Title: Backlash I: Game Start (2/2)
Author: MCG
Summary: Lindsey's plans finally begin to fit together, as Wolfram and Hart begin to find out that they can't mess with everyone.
Once again, thanks to my beta reader Aurorarose (a.k.a. Empress of Cooltown); who works some sort of secret magic grammar/spelling/punctuation/content-correcting-spell on the fic before it goes out for public viewing thus saving me from flames from the grammar-savvy people.
Thursday 19th April, 6:30 AM.
Wolfram and Heart headquarters
4th floor.
Lindsey had arrived extra early—-a good 15-20 minutes before the first rays of sunlight were even present on the horizon. The city had still been black as ink when he left, driving through the maze he called a "short cut", streetlights lining his journey and shining onto the freeways and roads guiding his journey, only to highlight the emptiness and the darkness of the course. Some, as would be expected in LA, were broken, the electricity cut or the light bulbs smashed, leaving him in ebony surroundings with only the light from the surrounding buildings and his headlights to keep the darkness from collapsing inwards. One light in particular had bared witness to some of the cities most violent crimes, several pairs of shoes with their shoelaces tied together dangling from the lamppost.
A sign of respect for those that had fallen in the gang land killings.
He was making record time, for very few cars lined the road this early in the morning. The Wolfram and Hart building was different, too. Just like roads, it was almost completely empty. The normally bustling building was nigh on empty.
Two junior lawyers, fresh out of college, congregated downstairs by the coffee machine, a cup of strong coffee wanted, but not required to see them through the day—their own self esteem would drive them through the day. They were still young, striving to be the best lawyers they could. I bet they're still vowing to play it straight Lindsey thought to himself.
But these men and women were the elite, those that had excelled in their courses. They had the skills, the know how, the potential to be the greats, the ones that had caught Wolfram and Harts eyes. And now they had been won over in this so-called employees-market. Attracted by the lure of money and fame in the courtroom, to be part of the region's biggest law firm, Wolfram and Hart. They would be wined and dined by the company as the people at the top, those in power, slowly tightened their grip on the young lawyers, until, before they knew it, they were puppets, no longer able to escape the downward moral spiral that would leave them empty. Soon enough, they would be running around, performing dark rituals to please the senior partners, in the years, whenever a review approached, in an attempt to prove just how loyal they were.
Very few, if any of those that came to Wolfram and Hart, would ever make it out to live their own lives; they would become stuck in the system.
To escape, you had to stand up to Wolfram and Hart.
It was suicide.
Lindsey had almost been the one to make it out. He had been at that point a year ago, when he saved those children. He stood up to Wolfram and Hart… and survived. He almost made it out, but in the end, Wolfram and Hart's claws had dug too deep.
He was loyal. That loyalty finished him. His loyalty got him nothing. Nothing but pain.
Lindsey made his way down the corridor, and unlike areas of the freeway, there were no lights here—none that were on yet, anyway. Turning them with no one around was a waste. All the main lights were on timers.
The lift closed behind him with a 'ding', the music that played over and over again throughout the day silenced, stopped by the now closed doors. As Lindsey walked toward his destination, he noticed how his shoes made a squeaking sound on the bare tiled floor, the cleaners having polished the surface overnight, making the sound extra pronounced. The lack of people, of sounds of people, walking backwards and forwards, breaks to the coffee machine to give them the extra edge to win that case, to find that vital book, allowed his every movement to become almost noisily loud. The squeaks of his two hundred-dollar leather shoes echoed hollowly down the hall.
He couldn't believe he'd never noticed before. His shoes squeaked. He'd had them for months, and he'd never noticed before. Only now could he focus and be aware of such little things.
The emptiness of the world at this time was only partly to do with his new found awareness.
Now, that's something he would never have noticed before.
That was his clarity; he was only now hearing everything. He saw the way with Angel.
Only now seeing everything.
And how he had seen it.
In all the time he had tried to find something, he had found nothing; it appeared Lilah was clean. But now he didn't care because he had stumbled upon a gem. He saw the way with Lilah.
The flashing of lights disturbed the eerie quiet, slivers of white reflecting off the wall at the end of the corridor and flickering on and off as the path of the ray came in and out of his line of sight. A security guard walked in from around the end corner, the flashlight focusing on nothing in particular, the focus changing as he walked. He whistled happily to himself as his shift approached an end. He would soon be home to see his loved ones—girlfriend maybe, perhaps even a wife or children. Something to live for.
This man wasn't wrapped up in the corruption that Wolfram and Hart inspired, promoted even. He got to walk home every morning to live his separate life, away from Wolfram and Hart.
This man had something. Someone to live for. Not like Lindsey. Lindsey was alone.
Sometimes Lindsey felt envious of these people. They didn't have to face the problems he did. They did their jobs and went home. They didn't have to clean up other people's messes. They had two lives: one at Wolfram and Hart, the other their own life, where they did what they wanted, lived their lives.
Lindsey had one life. It belonged to Wolfram and Hart.
Of course, these were the employees that were also expendable. Any mistake made on the part of the senior partners or management, and this man could be dead tomorrow or worse, waking up to find himself a murderer, indisputable evidence against him.
All courtesy of the senior partners.
These were the people that could be used to cover up dangerous mistakes. To hide the true nature of Wolfram and Hart from the outside world.
Lindsey was less envious of that side of the security guards life, and anyone else that could disappear without disrupting the flow of current events.
The security guard walked past, making his way to the lift, nodding his head and cheerily wishing Lindsey a good morning as he passed.
As Lindsey continued his journey, the lift music began to play again as the security guard entered. Once the doors closed, Lindsey was once again left in silence.
Turning the handle, he walked into his office, as the first light of the day sparkled through the window, lighting his desk. There, almost a centerpiece on the desk, was what he was hoping for.
It was here.
A folder filled with hundreds of document contained, it contained the financial information for Wolfram and Hart's—represented by Lilah—most recent client: Dante Caerelon.
He was important to Wolfram and Hart, but not because he represented some great power. He wasn't the bringer of an apocalypse or even evil like most of Wolfram and Harts other major clientele. Well, not the same sort of evil. No. He was the evil of humans. So what did he matter to Wolfram and Hart?
His organisation was set to earn close to $12.5 billion over the next 10 years, and Wolfram and Hart would get a fair share of that for their services rendered. Fairer then Mr. Caerelon would care for, Lindsey believed.
The senior partners were most impressed with Lilah. All the hard work she'd done to get him on board. All the hard work she'd done tempting him right out of Lindsey's hands. The senior partners were very, very pleased.
But not satisfied.
They were never satisfied.
Anything they got. They wanted more. Lindsey was sure this situation would be no different. Even if getting more would mean embezzling it from Mr. Caerelon and his associates, they would do it.
Lindsey knew it wouldn't be easy to find her mistakes; she was smart. And Lilah wasn't just smart; she would do anything it took to make it to the top. She was ambitious, even more ambitious then he had been, and that made her dangerous. But he had one thing in his advantage. Lindsey knew her. He knew what made her tick: power.
With power came fear. Those in power had something to lose. And Lilah was scared; her heart may be black, but she feared. That night three months ago, when they were held by Dru and Darla, Lilah had feared for her life like all the others there.
They all had. All but him.
You don't fear that which you know. And Lindsey knew Darla.
Just like he knew Lilah.
Lindsey hoped his theory was true. That the senior partners were in on this, if they were part of the scam, then Lilah would have less of a reason to cover her tracks. With the power of Wolfram and Hart on her side, she may get sloppy.
Lindsey sat at his desk, getting comfortable. Switching on the desk lamp to light the papers, the rising sunlight not yet providing sufficient lighting, he began to read through the accounts.
Debating with himself on whether to get a coffee after all, he didn't know how long this would take, but he finally decided that he could wait. Just like those first year employees he had passed, Lindsey was now driven by merely his urge to find that for which he was searching.
After nearly an hour and a half of checking and double-checking, Lindsey could find nothing of use. He was growing impatient. Taking another sip of the coffee his secretary, who had arrived half an hour earlier, had brought him, he flicked through the next few pages in the folder. So far he'd read over one hundred pages of accounts and reports, but it was all clean, everything accounted for in full. Not a trace or sign of foul play, even though he knew there had to be something there.
It was all too typical of Wolfram and Hart: on the outside squeaky clean, abiding by the law that they so often manipulated, but there was inevitably a scam. There had to be. There was always a scam. He knew because he was involved in most of them.
Taking the last sip of his coffee, the once slightly bitter taste the drink had, fading fast as the drink cooled, he closed the folder. Perhaps he was thinking about this all wrong. He wasn't an accountant. But he knew someone that might be interested in these accounts. Someone that would have access to an accountant.
Someone with the means and the motive to be vigilant of the accounts.
Lindsey pressed the intercom button "Jen, could you get Mr. Caerelon's office on the phone please." Holding the phone to his ear he waited for his secretary to connect him, the silence of the time in between demonstrating just how anxious he was to finish this, or at least begin it.
After three rings, someone picked up. A man with a very pronounced accent answered, speaking in his native language. "Mr. Caerelon?" Lindsey asked, hoping to obtain an answer in English.
The man spoke in his thick accent. His English was basic, his delivery slow, clumsy and sometimes wrong. Stuttering almost. Lindsey got the gist of it though. There was no one there by that name. You must have the wrong number. Caerelon who?
"I represent the law firm of Wolfram and Hart." Pausing to let the name sink in, he continued, "I have some information Mr. Caerelon may be interested in." Lindsey pushed, hoping this would get the man in a talkative mood.
"Wolfram an Hart" The man repeated, mispronouncing the words, but now a lot more interested then he had been before.
"You might want to tell Mr. Caerelon to double check the accounts that a Mrs. Morgan has been keeping for his overseas operations."
"Accounts," the man repeated, knowing this word better then most others. He was finally understanding something of what Lindsey was implying. "Why, what is... how you say... problem with accounts?" the man asked.
"I think it's best Mr. Caerelon takes a look for himself. Just know the problems are the sole responsibility of the his personal lawyer and her recommended accountant. Wolfram and Hart were not involved with, nor had any prior knowledge of the on goings of this rogue lawyer. The senior partners had hoped this will not ruin any future relations between our two companies. We will be taking steps to discipline the two involved, unless of course, Mr. Caerelon and his associates wish to handle it personally."
The man thought for a second, the line going quiet. In the background Lindsey heard two people talking. What started of as whispering, as the first man told a newly arrived second of the situation, the talk then became an argument, shouts in their native tongue becoming louder until eventually someone won out.
A different man completely picked up the phone, his English much more fluent then the other mans, but his accent was just as pronounced. "I have a feeling Mr. Caerelon and his associates will want to handle this problem personally. That's if there even is a problem, mister…"
Lindsey wasn't phased at this mans attempt to trick him, nor his attempts to intimidate him. "Just call me a concerned representative. And trust me, Mr. Caerelon will want someone to take a second look at those accounts. I'm sending our records to your secure account as we speak."
The man took a moment to think.
These people seemed to think too much. Almost as if they were afraid to make a decision. Any mistake could cost them their life. Lindsey guessed this wasn't too far from the truth. Those that done business with Wolfram and Hart tended not to have the most law abiding or morally aware representatives. Why should Mr. Caerelon be any different?
"Okay, I'm sure Mr. Caerelon will be grateful for both your and Wolfram and Hart's vigilance. I hope, for your sake, and for any future business relations between our operation and you're American law firm, you're telling the truth."
Lindsey could hear the disdain in the man's voice as he said American. It sounded like he was hoping that something would happen to jeopardise the deal. To undermine Wolfram and Hart just because of its status as a US law firm.
As the man was speaking, Lindsey took the time to open up the computer files on the accounts his secretary had also arranged for him. He waited for the laptop to dial up a connection and sent the accounts to Mr. Caerelon.
Lindsey put the phone down before the man had a chance to continue his lecture. He wasn't about to be threatened by someone who was obviously somewhere near the bottom of the whole operation. Lindsey didn't answer to anyone but himself.
Not anymore. This was it. By the end of the week, all scores would be settled.
Wolfram and Hart.
Lilah.
Angel.
***
The man heard the receiver go dead as the American hung up. Cursing in his own language, he swore, both at the phone, and the man that had been on the other end of the phone. Why did this have to happen? Everything was going smoothly up until now. That's why those in charge had hired an expensive law firm, so there were no mistakes.
But now he would have to tell Mr. Caerelon that there was a problem with the accounts. Either him or someone else. Whoever would do it wouldn't have a very nice day.
Walking over the far end of the expensively furbished room, he opened a file cabinet pressed against the wall. The man shook his head as he saw that the file cabinet had begun to scratch at the wallpaper, causing some of the paper to come away around the cabinet. Opening the top shelf, he scanned through the files, running down the alphanumerical arranged accounts. Nothing.
Closing the top shelf, he cursed again before opening the next one down. Running his fingers through the accounts, he finally reached the end of 'O'. "Overseas operations."
There it was.
Picking up the folder, he took it to his desk, tossing it to the side of the computer before sitting down. Once he opened up the records that were stored on the computer, he checked the account number contained within the folder, the nine-digit code. Keying it in, he proceeded to open up the files for that specific code. The cursor changed to a timer as the files loaded, taking almost twenty seconds to load the files. All 12 MB of them.
Employees.
Current incomes.
Predicted incomes.
Cash flows.
Forecastings.
Future plans for expansion.
It was all there, and it would take time to check.
"Wake Mr. Caerelon's accountant up. Now!" he shouted at the other man. "Tell him I'm sending some files to check over. I want everything checked, and double-checked within the hour. I want the overseas accounts gone over with a fine-tooth comb. Incomings, outgoings, everything." The man kept on speaking even after the man had gone. "So by god, if there's something wrong with his accounts, someone is going to pay, and it's not going to be me.
"Incompetence. American incompetence!" he shouted again, this time to no one in particular since the room was now empty. Everyone hoped there was no problem, for no one relished telling Mr. Caerelon that there may be something wrong with his 'business' empire. "Why did he choose an American company?"
Picking up a cell phone that was on the desk, he dialed an all too familiar number and waited for an answer. "Mr. Freeman, I may have another assignment for you." He paused as the other man spoke. "The targets are in LA. You'll have the go ahead. Details within an hour."
******
******
"Mr. McDonald, are you still there?" Lindsey's secretary asked over the intercom.
"Just a minute," he answered putting the documents back into the separate folders they had been in. "Okay, Jen, what is it?" he finally answered.
"I've arranged the meeting with Mr. Allister you wanted. And there's a senior meeting in board room three at 11:30 regarding an update in the Angel situation."
Lindsey suddenly found his attention focused on nothing but what Jen was now saying. "Do you know what sort of update?"
"Sorry. Mr. Holland wouldn't say. I was just told to make sure you were there. Would you like me to ask Ms. Morgan's secretary?" Jen asked.
Lindsey paused. He liked to know what situations he would be getting into before they happened; it never hurt to be aware of what might happen or to have good background information. Of course, chances were Lilah didn't know much more than he did, and even if she did, it was unlikely she would tell him anything. "Yeah, see if Lilah knows anything on the subject. And could you sort out the details of the Hudson case?"
"I'll have them on your desk by noon," Jen assured him.
******
******
Board room 3.
11:30
Lindsey sat in the newly refurbished meeting room, the most recent in the current series of completed refurbishments of some of the older rooms in Wolfram and Hart headquarters. Having only been finished earlier that week, it had not yet been used.
Lindsey could smell the freshness of the room. A virgin place, free from the corruption that Wolfram and Hart brought. Not that the freedom would last for long.
Seated around the table were the senior members of the Wolfram and Hart, Lindsey, Lilah and various other members that were important in the senior partners' plans. And to his right, the man that had called the meeting, Holland. "I trust you are all up to date regarding the Darla situation? So I won't waste your time with that," Holland addressed everyone there.
"I didn't think there was a situation," Lindsey spoke almost disgustedly.
Lilah couldn't help smile as Lindsey began his downfall. He had gotten too close to Darla, long passing the point where you could separate your emotions from the situation. Now, he was emotionally evolved, and those emotions could easily be manipulated. Now that Darla was gone, Lilah could see him begin to slide downhill. And when he crossed that line, there would only be her.
"Mr. McDonald, do you have something you wish to share with the board?" Holland asked.
Lindsey new he shouldn't pursue this argument; it wasn't in his plans, but he couldn't help it, not when Angel was still walking around whilst Darla wasn't. Not when the people responsible for Angel were here in front of him. "I just don't see how having a potentially valuable ally killed serves any purpose in getting to Angel."
"The senior partners considered it to be very important," Holland began. "Darla showed herself to be less then co-operative with our plans. There was nothing else that could be done that wouldn't jeopardise the long-term goals of Wolfram and Hart. Now, is there anything further you would like to add Lindsey?" Holland never gave Lindsey a chance to respond. "Good.
"Now then, in front of you are surveillance pictures taken of Angel late last night. If you would all take a look at them." Holland waited for each of the members of the board to open the folders.
Lindsey opened his folder; it contained nothing but pictures. A dozen or so pictures of Angel walking through a deserted street. There was nothing out of place, except for the distance Angel seemed to show two passers almost as if he hadn't realised their presence. Quite significant for someone with the supernatural senses of a vampire. But other than that and the way his clothes were ripped in various places, nothing was out of place. Flicking through the pictures, one stood out, immediately catching his attention.
This one picture was pretty much like the rest; Angel still had a distance to him. His face was cut and bruised, and his clothes were a mess. But in the background, in a window of a closed shop, a slightly blurred outline of a man could be seen. Very vague in the dim light of night, with only a few streetlights for illumination, but none the less, it could be made out.
His reflection.
Angel had a reflection.
"I... don't understand," Lilah gasped having finally seen the reflection. "How can Angel have a reflection?"
"He's alive," Lindsey answered. "The texts he stole. This is his redemption." Lindsey finally pieced everything together. "That's why he had to kill Darla..." Now Wolfram and Hart have him turned, and we have Angelus.
Holland nodded, confirming Lindsey's suspicion. "Now that Angel's human again, we can go into the final phase of the plan. The senior partners wanted me to congratulate you all on jobs well done."
"So what do we do now?" Lilah asked. "How do we play it?"
"We do nothing," Holland informed the board. "At the moment, the senior partners want Angel left alone. Whilst the final stage is undergoing completion, we don't want any harm to come to our project, especially in his vulnerable condition."
"What if Angel comes here?" Lindsey questioned. It seemed likely he could in a moment of confusion. "What do we do then?"
"Nothing. We have security guards to remove unwelcome guests," Holland told them all, making sure to reaffirm that Angel should not, under any circumstances, be harmed. "Even if Angel were to approach you outside of the office, the senior partners are very adamant that you don't do anything to harm him or antagonise him. You are all expendable. He is not."
Holland put the pictures back in a folder and got to his feet. "Now then, ladies and gentlemen, if we are all clear on the situation, I'm sure you all have cases to be working on."
As the members began to disperse, Holland called out to Lindsey. "Lindsey, can I talk to you alone?"
Lilah smirked again, closing the door behind her as she left. Soon enough, she would be vice president of special projects, with her life guaranteed for another couple of months.
"You wanted to see me?" Lindsey questioned, still standing behind his chair from when he had gotten up to go.
"Please... Take a seat," Holland offered. "Now, Lindsey, the senior partners have taken notice of your great contribution to their plans over the past year. Despite mistakes and misunderstandings, they feel you have shown great potential, and dare I say loyalty. The senior partners have plans for you... We would all hate to see that potential go to waste under any circumstances."
The sly warning was there. As clear as day, that Lindsey shouldn't make too much of a big deal about Darla or else... 'Accidents do happen,' would best describe it.
"We know how attached to Darla you were, closer then we would have liked. We were worried then how this might affect you… We're worried about you now. We're also worried about any retribution you might seek on Angel... So we are telling you now, his time will come, and you will be there to see it, but right now Wolfram and Hart needs him. So I'm sure you see it our way," he said with a reptilian smile. "We would hate to have to dispense of your services, especially after everything you've done for us. Think about it." Holland got up, leaving Lindsey sitting alone in the room.
Alone summed up his life right now.
He was right about one thing, Lindsey thought to himself. Angel will get his time. Sooner then they think. And I will be there, just not on Wolfram and Harts terms.
******
******
Wednesday 19th April, 2:35 PM.
Setal Restaurant, LA.
Lindsey McDonald was almost 35 minutes late for his meeting, his emotions firmly hidden by his cool exterior. He had been pulled away by his superiors, acting on behalf of the senior partners who were 'worried' over his potential emotional effects after the situation. They had given him a talk on the importance of Angel in the coming apocalypse, patronisingly talking to him as if he were a child, rather then the calculated man he was. Calculated with sociopath tendencies as the company therapist once described him.
After the meeting, he just hadn't been able to concentrate on anything, losing track of time. If it hadn't been for Jen, he might not have made the meeting.
To him, it was vital.
To the Angel, it was the end.
Lindsey made his way to the back of the expensive restaurant, passing a young rich couple who were most probably spending their daddy's 'hard-earned' money, just like one of Angels former employees, Cordelia, used to do, Lindsey recited offhandedly. It wasn't important, but Lindsey had made a point of finding out everything to do with Angel he could. No matter how small, how insignificant, he knew everything about him. On the right, some businessmen sat around closing their latest business deal as Lindsey hoped he would be doing soon. His last business deal ever.
Seated at the back of the restaurant, a man nursed a drink, several other glasses stood empty, and just a few stray vegetables sprawled across an otherwise empty plate. The man glanced up, his eyes meeting with Lindsey's. Lindsey walked past a waitress, taking a drink of water that was on the tray, completely ignoring her, "Hey that was for..." as her futile attempts of resistance faded into the background, drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. The man picked up a tissue, wiping any food that may be on his face.
"Lindsey," the man greeted as he got within speaking distance, "good to see you." He promptly stood up to shake his hands. An empty statement of trust. There was no way either of these two men could ever be trusted by anyone, even, at times, themselves. Despite being old friends, neither would think twice about killing the other if it was in their favour. They were the sort of people that would sell their own souls if it gave them an edge in their agendas. This is where Lindsey hoped he had the advantage. He'd as good as sold his soul to the devil one piece at a time during his history at Wolfram and Hart. But then again, he was sure so had his associate.
As they finished exchanging their empty gestures, they both sat down. The chairs were situated opposite each other. It was not just a mere coincidence; this is how the man wanted it, and this is how Lindsey wanted it. This was so they could both keep a close eye on each other, watch the other man's eyes when Lindsey brought his agenda up.
It was too easy to lie through speech, and body signals could be, to an extent, controlled, but it was hard to read the body language of people like Lindsey and the man that sat opposite him. But the eyes never lied. If someone was up to something you could tell by his or her eyes. Both men knew it was near impossible to lie to a man, or indeed woman, whilst starring into his or her eyes. It was also a mind game, something both men were used to, staring each other down. It was more fun like this.
Lindsey knew the man wouldn't like the target he had planned. Angel was very much a Wolfram and Hart 'protected' person. No demon would dare attack him, and no one that knew about Wolfram and Hart would lay a finger on him. Everyone but Mr. Allister, Lindsey hoped.
Mr. Allister was Lindsey's link to the world of organized crime, particularly a hired assassination. Whilst he wasn't quite on the level of some of the assassins Wolfram and Hart had at their disposal, Lindsey preferred to go private. That way no one at Wolfram and Hart asked questions. No matter what type of assassination was needed, whether it was political or personal, a demon or a human, there were no questions. George Allister could arrange it.
Though he wasn't active in the game anymore, he did know his stuff, having been an assassin for over fifteen years prior. He had retired three years ago with a nice little nest egg. But that didn't completely mean he was out of the game for good. He now ran an assassin business, though he never got his hands dirty because he had people to get the job done.
And what's more, he had a grudge against Wolfram and Hart. One of his employees, a very close friend, had been used as a scapegoat in one of Wolfram and Harts projects. It had taken quite a while for Lindsey to get back on talking terms with George.
"George," Lindsey greeted. "Good to see you."
And so it began, just an every day business meeting.
An everyday business meeting with one of the two co-vice presidents of the Wolfram and Hart special projects section and a specialist in the profession of hired death.
Perhaps normality wasn't in attendance after all.
"So," Mr. Allister began, "I got a call last night from a Jen Willis. Of course, I almost left it at that, what with not knowing a Jen Willis... But then, it turns out she represents my good friend Lindsey McDonald. Care to explain?" Mr. Allister finished.
"I need you to take care of some business for me," Lindsey told him.
"Straight to business as usual," Mr. Allister said before taking a sip of his drink. "What kind of job is it? Someone causing you trouble? A demon?"
"It's not a demon... at least not anymore," Lindsey muttered, knowing that George Allister wouldn't like it one bit. But having no one else to take care of the business in the time he wanted, he would have to convince him.
The middle-aged man that sat opposite Lindsey took a deep breath. Bringing his hands up, he scratched the side of his face, a habit he had whenever he was thinking. The man finally brought his hands together, elbows on the table, and he finally answered, "Now, Lindsey, you know I don't do humans. I haven't for a long time." He lied. Both knew it was a lie. "So if this is it, we have nothing further to discuss. Goodbye, Mr. McDonald."
Lindsey didn't move.
"Lindsey, I don't think you understand me. I can't help you. I really can't."
Lindsey could feel the situation drifting away. If he didn't at least get George interested, his plans might fall out of reach. "I could make it worth your while. Make it very worth your while," he promised.
George ran his hand through his hair nervously. "It's not just about the money, Lindsey," He started, once again scratching the left side of his face. "I take it the target would be Angel?"
"Yes... How did you know?" Lindsey asked.
"I keep my ears to the ground," George answered. "I hear things. Angel being human is one of them. I also hear that he's Wolfram and Hart protected. And they're not someone I want to deliberately provoke."
"Not even after what they done to you?" Lindsey pushed.
"I don't pretend to like what they done Lindsey. If I could do anything about, it I would. I really would. But do you think there's anything I can do about it? If I were to lock horns with them, I would be finished faster then flies around horse shit. If I didn't wake up dead one day, I might as well have. They have things that could put me away for the rest of my life. I have family now. A wife, a kid to consider... Kerri's ten at the end of this month; she's doing great in school. I can't go to prison, and I sure as hell can't go around pissing off the powers of this city. Now, I'm sorry, Lindsey, but I really can't help you."
George Allister got up to leave, but his hand was immediately restrained by a desperate Lindsey.
"What if I can assure you that Wolfram and Hart will be too busy to notice anything you do?"
"It would have to be a pretty big event to keep Wolfram and Hart blind to their biggest project. I'm listening," George said sitting back down. "But this better be good... I'm meeting my wife for lunch... five minutes ago."
"You aren't the only one with a grudge against Wolfram and Hart," Lindsey informed. "Do you know a Dante Caerelon?"
"I know of him. I know he *owns* half the people up in Washington... I know enough to never get in his way. That's what I know."
"Well, like you said. Wolfram and Hart are out of your league. Unlike you, they don't know not to mess with him." Lindsey told him enough to not jeopardise his plans. "So when I tell you that Wolfram and Hart are not going to notice anything you do, I mean it. So what do you say?" Lindsey finished.
George Allister ran his hands through his hair again before nodding, more nodding to himself than Lindsey as he finally decided. His nod became more pronounced, letting his companion know he might be able to do it. "It'll cost you…"
"That's not a problem," Lindsey assured.
"Then I might know someone. Give me a day or so to make some inquiries." George waved to a passing waiter. "Can I get the bill please?" Turning back to Lindsey, he nodded goodbye. "I think you can pick up the bill, Lindsey."
The two men shook hands. "George, a pleasure doing business with you, as always."
"I wish I could say the same," George replied, turning and walking off.
"Goodbye, Angel," Lindsey mumbled to himself. Throwing a roll of bills on the table, he got up to leave, walking towards the car park round the corner.
Along the row of shops that lined the street, a homeless man sat in the entrance, his clothes dirty and worn with various broken bottles around him. In his eyes, you could see he had given up on life. Various passers by would see him laying there and cross the street to avoid coming into contact with him. The shop owners would try to move him, calling the police, threatening him with violence. Either way the man was better of dead. Both for him and for society. "Hey!" Lindsey shouted as he stood over the man. "How would you like to make twenty bucks?"
The bum looked up at the man in a suit above him. "Sure, what I have to do?"
Lindsey pulled out his keys and two ten-dollar bills. Putting a ten and his car key in the man's hand, he helped him up. "My car's in the parking lot around the corner, registration ******. Go bring it round for me. You'll get the other ten when you get back."
"Sure thing." The homeless man almost jumped up at the chance of making the twenty... or ten and a car. "Thanks, sir," he said walking towards the car park.
Lindsey never waited for him to even turn the corner before waving down a taxi. "Wolfram and Hart headquarters please." He told the driver, not once looking back.
Not once looking back even when a loud explosion echoed through the streets emanating from the car park. Not even when all the alarms began going off, as the windows of dozens of shops were smashed from the force of the blow. Nor when a fleet of police cars went shooting past, heading to where the bomb had exploded.
"So long, Lilah," Lindsey smiled to himself.
****
****
Coming in Backlash II: Raining Metal:
Angel adjusts to being human, someone's there to give him some motivation to go on.
Wolfram and Hart prepare to complete their plans.
Dru and Spike come to L.A.