wanted to intimidate someone, give someone a beat down, or make a kill. Often, the three weren't exclusive. In her case, she hoped that she could avoid options one and two if three was her fate but no way was she going down without a fight. She couldn't say she hadn't been expecting this but she certainly hadn't expected to be found out this quickly. If not for the two beefcakes blocking the entrance to the alleyway, she would have attempted to make a run for it.

"Lopez." The biggest one grinned down at her. He had a gravelly voice, the kind that sounded like he had a lot of sticky phlegm stuck in his throat. Gross.

"I would say the same to you but I don't know your name, all four of you. You here to buy dope?" Though her palms had started sweating, she kept her tone cool and her gaze steady.

Beefcake One merely looked at his friends in confusion. "Buy dope? Why the hell would we wanna buy dope from you? Ricky has lots of em."

Santana forced her shoulders into a careless shrug. "I dunno. People only come to me if they wanna buy dope." Or if they wanted to beat her up.

"You don't know us?" Beefcake One frowned, as if only just realizing what she had mentioned half a minute ago. God, why were the beefcakes always such retards? "You must've seen us around."

"Yeah, but I don't know you."

He scratched his head slowly. "Well I'm John. That's Harry and Jonas at the.."

"Dude get on with it. Just because she's a pretty girl doesn't mean you forget the job." Beefcake two interjected with a scowl. He was slightly leaner than his partner and had an ugly scar running across the entirety of his forehead. As if he wasn't already hideous enough without that mark.

"But she said…"

"Shut it John. I know what she said."

Seeing that John wasn't the leader of the group, she turned her attention to Scarface.

"I'll just get straight to the point Lopez. We hear you've been asking about Ricky."

She played it cool. "Yeah so? I'm just asking questions. I haven't done anything wrong."

He sneered and stepped into her space, backing her up against the wall. "Oh yeah? How about you think again?"

She obliged him and put on her best thinking face. "Ok thought about it. Still can't figure out what I did wrong."

Just as she expected, Scarface didn't like her answer. He took a step forward and shoved her back against the wall. Her shoulders hit the bricks hard and she winced. "You wanna play hard ball Lopez?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Shut up!" He said with another push. Well that was rude and uncalled for. She was just answering his question. Why ask when you didn't want an answer? "Who are you working for?"

"Er no one? You know…" She was shocked silent when he smacked her face. It wasn't a particularly hard hit but the force was enough to tilt her face to the side, and enough for her to see red. "What the hell!"

She shoved back at him with both palms but he barely budged.

"I asked nicely."

"And I fucking answered nicely. What the hell is your problem?"

"Ricky doesn't like liars. You would know. You were friends with Puck weren't you?"

She gulped. She was.. no, had been. She had been friends with Puck before the police found him dead in one of the alleys. His tongue had been cut off. Everyone knew who had done it but there hadn't been any proof to get Puck the justice he deserved.

"So Lopez?"

"What?" She hissed. Her throat had gone dry. Behind Scarface, she could see John playing with his switchblade.

"You want to tell me the truth?"

"What truth?"

"Who the fuck are you working for? I'm not asking you again."

"I work for no one! Fuck.. no wait!" She pleaded when Rick grabbed her by the collar and gestured for John to come over. "I swear I'm not lying! You know I've always worked alone!"

"Really? Because that's what we find so funny. You've been a lone wolf for so long but suddenly you start asking questions and Ricky starts losing territory."

Santana blinked, her thoughts racing with this newfound fact. "Wait. What?"

"We thought you got it Lopez. We thought you understood. You stay out of Ricky's and we stay out of yours."

So they weren't here because they had found out she was a mole. They were here because they thought she was working for a rival who wanted a piece of Ricky's pie. As it so happened, she knew the name of this rival.

"Here's your last chance Lopez. Either you fess up and you give us a name or we fuck you up real bad."

If she really had been guilty of helping the new player, she was fucked. But telling these guys the true reason for her questioning was not an option. If they knew, she would be all the more fucked. Both options were dead ends.

"You gonna talk or are we gonna have to stand here all day?"

Her heart pounded. Her mind raced. She weighed her options and made her decision. If she was lucky, she was only going to bleed but at least she would get out of it alive. She closed her eyes and gave them what they wanted.

"Tank." She said through clenched teeth. She was going to hell for this but fuck it. She was already a drug-dealer. She was going to hell anyway. "They call him the Tank on the streets."

She opened her eyes and saw Scarface exchanging looks and nods with his fellow beefcakes. They knew she wasn't lying.

"His real name is Shane, Shane Tinsley."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know. I really don't know!" She insisted when he lifted his fists. "Just ask for the Tank and you'll find him. That's all I know, I swear. I only helped him because he wanted to kill my ma."

God help her for lying and causing someone else's demise.

Scarface laughed nastily. "You have no ma Lopez."

"You know what I mean." She snapped. She always got testy when it came to her grandmother.

"I don't care for what reason Lopez. You know the rules in the Heights. You should have come to us or Ricky."

Her heart sank when he took a menacing step forward. She knew what was coming, and that talking or fighting back would only make it worse. So she did the only thing that would help – she braced and defended herself.

Quinn was scowling down at a bunch of papers when her cell rang. Glad for the distraction, she snatched her phone up and put it to her ear.

"Detective Fabray."

She frowned when a familiar voice rasped through the speaker. "Quinn." She would recognize the voice anywhere but there was something wrong in the way Santana was saying her name. It made her hairs stand on end. "Shane Tinsley. The Tank. Help him."

Her frown deepened. She recognized the name, had recently seen his mug pinned up on Stevenson's board, but she wasn't involved in that case and as far as she knew, neither was Santana.

"Santana? Wha…"

"They're after him. Hurry!"

She wanted to ask more questions but Santana's tone was urgent and pleading in a way it had never been before. She swallowed heavily, eyes scanning the bullpen to seek out Stevenson's desk. To her left, she could feel Sam's gaze burning into her.

"Stevenson!" She barked when she saw him hunched over his computer. "I have a situation."

He turned tired eyes to her. "Can it wait? I'm up to here in paperwork." He flattened his palm out and brought it over his head.

"No. Your guy?" She jabbed a finger at Shane Tinsley's photo. "My girl says he has people after him. Probably Ricky's guys."

"What!" Stevenson sprung into action immediately, dragging a calloused hand through his hair. "Shit. Young, Anderson, with me! Young, radio in to find out if there are any legs or wheels in Washington Heights. High alert." He spared a moment to look at Quinn. "Let's hope we're in time. Word on the street is that Ricky is brutal."

She nodded solemnly. "I know. That's why I'm telling you."

"What's going on?"

"Sam. Your timing is just right. Go with Stevenson. He'll fill you in."

"What?"

"Go!" She repeated sternly before returning her attention to the phone. "Santana, you still there?"

"Mmmmm."

"Did they get you? How bad are you hurt?"

There was a brief pause, as if Santana was considering if she should lie. "I've had worse."

Quinn rolled her eyes. Of course she would say that. She patted her pocket for her keys and when she found them, moved swiftly to the door. "Where are you?"

She had so many questions but now wasn't the time for them. Still, she could put two and two together. Her guess was that Ricky's men had caught onto Santana's snooping. They obviously hadn't been happy. What she couldn't figure out was what Shane Tinsley had to do with the entire thing.

"The usual."

"Okay, stay there. I'm coming over."

"Don't!" There was a pained groan that worried Quinn. "Fuck. Don't. Shane first."

"Sam's already left. We've got a few cruisers patrolling the area. Just stay put. Will they come back for you?"

"No. Puck."

Quinn's hands clenched into fists. "Puck's the guy we should be looking for?"

"No. Don't let him be another Puck."

"I don't…"

"They would have cut my tongue off."

And suddenly it all made sense. They thought Santana was a rat but somehow, she had placed that accusation onto Shane Tinsley's head.

Quinn had read all of Ricky's files and one particular case had been difficult to forget. The police had uncovered a corpse in one of the alleys in Washington Heights with his severed tongue shoved up his ass. Word was that he had been caught ratting on Ricky and Ricky hadn't been happy at all. There hadn't been enough sufficient evidence found and no one had been courageous enough to take the stands. Puck must have been that guy.

She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and rubbed. "Santana, I…" She stopped and wracked her brains for something to say. How do you assuage someone's guilt when she did what she could to save her own life, and then risked it again so she could possibly save the other's life?

Quinn shook her head and inhaled deeply. There wasn't anything she could say that would make Santana feel better. The only thing that would help now was to get to Tinsley in time. She needed an aspirin. "Don't blame yourself ok? You did good. You did what you had to do. Now leave it to us. Just.. just stay put ok? I'll come get you."

"Kay."

She didn't know how a single, agreeable word could sound so broken.

Quinn found Santana lying on the ground, curled up into herself and clutching her ribs. She tried to recall a time when Santana had looked so small or vulnerable. She couldn't.

When she approached, Santana rolled around and she had to force herself not to wince. "Wow. You look like shit." She stated the obvious, instead of asking about the tear tracks staining Santana's cheeks.

"Only because I let them bust me up." Santana said weakly, through bloody lips and teeth, peering out at her from swollen eyes.

"I'm sure." Quinn quipped half-heartedly as she helped Santana up to a sitting position. "We got to Tinsley in time. Apparently, he's about as bust up as you, probably only because he let them." She added as an afterthought.

She smiled when Santana laughed in relief, but the laughter quickly became a coughing fit, and the smile fell from her face. "Ok come on. Let's get you to a hospital."

"Is the…"

"Yes you stinge. The department will be paying for your bills."

"You're a fucker." Santana said but Quinn knew what she really meant was "thank you".

A/N: Edited this multiple times before I thought it was good to go. Hope it wasn't confusing! Next and last update: Monday? (Hopefully). Happy weekend!