Countdown: A $20 Bill
Author: Elsa Frohman
Feedback: elsa@frohman.net
Rating: G
Spoilers: None -- Souled Spike AU
Summary: This is the sixth of 25 ficlets counting down to
September 24, when Buffy the Vampire Slayer returns to U.S.
TV screens. It's just a $20 bill, right?
Archiving: Please ask. But I will eventually be putting these
stories up on my fiction page at: http://www.frohman.net/fic/
A twenty-dollar bill. That's all it was. Not worth that much.
I found it on the ground, blowing down Main Street, a few
storefronts down from what used to be the Magic Box.
I'd been standing outside the shuttered magic store, wondering
what happened. Peering in through the window, I could see
parts of the ceiling had collapsed. All the fixtures had been
stripped out of the place. There was a hand-lettered sign on the
door that said "Closed for renovations," but it was obvious that
nobody was renovating the place. What became of Anya?
Surely she wouldn't have given up and left it like this? That
store was her life.
I wondered who I could ask about it. I didn't want to see Buffy
or Dawn or any of their cohorts just yet. Wasn't ready. Wanted
to have a plan first, and right then, I was still having too much
trouble getting my bearings. You'd think a moral compass
would help you navigate -- but truth is, it left me a bit lost.
I'd been hanging around town, keeping out of sight, and
fighting the occasional demon. It's all I could think of to do. I
had a century and then some of misdeeds to make up for, and I
wasn't sure of how to go about it. So I just went back to doing
more or less what I was doing before -- I was just being less
visible about it.
So, when I saw that twenty-dollar bill blowing down the street
I picked it up and wondered if it was some sort of sign. Could
it be a hint that there was something other than killing demons
I could do to make up for my evil past?
What can you do with twenty dollars? It's not that much. Three
packs of cigarettes, a bottle of middling good booze, two movie
tickets and popcorn, or maybe dinner for two at the
Doublemeat Palace. Not much at all.
Probably not a sign from the Powers that Be. More likely just
some sod's bad luck, dropping it and letting it blow away.
So I decided to take it to the church down the street and stuff it
in the poor box.
That's where my troubles began. I got inside, and there's the
box, right inside the door. But it's got a cross on it. The thing
covers the whole top of the box, and the slot to stick the money
through is right through one of the bars. I can't touch it.
I'm standing there, trying to figure out how to put the bill into
the box without touching it -- the bill was an old one, real soft
and rumply, so I couldn't just drop it and have it go through the
slot -- when the priest comes up. He probably thought I was
standing there trying to figure out how to break the lock.
Priests just aren't a trusting as they used to be.
"Can I help you, my son?"
I held the bill out to him. "Could you put this in the box for
me?"
"Charity soothes the soul," he said, and I found myself thinking
that maybe I was sent here with a purpose, after all. "But it has
to come from the heart. Put the money in the box, I think you
will find you like the feeling."
"I want to put the money in the box, but I can't touch it. Sorta
an allergy, father. Could you do it for me?" I was still holding
the money out to him.
The priest frowned. He'd been giving me a funny look -- sort of
a you-look-familiar-why-can't-I place-you kind of thing. And
suddenly he remembered. I attacked him once in a cemetery.
Buffy pulled me off him -- I hadn't really meant to do him any
harm. It was just a momentary rage thing. Don't know why
they would have been having a burial at any time when I could
be around anyway.
"Vampire!" he shouted, grabbing his crucifix and shoving it in
my face.
"Bloody hell!" I flattened myself back against the wall and
went game face. I didn't mean to, but he'd startled me and it's
sort of a fight or flight reaction.
"Back creature of darkness!"
"Oh, give it a rest," I said in disgust. "Enough with the Roger
Corman dialog. I just want to…" But it was no use, he was
forcing me back with the crucifix, and I had no choice but to
run out of the church.
I might have given up then, took the money to Willy's and had
a drink or two, but I was pretty determined to do the right
thing. There's a homeless shelter down the street from the
church, and I thought maybe they'd take the money, if the
Catholic Church didn't want it.
Dru and me had eaten enough homeless people -- maybe I was
supposed to start making amends by helping the homeless.
I walked into the Helping Hands Shelter and looked around for
someone in charge. I couldn't just hand it to one of the winos.
They'd just go buy a couple of bottles of Wild Turkey and that
wouldn't help anybody. Not that my $20 was going to change
anyone's life -- I just want to get it to where it could do some
good.
There was a young woman sitting behind a desk in the corner
of the common room. I went over. She hadn't looked up at me
yet. I cleared my throat.
"We're full for tonight," she said, continuing to work on the
ledger in front of her without looking up.
"I'd like to make a donation," I said. That got her attention. She
looked up and her eyes went all wide. She practically knocked
over her chair jumping back.
You see, I hadn't been spending much time around people for a
while. I'd been hiding out, licking my wounds, so to speak.
And along the way, I'd sort of forgotten about my game face
and how people react to it. And after I left the church, I hadn't
thought to go back to my human face. Shit.
"Hey, that guy is after Denise!" somebody shouted behind me.
Before I knew what was happening, about fifteen homeless
guys piled on me. They were all human, so I couldn't even
defend myself.
I can't say they were very effective as fighters. There wasn't a
one of them who could hit better than a Girl Scout. They were
mostly pretty emaciated old men. But there were enough of
them that they had me on the floor in a second. All I could do
was protect my head with my arms.
"Hey! Cut it out! I just wanted to…"
Finally, I just threw them off. It hurt like hell, but there was
nothing else for it. They hadn't hurt me, except for tearing my
shirt, but I was pretty well hacked off.
"Bugger this!" I said, stalking out, the money still in my
pocket.
Well, I'd given charity a fair chance, and it just wasn't working
out for me. Time to get a new plan. Commerce.
I went down to the Kwik Stop convenience store on the corner
and got a six-pack and a couple of packs of cigarettes. Maybe it
wasn't helping anybody, but at least I wasn't stealing them,
OK?
When I got up to the counter to pay, a guy comes in wearing a
ski mask carrying a pistol. Great -- a robbery. Once again, a
human, so there wasn't much I could do. He ordered the clerk
to open the cash register.
The clerk was an idiot. One of those oh-no-I'm-not-getting-
robbed-again sort of guys. He shook his head and started to
reach under the counter. Bad move.
The robber raised the gun to blow his head off, and I saw there
was one thing I could do. I moved toward him and yelled. It
distracted him and he shot me instead of the clerk. Point-blank,
right in the chest. No problem. Guns can't hurt me. But it did
put another hole in my shirt.
When I don't even flinch, the robber gets scared. He backs
away, then turns and bolts.
The clerk was pretty shook up. "Oh, man! Oh, man! He shot
you. I'll call 911. Hold on man…"
I turn to him. "It's all right," I said. "I'm not hurt. He, um…
missed."
But the clerk could see the bullet hole and powder burns on my
shirt, and the hole in my chest beneath. The guy got scared then
and started backing away. "What are you?" he said, his voice
shaking.
"Just a guy trying to buy some beer…"
"Take it… get out…"
So I left with my six-pack and cigarettes, but I still had the
damn $20 bill. I was starting to think I knew why it had been
blowing down the street.
Back out on the street, I saw a girl standing by herself under a
street lamp. She didn't look to be more than 17 or 18, and she
was dressed like a -- OK, she wasn't just dressed like a whore,
it was pretty clear she was one.
OK, one more try…
I went up to her. It's hard to start a conversation with "Would
you like $20?" But I was determined to try.
She took it all wrong.
"Twenty?" she sneered. "Honey, you're not bad looking, but
I'm not doing you for $20."
"No, I don't want… I just want to give you the money. Go
home. You don't need to do this."
She rolled her eyes. "Right… $20 and my life is all better. Go
put it in the poor box," she said, turning away from me.
"Already tried that."
She turned back and gave me a strange look, taking in the
condition of my shirt -- which was pretty disreputable at that
point.
"You look like you could use that $20 more than me," she said.
"Why don't you take it to WalMart and buy yourself some
clothes?"
I started to laugh. She must have thought I was one of those
homeless crazy people. She started to back away.
"No, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just having a bad night."
She stopped and smiled a little. "Yeah, I know what you mean.
Your $20 is the best offer I've had all night. Sometimes it just
doesn't pay to get out of bed."
"Or into it," I said.
She laughed at that.
"Tell you what," she said, eyeing my beer. "Give me one of
those and we can sit down and talk. Mind you, I don't work that
cheap, so don't get any ideas."
"No problem."
It turned out her name was Marcie and she was from
Oklahoma. Came out to Los Angeles to try to be an actress,
and ended up working the streets. Met a guy who promised to
take care of her and came to Sunnydale with him. He dumped
her and she ended up back on the street.
I told her my life story, at least as much as I could tell and not
have her thinking I was completely starkers. I told her the
vague, love gone wrong, trying to change myself version.
Marcie and I drank up the six-pack and I ended up giving her
the cigarettes. Hell, what did I care, I didn't pay for them. Need
to give up the filthy things anyway.
After she left, I sat on the park bench for a while longer.
Maybe I didn't change Marcie's life, but at least she didn't
shove a cross at me, beat me over the head or shoot me, so
things were looking up.
I still had the bloody $20 bill though.
Moved on to Willy's. Still a while until last call. Figured I'd
spend the $20 and be rid of it.
You run into the strangest people in Willy's. Of course, most of
them aren't people at all.
I sat down in the corner booth -- not feeling much like
socializing up at the bar. A couple of minutes later a guy comes
and sits down with me. Sort of a Kevin Sorbo-looking sort of
bloke. Square jaw, broad shoulders, blue eyes and this I'm-
good-can't-you-tell-by-looking expression.
"Can I join you?"
"Looks like you already did, mate."
I was thinking he might be a poofter, he seemed to be coming
on to me, if you know what I mean.
"How's the good deed thing working out for you?" he asked.
I gave him a dirty look. I should have known that when a guy
comes on to you at Willy's, he isn't your garden-variety queer.
"What's it to you?"
"Just wondering what sort of return I was getting on my $20
investment."
I should have cold cocked him right there. But the chip has
taken the edge off my hair trigger temper.
"What are you? The ghost of Michael Landon?"
"Not exactly -- but you're on the right track."
"Well, it's been a bloody washout. Take your bleedin' $20. If I
try to help anybody else there'll be another apolcalypse."
The poofter laughed. "You haven't done so badly."
"Not bad? The priest shoved a crucifix in my face, the
homeless guys tried to beat the shite out of me, I got shot in the
convenience store and the trollop wouldn't even take my
money. That's good?"
The poofter chuckled. "It's all in how you look at it.
"First, you saved the clerk's life. No question about that. That's
worth $20 any night of the week.
"But the rest of it went pretty well, too."
"Define 'well,' " I growled.
"Let's see. The priest -- after you left, he realized you were
trying to put the money in the box, but couldn't because of the
cross on top. He's sitting up in the rectory right now meditating
on good and evil and how it could be that a vampire was trying
to give money to the poor. He's very confused right now, but
when he sorts it out, he's going to be better for the experience."
"Oh, right. I'm bleedin' St. Francis."
"Not quite -- but you're getting the idea.
"Now, at the homeless shelter. Those old guys are there
because they've stopped thinking they're worth anything.
They've failed so many times that they don't believe they can
do anything right. But tonight, they rescued a fair damsel from
an attacker. You know, those old guys are feeling really good
about themselves tonight."
"And their better for the experience," I said sarcastically.
"Right, nothing makes a bloke feel better than beatin' some
other bloke up."
"I believe you've felt that way at times in your life, haven't
you?"
I had to admit, he had me there.
"OK, we've covered the convenience store," I said. "What
about Marcie? I suppose you're going to tell me she's going to
change her life and become Mother Theresa now."
"No, I don't think so. The big changes don't come that easily.
You should know that. I expect she'll be back out on the street
tomorrow night.
"But how long do you think it's been since she just sat and
talked to a guy and didn't have to put out? You don't have to fix
all a person's problems at once. Sometimes, just making them
feel a little better is the best you can accomplish."
"You're not human, are you?" I asked.
"No, of course not. Why do you ask?"
"Just wanted to make sure. Chip, you know."
I reached over the table and grabbed him. I dragged him out of
the booth and out the back door into the alley. The look on his
face was worth every moment of the whole wretched night,
when I threw him up against the wall and went game face on
him.
"I want to make one thing perfectly clear," I snarled. "There is
no bloody way my life is going to be come 'Highway to
Heaven, the Vampire Years'! Do you hear me?
NO.BLOODY.WAY!"
I took out the $20 bill and stuffed it in his mouth. I had another
place in mind, but that would have meant taking off his
trousers, and I was afraid he might enjoy that.
I stalked back into Willy's and went back to my booth.
If I see the sodding berk again, I'm going to tear his head off.
Author: Elsa Frohman
Feedback: elsa@frohman.net
Rating: G
Spoilers: None -- Souled Spike AU
Summary: This is the sixth of 25 ficlets counting down to
September 24, when Buffy the Vampire Slayer returns to U.S.
TV screens. It's just a $20 bill, right?
Archiving: Please ask. But I will eventually be putting these
stories up on my fiction page at: http://www.frohman.net/fic/
A twenty-dollar bill. That's all it was. Not worth that much.
I found it on the ground, blowing down Main Street, a few
storefronts down from what used to be the Magic Box.
I'd been standing outside the shuttered magic store, wondering
what happened. Peering in through the window, I could see
parts of the ceiling had collapsed. All the fixtures had been
stripped out of the place. There was a hand-lettered sign on the
door that said "Closed for renovations," but it was obvious that
nobody was renovating the place. What became of Anya?
Surely she wouldn't have given up and left it like this? That
store was her life.
I wondered who I could ask about it. I didn't want to see Buffy
or Dawn or any of their cohorts just yet. Wasn't ready. Wanted
to have a plan first, and right then, I was still having too much
trouble getting my bearings. You'd think a moral compass
would help you navigate -- but truth is, it left me a bit lost.
I'd been hanging around town, keeping out of sight, and
fighting the occasional demon. It's all I could think of to do. I
had a century and then some of misdeeds to make up for, and I
wasn't sure of how to go about it. So I just went back to doing
more or less what I was doing before -- I was just being less
visible about it.
So, when I saw that twenty-dollar bill blowing down the street
I picked it up and wondered if it was some sort of sign. Could
it be a hint that there was something other than killing demons
I could do to make up for my evil past?
What can you do with twenty dollars? It's not that much. Three
packs of cigarettes, a bottle of middling good booze, two movie
tickets and popcorn, or maybe dinner for two at the
Doublemeat Palace. Not much at all.
Probably not a sign from the Powers that Be. More likely just
some sod's bad luck, dropping it and letting it blow away.
So I decided to take it to the church down the street and stuff it
in the poor box.
That's where my troubles began. I got inside, and there's the
box, right inside the door. But it's got a cross on it. The thing
covers the whole top of the box, and the slot to stick the money
through is right through one of the bars. I can't touch it.
I'm standing there, trying to figure out how to put the bill into
the box without touching it -- the bill was an old one, real soft
and rumply, so I couldn't just drop it and have it go through the
slot -- when the priest comes up. He probably thought I was
standing there trying to figure out how to break the lock.
Priests just aren't a trusting as they used to be.
"Can I help you, my son?"
I held the bill out to him. "Could you put this in the box for
me?"
"Charity soothes the soul," he said, and I found myself thinking
that maybe I was sent here with a purpose, after all. "But it has
to come from the heart. Put the money in the box, I think you
will find you like the feeling."
"I want to put the money in the box, but I can't touch it. Sorta
an allergy, father. Could you do it for me?" I was still holding
the money out to him.
The priest frowned. He'd been giving me a funny look -- sort of
a you-look-familiar-why-can't-I place-you kind of thing. And
suddenly he remembered. I attacked him once in a cemetery.
Buffy pulled me off him -- I hadn't really meant to do him any
harm. It was just a momentary rage thing. Don't know why
they would have been having a burial at any time when I could
be around anyway.
"Vampire!" he shouted, grabbing his crucifix and shoving it in
my face.
"Bloody hell!" I flattened myself back against the wall and
went game face. I didn't mean to, but he'd startled me and it's
sort of a fight or flight reaction.
"Back creature of darkness!"
"Oh, give it a rest," I said in disgust. "Enough with the Roger
Corman dialog. I just want to…" But it was no use, he was
forcing me back with the crucifix, and I had no choice but to
run out of the church.
I might have given up then, took the money to Willy's and had
a drink or two, but I was pretty determined to do the right
thing. There's a homeless shelter down the street from the
church, and I thought maybe they'd take the money, if the
Catholic Church didn't want it.
Dru and me had eaten enough homeless people -- maybe I was
supposed to start making amends by helping the homeless.
I walked into the Helping Hands Shelter and looked around for
someone in charge. I couldn't just hand it to one of the winos.
They'd just go buy a couple of bottles of Wild Turkey and that
wouldn't help anybody. Not that my $20 was going to change
anyone's life -- I just want to get it to where it could do some
good.
There was a young woman sitting behind a desk in the corner
of the common room. I went over. She hadn't looked up at me
yet. I cleared my throat.
"We're full for tonight," she said, continuing to work on the
ledger in front of her without looking up.
"I'd like to make a donation," I said. That got her attention. She
looked up and her eyes went all wide. She practically knocked
over her chair jumping back.
You see, I hadn't been spending much time around people for a
while. I'd been hiding out, licking my wounds, so to speak.
And along the way, I'd sort of forgotten about my game face
and how people react to it. And after I left the church, I hadn't
thought to go back to my human face. Shit.
"Hey, that guy is after Denise!" somebody shouted behind me.
Before I knew what was happening, about fifteen homeless
guys piled on me. They were all human, so I couldn't even
defend myself.
I can't say they were very effective as fighters. There wasn't a
one of them who could hit better than a Girl Scout. They were
mostly pretty emaciated old men. But there were enough of
them that they had me on the floor in a second. All I could do
was protect my head with my arms.
"Hey! Cut it out! I just wanted to…"
Finally, I just threw them off. It hurt like hell, but there was
nothing else for it. They hadn't hurt me, except for tearing my
shirt, but I was pretty well hacked off.
"Bugger this!" I said, stalking out, the money still in my
pocket.
Well, I'd given charity a fair chance, and it just wasn't working
out for me. Time to get a new plan. Commerce.
I went down to the Kwik Stop convenience store on the corner
and got a six-pack and a couple of packs of cigarettes. Maybe it
wasn't helping anybody, but at least I wasn't stealing them,
OK?
When I got up to the counter to pay, a guy comes in wearing a
ski mask carrying a pistol. Great -- a robbery. Once again, a
human, so there wasn't much I could do. He ordered the clerk
to open the cash register.
The clerk was an idiot. One of those oh-no-I'm-not-getting-
robbed-again sort of guys. He shook his head and started to
reach under the counter. Bad move.
The robber raised the gun to blow his head off, and I saw there
was one thing I could do. I moved toward him and yelled. It
distracted him and he shot me instead of the clerk. Point-blank,
right in the chest. No problem. Guns can't hurt me. But it did
put another hole in my shirt.
When I don't even flinch, the robber gets scared. He backs
away, then turns and bolts.
The clerk was pretty shook up. "Oh, man! Oh, man! He shot
you. I'll call 911. Hold on man…"
I turn to him. "It's all right," I said. "I'm not hurt. He, um…
missed."
But the clerk could see the bullet hole and powder burns on my
shirt, and the hole in my chest beneath. The guy got scared then
and started backing away. "What are you?" he said, his voice
shaking.
"Just a guy trying to buy some beer…"
"Take it… get out…"
So I left with my six-pack and cigarettes, but I still had the
damn $20 bill. I was starting to think I knew why it had been
blowing down the street.
Back out on the street, I saw a girl standing by herself under a
street lamp. She didn't look to be more than 17 or 18, and she
was dressed like a -- OK, she wasn't just dressed like a whore,
it was pretty clear she was one.
OK, one more try…
I went up to her. It's hard to start a conversation with "Would
you like $20?" But I was determined to try.
She took it all wrong.
"Twenty?" she sneered. "Honey, you're not bad looking, but
I'm not doing you for $20."
"No, I don't want… I just want to give you the money. Go
home. You don't need to do this."
She rolled her eyes. "Right… $20 and my life is all better. Go
put it in the poor box," she said, turning away from me.
"Already tried that."
She turned back and gave me a strange look, taking in the
condition of my shirt -- which was pretty disreputable at that
point.
"You look like you could use that $20 more than me," she said.
"Why don't you take it to WalMart and buy yourself some
clothes?"
I started to laugh. She must have thought I was one of those
homeless crazy people. She started to back away.
"No, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just having a bad night."
She stopped and smiled a little. "Yeah, I know what you mean.
Your $20 is the best offer I've had all night. Sometimes it just
doesn't pay to get out of bed."
"Or into it," I said.
She laughed at that.
"Tell you what," she said, eyeing my beer. "Give me one of
those and we can sit down and talk. Mind you, I don't work that
cheap, so don't get any ideas."
"No problem."
It turned out her name was Marcie and she was from
Oklahoma. Came out to Los Angeles to try to be an actress,
and ended up working the streets. Met a guy who promised to
take care of her and came to Sunnydale with him. He dumped
her and she ended up back on the street.
I told her my life story, at least as much as I could tell and not
have her thinking I was completely starkers. I told her the
vague, love gone wrong, trying to change myself version.
Marcie and I drank up the six-pack and I ended up giving her
the cigarettes. Hell, what did I care, I didn't pay for them. Need
to give up the filthy things anyway.
After she left, I sat on the park bench for a while longer.
Maybe I didn't change Marcie's life, but at least she didn't
shove a cross at me, beat me over the head or shoot me, so
things were looking up.
I still had the bloody $20 bill though.
Moved on to Willy's. Still a while until last call. Figured I'd
spend the $20 and be rid of it.
You run into the strangest people in Willy's. Of course, most of
them aren't people at all.
I sat down in the corner booth -- not feeling much like
socializing up at the bar. A couple of minutes later a guy comes
and sits down with me. Sort of a Kevin Sorbo-looking sort of
bloke. Square jaw, broad shoulders, blue eyes and this I'm-
good-can't-you-tell-by-looking expression.
"Can I join you?"
"Looks like you already did, mate."
I was thinking he might be a poofter, he seemed to be coming
on to me, if you know what I mean.
"How's the good deed thing working out for you?" he asked.
I gave him a dirty look. I should have known that when a guy
comes on to you at Willy's, he isn't your garden-variety queer.
"What's it to you?"
"Just wondering what sort of return I was getting on my $20
investment."
I should have cold cocked him right there. But the chip has
taken the edge off my hair trigger temper.
"What are you? The ghost of Michael Landon?"
"Not exactly -- but you're on the right track."
"Well, it's been a bloody washout. Take your bleedin' $20. If I
try to help anybody else there'll be another apolcalypse."
The poofter laughed. "You haven't done so badly."
"Not bad? The priest shoved a crucifix in my face, the
homeless guys tried to beat the shite out of me, I got shot in the
convenience store and the trollop wouldn't even take my
money. That's good?"
The poofter chuckled. "It's all in how you look at it.
"First, you saved the clerk's life. No question about that. That's
worth $20 any night of the week.
"But the rest of it went pretty well, too."
"Define 'well,' " I growled.
"Let's see. The priest -- after you left, he realized you were
trying to put the money in the box, but couldn't because of the
cross on top. He's sitting up in the rectory right now meditating
on good and evil and how it could be that a vampire was trying
to give money to the poor. He's very confused right now, but
when he sorts it out, he's going to be better for the experience."
"Oh, right. I'm bleedin' St. Francis."
"Not quite -- but you're getting the idea.
"Now, at the homeless shelter. Those old guys are there
because they've stopped thinking they're worth anything.
They've failed so many times that they don't believe they can
do anything right. But tonight, they rescued a fair damsel from
an attacker. You know, those old guys are feeling really good
about themselves tonight."
"And their better for the experience," I said sarcastically.
"Right, nothing makes a bloke feel better than beatin' some
other bloke up."
"I believe you've felt that way at times in your life, haven't
you?"
I had to admit, he had me there.
"OK, we've covered the convenience store," I said. "What
about Marcie? I suppose you're going to tell me she's going to
change her life and become Mother Theresa now."
"No, I don't think so. The big changes don't come that easily.
You should know that. I expect she'll be back out on the street
tomorrow night.
"But how long do you think it's been since she just sat and
talked to a guy and didn't have to put out? You don't have to fix
all a person's problems at once. Sometimes, just making them
feel a little better is the best you can accomplish."
"You're not human, are you?" I asked.
"No, of course not. Why do you ask?"
"Just wanted to make sure. Chip, you know."
I reached over the table and grabbed him. I dragged him out of
the booth and out the back door into the alley. The look on his
face was worth every moment of the whole wretched night,
when I threw him up against the wall and went game face on
him.
"I want to make one thing perfectly clear," I snarled. "There is
no bloody way my life is going to be come 'Highway to
Heaven, the Vampire Years'! Do you hear me?
NO.BLOODY.WAY!"
I took out the $20 bill and stuffed it in his mouth. I had another
place in mind, but that would have meant taking off his
trousers, and I was afraid he might enjoy that.
I stalked back into Willy's and went back to my booth.
If I see the sodding berk again, I'm going to tear his head off.