"Sara, you in position?" Trish asked.
Sara had already been moving along the north wall of the Auditorium, heading west towards the collection of trailers, and the parking lot entrance that had to be the getaway point for the two would-be kidnappers. Half of the uniformed CPD were behind her, the other half were waiting until Trish and Sharon had drawn the suspected fake cops to the far end of the auditorium.
"I will be. You can start. I'll be there before you are."
Sara had still been walking quickly towards the north end of the pier when Captain John Dorazio, officer in charge of the special detail protecting Annelie Bodin, approached and signaled with his hand for Sara to mute her comm.
"The Commissioner just brought me up to speed. He said it's your play, we're following your lead."
"Half your men with me up the north side. Take the other half up the south side once Trish and Sharon are clear of the building. No comms, and don't get close enough to spook them. If we want to nab them all they need to think their plan is working."
"Got it," he answered before using the index finger of his right hand to signal for six officers to follow Sara.
"OK, we're moving," Sara heard Trish say.
Sara's field case was still in her car. Her collapsible batons, and the jacket that would have concealed them, was still on the passenger side seat of her rental. But she saw six almost identical batons resting snugly in their holders, and it took her no time at all to borrow the nearest two. They continued until they reached the end of the auditorium.
"That's our cue," Trish voice said into Sara's ear.
"No uniforms past this point until it goes down," Sara told the six uniforms, "we can't risk spooking those assholes."
"How will we know when it goes down?" the nearest officer asked.
"Fuck if I know, but I don't think we'll miss it," Sara answered.
Sara could still hear the chatter from Trish and Sharon, but she back burnered it in her mind as she left the concealment of the auditorium wall and quickly walked ten paces until she was behind one of the trailers. If everything went according to plan she would stay ahead of them and disrupt whatever getaway plan the kidnappers had, which they assumed would be a last second pickup at the entrance to the pier. The entrance was still a ways away, but she didn't want to get too far ahead of Trish and Sharon.
"Ms. Bodin, we have a security alert. We need to get you out of here immediately."
Here we go, Sara thought.
"What's happening?" Trish asked.
"We'll explain on the way. We have to move," the man said.
They must have just signaled for their ride, Sara thought. She was just about to move when she heard the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle.
Fuck.
"Get to the entrance!" she yelled to the six officers behind her, "the getaway is yours!"
Sara kept a tight grip on the two borrowed batons as she threw her arms straight down and snapped her wrists to extend and lock them in place, her upper body leaning forward as she ran parallel to the west wall of the auditorium.
Oh, fuck me sideways, she thought as she pulled up quickly to avoid running into a Steadicam operator and the men standing with him. She could see the CPD captain, and his group of six men still at the far end of the south side, their path equally blocked by another group of men and women, all of whom were watching the same spectacle that Sara was watching, though they were almost certainly not thinking what Sara Lance was thinking as she watched the two women engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the two uniformed men.
Late for the party, as per fucking usual.
"What's happening back there?!" Annelie Bodin yelled from where she sat squished between the two men from Nighthawk Security.
Jesus, I'm not fucking deaf, Laurel thought as she continued to weave through the protesting traffic before calming down, give her a break, it's just stress.
"We're off comms," said the man who had called the Commissioner, "our priority now is to get you to a safe location. They'll contact us when they can."
"Jesus jävla Kristus, JESUS jävla KRISTUS!" was her repeated reply in full voice, accompanied by her fists striking anything within reach.
"Try and calm down," the man said.
Simon, Laurel finally remembered, his name is Simon Heller. The other one's name is...fuck.
Laurel could see the woman's face bury into her hands, her voice coming muffled, but still clear as she rocked back and forth.
"Ave Maria, full av nåd, Herren är med dig."
She continued to speak in Swedish, and though it wasn't a language that Laurel spoke she was pretty sure that it was a prayer of some kind.
No atheists in foxholes, Laurel thought.
"I think we're clear," the other man said, "no one behind us as far as I can tell."
"We'll make sure," Laurel said before pumping the brakes hard, igniting a series of car horns behind her, and taking a quick left, "I know a route that'll do the trick."
"Heliga Maria, Guds moder, be för oss syndare," was the only sound in the luxury cabin that was not mechanical as Laurel let her foot up, and the sound of the engine dropped. The road behind them was clear, and there was no point in risking an accident.
"We're good," she said calmly.
But Laurel was wondering for herself what was happening back at the pier.
Sara Lance hated feeling like a fifth wheel, though she had to admit that she didn't have a lot of practice at it; not when she was with Ollie, not when she was with the Legends. All those times she had been front and center, or anywhere else that the action had been thickest. Now, as she watched the two women, Sara was spending most of whatever energy she exerted keeping out of the way of the Steadicam crew. There were three crews now, two focused on Sharon, one keeping to Trish.
It's some fucked up Hollywood version of a fight circle, Sara thought as she looked at the semi circle of people and equipment, and the activity at its center.
Sara had arrived just in time to see Sharon's shirt torn open. Trish was still fully dressed, though at some point her oversized t-shirt had ridden up and caught on her right hip, exposing the Kydex holster and the weapon it held. It might have been that sight that kept her opponent's own weapon holstered, it might also have been the fact that he didn't have a spare moment to draw it.
Trish had caught him with a rising knee before her display of acrobatics that had gotten a reaction from everyone watching, but he hadn't stayed down. He came up into a crouch and produced a length of wire from somewhere on his left wrist and drew it taught between his hands before standing. Sara thought it was a mistake. He clearly intended to trap either Trish's hand or foot when she attacked, or use it to choke her, but she moved so fast that he didn't stand a chance.
But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try. And Sara had to admit that he was pretty good with his hands and elbows, even when those hands were filled with wire about as thick as a shoelace. Back fists, uppercuts, flying elbows, he used them all in addition to a couple attempts to wrap the wire around Trish's neck. But even he finally realized that the wire was a mistake, tossing it to one side before taking up a combat stance before starting a whirlwind attack with his hands, knees and feet.
He's swinging for the fences, Sara thought as she watched the man attack with a vengeance. But Trish was just too agile in retreat, and too quick on attack, and he was burning through his energy reserve too quickly with all the haymakers he was throwing. Trish simply maintained the distance between them, waiting for them to pass her by as she side stepped or dodged, before launching off her rear most foot, instantly closing the distance, extending whatever arm was in position to deliver a ridge hand to an exposed eye or temple, dancing away again out of reach.
Jesus she fucking fast, Sara thought, Nyssa's not even that fast.
Trish had eventually taken a traditional boxers stance, face to face finally with the man who had just about worn himself out, his hands barely up high enough to offer any sort of defense, when her powerful initial left handed jab broke his nose cleanly. Her second and third jabs quickly caused his right eye to swell shut. But the right handed cross that seemed about to follow turned out to be a ploy, not that she needed to resort to deception. He was done no matter what when Trish's right hand, rather than strike the man's head, initiated a counter clockwise spin that ended with her left foot striking the left side of his head, sending that head instantly to the right, as the rest of him quickly followed, before laying unconscious on the concrete.
Trish stood over the unconscious man for several seconds, her body turned in profile to the camera, and to Sara, her hands still formed into fists in front of her, her body still taut, a statuesque live wire, not quite ready for the battle to be over.
Me likey, Sara thought as she looked at the beautiful woman in front of her.
What few weapons Sharon had been wearing when she arrived at the pier were with her cloths in the trailer she had used to change into the duplicate wardrobe to what Annelie was going to be wearing in the scenes at the pier. So when the man she had thrown against the railing had come up, let go of her torn shirt and produced a tactical knife from a boot sheath, she had nothing other than the clothes she was wearing.
The six running men and women from the CPD had almost reached the end of the auditorium, but were still a hundred feet from the tall blonde woman in the tan sports bra when the knife made it's appearance.
But this wasn't Sharon's first rodeo. The smile that formed on her face just before she took two steps back, unbuckled the leather belt at her waist and pulled it free, should have been a warning to the man facing her that his shiny knife didn't scare her. She held the leather end in her hand, the square gold metal buckle dangling from the free end, and to an untrained eye it probably looked like she started dancing as her body began to move to some inaudible tune, her upper body swaying in an intricate pattern while her legs danced a hypnotic gigue that the man found difficult to follow. His knife was always a bit late, never quite on target when he thrust or slashed, the woman that he had too late realized was in imposter always somewhere else when the blow fell.
"Who the fuck are you," he asked.
"No one," was her only answer as she finally stopped moving, extending her hands slightly away from her sides, palms turned towards him, the belt still in her hand.
The mans face was determined as he deliberately walked towards her, his knife gripped in his right hand, but that determination wavered as Sharon's right hand quickly came up and snapped the belt forward and the buckle caught him just below the left eye.
Sharon began to circle right as the man screamed and swore.
The blood on his face was clear to everyone after he had pulled his left hand away from his eye.
He's pissed now, Sharon thought as the man moved into a slashing attack that Sharon made no attempt to block, or grab.
He kept moving forward, slashing and jabbing, and Sharon kept circling and moving backwards, dodging, changing direction, delivering new wounds with her belt to his face and the sides and back of his head whenever his balance failed him and he ended up turned around.
It didn't last much longer. The sweat was pouring out of him, and Sharon timed her next strike to land just as his left hand came up to wipe his face. She whipped the belt behind her and brought the buckle down like lightning onto the man's knife hand. The knife clattered to the concrete and the man reacted by bringing his injured hand up to his chest. Sharon shot forward quickly, the belt dropping from her hand as the momentum of her moving body added to the power in her swinging right arm, the hand at the end tightened into a knife edge as it struck him above the left eye, the knuckle of her thumb catching him on the upper eyelid. She came to a stop behind him before pivoting and kicking him behind his right knee. He went down as his knee gave way, but flung his bloody right hand back and upwards in a reverse haymaker swing that would have knocked Sharon out cold if it had connected.
But Sharon had not gotten greedy. She had taken a step back after landing her kick before circling slowly around to face him again. Now it was just flesh against flesh, and his flesh was showing the signs of wear.
His right leg was almost useless. He was probably bling in his left eye. He was fighting through a cloud of pain. But he was still bigger than her, he was seriously fucking pissed, and he wasn't giving up.
Sharon's battle was the only activity left unfinished in the Hollywood Fight Circle. All eyes were on her and her opponent, and it was clear to both Trish and Sara how the battle would end.
His mobility was almost zero as he closed the distance and commenced a series of powerful punches, and he proved that he still had some fight left in him, and Sharon was forced to block a few times when she waited too long to retreat to a safe distance. But it was her fight now, and she set the rules. He was spent, and the end finally came on his next attack.
As Sara watched Sharon shot forward, ducking underneath his left arm as it reached for her before grabbing him from behind in a choke hold that Sara was sure he was never going to break.
But he had one more trick up his sleeve. Sharon had used a variation of a triangle choke hold. She was on his back, her arms wrapped in a familiar pattern around his head and neck, her right leg wrapped in front of him, the two of them looking directly at Sara, and the camera that was right next to her and Trish. He had less than twenty seconds of consciousness left, and only had one degree of freedom remaining, and that was backwards; backwards towards the railing that separated the pier from Lake Michigan, that was just close enough. Their combined impact caused their bodies, which were still locked together, to pivot onto the railing and then over it.
Sara was stunned for a moment as she watched the pair fall over the railing, bounce off the small concrete ledge, and then roll out of sight, just before she heard the slash.
It took a second for her brain to confirm what her eyes had just seen, her eyes that stayed fixed on the railing as she spoke to the woman standing next to her, the woman who could almost be her twin.
"Did not see that coming."
"You're sure you're okay?" the EMT asked Sharon as she sat dripping on the back bumper of his ambulance.
"I'm fine, I just need a change of clothes," She replied as she continued to drip water. She had a pretty good scrape on her right shoulder from her brief interaction with the concrete, but otherwise she seemed uninjured.
"Don't change on my account," Sara said with a smile as she looked Sharon down and up, "I think you look fine."
"Perv," Trish said.
"What," Sara asked as she turned to look at Trish before turning back to Sharon, "She does look fine."
Trish was about to argue, but took her own glance at the soaking wet woman in the clinging clothes sitting next to her on the bumper.
"She's not wrong," Trish said to Sharon.
"Oh, for fuck sake," Sharon said.
"Any sign of him?" Sara asked Captain Dorazio as he approached.
"No. He must have went right to the bottom. He was wearing a lot of gear."
"But you're gonna check, right? And you got the getaway driver?"
"They got him. We'll talk more later, but I wanted to say it was a pleasure working with all of you. Never seen anything like it. Almost like I was watching them shoot a movie."
"Ha ha," Sharon said, "it is to laugh."
"Just a day at the office, but thank you," Sara said.
"Got two of them at least," Trish said quietly after the captain had left them alone, "That's something. They'll fish the other one out eventually."
"He surprise me, I'll give him that," Sharon said as she massaged her right shoulder, "and he was heavier than he looked."
"That was the most unbelievable shit I have ever seen in my life," Paul said as he walked up to them, "and I've worked on Jackie Chan movies. You should see what we got."
"What do you mean?" Trish asked.
"You didn't see the cameras?" Sara asked.
"Cameras?" Sharon asked.
"There were three fucking cameras recording everything that happened. You really didn't see them, neither of you?"
"No, I was kinda busy," Sharon said.
"Where did they come from?" Trish asked.
"I sent them," Paul said, "you didn't think I was gonna let that go down without filming it, did you?"
The three women were silent for a minute.
"I forgot how much I hated Hollywood, and why," Trish said.
