Disclaimer: Don't own and never will.
It was a quiet night aboard the fishing boat Guided Drifter.
They had set sail from their fishing village on the Normandy coast just as the sun was setting. A man wearing a Jagged Stone T-shirt and blue jeans and another man wearing a plain t-shirt and black trousers sat and watched as it left the dock.
"You have any idea where they're taking their special cargo?" the man with the Jagged Stone t-shirt asked and his companion shook his head.
"Nope. Don't want to either," he said, before looking at his companion. "We're paid enough not to ask questions. Just make it happen."
The man with the Jagged t-shirt shrugged and stood up.
"Well, time for us to go back. You fancy stopping to eat?" he asked, jangling his keys and the other man stood up.
"Yeah, why not. McDonalds?"
"Yeah, sure."
Aboard the Guided Drifter, a fat, scruffy-looking man in a striped jumper sat and rolled cigarettes. On the other side of the table, a terrified young woman sat tied to a chair, her eyes wide with fear.
"You don't need to worry my dear," the man said as he continued to roll cigarettes. "My crew and I are professionals. We've done this before and we all know what to do." The woman seemed to relax slightly, but not by much. "We're not going to gang rape you like some crews would, or grope your beautiful body or hit you." He shrugged. "We've got a job to do and we're going to do it."
The woman did not seem to be particularly reassured. The man shrugged. Well he had tried. Still, the fact that she had been kidnapped and was currently sitting in a chair with weights tied to her ankles probably didn't make her feel particularly safe. He certainly wouldn't be in her position either.
"We're getting a thousand Euros each for this job," he said as he continued to roll cigarettes. The woman didn't seem impressed. "It's a simple, no questions asked way of boosting our income." He gave her a doeful look. "It's not an easy job fishing. Sometimes the weather works against you. Sometimes you can't sell your catch. Sometimes you get beaten to the punch. A little extra money here and there doesn't make us criminals and if it wasn't us, someone else would be doing it. So look on the bright side. You're getting a quality service with considerable value for money."
The engine stopped and he looked up. Was it that time already? Well, apparently so. He untied the ropes holding her to the chair, leaving only the bindings that were not attached to the chair and he picked her up.
As he walked up the stairs, she thrashed and struggled, as if it would do any good. She was nothing compared to some of the rubbish that they had disposed of really. He looked up. It was a gloomy night and a storm was brewing. With a sudden heave, he tossed her into the English Channel. There was a momentary scream through her gag, a splash and then nothing. He watched as the bubbles reaching the surface stopped and lit a cigarette. Overall, an easy thousand Euros and it was barely any trouble at all. He would call that a good night.
AN: This is probably the kindest fate that I've given Lila.