Chapter 6

Sing … Sing a Song

There are many places on Earth that can be described as 'interesting.' Some are awe-inspiring; some bizarrely entrancing; some terrifying; and some can only be described as 'weird.' When factoring in the demon world and the countless dimensions associated with them, the list of 'interesting' places is beyond count. It is simply a fact of the natural (and supernatural) order that complexity and variety are infinite.

In all that infinite realm of possibilities, however, there is only one place like Caritas. It is, if such a thing is possible, all those adjectives that comprise 'interesting': awe-inspiring, bizarre, terrifying and weird. It is a convergence of cultures, both human and demon, that created a place unlike any other in any dimension.

Caritas is a karaoke bar.

It could best be described as a little bit of Las Vegas in the middle of L.A. Glitzy, almost shmoltzy, with a leisure-suited owner named Lorne who's shirts were the only things louder than the music. Stylish, almost tragically hip, and with the voice of a choir of angels, Lorne played host with the air of someone who'd truly found what they were born to do. Or, more precisely, hatched to do.

Lorne was a demon, as were most of the patrons of his establishment. Granted, he was demon who counted Cher among his patron saints, and who could belt out all the standards better than the original artists. His dark green skin was capped by bright red horns and deep red eyes. He was an anomaly, or perhaps more of a fulfillment – a demon who was more 'L.A.' than most of the L.A. humans.

Caritas catered to demons of all types, both literally and figuratively. The drink menu was a study in demonic gastronomy, from Bloody Mary's that were a bit too literal in their execution to more exotic fare (most of which is best left to the imagination). Lorne himself preferred a finely made Sea Breeze, a drink so retro it was hip again.

However, Caritas had two other factors that made it the place to be for demons. The first was a magical enchantment that prevented any demon violence from occurring inside the club. Any demon could be assured of a peaceful time when they came here, even if their sworn enemies were sitting at the next table. There were occasional outbreaks in the exterior alley, but the presence of a lot of humans in close proximity kept that to a minimum. The second feature was a talent possessed by Lorne himself. Lorne could read your future, and he was quite good at it. It did require that you sing for him, though – it was the only way he could see into your aura. – hence the karaoke bent to the establishment.

Few humans ventured into Caritas – it was primarily a demonic establishment. However, there were enough that did that the entrance of Angel, Cordelia, Kate, Gunn, Mac, and the unconscious Dietrich caused only a minor ripple of notice. The place wasn't completely packed tonight, but they were still relegated to a too-small table in one corner of the room.

Lorne was on stage as they entered, doing more than justice to Kool & the Gang's 'Celebrate.' The crowd cheered as he took a bow, and then launched directly into a well executed version of  'Lady Marmalade.' (Angel, I swear to God that's Pink sitting over there, Cordelia observed.) Two female slivorths sitting in the front row smiled and waved to him seductively, indicating that they would be more than happy to take him up on the song's suggestions. He invited them on stage, and the three of them executed some well synchronized choreography made possible by the slivorths prehensile tails.

Angel and his team propped Dietrich in a chair and ordered drinks, then proceeded to rouse him. He groaned as he came awake, attempting to shake off the cobwebs in his head left by Mac's tranquilizer dart. He looked about slowly, taking in the variety of species in the room. He was moderately unnerved at first, but seemed to settle himself into disbelief as he turned a hard gaze on Mac and Gunn.

"You two are dead men," he said calmly. "You do realize that, don't you?"

Mac and Gunn looked at one another and shrugged. "Look around you," Mac said to Dietrich. "You're no longer in your sphere of control, so I'd suggest you can idle threats."

Dietrich snarled at him and shot back, "This costume party? This is L.A., buddy. People like to play dress-up. Why the hell am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Because they're not playing dress-up," Angel replied, moving his chair to sit in front of the mobster. "See this?" he asked, pointing to his own face. He waited for Dietrich to focus on him, and then shifted from his human face into that of a vampire.

The effect was instantaneous on Dietrich. He was smart enough to know that no amount of special effects could do what he'd just seen, even in this town. That meant that what he was seeing here could be real. He looked around again, noticing this time the subtle and not-so-subtle indications that the creatures surrounding him were not made-up actors, but the genuine article.

Angel cleared his throat, and Dietrich's eyes snapped back to him, this time dancing with fear. "Are we clear? Good. Now, he asked you a question before." Angel indicated MacKenzie by pointing his thumb over his shoulder. MacKenzie and everyone else calmly sipped their drinks. For most of them, the calm was feigned; MacKenzie, however, was genuinely enjoying himself. He alternated between a shot glass and a martini glass, smiling inwardly at Dietrich's discomfort.

Dietrich licked his dry lips. "Yeah," he answered, the words seeming to catch in his throat.

"Now would be a good time to answer it," Angel replied. Then he smiled, showing the arms dealer his fangs. The smile was anything but comforting.

"Okay," Dietrich replied, nodding. "I don't know nothin', you understand. These guys roll in a couple of nights ago – "

"Describe them," Angel snapped.

"Seven of them," Dietrich replied. "Brits. Armed to the teeth. Obviously special forces types – well organized. Disciplined. The leader's name was Shepard, or something like that."

"Sheffield?" Angel prompted.

"Yeah, that's the guy," he answered. "Anyway, they come to me, all business. I don't know how they found out about me, 'cause they didn't have a reference. But they came, knew me, and like I said, it was all business." He looked around anxiously, clearly not wanting to explain how he had been outgunned and outflanked before he even knew that they were there. MacKenzie had done something similar, and based on those two experiences, he was scared of who he was dealing with. Combined with the demons, Dietrich was seriously considering a new line of work.

"Anyway, the had intel on a weapons cache that they wanted to boost. They needed some support, transportation, that sort of thing. In exchange for my help, I'd get the bulk of the weapons. They'd just take what they needed and leave me the rest. Only it had to be right then." Dietrich looked around the group to see how his story was going over.

"And you agreed, I take the job?" asked Angel, not really needing an answer.

"I didn't have much choice, if you know what I mean," Dietrich replied. "Anyway, it went off without a hitch, and I ended up with a nice supply of firepower to sell for a few hours work." He smiled at them. "All's well that ends well, right?"

"Who'd the weapons belong to?" asked Kate. Her voice was chill. All was not going to be well for this man; she'd make sure of that. If she were still a cop, she'd bust him right here. As it was, her best hope lie in finding out who was importing weapons into L.A. and then letting them be stolen.

"Some law firm," Dietrich replied. "Wolf-something. I don't know what they need with them anyway. They're a bunch of suits for god's sake."

"Wolfram and Hart?" Angel asked cautiously. For the first time in the interview he sensed a need for caution.

"Yeah, that's them," Dietrich indicated.

"You know them?" asked Mac.

"Yeah. Local connection to the greater evil. They serve a group of demons called the 'Senior Partners.'" Angel shook his head. "Not a group you want to cross."

Mac nodded, working through the information in his mind. "Makes sense," he said after a moment. "Humans serving demons – that's exactly the kind of arrangement that Arinoth would go after. He preaches the enslavement of demons, and their destruction. Humans bowing to them would be the ultimate abomination." He rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. "I take it Wolfram and Hart will take action from this incident. So, Arinoth has Sheffield hit their weapons cache to get the firepower he needs to take out the Kri-kites and get Faith. He also has him recruit Dietrich here for help, and leaves him most of the booty, so that Wolfram and Hart have a nice scapegoat to find and slaughter."

"But they'll still get most of their weapons back," Angel said. "He really hasn't hurt them that much."

"No," said Mac, thinking through the plan as it was likely executed. "Sheffield would have left a parting gift with the weapons. Something designed to take out the whole thing either when it's discovered by the rightful owners, or after they bring it back inside their facilities." He shook his head for a moment. "This is a double-cross wrapped in a double-cross wrapped in a gang war."

"That's just nasty," Gunn commented.

"What are you talking about?" Dietrich demanded. "Are you saying I'm sitting on a bomb?" He was clearly becoming more panicked by the minute.

"You're sitting on a bomb that is a magnet for vengeance," Wesley said calmly.

"Yeah? Well let'em come," Dietrich replied, trying to muster enough bravado to convince himself.

"I think that's the very last thing you want to do," Angel said. "If you want to live, that is."

"Actually," said Mac calmly, "he's already dead. Whether from one side or the other, that's pretty much a done deal. It's just a question of how many other people will die because of it."

"I'm leaving now," Dietrich said imperiously. To his surprise, the group made room for him and gestured to the doorway. They had found out what they'd intended to discover. And given the man's situation, there was little point in their interfering any further. Dietrich stood and straightened his clothes, adjusting his self-image back into place as he did the same with his tie. He looked over at Gunn and MacKenzie, fire in his eyes. "You two better start running," he said threateningly. Neither of them replied.

As Dietrich began to thread his way out of the club, though, Gunn pitched his voice loud enough to be heard, and formally intoned the phrase, "Dead man walking." The eyes of a dozen demons turned to stare at him, and Dietrich broke into a run.

The group sat back down at the table.  "What now?" Cordelia asked.

"Hey kids," came a too-chipper voice from behind them. Lorne made his way over to the table, smiling brilliantly (as he did at all his guests). He opened his arms expansively and proclaimed, "Welcome, oh prodigal ones." Shifting one hand to a hip, he waggled his index finger of the other hand at the group. "You guys never call; you never write. And when do you show up? When I'm doing two for one drink specials!" He sniffed slightly, indicating his hurt feelings. "I think I'm being taken advantage of here."

"We're sorry, Lorne," Angel said, turning his best 'puppy-dog' look on the host. Of course, still in vampire face, it really didn't work. Not that he was all that good at it to begin with. And especially not when he was dealing with a mess – like now. But he needed something from Lorne, something only Lorne could do. Therefore, he decided to exercise the better part of valor and tried to get Lorne out of his mood. "It wasn't intentional, I promise you. We've just gotten busy."

"Busy?" Lorne asked. "Sure, too busy to keep up with an old friend. Too busy to stop by and have a drink? Too busy for us unimportant people, huh?" He turned his head in a melodramatic gesture.

"But we brought guests," Cordelia chimed in. "We absolutely knew that they had to be introduced to Caritas as the hippest place in L.A." She nodded firmly. "We wouldn't bring them anywhere else."

Lorne turned and seemed to notice MacKenzie and Kate for the first time. "So you have," he said, delighted. "Okay, all's forgiven." He smiled brightly. He turned that smile on Kate. "You I know," he said. "No one mentioned that you were such a fox," he said. "Ever considered modeling?" Kate flushed, both flattered and embarrassed. No one could ever figure out if Lorne's ability to get straight to a person's secret desires and compliment them in the face of their most hidden self-criticisms was part of his psychic talent or not. Kate didn't seem to care.

Lorne turned to look MacKenzie up and down, noting the one arm still in the sling. "So, who's tall, dark, and can't drive a stick shift?" he said.

"Name's MacKenzie," Mac replied, extending his good hand in greeting. "You can call me Mac."

"Nice grip, soldier boy," Lorne replied. "Hey sweet-cakes," he said to Angel, delighted as the name caused an immediate flash of annoyance on the vampire's face. "Mind if I borrow him for awhile? I have a couple of slivorth girls waiting. Well, let's just say that Kiral and Karly really appreciate a big man with a strong grip." He laughed a slightly embarrassed, slightly naughty, in-the-know laugh that was so perfectly 'in' in L.A. right now. Cordelia was jealous at his ability to do it so effortlessly.

"Actually," said Angel, seeing the situation coming completely out of hand and desperate to stop it, "we need a reading. Do you think you could find something for Mac to sing?"

"Well, I've got a copy of 'Angus and His Kilt' in my bedroom," he said immediately. His attention shifted to the table at large and added, "I mean, who doesn't just love Wench Works, right?" Not waiting for an answer, he regarded MacKenzie a little more critically. "You're a little too baritone for that, though. And the accent really throws me a wrench. My first instinct is Rod Stewart, but I just cannot see you with a feather boa." He pinched his lips as he mentally reviewed his catalog of music. "I know just the thing." He lifted Mac out of his chair, pointed to the stage and whispered a set of instructions to him. "Off you go," he said, shoving the man towards his sound tech.

Lorne took the vacated seat and signaled the waitress. There was no need for him to order; his desire for a Sea Breeze would be understood implicitly. He turned and looked at Mac's place. "Wow!" he said, pointing. "Was he drinking both of those?"

"Vodka martini with a single-malt chaser," nodded Gunn.

"Shiver-me-timbers," Lorne responded. "And he can still walk after one of those? I'd be on a first class ride to la la land with complimentary serving of yugh!"

"That's his second round," Wesley commented, smiling slightly.

"Two? Are you serious? Well, I guess it's true what they say about Scots," Lorne replied admiringly. "Of course, anyone who'll eat haggis …."

"Hey," said Cordelia defensively, "I know what some of your other patrons eat," she said. "Who are you to judge?"

"You obviously don't know what haggis is, sweetie," Lorne replied casually.

"So?" she shot back, intent on defending the tall, good-looking, and, as near as she could tell, single Scotsman. Wesley leaned over and whispered in her ear just as Mac took the stage. "Gross!" she exclaimed as the opening riffs of The Proclaimer's '500 Miles' came through the sound system and Mac kicked in with vocals that proved that soldiering had been a good career choice for him.