Disclaimer: I could feel it go down, and the panel indicated that the 12th floor was near. I sighed, ready to be relieved of my temporary claustrophobia. At the 10th floor, however, a redhead decided to enter the elevator. After the doors closed, he leered at me and pressed the emergency stop button. "Are you the one they call Racharoni?" he asked. "Yes, but please.. let me out of here. I-- I can't breathe," I replied. "Well then, that's how it'll be," he said. "What?" I cried, banging my hands against his extremely flabby chest, "Let me go!". "Not until you agree that the show belongs to me, and you won't make any profit out of your ridiculous stories-- loser!" I screamed okay. I haven't left the 12th floor since then.

Feedback: Thanks again for those who bother to drop a note, I'm glad you like it so far. :)

Giles lead Buffy into the interrogation room, where a man in cuffs slouched in a wooden chair. He glanced up at her upon her entrance, and the dim lighting revealed his face. Brown eyes squinted at her, hooded under a heavy brow. He fidgeted in the cuffs, and his bulky muscles accentuated the movement in his wife beater.

"Buffy, meet Angel O' Connor," Giles tossed the man's files to her. "New York's finest thief, who made the mistake of coming to LA."

"Pleased to meet you," she said with a raised brow, and a tone that indicated that she was anything but pleased.

"Sure," Angel replied nonchalantly.

"We've made a deal with Mr. O' Connor," Giles added. "He's willing to introduce you to the local burglary crime syndicate, in exchange for two years off his sentence."

"Where would you take me?" Buffy asked the thief.

"A party. It's going to be big with the thieves, so you might find whatever you're looking for," he said. Buffy refused to be intimidated by his cool demeanor and his penetrating gaze, but needed to turn to Giles nonetheless.

"So how's this going to function, Chief?" she asked.

"Mr. O' Connor will pose you as a-- a date, and introduce you to whomever he can. You'll try to get more information, and set up anything that will get you further with these people," said Giles.

"Cameras, motion detectors, and a fingerprint scanner."

"All that for a bloody ring?" Spike asked.

"A bloody five million dollar ring, yes," Wesley replied. He stood from his seat at his desk and went to the bookcase nearby. "You'll know where everything is, but I don't know how you'll get past it all," he added as he took a large leather-bound book off a shelf. He opened it, revealing the book to be hallow, and took out a big folded map. He tossed it to Spike. "The blueprints," he said.

Spike opened it up and laid it on the coffee table. His face read that of confusion and concentration. "You've got some hi-tech nonsense to get me through this, right mate?" he asked, sipping his latte.

"I'm trying to get some things, but it's difficult when all the money from the last job is running out. You gave too much, we needed some leftover fo--"

"Don't start again, Wesley. I give what I see proper, end of conversation."

"Fine," Wesley sighed, "Just go to that party tonight. We need to keep your rep up, or we'll lose allies."

"Pfft. I don't care about those sodding thugs. We don't need them to get by."

"Yes, we do. They know who you are, so you need their respect."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Those ponces worship my feet, and you know it. Just making a couple appearances will keep them heeding," he said.

Wesley sat back on his chair, and spun to face the computer. Without looking back he said, "That bravado's going to get your arse kicked someday."