Chapter Two The Silver Stake Club

First things first. I needed some money and to get it, I was going to have to take a job I definitely didn't want. The only potential client to come my way lately was a call from a Mr. Rupert Giles, owner of the Silver Stake. I'd sworn that after L.A., I'd never work for demons.

I swirled the last drops of bourbon on my tongue and ground out my smoke. Oz had been out late last night. He'd told me he was working a private case and I knew what that meant. A woman. Cherchez la femme. Even with his Willow witch at home he could never resist a beautiful woman.

The phone rang again. I let it ring. I also knew they'd call back again and again. Demons don't give up. I'd gotten the call from Mr. Giles this morning, right before the cops dropped the bombshell. He'd talked about people in L.A. who knew me through the D.A.'s office, said he had an easy job for me, just a few photos. I knew what that meant. Then he said I'd have to come over to the Demontown district to get them. That's about the time I started going on about demons, opening my big mouth about just what scum most of em are, all that jazz.

He'd drawn a deep breath and said softly, Terribly sorry you feel that way, Mr. Harris. My associates told me you would be just the man for the job. Then, in that soft British accent, he stuck in the clincher, We're not all alike, you know.

Oh crap. That cultured, Oxford educated, oh so polite manner belonged to a demon. The thing was, just like all of them, right under the fancy manners were long white fangs. He told me he'd get back to me and hung up. Easy money, down the drain.

I heard banging on my office door and saw a bulky shadow through the frosted glass. Open up in there, Harris. I know you're there. You better have my dough this time. Cough it up or you'll be coughing up a lung!

Shit! The landlord. Just what I didn't need. He could give a sweet crap about Oz. All he wanted was last months rent. He banged and cursed a while longer, but he finally went away. He'd be back, though. I think he's part demon.

I figured I'd better eat my pride and tender my apologies to Mr. Giles in person. It didn't look like pennies were going to fall from heaven anytime today. I threw on my jacket and clambered down the fire escape. Even this late at night, it was still hotter than Hell and there was a particularly nasty smell like old wet cigars drifting in on the sea breeze. I started walking toward the bad part of town. It's not that far from the good parts, just less human.

I'd been in the Silver Stake Club a few times when I first moved back here. Most of the clientele were humans out for a thrill. The kind of people who get off on the danger of being in Demontown, looking for a bit of excitement playing on the fringes of the dark. That's where the trouble usually starts.

The club wasn't dark or dank. It was a real classy joint, decked out in velvety draperies and subtle, sexy lighting. There were plenty of vamps in Italian tuxedos around for decorative muscle, glamourous demon girls in sequins hawking drinks and a few bizarre specimens behind the bar for color. An edgy kind of atmosphere--not too threatening, just a shade of danger to tempt the tourists. I guess why that's why the joint was jumping.

I straightened up my wrinkled silk tie and slid unobtrusively into a table toward the back. A slinky blonde wrapped in blue sequins took my order and swayed away toward the bar I could hear the whispers start up behind me, even over the piano player. Bad news always travels fast on this side of town. A couple of vamps strolled toward my table, toothy grins in place Vampires. Always looking for an excuse to maul somebody and I didn't want to be it.

Fellas, I started I'm not looking for trouble here. Honest. They smirked and narrowed their beady yellow eyes. Mr. Giles. He sent for me.

They exchanged puzzled glances. The biggest one raised an eyebrow and disappeared into the recess of the backstage area. Short and round crossed his arms and glared at me. I tried out my best nonchalant look back and hoped he didn't smell me sweating.

I took several more sips of a very fine Kentucky bourbon on the rocks and checked out the floor show. There was a full jazz orchestra and a piano player that could really bang out the tunes. I wasn't sure how many of them were human. I knew that the girl in the spotlight wasn't, though.
Slim and dark haired, she prowled the stage, gleaming in white satin. That sweet honey voice singing the lowdown blues couldn't be human. Her name was Anyanka. I'd heard her mentioned around town. Vengeance was her forte. Rumor was, she'd lost the taste for it, but there were also rumors that she was back on her game in a small way: a few migraines, nasty case of hemorrhoids, that sort of thing. That wasn't my problem, though. Let the cops deal with the petty crimes. Around here, that's about all they're good for. She was definitely sexy, though. I could have gone for her in a big way. Except for the whole avenging demon thing.

tbc
Music: Billie Holliday, Lover Man