"No new clients called or came in today," Lorne reports. "Of course, with the cabbage we're pulling in from this hotel racket, we can afford a lull. But there was one message for Wesley. From the police." Buffy looks stunned.
"You really have changed. Don't worry. These sorts of misunderstandings always blow over in a day or two."
"Actually, one of them wants your help," Lorne clarifies. He looks at what he wrote down. "A certain Detective Jacob Colson."
"Jake! Good to know he still has me on his rolodex." Gunn, Angel and Fred are in the dark. "I helped him on a case when I was running my own agency. Is this also missing persons?"
"Multiple homicides. Six, to be exact. At the Glendale Galleria last night. It was in the papers, which, understandably none of you had time to read, what with the world almost ending and all."
"This happened while we were away?," Angel asks.
"About 8:30. You think that wasn't a coincidence?"
"Who could've known about our trip?," Fred asks.
"I know who," Angel replies. "I need to go soften up a source."
"And Buffy needs to go see her sister at the hospital," Fred notes.
"We can drop her off on the way."
"The way to what?," Wes asks.
"Your friend in blue."
Wes thinks this over. He's not eager about sharing his contact. "Well, we are a team." Then he pauses. "What about the Slayers?"
"It might be hard to explain why they're with us," Fred points out.
"I meant, should I tell them where I'm going, and when I'll be back?"
"Somethin' tells me they won't be missing you," Lorne offers.
"I suppose they could use a well-deserved rest." Buffy, Gunn, Fred and Wes leave. Angel had already vanished.
"I'm not sure if it's rest they're looking for," Lorne comments to himself.
Rona finally spots Clarence hanging out with friends in the basement ballroom. He sees her through the open door, smiles and walks out into the hallway. They embrace. "Rona. Stop. You're crushing me," he wheezes. She immediately lets go. He catches his breath and wonders how she got so strong.
"Sorry. I missed you."
"Missed you too."
"Guess that was just my way of saying it. With my arms."
"So, like, well, are you, you know, staying here?," he stammers, not quite able to broach more probing questions such as Where Were You? or Where Are You From? or Where's You Family? And he's only beginning to get an inkling of her super powers. This is the down side of dating non-vampires and non-demon-fighters: so much explaining.
"Looks that way." She hugs him again, but softer. "Am I hurting you now?"
"No," he answers with a smile. "Quite the opposite."
"Can we go somewhere private?"
"Sure. You wanna talk or . . . something?"
"Bit of both."
"My parents will be back soon. Just so you're warned." Rona now realizes she'll have to meet them at some point. Another dicey complication.
"We can go to my room if you want." Rona takes his right hand in her left and leads him to the elevators. It's been a very trying day for her, to put it mildly. She'd like to postpone the difficult explanations until another day.
Connor finds Kit and Elijah in the hallway outside of Dawn's hospital room. "How is she?"
"A lot less sweaty that you," Eli points out. "You okay, man?"
"Yeah," Connor answers while still catching his breath. "I ran here."
"From the hotel?," Kit asks.
"Uh-huh."
"Impressive," Eli deadpans.
"So how's Dawn?," Connor asks again.
"Sedated," Elijah responds.
"She has a shattered patella," Kit reports. Connor looks confused. "Kneecap."
"Oh. Ow."
"Big ow," Elijah concurs. "Ergo the sedation."
"Fortunately, there's no cartilage or ligament damage," Kit continues. "Which should cut her rehab time in half." The doctors were quite surprised. They'd never seen such a localized, pinpoint knee injury.
"Can I take her home?"
"No way," Kit answers, a little shocked by the question. "They'd want to keep her overnight for the stab wounds alone. Anyway, she's scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning to reconstruct the kneecap."
"And then I can take her home."
Kit sighs. "Connor, it's a serious operation. Dawn was injured really, really bad."
"I know. That's why she needs me to take care of her." He passes by Kit and head to Dawn's room.
"He's from a world without hospitals," Elijah offers in Connor's defense. "And he's indestructible. Hence the lack of knowledge about how breakable most humans are."
"You always stick up for him."
"He means well."
"He's a selfish ass."
"Come again?"
"He only thinks of himself. When can I see her?' When can I shack up with her?' No concern for what Dawn's going through, or for what's best for her."
"He thinks he's best for her."
"Like I said: he's completely self-centered."
A drowsy, glassy-eyed Dawn looks up and sees Connor. "You again. Are you real this time?"
"I think I am. You can decide for yourself." He leans in and gently kisses Dawn on the lips. Dawn smiles.
"Told you I'd survive." Connor sits down next to the bed. Dawn takes his right hand in her right hand. "More-or-less in one piece," she jokes.
"Don't worry. You'll always be my girl, even if you are broken."
"Sweet. And, strange. Yep. Definitely the real you." She reaches her left hand out to touch his face.
"Looking forward to moving in with me?"
"I don't even get my own room? I thought that hotel was huge?" Connor looks stunned.
"I thought you wanted to - "
"Psyche." She smiles. "My first post-kneecapping joke."
"Good one."
"Well, you're an easy mark. I don't know if it's you or the morphine drip, but I'm starting to feel better. Less despon-, despond-, de - spon - dent. So many syllables. Yep, definitely the morphine drip."
"Don't I get some credit?" He leans in and they kiss slowly and softly for fifteen seconds.
"After that? maybe a . . . Buffy?" Well, that certainly killed the mood for Connor. He glances behind him, and sees Buffy, just inside the doorway. Connor stands up, slowly lets go of Dawn's hand and gingerly walks by Buffy, whose presence makes him uncomfortable. It's clear the feeling's mutual. Buffy hops over on her crutches.
"How's my brave little sister?"
"How's my brave big sister?"
"How do you think."
"That bad, huh."
Wes, Gunn and Fred sit in a room at the downtown LAPD office, looking at three surveillance videos simultaneously to observe what had happened in different sections of the store at the same time. "He spots the others. Then he checks his watch," Wesley observes. "That one must be the leader."
"And here comes the killing," Fred notes, trying to look away. "All of it over within five seconds."
"It's clear they feared being caught," Wes adds as they watch the vampires quickly leave the store.
"Hold it," Gunn jumps in. "Rewind to the beginning. Those are the same guys." Fred and Wes look at him as if he's saying something tremendously obvious. "Not the white ones. The black guys. What's their part?"
"Backup?," Wes guesses. "They certainly didn't participate."
"Yes they did. Watch camera three."
"No one gets attacked on camera three."
"Exactly. But now look at camera two. Which way are the guards facing?"
"Away from what's about to happen. But why?," Wes asks.
Gunn laughs. "Six brothers go into some yuppie store. All eyes on them."
"Which means no one paid attention to the killers 'till it was already too late," Fred realizes.
"Let's get printouts of these faces, so we know what we're looking for," Wes suggests.
"I don't get it," Gunn declares. "Since when were vamps afraid of gettin' seen? Usually, that's half their fun. A clean hit, with no witnesses. Ain't that a little too human for bloodsuckers?"
"They do display remarkable control and discipline," Wesley concurs.
"Maybe they're tryin' to send a message," Fred theorizes.
"Blocking the exits and killing everyone inside - that's how they usually send messages," Gunn responds. "Nothing says I mean business' like tearing the place apart."
David comes to Clayton's office a few minutes after seven pm. The sun is setting. "Heard you're leaving tonight," Clay says. "Getting an early start on the weekend?"
"I have meetings all day. In Washington. Anyone you want me to say hi to?"
"Don't bother. I get enough free advertising without you throwing my name around. Overexposure gives the impression of excessive ambition. For the time being, it's best if I lay low."
"I'll be sure to mention that to Mitch McConnell and the RSCC."
"I'm thirty one. Legally, I could serve. But pragmatically it's way too early. And do tell Tom DeLay the House is beneath me. Except, don't use those exact words."
"Tom doesn't know how to take a hint. Every time I see him, he badgers me about becoming a client. I keep trying to explain, Tom, we're evil, but we're not THAT evil.'"
Clayton chuckles. "We do have an image of respectability to uphold."
"Load-bearing pillars of the community!"
"Without which, the entire edifice of collapses collapses," Clay boasts with sarcastic self-importance.
"I'll see you Monday." Clayton snaps his fingers and points at David as he walks out. For the two of them, this was a surprisingly friendly encounter. The news from Sunnydale had brightened both their moods. Out in the hallway lurks Angel. David fails to notice the stealthy vampire. Once the lawyer's gone, Angel sweeps into the waiting room and opens the door to Clayton's office before the secretary can even get a word of warning out. Clay stands up. He's behind his desk, twenty feet in front of Angel.
"Angel! Well isn't this a surprise." A look of fury on his face, Angel takes two strides forward. Clayton whips out a stun gun in his right hand and fires. The electrodes shoot fifteen feet out and hook onto Angel's black sweater. He's hit with a series of massive shocks that send him to his knees. Angel reaches out and pulls on the wire, ripping the gun out of Clayton's hands. It falls near Angel, its trigger no longer pressed down. Angel rips off the electrodes, putting a hole in his sweater and revealing the white t-shirt underneath. Angel rises to his feet, physically weakened, but still full of fury. "Okay, this wasn't a complete surprise," Clay smugly boasts. "You appear to be angry with me. Why? I've made a point of not going after you." Angel walks towards Clay, who looks scared. Angel grabs the right side of his desk and overturns it, clearing the path between Angel and Clay. "Can't we talk this over before resorting to violence?"
"How about after?" Though Clay looks frightened, Angel can't smell any fear. Thus, he keeps his eyes and ears ready to sense another trap. Angel lands a left uppercut to Clay's stomach, and follows it up with a right cross for Clayton's face. But the lawyer ducks, and Angel's fist slams through the binding of a law book. He connects with a left hook to Clay's ribs, since the lawyer has his hands up to protect his face. Clay blocks a right hook of his face by catching Angel's fist in his left palm. The lawyer immediately counters with a right palm to Angel's nose and a right roundhouse kick to Angel's chest that sends him back six feet, a very difficult kick to throw when your back's to the wall. Angel pauses for a moment. Clearly, Clayton fought far better than any other lawyer Angel had known.
"Am I supposed to feel intimidated?," Clay taunts. Angel goes bumpy. Clay pulls a small bottle out of his right pants pocket and sprays a stream of water at Angel, burning his chest. "Holy water. Under pressure. Mace for vampires." Clay now aims for the face. The two of them face off, two steps apart, each waiting for the other to blink. Angel elects to hold his ground rather than risk temporary disfigurement. The slimy yet surprisingly resourceful lawyer isn't worth it. Angel returns to his human face, but continues leaning menacingly forward, as if ready to pounce.
"Did you scumbags have a little party when you heard what happened in Sunnydale?"
"I, for one, felt grateful to Buffy. She does us such wonderful favors by saving the world again and again. And today, she made me a cool eight hundred grand. I have enormous faith in that brave young woman. No pun intended."
"I'm not sure she'd welcome your praise."
"I don't mind. My admiration for her is not conditioned on reciprocity."
"You see, when good people die, their friends and loved ones look for someone evil to blame. They can't blame the First, because it's gone. But they can blame you."
"Or you." Angel growls. Clay doesn't even shiver. By now, Gavin would be lying on the floor in the fetal position, wetting himself. But Clayton hasn't even broken a sweat. There's something deeply unnatural about this lawyer. "You were the one who refused my help."
"You were the one who offered it on conditions you knew I would find unacceptable."
"So now I have a duty to help? Your whole line of argument is based on that highly dubious premise."
"You did me a favor by offering that torque. Now I'm doing you a favor by giving this warning."
"Who is it you're avenging? Certainly not that vampire. Is it Faith? Wait. Don't tell me it's the Watcher."
"I'm not the one you should worry about. When Lindsey learns that you could have saved Faith's life, I don't think he's going to quibble about duties and obligations. I think the same could be said for Willow."
"The witch?" Clay thinks for a few seconds, then laughs. "Was she bedding that sixth Slayer? Talk about bad luck! For the record, I'm quite confident I'll be retaining possession of all my skin for several decades more. Even if she does wake up from that coma. As for Lindsey, I admire and respect the man too much to ever view him as an enemy."
"When did you begin to think you could smarm your way out of any situation?"
"Angel, I do believe you're misunderestimating me. Which, being a double negative, actually means you're correctly estimating my abilities. You can take it either way. I'm prefer ambiguity. Life's more fun when you're not sure."
"You prefer slithering away when things get too hot. I know your type."
"You can't possibly know my type. Your type, on the other hand, is quite familiar. Don't you see the hypocrisy in complaining that the apocalyptic battle to save mankind was too costly? Or is your objection to the fact that your friends were the ones who paid that cost? A few thousand anonymous Angelinos get massacred by vampires during a week of darkness, and it doesn't hit you too hard. In fact, you'd be lost without it. You need suffering, Angel. Because there is no place for heroes in a world without suffering."
"There's no place for anyone in a utopia. That's what it means: no place."
"I'm not talking utopia. I'm talking about a demon-free world. That's the natural order of life. We don't bleed into their worlds. They should keep out of ours. There's no reason we should accept their depredations."
"Do the Senior Partners know how you feel?"
"It's good you brought them up. Has it ever struck you as odd that you and the Senior Partners have the exact same world view? All of you believe in a grand final battle where whether you go good or evil will decide the world's fate. But what if you're both wrong?"
"Playing Devil's Advocate to the company credo?"
"Thanks to your repeated successes, the guys upstairs care a lot less about beliefs, and a lot more about competence. As long as I serve their interests, they don't care what I believe. What I believe is that you lose either way, whether you're Angel or Angelus. And that Wolfram & Hart loses either way. Because I believe in a better world on this mortal plane. And I think the Almighty does as well. Why would a just God create a world where your own individual salvation requires that the multitudes be put in mortal peril? Putting the hero above the masses, it's all rather Nietzschean. Nietzsche said God was dead. In which case you can't be saved, and all this striving for redemption is pointless."
"I'm sorry. Was any of that supposed to make the least bit of sense?"
"People are killed every day by horrible monsters. All those thousands of tiny tragedies never got to you. Until one fateful day, when a few of the tiny tragedies turned out to be people you knew and cared about. I believe this is what they call the chickens coming home to roost."
"Do you always need to rely on cliches when you want to sound coherent?"
"Do you always rely on sarcasm when you want to mask defeat?" They stand there, eyeing each other, acting all macho. Angel's surprised Clayton can even pretend to act macho. It contradicts his pony tail hair and pastel suits. Clay's the same height as Angel, though skinnier, and, of course, without vampire strength. And yet, he's practically begging Angel to take a swing. Must be a masochist, Angel incorrectly concludes.
"I've been defeated. I know what defeat feels like. This, this hollow gloating of yours, doesn't even come close."
"Why did you come here?"
"To warn you. I don't want your gruesome death on certain people's consciences."
"You came to prevent vengeance? Funny, I thought you came to wreak vengeance. Just a little, of course. Enough to make you feel better. Speaking of things that can make you feel better, how is life with Buffy now that your Curse has been lifted?" That was one provocation too many. Angel slugs Clayton's left eye with a right hook, and he crashes to the ground. Angel gets a quick look at the knocked-out lawyer, turns around and leaves. Clayton stands up, runs to the open door, takes the torque out of his left breast pocket and flings it at Angel, hitting him in the back of the head as he was leaving the waiting room. Angel slowly turns his head partway round and glares at Clay. "I thought you should have this. I don't got any use for it." Angel gets his right toes under the ring, kicks it up and snatches it with his right hand before slamming the door shut. Clay's secretary looks alarmed when she sees his face.
"It's okay, Sandy."
"I'll get you some ice." It's already starting to swell. "Do you want me to cancel your 7:15?"
"The conference call about the Brackman settlement? I wouldn't dream of it."
"You should take some time to recuperate."
He looks at his watch. "I've got five minutes. That should do it."
Amanda and Preston sit on a hill in Griffith Park, watching the sun set. "You were limping," he points out.
"Pulled a muscle."
"And your neck?"
"A falling metal girder hit me during the earthquake."
"I heard the aftershock today was a 7.8. Some aftershock."
"It was pretty scary." Though not as scary as Nina and the carnage she caused before the quake.
"I heard that this one and the quake on Saturday were the strongest in California in at least two hundred years."
"I suppose that's why they call it the Big One. Or, ones. Do they call it that?"
"How come you were there?"
"Ughh, ummm, we were late getting out."
Preston doesn't look convinced. "Five days late?"
"I was stranded."
"Amanda, I know there's something weird going on. That, that creature you saved me from – was it a vampire?"
Amanda laughs nervously, before realizing she can't deny her way out of this one. "Uh-huh. And remember what happened after I killed it?" Preston smiles. Amanda leans in and kisses him. She gets on top, then he tries to get on top, and soon they're rolling down the hill together, laughing, before breaking apart halfway down. They get to their feet, horse around, laugh and smooch some more. She can't deny. But at least for now, she can distract.
"They don't want to get caught," Angel concludes after he gets back home and talks about the latest vampire attack with Gunn, Wes and Fred. "That tells me they're smart. But it also tells me they're scared."
"And probably hard to find," Gunn adds. "My guess is these guys like to keep a low profile."
"One thing I don't get," Angel begins. "How did they know the people would look at the black vampires and ignore the white ones?" The three of them stare at him. "This isn't Alabama in 1955. Why would it be such a big deal that six black men walk into a department store?" They keep looking at Angel as if he's clueless. "So what if the person's skin is a different color. Shouldn't it be more shocking that they don't have reflections?"
"For a two hundred fifty year-old former mass murderer, you're really p.c.," Fred concludes.
"Do people stare at you in stores?," Angel asks Gunn.
"Depends which neighborhood."
"My God. I had no idea."
"You really need to get out more."
"I get out plenty. But I practice a different kind of profiling."
"You care more about the skin's temperature, not its color," Wes quips. "Now, I'm been meaning to ask about, when you arrived back here, you put something in the office. Something, judging from the sound, that was large, and heavy."
"Just a torque."
"A torque? That's a rather dated fashion statement."
"It's supposed to be from Gergovia." Wesley gasps, then races into the office. Angel just stands there as Gunn and Fred follow Wes in. He quickly opens drawers until he finds the object, holding it up to the light and gazing at the designs carved into the object's surface. "The Gergovian Torque."
"And why does it make you look like a kid on Christmas morning?," Gunn asks.
"It's known as the Dragon Slayer in Gaul. The Giant Killer in Britain and Ireland. Supposed, it has the power to smote even Ascended demons. But it usually also smotes the Champion who wears it."
"This is what Wolfram & Hart offered me the other night," Angel says from over near the couch. "In exchange for the murder of a ten year-old girl."
"You turned them down," Fred recalls. She hadn't known the substance of the negotiations.
"Then how come you have it?," Gunn asks, expressing their suspicions.
"Today, I went back there to vent my frustrations. Maybe put some fear into a few of the new Junior Partners. They gave me this."
"Now that you no longer need it," Wes notes. "Not that you ever did, need, it."
"I'm okay with it. Okay, I'm not. But I will be. I can't play by their rules. Even if it could have . . . we don't even know if it would have made a difference."
"There's no evidence that a Titan could be overpowered by a blast of pure energy," Wesley offers in support. "This very likely would have killed the turokh-hans – by the hundreds, no doubt. But that still leaves the enemy who caused most of the casualties unscathed."
"And it mighta left Angel fried," Fred points out. "Or Spike. And he got fried anyway."
"I don't know why I was foolish enough to parley with them in the first place," Angel wonders. "Maybe to get a better sense of our new enemy."
"We all had reason to suspect that Wolfram & Hart wanted the First to be defeated," Wesley recalls.
"Why let some other baddie beat you to the world-destroying punch?," Gunn adds.
"Perhaps they believed that Buffy didn't need their help," Wes proposes. "But you were correct to hear them out. If there was even a chance they wanted to make a difference - "
"I thought the quid pro quo would be a little more . . . practical," Angel confesses. "He didn't even ask for a favor. All he wanted was for me to do something I'd feel guilty about."
"Sounds like he knew you'd feel guilty either way," Fred remarks.
"This is the new and improved Wolfram & Hart?," Gunn scoffs, trying to boost Angel's spirits. "No longer trying to beat you. No longer trying to turn you evil. Now they just play mind games?"
Wesley thinks Charles might be onto something. "Perhaps they've concluded that they can't corrupt you. At least not for the price they are willing to pay."
Clayton sits in the back of a limo, talking to Victor and Louis. The phone's in his right hand, and an icebag's in his left. "Four illegals. How do I know? We got a helicopter with an infra-red camera. How can I be sure they're not yours? They're hunting in the alleys of West Hollywood. That's right. Angel's neighborhood. And at this early hour! What am I talking about? Since his hotel went operational, Mister Undead Businessman's been keeping to a not-quite-nocturnal schedule. So you agree that we should leave the poor saps for the enemy? Good. Cause if you don't throw Angel a few bones now and then, he'll start to get suspicious." Clay lowers the divider. "Stop here," he says to the driver before stepping out. He walks a block before spotting the foursome. "Hey fellas!," he announces with a friendly smile. "You guys new in town? Need a place to stay? How bout a bite to eat?" One of them grins, looks at Clayton, goes bumpy and charges. The lawyer appears terrified and runs into a dead-end alley. The vampires eagerly pursue the fool at half-speed, wanting to prolong the chase. But Clay's fast, so they increase to three-quarter speed. Catching him doesn't matter, since pretty soon they'll be nowhere for him to run. Nothing like a trapped victim. But eighty feet into the two hundred foot-long alley, Connor leaps off a three story roof and knocks down two vampires. He finds that patrolling from rooftops offers him a better view of the bad guys, in addition to being way more fun.
"Welcome to LA," Connor announces. Clayton doubles back, circles round the fight and positions himself at the entrance to the fifteen foot-wide alley. The helicopter had also noticed a person leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the vicinity of the vampires. Clay assumed it was Connor, since Angel prefers a more low-key approach. That made this a perfect opportunity for his sales pitch. Connor hits one vampire with a left hook and downs the other with a right roundhouse kick. When the first two stand up, he hits one with a leaping right kick and nails the other with a right cross and a right hook. The other two vampires flee. Clayton stands in their way, legs spread, arms at his sides. He sprays the vamp on his right in the face with his holy water, grabs the other one's shirt with both hands and shoves him into the wall to Clay's left. Connor makes quick work of his two opponents, and approaches the vamp who is still smoking and in agony from the holy water. Clay dodges a right hook and lands right and left jabs. The vampire leaps at Clay and grabs him. Clayton head-butts the vampire in the nose and drives him back into the wall. Connor finishes off the third vampire and stops the watch the stranger do battle. Clay kicks his opponent in the stomach with his right foot. He blocks a right cross, lands right and left crosses, ducks a left hook, then connects with a left uppercut and a right hook. At this point, he's just showing off for Connor.
Clay blocks a right hook with his right palm and proceeds to pummel the vampire with three straight left hooks, causing him to stagger in a clockwise direction away from the wall. After the third hook, Clay starts to throw a fourth, pulls his fist back, keeps spinning and lands a right roundhouse kick. The vampire goes down. Clayton picks him up and rams the vampire head-first into the opposite wall. Clay's showmanship is beginning to make this look less like slaying and more like pro wrestling. But before resorting to a pile driver, Clay lands a right uppercut, a right hook, and jabs his left hand forward to stake the vamp and put him out of his misery. He looks at Connor. Clayton's wearing navy blue pants, a light blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a white trench coat and white shoes shined so bright you could see your reflection in them. Connor finds him a very odd man. Which is saying something, considering how odd Connor is. "Sometimes I get carried away," Clay says to Connor about his latest brawl. He puts the stake in his jacket pocket and looks at his knuckles. "I'm going to need to ice these tonight."
"You're lucky I showed up," Connor boasts.
"I appreciate the help. But I had the situation under control."
"You can't take four."
"No. But I could take two. And experience tells me that, at that point, the other two would run away."
"You do this a lot?"
"More than I'd like," he answers, trying to wink his left eye. As expected, this causes Connor to notice the swelling. "Another vampire. Earlier tonight. He was a lot tougher than these guys."
"You hit my third kill with something."
Clay takes out his can. "Holy water." He sprays some into his mouth. Then he sprays some at Connor's face, ten feet away. Connor laughs.
"That's cool."
"And, for the likes of me, occasionally life-saving."
"So what are you? Some sort of demon fighter?" He certainly wasn't dressed like one.
"Lawyer. Clayton Jenkins, Esquire." He flicks Connor a business card. Connor grabs it out of the air. Once he sees the name of the firm, Connor gets very suspicious. He looks around for vans, helicopters or snipers. Just to be safe, he grabs Clay from behind, puts his right hand around the lawyer's throat and his left hand on top of his head. He starts choking Clay, with his hands in position to snap his neck if any commandos try anything. Clayton doesn't resist.
"It's only me, Connor," he wheezes in a surprisingly calm voice. "Let me talk, before you kill me." Connor lets go. He can't see or hear anyone.
"That's not a proper choke hold," Clay jokes. "You shouldn't grip the whole neck. Squeeze with the fingertips, and go for the trachea."
"Then I would have killed you, and you'd be useless as a hostage," Connor replies with a smirk. He has to respect the guy for keeping his composure. In appearance, Clayton is the antithesis of Holtz. But his demon-fighting acumen and his calmness under pressure remind Connor a little of his adopted father.
"I understand your wariness. But I've only been in Los Angeles for three months. Please do not blame me for the malicious and foolhardy acts of my predecessors. Who, let's be honest, got what they deserved."
"So what's that mean? You guys ain't evil not more?"
Clayton chuckles. "We are profit-seeking. Amoral, at times. But only in the search for material gain. Do you know what does not produce monetary gains? Attacking you and you father. In fact, it's produced considerable losses. If you and he wish to continue fighting our firm, I understand. We are, as I've already admitted, amoral. But will we no longer fight either of you."
"You're lying. This is a trick." Experience has taught Connor that most of the people who approach him are liars who want to exploit him.
"What if, every time you walked down a certain street, someone with a shotgun but buckshot in your ass? First, you'd try to find the shooter. But he moves around. On any given day, He can be on any floor in any building on the entire block. So every time you seek him out, you take more buckshot. After a while, you get pretty sick of pulling pellets out of your rear. It becomes impossible to sit down. Your life is agony! So finally, you learn your lesson, and decide to never walk down that street again."
"Why doesn't he ever aim for your head? Cause that's what I'd do," Connor threatens, walking slowly and menacingly towards Clay. "If you ever hurt Dawn."
"Hasn't she been through enough? Haven't you been through enough?"