Disclaimer- I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. I only own the characters I've created. If by some strange coincidence you find you'd like to use these characters, all you need is to ask.

Summary- When Cordy and Angel interfere in a kidnapping plot, Angel runs off to Chicago in the aid of a young girl. Cordy and Gunn have problems of their own chasing after him, and Buffy and Spike are hired to stop him from reaching a certain point in the windy city.

Rating- 'R' for sex, language, violence and character death. What else?

Genre- Action w/ a little bit of everything on the side (sans Angst)

Spoilers- Possible for seasons 1-6 Buffy / 1-3 Angel

Ships'- S/B, C/A in the beginning, eventually C/G (yeah, that's right baby), and a little bit of W/T

Time- AU post-seasons five for BtVS and two for Angel. Glory was defeated without a hitch and Academy Award Winner®(TM) Joel Grey wasn't able to reach/cut Dawn.

Author's Note- This fic takes place directly after The Scoobies and Angel Investigations have finished defeating their latest heavies. For Buffy and friends it was a wizard called The Gate Keeper and for Angel's crew it was a race of evil Malhalla demons. Several times, references are made to these completed missions and certain events that happened within them. Don't worry about this, as you aren't missing anything. Also, Willow can control her magic habits here. This isn't going to be an angsty-type story.

I've got enough angst (badly) beta-reading Nymph Du Pave's Absolution. Yeah, so I'm a plug piggy. Plug, plug. Plug, plug.

Me- body_chunks@hotmail.com
___________________________________________________________________________________________



Warehouse 038 : Escondido Junction -- San Diego, California






"All right, last game. Five-card draw, I deal. No wilds."

Two smooth, well-groomed hands folded expertly over the cards, with four pairs of eyes watching closely.

On the opposite side of the table, Benton, an ugly gangster with a .45 Hardballer, grunted impatiently. "Deal already!"

Ace sighed, his eyes roaming the surrounding area one last time. He was in a large, gray, barren warehouse, deep-golden shafts of light streaming through three windows on the west side. Almost twilight, he noted mentally. The windows on the east and west sides were the only means of escape were one inclined to do so, besides the front shutter. The tall back door was rusted shut and would have to be torn open and replaced. The front shutter they'd come in through, though not an impossible escape route, was guarded by three more thugs.

They were situated around a heavy, wooden card table; they being himself (Ace Whitley, paramount con-artist, card player and sharp-shooter on all of the Westside), Trevor Benton (leader of the Los Angeles based demon-fighting gang, "Aranos Warriors") and his two thugs, whom Ace had come to refer as Stoner and Stench, respectively. He'd never been informed of their real names and hadn't cared to ask, but every time he saw them one had a distant, cloudy look in his eyes and the other smelled absolutely horrid. Both had probably been through one too many rounds with a demon. The card table itself was to the far left of the warehouse, with Ace's Porsche Nine-Eleven parked about ten feet behind where he now sat.

Ace's associate, Hobb, whom he had traveled with quite a ways to recover some 'stolen property' for his boss, waited in the Porsche.

Other than the aforementioned items, persons and two steel-covered bulbs dangling from cords attached to the ceiling far up above him, the warehouse was empty.

Suddenly Benton leaned across the table until their faces were inches apart, and he glared at Ace. "We ain't gettin' no younger, man. Deal."

Ace blinked and smiled, realizing he'd been shuffling the cards all that time. He quickly cut the deck in half and dealt out four hands, five cards each. "Just in case you'd forgotten Mister Benton, I win this round and you give me the information I need."

The bald man nodded and glowered at him. "I know what I have to do, 'Ace'."

He almost flinched at the mocking tone in Benton's voice. Trevor intoned his name like a slap in the face. Ace just hoped the black man didn't reach to slap him with the .45.

Ace ran his left hand through his rich, dark hair and picked up his cards. He smirked. Two Jacks, clubs and spades; an eight, also of spades; a three of diamonds and the Queen of Hearts herself.

Removing the eight and the three, he threw them next to the deck. "Two."

His three opponents also put in their cards, Stench and Stoner both taking three and Benton only one as Ace took two from the top.

Watching the others closely as they took their replacements, he glanced down at what he'd taken. Another Jack, this time of hearts, and a Queen of spades. He grinned, at least until he heard Benton chuckle deeply. He looked up; the gangster was moving his cards around. The other two didn't look like they had anything, but he knew you could rarely tell by an expression alone.

"You ready to lose, boy?" Benton snickered as he looked up at Ace, despise easily read in his eyes.

He was bluffing. Ace Whitley knew Trevor was bluffing.

"Drop 'em."

The deal was simple. Ace arrived in his Porsche with his partner, who was to remain inside the car for the duration of the game. He would play four rounds with three-to-one odds. If he won all four Trevor would divulge him in what he knew about the Boss's little girl and her whereabouts. If he lost... well, Ace never lost. He'd won the last three of four rounds.

Stoner sighed lazily and tossed his cards in front of him. "Nothing. I've had better luck with the cops, man."

Stench, on the other hand, was grinning now. "Hah, a pair!" His first that night. He dropped the useless cards to the pile and turned his pair up on the table. Twos, spades and clubs.

Benton looked at his lackey in dismay. "I hate you sometimes, d'you know that?"

Stench put his hands in the air. "What I do?"

Ace knew now was the time to show what he had. He brought the five cards to the table. "Three of a kind and a pair... How 'bout it, Trevor?"

The big man shook his head and looked troubled. "Well, I guess I'd have to tell you what you came here to know..." Then he moved his head up and stared into Ace's eyes with unmitigated glee. "If I didn't have a straight flush." He placed his cards on the wood for the three others to see.

Ace eased forward and inspected them. Sure enough; seven, eight, nine, ten and a Jack of diamonds. Trevor's mood had changed completely. If Ace didn't know any better he'd say the man looked downright easy going.

"C'mon, Ace." Trevor said with a genuine smile. "You lost. Get in your ninety-thousand dollar car and move it out of my place, huh."

Ace Whitley leaned back and returned the smile. "I suppose you want me out of Escondido too, eh?"

"Uh-huh, now that you mention it that don't sound too bad." The three Aranos members laughed.

The self-proclaimed king of cards leaned farther back in the chair so it stood on two legs and placed one foot on the edge of the card table. Trevor's boys tensed up and their hands dropped to their side arms. Trevor's smile melted into a frown. "Yo', man. What are you-"

Ace's smile grew and he laughed, interrupting Benton. "I'm sorry Trevor, but I don't lose. I never cheat and I often welsh, but I never, ever...lose."

Trevor realized too late what was going down. As he was reaching for the Hardballer, Ace had his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He pulled out two Colt Pythons and pushed off from the table. The chair slid backwards as he fired two rounds to his sides at Stoner and Stench, both bullets tearing into their stomachs.

Trevor stood up, knocking his own chair back on the floor and raising the Hardballer in the air. Ace continued sliding backwards in the chair and blowing lead from his Colts, the two gang members jerking as if from bolts of electricity.

His chair hit the side of the Porsche and Trevor pulled the trigger, blowing out the window next to Ace's face. Ace screamed and flipped backwards onto the hood, two more bullets whistling by him. He looked behind the car momentarily to catch sight of the three guards at the front shutter. One was calling for back-up on the radio while the other two were running towards him, guns rising in the air to get a bead on Ace.

Another bullet slammed into the metal make of his Porsche and he cried out again. This wasn't going as he'd wanted it to. Ace dropped down on the other side of the car and heard two bodies slump to the floor at the same time; Stoner and Stench. He could just barely make out the sound of Hobb inside of the Porsche, and fleetingly wondered what his associate was doing. Ace hoped he'd find out soon enough.

He craned his neck and twisted from the waist-up sideways, letting the empty Colts clatter to the cold stone floor and reaching again into his jacket, pulling out a nine millimeter Glock. Ace met desperate eyes with the first guard running at him just before he shot him off his feet, the other man's bullet grazing the floor to his left and ricocheting into the driver's side door of his car. The body hit stone and didn't move. The other guard strafed to the left and nicked the top of Ace's right shoe with his last shot. Ace returned with two bullets that grounded the gangster permanently.

His anger flared more at the thought of his Porsche being ruined and Ace tried to pick off the last man at the entrance (now screaming into his radio) but his bullet nicked the shutter door above the gangster's head, giving the him enough time to jump outside.

He heard a click from a few yards behind him and realized Trevor had reloaded and was nearby. Ace still had thirteen bullets left in the Glock; he wasn't moving from the safety of the Porsche. Ace slid next to the front wheel so as not to be seen underneath the Nine-Eleven and waited for Trevor to come around the side.

Suddenly a heavy bang came from above him. The big man had taken a running jump onto the roof of his car and was now standing on it, .45 Hardballer trained directly at him. Trevor's hell-bent and wild-eyed appearance gave Ace a sense of deja' vu'. His breath escaped in heavy gasps and he shuddered. "You stupid sonofabitch. I was gonna let you live." He flexed his fingers around the gun and kept a dead-aim on Ace. "Nobody had to die."

Ace stared back, not saying anything. Benton's fingers tightened on the trigger and his eyes glittered. The black man didn't expect a dozen tiny bullets to rip through the roof of the Porsche into his legs and pelvis. He jolted in pain and fired the gun, blasting Ace in the shoulder. Blood spilled from Benton's mouth and the bald man fell from the top of the car, landing four feet away from Ace.

The card-player shakily turned his head and looked at the red liquid splattered on the cement. My blood. The bullet had torn a line straight through his shoulder. Ace covered the hole with his right hand. Shocked at the sight of his own blood and feeling the warm elixir running along the palm of his hand as he pressed it against his shoulder, Ace didn't notice the pain as being any more than a dull throb.

The car door opened and two long legs slipped out, followed by the rest of the woman. She was a tall blonde with blue eyes, strikingly beautiful and of obvious German descent. She blew smoke from the Encom MP-45 and winked at Ace before kneeling over the fallen 'warrior'. Ferocity running through his veins, Ace stumbled to his feet and approached Benton and the woman. "Good timing as usual, Mrs. Hobb. Thanks."

She waved a hand nonchalantly in the air, still watching the crawling form of Benton with a curious smile.

Ace fired another round from the Glock (his left hand off from its mark) at the entrance to make sure nobody decided to jump back in. Then he came along side Mrs. Hobb and stooped down over the body. He turned Benton over and the man coughed more blood up, enough to streak down his face.

Ace nodded to his shoulder and smiled. "See? Nothing but a flesh wound. It'll heal. Hurts, but it'll heal." His features grew darker in the next instant and he shoved his forefinger into a wound at the base of Trevor's gut. "My car, on the other hand, will have to have a make-over. I could be replacing those parts for weeks!"

Trevor didn't catch most of what his adversary had said as he coughed out a scream of pain. Ace withdrew his finger and took his right hand from his shoulder, slamming a fist into the bigger man's face with every word he said. "NEVER-FIRE-AT-THE-RIDE, MAN!"

He stopped when he heard Trevor's nose crack and thick red liquid fountained from his nostrils. Mrs. Hobb leaned over and gently pulled open the lapel of the dying man's jacket. As though she had foreseen it, a card rested there. She pulled it out between her finger and thumb, and Ace caught some scribbled writing on it. The girl...

He brightened considerably and clasped a hand to Trevor's cheek. "Thanks for playing the game, hombre. But we gotta go now."

He and the woman stood up, Mrs. Hobb turning and walking briskly for the car. He was going to follow her when he felt a tug on his Dockers. He'd have to get a new pair now. Ace looked down to meet eyes with Trevor.

"I-it...it didn't have to, ohhh..." He groaned and screwed up his face in pain, fighting an internal battle for the strength to continue. "...be, this way. No-no one had...to...die. Uugh."

Ace smiled sympathetically. "On the contrary, Mister Benton. Most everyone has to die. That's what makes the game so much fun to play. Last man standing, you know."

"Or woman," a cultured Austrian accent came from within the car.

Ace nodded back at the Porsche. "Or woman," he said, just loud enough for Trevor to hear as he pocketed the Glock. He turned and walked back to the car. Taking the Colts from off of the ground and sliding into the driver's seat, Ace shut the door with a clunk. He tossed the empty weapons in the back and rubbed the steering wheel lovingly. "Sorry about all the ruckus baby, I'll get you fixed faster than you can say 'Ace of spades'."

"Um, Ace?"

He rolled his eyes and turned to the blonde to explain that it was just an expression of speech, but she wasn't looking at him. Hobb appeared to be transfixed on the front entrance. As Ace reached for the seatbelt he looked back.

Two gang cars blocked the entrance and an entire troop of Aranos members were starting to pour through, guns raised as they saw the five bodies sprawled across the floor.

Hobb turned to him. "It might be time to leave now."

"Yeah." He nodded, grabbing the keys dangling in the ignition slot and twisting them. "But I'm not going that way."

She frowned at him. "We can make it."

He nodded. "Maybe. But I'm not putting my baby through that."

The engine revved and Ace jostled the car into reverse, just as the first few shots rang out. "Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby, you're gonna be all right." Ace cooed to his vehicle.

They fishtailed around until they were facing the north side of the warehouse, the gangsters shooting at them from the west while a bloody card-scene remained behind them to the east. "Oh baby, baby, baby." Ace slammed his foot down on the accelerator and ducked. Mrs. Hobb did the same.

Bullets broke through the windows and punctured the metal frame, glass sprinkling down onto their heads. They ran over something on the way (Trevor), the Nine-Eleven thumping heavily as it crushed the obstacle underneath it. Ace waited until they'd passed the entrance, and a second later they rose back up, Hobb quickly fastening her safety belt as she got a clearer view of the tall door they were heading quickly towards. Ace noted a few bullets had popped into the driver's side door, creating indentations.

Ace jerked the steering wheel to the right until the car swerved in the same direction. He bit his lower lip to keep from screaming as bullets crashed into the trunk and rear windshield, ripping into his baby's leather upholstery. Suddenly Ace jerked the steering wheel all they way to the left, and Hobb grabbed onto her seat. The car, now unbalanced, lifted off its right wheels, leaving them spinning in the air on only two tires.

"Baby, baby, c'mon baby, do this for Daddy," Ace whispered, his black bangs falling into his face.

Ace and Hobb moved their weight to the left and the car followed suit, skimming almost completely onto its side. They saw sideways through the window that the broken door was getting oppressively closer and closer as they traveled on the edge of Ace's Porsche at almost seventy miles per hour.

"Yes, baby, yes, Yes, YES!!"

The Porsche smashed into the door, sending shockwaves through the vehicle and its two occupants, and for a split millisecond Ace feared the Porsche would simply recoil off the door and send them spinning, crippled, back into the fray. But the door give way an instant later, its rusted metal hinges obliterated from the force against it. What was left of the gray metal door bounced solidly off of the right side of the car and landed outside of the warehouse in a twisted heap.

Rubber tires skidded momentarily on the pavement before Hobb and Whitley threw themselves in the opposite direction and, with its steel skeleton groaning, the Nine-Eleven slammed its right wheels to the earth. They both cracked their heads on the bullet riddled roof as the Porsche came back down. It took Ace a moment to regain control of his car. Luckily, none of the tires had been shot by the gangster's or blown out by their escape. As it was, his shoulder throbbed incessantly and a blistering headache was forming in the center of his brain, but at least the sounds of gunfire from the crowd behind them were already beginning to dissipate.

As everything quieted down, the con-artist turned the cd player on, and a light jazz score emitted from the speakers. Ace thanked The Powers That Be that the Aranos gang hadn't damaged his speakers.

* * *

Ace and Mrs. Hobb didn't speak again until he had them back on the road and speeding away from the warehouse. They were now passing through Escondido's scenic waterfront industrial area, and the pleasant aromas of the Pacific Ocean began to waft through the bullet holes and broken windows. Ace took a deep whiff and sighed happily, thinking of seafood while trying to ignore his aching shoulder wound until they could get somewhere where he could have someone attend to it. For now, a white hankerchief from the glove compartment acted as a makeshift bandage.

"Nice day, huh?"

Mrs. Hobb pulled the white card from within the pocket of her soft-red suit. Her large blue eyes wandered over it and her lips curled into a gorgeous smile. "It's definitely getting better, Ace."



Six Hours Later...

"Whistler, look out!"

Huh, Whistler?

"You son of a bitch!"

"Drop the gun, pretty boy!"

Two to his left, one to his right, all three brandishing handguns. The door in front of him was unlocking despite the commotion and his Luger was still in his jacket pocket. But what about the shotgun? Why don't you get your hands dirty?

Hotel management was already running down the hall towards them.

The black man to Ace's right seemed to have mistaken him for someone he trusted enough to protect; he was pointing dual Magnums at the two people flanking Ace's left. Those two either knew who Ace was or had mistaken him for someone they wanted dead anyway. Minor details aside, the pale-skinned peroxide-worshipper in the black leather jacket was keeping a chrome .45 trained at his head and kept shouting in his ear to drop the shotgun. The Brit's female companion kept a gun pointed at the black man, but looked hesitant about pulling the trigger.

Hobb, where the fuck are you!?

"I said drop the shotgun!" The Brit said that.

"Don't move!" The girl next to him.

"Put your guns down, now!" The black guy.

HOBB, HELP ME!

"All of you, put your hands in the-" Security guard for the hotel, never mind, door opening, man on the other side, fits the description.

From chaos we are born. We wreak destruction, but we do not aim at the targets. WE ARE AIMED.

He raised the shotgun at the dark-haired man, who's eyes widened.

The blonde girl screamed. Someone fires a gun but it doesn't hit Ace because he doesn't feel anything.

Shotgun at his head, just do it. I am a device, used in other people's business. I am a tool. Every tool breaks eventually...

"Whistler, NO!"

He pulled the trigger.

We are pawns in Chess.

We are rocks in slings.

We are sledgehammers in lives.








FogWood Productions
Presents





in association with the FanFiction.Net FicFilms





(music fades in)

"You could have a steam train,
If you'd just lay down your tracks..."

Sarah Michelle Gellar

"You could have an aeroplane flying,
If you bring your blue sky back..."

James Marsters

"All you do is call me,
I'll be anything you need..."

Charisma Carpenter

"You could have a big dipper,
Going up and down, all around the bends..."

J. August Richards

"You could have a bumper car bumping,
This amusement never ends..."

In a
Lyle Brown
FicFilm

"I wanna be...
Your SledgeHammer!"

SLEDGEHAMMERS

"Why don't you call my name?"

David Boreanaz
John Stamos
Natasha Henstridge
Lawrence Fishburne
Taye Diggs
Imogene Boorman
Allyson Hannigan
Amber Benson

Max Perlich
as Whistler

and
Donald Pleasence
as Delphious Leonard

"Ahhhh!"

Produced by
Netscape Composer

"Oh let me be,
Your SledgeHammer!"

Associate Producer
Microsoft© Internet Explorer

"This will be my testimony."

Line Producers/Distributors
FanFiction.Net
(More)

"Show me 'round your fruit cage,
Cause I will be your honey bee..."

Music by
A3

Theme (Sledgehammer) by
Peter Gabriel

"Open up your fruit cage,
Where the fruit is as sweet as can be..."

Edited by
Lindsey

"I wanna be...
Your SledgeHammer!"

Special FX and Makeup by
K.N.B.(TM) with
Todd Mcintosh and Jeri Baker

"Why don't you call my name?"

Director of Photography
Jack Sholder

"You better call,
The SledgeHammer!"

Based on Characters Created by
Joss Whedon

"Put your mind at rest!"

Executive Producer
A. Stevens

"I'm gonna be...
The SledgeHammer!"

Written and Directed by
Lyle Brown

(music stops)