Part Three
Wesley got onto his motorbike and glanced over at the reluctant vampire. 'Well, come on, what are you waiting for?' Angel held up the motorcycle helmet that the watcher had given him, it was bright pink. 'I- I really don't think this is gonna fit.'
'Of course it will, put it on.'
'You know - I don't even need a helmet for protection.' A motorcycle crash couldn't kill a vampire ...unless it ended in a fireball, but then a helmet wouldn't be much use anyway. But Wesley had no time for his protestations. 'Angel, it's the law in California. You want us to get pulled over?'
'No.'
'Then what's the problem?'
'Well it's just the whole visibility issue,' Angel blustered, even he wasn't sure what he meant by that - was he claiming he was too visible, or not visible enough? You couldn't be too visible when you were nipping through L.A traffic on a motorbike, and there was no chance he wouldn't be visible enough in the bright pink helmet. He thought of a better excuse. 'Not to mention the whole hat hair thing - and if you really think about it…' he now got down to the real crux of the problem: 'how come I have to wear the ladies helmet?'
'Stop being such a wanker and put it on!'
Angel wanted to protest some more, but Wesley was eyeballing him sternly, so he sighed deeply - just to show his own sadness and frustration, vampires had no need to sigh - and put the helmet on his head. He peered through the open visor at Wesley. The British man suppressed a smile and then put on his own - black - helmet. 'Good. Hop on gorgeous.'
'You're gonna pay for this,' his boss told him.
Gunn walked his two unlikely protectors into the car yard. Cordelia glanced around. 'It isn't here!' she said in dismay. But Gunn wasn't discouraged. 'They wouldn't keep it here on the lot, new acquisitions are kept in the garage.' A door opened and a man came out. 'What you want?'
''67 Plymouth,' Gunn told him.
'Give me a couple of days and I'll see what I can do.'
'Cordelia, Doyle - meet Henry,' Gunn said, indicating the man. Doyle frowned to himself, he felt like there was something he should know, something he should remember. Something important. But it wasn't coming to him, so he shook his head and ignored the voice in the back of his mind.
'New to the neighbourhood?' Henry asked them. Cordelia shook her head, 'someone stole my friend's car.' she explained.
'And he really won't take the news well, so we'd really appreciate it if you could give us a hand finding it, bud.'
''67 Plymouth,' Gunn repeated. But Henry shrugged. 'Wasn't me. You said it was a convertible?' The three of them nodded. 'Then Desmond's your man. He can't resist a convertible. But you won't find him at his garage. Tito's having a party, everyone's invited. That's where he'll be.'
Gunn was scanning the cars out in the yard, his already prominent scowl was growing ever deeper the longer he looked. 'Where'd you jack these cars from?' he demanded. Henry shrugged again. 'Around.'
'They look like neighbourhood cars to me. Look, I told you, you wanna jack beemers in Brentwood, be my guest. But leave neighbourhood cars alone.'
'Business is business. I suggest you start by minding your own.'
'Things don't change - I might have to think about putting you out of business.' Gunn turned back to Cordelia and Doyle, 'let's go,' he commanded.
'Is there anyone that you're nice to?' Cordelia asked him, as they left the car lot.
Once they were gone, Deevak, himself, came out of Henry's shop. 'I'm surprised you didn't wet yourself.'
'Him?' Henry was dismissive. 'He's no one, Deevak. Name's Gunn and he's under the mistaken impression that he runs this neighbourhood.'
'I know who he is,' Deevak said, 'and the trouble he's caused. Tonight, it ends.'
Angel and Wesley rode through the street on Wesley's hog. The pink helmet shone in the streetlights, standing out against the black on black look that both riders were otherwise wearing.
The three of them arrived outside an abandoned looking house, with boarded up windows. The loud rap music blasting through the building and out into the streets, however, suggested that this place was far from abandoned. On the way in, they met three of Gunn's crew coming out. They were supposed to be vampire hunting in the garment district and their leader was not best pleased to find them shirking their duties. He told them to go home and wait for him there. Cordelia and Doyle glanced at each other uncomfortably, that just wasn't the way they thought a leader should speak to those that followed him. But when Cordelia voiced her concern, Gunn was dismissive. 'Some people need discipline to survive. Now, when we get inside, you both just shut up and let me do the talking.'
'Hey! I do not need you to tell me to behave at a party. Believe me, I know how to blend. And Doyle'll just blend in with the beer. People won't even notice we're not meant to be there.'
But inside, Cordelia had to admit that she had never been to a party like this, and she most definitely didn't fit in. Even if her clothes hadn't already marked her out as not being part of the neighbourhood, the colour of her skin was a definite indicator that she didn't belong. And Doyle was even worse, his skin was so pale that he seemed to gleam in certain lights. It didn't matter how much beer there was on offer, a semi drunk and badly dressed Irishman was always going to stand out at this party. 'OK, so, not blending,' Cordelia said. 'Maybe we should just shut up and stick close to you.' But it was Doyle that she pressed herself against, sliding her arm through his and taking comfort in the fact that at least they stuck out like sore thumbs together.
A young woman spotted Gunn and called him over, Cordelia and Doyle scuttled along after him, sticking to him like shadows.
'Hey, stranger!' the woman greeted Gunn.
'Hey, girl. You're looking good, Veronica.'
'Where you been at? I've missed you!'
'I just been kinda busy lately.'
The woman glanced towards Doyle and Cordy, who were stood behind Gunn, feeling awkward and doing a terrible job of blending. Veronica had felt a fleeting stab of jealousy when she'd seen Cordelia arrive with the tall street fighter, but she was relieved to see the way that the other woman clung onto the little, white guy. She obviously wasn't interested in Gunn. 'Who are your friends?' Veronica asked, nodding at them.
'This is Cordelia and Doyle, they're in the business but they work up Hollywood way.'
'They don't look much like demon fighters to me.' She spoke to Cordelia, 'you fight demons, but you're afraid of some black kids partying?'
'Me? Oh….I'm not afraid,' Cordelia spluttered '...I'm just ...it's very loud in here...and I'm actually turning into my grandmother as I say that…. But this is nice ...earthy.'
'Uhuh.' She wrinkled up her nose, 'Do I know you?...Aren't you the girl in the stain remover ads?'
'That's me.'
'And you fight demons?'
'What? I can't have a hobby?'
'We're looking for Desmond, Cordelia got her car stolen earlier tonight, you seen him?' Gunn interrupted the chit chat, and Veronica pointed the car thief out: 'He's over there.'
The three of them headed further into the house and as they walked through, Gunn greeted many of the people that passed them by. 'What? Are you like Doyle and you know every criminal in the neighbourhood?' Cordelia asked.
'There you go, assuming those brothers are criminals.'
'Aren't they?'
'What you mean like your friend David Nabbit? You think he became a billionaire by being a good citizen?'
'Actually, he did.' Cordelia said. 'He made his first millions developing software that allows blind people to surf the web.'
'There is that whole 'he visits demon brothels' side issue, though,' Doyle pointed out.
'Nobody's perfect! Besides he set up a charitable donation that donates 20 billion a year to various charitable causes.'
'Well, I scrubbed the floor of the hotel today!'
'And that's a wonderful achievement too, honey.' They smiled at each other for a moment, forgetting where they were, and just happy and comfortable in each other's presence. But, then they had reached Desmond, and Gunn was employing some more of his trademark charm.
'G-man,' Desmond greeted him, 'can I get you a drink?'
'You can get me the '67 Plymouth convertible you stole from my place tonight.'
'I never …' But his hot denials were interrupted by the sound of glass breaking and some girls beginning to scream. Vampires had crashed the party and were attacking the guests, hitting their way through the crowd as they made their way towards Gunn. Doyle was able to rugby tackle one of the vamps away, and used the element of surprise to bowl the demon over and stake him through the heart.
Whilst Doyle was wrestling on the ground, Cordelia raised her axe and tried to hit one of the vamps with it; but he threw her to one side, as easily as if she were made of nothing but air, and advanced through the room. Two vampires had a hold of Gunn and were hitting him; and, undeterred by her previous failure, Cordelia went into the breach once more, this time breaking a popcorn bowl over the vampire's head. It was the same one who had hit her before, and he turned around, annoyed, and hit her harder this time. She hit the wall, and crumpled to the ground, breathing heavily, her arm aching where it had smashed into the hard surface.
Doyle, having dispatched his own vampire, used his sword to behead the demon that had hurt his Cordelia, and then, as the vampire was still crumbling to dust, ran to check on her. 'I'm fine,' she gasped, 'go help Gunn.' But before the Irishman could make it to his associate's side, Veronica had entered the fray, using her fists to batter at the vampires, hoping to protect her friend. But, just like Cordelia, she was too easily tossed aside, and she was thrown right into some glass shelves.
The shelves smashed as she hit them, breaking into jagged fragments and tumbling down onto the floor, onto Veronica. One particularly sharp shard fell straight into her neck cutting deep and, instinctively, she pulled the piece of glass straight back out. 'Cordelia!' Doyle shouted, seeing the wounded woman on the floor.
'I'm on it!'
As Doyle swung his sword at the next vampire, and then threw a punch at the one after that, Cordelia crawled across the floor to where Veronica was lying down, bleeding out. 'What happened?' Veronica asked, her words sounded thick and slurred.
'Umm - you're bleeding, but everything's gonna be OK, I'm gonna help you,' Cordelia told her, gently. She grabbed a tea-towel and pressed it hard against the other woman's neck. 'OK, try to sit up, easy now, come on.' Veronica struggled into a sitting position, leaning against the sofa, whilst Cordelia kept the pressure on her wound. 'Here we go, OK, you're gonna be OK.' She glanced at the bloody towel, but she didn't let Veronica see her worry. 'It's gonna be OK.'
Most of the vampires were dust, by now, and the final one jumped through the window, head first. A squeal of tyres announced his escape. Doyle and Gunn peered through the window hole, to see where he had gone, and then turned back to look into the room. It was then that Gunn noticed Veronica. 'She needs to get to a hospital,' Cordelia told the men, keeping her voice firm and even, so as not to frighten the bleeding woman. But Cordy's eyes were scared, and out of the other woman's eye line she mouthed one word at her friends: 'Now!'
Angel and Wesley arrived at Gunn's place, but could find no sign of the street fighter or Doyle. 'What do we do?' Wesley asked.
'Yo man, can we help with you something?' It was the three crew members that had just left Tito's party, arriving home. They recognised Angel at once, and, even though they knew their boss ran with this vampire sometimes, they were still eager to get him out of the way. No one wanted vampires hanging round their homes, not even friendly ones.
The door to the emergency room was kicked open and Gunn marched through it, carrying the still bleeding Veronica in his arms. Cordelia scurried along beside him, keeping the now sodden towel pressed firmly against the woman's neck. Doyle followed on behind.
'She needs a Doctor!' Gunn yelled out to the room, 'now!'
A Nurse ran up to them and ushered them through into a room, calling for the Doctor as they went. Gunn lowered Veronica onto the gurney, Cordelia keeping the pressure on her neck the whole time. 'What happened?' the Doctor asked. It was Cordelia who gave the answer, clearly and precisely, including all the relevant information. 'A piece of broken glass went into her neck. She pulled it out before I could stop her. It looked like it may have clipped her artery. I applied pressure to the wound, slowed the bleeding. Her pulse has been weakening. She passed out on the way over here.'
Spurred on by Doyle's many injuries, Cordelia had taken a proper first aid course over the summer, and her confidence and expertise in what she could do shone through. Doyle had always known that she was naturally gifted when it came to patching people up, but even he was surprised at how far she had come since the last time he had suffered a serious injury.
But it wasn't good enough for Gunn, and he wanted to know if Veronica was going to be OK. The doctor told him he had to leave so they could get to work saving his friend, but Gunn repeated his question furiously. The doctor looked down at where Cordelia was still holding the towel against Veronica's neck. 'Your friend probably saved her life,' she said, 'but we still have a lot to do, so I need you to leave.'
'C'mon, man, let's go wait, yeah?' Doyle ushered Gunn through the door, the street fighter backed away reluctantly, keeping his eyes on Veronica's torn and bloody neck the whole time. The doctor put her own hand onto the towel and smiled at Cordelia. Cordy finally removed her own hand and followed the two men out of the room. Her white jumper was now covered in blood, all down the front and up the sleeves. It was wet and heavy where the blood was. She pushed her soaking sleeves up her arms, and out of the way.
When Cordelia arrived in the waiting room, she found Doyle sat in one of the plastic chairs, drinking a cup of coffee out of one of the plastic cups from the vending machine. He handed her a drink of her own as she sat down next to him. 'Thanks,' she said. 'Where's Gunn?'
Doyle nodded over towards the corner of the waiting room and she looked in the direction he had indicated. Gunn was standing alone, his forehead resting against the wall, looking utterly defeated. 'He say anything to you?' she asked. Doyle shook his head. 'Nope, he's been that way since we got here.' Perhaps it was because he could hear them talking about him, but the young man suddenly lifted his head and began to pace the waiting room floor instead. His agitation manifested itself further, when he slammed his fist into the wall. Cordelia sighed deeply, and handed her coffee back to Doyle, who gave her a questioning look. But she didn't say anything. Instead she stood up and walked over to stand behind Gunn.
'She could have died,' Gunn said to her, so quietly she wasn't sure she had really heard it.
'But she didn't.'
'No thanks to me.'
'This isn't your fault,' Cordelia told the young man. But he didn't agree, as far as he was concerned, this was all on him. 'I let my guard down - and she's the one...' He slammed his fist against the wall again; and over in the seats, Doyle looked up in alarm. 'The vamps were coming after me not her.'
'Take it easy,' Cordelia soothed, also looking a little alarmed at the sudden display of violence. Gunn span round to face her. 'I can't take it easy. Not ever. I let my guard down and someone like Alonna pays the price.'
'Alonna?'
Gunn shook his head, 'Veronica', he began to pace again. 'I can't stop, I can't ever stop.'
Over in the chairs, Doyle noticed Desmond, the car thief, sneaking his way through the room towards the elevators. He was about to say something, when Cordelia's arm suddenly shot out and she pointed straight at Desmond, without even turning away from Gunn: 'Don't you move a muscle!' she shouted. Desmond came to a halt, Doyle smiled down into his coffee, glad he wasn't the one facing down the barrel of that accusatory finger. Cordelia spun round to eyeball the car thief. 'Where. Is. My. Car?'
The motorbike pulled up between two police cars that were pulled up outside Tito's house. Angel quickly removed his pink helmet and stashed it on the bike, before running his hand through his hair, trying to get his 'do back into shape. A young woman was coming out of the house, and Wesley stopped her. 'Excuse me, Miss, do you by any chance know a Charles Gunn? One of his associates suggested he might be here.'
But the girl seemed confused, and didn't seem to know whether she knew him or not. She wondered if Gunn had been one of the ones that had got hurt.
'You look hurt', Angel said to her.
'Huh? No I'm fine,' they were walking away from the house as they talked, and had arrived round the back of the ambulance that was still outside. 'I just need to lie down.'
'What happened here?'
'I don't know, we were partying and they attacked us. They were strong, like they were on something.'
'But you're OK?'
'Yuhuh'
'Good.' Angel head butted her, and her face vamped out. 'Now, you're gonna start talking', he said.
