Chapter Five
Bored in L.A.
Being on the run always brings problems. Some, in fact maybe even most of them, can be anticipated, prepared for and thus cease to be problems. If you are experienced at running, and are running by choice, things get even easier. They never get easy, however.
The greatest problem at the moment was time. Or was it boredom? Arranging for a satisfactory security system at the mansion he'd bought had only taken a week. It wasn't like he was going to live there, and he wouldn't store anything of value there either. In fact he was going to sell the place as soon as he got a decent offer on it. But it left him with nothing to do.
Ordinarily, a kill like Sam would have left him sated for months, but..he'd been an amateur. Only three confirmed kills, and Michael doubted there were any he'd missed. No challenge, and the need to find another were already growing. Knowing that he currently were in no position to start another hunt didn't make things any better. In fact, it made it worse.
Hunting a human killer is never easy, unless you listen in on the police, and doesn't mind racing them, mostly to sites where domestic abuse has run its course; but the prey you get that way tend to be hysteric men screaming at their late 'loved one'. Highly satisfactory if you take the time to get the medical records for the victim, years of documented abuse to return, but the doubt tends to be hard to quell. Did he break her arm that night, or did she fall down the stairs? And besides, no challenge.
Hunting his preferred prey, killers with skill and patience, required time and resources. Not to mention time and patience. Back home he had seven unfinished cases in storage, all of them waiting for the next clue, the next hunch to lead him further.
Hunting them while cut off from base, and with a world-spanning organisation looking for him? Suicidal would be the short way of describing it.
And still, he was getting restless. Looking out of the windows in his suite, he could almost feel them. Down in the streets, or in the buildings around him. Killers. Men and women who, for one reason or another, preyed on their fellow mortals. Some skilled, some amateurs. Some so good that even a hundred kills had yet to lead him to them, but all of them his prey. And he couldn't hunt them now.
Well, if big game were unavailable, a rabbit hunt would still relieve some stress. A few vampires, maybe a demon or two, and he would be feeling a lot better. Yes, with L.A. a few hours drive from the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, there should be plenty of vampires and demons around here.
Walking over to the luggage, he began the preparations. Clothing first, of course. Vampires tend to fight unarmed, relying on speed, strength and their fangs, so no need for heavy armour. In fact, standard clothing would work just fine. Jeans, shirt, bullet-proof vest and a loose jacket. Or maybe a coat? He'd use one if he decided to bring a sword.
Some modifications would be required to his armament, of course. His throwing knives were switched with a rather more expensive pair, edges lined with silver melted from a blessed crucifix and numerous religious symbols etched along the blades and on the handles. His standard .22 would come along, but with every second bullet made of wood. He also switched magazines on the .45 from standard armour piercing to a dual mix of silver (also melted from a blessed crucifix) and incendiary before slipping it into its shoulder holster.
Deciding to do without the sword (wearing a coat in California during summer while hiding from the Watchers, not a clever thing to do), he instead slipped a pair of wooden stakes next to the .22 at his back before putting on the jacket. After making a quick check in the mirror to make sure none of the weapons were obvious, he walked out of his suite, and began the hunt.
Being on the run always brings problems. Some, in fact maybe even most of them, can be anticipated, prepared for and thus cease to be problems. If you are experienced at running, and are running by choice, things get even easier. They never get easy, however.
The greatest problem at the moment was time. Or was it boredom? Arranging for a satisfactory security system at the mansion he'd bought had only taken a week. It wasn't like he was going to live there, and he wouldn't store anything of value there either. In fact he was going to sell the place as soon as he got a decent offer on it. But it left him with nothing to do.
Ordinarily, a kill like Sam would have left him sated for months, but..he'd been an amateur. Only three confirmed kills, and Michael doubted there were any he'd missed. No challenge, and the need to find another were already growing. Knowing that he currently were in no position to start another hunt didn't make things any better. In fact, it made it worse.
Hunting a human killer is never easy, unless you listen in on the police, and doesn't mind racing them, mostly to sites where domestic abuse has run its course; but the prey you get that way tend to be hysteric men screaming at their late 'loved one'. Highly satisfactory if you take the time to get the medical records for the victim, years of documented abuse to return, but the doubt tends to be hard to quell. Did he break her arm that night, or did she fall down the stairs? And besides, no challenge.
Hunting his preferred prey, killers with skill and patience, required time and resources. Not to mention time and patience. Back home he had seven unfinished cases in storage, all of them waiting for the next clue, the next hunch to lead him further.
Hunting them while cut off from base, and with a world-spanning organisation looking for him? Suicidal would be the short way of describing it.
And still, he was getting restless. Looking out of the windows in his suite, he could almost feel them. Down in the streets, or in the buildings around him. Killers. Men and women who, for one reason or another, preyed on their fellow mortals. Some skilled, some amateurs. Some so good that even a hundred kills had yet to lead him to them, but all of them his prey. And he couldn't hunt them now.
Well, if big game were unavailable, a rabbit hunt would still relieve some stress. A few vampires, maybe a demon or two, and he would be feeling a lot better. Yes, with L.A. a few hours drive from the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, there should be plenty of vampires and demons around here.
Walking over to the luggage, he began the preparations. Clothing first, of course. Vampires tend to fight unarmed, relying on speed, strength and their fangs, so no need for heavy armour. In fact, standard clothing would work just fine. Jeans, shirt, bullet-proof vest and a loose jacket. Or maybe a coat? He'd use one if he decided to bring a sword.
Some modifications would be required to his armament, of course. His throwing knives were switched with a rather more expensive pair, edges lined with silver melted from a blessed crucifix and numerous religious symbols etched along the blades and on the handles. His standard .22 would come along, but with every second bullet made of wood. He also switched magazines on the .45 from standard armour piercing to a dual mix of silver (also melted from a blessed crucifix) and incendiary before slipping it into its shoulder holster.
Deciding to do without the sword (wearing a coat in California during summer while hiding from the Watchers, not a clever thing to do), he instead slipped a pair of wooden stakes next to the .22 at his back before putting on the jacket. After making a quick check in the mirror to make sure none of the weapons were obvious, he walked out of his suite, and began the hunt.
