moor

By: moor

Primary Advisor: son

Summary:
Jinshi’s graduate thesis depends on first-hand research and knowledge of the city’s criminal element that he, son of a diplomat, does not have. Through a network of unorthodox favours, Jinshi gets what he wants. Unfortunately.

PAIRING: Maomao/Jinshi
RATING: M
WARNINGS/SQUICKS: TBD, prostitution (mention), drugs (mention), traffic
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a modern AU. Canon is strongly referenced, but not always reliable.

Ten Years Ago

Twelve year old Jinshi’s eyes widen and he stumbles back as his personal guard falls to his knees, holding his midsection where a slick, black knife handle protrudes. The guard’s white shirt is quickly turning red and Jinshi’s heart pounds frantically in his chest.

“Run, young master,” gasps the guard before two hulking, scarred men kick him to the side.

“C’mere kid,” says the first man, reaching for him with grubby hands.

Shaking his head wildly, Jinshi turns to run but a third man is behind him and snatches him around the middle, another hand and a sickly-sweet rag clapping over his mouth.

It takes a few minutes of struggling, but slowly the room fades to black and he’s half-dragged, half-carried away by the kidnappers.

He was definitely going to miss his after-school band practice that day—and after he’d put in effort to learn his part (this time)!

—------------------------

Waking up with a blinding headache, eight year old Maomao pressed her palms to her eyes to block out the light from the bright yellow, too-close, overhead lighting. She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose as the stink. Whoever’s operation she had landed in, they were using way too much fertiliser.

Too eager, she thought to herself, gradually opening her eyes.

The futon pallet she’d been tossed on had seen better days, long ago. Now it was stained and smelled of pee and sweat. Through the glass walls of the room, a team of seven grown, brutish men were arguing and pointing to her, though they weren’t yelling. Yet.

Once they started yelling, she’d make a move to explore and escape. They wouldn’t pay any attention to her, then.

Leaning back against the dirty wall in her second-hand sweater and patched jeans, Maomao relaxed. Things were bad, but this was manageable-bad. That was fine. She could wait.

It was only then, when a young male groan of pain sounded beside her, that Maomao realised the pile of blankets beside her wasn’t just a pile of blankets. It was a mess concealing another kidnapped child.

Her shiny-haired head popped up, her clean, manicured hands rubbing at her clean face. The blankets fell away to reveal a clean, if rumpled private-school-badged blazer, crisp white shirt, navy trousers and polished, patent leather shoes.

“Are you okay?” came a boy’s voice from the beautiful lips of Maomao’s fellow kidnappee.

A boy.

A prep-school boy.

At that realisation, Maomao swore in her head.

This boy was Important.

Things had just become infinitely worse.

—------------------------

“Don’t do anything stupid,” hissed Maomao to Jin when two of the kidnappers came back to them half an hour later.

Jin. That was all he would say. Which was fine. She had also been taught not to give her full name to strangers, unless they were strangers from her side of town.

Jin was so far from her side of town she bet he probably needed a passport and tour guide to find it.

Coincidentally, the kidnappers before them were very much not from her side of town, either. The wrong side of town? Yes. But not her side of town. Their accent was different. Likely they were trying to break into Granny’s territory. Well, they weren’t going to get anything out of her. She knew when to keep her mouth shut (in spite of what Granny thought).

“Stand up,” said kidnapper number one.

“Take me to my father,” demanded Jin, standing and placing himself between the kidnapper and Maomao.

Maybe Jin hadn’t had coaching as good as hers, thought Maomao as the kidnapper smacked Jin upside the head and laughed when the boy reeled back.

Shaking her head, Maomao got to her feet and waited quietly.

“Follow me,” said the kidnapper.

Maomao did, reaching out to pull Jin along by his arm.

“Quiet,” she murmured to him, hoping he would listen this time.

While they walked, she studied the layout, memorising it and the locations of any doorways, corridors or exits. Unfortunately, they walked all the way to the back of the building which meant loading bay doors.

Dammit, thought Maomao, but re-adjusted her burgeoning plan. Oh well. She tugged Jin along while he favoured his jaw, his pretty eyebrows furrowed. Poor boy. Hopefully he had a servant who’d be able to put ice on his face later. She would be turning back to her faithful friend, frozen peas and carrots. Good for what ailed you, one way or another.

The kidnappers heaved open a heavy pair of rusty, white van doors, the hinges grinding and groaning. They loaded the children into the empty rear, shoving their backs to move thema long faster.
“And stay quiet, y’hear me?” snapped the uglier kidnapper.

Maomao nodded and tugged Jin’s sleeve when he opened his mouth. He closed it again. They sat down beside each other on the filthy floor. A spare child’s sneaker, abandoned on its side closer to the front of the van, gave Maomao a bad feeling. The bunched up tissues scattering the floor and the smears on the side of the van weren’t helping. She shivered.

No seats, but no windows, either. Outside, the night was chilly and cold, winter’s winds nipping at their ears and fingers. The children shrank into each other to stay warm.

Maomao nodded while Jin scowled at the kidnappers, flinching when the kidnapper’s arm reared back again. Automatically Maomao’s arm had sprung up to protect her head.

No strike came.

The van door slammed shut. The children were left in darkness while two of the kidnappers, a pair of heavy-set, smelly men, hopped into the front seats. A hint of warmth made its way from the front of the van to the back where the children huddled, but very little. Soon after the van rumbled to a start, Jin took off his jacket and wrapped it around Maomao’s shoulders, holding her close to him to keep her warm.

“We need to get out of here,” whispered Jin to Maomao. The men turned on the radio to a sports news station, blasting the noise through the van.

Perfect, thought Maomao.

She arched a brow at Jin as the van lurched away from the loading bay of the ramshackle warehouse.

“We are,” she said matter-of-factly.

Jin’s eyes narrowed at her as she peeked up from his jacket.

She scanned the cargo area with her indigo eyes and double-checked that there were no walls or barriers between the back of the van and the two kidnappers, the driver and front passenger. The men chatted between themselves as the children huddled in the back.

“Get down and stay down,” whispered Maomao, rolling up her pant legs. “Can you drive?”

“Huh?” asked Jin, tilting his head.

But Maomao wasn’t waiting any longer. She withdrew two syringes from a bandolier of them, all various gauges, strapped around her calf. Then she lifted her oversized hoodie from her middle, revealing not only a malnourished, tiny frame, but a fanny pack stuffed full of tiny vials in a rainbow of liquid contents. She quietly parsed through them, occasionally glancing up at the drivers as they clinked when the van bumped over a pothole. The men were too busy in their debate about football to pay the children any mind.

“We’re too young to drive,” stated Jin, aghast.

“Wasn’t my question,” muttered Maomao, filling the two needles with a clear liquid with steady, thin hands.

Oh well, she would do it all herself.

“Hold these for a sec?,” she said. “Careful, they’re sharp.”

“What—no, what’s in—”

“Shhhhh,” she hissed, rolling down her sweater and pants and shaking her legs out. She got into a crouch and offered him back his jacket.

“Thanks,” she said. “Just stay back here and be quiet. Maybe buckle up,” she said as an after-thought, taking the syringes from him.

“There are no belts, what are you—!”

His words fell on deaf ears as Maomao suddenly lunged at the pair of kidnappers. With grim determination, she jabbed them each in the neck with the syringes.

Chaos broke loose. The van swerved to the right, then to the left, throwing the passengers around as the men shouted in surprise, then grabbed madly for Maomao’s wily frame.

But even as they beat on the small child, she grit her teeth and pressed the plungers in full.

Mentally she snarled words she’d heard her big sisters use, but only in her head; she didn’t want to shock Jin. He was a bit delicate.

After another minute, the van rammed the curb and bounced along, careening through the empty streets until it slowed to a stop. The driver and passenger had slumped forward in their seats, unconscious.

In front, the little girl moved over the two men and studied the front dash console. After a few tries, a light ‘click’ echoed through the van.

Jaw gaping, Jin stared at the little girl as she carefully disentangled herself from the men. Then, she climbed to the rear of the van again to join him. Her right eye squinted shut with purplish swelling. After the beating she took, soon the rest of her jaw and Jin was sure more of her, too, would be bruised, if not broken.

With her good eye, she looked him up and down.

“You OK?” she asked, her voice a bit garbled. She frowned, turned to the side to spit out a tiny tooth, and turned back to him.

Eyes wide, Jin couldn’t speak.

She seemed to take this in stride. “I took the keys. Doors are unlocked. Come on.”

With that, she shoved the back doors—they opened on the second try; she was stronger than she looked—and hopped down.

“C’mon,” she said, voice garbled by the awkward tilt of her jaw.

“It’s not safe out at night,” said Jin, stuttering.

Maomao, the tiny girl who looked like a mouse but had the heart of a lion, snorted.

Then she turned and started walking away into the dark industrial neighbourhood with its abandoned warehouses, cracked pavement and rusted fencing.

Swallowing, Jin ran after her. He did the only thing he could think of: wrapped her in his jacket again and followed her.

—------------------------

The stars had long revealed themselves overhead that night, and both children had tucked their hands under their arms to keep warm as they hustled through the streets.

“Finally,” said Maomao as they approached another unremarkable intersection.

“Hm?”

Maomao hurried into the phone booth with its cracked but still-intact glass panels. Combining their efforts, they closed the stubborn doors behind them, huddling together. Unfortunately, neither had any money.
“G-good id-dea,” said Jin, teeth chattering. “We can stay w-warmer in here for now. Can we d-dial 9-1-1?”

“Lift,” said Maomao to Jin.

He stared at her.

“I need a b-boost,” she said. She clenched her teeth against the cold, then tapped his shoulder in a Get Down way.

His brows perplexed, Jin knelt and Maomao climbed onto his knee and reached for the phone receiver. She unscrewed the bottom part of the phone and held it to the speaker, then dialled a number—far too long to be 9-1-1—, holding the phone receiver a special way for a few seconds.

To Jin’s surprise, a dial tone sounded and then the familiar ring of another number.

“Hello?”

“Pairin? It’s—”
“Maomao! What are you doing! It’s so late—”

“Uh. I kind of got kidnapped again.”

“...”

Jin stared at Maomao as she relayed exactly where they were, his eyes widening. How had she been able to tell? He’d barely been able to read the street signs!

They ended the call and he nearly yelled at her while she screwed the bottom back onto the phone receiver.

“I need to call my dad!”

“This is faster,” said Maomao. “My big sis knows a guy.”

Jin blinked at the confidence in her tone.

“We need the police,” said Jin firmly.

Maomao sighed, her shoulders falling. “I knew you’d say that…”

—------------------------

Three black Mercedes-Benz limousines pulled up neatly to the curb beside the telephone booth less than a quarter hour later, their engines purring in the night.

When a man in a fitted suit exited and opened the middle door, Maomao held Jin back.

“Wait,” she whispered. “We need to be sure it’s the right people.”

“Who else would show up here now?”

“The wrong people,” said Maomao calmly, her indigo eyes narrow.

The fact that Maomao chose now of all times to be cautious made Jin listen intently and fall back, beside her. He paused and nodded, watching her as she waited for the next person to emerge.

A half-breath later, a tall, voluptuous woman in towering heels and a priceless fur coat hurried out, scanning the area desperately.

“Here, kitty kitty,” she said, her head turning like a swivel as she looked around.

Beside Jin, Maomao sighed. “It’s the right person. C’mon.”

She tugged him along as he gaped at the beautiful woman who’d come to meet them; who was currently running towards them—perfectly balanced on her spectacularly dangerous heels—and grabbed Maomao in her arms, clutching her to her ample bosom.

Jin blushed at the woman’s appearance. Her perfume was strong and her devotion to Maomao was stronger.

It seemed Maomao was obviously very loved, at home.

“Oh come here, darling child! Who dared send you out on a school night! Tell me, tell me right now!”

“Out of towner,” sighed Maomao. “Uh, we need to get this other guy back to his family.”

“Who’s… Oh,” said Pairin, setting Maomao on her hip as she turned wide eyes on Jin. “Yes, they’ve been looking for him.”

“Hello, my name is—,” began Jin, reaching out his hand to shake Pairin’s, but paused at the look on her face.

“We know who you are,” she said softly. She turned to the man next to her and leaned in, speaking into his ear.

The man, in a full business suit and hat, nodded at Pairin’s instructions.

“This gentleman will see you directly to the police station,” said Pairin with a demure smile.

Jin looked up at Maomao. His newfound—friend? saviour?—’s eyes slowly began to close now that she was curled into Pairin’s warm flesh.

Noting his concern, Pairin addressed him. “I’ll take her home. Your family is very worried about you, Jinsh—”

“Jin. My name is Jin,” he interrupted, straightening up.

Looking down at him, Pairin’s lips opened but a moment, but no sound came out. She nodded once, slowly. “Of course… Jin. Maurice?”

“With me, young sir,” said Maurice, indicating the second Mercedes, which had opened its doors for him.

“But, the police—” began Jin, looking back at Maomao.

“Are waiting for you, very expectantly,” finished Pairin, smiling softly at him.

Jin swallowed again. He looked at Maomao again, and how her eyes no longer opened at all in her swollen face as she rested her head on Pairin’s shoulder.

“Oh, almost forgot,” said Pairin apologetically. She knelt, shifting Maomao’s sleepy body to her knee and removing Jin’s jacket from her shoulders. She tucked Maomao inside her fur coat, where Maomao let out a sleepy, happy sigh of relief at the warmth. “Here you go.”

She held out the bloodstained jacket to Jin, and when he made no move to collect it, Maurice interceded, taking it and folding it over an arm as if it were a priceless tapestry of the evening’s events. In a way, it was.

Then Pairin gave a final nod at Jin, then Maurice, and returned to her limousine. Another of the limousines followed hers, leaving Jin in the dark with the final limo… and his escort, Maurice.

“It is very cold, sir, and your family are desperate for news of your wellbeing,” said Maurice gently.

“Is… is Maomao going to the hospital?” asked Jin, looking up at the tall, broad man with the neat hair and fierce build. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“She is going to be well looked after,” promised Maurice, who allowed a small, gentle smile on his thin lips. “I promise, she is going to receive the best care.”

“Oh. OK,” said Jin, watching the other limousines’ crimson tail lights disappear around the corner.

“This way, young sir,” repeated Maurice, placing a warm, reassuring hand at the slender youth’s back and steering him into the last limousine.

“She got the keys from the guys who took us. Their van is—”

“We’ll take care of it,” said Maurice.

“The police. The police need to know,” said Jin.

“... yes, the police will take care of it,” said Maurice. “Would you like me to sit with you in the back, young sir, or would you prefer to be alone?”

Jin pressed his lips together.

“With me,” he thought, but aloud, he said, “Alone. Thanks—I mean, thank you.”

“Of course,” said Maurice, closing the door behind him, sealing him in.

Trembling, Jin waited, his fingers knotted together, as the car drove. The ride was smoother than his own father’s cars. How was that possible?

But most importantly, it was warm. There were even a few neatly folded blankets in the back that he wrapped around himself as soon as he buckled his seat belt. Against his will, his eyes began to close in the warm, comfortable, leather surroundings… so like home…

In what felt like no time at all, the car pulled in to the main precinct, police headquarters.

Jin woke to a soft, electronic beeping. He pressed the flashing button beside a screen built into the back of the front seat. Maurice nodded at him.

“Good to see you’ve had some rest. We’re approaching the police station, young sir.”

Outside the windows of the slowing limo, news reporters and journalists and all manner of paparazzi awaited on the front lawns, spilling into the sidewalks and streets. Their artificial lights cast crazy shadows over the too-lively setting. Jin sank down in his leather seat, sighing.

To his right, a phone beeped. He hadn’t even noticed it when he got in.

It beeped again.

“H-hello?” he asked, squeezing the phone.

“Would you prefer to avoid the circus, young sir?”

Jin looked up. The screen had gone dark, but towards the driver the two-way darkened glass that separated the driver from the rear passengers had turned transparent, and through the panel he saw Maurice looking at him, his eyes concerned.

“C-can we?”

It wasn’t cold that made him stutter, this time.

“We’ll drive straight into the police lot,” said Maurice. “I will walk you in personally, young sir.”

The air whooshed from Jin’s lungs in relief.
“Thank you,” he sighed.

“Of course.”

The line went dead, and the limousine pulled around, driving down the main road. After a moment, they turned down a side road, into an alley, and paused while the driver flashed some kind of badge or card at a card-reader on a post sticking out of the brick wall that towered over them on the left side. Before them, a large garage door opened and the limo slowly entered the underground police lot.

Jin hung up and stared as they manoeuvered the elongated luxury vehicle through the narrow confines of the overbright garage. Soon enough, they arrived at a guarded series of elevator doors.

The limo stopped and Maurice exited. He tapped on the window twice before slowly opening Jin’s door.

“This way, young sir,” said Maurice, holding out a hand.

Jin took the hand, surprised when Maurice squeezed it before letting go, once he had closed the limo door behind them.

As he’d promised, Maurice remained alongside Jin, greeting the surrounding police officers and joining them as the group assembled around Jin to walk him through the building to where his father’s lawyers and advisors waited in a private meeting room.

Jin looked around, searching their faces. Each expressed concern, frustration, relief… But none were his father.

Taking a deep breath, Jin forced himself to settle his features in a neutral look as his father’s lawyer took his side and a detective entered. The interviews began as Jin retold the story and answered every question. Through it all, Maurice remained with him.

It was only, as the sun began to rise and natural light began to filter through with the smell of fresh coffee and the morning shift, that the officers agreed they had all they needed, and the young boy could return home.

“And Maomao, you need to check on Maomao. She was there before me,” persisted Jin, as the lawyers tried to hustle him from the room.

“Maomao’s being spoken to separately,” assured one officer, glancing at Maurice.

“And the hospital?” asked Jin. “What hospital did she go to? We need to check on her. They knocked her teeth out,” he said, looking at Maurice.

The officer turned to Maurice.

“She has been released and is in excellent hands,” said Maurice.

Jin stared at Maurice. Around him, the adults began to speak to one another, not him, and filed out of the room. But he stayed and waited. There had to be more. It wasn’t really over yet, was it? What about… what about everything?

“Thank you for your help with this one,” said a senior officer, coming to Maurice’s side and holding out a hand.

“It is our pleasure and to our mutual benefit,” said Maurice to the female officer, shaking her hand. “We shall obviously keep you informed through the usual channels.”

The officer snorted. “Appreciate it.”

Maurice’s eyes shone with mirth for a split second, but he turned back to Jin.

“Be safe, young sir,” he said genuinely, bowing to Jin as if he were royalty.

“You’re going?” asked Jin, humiliated when his voice broke. No. He had been strong through everything so far. He was a prince. He had to be strong.

Maurice glanced at the officers, lawyers, and politicos around the room, who had paused to watch.

“It is time for the police to do what they do best,” said Maurice. “And it is time to get you back to your family.”

“Are you going to check on Maomao? Is anyone going to check on her?”

His voice was getting louder, higher. He had to get control of himself.

“She is in the best hands in the world,” said the female officer, looking from Maurice to Jin. “I promise you even we would have a hard time getting her away from them, at this time.”

“Well said,” said Maurice softly.

The mood in the room shifted.

Jin looked around, not entirely understanding. The adults were edgier all of a sudden, wary.

“Good day,” said Maurice to the room, and took his leave.

Jin made to follow him and reached for Maurice’s sleep, to demand more about Maomao, but the adults closed rank around him, physically barring his way. Maurice turned a corner and disappeared towards the elevators, tipping his hat at several officers he passed—all of whom straightened their shoulders, nodded, and moved out of his path. They glanced after Maurice but none followed him.
Jin never saw him again.

Soon he was shuttled off to his father’s palace, three security teams in tow, and escorted to his room where one of the top doctors looked him over, gave him a painkiller, and told him to put an ice pack on his jaw after his shower.

All advice Jin—Jinshi—ignored as he fell into his bed, asleep from one heartbeat to the next.

He was kept home from his private school and assigned a new security team within the next week. There were no interviews with reporters for him, though he studied every article and newspiece he could get his hands on. There was little beyond what the palace released, which was that he was found and returned safely to his family. Maomao wasn’t mentioned at all; it was almost as if he’d imagined her.

… though he did hear on the news that a group of human traffickers from a nearby city had been caught, thanks to the help of a team of undercover police agents.

Was that was Maomao was? The daughter of an undercover cop?
Still, did undercover cops get Mercedez limos to ride around in like mafioso?

No one ever answered his questions about that night, or Maomao, ever again.

TBC