It had been little trouble getting to Seattle, with Buffy's mother willingly providing the excuse of a family funeral -- and since she was headed for a convention in San Francisco that same weekend it provided additional cover.
While en route they scoured the hardcopy of the information Willow had downloaded. It turned out this vampire had a fairly distinguished family history, having come from wealth and married into fame, having a brother-in- law who was a locally known radio personality.
"This brings up a couple of questions, Giles," Buffy asked. "First, does this mean we're likely to be running into a whole nest of vampires?"
"Always a possibility," the Watcher admitted. "But from the information Willow collected in her search this Frasier Crane has an afternoon show, hardly likely for a vampire. Perhaps we should locate him first . . ."
"And that brings me to question number two: Why would a vampire stay married to a human?" One of the flight attendants, serving dinner, gave them a very odd look and hastened onwards down the aisle. Buffy peeled back the cover and snorted at the food, but began eating anyway.
"It's not common, true," Giles said. "But there have been exceptions -- some find it an excellent method of staying hidden, some prefer that kind of lifestyle -- especially those who were wealthy before they were turned -- and having a human as a partner is excellent camouflage there as well." He paused and quirked his mouth upward. "Besides, this way there's always an emergency food source available." The Watcher had timed it exquisitely; Buffy, in the middle of drinking her ginger ale, spluttered the soda all over the seat back in front of her.
Then she turned to glare at Giles. "You know how everyone says you have no sense of humor?" The Watcher nodded. "Believe them.”
* * * * *
They landed in Seattle in the middle of Friday afternoon, checked into a nearby Holiday Inn, and immediately ran into trouble at the rental car counter.
"We're so sorry, Mr. . . . Giles," the young man behind the counter said. "We don't have any Citroens. In fact, we're pretty much out of most of our cars. If only you called in advance . . ."
"I did," the librarian said irritably. "I was guaranteed a car of my choice."
The man said, "There are three left in the lot out there. Take your choice."
And that's how Buffy and Giles found themselves driving through the streets of Seattle in a 1994 Ford pickup. Buffy looked at Giles as he awkwardly got into the front seat and said, "I dunno. I just have a hard time picturing you with a cowboy hat on . . ." Giles just glared. "Well, you know what the song says, Giles -- all the girls are crazy about a pickup man." Giles continued to glare.
As he started up the truck, Buffy immediately began fiddling with the radio dials until she found a country station. "You want to drive the vehicle, Giles, you gotta have the right attitude."
The Watcher immediately flipped it off. "I may be forced to drive this monstrosity, Buffy, but I will be damned if I will listen to what Xander so artlessly calls "the music of pain" while I'm doing it. As though it's not already bad enough that I'm forced to be in Seattle, a city with --" right then the cloudy sky burst and a light drizzle began --" right on cue, more rainfall daily than the Amazon basin receives in the average millennium."
"And I would have thought it would have reminded you of home."
They passed the rest of the drive to the KACL studios in more serious talk, debating about what their strategy should be when they encountered the esteemed Dr. Crane. They pulled into the parking garage -- for all his complaining, Giles managed the maneuver as smoothly as if he'd been born driving a pickup truck. Buffy began to suspect that his natural method of driving was due far more to the car involved than the driver.
They arrived at the studios at around 4:27. She and Giles walked quite openly through the hallways of the station -- "Nice to see Sunnydale isn't the only place that rents its Security from the Barney Fife school of police work," Buffy muttered -- and walked back to the studios. As they approached the booth, though, they could hear a loud, braying voice begin to discuss the ins and outs of the NBA strike --obviously not Frasier Crane.
"Now what do we do?" Buffy asked Giles.
"It appears we shall have to track down the good doctor at his home," Giles said. "It would have been simpler to get him alone, though --"
Right then Ethan Rayne's patron god took a hand by introducing them to one Bob "Bulldog" Briscoe.
The man in the booth said, ". . . yeah, well, John, your opinion sucks." Then he got a look at Buffy, gawked briefly at the sight of her in a white tank-top, and said, trailing off at the end, "Whoa. We'll be right back after the news . . . or commercials . . . or something." Then he hit a couple of switched and dashed out into the hall. Paying close, close attention to Buffy, he said, "What can I do for YOU, short, pale, and gorgeous?"
Giles said, "We're looking for --"
The man interrupted, "Not now, Brit." He extended his hand. "I'm Bulldog Briscoe, and you are?"
"About to throw up," Buffy muttered. "We're looking for Frasier Crane."
"Great," Bulldog said. "Man, he's been gettin' all the babes recently. What's he got that I haven't?"
"For starters, a mind with more than one track," Giles said irritably. "Do you happen to know where Dr. Crane is?"
"Oh I get it," the sportscaster said, ignoring the question. "You must be one of those prissy colleagues of his."
"Prissy?" Giles said pleasantly. "As it so happens, in my youth I was a devoted rugby player. Would you perhaps care for me to demonstrate this and turn you into a neutered bulldog?"
"Easy, Giles." Buffy said.
"Yeah, easy there, big guy. I was just jokin' with you." He checked his watch. "Round about this time you can find Dr. Crane in a little coffee shop a few blocks east called Cafe Nervosa. Can't miss it." He leered at Buffy again. "So, you wanna meet me there later? We can talk sports. Or we can BE sports, if that's what you like."
"You DO realize I'm only 17, don't you?"
"So what? Some of the best I've ever had were 17. 'course, I was 14 at the time, but still --"
"Mr. Briscoe," Giles said, "look behind you."
"Huh?" Bulldog blinked. "Oh, no. You ain't getting me to fall for that old gag. I turn, then you all get a big laugh."
"Bulldog," Buffy said, "Do you hear something?"
"No, I don't hear noth -- oh, crap! Dead air!" He ran back to the studio, tripped on the door frame, and hauled himself back into his chair as Buffy and Giles left.
"Nicely done, Giles," Buffy said. "Can I go back and kill him?"
"No, Buffy, Slayers are forbidden from killing humans. You know that." Then he paused a beat. "Nothing in the guidelines forbidding a WATCHER from killing him, though . . ."
* * * * *
As they drove to the hospital behind the ambulance -- Niles, to his great disappointment, having not been permitted to ride there with Daphne -- Frasier regaled his father and brother with the tale of his encounter with the rude young woman.
"Geez, Frasier, couldn'tcha hold off on this?" Marty asked. "I mean, Daphne's heading to the hospital and all you're worried about is your poor, frail ego, shattered because some woman you hit on didn't recognize the name of the great Frasier Crane."
"Well, let's see," Frasier answered. "First, she was 17 at most and you know me better than to think I'd ever 'hit on' such a young woman. Second, she DID recognize me, and that's what has me concerned. And third, it's not my ego I'm worried about, but my person, because the first thing she did after saying my name was shove me into a wall and run off after someone into an alley, from which Roz and I heard the sounds of violence shortly thereafter. But you were right about one thing," he finished scornfully, "Daphne is headed to the hospital."
"Shoved you into a wall?" Niles asked with some concern. "Were you hurt?"
"Only my ego."
"Ah," Niles answered. "So it was a serious injury, then."
Marty cut off Frasier's retort by halfway apologizing. "I'm sorry, Frazhe. I can understand why you were concerned. But still, if you weren't really hurt --"
Incorrectly reading Frasier's concern, Niles asked, "Are you thinking perhaps a stalker?"
"Well, not until now, I wasn't," the radio psychiatrist said irritably. "Thank you very much, Niles, for putting that thought into my head. Now I'll be worrying about that all night."
"Look, son," Marty said. "Have you been getting any threatening or overly weird mail or calls recently?"
"No, can't say as I have -- and don't think I missed your use of the word overly, either."
"Well, then, relax for now. But if you see her again, now, then I'd start worrying a little . . ."
|
|
|
|
Rave
Barbie Girl (Becca)
biscuit07
Filmtheory (Jim)
Malice (Jess)
MebbtheScribe (MichaelB)
Reset (Allie)
Shay (Marrisa)
somnambulist29 (Shea)
Stephanie Loss
Wendyness (Wendy)
Questions?Contact Us
|
|
All stories on this site have been archived with the authors' consent. Do not copy these stories for your own uses without the express consent of the author themselves. Buffy the Vampire Slayer TM and Angel TM are © UPN, WB, Fox and its related entities. All photos on the site are © UPN, Fox, Warner Bros, and/or their respective owners. No profits are being made by use of these images.
Powered with the assitance of eFiction.
|
|
|
