Part 2, Everybody Comes To Al's
The neon sign is brightly lit outside of Al's. Many people and creatures of the night converge on the entrance where music and laughter pour out onto the street. Even before they enter the patrons can hear the orchestra doing a rocking cover of a Nerf Herder song.
From outside, Al's seems an ordinary and ramshackle juice bar, but inside it is obviously an expensive and chic ramshackle juice bar, possessing a cloak of intrigue and sophistication. All kinds of demons and people are mixed together. Some of the humans are in glittering gowns. Some of the demons simply glitter. There are Levantines, Mocha demons, naval officers, even a vampire or two.
At a table, two women, a red-head and a blond, talk quietly but urgently. "Tara," the redhead says, "this awful Slayer spell side-effect is killing me. I'll never get out of here! I'm stuck forever playing a bunch of minor characters in this stupid story."
"W-w-well, I did get better, so I'll call that an upside," tartly replied Tara. Her sympathy for Willow's predicament is in short supply.
Sympathy throughout Casablanca is in short supply. The inflationary effects of this will have serious world-wide economic ramifications in years to come, but that's another story.
Over by the bar the friendly juice-tender, Andrew, gives a Cucumber-Kumquat Kooler to an Englishman.
Willow, the head waiter, goes to a guarded private door. "Huh?" a confused Willow blurts as she sees the new game room bouncer, Darla.
Darla waves her hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I got better. It's a thing."
Willow, resigned to her lot in this story, just shrugs her shoulders. "Well then, Darla, open up."
"Ooo! you like it in public, do you?" Darla leers lecherously.
Willow rolls her eyes. "I mean the door, you undead 'ho!"
"Oh, yes, Ms. High-and-Mighty-Witch," snarks Darla, but she opens the door anyway, allowing Willow to enter the game room.
There is much play and excitement in the game room.
A woman calls over. "Oh, Willow!"
"Yes, Madame?"
"Will you ask Al if he'll have a drink with us?"
"Madame, he never drinks with customers. Never ever.
The first woman's companion breaks in, "What makes juice bar owners so snobbish?"
Riley, the pompous man with the two woman, responds to Willow, "Perhaps if you told him I'm the second tallest man in Amsterdam-"
Willow interrupts him, "The second tallest? That wouldn't impress. The tallest is now the pastry chef in our kitchen!"
"We have something to look forward to," replies Riley wryly.
"Really?" Willow giggles.
Tara, the game room overseer, goes over to a far table with paper in hand. She takes the paper from the table's hand and brings it over to a man in deep shadow sitting at another, this time handless, table. A Cherry-Lima Bean Cooler is on the table before him, his hands laid flat on either side of the glass. Tara gives him the paper whereupon he scrawls 'OK, Al' upon it.
Tara takes it away as Xander resumes his game of solitary tic-tac-toe. His face is expressionless as he ponders O's next move against X's clever use of the famous put-your-X-in-the-middle strategy.
A commotion by the game room door causes him to look up. Xander nods a curt OK to Darla, allowing a player to enter. A slayer appears at the door and he shakes his head this time. Darla starts to close the door.
"I'm sorry, this is a private room," Darla explains to the intrusive slayer.
The slayer is miffed, "Of all the nerve! I know there are Play Stations in there, it's no secret. You dare not keep me out!" She tries to push her way through as Xander walks up.
"Yes? What's the trouble?" he asks coldly.
"This slayer--"
"I've been in every game room from Honolulu to Brighton, and if you think I"m going to be kept out of a place like this you're very mistaken."
Doyle, a small, thin and nervous half-man, half-demon, tries to squeeze through the knot of people at the door. "Em, excuse me please. Oh, cheers, Alex!"
"Hi Doyle--Waitaminute! I heard you died heroically, way back when!"
"I got better."
Xander frowns. "Yeah, there's a lot of that going around it seems," he says sardonically. "Well...okay then, go on in."
Xander focuses back on the slayer, takes the card from her and tears it up. "Your tokens are good at the bar."
The slayer is outraged. "What! Do you know who I am?"
"I do. You're lucky the bar is open to you."
"This is outrageous, I shall report this to the Council!" shouts the slayer as she storms off.
Xander returns to the table to pick up his game. Doyle saunters over. "Y'know, Alex, watchin' ya now with that slayer there, one might be thinkin' you've been doin' this all yer life."
Xander's response is frigid. "What makes you think I haven't?" he says, ice water dripping from his voice.
"Ah, nothin'. But when you first came to Casablanca here, I'm thinkin'--"
"You thought what?" demands Xander, icicles now dangling from his voice, his hours of arduous practice with a meat freezer now finally paying off.
Doyle laughs nervously. "What right do I have to think?" He pulls up a chair to sit down at the table. "May I? Too bad about those two slayer lackeys, wasn't it?"
"They got a lucky break. Yesterday they were just two lackeys. Now they're the 'honored dead'."
"You are a very cynical person, Alex, if you'll forgive me fer sayin'."
"You're forgiven."
A waiter places a Banana Manna Mushroom Mixer before Doyle. "Thank you," he tells the waiter. Turning back to Xander, he asks, "Will ya be havin' a drink with me?"
"No."
"Ah, I forget. You never drink with..." Instead of finishing his sentence Doyle changes subjects. "You despise me, don't you?"
Xander looks up from his game. "If I gave you any thought I probably would."
"But why? Oh, you object to the kind of business I do? Ah, but think o' all those good refugees who must rot in this place if I didn't help them. Right, that's not so bad now. Through ways o' me own I provide them exit talismans."
Xander nods his head knowingly. "For a price, Doyle, for a price."
"But those poor devils who cannot meet Spike's price. I'm chargin' only half. Is that so parasitic?"
"I don't mind a parasite. I do mind a cut-rat one."
"Well, Alex, my boy, after tonight I'll be through with the whole business and I'll finally leaving Casablanca!"
"Who did you bribe for your talisman? Spike or yourself?"
"Me-self! I found me-self much more reasonable." Doyle chuckles to himself for a moment before he lays an envelope down on the table. "C'mere, Alex, do you know what this is? Something even you have never seen. Talisman's of Transit, blessed by the High Coven. They cannot be rescinded, not even questioned. Tonight I'll be selling those for more money than even I have ever dreamed and then: addio Casablanca! Y'know, Alex, I have many friends in Casablanca, but somehow, just because you despise me you're the only one I trust. Will you keep these for me? Please?"
"For how long?" Xander wants to know, curious despite himself.
"Perhaps an hour, perhaps a little longer, right?"
"I don't want them here overnight."
"Oh, no need to be afraid o' that. Keep them for me. I know I can trust you."
After considering for a few moments Xander does indeed take the talismans. As Doyle prepares to leave a waiter comes up. Doyle speaks to the waiter. "I'll be expectin' some demons. If anybody goes askin' for me I'll be right here."
"Yes, monsieur"
Doyle turns back to Xander, "I hope yer a bit more impressed with me now, eh? Now, If you'll be forgiven me I'll be sharin' me good luck with your PacMan game."
Xander gets up from the table to follow Doyle. "Just a moment," calls out Xander. Doyle stops and looks back. "Yeah, I heard a rumor those lackeys were carrying Talismans of Transit."
Doyle does an appallingly bad impression of someone who doesn't know what's going on. "I heard o' that rumor too, most intrestin'. Poor bastards."
Xander gazes at Doyle steadily. "Yes, you're right. I am a little more impressed with you," he finally says, then swivels on his heel and leaves for the main room.
Giles is playing acoustic guitar while Lorne is singing a rocking cover of "They Built This City". The spotlight shifts from the musical pair to the orchestra and back as Xander makes his way behind Giles. While the spotlight is on the orchestra he slips the envelope into the guitar's sound hole. Somehow, incredibly, nobody, not even Giles, notices.
Xander begins to head back to his office when Faith, the new owner of the Blue Suede Shoe, comes in and sits down. She watches her ex-boytoy as he crosses the room. They both smile as Xander spots her and she goes over to the bar to talk to him.
"Hey, X!" she smirks.
"Hello, Faith. It's good to know you finally saw the light and got out of Buffy's little army. Though I have to admit being the owner of a frozen yogurt shop really threw me there for awhile. How's business at The Shoe?"
"Five by five, y'know. Business would be even better if I could buy your little juice bar."
"It's not for sale," Xander says as flatly as a Kansas wheat field.
Faith is not discouraged. "You haven't heard my offer."
"It's not for sale at any price," he says, his voice now as flat as a Kansas City pool hall table.
Faith is not one to give up easily. "What do you want for Giles and Lorne?"
"I don't buy or sell human beings. Or horny demons, either," Xander's voice finally as flat as Fred.
Faith is not dissuaded. "That's too bad, dude. That's Casablanca's leading commodity. In refugees alone we would make a fortune if you'd work with me through the black market."
Xander sighs. "Suppose you run your business and let me run mine."
Faith is not so easily put off. "Suppose we ask them. Maybe they'd like a change."
"Suppose we do."
"X-man, when will you realize in today's world isolationism is no longer a practical policy?"
Startled, Xander asks, "When the hell did you start using words like isolationism, Faith?"
"I dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to say." She shrugged, trying to hide the fact she reads dictionaries as a hobby.
They approach Giles and Lorne, whereupon Xander asks the duo, "Giles, Lorne, Faith wants you to work for her at The Blue Suede Shoe."
"We like it fine here," replies Giles.
"She'll double what I pay you guys."
This time Lorne responds. "Yeah, but we ain't got time to spend the money we make here, my blueberry Poptart."
Xander turns back to Faith. "Sorry," he says with a grin.
Faith is satisfied, "Hey, no problems, X, I'm five-by-five," and she walks away, hips rocking like a dinghy in a hurricane, Xander's eyes following her all the way.
Elsewhere in the joint an attractive blond woman is sitting at the bar, drinking an Apple-Peanut Butter Blast.
Andrew serves the young woman, refilling her glass. "The boss's private stock, because Anya, I love you."
"Oh, shut up, you little monkey turd."
"All right, all right. For you, Anya, I'll shut up, because, Anya, I love you." He glances over as Xander comes to the bar, "Uh oh..."
Xander has come up next to Anya but pays no attention to her. He hasn't even recognized her yet. She looks at him bitterly.
"Xander, Xander," Andrew calls, "Some slayers, boom bada boom, gave me this check. Is it all right?"
Xander takes at it and tears it up.
Anya has not taken her eyes off him the whole time. "Where were you last night?"
Whirling in shocked surprise, Xander grabs the edge of the bar to steady himself, making sure he is calm and collected before replying. He then does his refrigerator routine so that he's also as cool as an Amana side-by-side.
"That's so long ago I don't remember. And besides, I thought you were dead," he says coolly, doing the entire refrigeration industry proud.
"I got better. Group discount rate. Deal with it. Will I see you tonight?"
"I never make plans that far ahead," Xander begs off.
She turns to Andrew, "Give me another Blast!" Then, turning nasty, she adds, "at least they're better than his orgasms!"
Xander doesn't react one bit. "Andrew, she's had enough."
"Don't listen to him, Andrew, fill me-err, it, fill it up."
"Anya, I love you, but he pays me."
Anya is furious. "Xander, I'm sick and tired of you--"
"Andrew, call her a cab," interrupts Xander.
"Yes, boss," agrees Andrew before turning to address Anya. "So what do you want, Cab?"
Andrew cringes as he is pelted by the crowd. He gives Xander an accusing yet apologetic smile before he comes around the bar and goes outside to hail a taxi.
"Come on, we're going to get your coat," Xander informs his ex.
Scowling, she demands, "Take your hands off me!" Then she pleads, "Unless you're going to give me an orgasm?"
"No, you're going home, you've had too much to drink."
Andrew stands outside and signals for a cab. One pulls up at the same time Xander and Anya come out. Xander puts the coat over her but she reacts violently. "Who do you think you are, pushing me around? What a fool I was to fall for a man like you!"
"You'd better go with her, Andrew. Make sure she gets home."
"Yes, boss."
"And come right back."
"Yes, boss," Andrew answers, disappointment obvious.
Andrew leaves with Anya as Xander watches soberly. After their taxi disappears Xander looks up as the strobing light from the airport beacon flashes dramatically across his face.
Spike, sitting quietly on the terrace by the entrance, speaks up, "'Ello, Alex."
Xander walks over before responding. "Hello, Spike." He's since long gotten over Spike's Shanshu and can speak easily with him now. "I'm glad you kept the hair. Reminds me of how much I used to hate you. Good times!"
"Why do you keep calling me zat?" Spike whines, but gets no answer. Shaking his head he continues, "Oui, oui, it is a difficult extravagance, what with ze price of peroxide in zese parts. But, 'ow extravagant you are, zrowing away women like zat. Someday zey may be scarce."
Xander sits next to him as Spike continues. "You know, I think now I shall pay a call on Anya, catch 'er on ze rebound, eh?"
"Just like last time, huh?" Xander says in a voice devoid of any emotion. He's long since gotten over that incident.
Confused, Spike utters, "'Uh?"
"Never mind. When it comes to women, you're a true democrat, a regular Gary Hart."
They both look up when another magic carpet takes off from the airport. Spike eyes it carefully. "Ze carpet to Lisbon. You'd like to be on it, no?"
"Why? What's in Lisbon?" Xander asks sharply.
"Ze way to America, my dear Alex, zen onto ze free Pylean dimension." Xander appears to be unhappy as Spike rambles on. "I 'ave often speculated on why you don't return to America. Did you abscond with ze Council funds? Did you run off with a Slayer's girlfriend? I like to zink you killed a man, it's ze romantic in me."
Xander, wistfully looking at the airfield, says, "A combination of all three."
"And what in 'eavon's name brought you to Casablanca?"
Xander turns to look Spike directly in the eye. "My health. I came for the waters."
Spike blinks in confusion. "Waters? What waters? We're in ze middle of ze desert!"
"I was mis-informed. What are you doing here?"
"I don't 'onestly know." Spike sighs deeply. "I woke up one day, 'ere in Casablanca, with zis 'orrible French accent, even zough I zink I'm actually British. I can't even say 'bugger' properly! And I am ze Chief of Police."
At that moment Tara comes out. "Excuse me, Xander, but a gentleman inside has won twenty-thousand points. The cashier would like some more cheap plastic toys made by southeast Asian child slave labor to pay him off."
Nodding, Xander rises. So does the sun, but just briefly. "I'll get some from the safe."
Tara is distraught. "I'm so upset, Xander. You know I can't understand--"
Magnanimously, Xander pats her encouragingly on the shoulder, "Forget it, Tara. Mistakes like that happen all the time."
"I'm awfully sorry."
Spike joins them and the three re-enter the cafe, passing by Giles and Lorne who are now doing a rocking rendition of Merle Haggard's "Okie from Muskogee". Xander pats them on the shoulder encouragingly, thereby using up his quota of encouraging gestures for the day.
Spike speaks to Xander as they continue across the crowded room, "Alex, zere's going to be some excitement 'ere tonight. We are going to make an arrest in your bar."
"Again?" Xander asks peevishly.
"Zis is no ordinary arrest. A murderer, no less."
Xander involuntarily glances toward the game room. Spike catches the look. "If you're zinking of warning 'im, don't put yourself out. 'Ee cannot possibly escape."
Xander replies quickly and firmly. "I stick my neck out for nobody!"
"A wise foreign policy," agrees Spike.
All three continue up the stairs to the office. Once there Xander moves over to the safe while Spike keeps on yakking. "You know, Alex, we could 'ave made zis arrest earlier zis evening at ze Blue Suede Shoe. But out of my 'igh regard for you we're staging it 'ere. It will amuse your customers."
"Our entertainment is enough," growls Xander.
Spikes amused mood change to one of intense earnestness. "Alex, we are to 'ave an important guest tonight. Buffy, of ze Slayer Army, no less. We want 'er to be 'ere when we make ze arrest. A little demonstration of ze efficiency of my administration."
"I see. And what's Buffy doing here?" Xander asks, looking back over his shoulder at Spike. "She certainly didn't come all the way to Casablanca to witness a demonstration of your efficiency. Although I suppose she might be here to ride you like a wild stallion again. It's a good thing for my sanity you can't remember any of that. It'd be even better if I couldn't remember any of it either."
Xander retrieves a pile of cheap genuine slave labor toys and gives them to Tara, "Here you are," he says gently.
"It won't happen again, Xander."
"Hey, don't sweat it, Tara. It happens."
They all head out of the office and back down to the main room. Tara goes to the cashier while Xander and Spike approach the bar.
"Spike, you've got something on your mind. Spill it."
"'Ow observant you are. As a matter of fact I wanted to give you a word of advice."
"Yeah?" Xander signals the bartender to bring over a drink. "Here, have an Orange-Kosher Dill Delight."
"Zank you. Alex, zere are many exit spells sold in zis bar, but we know zat you 'ave never sold one. Zat is ze reason we permit you to remain open."
"And I thought it was because we let you win at DonkeyKong," Xander observes ironically.
"Zat is another reason. Zere is a person who 'as arrived in Casablanca on 'is way to America. 'Ee will offer a fortune to anyone who will furnish 'eem with an exit spell."
"Yeah? What's his name?"
"Liam o'McGonigle."
"Angel!" blurts Xander, in a low voice.
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