Don Eppes looked at the three people in his interrogation room. They had been tracking a serial killer who had staged many cult like murders, using some sort of fancy mathematical formula Charlie came up with. Only, when they got to the warehouse Charlie had said the next victim would be, they found the three who Don was currently staring at, wielding medieval weapons and covered in slime. The thing was, though, that they didn't look like the serial killer they were tracking should. The pretty, dark haired girl kept complaining about the slime ruining her clothes, and Don't couldn't imagine a girl like that getting anywhere near the large quantities of blood they had found on the scene. The blue eyed Irish man with the brown leather jacket and garish shirt who was telling her that she still looked beautiful didn't look capable of murder either. The third member of the little group, however, was a completely different story. With his extremely pale skin tone, black leather jacket, and brooding expression, he fit the serial killer profile perfectly.
When Don's team had burst in on the three, they had all been perfectly polite, if a bit confused, but all three had adamantly refused to let Don lead the leather jacket guy out to his car, saying that their friend was extremely sensitive to the bright Los Angeles sun, and they would be suing if he forced him outside. Don't had no choice but to bring the car straight into the warehouse, the man's friends shielding him protectively from the sunlight that streamed through the window. He was clearly the leader of their little gang.
Megan joined him in gazing through the window. The Irish man and the girl were now engaging in a slime fight, flinging bits of the goo towards each other. "They don't exactly look like vicious murderers." He commented, Megan nodding in agreement. "I know what you mean. Maybe they were in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Don shook his head. "Carrying weapons like that? I don't think so." He looked over at the table where the confiscated weapons had been placed. Among them were a battle Axe, five wooden stakes, a long shiny sword, a cross bow, and two tiny daggers. 'And a partridge in a pear tree.' Don added to himself. They had certainly come prepared for battle.
Tired of waiting, Don picked up the Axe, evidence baggie and all, and entered the room, placing it unceremoniously on the table. They glanced at it, unimpressed. "Quite the arsenal you guys have." He said to them. They shrugged, in a unison that seemed almost practiced. "So, what can I call you?" He asked, slipping into a tone designed to make them more comfortable. The leather jacketed man spoke, matching his easy tone. "I'm Angel, and these here are Cordelia and Doyle. They work for me." His companions gave little waves, small splashes of the goo flicking onto the previously clean table. "And what do exactly do you do?" Don asked curiously. "We're private detectives." Cordelia told him. "Have you seen the flyers? You know, Angel Investigations? We help the hopeless?" Don groaned. He hated private detectives. He ran a hand through his hair. "What were three private detectives doing at a warehouse, covered in slime, where a serial killer had been predicted to strike next?" Angel glanced sideways at Doyle.
"We have a source who heard something was going down there today." Don looked at him doubtfully. "I'm going to need the name of your source." He told them. Doyle spoke up before Angel could say anything. "Sorry, no can do. Our source is very private, doesn't want his name floating around out there." He said, Irish accent making some of his words come out differently. After a few more minutes of back and forth questions, Don left to go discuss the case with his team, feeling like he still didn't know anything about these people.
"So what do you think?" He asked his team in general. Colby spoke up. "I have no idea, man. And what kind of name is Angel, anyway?" It was Megan that responded to that. "It's possible that it was a name he chose for himself. He could see himself as some sort of godlike creature, believing to act on God's word. It would explain the odd conditions of the murders." Don didn't really have time to consider the latest theory because of a loud, agonized yell from the interrogation room. He found the source to be the man named Doyle, who was clutching his head and trying to stifle his pained moans. Angel and Cordelia seemed concerned, but not overly surprised about it. His pain seemed to stop abruptly, sitting up a little straighter, but still holding his head. "What have you got?" Angel asked, grabbing the pen and paper left there in case of impromptu confessions. Doyle held the ice water that had also been provided to his head before speaking. "Big, slimy. Didn't get an address." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Slimy? Again? Why can't we get something fluffy and adorable every once in a while?" Angel gave her a look. "Well, next time I see the powers that be I'll ask them." Now Don was really confused. His confusion only grew when he turned around and found himself standing face to face with a pretty, professional looking blonde.
"Hello, I'm detective Kate Lockely, LAPD." She told him, whipping out a badge. "I understand you brought in three of my consultants." David pointed behind him where you could see the three talking animatedly, still covered in the translucent green goo, Cordelia starting to wring it out of her hair into a puddle on the table. "Those your guys?" He asked the newcomer. She sighed. "Yeah, that's them. I'm here to get them out. Their clients can account for their alibis during all the murders you suspect them of." She strode past them without waiting for an answer and opened the door. Angel smiled up at her. She ignored him and spoke. "Angel, this is the last time I bail you out when you get in trouble. You're free to go." They murmured thanks to her as they rushed out the door. They were gone in all of five minutes, taking their weapons with them, and leaving Don and his team to wonder. The only thing left behind was a small white business card, with an emblem of an angel and the words "we help the hopeless" embossed in black. On the back was a phone number. Don tucked the card into his pocket, just in case.