Chapter Two: Smoke Rings
Monday, 7:14 pm
My name's Alexander Harris. I'm a private investigator. I've got a little office in the bad part of Sunnydale they call Demontown. It's got peeling brownish walls and a bookshelf full of law books rubbing shoulders with Tobin's Spirit Guide and a well-worn copy of Practical Demonology. The rent's pretty cheap and and it's close to all the action. There's plenty of that. Plenty of demons, too.
I've learned a couple of things working in Sunnydale.
One: Demons are nothing but trouble
Two: Blondes are way more trouble than demons
and Three: Just when it's looking easy, well, that's when it gets complicated.
It was hot for November, and the wind had picked up around sundown. The sky had been an odd color all day, too. The sort of heavy yellow-gray sky you get before a torrential rain. It was going to be the kind of rain that sweeps the millionaires playhouses down out of the mountain arroyos and drives rats of all kinds up out of the sewers. A tiny sliver of moon peeked around the thunderheads, illuminating the sidewalks and overflowing trash bins outside my window. My beautiful view.
I hadn't bothered to switch on the lights. I could see just fine with the glow from the orange and red neon sign across the street. It said, Lenny's Fine Meats---24 HRS. and featured a dancing pork chop. I had the radio turned on low, listening to some sad-voiced woman moaning out the blues. Yeah, baby, I know how you feel. I didn't really want any customers tonight. I was thinking about everything that'd happened back in August. There was a lot to think about. I couldn't get Anyanka out of my mind. I heard she'd been called back to Arashmahar. I sure hadn't heard from her. I'd left a dozen messages in L.A., made a dozen wishes, but nothing.
I'd occupied myself for the past hour trying to blow a perfect series of smoke rings. Unsuccessfully. The smoke drifted and twisted in the sultry air, swaying and curling in a tantalizing way. If I'd had any imagination, I might have thought it made the the vague outline of a certain voluptuous woman.
A creak from the direction of the office door told me I had company. Very unwanted company. Someone who wanted to be noticed. I'd never have heard him if he hadn't wanted me to.
I recognized that British growl immediately.
Look what the bat dragged in.
Ta, so very... wanker.
I knew Spike was staring at me from the shadowy doorway, but all I could see was an edge of his bone-white hair. He didn't wait for an invitation, just threw himself down on my sprung-bottom leather couch and slung his legs up sideways. He looked around the darkened room curiously and cocked his head at me.
What, didn't pay the light bill?
I ignored him and continued my leisurely brood. He wriggled further into his comfy nest. Not going to move anytime soon. He reached over and helped himself to one of my Morley's. Big undead mooch.
I didn't invite you in.
He exhaled a puff of smoke in my general direction and chuckled. Thought we were bosom chums, Harris. He paused and I heard both feet hit the floor as he leapt up and began to pace restlessly. Er, ah.... got a favor. Favors. For vampires. Never a good idea.
I swung my legs down off the desk and glared across the dim room. The pawn shop's lights flicked on downstairs. The room took on a ghastly hue between the frollicking orange chop across the street and the flickering green neon downstairs. My unwanted guest looked more demonic than usual. I considered and discarded a dozen sarcastic remarks and ended up with, Yeah, what?
I'm bored off my nut, that's what. Slayer's got the club full of prancers redecorating the place. Stinking it up with great masses of paint and what all.
You're looking for a job?
He shrugged nonchalantly, Heard there might be a zombie master raising a little hell hereabouts. Thought you maybe needed a hand.
I frowned at him, I thought I made it clear. I'm through working for demons.
He brushed off that argument, Look, I'd take on this guy for nothing. I hate zombies. Nasty bits of work. Thing is, I'm a bit strapped for the ready.
Thought the Slayer kept you...
I didn't have time to finish the thought. He was over my desk with a furious growl in less time than it takes to draw a breath. Thunder rolled in the distance and the streetlights down on Rosedale flickered.
She does not keep me. A pair of brilliant lion's eyes were too close to me, and I could feel his smoky breath on my face.
He backed off immediately and resumed his casual pose. So, what's the going rate for disposing of of this zombie master?
I pulled a blue file folder out of my desk drawer and flipped it open. Western Federated Casualty has red-flagged this whole section of the coast. Missing persons, unexplained deaths, the usual. The claims guy thinks there's a bokur running a resurrection scam with the families for the insurance money. Spike nodded wisely and paced toward the window again. That's the most likely, but there could be something else going on worth looking at. I didn't really give a damn. Just something to get him out of my hair.
Right then, I'll be off. Now, do you want just the guy's head or is there some other special thing you need?
I assured him Western just needed proof of malfeasance, no head-chopping necessary. I handed him a notebook and my handy little Minox camera along with a large black flashlight. He tossed the latter contemptuously on my desk on his way back out the door. Cheers, Harris.
I swung back around in my chair to look out at the gathering storm. I never wanted another partner after Oz, especially a vampire. I suppose it's the Hellmouth's turn of the karmic pay back wheel.
tbc
AN: Music for this chapter---Smoke Dreams k.d. lang
Tobin's Spirit Guide--
all zombie info: The Serpent & the Rainbow author, Wade Davis
bokur: sorcerer/black magician
