“Shit!” Gunn swore as the desk he’d spent the last hour trying to assemble gave a shudder and collapsed before his eyes. “I hate this Angel. I hate it.” The vampire looked up from the phone he’d been installing. “So ask Illyria if she wants to help.” Gunn looked out the window of the garage into the back lot where Illyria was ripping a rusted old shed apart with her bare hands and tossing it onto a growing heap of scrap metal “Actually, I think I’ll just keep working at it.” He said. “Smart man.” Angel responded, turning back to the phone. Gunn sighed and stared at the pieces of furniture as if trying to intimidate it then briefly looked around.
Realistically, they didn’t have the money to get another lease on the Hyperion and this old mechanic’s garage had been the only thing they could afford with the ever vital sewer access. Still, the place had been a complete wreck when they’d first opened it; old tools scattered about and a completely bare office in the back with several mysterious stains on the wall. Gunn had asked Spike about those stains- curious if the bleached vamp’s preternatural senses could identify the source but Spike had merely shook his head. “Your better off not knowing.” The back lot had been a jungle of weeds and rusted metal encaged in a chain link fence but Illyria had claimed that has her own personal project, personally Gunn felt she just liked it back there. Still over the last two weeks they’d made strides- clearing away the majority of the garbage, and turning the main garage portion of the mechanics shop into a suitable waiting area/lounge. They’d also partitioned off a small 10 foot section of the corner and installed a punching bag, some weights and whatever weapons they could get their hands on. Today they were working on making the office habitable again.
“So where’s Spike?” Gunn asked as he tried to get one of the desk legs to sit up again. “He said he was going out to get cigarettes.” Angel responded. “But that was almost two hours ago so I get the feeling he just doesn’t want to help.” Gunn opened his mouth to reply but at that moment they heard a loud bang from the basement signifying Spike’s return. The curious thing was that rather then his usual plodding stride up the stairs both Gunn and Angel could hear Spike’s booted feet pounding up the stairs like he was a kid running to the Christmas tree. A split second later he’d banged open the door and they saw in one hand he was holding a plastic bag with “Ace’s liquor emporium” emblazoned on the side and in the other he was holding the Los Angeles Daily news. “Did anyone else read this!?’ he shouted. “Tonight, one time only at that club down on LaBrea. The Sex Pistols! Live!” Spike paused at the blank look on their faces. “I’m sorry, perhaps I was talking too fast but I THINK that I mentioned the Sex Pistols were going to be playing here….well!? Whose coming?!”
Angel shook his head. “No thanks.” Spike’s response was razor quick. “I wasn’t talking to you ya ponce, already know you wouldn’t recognize a decent tune if it came up and shoved a shaft of wood in your chest.” He turned to Gunn. “How about you Charlie boy? Fancy a show?” But Gunn too was shaking his head. “Sorry, but it’s really not my style.” Now it was Spike’s turn to shake his head. ‘Figures, your mind’s been poisoned by too many years of that gangsta crap. All your ‘M&M’s’ and your ‘50 dollar bills, you don’t have any idea what real music is.” Gunn just ogled him in disbelief, not sure where to begin. But Spike had already turned his attention to Illyria who’d just entered through the back door, drawn in by his racket. “What about you blue? You wanna go see the Sex Pistols? You’d fit right in.” He said, gesturing at her blue hair and leather outfit. But Illyria merely crossed her arms across her narrow chest and nodded in the direction of the old stereo in the corner. “I’ve heard you play that caterwauling that you call music. It does not impress me.” Spike threw his hands into the air in disgust. “Fine!’ He made his way back towards the basement door. “Love to stay and chat, but I got a show to get ready for. I’ll see you lot tomorrow.” The door slammed shut with a resounding bang and Angel and Gunn were silent for another moment before shrugging and getting back to work.
That same night Spike was on a crowded floor with 100 hardcore punk fans and another 40 or so little shits who thought their $100 pre-assembled punk get ups made them legit. But none of them, with the exception of the black haired bird to his left in the leather pants, were of any importance to him. Like the rest of the crowd is attention was focused solely on the quartet of Englishmen on the stage. “This is our last number!” Johnny Rotten called out and took another swig from the bottle of Jack onstage. “It’s called Anarchy in the U.K.!” He announced to a roar from the crowd. “We mean in the U.S. of A!” Steve Cook put in and this time the cries of the crowd nearly brought down the roof. In fact, when Spike felt something wet drip down onto his head he wondered for a split second if they’d forced a pipe or something to spring a leak, but when he looked up Spike saw something black and hairy with glowing yellow eyes looking down at him and realized he’d been hit with a glob of the beast’s drool. No sooner did he realize this then the thing released it’s grip on the rafters and dropped down on him with an inhuman howl and claws bared.
Spike sidestepped the assault with reflexes born of adversity and rolled away from a horizontal swipe of the thing’s claws. If he’d been a second slower the attack would have left him holding a handful of his own entrails. As it was, Spike avoided the blow and without rising from a crouch, pounded a fist into the demon’s stomach and knocked the wind from it. The monster staggered away under the force of the blow and Spike had a chance to really observe it for the first time. The demon could best be described as a Saber-Toothed Tiger standing on two legs. Easily a foot taller than Spike, it was covered in coarse black hair and it’s eyes glowed yellow like a pair of fog lamps. He wearily took into account the massive clawed paws and 6 inch fangs jutting from it’s snarling mouth and was dimly aware that the beast’s arrival had brought the concert to a grinding halt and now the crowd as running for the exits in a panic. Truthfully, that pissed him off more than the attempt on his life. People were trying to kill him all the time, Spike was used to that. It was the fact that the demon had decided to try and kill him now that really pissed the vampire off.
“Come on kitty.” Spike beckoned it forward with two fingers as he felt his vampire face slide over his features with a crunch of bone. “Let daddy show you how it’s done.” The demon needed no second bidding and swung at him again with a massive roar. Spike stepped forward to block the blow with one arm and hit the beast hard in the throat with his other elbow. The Saber tooth took the blow with a snarl and responded by kicking Spike in the stomach, he gritted his teeth as he felt the claws punch into the flesh of his stomach and hit the demon in the nose, relishing the scent of it’s blood on his hand.
Spike moved to press his advantage, unleashing a flurry of hook punches that battered the demon’s head until it’s vision swam so fiercely it could barely make out where Spike was standing. Finally, the beast pushed out with both hands, knocking Spike off balance long enough for the thing to strike him across the face with a powerful back hand strike. Spike was lifted off his feet by the force of the blow and crashed to the ground near the bar in the back of the club, a fall 15 feet away from where he’d been fighting the demon. Spike rested on his hands and knees for a moment in an attempt to clear his head. When he next looked up the Tiger’s head filled his vision. It had covered the distance between them quicker than he could’ve imagined and was now lunging at his face, jaws spread wide. Lightning fast, Spike’s hands flew out and gripped onto the two giant fangs in the front of the thing’s mouth, stopping them a half inch from his face. Undead muscles surging, Spike pushed back to his feet and without releasing his grip on it’s teeth lashed one heavy booted foot into the demon’s gut over and over again until Spike was sure he’d driven every last bit of air from it’s lungs. “That’s right you great big ugly fuck!’ Spike shouted. He slammed it’s head against the bar top. “You like that!?” He brought the demon’s head down on top of a glass bottle of vodka that had been resting on the bar. “You think it’s fun to ruin my fucking night out!?” This time it’s skull struck the bar with such force the glass cover shattered. Spike roared with rage and exhilaration and snapped both fangs off in his hands. The demon’s howls of pain were cut short as Spike pounded both fangs into it’s throat, sending blood jetting from severed veins and all across the front of his shirt. Human faced again, Spike looked down at the body as heard the wail of approaching sirens. “Now let that be a lesson.” He said and wiped away a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. Clutching his bleeding stomach Spike took off through the back before the police could arrive.
The next day at around 1 in the afternoon Angel and Gunn were putting the finishing touches on a fresh paint job to the interior of the garage when a loud clang from the basement signified Spike’s arrival. “You’re not going to believe what happened to me last night!” He raged. “Show get canceled?” Angel asked with no real interest. “I got attacked.” Spike responded That caused Angel to give Spike his full attention. “By what?” Spike shrugged “I dunno. Some kind of cat demon, looked like something out of those cave man movies with Raquel Welch. Right in the middle of Anarchy in the U.K. too. I swear, there’s no decency in the world anymore.” Gunn just gave him a blank stare. “Who’s Raquel Welch?” He asked.
“Forget it.” Spike murmured and fished a cigarette out of his jacket. “Just thought you lot might like to hear about my train wreck of a night. Oh and I put the big cat to sleep. That part was fun anyway.” Angel suddenly looked thoughtful. “It went straight for you?” Spike looked up. “I guess, so what?” Angel walked towards his office and pulled his leather coat off its peg and gestured for Spike to follow him towards the basement entrance. ‘This thing went into a crowded club and went straight for you, must’ve been a reason. I want to get it identified.” Spike shrugged. “So go ahead, how come I have to go?” he asked disinterestedly. Angel made a sound of impatience at Spike’s obstinacy. “Because we don’t own books anymore.” He explained through gritted teeth. “And the only guy I know who has anything that would be useful doesn’t like to let people take them home. So hurry up so we can find out what wanted you dead and send it’s kin a ‘thank you’ card for trying!”
“Balls.” Spike said and began to make his way towards the door in the back. “You can’t just TRY Barnes and Noble’s first?” Gunn shut his eyes gratefully as the sound of the bickering vampires receded. The most stressful part of the last few weeks hadn’t been the legal wrestling required to collect the money from Wesley’s will, nor was it the search for a new shop or the restoration’s of the building. It was simply having to deal with hearing Angel and Spike fight and bicker day in and day out. Truthfully, it was no worse then last year but at least then he had an entire office building to put between himself and them and if that failed at least he had Wes, Fred and Lorne to make the whole thing seem funnier. An instant later he regretted the thought as it brought with it an unwelcome baggage of loneliness and grief for the friends he’d lost.
He glanced out the window to where Illyria was casually tossing massive pieces of wreckage into a dumpster and wondered if she still felt the same way when she thought about Wesley, if she still did think about him. His musings were interrupted by someone opening the unlocked door in the front of the garage. Gunn looked up and saw a middle aged man poke his head through the opening. “Excuse me.” He began. “Are you Charles Gunn?” Gunn nodded. “Yeah, is there something I can help you with?” Gunn took a moment to observe the stranger; short and overweight with thick glasses and a diminutive voice. The logo “help the helpless” was invented with men like this in mind. “The same Charles Gunn who was an attorney at Wolfram and Hart?” he asked. Gunn smiled uneasily “I’m not really in that line of work anymore.” He said. “Though if you’re looking for a lawyer I can recommend some people. A few of them are even honest.” But the man shook his head. “Well I don’t need a lawyer just yet, but I think I may need one soon.” A look of concern and curiosity crossed Gunn’s face. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m about to commit Murder 1.” Then, before Gunn’s eyes the man began to change. His face bulged into a long scaly snout and his plain white shirt tore to reveal mottled grey skin beneath as new muscles surged. The change took only a few seconds and before Gunn could respond he was pinned to the floor by his throat. The grip was impossibly tight, colored spots already flashed through his fading vision. Above him, seemingly miles away The demon began to chuckle as it felt the human’s pulse fade away.
TO BE CONTINUED.
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