Chapter 7
Poker Face
MacKenzie finished up the song with style, and stayed on stage a few moments to exchange cheers with a group of dorvits who were visiting from Scotland. They extemporized a slightly drunken rendition of 'Scotland the Brave' accapella with the human. Lorne raised his eyebrows – he'd been at a loss at how to get the dorvits out of their bad mood since they'd arrived.
"Lorne," Angel said urgently. "Before he gets back, we need to know. Can we trust him?"
Lorne looked back at Angel and the group, seeing their nervous expressions. He quickly turned serious. "Yes," he said simply, "you can trust him. As a matter of fact, you'd better trust him. This guy doesn't know it, but he's a major player in the next apocalypse. Or more to the point, in avoiding it."
Everyone but Angel seemed relieved. "How long?" he asked urgently.
"If our boy here fails, two days." Lorne looked around the group, stopping to stare intently at Kate. "You're here to help him, not the other way around. Get that straight or the City of Angels is going to need to change its name in forty-eight hours."
Mac walked up then, and Lorne got out of his seat. He gestured for Mac to sit and patted him on the back. "Good job, Rob Roy," he said cheerfully. "I've had that in the library for years now, and you're the only person I've ever met who could sing it right. If you'd like, you can take it with you when you leave."
"I'd rather take some information with me," Mac replied.
"That's a given," Lorne replied. "But I'm throwing in the CD gratis." Lorne took a moment to collect his thoughts, and then put his arms on two chairs to lean down closer to the group. "Okay, here it is folks. Now, it doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but all I know is what I get." He looked around to make sure everyone was good with that disclaimer. Satisfied, he continued. "Now the guy behind all this has died – "
"That's great," interjected Angel. "Without him in the lead, the plot should start to fall apart."
"Now wait a minute, he's still in the lead," Lorne corrected.
"But you just said he'd died," Cordelia stated somewhat confused.
"He has," Lorne said, holding his hand up to forestall other interruptions. "He's died a bunch of times. Stabbed, burned, poisoned, shot, and other things I'm too delicate to mention. But he's still around, which says that you're dealing with something way outta my league here."
"But we don't need to fight Arinoth," Mac said. "Unless he's here, which I don't think he is. We just need to find and stop Sheffield, who I can assure you is very much human."
"Good point," Lorne said nodding. "That brings me to the other part of this message – whatever this plan is for Faith, it requires a hospital facility. A fairly sophisticated one at that. And discreet. Track that down, and you'll find the rest of what you're looking for."
The group looked back and forth at one another. As obscure as this was, it was their first real clue. The information from Dietrich had simply confirmed that it was Sheffield that they were dealing with. This in turn confirmed their theory that it was Sheffield who had attacked the Kri-kites, and that he had done so to force them to whisk Faith out of prison via a portal. None of that had given them a thread to use in searching, though. This did.
"One more thing," Lorne said. "I have a special message for Angel. Come with me, Kimosave."
Angel got up and Lorne put an arm around him and led him to the bar. "I don't normally do this, you understand," Lorne began shyly.
"I didn't think you could," Angel replied. "I mean, I didn't think you could get a message for someone off another persons reading."
"Technically, I can't," said Lorne. "But sometimes it's not hard to put two and two together. And when someone comes in with an aura that's postmarked Sunnydale, I figure you're the person who's gonna want to be making four out of that equation."
"Sunnydale? Who?" Angel replied.
"Back corner, playing poker," Lorne replied. Angel got up to begin moving across the room, but Lorne grabbed his arm. "Remember, you can't harm him in here. Besides, I need to know if he's available for Friday night. He did a version of 'Mony, mony' that took the house down."
"What did he want? From the reading, I mean?" Angel asked.
"He's looking for a healer, someone who specializes in wounds from dark magic," Lorne replied. "Other than that, I can't say."
"Okay," Angel replied. "Tell the group I'll catch up to them. They need to go get started tracking down that medical facility."
"Got it," Lorne said, and the two went their separate ways.
* * *
At a table tucked into the darkest corner in Caritas, Spike sat looking at his cards. By his count he was up about fifteen hundred. There was another six hundred on the table at the moment. He needed twenty-five to get the healing he needed. His encounter with Mr. Gray had left him … injured.
He gazed around at the group of players, gauging their interest in the game. He could win this hand and maybe keep the slorinth in play, but the vorbigan would be out. The dornithal was anyone's guess, but they tended to be random by nature about everything. However, if he blew this hand, he would keep all three and get another pot of at least double this within a couple of hands. That would suit his needs quite well. He turned his attention back to his cards, making an exaggerated show of concentration.
"Hello, Spike," came a challenging voice, interrupting his thoughts. Spike looked up to see Angel standing next to the table, gazing down with his usual smug, holier-than-thou gaze. It was annoying.
"Angel, good to see you," Spike replied with obvious disdain. "And now that I have, why don't you leave? I'm busy." Spike turned his attention back to his cards, making a clear show of ignoring the other vampire.
"Now, now, Spike," Angel continued good-naturedly, "you wouldn't want your friends here to think you're anti-social, would you?"
"Go play with your own friends, Danny Boy," Spike replied. He didn't look up from his cards as he did so, but did make a rude hand gesture.
"Spike, c'mon," Angel persisted, looking around in mock incredulity. "We used to be buds. Best friends."
" 'Used to be' being the operative term here," Spike replied drolly.
"Look," snapped the slorinth testily, "if you guys want to reminisce, go find another table. I'm trying to play here."
Angel leaned over and looked at the slorinth's cards – an incredibly rude action. He pointed at the hand and asked the slorinth, "Is that good?"
"Spike," said the dornithal threateningly, "if he says one more word, you're going to fold, and the three of us will split the money you leave in the pot."
"He is going to go away now," Spike answered, his own voice taking on an edge.
"No I'm not," responded Angel.
"Fold!" demanded the dornithal.
Spike's temper flared. If he folded now, he'd lose the pot, which had been his plan to begin with. But that was with the intention of stringing these guys along. Right now it looked like he was going to be forced to fold and have them quit the game, which he really couldn't accept. If he couldn't keep them in the game, he was certainly going to keep what money was on the table. He slammed his cards face down on the table. "I am not going to fold," Spike nearly shouted. "And do you know why?"
"Why?" replied the dornithal.
"Because," Spike pointed at the slorinth, "he's holding a pair of jacks," but seeing the reaction of the slorinth added, "if that!" He pointed at the vorbigan and continued, "He tried to draw into an inside straight, but didn't get it." Then he smugly turned his gaze on the dornithal. "And you think you're sitting pretty with three queens, but they may as well be the Village People because I have a full house." The reactions of the three demons were enough to convince him that he had, in fact, been right. "And that is why I'm not going to fold."
The three other demons looked at each other for a few confused moments, and then threw down their cards. They each picked up their remaining money and muttered about Spike's lineage as they hustled away from the table. Spike, still fuming, gathered the money from the pot and added it to his own wad of bills.
Angel calmly sat down across from him, smiling fiendishly. Spike attempted to ignore him as he organized the bills, but his fury got the better of him. "I had them going," Spike spat at his former mentor. "Thirty more minutes and I would've had my whole stake, plus some extra. Now I'm still four hundred short, thanks to you." He slammed his hand down on the table in frustration. "It'll take hours to find three more suckers like that, lose to them for awhile, and then string them along enough to get them into the game but solid. That's if some other wanker like you doesn't come along and bollocks the whole thing up!"
"Gosh," said Angel calmly, "I'm just having so much trouble feeling bad about this. Now why would that be?"
"Look, you want me to say 'I'm sorry' for having you tortured the last time I was here? Well, I'm not," Spike smiled cruelly at the other vampire. "The way I look at it, you got the better end of the bargain. I mean, Mr. Tortured Soul would run out things to feel all martyred about if it wasn't for folks like me giving you an occasional bite on the arse."
"Why don't I just kill you now?" Angel said. "It really would save everyone in Sunnydale from having to listen to you."
"Oh please," Spike replied, laughing. "One, you can't touch me inside Caritas, so quit making with the threats okay. Two, I just saved your girlfriend from becoming a page one headline, so I think we're just about even. And three," Spike smiled even more at this, "you want to know what I know about laddie-boy's friends."
Angel wrestled with his emotions for a long moment. Despite being an evil creature of the dark – much as Angel once was – Spike was correct on all three counts. Angel shrugged. "Okay," he said nonchalantly, even though he was ticked off at having been outmaneuvered by Spike, "tell me what you've got."
"Not so fast, Don Quixote," Spike answered. "You owe me four hundred."
"Tell you what," Angel responded, "why don't you earn it? Lorne's looking for an opening act and I hear you do a pretty good rendition of 'Mony mony.'"
"Yeah, well," Spike clearly was torn by this option. While he had been resistant to karaoke in the beginning, the response of the crowed was somewhat addictive. " 'Rock the Cradle of Love' is more my speed, you know what I mean?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Sure," Angel responded indifferently.
"Buffy knows what I mean," Spike said. Angel's eyes snapped up, burning. He had crossed the proverbial line. Angel was done playing with Spike; Spike was far from done playing with him. "Seems she had a thing for our dear Mr. Idol in junior high school. You know what kinds of things young girls think about in relation to rock stars, don't you? And as it happens, I am capable an astounding impression of the man." Angel's eyes began to blaze with anger, and doubt. "You know how good it is? People keep stopping me on the streets here asking for my autograph. Some people want more. A lot more. Like Bu- "
He didn't finish the sentence. Angel moved like lightning to cut off the line of discussion. His anger had overcome him, and his good judgment. The enchantment which controlled Caritas prevented demon violence by turning it back on the perpetrator. Angel's sudden lunge ricocheted, and he was knocked back several feet, landing in a disoriented heap.
Angel shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and saw Spike looming over him. "Now that was worth it," he said, laughing.
Angel scrambled up and glared at the other vampire. "You've had your fun," he began, but Spike held up his hand.
"Indeed I have," he said. Then he turned serious. "Your friend MacKenzie travels in some very bad circles," Spike said. He drew aside one corner of his shirt to show a deep, weeping wound. "This is complements of Mr. Gray – he's with Executive Management. Seems he liked my technique with the railroad spike. Only this won't heal." He closed his shirt and held a finger up to Angel's face. "Now you listen here, mate. I didn't ask to be involved in this, and as of right now I'm not. I'm just here to get this little problem of mine taken care of. But I'd keep an eye out if I were you – there's a lot of very powerful beings involved in this struggle, and I'm not sure who's side is whose."
Spike adjusted his clothing and turned to leave, but Angel grabbed his arm. "This Mr. Gray, did you send him here?"
"I didn't send him anywhere," Spike replied.
"What did you tell him?" Angel demanded.
"I told him what he wanted to know," Spike replied.
"Which was?" Angel persisted.
"Where to find the other slayer," Spike replied.
"You led him to Faith?" Angel's temper began to rise again.
"No," Spike said, turning a challenging eye on Angel. "MacKenzie's friends did that all by their lonesomes. In case you've forgotten, they're the bad guys here."
"They're not the only ones," Angel replied. Spike jerked his arm from Angel's grip and walked off.
"So," Lorne said, walking up behind Angel. "Did you find out anything important?"
"Maybe," replied Angel. "If a really, really powerful demon were to come to Los Angeles, where would he go?"
"That depends," said Lorne. "How powerful is he, and how connected?"
"He's been sent from Executive Management," Angel replied by way of an answer.
"Well, then," replied Lorne, "I'm no expert on this. But when crime families come into each other's territory to do business, they usually check in with the local boss. Professional courtesy and all." He paused to think about this. "Which means …."
"Which means he'll check in with the Senior Partners," Angel finished. Suddenly, this was a whole lot more complicated.