Fic: The Fast and The Gleeful (3/7)
Title: The Fast and the Gleeful
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers: Absolutely none.
Summary: An attempt at this prompt
A/N: Posting in celebration of getting a job - yay! And Rachel's car changed model from my initial version, because of hostile_666!
Rachel did as Quinn asked, giving Leroy the address of the garage that night. He and the FBI stormed the place, but found only spare parts and Quinn’s jacket. As Quinn had told her it would, giving them the address got Leroy to stop harassing her for information, on her solemn promise that she’d have nothing further to do with the smuggler - not a hard promise to make, given that she didn’t have the slightest idea where she and her gang had gone.
That night, as she stared out her window at the eternally lit New York skyline, her phone buzzed on the desk behind her. There was a text message waiting, from a blocked number. All it contained was an address that she didn’t recognise. Making a flimsy excuse to her fathers, she barely restrained herself from leaping headlong into the cab she’d phoned.
It pulled up in front of a long-closed video arcade - the outside was completely boarded up, and the sign had long since collapsed from above the door. The cab driver looked sceptically at her. “Are you sure you wanna get out here, honey? This isn’t the best neighbourhood.”
“Could you wait for me? Keep the meter running,” Rachel pleaded. “I’m sure I won’t be long.”
The cabbie shrugged. “Why not?”
Rachel smiled thankfully at him and slid out the door. She approached the front door of the arcade tentatively, whispering Quinn’s name and getting no response. She knocked on the door, and there was still no response. Then she saw the small message on the door, traced in the dust by a slim finger.
R. Back door.
She nearly ran around the building, but was confused to find the back door - a loading bay entrance, in fact - as tightly shut as the front. Her eyes scanned the building, looking for some clue about what to do next, and found a small gold treble clef on one of the bricks near the door. She pulled on the brick and it came loose easily, revealing a small padlock key and a note.
This opens the bay door.
Rachel unlocked it excitedly, using all of her strength to push the heavy door upward and ducking underneath it. The arcade was dark at first, but as she stepped further inside a bank of motion-activated lights sprang to life. There, among the long dark and silent arcade machines, was a long shape covered by a sheet with a portable DVD player sitting atop it, but no sign of Quinn or the others. Confused, she approached the DVD player and pressed play. The screen came to life, and Quinn was there smiling at her, although her eyes were red and puffy.
“Hey, Rach. Sorry for all the cryptic shit, I just figured it was best not to say too much on your phone, in case your dad saw it. We’ll be miles away before you see this, but I want you to know I’ll be thinking of you. I can’t wait to come to a Broadway show some day when you’re a star,” Quinn choked up, and the video skipped. She was looking down at her lap when she spoke again. “Anyway, before I get any mushier, we left you a little present. We didn’t have anyone to drive our extra car out west, so I figured we’d leave it for you. I’d get a paint job, though, since it’s a bit distinctive. You’re going to have to learn to shift, too. Don’t take her home with you - I think your dad might get a bit suspicious. Don’t worry about hiding it, though - this arcade belonged to Artie’s dad, and we have the lease, so you can leave it here and no one should ever bother it. I can’t wait to drive beside you some day.” She looked behind her. “I said I’m coming, Santana, quit being a bitch! Anyway,” she turned back to address the camera. “I’d better go. Oh, I left you a CD in the stereo, too - it was recorded a long time ago, so don’t make fun of me. Goodbye, Rach.” The disc ended.
Clearing the tears from her eyes, Rachel moved the DVD player aside and whipped the sheet off the car. She gasped - the car was gorgeous. She read ‘Skyline’ on the back, and assumed that was the make - she didn’t have the vaguest idea whether that was good or not. It was a sleek car - coloured a metallic gold, emblazoned on the drivers’ side with a large decal that read HBIC. Rachel took a long walk around the car and climbed in, enjoying the soft leather seats. The keys were in the ignition, and she clicked them forward until the stereo came on. The CD was a single track, only a few minutes long - but it was unmistakably Quinn, and she sang ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,’ with as much heart and talent as anyone Rachel had ever heard. She listened raptly and cried when it was over, both for the beauty of the song and the knowledge that she’d likely never see the blonde again.
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The hope that Quinn would call her faded slowly. Days went by, and stretched into months. Rachel did what was expected of her - she joined the Glee club, kept her attendance perfect and her grades spectacular. True, she snuck out every second or third night and taught herself to drive the car Quinn had left behind, but she was always home well before curfew, and always had her homework done.
The months stretched into a year, until the week she’d been a part of Quinn’s world seemed like a faded picture in her mind. She drove the car openly now, albeit with a new silver paint job and minus the decal, but she still returned to the arcade from time to time to watch the DVD and remind herself just what Quinn looked like. She’d been accepted to Julliard, and she was acting in small community theatre parts while she waited for the summer to end and her college experience to begin.
It was outside one of the community theatres that Puck found her, and dragged her into a nearby alley with his hand clamped over her mouth. “Hey!” he hissed in her ear. “I need to talk to you - that’s all, just talk. I just figured you wouldn’t want to be seen with me. I’m going to let you go - don’t scream or nothing, okay?” He was as good as his word, and she wrenched herself out of his grasp.
“What do you want, you Neanderthal?” she glared at him, wiping furiously at her mouth.
“I need your help.”
“With what could you possibly need my help?”
“To save Quinn.”
That stopped Rachel in her tracks. “Even if that were true, why would you ever want to help Quinn? The last time I saw you, you had a gun to her head.”
He looked uncomfortable. “Call it professional courtesy.”
“I’ll need a bit better reason than that if you’d actually like me to trust you.”
“Look, it doesn’t matter why. What matters is that Quinn stepped on some big toes in San Francisco, and she’s in deep shit.”
“And what could I possibly do about it?” Rachel threw up her hands. “I don’t even know how to shoot a gun!”
“I don’t need you to shoot a gun,” he shook his head. “I just need a driver - and I know Quinn left you her wheels.”
“How do you - wait, her wheels?”
“Hell, yeah - she didn’t tell you? That was the car she bought for her sister, back before all that went down.”
“All what?”
He scowled. “It doesn’t matter! You want to play twenty questions, we can chat on the way. Just answer the question - you coming or not?”
“I-” Rachel looked back at the theatre. “I need to make some calls first.”
“Make it quick - I wanna be on the road tonight. Meet me here,” he handed her a business card.
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It had taken some smooth talking on Rachel’s part - involving a non-existent Julliard prep camp in the wilderness, where she’d be out of cell range, and a non-existent friend from the local theatre group who’d be going with her, but she thought she’d thrown her fathers sufficiently off her trail for at least a few weeks.
She’d packed a tiny overnight bag with the essentials and thrown it in the back of her car before driving to the address on Puck’s card - which turned out to be a small auto repair shop with the creative name of Puck’s Auto Yard. Scoffing at his lack of imagination, she drove into the one open repair bay. Puck met her as she got out, accompanied by another man she didn’t recognise. Puck introduced them.
“Rachel, this is my mechanic, Kurt Hummel. Kurt, this is Rachel something or other. I’ve never bothered figuring out what her last name is.”
They shook hands. “Kurt here is going to add a couple toys to your car before we get going. Nothing dangerous, I promise.”
“Uh - sure, I guess.”
“Cool. Can I get you anything?”
“Water would be nice.”
Kurt spoke up. “Get her the bottled stuff out of the fridge in your office, too, not a glass of tap water.” Puck walked away, and Kurt sighed. “He’d forget to comb his hair if I wasn’t around. You know,” he said to Rachel, tight-lipped, “I’m glad you’re here. I was so worried he was going to run off on his own.”
“Does he know?” Rachel asked quietly.
“Does he know what?” Kurt asked indignantly.
“That you’re in love with him.”
“No,” Kurt turned to his tools. “Now, if you’ll kindly move away from the car, I’ll get started. Oh, and leave me your phone, too.”
“Please be careful,” Rachel’s voice trembled. “That car is the only thing of Quinn’s that I have.”
“Not to worry,” Kurt assured her. “I’m an incredible mechanic.”
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“Incoming call,” the soft feminine voice nearly made Rachel drive off the road. “Say Yes to accept.”
“Yes.”
“Rachel - it’s Puck. How do you like the Bluetooth Kurt hooked up?”
“It’s quite fascinating. I’ve never had a car with that option.”
“Yeah, he’s something, isn’t he? Anyway, if you want to play twenty questions then this is the time.”
“Good - I have a great deal of questions for you. Firstly, what’s happened to Quinn?”
“She followed Santana’s advice - pretty much always a bad idea. Tried to steal a shipment right out from under the nose of one of the families out there.”
“By families, you mean-“
“Mafia, yeah. Her crew got away with the shipment, but Quinn got caught.”
“Is she-“
“She’s okay. For now,” Puck’s voice was quiet. “They want to trade Quinn for the shipment.”
“Why don’t Santana and the rest just do that, then?”
“Because there’s no way the family’s going to stick to the deal. Artie can’t drive, and they need someone with them who can handle themselves if shit goes down.”
“That’d be you.”
“Yep.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“I told you - you’re the wheels. I figured it’d be good to have someone they didn’t know - you can sneak Quinn out from under their noses.”
“It doesn’t really sound like you’ve thought this plan through completely,” Rachel complained.
“Who said anything about a plan?” Puck snorted. “I’m just pulling this outta my ass right now.”
“Terrific,” Rachel sighed. “So, why are you helping Quinn?”
There was a long silence on the line, and she didn’t think he was going to answer. When he did, he sounded almost embarrassed. “Because I owe her.”
“Why?”
“When she left NYC, she sent all of her suppliers my name, told them I was solid. She texted me later, said it was to make up for getting into my business. It was more than she had to do, and I’ve spent the last year waiting for a chance to make it up to her. Now I’ve got one.”
Rachel thought for a moment. “What exactly happened to Quinn’s sister?”
“Nope,” Puck responded instantly. “Not touching that one, not a chance. If she wants to tell you, you can ask her, but I’m not telling you anything about it.”
Rachel looked out her window at him, frustrated. “Fine. How do you know Quinn - how did the two of you meet?”
“You know,” Puck cleared his throat, “we should probably get off the phone. I’ll let you focus on driving.”
“Call ended,” the feminine voice spoke again, and Rachel rolled her eyes. She turned the stereo on and looked at the interstate ahead.
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After several twelve-hour days of driving mixed with short nights in cheap hotel rooms - that Puck made Rachel pay for, despite her protests that as a criminal he should be better endowed financially than her - they arrived in San Francisco. Finn called for directions as they reached the city limits, and he and Rachel followed them to a warehouse near the docks. Santana’s eyebrows shot up as she saw Quinn’s old car, and nearly climbed off her head when Rachel climbed out of it.
“What the hell did you bring her for?” she demanded, poking Puck in the chest with one finger. “Do you really want her to die that badly?”
“She can drive!” he protested, slapping her hand away. “Besides, if either of us wants to get someone killed, it’s you - what were you thinking, stealing from the families?”
“I was thinking we hadn’t had a job in a month, and I really wanted to eat!” Santana shouted. “I didn’t think she’d-” she trailed off, looking away. “We’re going to get her back anyway. Let’s go - everybody’s waiting, and we’re supposed to make the exchange in,” she looked at her watch, “about nine hours. We need to get some kind of plan made.”
They followed her into what must have been the shipping and receiving office in the building’s previous incarnation, where Brittany, Finn and Artie were waiting. All of them looked briefly surprised to see Rachel, but they quickly turned their attention to Santana when she spoke.
“Artie, show us the map.” A digital projector came to life, showing a satellite view of an old part of the city. “This is where the exchange is supposed to happen. We don’t know how many people they’re bringing, but we know they’ll come from the east, here,” she gestured at an intersection, “and stop in front of this building,” she pointed. “We’re supposed to approach from the west, and we’re only supposed to bring two vehicles - a u-haul with the stolen parts in it, and one escort car. That limits the number of people we can bring, so I think we’re going to have to be creative. Puck, since you brought man-hands along, she can make herself useful.”
“Please stop calling me that.”
“Sorry,” Santana shocked them all by apologising. “I’m nervous. I get bitchy when I’m nervous. Anyway, Rachel can take Quinn’s old car and park it here,” she pointed to an alley near the meeting place, “a couple of hours before the meeting. Hopefully they won’t notice it there, and she’ll be close enough to call her in if we need her. Puck, we need somebody armed.”
“Got it covered,” he assured her. “Tell me where you want me.”
“How’s your range?”
“I’ve got a rifle broken down in the back of my car - I’m good to five hundred feet or so.”
“Fantastic. I want you in the building across the street - it’s been empty for years, and you should be able to find a window that’ll give you a good shot.”
“You don’t think they’ll be doing the same thing?”
“Well, if you run into one of their guys in there, you’ll just have to deal with it. Can you do that?”
“I can,” he promised.
“Britt’s going to ride with me, and Finn will drive the truck. Artie’s going to be at a safehouse, waiting for us. I’ll text all of you the address en route to the meeting, and if everything goes sour, just head to the safehouse. Anyone who’s still alive will meet you there.”
Rachel raised her hand, and Santana rolled her eyes. “You’re not in school, kid. What is it?”
“Well, you said you’d call me in - for what, exactly? I’m not really - I mean, I’m not experienced in this sort of,” she trailed off, looking for a way to finish her sentence.
Santana gave her a serious look, and her voice was hard as steel when she answered. “You have one job - just one. Get Quinn. If they fuck us over - and they will - get your car in there and get Quinn out. That’s all that matters. Get her, and run. Don’t even go to the safehouse, if it comes to that. Just get her away. The rest of us will handle the cleanup. Understood?”
Rachel nodded. “What will the signal be?”
“Three long blasts from the truck horn. You hear that, you get in there. Got it?”
“I understand,” Rachel promised. “I’ll take care of her.”
“I know you will,” Santana nodded. She addressed everyone. “Now, all of you understand what’s at stake here. We screw this up, and Quinn dies. So go get your game faces on, make your peace with your warm and fuzzy creator, whatever’s going to get your heads on straight. Rachel, I need you out before the rest of us, remember.”
“When should I go?”
“Ideally? Now. The longer your car’s parked there, the less likely they are to think it’s suspicious. But if you need a minute-”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll go now.” Rachel struggled to keep her nervousness out of her voice, but Santana saw it anyway, and put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s gonna be okay. We might not even need you. Just go and get parked, and keep out of sight - lay down in the front seat or something. Take deep breaths, and remind yourself you’re doing it for Quinn.” Rachel nodded. “Good luck - we’ll see you there.”
Rachel accepted wishes of good luck from all of them, and a fist bump from Puck, before climbing into her car and driving away, following her GPS to the alley in question. She found a spot deep in the alley, where the car was largely hidden by shadows, and shut it off. She looked around, making sure there were no visible No Parking signs - it wouldn’t do to have a cop come knocking on her window - and reclined her seat until she was looking up at the ceiling. Her nerves were on razor’s edge, and when the voice of her new Bluetooth system spoke, she nearly jumped out of the car.
“Incoming call. Say yes to accept.”
“Yes.”
“Rachel? This is Brittany. I have blonde hair, and I’m about the same height as Santana, which is handy when I want to kiss her-”
“I know who you are, Brittany,” Rachel interrupted with a grin.
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to say I hope you can rescue Quinn. Santana’s been sad since she went away, and I don’t like it when she’s sad.”
“I’ll do my best,” Rachel promised.
“Okay - that was all. I’m going to hang up now.”
“Okay, Brittany. Bye now.”
The line went dead and she lay back in her seat, waiting.
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If her nerves hadn’t been so keyed up, she might have missed the sound - a quiet rumble. She dared a peek over the dashboard, and she could make out what must have been the mafia cars coming down the street - there were at least three of them. She desperately wanted to watch for Quinn, but put her head back down and waited for her signal. She could hear more cars - Santana and the others, she realised, approaching from the other direction. And then, for a long time, she heard nothing at all.
She waited, growing more and more tense as each minute ticked by, until the sound of a gunshot split the air. She slammed her seat back into the upright position, waiting. And then there it was - three long blasts. She turned the key and the car roared to life. She crept toward the end of the alley, keeping her lights off, trying to spot Quinn - and she did, easily. She was knelt in the middle of the street, her hands raised in surrender. Behind her was a tall man with feathered hair, holding a gun to the back of her head.
“All right - that’s enough of this shit!” he yelled. “All of you get out here now with your hands up! Or I swear I’m going to shoot her right here in the street! Nobody fucks with the St. James Family! Nobody!”
Rachel quickly calculated angles and shifted into first, stepping hard on the gas.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers: Absolutely none.
Summary: An attempt at this prompt
A/N: Posting in celebration of getting a job - yay! And Rachel's car changed model from my initial version, because of hostile_666!
Rachel did as Quinn asked, giving Leroy the address of the garage that night. He and the FBI stormed the place, but found only spare parts and Quinn’s jacket. As Quinn had told her it would, giving them the address got Leroy to stop harassing her for information, on her solemn promise that she’d have nothing further to do with the smuggler - not a hard promise to make, given that she didn’t have the slightest idea where she and her gang had gone.
That night, as she stared out her window at the eternally lit New York skyline, her phone buzzed on the desk behind her. There was a text message waiting, from a blocked number. All it contained was an address that she didn’t recognise. Making a flimsy excuse to her fathers, she barely restrained herself from leaping headlong into the cab she’d phoned.
It pulled up in front of a long-closed video arcade - the outside was completely boarded up, and the sign had long since collapsed from above the door. The cab driver looked sceptically at her. “Are you sure you wanna get out here, honey? This isn’t the best neighbourhood.”
“Could you wait for me? Keep the meter running,” Rachel pleaded. “I’m sure I won’t be long.”
The cabbie shrugged. “Why not?”
Rachel smiled thankfully at him and slid out the door. She approached the front door of the arcade tentatively, whispering Quinn’s name and getting no response. She knocked on the door, and there was still no response. Then she saw the small message on the door, traced in the dust by a slim finger.
R. Back door.
She nearly ran around the building, but was confused to find the back door - a loading bay entrance, in fact - as tightly shut as the front. Her eyes scanned the building, looking for some clue about what to do next, and found a small gold treble clef on one of the bricks near the door. She pulled on the brick and it came loose easily, revealing a small padlock key and a note.
This opens the bay door.
Rachel unlocked it excitedly, using all of her strength to push the heavy door upward and ducking underneath it. The arcade was dark at first, but as she stepped further inside a bank of motion-activated lights sprang to life. There, among the long dark and silent arcade machines, was a long shape covered by a sheet with a portable DVD player sitting atop it, but no sign of Quinn or the others. Confused, she approached the DVD player and pressed play. The screen came to life, and Quinn was there smiling at her, although her eyes were red and puffy.
“Hey, Rach. Sorry for all the cryptic shit, I just figured it was best not to say too much on your phone, in case your dad saw it. We’ll be miles away before you see this, but I want you to know I’ll be thinking of you. I can’t wait to come to a Broadway show some day when you’re a star,” Quinn choked up, and the video skipped. She was looking down at her lap when she spoke again. “Anyway, before I get any mushier, we left you a little present. We didn’t have anyone to drive our extra car out west, so I figured we’d leave it for you. I’d get a paint job, though, since it’s a bit distinctive. You’re going to have to learn to shift, too. Don’t take her home with you - I think your dad might get a bit suspicious. Don’t worry about hiding it, though - this arcade belonged to Artie’s dad, and we have the lease, so you can leave it here and no one should ever bother it. I can’t wait to drive beside you some day.” She looked behind her. “I said I’m coming, Santana, quit being a bitch! Anyway,” she turned back to address the camera. “I’d better go. Oh, I left you a CD in the stereo, too - it was recorded a long time ago, so don’t make fun of me. Goodbye, Rach.” The disc ended.
Clearing the tears from her eyes, Rachel moved the DVD player aside and whipped the sheet off the car. She gasped - the car was gorgeous. She read ‘Skyline’ on the back, and assumed that was the make - she didn’t have the vaguest idea whether that was good or not. It was a sleek car - coloured a metallic gold, emblazoned on the drivers’ side with a large decal that read HBIC. Rachel took a long walk around the car and climbed in, enjoying the soft leather seats. The keys were in the ignition, and she clicked them forward until the stereo came on. The CD was a single track, only a few minutes long - but it was unmistakably Quinn, and she sang ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,’ with as much heart and talent as anyone Rachel had ever heard. She listened raptly and cried when it was over, both for the beauty of the song and the knowledge that she’d likely never see the blonde again.
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The hope that Quinn would call her faded slowly. Days went by, and stretched into months. Rachel did what was expected of her - she joined the Glee club, kept her attendance perfect and her grades spectacular. True, she snuck out every second or third night and taught herself to drive the car Quinn had left behind, but she was always home well before curfew, and always had her homework done.
The months stretched into a year, until the week she’d been a part of Quinn’s world seemed like a faded picture in her mind. She drove the car openly now, albeit with a new silver paint job and minus the decal, but she still returned to the arcade from time to time to watch the DVD and remind herself just what Quinn looked like. She’d been accepted to Julliard, and she was acting in small community theatre parts while she waited for the summer to end and her college experience to begin.
It was outside one of the community theatres that Puck found her, and dragged her into a nearby alley with his hand clamped over her mouth. “Hey!” he hissed in her ear. “I need to talk to you - that’s all, just talk. I just figured you wouldn’t want to be seen with me. I’m going to let you go - don’t scream or nothing, okay?” He was as good as his word, and she wrenched herself out of his grasp.
“What do you want, you Neanderthal?” she glared at him, wiping furiously at her mouth.
“I need your help.”
“With what could you possibly need my help?”
“To save Quinn.”
That stopped Rachel in her tracks. “Even if that were true, why would you ever want to help Quinn? The last time I saw you, you had a gun to her head.”
He looked uncomfortable. “Call it professional courtesy.”
“I’ll need a bit better reason than that if you’d actually like me to trust you.”
“Look, it doesn’t matter why. What matters is that Quinn stepped on some big toes in San Francisco, and she’s in deep shit.”
“And what could I possibly do about it?” Rachel threw up her hands. “I don’t even know how to shoot a gun!”
“I don’t need you to shoot a gun,” he shook his head. “I just need a driver - and I know Quinn left you her wheels.”
“How do you - wait, her wheels?”
“Hell, yeah - she didn’t tell you? That was the car she bought for her sister, back before all that went down.”
“All what?”
He scowled. “It doesn’t matter! You want to play twenty questions, we can chat on the way. Just answer the question - you coming or not?”
“I-” Rachel looked back at the theatre. “I need to make some calls first.”
“Make it quick - I wanna be on the road tonight. Meet me here,” he handed her a business card.
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It had taken some smooth talking on Rachel’s part - involving a non-existent Julliard prep camp in the wilderness, where she’d be out of cell range, and a non-existent friend from the local theatre group who’d be going with her, but she thought she’d thrown her fathers sufficiently off her trail for at least a few weeks.
She’d packed a tiny overnight bag with the essentials and thrown it in the back of her car before driving to the address on Puck’s card - which turned out to be a small auto repair shop with the creative name of Puck’s Auto Yard. Scoffing at his lack of imagination, she drove into the one open repair bay. Puck met her as she got out, accompanied by another man she didn’t recognise. Puck introduced them.
“Rachel, this is my mechanic, Kurt Hummel. Kurt, this is Rachel something or other. I’ve never bothered figuring out what her last name is.”
They shook hands. “Kurt here is going to add a couple toys to your car before we get going. Nothing dangerous, I promise.”
“Uh - sure, I guess.”
“Cool. Can I get you anything?”
“Water would be nice.”
Kurt spoke up. “Get her the bottled stuff out of the fridge in your office, too, not a glass of tap water.” Puck walked away, and Kurt sighed. “He’d forget to comb his hair if I wasn’t around. You know,” he said to Rachel, tight-lipped, “I’m glad you’re here. I was so worried he was going to run off on his own.”
“Does he know?” Rachel asked quietly.
“Does he know what?” Kurt asked indignantly.
“That you’re in love with him.”
“No,” Kurt turned to his tools. “Now, if you’ll kindly move away from the car, I’ll get started. Oh, and leave me your phone, too.”
“Please be careful,” Rachel’s voice trembled. “That car is the only thing of Quinn’s that I have.”
“Not to worry,” Kurt assured her. “I’m an incredible mechanic.”
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“Incoming call,” the soft feminine voice nearly made Rachel drive off the road. “Say Yes to accept.”
“Yes.”
“Rachel - it’s Puck. How do you like the Bluetooth Kurt hooked up?”
“It’s quite fascinating. I’ve never had a car with that option.”
“Yeah, he’s something, isn’t he? Anyway, if you want to play twenty questions then this is the time.”
“Good - I have a great deal of questions for you. Firstly, what’s happened to Quinn?”
“She followed Santana’s advice - pretty much always a bad idea. Tried to steal a shipment right out from under the nose of one of the families out there.”
“By families, you mean-“
“Mafia, yeah. Her crew got away with the shipment, but Quinn got caught.”
“Is she-“
“She’s okay. For now,” Puck’s voice was quiet. “They want to trade Quinn for the shipment.”
“Why don’t Santana and the rest just do that, then?”
“Because there’s no way the family’s going to stick to the deal. Artie can’t drive, and they need someone with them who can handle themselves if shit goes down.”
“That’d be you.”
“Yep.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“I told you - you’re the wheels. I figured it’d be good to have someone they didn’t know - you can sneak Quinn out from under their noses.”
“It doesn’t really sound like you’ve thought this plan through completely,” Rachel complained.
“Who said anything about a plan?” Puck snorted. “I’m just pulling this outta my ass right now.”
“Terrific,” Rachel sighed. “So, why are you helping Quinn?”
There was a long silence on the line, and she didn’t think he was going to answer. When he did, he sounded almost embarrassed. “Because I owe her.”
“Why?”
“When she left NYC, she sent all of her suppliers my name, told them I was solid. She texted me later, said it was to make up for getting into my business. It was more than she had to do, and I’ve spent the last year waiting for a chance to make it up to her. Now I’ve got one.”
Rachel thought for a moment. “What exactly happened to Quinn’s sister?”
“Nope,” Puck responded instantly. “Not touching that one, not a chance. If she wants to tell you, you can ask her, but I’m not telling you anything about it.”
Rachel looked out her window at him, frustrated. “Fine. How do you know Quinn - how did the two of you meet?”
“You know,” Puck cleared his throat, “we should probably get off the phone. I’ll let you focus on driving.”
“Call ended,” the feminine voice spoke again, and Rachel rolled her eyes. She turned the stereo on and looked at the interstate ahead.
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After several twelve-hour days of driving mixed with short nights in cheap hotel rooms - that Puck made Rachel pay for, despite her protests that as a criminal he should be better endowed financially than her - they arrived in San Francisco. Finn called for directions as they reached the city limits, and he and Rachel followed them to a warehouse near the docks. Santana’s eyebrows shot up as she saw Quinn’s old car, and nearly climbed off her head when Rachel climbed out of it.
“What the hell did you bring her for?” she demanded, poking Puck in the chest with one finger. “Do you really want her to die that badly?”
“She can drive!” he protested, slapping her hand away. “Besides, if either of us wants to get someone killed, it’s you - what were you thinking, stealing from the families?”
“I was thinking we hadn’t had a job in a month, and I really wanted to eat!” Santana shouted. “I didn’t think she’d-” she trailed off, looking away. “We’re going to get her back anyway. Let’s go - everybody’s waiting, and we’re supposed to make the exchange in,” she looked at her watch, “about nine hours. We need to get some kind of plan made.”
They followed her into what must have been the shipping and receiving office in the building’s previous incarnation, where Brittany, Finn and Artie were waiting. All of them looked briefly surprised to see Rachel, but they quickly turned their attention to Santana when she spoke.
“Artie, show us the map.” A digital projector came to life, showing a satellite view of an old part of the city. “This is where the exchange is supposed to happen. We don’t know how many people they’re bringing, but we know they’ll come from the east, here,” she gestured at an intersection, “and stop in front of this building,” she pointed. “We’re supposed to approach from the west, and we’re only supposed to bring two vehicles - a u-haul with the stolen parts in it, and one escort car. That limits the number of people we can bring, so I think we’re going to have to be creative. Puck, since you brought man-hands along, she can make herself useful.”
“Please stop calling me that.”
“Sorry,” Santana shocked them all by apologising. “I’m nervous. I get bitchy when I’m nervous. Anyway, Rachel can take Quinn’s old car and park it here,” she pointed to an alley near the meeting place, “a couple of hours before the meeting. Hopefully they won’t notice it there, and she’ll be close enough to call her in if we need her. Puck, we need somebody armed.”
“Got it covered,” he assured her. “Tell me where you want me.”
“How’s your range?”
“I’ve got a rifle broken down in the back of my car - I’m good to five hundred feet or so.”
“Fantastic. I want you in the building across the street - it’s been empty for years, and you should be able to find a window that’ll give you a good shot.”
“You don’t think they’ll be doing the same thing?”
“Well, if you run into one of their guys in there, you’ll just have to deal with it. Can you do that?”
“I can,” he promised.
“Britt’s going to ride with me, and Finn will drive the truck. Artie’s going to be at a safehouse, waiting for us. I’ll text all of you the address en route to the meeting, and if everything goes sour, just head to the safehouse. Anyone who’s still alive will meet you there.”
Rachel raised her hand, and Santana rolled her eyes. “You’re not in school, kid. What is it?”
“Well, you said you’d call me in - for what, exactly? I’m not really - I mean, I’m not experienced in this sort of,” she trailed off, looking for a way to finish her sentence.
Santana gave her a serious look, and her voice was hard as steel when she answered. “You have one job - just one. Get Quinn. If they fuck us over - and they will - get your car in there and get Quinn out. That’s all that matters. Get her, and run. Don’t even go to the safehouse, if it comes to that. Just get her away. The rest of us will handle the cleanup. Understood?”
Rachel nodded. “What will the signal be?”
“Three long blasts from the truck horn. You hear that, you get in there. Got it?”
“I understand,” Rachel promised. “I’ll take care of her.”
“I know you will,” Santana nodded. She addressed everyone. “Now, all of you understand what’s at stake here. We screw this up, and Quinn dies. So go get your game faces on, make your peace with your warm and fuzzy creator, whatever’s going to get your heads on straight. Rachel, I need you out before the rest of us, remember.”
“When should I go?”
“Ideally? Now. The longer your car’s parked there, the less likely they are to think it’s suspicious. But if you need a minute-”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll go now.” Rachel struggled to keep her nervousness out of her voice, but Santana saw it anyway, and put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s gonna be okay. We might not even need you. Just go and get parked, and keep out of sight - lay down in the front seat or something. Take deep breaths, and remind yourself you’re doing it for Quinn.” Rachel nodded. “Good luck - we’ll see you there.”
Rachel accepted wishes of good luck from all of them, and a fist bump from Puck, before climbing into her car and driving away, following her GPS to the alley in question. She found a spot deep in the alley, where the car was largely hidden by shadows, and shut it off. She looked around, making sure there were no visible No Parking signs - it wouldn’t do to have a cop come knocking on her window - and reclined her seat until she was looking up at the ceiling. Her nerves were on razor’s edge, and when the voice of her new Bluetooth system spoke, she nearly jumped out of the car.
“Incoming call. Say yes to accept.”
“Yes.”
“Rachel? This is Brittany. I have blonde hair, and I’m about the same height as Santana, which is handy when I want to kiss her-”
“I know who you are, Brittany,” Rachel interrupted with a grin.
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to say I hope you can rescue Quinn. Santana’s been sad since she went away, and I don’t like it when she’s sad.”
“I’ll do my best,” Rachel promised.
“Okay - that was all. I’m going to hang up now.”
“Okay, Brittany. Bye now.”
The line went dead and she lay back in her seat, waiting.
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If her nerves hadn’t been so keyed up, she might have missed the sound - a quiet rumble. She dared a peek over the dashboard, and she could make out what must have been the mafia cars coming down the street - there were at least three of them. She desperately wanted to watch for Quinn, but put her head back down and waited for her signal. She could hear more cars - Santana and the others, she realised, approaching from the other direction. And then, for a long time, she heard nothing at all.
She waited, growing more and more tense as each minute ticked by, until the sound of a gunshot split the air. She slammed her seat back into the upright position, waiting. And then there it was - three long blasts. She turned the key and the car roared to life. She crept toward the end of the alley, keeping her lights off, trying to spot Quinn - and she did, easily. She was knelt in the middle of the street, her hands raised in surrender. Behind her was a tall man with feathered hair, holding a gun to the back of her head.
“All right - that’s enough of this shit!” he yelled. “All of you get out here now with your hands up! Or I swear I’m going to shoot her right here in the street! Nobody fucks with the St. James Family! Nobody!”
Rachel quickly calculated angles and shifted into first, stepping hard on the gas.