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I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.
WORK IN PROGRESS - Feedback is greatly appreciated, especially on anything that looks like a continuity or factual error.
Slayer, Las Vegas
By Marcus L. Rowland
VIII
Warrick tried to use his cellphone and swore. Signal too low, one of the cell masts must be down. He'd have to wait until he was in the van.
"Warrick," said Nick from the door, "Can you give me a ride to the crime scene? My engine was playing up on the way in, I don't want to have to wait for the AAA."
"No problem - head downstairs, I've just got to get some more lifters and print powder, be ready in a couple of minutes."
That settled it. He picked up the phone and dialled.
In a nearby office Jim Brass and an Internal Affairs technician watched the view from a tiny bugging camera in Warrick's office, while a computer monitored the phone system. "He's using the phone, extension two-one-five. Dialling... okay, that's a cellphone number. I'll put in a trace, see if we can locate the phone at the other end."
"Can you record the call?"
"I am."
"Good thing he isn't using his own cellphone."
"Good thing my ass, I'm jamming the signal."
"Isn't that illegal?"
"It's short range, won't affect anyone outside this building. If the FCC complains I'll refer them to you. Okay, he's off the phone."
Warrick put the last supplies in his bag and left the office, heading downstairs. Brass said "Track him through the security cameras, let me know if he does anything else that's odd. And play back the tape."
"Okay. Here we go..."
"8435," said a rasping male voice.
"It's Warrick Brown, I don't have much time. Tell them that the Slayer's sister has called someone called Willow. She says she's a witch. She'll arrive in Las Vegas some time tonight."
"So?"
"According to the sister, this Willow will be able to find the Slayer wherever she might be hidden, and is powerful enough to harm the Brides."
"She lies, but I will tell them. Go now. Serve well, and you will join the Brides in eternal life and youth."
"That's it," said the technician. "Witches and eternal life and slayers, huh? Some sort of cult? Going to tell me what this is about some time?"
"Trust me," said Brass, "you really don't want to know. Now get me some information on the number he called. A location would be nice."
"Has he been read his rights?" asked Catherine, looking at the raggedly-dressed prisoner on the closed-circuit TV screen.
"Read by the arresting officer, apparently," said the grizzled Sergeant in charge of the cells. "Captain Brass warned us he's dangerous, he left a couple of men standing by to restrain him for your examination."
"Nice of him. Get them down here, I want to get started. Greg, you know what to say?"
"No problem. Sounds like it'll be fun."
"Okay, let's get downstairs."
Catherine looked at the prisoner through the bars, and the prisoner looked back. Apart from the clothes he seemed normal enough. Eventually he said "What are you staring at?"
"Just checking." She turned to Greg and said "He's a vampire all right. Only one inhalation in nearly three minutes."
"A vampire? Me? What are you on, drugs?"
"No. We've seen vampires before, so don't waste your.. sorry, you don't breathe do you... let's say your time."
"I want an attorney."
"Fine. Give us the number of your attorney, we'll call him, or we can assign one from the public defender's office."
"Do that."
"Very well. Let's go upstairs to the interview room to see him."
Catherine nodded to the guards. One of them unlocked the cell, while the other covered the prisoner with a Taser.
"I know my rights," said the vampire, walking towards the cell door. The guards moved to escort him, extremely carefully.
"You might want to shut your eyes for a moment when we go out of the cell door," said Greg, "it's kind of a bright morning."
"Wait a minute," said the vampire, stopping. "I want to see my attorney down here."
"Sorry, it's the interview room or nothing."
"I have an allergy to sunlight. Bring him down to me."
"Come on, a couple of minutes won't hurt you."
"Err.. I want to waive my right to an attorney."
"Smart," said Catherine. "Very smart. Let's go back to the cell, we'll start again."
"Dawn, there's a call for you," said Grissom, "says his name is Clem."
"Let me talk to him... Okay, Dawn here, thanks for calling back. Do you have anything for me?... I'll tell the police, doesn't mean much to me. Anything else?... He's in Las Vegas? Okay, I'll try to find a way to see him if you think it'd help. Keep digging. And thanks again."
Dawn hung off, then said "That was a friend in Sunnydale. He's been talking to the demon crowd there, trying to find out if anyone knows anything about the situation in Las Vegas. He says that the vampires here mostly hang out around a place called Lorenz Park, he thinks it might be where they hunt."
"It might be where they're based," said Brass from the doorway. "Warrick called a cellphone that's in the cell covering the park and the surrounding neighbourhood. The address it's registered to is a phoney, but the phone itself was in that area an hour ago. No guarantee that it's still there, of course, but it might be a lead. I've got men working on it, and I've applied for a warrant to intercept all calls to or from that number."
"That's good," said Grissom, "did your friend have any other leads?"
"Only one thing," said Dawn. "He says that there's a psychic in town that might be able to help. Name of Lorn, Loren, something like that. He sings at one of the casinos."
"If that's Lorne," said Brass, "he's the nutjob in green makeup that's starring at the Tropicana."
"If Clem knows him it probably isn't makeup. Can someone give me a lift there? I need to see him."
"I'll send someone out to talk to him," said Brass.
"No, he'll need to see me. His power apparently works like that."
"Okay, I'll take you myself," said Brass. "My men can take care of things for an hour or so, and I always did like to meet celebrities."
"This is a nothing assignment," said Warrick. "What good are we doing here?"
"Same as any other case," said Sara, lifting another footprint from the studio floor. "Gathering the evidence we need. You know as well as I do that the only way to get all the evidence is to collect all the evidence, even things that turn out to be irrelevant. There might be something here that shows us where they're holding Buffy."
"What good is she anyway?" asked Warrick. "Okay, so she killed a few vampires. We don't even know that they were hurting anyone. She hasn't got near the Brides yet. Assuming they really are the perps, of course."
"Why not?" said Sara. "I saw those bitches myself, if I hadn't been lucky I would have been lunch for them before Buffy got here."
"I'm beginning to wonder if they were here because Buffy was here. Sure, somebody murdered the people here, but maybe those three turned up because the Slayer was in town and they wanted to protect themselves."
"No, they pretty much said that they were the murderers. No doubt in my mind."
"Maybe... but who are we to judge them?"
"What?" asked Nick. "Are you serious?"
"Think about it. What do we do to vampires apart from kill them? Do we give them any alternative? There's a Slayer that does nothing but hunt them, and I don't see people volunteering to give them blood."
"That's a.. novel perspective," said Sara. "Doubt you'll get many people agreeing with you though."
"Maybe they should think about it. I've done with the fingerprints, heading back to the lab."
Sara and Nick listened to his footprints going downstairs, then Nick punched one of the preset numbers on his phone and said "Warrick's on the move, headed out."
"Okay, on him."
"I've known federal pens that were easier to get into," said Brass as he and Dawn were finally allowed behind the scenes at the Tropicana.
"I guess that he must have a lot of fans bothering him," said Dawn, staring nervously at a poster of Lorne in the corridor leading to his dressing room. "I hope he's okay... the last time I met someone with a complexion like that it was a dancing demon that was killing people with spontaneous human combustion."
"Weird."
A showgirl wearing green glitter makeup and small red horns, and very little else, opened the door to the dressing room and invited them in. Brass looked around and snorted. "The last time I saw something this glitzy was Liberace's funeral."
A tall green figure with red horns, wearing a silk dressing gown, came in from another room and smiled at Dawn. "I was told that the police wanted to see me. Aren't you just a little young to be a cop?"
"I'm Captain Brass, Las Vegas Police Department", said Brass, "this is Dawn Summers."
"You want autographs? Tickets for the show? Coffee? Chocolate? A job in the chorus line when you're a little older?"
Dawn blushed, then said "No. We need your help. My sister is missing, and I'm told that you're the demon that can find her."
"Moi?"
"Word gets around."
"I don't do that sort of thing any more, it never seems to end well."
"Would you do it for the Slayer?"
"Slayer? You're not the Slayer, I know what she looks... wait a momento, Dawn Summers? As in Buffy Summers?"
"Yeah, she's my sister."
"Why didn't you say so? Cupcake, your sister's ex and I go way back."
"Angel?"
"That's right, mister tall, dark, and broodsome himself."
"We think that Buffy's been kidnapped by the Brides of Dracula. They're three really old vampires, we think they're pretty powerful."
"More powerful than Angel?"
"Uh.. maybe."
"Well... like I said, I've pretty much given up on this stuff, but for you I'll try. What do you want to sing?"
"Sing?"
"It's the way it works, sweetlips. You sing and I get the vision, set you on your path."
"I'm not going to end up married to you and swept off to hell, am I? Cos' that's what nearly happened the last time a demon wanted me to sing."
"No, nothing like that. Nothing bad. You sing something, I feel your mojo. Except I can kind of feel it already, that's a big green aura for such a little girl. Austin Powers should have that much mojo."
Dawn blushed again. "What should I sing?"
"Doesn't matter. A love song, a nursery rhyme, it's all good."
"Okay... um... Dido then." She started to sing uncertainly:
I thought it was funny when you missed the train
When I rang you at home they said you'd left yesterday
I thought it was strange when your car was found
By the tree...
Lorn listened for a moment, then cried "Stop!" and collapsed into an armchair, looking shaken.
"You all right?" asked Brass.
"Sorry... a little too Hellmouthy for my tastes. You people live in that place? 'From beneath you it devours', wonder what that means. Sorry, passing thought. Let me try again, but this time sing something a little less angsty."
"Okay" said Dawn, "Mom always watched Passions, I know the theme song:
Breathe in, breathe out,
You keep me alive.
You are the fire burning inside.
Breathe in, breathe out,
You keep me alive.
You are the fire, my passion for life."
"Better... I'm getting something... kind of odd, a feeling like something's watching over her."
"Over Buffy?"
"Over her and over you, cupcake. Not one of the Powers, more... uh oh... oh crap... whatever it is, I think it just noticed me. Owww." He staggered again.
"Are you okay?"
"I think so, if I take a couple of dozen aspirin. But I think I just set off someone's alarm. Someone that really doesn't want anyone spying on the Slayer or you. I don't want to try that again, I get the feeling that next time there'll be more than alarm bells ringing."
"But what was it?"
"I don't know, sugar. I really don't know. But I've got a matinee in twenty minutes, so it's going to have to wait. Come back between shows if you still need help and you think of something else. I'll tell the doorman to let you in straight away."
Lorne saw them out. A few moments later the casino owner came in, with his retinue of thugs. "What was that about?"
"That was about the sister of the Vampire Slayer and the Las Vegas police department wanting me to poke my nose where someone a lot more powerful than I am doesn't want it. If you want me to mess with that again I can try, but I get the feeling that it'd be a really dumb move for you to do anything but stay well out of the way. Whatever that was, it isn't taking prisoners."
A few feet from Buffy, in the darkest corner of her cell, the tip of a green shoot poked out through a tiny crack in the concrete. Slowly, but with inexorable power, it began to grow. Meditating, Buffy didn't notice.
TO BE CONTINUED
