Chapter Three--Puzzle Pieces

Monday morning, December 18, 6:00 a.m.

I gave up on sleep round about daybreak. My brain was fuzzy and my mouth tasted like I'd licked an ashtray. The thought of pounding a gallon of java at the Nighthawk was the only thing I could think of to make the brain cells kick into gear. Wasn't like I was gonna get anymore sleep and I was all out of smokes.

It was too late or rather too early to be calling anyone, and besides that, what was I supposed to say? Oh by the way, Slayer, remember your boyfriend the vampire? Well, he's come over all evil. Nah, that wasn't gonna cut it.

Back in L.A. when Oz and I had worked the night shift, we'd seen some real weird shit. I'd been scared too,but this though, this was bothering me. I'd had about enough of my so-called friends turning up dead or evil. I got up , had a shower and picked through the ashtray for a smokeable butt. I gave that up for lost and headed to the Nighthawk for breakfast.


I'd worked my way through most of the Lumberjack Platter and started thinking about making time with Imogene the waitress, when I heard a voice hissing in my ear.




The voice was followed by his familiar rabbity mug. He had his head ducked down under the up-turned collar of his coat and a pair of big black sunglasses completed his disguise. Subtly, thy name is Andrew.

Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, get the hell away from me, you slimy bastard.

Now, now, Mr. Harris. Is that any way to talk to your associates?

You're no associate of mine. I snarled. Figured you were long gone from SunnyHell. Spike know you're still in town?

The Kid blanched whiter than a vamp. Oh yeah, I still had it. If was the power to terrorize rabbits with the mighty power of other people's names.

Andrew was such a pain in the ass, I just couldn't feel sorry for the guy. His left eye twitched, and the hands holding a big manila envelope shook like a gypsy tambourine player. He looked ready to do a flit, but I was feeling a bit mellower as well as curious.

Spill it, kid, I ordered. I was curious, but that didn't mean I had to be nice to him.

I need protection, Mr. Harris, he murmured, cringing down to eye level, shifty eyes skittering around the room. He took off the cheaters and waved to Imogene for a cup of joe. She ignored him.

I muttered, a nice, noncommittal answer. He eyed me some more, slithering closer toward me. He'd be in my lap soon. What's the problem?

He jerked back as if he were scalded. I'd rather not say. I let that go for a minute and made another sound to keep him yapping.

Tell ya what, kiddo. Grab a seat. I'm all ears.

I watched him squirm around, slithering awkwardly into the booth, all elbows and ankles. His heavy leather coat twisted and tangled around his long legs as he half fell into the booth. There were fat beads of sweat on his face, despite the icy weather. He wasn't faking his fear.
He choked up and muttered something, thrusting the envelope at me. Inside were well worn articles from the Sunnydale paper, taped together and livid with red circles and arrows drawn on a dozen stories. Spidery writing in the margins added to the illegibility.

What the...Just what am I supposed to see? I ran an eye down the columns.

He wriggled excitedly and leaned even closer to me, his fingertip roaming up and down the columns he pushed toward me. See? And right here?

Let's see, Missing pets. You interrupted my breakfast because your poodle took a powder....

Yes! I mean, no! I mean, just look, okay? He begged, See? Right here.

I checked out the dates. The articles went back about a month ago.
The articles were an interesting mix. Assaults, burglary, suspicious fires, prowlers, more missing pets. I don't get it. What's the connection? This is nothing but...

Look. See, the dates...it's so obvious!

Make it simple for me.

Andrew wet his lips and mumbled something. He's a shifty little gunsel, but he's smart. He finally blurted it out.

Spike. He's out prowling around all night. Acting real funny.

He's a funny guy.

Oh, that pissed him off. Not big on the jokes, our Andrew. That's not what I meant and you know it. You won't think it's so funny when he...

He didn't finish the sentence, but I had a bad feeling I knew the end of it. I already knew what he was talking about. Attacks by wild animals, missing persons...starting in November. You'd have to be asleep to miss the connection. I was suddenly wide awake.

Andrew's eyes got wild for a minute and I remembered he was a warlock of sorts. He looked outside at the rapidly brightening sunshine reflecting on the parked cars.

He looked at me again, like he was trying hard to remember his manners then grabbed up the clippings and crammed them back in the envelope angrily.
There's something missing from him. No...that's not it. I mean, it's like he's not there anymore, y'know? Not alive.

I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud, startling the beefy trucker parked in the back booth snoozing over a plate of ham and eggs. Andrew gave me his best kicked puppy look and stood up to go. I grabbed the lumpy envelope from him and shoved it under my plate.

I don't have to stand here and be insulted...

That all ya got, then, kid?

It's enough, isn't it? So, do I get the Slayer's protection, or what? Andrew snapped. You owe me. He turned and glared at the Nighthawk's bleary patrons, then turned toward me with a glower.

I snorted at that. Take a word of advice, kid. If you've got any sense, you'll get away from Sunnydale while you're able. I looked around the restaurant and laughed, startling the trucker again. You and everybody else.

tbc

Music: Good Morning Blues Leadbelly