| TITLE: Blood is Thicker Than Water
AUTHOR: Mike Dewar
RATING: PG-13?
LENGTH: 14,300 words/86kb.
FEEDBACK: to aamdewar@iafrica.com
SUMMARY: When a client is murdered, Angel is plunged into the sordid world of showgirls and prostitution. He finds himself investigating a case, without even knowing why he was hired, or what the crime is. As he gets closer to the truth, he will find himself and his friends running in fear from a seemingly indestructible force. For how do you kill something that isn't even alive?
DISCLAIMER: Angel and all its characters, concepts etc. belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I only own the plot. But the plot's mine, ya hear?
CREDITS: The song ‘Crush’ is by Garbage. Blood is Thicker Than Water
The feet thudded on the sidewalk, an endless human drumbeat. Pedestrians bumped their way down the streets, an entire cross-section of the city, all forced onto the same narrow gray pavement by the threat of predatory cars. The sun was already long gone, and the people had changed their work clothes for their play clothes. Glittering dresses, black leather, smooth-cut suits, all and every style adorned them. Innocent people out for a night on the town, ignoring their troubles, fears and problems for as long as the night lasted.
That's the thing about Los Angeles. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but LA is the city that only comes alive at night. Not unlike other things. Vampires, for example. Ten storeys up, Angel's back slammed hard down onto the rooftop. He struggled to his feet as the demons swept around for another pass. Two hideous bat-winged creatures with slender stick-like bodies and smooth death-mask faces, they hissed at the vampire as they hovered in the air, their clawed fingers twitching hungrily. " Doyle!" Angel snapped, as the night-black demons dove in again, "get on with it!" A few meters away, struggling with a polished wooden longbow nearly as tall as he was, Doyle cursed. " Give me a second, man! I'm kinda new at this whole Robin Hood thing!" he yelled to the vampire, struggling with the bowstring. The half-demon nocked an arrow and pulled back hard on the string, even as one of the demons swept in fast for Angel, its barbed tail whipping towards his vulnerable throat. The arrow's silver point glinted wickedly in the dim light as it wove through a series of figure-eights. Doyle grunted, mentally uttered a prayer, and let go. The silver-tipped arrow lanced through the air, straight and true. It dove under one of the demon's wings and punched straight into Angel's chest, barely inches to the side of his heart. The vampire staggered backwards, nearly falling from the roof. Doyle winced. "Sorry!" Angel snarled, beating back a demon with his fists. "Fire again!" he growled, ducking low. Doyle nodded, then realized that the vampire couldn't even see him past the large winged demons. " This is very bad," he muttered softly, reaching for the quiver at his side....the empty quiver at his side. " Cordelia!" he yelled. "Arrows!" Behind the door leading to the roof, Cordelia's muffled voice responded. "I'm coming!" There was a sound of a thump. "I really think someone should oil these hinges!" she shouted, pounding on the door. Angel flung himself down as claws tore through the shoulder of his short leather jacket, rending his undead flesh. He rolled smoothly under one of the attacking demons and the two creatures collided trying to get to him, squawking angrily. The vampire took short, shallow breaths as the demons untangled themselves, eager for his flesh in their fanged mouths. " Guys!" the vampire roared, as the demons came in for another pass. With a groan of strained wood, Cordelia forced the door aside. "All right, I'm here!" she snapped. "Would everybody stop yelling? Hey, watch it!" she said as Doyle elbowed her aside, grabbing the quiver of arrows dangling from her left hand. " No time, darlin'," Doyle responded, frantically pulling an arrow from the quiver and fitting it to the finely-crafted bow. Angel knocked the first demon aside with a powerful backhand, but the second one smashed full into him, bearing him to the ground. Strong scaled hands tightened around his throat, bloodstained claws digging into his neck. The demon began to beat its wings, lifting him off the ground by his throat. Through the choking pain, Angel could feel his neckbones cracking. A few more seconds, and his head would come right off. A silver-headed arrow punched through the demon's heart, showering Angel in dark blood. It shrieked in pain and collapsed to the ground, its black wings covering Angel like a shroud. " Yeah! Just call me William Tell," Doyle crowed, punching the air. " Uh...he did apples, not bat-thing hearts," Cordelia reminded him. "Besides which, Willy, we've still got one more." But that was one demon who had had enough. Roaring with fury, it flapped its huge wings strongly, swooping away. Angel beat aside the wings of the fallen demon just as the other demon dove down, out of sight. Without missing a beat, the vampire leapt to his feet and started running. " Uh, Angel?" Doyle asked. "You aren't planning to do anything stupid, right?" Angel reached the edge of the roof and leapt off. " Guess that answers that question," Cordelia commented.
Angel dropped two storeys, surrounded in expectant silence. Below him, he could see the dark form of the bat-demon, twisting and turning on the wind currents. Choose your moment, he thought grimly. Wait..wait...now! Angel's pale hands snatched ahold of the demon's whip-like tail, and the creature howled with shock at the sudden drag. The vampire grimaced as the demon's wings beat at him, surrounding him with its rank, fetid odour. Slowly, hand over hand, he began to pull himself up its long, slender tail. The demon hissed, dropping lower, as Angel secured a hold on its back. The landscape below flashed past in a dizzying blur. Streets...cars...people....trees. Trees? Angel wondered. Of course, a park! He's flown over a park! Angel saw his salvation. Hooking his fingers into the demon's back, he drove it lower, squeezing at its spine. As the trees brushed past, bare meters below, Angel roared with fury, ripping the arrow from his side. The silver-tipped weapon swept up and then down. The creature gave an almost human cry of pain as Angel drove the arrow between its shoulder blades. The bat-demon's wings gave two last, strained beats, then the sharp arrowhead found the monster's heart. The creature stiffened and dropped like a stone. With a crunch, Angel and the demon slammed down onto a park bench, causing the wood to splinter beneath their weight. A young couple, making out under a tree, took one look at the limp form of the demon and shrieked in unison. " Sorry," Angel called apologetically after their fleeing forms, as he struggled up from the demon's spread-eagled corpse. The exhausted vampire slumped down on the broken bench next to the body, and gingerly poked at the already-sealing wound in his side. Slowly, the demon's body bubbled away, evaporating into a cloud of greasy black smoke, leaving the silver arrow embedded in the wooden bench. Rubbing his side, Angel got to his feet and made his way out of the park, back onto the streets. His streets.
" You're an idiot!" Cordelia snapped, as the three of them walking along the sidewalk. "Doyle, tell him he's an idiot." " You're an idiot," Doyle confirmed, adjusting the large bow on his shoulder. " Exactly!" the angry woman continued. "In case you hadn't noticed, I signed on to work for a vampire, not an undead pancake!" " Cordelia," Angel interrupted. "I killed the demon, I'm not a pancake, and we're going home. No problems at all." " Yeah," Cordy muttered, her voice full of foreboding, "but when you end up with your entire body in a cast, drinking blood through a straw, then you'll be sorry." " And I'll be sure to tell you that you were right," Angel answered easily, as they strode up the steps to the office door. The bronze plate glinted in the streetlights, as Angel pulled out his keys and inserted them into the lock. Then the vampire stiffened, and sniffed the air. "Cordelia? Are you wearing perfume?" Cordelia's brow wrinkled. "No, of course not, like I'd waste good perfume on you guys and smelly bat-things. Why?" " Smelled something," Angel responded vaguely, his nose tilted to the air. "Smelt like some kind of flowery perfume, cheap and nasty. Coming from the office." " So what, we're being stalked by the Flower Monster?" Doyle asked incredulously. "Just open the door already, this blasted bow is wearing a groove into my shoulder." " Some demons have distinctive scents. Pheromones and, sometimes, poisons. Step back," he commanded, raising his foot. As his companions took a cautious step back, the vampire lashed out, slamming the door open. A slender woman looked up from a desk, her attractive features contorted with worry. " Hi," she said nervously. "Are you, um...Angel?" Angel allowed himself to relax a little. "Yes, can I help you?" he inquired dryly. "Or were you just looking for a phone?" " I heard you help people." the woman asked, absently toying with her long black hair. "Is that true?" " It is indeed," Doyle answered cheerfully from the doorway. "And how could we help a lovely lady such as yourself?" The woman looked around, an expression of uncertainty crossing her face. "Is there somewhere we could talk?" Angel nodded slowly. This doesn't look like a con, he thought. There was real fear in her face. Angel knew all about fear, he'd seen it often enough on the faces of his victims. Before the curse...before it all changed. Shaking away the dark memories, Angel mustered a smile. "Come into my office," he suggested. "Cordelia, -" " I know, I know, make her some coffee," Cordy muttered. The young woman vanished in the direction of the coffee machine, as Angel led their new client into his office.
" Found the subject," the assassin said coolly into his cellphone. "Do I make the hit?" " Yes," the voice on the other end of the line replied just as coolly. "Call me after it is done." There was a click as the line disconnected. The assassin stretched out flat on the rooftop, placing his eye in front of the rifle scope. Carefully, he adjusted the long, slender weapon, bringing the image into focus. Angel Investigations, the sign on the door read. Hmm, a P.I, the hired killer thought. Trying to spill the beans, are we, honey? It didn't matter. In a short while, she wouldn't be talking ever again, and if he had to kill the P.I. as well, well then his fees would just go up a fraction. The assassin took a sip of his cola and smiled at the thought.
" My name is Lara Winters," the women began, cradling her cup of the motor oil Cordelia chose to call coffee. "The trouble started where I work. Well, actually it's still just there, but lately I've been feeling like I'm being watched, as well." Angel nodded reassuringly, examining the woman sitting opposite him. He heard Doyle and Cordelia shift meaningfully behind him as they leaned against the wall, and realised he was expected to respond. "I see. Where do you work, exactly?" he asked, still studying her features. " It's a ...bar of sorts...on Meridia Road," Lara answered. Her hands shook as she carefully put the cup down. "It's called Whispering Silence. My boss got the name from a poem, I think." " And what do you do there? Waitress, cook, manager?" Lara bit her lipstick-stained lips. "I'm...an entertainer. A dancer, kinda." " An entertainer?" Cordelia queried. "Like a stand-up comedian or something equally lame?" " Not exactly," she answered, flushing. " An *entertainer*, Cordy," Doyle said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. "You know." " Excuse me? What am I supposed to know?" " An *entertainer*," Doyle repeated, making some suggestive movements with his hands. " *Oh*. Ew, much?" Cordy answered, looking disgusted. " You're a hooker," Angel stated bluntly. Lara's eyes hardened. "Yes, okay? I didn't come here to be judged, I came for help. Besides, it's good money, and it doesn't involve dealing or killing. If you've got a problem, just say so." " No problem," Angel answered calmly, raising his palms in a peaceful fashion. "I understand." " What? Were you a gigolo or something?" she asked. Doyle sniggered. " No, no," Angel explained hastily. "I know what it's like to have to do something that you're not entirely proud of, I meant." " Oh." Lara's watch beeped angrily, interrupting them. "Damn it!" she swore softly. "I've got get to work! Listen, I'll have to talk to you later. I get off from the club at 1 in the morning, come by and we'll talk, okay?" She rose to her feet and Angel rose as well. " Can you just give us something to go on before you leave?" he asked. "Why are you so worried?" Indecision and the fear of being late fought a war across her face. "Some of the girls, they started disappearing," Lara explained quickly. "I talked to ...a friend about it, and he said I should get someone private to keep an eye on things." She held out a hand to Angel, "I'll see you soon."
The assassin straightened as the door opened and the target stepped out. The door closed and she started to walk down the street, huddled and alone. " Hello, baby," he muttered under his breath. His cold gray eyes narrowed as he peered through the rifle scope. He adjusted the rifle on its tripod and brought the dark X to bear directly on the woman's head. Such a pretty face, he mused, then his finger squeezed the trigger. The pretty face vanished in a puff of red, as the rifle boomed.
Angel burst out onto the street, the shot ringing in his ears. High above, on the roof of the building opposite, he caught a glint of steel. To a human, it would have been almost unnoticeable, but to Angel's vampire eyes, it shone like a miniature sun. He caught a glimpse of a bearded face beneath a baseball cap, as the shooter rolled smoothly out of sight. Then Angel noticed the bloodstained form on the pavement. " No..." he whispered, sprinting towards it. He rolled the body over with a foot and Lara's sightless eyes stared up at him. For a second, the temptation ran through him. A few drops of his vampire blood could make her live again, laugh again...but it wouldn't be her, it would be a soulless monster, an abomination against life itself. Like me, he thought grimly. Angel looked up at the roof, and began to run. There was no chance of catching the sniper, who was probably already in a getaway vehicle, but Angel ran anyway.
It was half an hour later. Lara's eyes stared up at him, glazed and accusing. " ....so you gave chase, but the shooters got away," Kate Lockley finished. "Angel?" Angel looked up from the body as the officers covered it with a white linen cloth. "Huh?" She frowned. "Oh, sorry," he muttered guiltily, "I wasn't really following." The flashing red-blue lights of the squad cars illuminated the detective's worried expression. "You okay there? Want to sit down?" The vampire shook his head. "No, I'm good, thanks. Any more questions?" Kate glanced around. "No, I think we're pretty much done. Give the evidence vultures a few more seconds, then it's back to the station. We'll need you to come in for some questioning, get a formal statement. Tomorrow afternoon okay?" " No," Angel answered reflexively. Kate glanced at him quizzically, as he continued haltingly, "uh, because I have to...go shopping. Shopping. Yeah. Because I'm out of bloo - coffee." " Uh-huh. An inquiry into the death of a client, who was shot on your doorstep, mind you - and you need to pick up coffee." " I don't get out much during the day, I'm usually busy." " Yeah, because Private Investigation really is a field that takes place during regular hours of nine to five," Kate said, her voice syrupy with irony. "You allergic to daylight or something?" " Something," Angel responded softly. He gave her a pleading look. "Kate, could we just skip the formalities? I just really don't need to get held up in a police station all day." " Why? Someone planning a bit of recreation vengeance?" " No," he answered. He didn't think he was very convincing, and judging from her expression, neither did she. Kate sighed. "Okay, on the off-chance you actually do have a valid reason not to come - and because I owe you, I won't press. I'll make up something convincing for my lieutenant." She ran her hands through her hair and fixed Angel with a penetrating stare. "But only if you promise me one thing." " What?" Kate looked around at the shadowy night streets. The streetlights cast pools of white that only seemed to emphasize the inky black shadows reaching out for them. "The whole vigilante deal? It only works in the movies, Angel. Not here. Not in real life. I know you see yourself as some kind of shiny cowboy, with his white hat and white stallion....well, actually probably black hat and black stallion...but real life doesn't favor heroes. I don't want to find you lying on a morgue table with a .45 round in your skull. You get me?" " Got you," Angel agreed, forcing a grin. Then it was his turn to give her a penetrating stare. "Not wanting to see me dead...is that for practical reasons or personal ones?" " Neither," Kate answered lightly, smiling at him. "I just need a few non-work guy friends, so my dad doesn't think I'm a lesbian. Of course, he did think you might be gay..." Angel flashed his own smile. Indicating his coal-black leather coat and gray slacks, he quipped," Please. Looking at me, does the word gay spring to mind? Or any descriptive word that doesn't involve the word black?" " Just one," Kate answered, winking. "Handsome," she teased as she walked away. "See you round, Angel." Staring at her back, Angel's smile vanished. "Handsome?" he whispered softly. "Not all the time, Kate." His eyes glinted vampire gold for a second, then he walked away.
" Work for a vampire, they said. See parts of the world you've never seen, they said. True enough, I guess. We always see all the really nasty deadly bits," Cordelia groused. "And has anybody bothered to tell these people that the whole dancing around a metal pole thing only works on people with firemen fetishes?" " Well, you're not a man," Doyle observed, adjusting his belt as he surveyed the strippers. "Trust me, we still find it riveting." " Check out the rest of the club," Angel ordered. "I'm going to see if I can find anyone who knows where Lara lived." The vampire walked away, his dark clothes in stark contrast to the brightly-clothed customers around him. " Well some of us do," Doyle muttered, gazing after him. "He really needs to lighten up." " Oh please. I'd sooner date Godzilla," Cordelia told the heavily bearded man next to her. "What did you say?" she asked, turning back to Doyle. " Angel. Needs to lighten up a little," the half-demon explained, pointing. " Understatement of the year, much? That's like saying Roseanne needs to slim down a little!" Cordy paused, then launched off onto another topic. "You know, that's what really gets me down. Here I am, young, beautiful, talented - and unable to get a role in an ad to promote liquid soap. And that elephant has her own talk show! Life's not fair!" " Yeah," Doyle said. "Too true."
Whispering Silence's strange blue lights gave Angel's pale face a hard, icy sheen as he moved through the club. There weren't many people there, he noted, and those that were there were mostly so high that they couldn't even tell who they were, let alone where they were. The music softly throbbed from speakers on the walls, as the scantily clad women twisted and whirled around their metal poles, wiggling sinuously. I would die for you
I would die for you
I've been dying just to feel you by my side
To know that you're mine Angel slipped past a couple locked in erotic embrace, muttering, "Excuse me," beneath his breath. The strippers spun to the music, slinking forward, hips swaying. They smiled seductively at the semi-conscious men and women at the tables, white teeth glinting in the cold blue light. I will cry for you
I will cry for you
I will wash away your pain with all my tears
And drown your fears Two women, identical twins, approached Angel. " Hey, big man," one of them said seductively, running her hands through her hair and leaning back. " Hey," Angel said. " Cara thinks that my dress is too slutty," the second twin said, running her hands over her skimpy black dress. "Is it?" She licked her lips. " Yes," Angel responded bluntly. See your face every place that I'm walking
Hear your voice every time that I'm talking
You will believe in me,
And I will never be ignored
" Yeah," Doyle said, for the twentieth time. "Too true." " And then, the director just told me, ' You're not quite what we're looking for'! I mean, come on! I was born for that part! I was totally believable!" " Yes, Cordy," Doyle agreed dryly, "you would have been perfect as Dancer No.17 in the Can-Can routine for that Coke ad." The half-demon was becoming worried that his head might implode. Ordinarily, he was fine with listening to Cordelia talk about her favorite topic, herself, but enough was enough. He prayed that a huge Doyle-eating demon would just appear and swallow him up. Luckily, he noticed the next best thing. "Angel! How goes the detectoring?" Doyle asked, shooting up to the vampire with frightening speed. The vampire absently rubbed his stinging cheek. "Not so good. Anything interesting happen at your end?" Doyle opened his mouth. But he was far too slow. "Well, " Cordelia said. "While sitting here, I have been hit on by winos, street people, biker freaks, a really spaced out girl who likes leather a *lot*, and a weird short guy called Ken." " Who had a really good left hook," Doyle added, rubbing his shoulder. " Oh," Angel said, somewhat overwhelmed by Radio Cordelia, with excerpts from the Doyle Channel. " Excuse me," a firm voice said behind them. The three turned to face a large man in a dark suit, who was definitely *not* part of the entertainment. "If we could have a word in private?" the man asked, his beefy hands clamping down on Angel's shoulders. " Okay!" Cordy said a bit too brightly. "You men just go off and have a nice chat, and Doyle and I will stay here. Okay?" The man frowned. "No. Not okay. Move it."
The office was not really what one might expect from the owner of a strip joint. It was both simple and spacious, and almost compulsively neat. Behind a dark wooden desk, a pleasant-looking man regarded them. Late-40s, Angel judged, but there were only a few crows-wrinkles around his eyes and the barest streaks of gray in his dark brown hair. Hanging on the wall behind him, several weapons attracted Angel's attention, and he examined them with critical eyes as the man rose to his feet, smiling easily. Showy and unwieldy, the vampire judged, as the man moved out from behind his desk. " Jonathan King," he introduced himself, holding out a hand to Angel. " Angel," the vampire responded, his tone carefully neutral as he shook King's hand. King beamed. "A pleasure, truly a pleasure. And your friends?" " Doyle, Cordelia," Angel said, pointing to each in turn. " Charmed," King said. " That's.... a big sword you've got there," Cordelia said politely, pointing behind him King nodded, glancing at the enormous double-handed weapon she indicated. "Used by German barbarians, before the Roman Empire crushed them," he explained, his hand stroking the icy metal. "I'm fond of history myself. My father was a firm believer in reincarnation, and I always wondered what it would have been like to live in bygone days. Don't you ever imagine what it would have been like to live a century ago, Angel? To see a different time, up close?" " Can't say that I do." It's hard to imagine something you really experienced. King shrugged. "Ah well, each to their own." Then he shook his head and smiled self-depreciatingly. "But I must be boring you, talking about my hobbies! What can I do for you?" " Haven't a clue," Doyle replied caustically. "Since it was your walking mountain that 'invited' us here, and all." " Of course," King chuckled. "I forgot for a moment. Ang - may I call you Ang? - I believe one of my girls physically assaulted you, correct?" Angel frowned. "Excuse me?" " She slapped you," King clarified, still smiling. " Ew!" Cordelia muttered. "Angel, what kind of thing did you ask her to do that would make a *hooker* slap you?" " It was a misunderstanding," Angel explained, ignoring her. "No lasting damage." " Yes, Ang, but I still need to make sure my customers are treated well," King said, resting his hand easily on the vampire's shoulder. "I can't hope that everyone will be as mature as you, so I need to keep discipline. The customer is always right, that's my motto." " I'm not really sure that those words were exactly meant in regard to strip clubs," Doyle chuckled, smiling slightly. "I mean I don't really see your type of business as worrying about being respectable. No offense or anything." King's brow creased and he paused, sitting down on his desk. "Mr Doyle, I must say I do view my...enterprise as respectable. The oldest profession in the world, you know," he quipped. "I'm not ashamed of what I do. My girls are well-treated, provided with places to live and with treats and presents -" " Like pets," Cordelia interrupted cheerfully. King raised an eyebrow, as if trying to decide if he was offended or not. "Yes, in a way. But really, I can't abide slackness or disrespect, so I have to make some kind of reparation. Feel free to enjoy yourselves...on the house." Angel and Doyle exchanged glances. "Thanks," Angel said slowly, "but I'm not really sure if -" " Oh don't be so uptight!" King advised. "Just look around, see if there's something you like." " I think what they're trying to say is 'thanks, but no thanks'," Cordelia said sharply. "Come on, let's go." She walked quickly to the door and looked back firmly at the men. "Coming?"
" 'On the house'?" Cordelia asked incredulously as they walked down the passage, back to the main section of the club. "God, how gross is that?" " Well," Doyle began, "I guess you can see the logic, in a funny kind of way -" " *Doyle*!" " - totally unacceptable, he was completely out of line," the half-demon finished guiltily. " Yeah!" she agreed. "And as for that whole 'oldest profession' line? Please. Basically, he hires girls to have sex with people. Why doesn't he just come out and say it?" " Because it's illegal in most countries around the world?" Angel suggested. " Whatever, 'Ang'. And as for - hey!" A lean, thin man pushed past them, walking towards King's door. "Sorry," he answered emotionlessly, adjusting the baseball cap on his head. " Well!" Cordelia spat. "I call that rude, don't you, Angel? Angel?" Angel stared after the man, his eyes narrowing. There he was, plain as daylight. Lara's killer, still wearing the same cap, the lower portion of his face hidden behind a beard. The man's gray eyes passed over Angel and his companions without a hint of recognition, and the vampire had to control a shudder at what he saw in those eyes. They were empty gray pools of nothingness, the eyes of a weapon, not a human being - one could and would kill others as easily as he might blow his nose, and with less consideration. Even demons were wary of men with eyes like those. As the killer continued down the passageway, Angel glanced over at Doyle. "Bingo."
" Ah, Randall," King said politely, as the assassin entered his office. "You were successful?" " Yes," the hired killer said. "But we have a complication." " Really? Feel free to share." " She talked to a P.I. before I made the kill. I just saw him leaving your office. Tall, good-looking, black clothes." " Ah, good old Ang!" King said cheerfully. "Wonderful fellow, not too talkative though. Rather like you, actually," he told the expressionless sociopath. "Maybe you could be friends?" " I don't bond well." " Such a shame," King sighed. "Ah well, considering he'll be dead very soon, it's good you're not going to form a bond." The killer licked his thin lips. "Do you want me to do it?" " No," King said coldly. "You were supposed to prevent the girl from contacting anyone. You failed. I'll deal with this matter...personally."
" So King's a baddie," Cordelia concluded, as the three of them leaned against the bar. The club was even more deserted than before, and the guilty customers were slowly filtering out, going home to ignorant wives and girlfriends. " King's talking with baddies," Doyle said warningly. "That doesn't mean he's evil himself. He could just be stupid." Cordelia chuckled. "He's definitely stupid. But I'm still going for stupid *and* evil. Someone can be stupid and still be evil, can't they Angel?" " Hmm?" the vampire said, miles away. "Oh, sure. You don't have to be smart to be evil. Or sane, for that matter. But I'm not so certain our new friend is as foolish as he looks." " Oh come on," Cordy burst out. "He acts like he's running a children's playgroup, not...this place!" " Just because he pretends to be a fool, doesn't mean he is one," Angel warned. "Remember the Mayor." " Right, who turned out to be a gigantic Snyder-eating snake demon. Good point," Cordelia mused. " Your Mayor was a gigantic demon? And no one noticed this...or complained or anything?" Doyle asked disbelievingly. Cordelia smiled bitterly. "Welcome to the wonderful world of denial. What's the plan, Angel?" " I'm going to go and make a new friend," the vampire called over his shoulder, as he walked away. Cordelia and Doyle stared in disbelief as their employer started chatting to one of the prostitutes leaning against the club's walls. Crisp green dollar bills exchanged hands, and then she took the vampire's hand and led him away. "Tell me I didn't just see that," Cordelia begged Doyle. " It does seem a little...out of character for the boss, yeah," Doyle answered, still staring. " Out of character? It's against all laws of God and man! Angel just doesn't do stuff like that! Besides which, he's all cold and dead...and ugh, why did I just think that?" Disgust twisted Cordelia's mouth, as they watched Angel and the hooker leave. "I think I need to wash my imagination out with soap," she muttered.
Brown paint flaked off the walls of the room she led Angel to, curling backwards like burnt skin. The hooker sat down on the room's small bed, her short skirt riding high on her pale white thighs. Angel stood, framed in the doorway as she flashed a plastic, automatic smile. " So, how do you want to do this?" she asked, her tone cool and business-like. Angel said nothing. "Come on, where do you want to put it?" She paused. "You do know what to do, right? I haven't got lumped with another virgin, have I?" Angel shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, made uncomfortable by her emotionless attitude. "I don't want - what's your name?" he asked. " Mandy. There, you know my name. Can we please get a move on? I charge by the hour, you know." " I don't want to sleep with you," Angel tried to explain. Mandy groaned, rolling her eyes. "If you're one of those guys who gets off with whips and chains, you got the wrong lady. A girl could get hurt doing that stuff. You want Soaking Suzie, not me. I'll get her." The hooker rose to her feet, but Angel caught her arm. "I'd just like to talk," he said, holding out his hand. She eyed the roll of bills there and slowly sat down. " You a cop?" she asked, staring at him suspiciously. "You talk like a cop. Not a very good one, but still a cop." Angel pretended to ignore the insult. "No. Private investigator - I help people," he explained. "What do you know about a girl named Lara Winters?" Mandy frowned. "Lara? What do you want with Lara?" " She hired me," Angel said softly. "She was shot just after she left my office. I want to know why." " Fuck," the woman breathed slowly. Then she rose to her feet. "I don't squeal. There's a very short life-expectancy on people who do around here." She made as if to move for the door, but Angel stepped in front of her. "I'll keep your name out of it. Anything you can tell me could help." He fixed her with a dark gaze and pressed the bills into her hand. "It could avenge her." For a split second, Mandy paused, then her fist closed around the bills. "I don't know much about Lara. She kept to herself, didn't really socialize with any of the other girls. I know she didn't like working here; she wanted out. Most people do." " Do you want out?" " It's a living," she said, avoiding his gaze. "I wouldn't expect a fancy boy like you, with your nice suit and spiky hair, to understand." " Maybe I'm good at understanding people," Angel said, putting a finger under her chin, making her look at him. Mandy's lips tightened, and then she broke away. "Whatever. Anyway, I don't know much, but I do know her address, if that's any help. I'll write it down." She pulled a notepad from her small leather purse and scribbled the address on it. She passed to the vampire without looking at him. " Lara was a nice girl," she said, eyes on the floor. "It's not right." " No, it isn't," Angel agreed. "And someone will pay for it." Mandy laughed bitterly. "Yeah, and then I'll be swept up onto a horse by a shining prince, and the sky will rain plum pudding." Angel smiled. "Stranger things have happened." " Whatever. Close the door on your way out," she said brusquely. As Angel walked to the door, she spoke again. "Hey, not-cop-guy." Angel turned. "You know," she continued, her admiring gaze sweeping his body, "I'm almost disappointed you only wanted to talk." She smiled sadly. " Good night," Angel responded, slipping silently through the doorway. As the door clicked shut, Mandy took a deep breath and ran her hands through her short brown hair. Good? What's good about it? she thought, quiet tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.
" So," Cordelia asked Angel accusingly, as they walked to the car. "Did you have a nice time?" " Excuse me?" the vampire said, as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. " You know, while you were 'making friends'?" she said sarcastically. " Cordelia," Doyle said patiently, clambering into the back seat. "He's a guy. Guys always have fun. It's like a drinks machine. You put in the coin and out pops a soda, regular-like." " What are you talkin - oh," Angel said. "Cordelia, I didn't sleep with her." " No, you played cards," she said, voice rich with irony. "And then you had a sing-song." " I *didn't* sleep with anyone." " Don't worry man," Doyle said comfortingly. "You don't need to justify yourself to us. Everyone needs to feel loved, right?" Angel groaned and leaned his head against the steering wheel. "I. Did. Not. Sleep. With. Her. I paid her for information." Cordelia snorted. "'Information'? You mean sex talk, don't you. Nasty, sordid sex -" Doyle nudged her. "*Oh*. Information. Case information." " That's right," Doyle said. He swallowed. "It is right, isn't it Angel?" " Yes," Angel said dryly. "Glad to see you finally got your minds out of the gutter. She gave me Lara's address." " Sorry!" Cordelia said, grinning like a maniac as the car pulled away. "Doyle jumped to conclusions."
The apartment was empty, a husk waiting for an owner who would never return. Nothing disturbed its death-like silence, no human presence wandered from room to room, leaving lights on and laughing...living...loving. It was inexpertly, if lovingly, painted in shades of orange, having the overall effect of making a visitor feel like he was inside a giant peach. A fish tank rested against the wall, but there were no fish within its glass confines and the scent of strong perfume still lingered over the living room, over the plain, worn sofa, the small TV, the plate on the dinner table with half a microwave dinner still resting on it. Then, a soft sound disturbed the room's wake. The handle of the door jiggled up and down. It shook slightly and then was simply pulled through the door to the sound of splintering wood. On the other side of the door, Angel tossed the handle away and bent the lock open. "Impressive," Doyle observed. "You know, if the whole private investigator thing doesn't work out, you could probably make a fortune as a locksmith." Angel grunted unhelpfully, pushing the door open. " Yeah, I thought so too," the half-demon continued cheerfully. "Nice place," he announced as they walked into the mourning apartment. " Cosy." " Please," Cordy said disdainfully. "It's so cheap I can hear the roaches in the walls." " Actually, there aren't any roaches in the walls," Angel said helpfully. "I did hear what sounded like some rats, though..." " I was being metaphorical." " Oh. I knew that." The three of them poked half-heartedly around the apartment for about fifteen minutes. "Can we go now?" Cordelia demanded. "I think I might catch something icky if I stay here too long. Besides which, picking through dead people's stuff? Not really on my list of fun things to do." " Just give it a few more minutes," Angel said absently. " Oh yeah, you're already dead, so I guess this doesn't creep you out at all. Well, speaking as a pulse-having person, I'm going to wait outside." Angel, bent over a desk, ignored Cordelia as she swept from the room. He had to admit, dead or not, he knew what she meant. He could still smell Lara's perfume on the objects of the desk, and on the apartment itself. She must have spent a lot of time here, he thought. He could almost see her, down on her knees, repainting the walls, or cleaning under the table. Angel blinked, chasing away the image, and looked down at what he had in his hand. A small black address book, smothered in Lara's scent. Angel flipped carefully through it, poring over the entries, as Doyle peered with interest into the empty fish tank. One entry in particular caught his eyes. Outlined in blue, it read, 'Ray Shepard', followed by a cellphone number. No details, no address, just the enigmatic sequence of numbers. " What's up?" Doyle inquired, leaning over Angel's shoulder. "Any addresses in there of interest? Girl-friends who like Irish men, perhaps?" " Doyle." " Sorry, man. That was tasteless," the half-demon admitted. " Nothing much," Angel said, "hairdressers...her mother...the club...and this one." " Interesting," Doyle said, his eyes scanning the blue-highlighted entry. "So, what now?" In answer, Angel reached out and picked up Lara's phone. Cradling it to his ear, he dialed the number, then waited. The phone rang six times, then... "Detective Shepard speaking," a man's voice said on the other end. Angel's eyebrows shot up. Detective? "Hi, I'm...um...my name is Angel, I own a private investigation company, and I was wondering if you could help me with a case I'm working on." Shepard sighed. "If this is to do with my ex-wife, you can tell her she's got all the money she's ever going to get out of me, so she should stop wasting her time." " No, this isn't to do with your ex-wife," Angel replied grimly. "This concerns a woman named Lara Winters. You know her?" " I might," The policeman said, his voice guarded. " Detective Shepard, I'm sorry to inform you that Lara was shot outside my office earlier tonight. She was trying to hire me for something, but she was killed before she could tell me anything about it." " Christ," Shepard swore. "I heard about that at the station, but I never heard the victim's name. Lara. Oh, Jesus." His voice shook slightly. " Are you okay?" Shepard paused, and then his voice came back, harsher and stronger. "Yeah." " Did you know her well?" Angel asked quietly. Shepard's voice hardened. "Why don't you explain just how you got this number, before I get all confessional, huh pal?" Angel winced. He had a feeling mentioning that he had broken into Lara's apartment wasn't going to score points here. "I was investigating," he said evasively, "trying to find out who ordered the hit." " Hmm," the detective said suspiciously. "Tell you what, Mr Angel. You meet me at the Hot Mug at three o'clock tomorrow, and we'll see if we can *both* be a bit more forthcoming. It's a coffee spot on Mariner drive, you know it?" " I'll be there," Angel responded. "And by the way, it's just -" But Shepard had hung up. "- Angel," the vampire finished. " Cheer up," Doyle remarked. "At least he didn't call you 'Ang'."
Angel yawned and stretched slowly. His arm reached out vaguely for the lamp, fingers searching. A soft click later, his bedroom was illuminated by a pale electric light. 4:45 AM, the red lights of Angel's clock flashed vindictively. Angel sighed as he sat up. After years of living in Sunnydale, sleeping during the day and patrolling with Buffy at night, adjusting to a more human schedule was tricky. As a result of the still unfamiliar transition, he slept at strange hours and often not very well. The vampire rubbed his sleep-encrusted eyes and shuffled for the closet. Fifteen minutes later, a fully-dressed and ravenous Angel pulled his fridge door open. Empty blood bags swung sadly in the smooth white cubicle. " Damn," the vampire muttered to nobody in particular. Angel never was very good at housekeeping, and the whole concept of regular shopping trips to the butcher tended to elude him. Stretching again, the vampire stalked over to the lift and stepped in. He reached up and pulled. The grate rattled down in front of him.
PART TWO
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