FIC: Gone Horribly Wrong [1/?]
Mar. 9th, 2012 11:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Gone Horribly Wrong
Author: Alex
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: John Finnemore, Pozzitive Productions for le BBC.
Summary: From a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme. Douglas gets in a little over his head in regards to his smuggling, but it's Martin who suffers for it.
Warnings: Nonconsensual sex.
Notes: This is my very first Cabin Pressure fic, so please feel free to let me know if I've made any missteps.
*
Six hundred not-really-Hermès Birkin handbags, to be transported to Paris and sold via online merchants specialising in not-really-gently-used luxury goods at a cost of more than a thousand pounds per bag, plus false authenticity certificates and not-really-Hermès dust bags. Two nights at the Plaza Athenee waiting for the vendors to pick up the cargo, courtesy of his temporary employers. Two days of brilliant haute cuisine, heavy on the salmon terrine and crème Chantilly and light on the wrapped sandwiches and crisp packets. A handsome bonus upon completion of delivery. And, if he was lucky (and wasn’t he always?) two days and nights of cherchez le femme as he waited. An easy job, some easy money, and if a bunch of silly bints were so eager to throw their money away without making sure their ridiculously overpriced bags were authentic, well, that was their affair, not Douglas’.
Still, that didn’t explain the chill that travelled down his spine when the soft, silky voice of Eddy, the man in charge, informed him that departure must occur between one and three o’clock in the morning.
“That’s a bit conspicuous, isn’t it?”
“How so, Douglas?”
“Well…skulking out at that time of night. Might look a bit odd, don’t you think?”
“Surely your charter passengers leave at all hours of the day and night. Flights are delayed for all sorts of reasons, aren’t they? You can’t get paranoid about it now, or you’ll start jumping at shadows.”
“That’s true,” Douglas conceded.
“Douglas, don’t worry,” Eddy said in a soothing tone. “The cargo’s boxed and ready to go. We’ll have the car meet you in Paris as promised, and all you’ll need to do is supervise the removal. Get lots of sleep, and we’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“Right. Tuesday, then.” Douglas rang off and stared at his mobile for a few moments, frowning.
Everything would be fine. Why wouldn’t it be? Douglas’ resourcefulness and font of fortune was bottomless. He ignored the chill and slipped his mobile into his pocket.
*
Eddy Groves and his three cohorts were already waiting beside GERTI when Douglas strode up, rested, dressed, and freshly pressed. Eddy was a small, neatly made man with dark hair and sad, deep brown eyes that struck Douglas as too large in a narrow, pale face, giving him the incongruous look of a homeless waif in a thousand-quid suit, but he smiled and thrust out his hand as Eddy extended his. “Right on time, I see.”
“Yes, indeed,” Eddy said, and reached out to flick a few drops of water from the lapel of Douglas’ mac in a gesture Douglas found a little too familiar. “Filthy weather, isn’t it?”
“Not to worry. We’ll be off the ground within the hour. Are you lads ready to flex your muscles?” He smiled at the three hulking, leather-jacketed men circling Eddy, who stared back from behind dark glasses. Dark glasses, at midnight. Douglas caught himself beginning to frown and crushed it. “How many boxes have we?”
“Nine. Don’t strain yourself, Douglas; my boys will take care of it all. Just get the cargo hold open and we’ll do the rest.” Eddy turned to the ‘boys.’ “The ramp, lads, and be quick about it, eh?”
Douglas looked at the silent men, then at the nine large wooden crates sat beside a dark oversized removal van. “That’s a lot of volume for six hundred handbags.”
“They have to be packed carefully. They –“ Eddy smiled. “Come on, Douglas, buck up. It’s fine. Off you get.”
“Right,” Douglas said slowly, and went off to MJN’s cubbyhole of an office. On his way, he risked a look over his shoulder.
Eddy was staring at him, his eyes narrowed to obsidian slits.
*
Douglas didn’t frighten easily, but he felt a little…odd…about tonight’s job, so perhaps it was entirely forgivable when he turned on the flight deck overhead light and then jumped, emitting a strangled gasp of shock at the figure slumped in the captain’s chair. At nearly the same second, the figure sat up, yelped, and nearly tumbled out of the seat.
“Martin! Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?”
Martin’s crimson face contrasted oddly with his peculiar hair. “God – Douglas! I should ask you the same question,” he spluttered, trying to stand and failing. He scrubbed at his eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s twelve-thirty in the bloody morning. Now answer the question,” Douglas said in a hiss, glancing over his shoulder. “And keep your voice down.”
“Oh – it’s a long story.” Martin wore a crumpled anorak, ancient jeans, and battered trainers, and looked as if he’d spent his day with his van – there were grease marks on his clothes and a large smudge of dust on his forehead.
“I have all the time in the world, I assure you,” Douglas replied dryly. How in God’s name was he going to explain things to Martin, the self-appointed arbiter of all things aeronautically good and decent? Or worse, to Eddy and his…boys?
“I rented out the attic for the night.” Martin scuffed his toe against the carpet and feigned a yawn. “Sorry. The van broke down in the middle of a job, and – well, the clients were furious, and they wouldn’t give me more than half the agreed price. My rent is due on Monday, and one of the students wanted a bit of privacy for his girlfriend and –“ He broke off, flushing an even brighter red. “I needed the money, Douglas. So have a go at me if you want, but prepare for a battle, because I’m skint and exhausted and not really in the mood at the moment to take anything from you.”
Douglas sighed, glaring at Martin. It was true that eventually, Martin tended to grow on one. True, it was rather like mold growing on cheese, but the needful and symbiotic nature of a combination of mold and cheese could not be denied, and there were (admittedly rare) times when he thought of Martin with affection. But here, now - the timing could not possibly have been worse. “Martin…if I give you a few quid, could you find the energy to obtain other lodgings for the night?”
“I’d have slept in the van, if it weren’t stuck in Luton,” Martin said, seeming not to hear him, then looked up alertly. “You haven’t said what you’re doing here.”
“Believe it or not, it’s an even longer story than yours.”
“And you’re dressed, too.”
“Did Sir expect me to arrive naked?”
“You know what I mean!” Martin jumped to his feet. “Did Carolyn put you on a job and not me? I told her I’d be working, but –“
“Calm down, Martin. I’m showing GERTI to some prospective clients, that’s all. A favour to Carolyn.”
“You –“ Martin narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to one side. “Is that cargo I hear?”
Damn it. “Martin –“ Douglas made a grab at Martin’s anorak, but Martin was out the door and halfway down the stairs before five seconds had passed. Damn it all to hell. Douglas followed as fast as he could, just in time to see Eddy turn and stare at Martin, his mouth a round O of surprise. “Martin, for God’s sake –“
“What is going on here?” Martin demanded. His spine stiffened in that I-am-an-airline-CAPTAIN-thank-you-very-much way, and his voice climbed into a register more suited to a yodeler than a pilot.
“Who the fuck are you?” Eddy asked softly, looking from Martin to Douglas.
Douglas tried to explain. “Eddy, this is nobody. I mean –“
“What he means is that I’m Martin Crieff, and I’d very much like an explanation of what’s happening here.”
Eddy’s three brawny helpers gathered close, menacing in their black-leathered bulk, their eyes unreadable behind their dark glasses. “Are you a cop?” Eddy said in the same soft voice.
“God, no.” Douglas felt a fine sweat emerging on his brow. “Martin is my co-pilot, Eddy.”
“So what’s he doing here?”
Martin rounded on Douglas. “I knew it! Carolyn did give you a job, didn’t she?”
“Martin, I implore you, shut the hell up,” Douglas whispered.
“Well, she did, didn’t she? God, Douglas! It’s not bad enough I –“
“You,” said Eddy, taking a step toward Martin, “shut your fucking mouth, right now.” He snapped his fingers, and one of his henchmen – you really couldn’t call them anything else, could you? – moved toward Martin, grabbed his arm, and twisted it up behind his back. Martin let out a cry of pain, abruptly silenced by the man’s gloved hand clamping over his mouth. He struggled briefly in the henchman’s grip, eyes wide and terrified, stilling only when the man twisted his arm harder.
Douglas’ heart began to race. This was getting well out of hand. He raised his palms placatingly. “Eddy, let’s not go off all half-cocked, right?”
“I’ll give you half-cocked, you fuckwit. I didn’t think you’d be so stupid – or that your spy would be twice as stupid. What were you planning?”
“It was an accident, for Christ’s sake.” If Douglas started telling them the sad and preposterous story of Martin’s van woes, Eddy would probably have the thug break Martin’s arm. “He’s a bit of a berk, you know – flying’s all he’s got. Sad, really. He sleeps here sometimes. He won’t tell anyone, I swear.” He glanced at Martin, still helpless in the henchman’s grip, and saw, even through the fear, the hurt in Martin’s eyes. He looked away, suddenly ashamed. It’s for your own good, Martin.
Eddy looked from Douglas to Martin. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“Eddy, I swear on my life I’m not lying. Now come on, we’ve got to shift it. There’s crew out and about, and if we keep standing here, it’ll look a bit funny.”
“Would you swear on his life?” A glint shone in Eddy’s odd, dark eyes.
“Wh-what?”
“Here’s what we’ll do…Dougie.” Eddy’s voice caressed the diminutive. “We’ll just hang on to your little friend until you come back and all’s well. What do you say?”
Douglas felt his mouth dry up. “Hang on to him.”
“That’s right. Keep him nice and safe. Just to make sure the cargo’s nice and safe.”
A sudden flash of insight sparked. “That’s not just fake handbags, is it?”
Eddy clapped softly. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, but only half right. The bags are there, and they’re fake, all right, but inside each one is six kilos of cocaine. That’s why the crates are so large. We couldn’t pack the bags flat. Comprendez-vous?”
“Christ,” Douglas breathed.
“Just so we understand each other. If you go to the police, Dougie, your friend – what’s his name again?”
Douglas wanted to vomit. “Martin.”
“That’s right. Martin. If you go to the police, Martin winds up in the river with a very big hole in his head. But if you come back, job well done, Martin goes free. Got it?”
Douglas heard a soft whimper of terror and forced himself not to look in Martin’s direction. He couldn’t meet his eyes again. “Got it.”
“Good! Now – Jasper, help Martin into the van, will you? And make sure he’s comfortable. You two –“ Eddy pointed at his other two thugs. “Get that last box on board.”
Numb, Douglas stood perfectly still as the man holding Martin dragged him toward the van and up its ramp. He heard a brief scuffling, and Martin’s voice echoing. “Douglas – help me! Please, please don’t –“ A thud and a groan followed, and then silence.
“You’d better get on board, Douglas,” Eddy said. He patted Douglas’ arm.
Douglas shut his eyes for a moment. Finally, he turned and began to climb the stairs. Before he closed the door, he heard Eddy’s voice.
“And before we shoot him, Dougie, we’ll tear him apart. Believe it.”
*
To be continued in Part 2
Author: Alex
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: John Finnemore, Pozzitive Productions for le BBC.
Summary: From a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme. Douglas gets in a little over his head in regards to his smuggling, but it's Martin who suffers for it.
Warnings: Nonconsensual sex.
Notes: This is my very first Cabin Pressure fic, so please feel free to let me know if I've made any missteps.
*
Six hundred not-really-Hermès Birkin handbags, to be transported to Paris and sold via online merchants specialising in not-really-gently-used luxury goods at a cost of more than a thousand pounds per bag, plus false authenticity certificates and not-really-Hermès dust bags. Two nights at the Plaza Athenee waiting for the vendors to pick up the cargo, courtesy of his temporary employers. Two days of brilliant haute cuisine, heavy on the salmon terrine and crème Chantilly and light on the wrapped sandwiches and crisp packets. A handsome bonus upon completion of delivery. And, if he was lucky (and wasn’t he always?) two days and nights of cherchez le femme as he waited. An easy job, some easy money, and if a bunch of silly bints were so eager to throw their money away without making sure their ridiculously overpriced bags were authentic, well, that was their affair, not Douglas’.
Still, that didn’t explain the chill that travelled down his spine when the soft, silky voice of Eddy, the man in charge, informed him that departure must occur between one and three o’clock in the morning.
“That’s a bit conspicuous, isn’t it?”
“How so, Douglas?”
“Well…skulking out at that time of night. Might look a bit odd, don’t you think?”
“Surely your charter passengers leave at all hours of the day and night. Flights are delayed for all sorts of reasons, aren’t they? You can’t get paranoid about it now, or you’ll start jumping at shadows.”
“That’s true,” Douglas conceded.
“Douglas, don’t worry,” Eddy said in a soothing tone. “The cargo’s boxed and ready to go. We’ll have the car meet you in Paris as promised, and all you’ll need to do is supervise the removal. Get lots of sleep, and we’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“Right. Tuesday, then.” Douglas rang off and stared at his mobile for a few moments, frowning.
Everything would be fine. Why wouldn’t it be? Douglas’ resourcefulness and font of fortune was bottomless. He ignored the chill and slipped his mobile into his pocket.
*
Eddy Groves and his three cohorts were already waiting beside GERTI when Douglas strode up, rested, dressed, and freshly pressed. Eddy was a small, neatly made man with dark hair and sad, deep brown eyes that struck Douglas as too large in a narrow, pale face, giving him the incongruous look of a homeless waif in a thousand-quid suit, but he smiled and thrust out his hand as Eddy extended his. “Right on time, I see.”
“Yes, indeed,” Eddy said, and reached out to flick a few drops of water from the lapel of Douglas’ mac in a gesture Douglas found a little too familiar. “Filthy weather, isn’t it?”
“Not to worry. We’ll be off the ground within the hour. Are you lads ready to flex your muscles?” He smiled at the three hulking, leather-jacketed men circling Eddy, who stared back from behind dark glasses. Dark glasses, at midnight. Douglas caught himself beginning to frown and crushed it. “How many boxes have we?”
“Nine. Don’t strain yourself, Douglas; my boys will take care of it all. Just get the cargo hold open and we’ll do the rest.” Eddy turned to the ‘boys.’ “The ramp, lads, and be quick about it, eh?”
Douglas looked at the silent men, then at the nine large wooden crates sat beside a dark oversized removal van. “That’s a lot of volume for six hundred handbags.”
“They have to be packed carefully. They –“ Eddy smiled. “Come on, Douglas, buck up. It’s fine. Off you get.”
“Right,” Douglas said slowly, and went off to MJN’s cubbyhole of an office. On his way, he risked a look over his shoulder.
Eddy was staring at him, his eyes narrowed to obsidian slits.
*
Douglas didn’t frighten easily, but he felt a little…odd…about tonight’s job, so perhaps it was entirely forgivable when he turned on the flight deck overhead light and then jumped, emitting a strangled gasp of shock at the figure slumped in the captain’s chair. At nearly the same second, the figure sat up, yelped, and nearly tumbled out of the seat.
“Martin! Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?”
Martin’s crimson face contrasted oddly with his peculiar hair. “God – Douglas! I should ask you the same question,” he spluttered, trying to stand and failing. He scrubbed at his eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s twelve-thirty in the bloody morning. Now answer the question,” Douglas said in a hiss, glancing over his shoulder. “And keep your voice down.”
“Oh – it’s a long story.” Martin wore a crumpled anorak, ancient jeans, and battered trainers, and looked as if he’d spent his day with his van – there were grease marks on his clothes and a large smudge of dust on his forehead.
“I have all the time in the world, I assure you,” Douglas replied dryly. How in God’s name was he going to explain things to Martin, the self-appointed arbiter of all things aeronautically good and decent? Or worse, to Eddy and his…boys?
“I rented out the attic for the night.” Martin scuffed his toe against the carpet and feigned a yawn. “Sorry. The van broke down in the middle of a job, and – well, the clients were furious, and they wouldn’t give me more than half the agreed price. My rent is due on Monday, and one of the students wanted a bit of privacy for his girlfriend and –“ He broke off, flushing an even brighter red. “I needed the money, Douglas. So have a go at me if you want, but prepare for a battle, because I’m skint and exhausted and not really in the mood at the moment to take anything from you.”
Douglas sighed, glaring at Martin. It was true that eventually, Martin tended to grow on one. True, it was rather like mold growing on cheese, but the needful and symbiotic nature of a combination of mold and cheese could not be denied, and there were (admittedly rare) times when he thought of Martin with affection. But here, now - the timing could not possibly have been worse. “Martin…if I give you a few quid, could you find the energy to obtain other lodgings for the night?”
“I’d have slept in the van, if it weren’t stuck in Luton,” Martin said, seeming not to hear him, then looked up alertly. “You haven’t said what you’re doing here.”
“Believe it or not, it’s an even longer story than yours.”
“And you’re dressed, too.”
“Did Sir expect me to arrive naked?”
“You know what I mean!” Martin jumped to his feet. “Did Carolyn put you on a job and not me? I told her I’d be working, but –“
“Calm down, Martin. I’m showing GERTI to some prospective clients, that’s all. A favour to Carolyn.”
“You –“ Martin narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to one side. “Is that cargo I hear?”
Damn it. “Martin –“ Douglas made a grab at Martin’s anorak, but Martin was out the door and halfway down the stairs before five seconds had passed. Damn it all to hell. Douglas followed as fast as he could, just in time to see Eddy turn and stare at Martin, his mouth a round O of surprise. “Martin, for God’s sake –“
“What is going on here?” Martin demanded. His spine stiffened in that I-am-an-airline-CAPTAIN-thank-you-very-much way, and his voice climbed into a register more suited to a yodeler than a pilot.
“Who the fuck are you?” Eddy asked softly, looking from Martin to Douglas.
Douglas tried to explain. “Eddy, this is nobody. I mean –“
“What he means is that I’m Martin Crieff, and I’d very much like an explanation of what’s happening here.”
Eddy’s three brawny helpers gathered close, menacing in their black-leathered bulk, their eyes unreadable behind their dark glasses. “Are you a cop?” Eddy said in the same soft voice.
“God, no.” Douglas felt a fine sweat emerging on his brow. “Martin is my co-pilot, Eddy.”
“So what’s he doing here?”
Martin rounded on Douglas. “I knew it! Carolyn did give you a job, didn’t she?”
“Martin, I implore you, shut the hell up,” Douglas whispered.
“Well, she did, didn’t she? God, Douglas! It’s not bad enough I –“
“You,” said Eddy, taking a step toward Martin, “shut your fucking mouth, right now.” He snapped his fingers, and one of his henchmen – you really couldn’t call them anything else, could you? – moved toward Martin, grabbed his arm, and twisted it up behind his back. Martin let out a cry of pain, abruptly silenced by the man’s gloved hand clamping over his mouth. He struggled briefly in the henchman’s grip, eyes wide and terrified, stilling only when the man twisted his arm harder.
Douglas’ heart began to race. This was getting well out of hand. He raised his palms placatingly. “Eddy, let’s not go off all half-cocked, right?”
“I’ll give you half-cocked, you fuckwit. I didn’t think you’d be so stupid – or that your spy would be twice as stupid. What were you planning?”
“It was an accident, for Christ’s sake.” If Douglas started telling them the sad and preposterous story of Martin’s van woes, Eddy would probably have the thug break Martin’s arm. “He’s a bit of a berk, you know – flying’s all he’s got. Sad, really. He sleeps here sometimes. He won’t tell anyone, I swear.” He glanced at Martin, still helpless in the henchman’s grip, and saw, even through the fear, the hurt in Martin’s eyes. He looked away, suddenly ashamed. It’s for your own good, Martin.
Eddy looked from Douglas to Martin. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“Eddy, I swear on my life I’m not lying. Now come on, we’ve got to shift it. There’s crew out and about, and if we keep standing here, it’ll look a bit funny.”
“Would you swear on his life?” A glint shone in Eddy’s odd, dark eyes.
“Wh-what?”
“Here’s what we’ll do…Dougie.” Eddy’s voice caressed the diminutive. “We’ll just hang on to your little friend until you come back and all’s well. What do you say?”
Douglas felt his mouth dry up. “Hang on to him.”
“That’s right. Keep him nice and safe. Just to make sure the cargo’s nice and safe.”
A sudden flash of insight sparked. “That’s not just fake handbags, is it?”
Eddy clapped softly. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, but only half right. The bags are there, and they’re fake, all right, but inside each one is six kilos of cocaine. That’s why the crates are so large. We couldn’t pack the bags flat. Comprendez-vous?”
“Christ,” Douglas breathed.
“Just so we understand each other. If you go to the police, Dougie, your friend – what’s his name again?”
Douglas wanted to vomit. “Martin.”
“That’s right. Martin. If you go to the police, Martin winds up in the river with a very big hole in his head. But if you come back, job well done, Martin goes free. Got it?”
Douglas heard a soft whimper of terror and forced himself not to look in Martin’s direction. He couldn’t meet his eyes again. “Got it.”
“Good! Now – Jasper, help Martin into the van, will you? And make sure he’s comfortable. You two –“ Eddy pointed at his other two thugs. “Get that last box on board.”
Numb, Douglas stood perfectly still as the man holding Martin dragged him toward the van and up its ramp. He heard a brief scuffling, and Martin’s voice echoing. “Douglas – help me! Please, please don’t –“ A thud and a groan followed, and then silence.
“You’d better get on board, Douglas,” Eddy said. He patted Douglas’ arm.
Douglas shut his eyes for a moment. Finally, he turned and began to climb the stairs. Before he closed the door, he heard Eddy’s voice.
“And before we shoot him, Dougie, we’ll tear him apart. Believe it.”
*
To be continued in Part 2
