Chapter 21
Angel drove at almost twice the speed limit. He had to get away from her, from whatever heartbreaking words she was about to say. He realized with pain that he had no where to go. He had a key to Will's place, and there was still the apartment in the Wolfram and Hart building that he used to live in, but he would be found very quickly if he went to either of those places. He wanted to disappear for a while.
Pulling into the parking deck of the law firm, he exchanged the car he was driving for a nondescript black Honda Civic. He had a few cars that he used if he wanted to remain anonymous. Jaguars and BMWs were noticed easily when he went slumming.
That's what Will called it. Not that Will had any room to comment on where Angel went to drink. A lot of the bars Angel liked to frequent were also places that Will played at. It was a well kept secret that Vice President of Wolfram and Hart preformed music, both original and covered, with his old acoustic at bars in LA. Angel always thought Will did great Nirvana covers.
The Blue Turtle was one of Angel's favorite bars, and where he came to drink when he wanted to so alone. Not even Will knew about this place. It was dark, quiet, no one bothered him, and the bartender kept a few bottles of grade A Irish whiskey around. Taking a seat at a small table in the back, the waitress came up with a knowing smile. She had waited on Angel many times.
"Haven't seen you in a while."
"Been busy. The Usual."
She nodded. He never was one much for conversation. She brought a four finger glass of whiskey to him, leaving the bottle on the table. One bottle was over a hundred dollars, and he could go through two or three a week when he wanted to. He stopped her before she could leave.
"Bring me a pack of Lucky Strikes, would you?"
She nodded again and left to get his cigarettes. He had smoked off and on since the 1920s, and Luck Strike had been the first brand he tried. There had only been about three brands of cigarettes back then, he thought. How things had changed.
He settled in his seat, ready to get good and truly drunk. He been operating with an almost permanent buzz for nearly a year, and had been drunk on a good many occasions. Tonight, however, he would consider it a failure if he could stand or see. He wanted to crawl inside a bottle and stay there for the foreseeable future.
Lighting a cigarette with the lighter she had left on the table next to the pack, he started into the bottle of Jameson's with enthusiasm. He planned to crawl out of the bar later that night.