Chapter 2



"Why are we here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come."

- Samuel Beckett (Waiting for Godot)

i don't own any of this. the title song is by mumford & sons. the link is to the song.

Six months. Six. Months.

She didn't know the exact length of time since she had walked away from Endgame. Hell, she didn't even know how many weeks it had been since the start of the month, let alone what the date was. Sunday? Tuesday? Maybe Thursday. No way to tell. No way at all. She poured more alcohol down her throat and let it burn. She didn't even know what she was drinking. Her mind didn't really work the way it. Nothing worked the way it used to. Damn you, Amy. Damn you. She took in more of the liquid, breathing the tingling vapor in and out, letting it fill her mouth, kiss the insides of her throat.

She didn't even know had she had gotten to that place where she now stood. Had it really been so long ago? So long ago since her and Amy had spent that short seven days together? So long ago since the two of them had

She didn't want to remember anymore.

Lucy Diamond was tired.

So tired.

The sun glowed in the distance, and a part of her decided to wonder, wonder what it would be like if Amy were still here, if Amy chose to stay with her, if Amy really, in this moment, so many months ago, had really felt anything at all.

Amy Bradshaw was the Perfect Score, after all. The perfect liar.

That didn't mean she wanted to believe it.

"I miss you," she choked out, looking out at the setting sun, her eyes following the silhouette of the disappearing light.


Lucy Diamond liked to break people. Not kill. Break.

It made her more ruthless than her criminal counterparts; she was willing to do what others wouldn't even dream of thinking. Killing is the shortcut. Killing leads to unnecessary complications. Killing is too personal. No. Breaking people was the Lucy Diamond motus operandi. There was an elegance to it, a delicacy. After all, she wasn't some sort of gun toting gang banger. In her circles, crime is business: nothing more, nothing less. And if someone didn't uphold their end of the contract? There had to be hell to pay. There had to be a consequence. And people oftentimes seemed much more open to being killed than having their lives ripped apart at the seams. It was always easier to die. Yes. When Lucy Diamond broke people, she struck fear in the hearts of men.

He was forty-five years old and bald. Sweat stuck to his skin like glue. He smelled like formaldehyde and eucalyptus cough drops.

He ran a drug trafficking ring in Compton, all the while sitting in his posh mansion in goddamn Beverly Hills. He was the spider, his network of drug dealing lowlives touching every corner of the city. He knew everything. He even enlisted children, roping them in with so called high-end cocaine and heroin. Selling narcotics to kids, Vincent Glass wasn't exactly at the top of the most ethical men of the year list.

Two months earlier, he had made a deal with Lucy Diamond. Give her the names of the scumbags who carried out a hit on one of her lieutenants, and she would remove the shipping roadblocks on his… little business. Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours. Except he lied. Another one of her lieutenants walked into a trap and came out in a body bag, wheeled away on a stretcher.

Suddenly Vincent Glass found himself sitting in a barely livable one bedroom apartment smack dab in the middle of Compton, watching his beloved empire crumble at the hands of his own coke-snorting kids.

It hadn't been too hard, to get the eldest daughter hooked. All it took was some mysterious older man to peer pressure her into it and fill her with an insatiable hatred of her father.

Yes, Vincent Glass was alive, but he had nothing.

And then there was Barbara Miller. She smelled faintly of lilies and sported a thick dark color across her lips. She was not bald.

Barbara Miller was a mole. A Benedict Arnold who gained the trust of everyone in the Reynolds family. They had trusted her with some of the high tech security systems, eventually, in a sense, adopting her as one of their own.

One morning it was discovered that there had been a breach. Barbara Miller was gone… along with thirteen million dollars worth of paintings.

Suffice to say, Lucy Diamond was not happy.

It wasn't a difficult thing, to find Barbara Miller. Thirteen million dollars worth of paintings don't just fall off the grid, and the gang of men Ms. Miller had decided to sell away her adoptive family for were nowhere near top notch. They were incompetent and not at all a match for Lucy Diamond.

It had been a quick operation. There weren't many of them. One woke up the next morning, dazed and confused in a cold room in Siberia. Another woke up in an insane asylum in New Mexico. The third and the fourth found themselves in Sudan and North Korea respectively. The fifth had the unfortunate misfortune of waking in the custody of a Japanese brothel. Of course, they left Barbara Miller woke up exactly where she had fallen asleep the night before. In the warehouse. Empty. Her name blacklisted. Alone.

Too bad for Barbara Miller.

Disloyalty's a bitch.

Above all, she liked to tell the story of the dirty cop who thought he could double cross the Lucy Diamond and the Reynolds Syndicate. What a funny man.

Detective Gordon didn't have much going for him. His pension had been shaved down to the ground. Internal Affairs had begun to catch wind of some of the detective's more… questionable affairs. But he did have one thing that made his life, above others, marginally enviable. His fiancee was easily one of the most beautiful women in Los Angeles. She was the sort that could waltz right out of bed, walk outside, and still appear to be absolutely stunning. She didn't need make-up and hell, she didn't even need nice clothes. And boy, Detective Gordon was by no means a genius, but he knew more than anyone else how well he had done in this one particular portion of his life. He loved her. With all his puny little heart.

He believed himself to be a clever man, infiltrating the Reynolds Syndicate, syphoning off small shavings of intel. He spread himself between three different families and the LAPD. Double agent? Triple agent? Is there even a word for what that is?

The truth was, when it came to Detective Gordon, became grossly twisted.

And Lucy Diamond, once made aware of Detective Gordon's questionable loyalties, was far from pleased.

She had a reputation to uphold.

Not, Detective Gordon was not an intelligent man. In fact, he did not even seen her face and hadn't the slightest idea of what she actually looked like. This, of course, made it all the more easier for her to step right into the heart of his life. Amber, she called herself. Amber Clyde.

It began with a few touches here and there. Grazes. Strokes. Lucy could almost smell the lust for her emanating off of the fiancee's skin.

A kiss was all it took, and easy access to the Gordon household fell firmly in her hands.

She would ring the doorbell when the detective was out and about, and the fiancee would let her in. She would lay her on the bed and kiss her, whisper sweet nothings and hand her pleasure she had never known before. And when the fiancee had finally been lulled to a sleep, she would walk right into Detective Gordon's little man cave, that room he kept to himself and only to himself. At first, she only moved things. Switched a few items here and there, beginning is fall into insanity. Eventually, of course, she upgraded. Every afternoon, after every fuck, she'd leave a little mouse to scurry across the room. The room became exponentially filled with vermin. Of course, she was Lucy Diamond, and these were Lucy Diamond's mice. Specially trained. Specially trained for this particular operation.

The mice never left that little room.

"Mice! M-mice everywhere," he had yelled, the insanity beginning to edge across his voice. "They're… They're e-everywhere! I c-can't make th-them go a-away!"

"Mice?" replied the fiancee. "What are you talking about? There aren't any mice?"

Lucy had smiled slowly chewing a piece of gum.

Eventually the good detective returned home early and called Animal Control. But with a push of a button on Lucy's little device, the mice were gone in an instant, scattered across the neighborhood. Animal Control walked in on an empty room.

"Sir, uh, there aren't any mice here."

Of course, that's when he chose to walk into his bedroom; his eyes bulged as he watched another woman have her way with his fiancee.

"Get out!" he screamed.

And so she did, slipping her pants back on. As she passed, she moved her lips towards his ear, whispering something that he knew only Lucy Diamond would say.

He ran around after that, desperately claiming that there indeed had been a pack of mice living out in his empty man cave and that his wife had been having sex with the Lucy Diamond.

Eventually LAPD found a reason to let Detective Gordon go.

They sent him to the psych ward.

Yes, Lucy Diamond had always liked to break people. It was simply an alternative to killing, a way to strike fear, a way to appear ruthless in a largely male dominated world. It was a way, in other words, to do business.


She dropped the bottle ahead of her, watching as it softly fell on the sand with a soft thud. Slowly she put a foot down on the first rung of the ladder, attempting to lower herself from the road to the beach. She could remember helping Amy down this same ladder, not that Amy needed any help. Lucy had, in that instant, felt the insatiable desire to give in to the rules of chivalry and lend the DEB agent a helping hand. Amy had understood, accepting the aid without much thought. Lucy smiled softly, the memories swirling over her eyes.

The lump came back, plaguing her throat as the stone of recognition began to sink in her stomach.

Amy's not here anymore. Amy's not coming back. Because of what you do. Because of what you are. She laughed to herself bitterly. If there is corruption in the city, Lucy Diamond is behind it.

She began to tremble when the tear slid down her cheek. She tried to step down again, clinging to the rough, browning metal as well as she could. Step. Step Step. Three points of contact. C'mon. Keep it.

If there is indecency to be found, Lucy Diamond is the root.

A dry sob erupted from the back of her throat. It's true. She's right. She's not lying because it's true. She forced a sputtered cough, desperately trying to get that tightening knot out from her chest. Step. Step. Her head swayed back and forth as she lowered herself down the ladder. Her head felt light and beyond her control.

If there is evil in this world, it's name is Lucy Diamond.

Step. No. No step. Lucy felt herself fall backwards as her foot missed the next rung of the ladder, her already weak grip quickly loosening. She landed with a thud on the sand, the bottle beside her face. The bruise on her shin began to throb from hitting one of the rungs on the way down. It throbbed and throbbed and throbbed. But she didn't feel it. She couldn't feel it. She hadn't felt that sort of pain in a long time.

Six months was it?

She looked up at the California sky, pouring more alcohol into her mouth, ignoring the way it dribbled down the side of her face and over her neck. The night air had settled across the state, and from where she lay, she could make it a dim cluster of stars. It was the only place near or around Los Angeles where you could see this many stars. This was her mountain top, her hermit's cove. It was the one place in the world where she could be at peace. And she had shared this place with Amy. She felt compelled to. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Leave in the afternoon with some food and a tent. Camp out here for the night. Watch the sunrise in the morning. It had been perfect. But now…


Now she had lost everything. She had lost the love of her life and her little secret "hermit's cove" to boot.

She had nothing.

Because everything, absolutely everything, reminded her of Amy.

A year ago, this place would have immediately calmed her, sent her into a peaceful state of being. Now she saw ghosts of Amy in every corner of the space, in every inch.

It sent her spiraling into chaotic turmoil.


And then there was Bruce. Bruce Davis.

Mr. Davis was a regular joe. A construction worker in downtown Los Angeles, smack dab in the middle of Reynolds turf. Normally, a hardworking construction man like Bruce would get immunity from the Reynolds Syndicate. They would, for all intents and purposes, cover for that sort of blue collar citizen. Crime is business after all. Nothing more, nothing less.

But when the hardworking construction man falls in love with the daughter of a rivaling Los Angeles crime family, leading to the deaths of more than a handful of Reynolds operatives, there can never exist the possibility that Lucy Diamond sit by and do nothing. Despite the nice little West Side Story love plot the man had going on, it didn't change the fact that he, Bruce Davis, was responsible for more than a few deaths of some very important people.

So she set about her plan of breaking the man.

Of making an example of him.

That no one, absolutely no one, no matter who they are, can get away with hurting a member of Lucy Diamond's family. Loyalty trumps all.

He had discovered that something was up, that Lucy Diamond was coming after him. He knew what was coming. He wasn't an idiot; he knew what Lucy Diamond would and could do.

So he took his girl and fled. To Australia.

And there they made a life for themselves. An honest living away from the shade cast by crime. But the world has gotten much smaller in the years past; word got out that Bruce Davis and Michelle Shauffer had left the country for the Southern Hemisphere. The Great Outback. And Lucy, Lucy no longer had a choice.

She went after them.

The plan was simple enough.

The two clearly meant everything to each other.

Separate them.

All it took was some simple blackmailing, a threat on Bruce Davis' life, and Michelle Shauffer was gone, supposedly without a trace.

Lucy stayed in Australia longer than expected. She watched as the man grew thinner and paler as he sat on the bench of the only train station in the small town. She watched her handiwork come into fruition. She watched as the dwindling Bruce Davis muttered the same things over and over to himself; "I'll wait. I'll wait, I will. I promise. If this is what it takes, I'll do it. I'll wait for you, for as long as you need me to. Every day. I'll be here. Just in case you come home. I promise… Baby, I promise…"

There were moments when she came so close to throwing it all to shit. It wasn't his fault after all. She could tell him. She could bring her back for him. She could bring this to an end.

And then she got the report from Scud.

The Australian government made the decision for her. It wasn't hard news to hide that the Lucy Diamond was coming after Bruce Davis and Michelle Shauffer. It wasn't meant to be, and it therefore hadn't been rocket science for the Australian federal services to discover that Michelle Shauffer, a woman with a long rap sheet of her own, had indeed gone 'soft' and fled to Australia. And when Lucy sent the woman to Sydney… She handed the heartbroken woman right into federal hands. She watched footage of the whole ordeal. She had to hand it to the other woman; she refused to back down. She refused to go out without a fight.

They put a bullet in her head.

Lucy swore that she could see the woman mouth those words that were so foreign to her; "I love you, Bruce."

It was no secret in Australia that Michelle Shauffer had died. Everyone knew. It was the law enforcement accomplishment of the decade. The Shauffer family was sent scrambling, left in absolute shambles and ripe for the picking.

Scud demanded that she come home, so as not to endanger herself anymore in the aftermath of the Shauffer death. After all, the Australians must know that Lucy had touched down in country too. But she stayed. She stayed in that small little town in Australia, watching Bruce Davis continue to sit on that same platform bench.

She even approached him, ignoring the fact that people, Davis especially, would recognize her.

Except Davis didn't even offer a flicker of recognition. His eyes were empty, filled with nothing but intense focus, his jaws clenched tight.

"They shot her. She's dead," Lucy said. "She's not coming back."

"I told her I'd wait," he whispered. "I told her I'd wait for her, for as long as she needs me to. I promised."

Lucy walked away, trying to wrap her head around the whole situation. She continued to watch him, mesmerized by his almost monk-like behavior.

The immigration officers arrived only a couple days later. They showed him the papers, that they knew the truth. That his name was Bruce Davis and he was an illegal immigrant from the United States. That they were sorry but they had to deport him.

Hell, if she hadn't been Lucy Diamond, if she hadn't had a reputation to upkeep, she would have stopped them, yelled at them to leave the man alone. But she was Lucy Diamond, and she did have a reputation to upkeep. She watched instead, watched Bruce held on to the bench as if his very life depended on it. She watched as the four burly Australian men managed to pry him away from it anyway. She watched as he screamed in agony, desperately clawing at the air.

"I promised!" he yelled, crying. "I have to wait! I have to! God, I have to!"

And then he was gone.

Two days later, Bruce Davis died in custody.

That's when Lucy tried to sink Australia.

When that failed, she ran away to Iceland.


Lucy flipped through her memories bitterly. She had done what she had set out to do, hadn't she? She broke the man. That had been the point, right? She tried pulling herself up, instead falling, once more, flat on her back. She found her feet the second time around. She stumbled as she took in another swig of the alcohol.

"I mean, that's just what I do, right?" she yelled, slurring into the darkened sea. "That's just… the kind of person… I am, right?"

The black waves crashed against the sand, the salt spraying into the air as the thunder of the tide trembled through the beach. In that moment, she pretended as though she weren't alone, as though the waves, once bright and sparkling with the sun, now dark, were speaking to her, responding to her. If only she could understand their words.

"And look where i am now! Look at me! I'm just… I'm…" She only cried in single tears and she smirked when she felt that tear fall from her eye once more. "Shit!"

Lucy tried to throw back more of the alcohol, laughing bitterly as she felt it drench the front of her shirt. Her voice fell down into a whisper; "I don't know what's happened to me, but… nothing feels good anymore…"

Lucy Diamond liked to break people.

And diamonds, diamonds aren't supposed to break.

"You broke me," she whispered, shivering with the night. "You broke me, Amy Bradshaw. You broke me."

to be continued...