Justice - Act 2
Rachel slowly set the patient’s chart down. The electrocardiogram blipped steadily. Dr. Iverson would be in to see his patient any minute now. For the time being, Rachel was this unconscious man’s only company.
“Peaceful, isn’t it?” a gentle voice said from behind her.
Rachel turned to see a tall dark man in dark green scrubs. His clip said Visitor and Rachel remembered seeing him before on this floor. She looked back to the patient. “With the amount of morphine in him, he better be.”
“I don’t mean him,” the man said with a smile, stepping up beside her. “I love the ICU. No one ever complains.”
“You come here often?” Rachel asked innocently. Personally, she hated the ICU. When people weren’t complaining, somehow they seemed farther away from life.
The man nodded. “The name’s Michael. I don’t actually work here,” he indicated his ID tag. “I volunteer with a charitable organization which visits critical patients. I volunteer a lot.”
“Noble,” Rachel said dryly, not taken in by his smile and gentle demeanor. “In my experience it’s easy to visit patients when they don’t expect anything of you. Or when they’re unconscious.”
Michael laughed. It was a deep and warm laugh and Rachel found her defenses melting away. “True enough,” he said with a gracious bow. “I concede; your job is much harder than mine.”
“I didn’t say that,” she argued, turning to him as he stepped away. “I just...” She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” She extended a hand. “I’m Rachel. It’s good to meet you, Michael.”
The bleeping of the ECG quickened as Michael took Rachel’s hand. Instead of the friendly shake she expected, he brought her hand to his mouth and gently placed a kiss between her knuckles. She blushed.
“Come for dinner,” she said suddenly, unaware of what she had said until it was already out. He lowered her hand, a bit surprised. “At my house — I’d love it if you came for dinner and met my husband and daughter.”
Michael dropped her hand and glanced back at the patient behind her. “I think your patient—” His words were cut off by the sustained tone of the ECG. Rachel jumped and called a crash cart. In the bustle, Michael faded into the background and by the time the man was pronounced dead, he was gone.
Logan glanced up at the unlit sign painted in black onto the cement wall above the door. Malleus it said. He took a breath, knowing what he would find, and entered.
He stepped over the patchy cement floor and moved directly for the bar. The place was more crowded than when last he had visited. Almost all of the tables were full and the there were only a few stools empty at the bar. From beyond the curtain leading to the ‘party’ room in the back, the pounding base of music could be heard. Logan considered what else was back there and shuddered. He would only go back there as a last resort.
“What?” the barkeep demanded with irritation. He looked busy, twisting his cloth inside a glass and setting it aside. Logan glanced up at the drinks scrawled on the little chalkboard.
“Uh, smyte,” he said, trying to resurrect a little authority. He was, after all, no stranger to demon bars. The glass came back to him filled with rye and holy water: A strong drink for a vampire, but the only thing served which was palatable to Logan.
Logan took a sip and glanced to his left to the vampire who sat there. The tall mug of blood had left the creature’s lips and teeth red.
“Tough night?” Logan asked casually. The vamp didn’t even turn to acknowledge the words. The lawyer shrugged and turned back to the busy bartender. No time like the present.
Reaching into his khaki jacket, he pulled out his business card, proudly displaying the Wolfram & Hart logo.
“Hey,” he called to the barkeep. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
The muscle with the dishrag squinted at the card and stepped closer. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“You’re going out of business.” He stood from the stool, setting the glass of smyte down next to his threatening business card. “Tonight. Right now. Party’s over.” He craned his neck to look at the curtain. “So why don’t you tell everyone to get lost.”
The barkeep glared at Logan for a long moment, then his expression softened. “You’ve got a fucked up sense of humor,” he said, pointing a finger at Logan’s chest. “And don’t think that card gets you a free drink. Six fifty.”
Logan forced a little chuckle, as if insulted. “I don’t think you understand. This is no joke. Pack up your filthy business and get the fuck out of New York. You don’t want to find out what my firm can—”
Logan’s sentence was finished when he was flat on his stomach on the pavement outside the bar. His skin tingled with the electricity of the counter spell. Without it, he would have been dust. A counter spell didn’t stop three thugs from pounding his face black and blue and dropping him unceremoniously into the parking lot.
He groaned and touched a gash on his forehead. Slowly he got to his feet. “Okay, ow.” He brought his hand away from his head and found blood on his fingers. “So asking politely isn’t the solution. Imagine that.”
Addison glanced around the apartment. “Are you alone?”
Crowley followed the old man’s stare and cocked his head. “Worried about someone finding you?” he asked smugly.
Addison pushed past the other former Watcher and set his suitcases near the couch. “The Council has cut me off. I have no access to our New York accounts and no way of buying a plane ticket back to London.”
Crowley, still standing by the door, raised an eyebrow. “What do you expect me to do about it?” He closed the door and stood with his arms crossed. “Can you really blame them? You failed. Miserably. Twice.”
Addison turned fiercely. “The girl can’t be controlled! It’s not my fault she went out of control — and certainly not my fault she survived the trial.” He scoffed, sitting himself down heavily on the couch. “The Council agents were nearly all killed and the Slayer lives. This is Travers’ failure, not mine.”
Crowley shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. We’ve lost all semblance of control when it comes to Niki Valtaine. She’ll never trust another Watcher again for as long as she lives.”
“She’s become a rogue element,” Addison said bitterly.
“And the Council doesn’t tolerate rogue elements,” the other answered. “I expect they’ll do everything in their considerable power to apprehend her — or worse.”
“Apprehend who?” a voice said from the hallway. Both Addison and Crowley turned to see a young boy, no more than fifteen, standing with his arms crossed near the end of the couch.
Crowley scowled. “Never mind. Return to your room. I have a visitor.”
The boy rolled his eyes and turned to go. Addison looked after him with awe. “That’s Robin?” he asked with a quiet tone.
“Yes,” Crowley said with a troubled look in his eyes. “It would obviously be best to keep him out of this matter. His opinion on Slayers isn’t exactly objective.”
Addison nodded. “He’s taller than when last I saw him,” he shook the thought from his head. “Crowley, you must get me a plane ticket. I can’t remain in New York any longer.”
The other man shrugged, positive this old man’s problems were not his concern. Besides, the Council’s directive was clear as crystal. “I’ll see what I can do,” he lied.
Niki muscled her way between two hulking creatures. Now she was seated on a tall stool at one of her least favorite bars. She knew what was behind the curtain in the back, but she got along by not thinking about it.
When the barkeep came along, she knew enough not to order any of the drinks here. There was nothing which looked less than poisonous to a human stomach. Besides, she hadn’t come here for drinks.
“I’m looking for someone who can help me with a problem,” she said over the clink of drinks and the solemn conversation.
“What kinda problem,” the barkeep asked, looking her over and baring his teeth. Niki suppressed a shudder.
“The kind that needs to be killed,” she answered boldly.
The patron nodded and turned from the customers to a small chalkboard by the old cash register. There were several names scrawled there of demons who had come tonight and considered themselves open for business.
“We got a Glarghk Guhl Kashmas’nik,” he squinted at the other names, “a couple of Fyarls, a visiting Mok’tagar, a Werlech and some girls from Arashmahaar. Take your pick and I’ll point em’ out.”
“The person I need dead is a Slayer’s Watcher. Which do you recommend?” Niki kept all the heavy bitterness from her voice, but it was clear to the barkeep that this was personal.
The muscle sighed. “Well, unless this Watcher is your estranged boyfriend, the gals from Arashmahaar can’t help you.” He thought, and then laughed out loud. “And good luck controlling the Glarghk Guhl Kashmas’nik.”
“What about the Werlech guy?” Niki glanced impatiently around, searching for a likely candidate.
The barkeep looked Niki up and down, then shook his head gravely. “You couldn’t afford him.” He took a deep breath and glanced around. “And the Mok’tagar is in the back—” he indicated the curtain from behind which certain hellish noises were coming.
“All right, the Fyarls, where are they?” Niki stood from the stool. Following the barkeep’s finger, she found her way to a table in the deepest, darkest corner of the entire place.
Two massive demons sat across from each other at the small round table, their long recurved horns looking quite superfluous. But Niki had very little choice. She was not going to the ‘party’ behind the curtain just to find some Mok’tagar.
“Good evening,” she began, approaching the Fyarls’ table. “I was told you might be able to help me with a human problem I have.”
Neither of the great horned heads turned in her direction. The two great demons continued eating what looked like uncooked flesh. Blood from their plates dribbled onto the patchy cement floor where it mingled with untold other dried fluid.
“Hey!” Niki slammed her fist onto the table, making their plates jump. “I’m fucking talking to you!”
As one, both great heads turned in the near darkness to appraise her. As one, they both turned back and continued eating.
“I need someone killed,” she said firmly, looking from one to the other. “And I can pay.”
One of the horned heads turned back again while the other continued to ignore her. “What can you pay?” it asked with slow words.
“What do you want?” Niki prompted. “Whatever it is, I can get it.”
The second head turned and bowed down to get closer to the Slayer. He inhaled long and deep, then a smile spread across his face. “You smell like kittens.”
The other head nodded as it tore some flesh between its teeth and set the pink bone back on the plate. “We like kittens.”
Logan slowly got out of his car. The gash on his forehead had stopped bleeding, but not hurting. It was on these rare occasions that he wished his showy magic included basic healing techniques. Unfortunately, his eagerness to increase his power had led him exclusively in the direction of attack and defense. His skin still tingled.
The warmth of the house —his house— was a welcome haven from tonight’s adventure. He opened the door and stepped inside, peeling off his coat with a wince at the pain in his arm. He rehearsed his cover story for Rachel and Hanna: he had been mugged outside the office. He knew Hanna probably wouldn’t believe him, having seen his powers before, but Rachel would and that was what was important.
As he walked towards the kitchen, he heard the unfamiliar sound of three sets of laughter. Something turned in his stomach and his skin began to tingle again. He walked carefully towards the sound of the voices, his hands behind his back, concealing his glowing fingernails.
“Honey, you’re late,” Rachel had the bright look in her eyes from a long bout of laughter. “Logan, this is Michael, from the ICU at the hospital.”
Logan froze. His eyes fixed on the man sitting at his table, eating with his family. His heart pounded in his chest.
“We’ve met,” he said, not more than a hoarse whisper.
“Michael volunteers at my school too,” Hanna piped up. “He’s in the guidance office,” she beamed, obviously enjoying dinner immensely.
“A grief counselor,” Logan said quietly.
A little frown creased Rachel’s brow. “Yes — how did you—?”
“We’ve met,” Logan repeated, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He could almost hear the hum of electricity in his tight fists.
Michael wiped his mouth politely with a napkin and stood. “Yes, I did some volunteer work at Wolfram and Hart, Logan’s law firm,” he addressed Rachel, then let out a little laugh. “I didn’t realize he was your husband.” Michael’s smile was broad and sincere. In everyone’s eyes but Logan’s.
Still, the lawyer forced a pleasant smile onto his face. “Honey, could I talk to you for a second?”
Rachel looked from her husband, a brooding shadow in the darkness of the hall, to Michael, a smiling, charming man with an endless supply of stories from his various volunteer jobs. She, too, forced a smile onto her face and stood. “Sure, honey.”
Logan took her arm and pulled her into the far corner of the living room. “Get rid of him,” he said in a harsh whisper.
Rachel frowned. “What?”
“He’s not someone I want you and Hanna spending time with,” Logan’s tone was hard but edged with worry. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Tawnie had threatened Logan and Rachel and now someone from Wolfram and Hart was showing up at her work and in his own house.
“Excuse me, but since when do you get to dictate who I spend time with?” she demanded with a cold glare. “You don’t have the right to judge my friends-”
“Listen to me,” Logan hissed, bringing her closer to look hard into her eyes. “This man is dangerous. I don’t want him around you or Hanna.”
She scoffed. “What do you want me to do? Just find another hospital? Find Hanna another school?”
Logan’s eyes blazed. There was laughter from the kitchen. Hanna’s laughter. “If that’s what it takes,” he said through clenched teeth.
Rachel pulled her arm from her husband’s grasp with a look of contempt. “You know what? Screw you. You don’t get to fuck around behind my back then judge my friends.” She turned and stormed back to the kitchen.
Logan fumed. The electricity arced and sputtered between his fingers. Suddenly the lights in the whole house dimmed for a moment. In the unlit corner of the living room, out of sight of the kitchen, Logan disappeared in a twist of light. Soon, the laughter started up again.
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