The Unfortunate Don
Chapter 7
Special Agent Robertson along with Detectives Stein and Bianchi walked into Benedetto's office. They shut the door behind them and sat down facing the Scooby Gang, who by this time were sitting in a row on the black leather couch. There was silence for a number of minutes as it appeared that no one had anything to say, see or hear.
Finally, Robertson asked, "Why do I have the impression that I know less about what's going on here than anyone else in this room? Could someone explain to me how Ms. Buffy Summers here is capable of apparently superhuman feats of strength and how Mr. Reichs can accept being stabbed in the chest with a tent stake without any apparent ill effect?"
"Well," said Dawn, "Reichs should have turned to dust right then and there. Either his hearts in the wrong place, or he had one of those rituals done that makes him unkillable for a day. Except I don't think he did that."
Robertson said, "I understood every word you said Miss Summers – and yet, the sense of your sentences escapes me completely. Does anyone else want to try?"
"Don't worry, that just makes you sound a little like Giles there, Agent Robertson," said Xander.
Robertson didn't look mollified.
Buffy, exasperated, spoke up, "It's simple. Vampires are real, I slay them, stay out of my way. Although I have to add that by all rights, Reichs should be dust now. I am thoroughly pissed that I missed his heart."
"So," asked Robertson, "are any of these other arrestees, uh, vampires?" He looked as if he were dealing with lunatics.
"No," replied Buffy, "I noticed that the police searched all the suspects for weapons out on the front lawn, in full sunlight." Everyone looked at the FBI Agent, waiting for a response.
"Well, does anyone want to go into more detail?"
Xander elbowed Willow and said, "See, the Sunnydale police aren't as stupid as they seem!" Both detectives frowned in annoyance at Xander.
"Agent Robertson," said Buffy, "I could indeed go into much detail. But what's the point? You can't make any official reportage of anything that goes poof when you shove a stake in his heart. You know very well what would happen to you if you started to write reports about vampires in any literal sense. Unless you used plenty of words like 'fake', and 'self-delusional', you would spend the rest of your shortened career talking to headshrinkers. So I suggest that you follow the detectives lead here, and if you ever see a real, honest-to-god bloodsucking creature-of-the-night, leave it to me. If I was you, I would run as fast as possible. If, by bad luck, you should find yourself being attacked by such a creature, try sunlight, a wooden stake to the heart, decapitation, or possibly holy water. Although it takes quite a lot of that to do much good. If none of those things are available to you, it won't matter 'cause you'll be dead, or worse, in short order."
Detective Bianchi spoke up, "Another thing Agent Robertson, by now most of the police officers in Sunnydale are aware of Buffy Summers and her, ah, unusual night time activities. You will find most will do their best to protect her from any officious interference. We are not, in point of fact, as stupid as we look." She shot a glance towards Xander. "The thing is, it's a career-ender to start talking about such stuff publicly, so no one does."
"OK," said the FBI agent, "so what happens next?"
Stein said, "I predict that Mr. Reichs will disappear completely from the face of the earth, never to be seen again. Then the FBI, in cooperation with the Sunnydale PD, will clean up what remains of this branch of organized crime in Sunnydale, and we'll all pat ourselves on the backs and possibly receive some public accolade. Who knows, if we're lucky the new mayor will give us commendations and medals in a public ceremony. Ms. Summers will get a frothy drink at the Espresso Pump and quite possibly a warning instead of a moving-violation at some future date."
Xander said, in an aside to Willow, "See how the cops talk all around the subject without ever mentioning it?" he shut up when he noticed the withering glares aimed his direction.
Stein continued, "All of our reports will go on at length about what we are doing about finding the elusive Mr. Reichs, and some will opine about his death, possibly at the hands of his organization for reasons we are not aware of, and make suggestions about finding his body near Jimmy Hoffa's.
As far as today goes, I would be interested in reading your report, if the FBI actually decides to cooperate with us locals. I won't be terribly upset if you don't."
"Well, it's interesting to see all this cooperation with a vigilante civilian," said Robertson, "is this sort of thing usual with your department?"
"No, and don't mistake this either. We are aware of some inexplicable occurrences and it is convenient to not notice Ms. Summers and her friends here. But, there was an occasion some years ago when the deputy Mayor ended up murdered: shards of wood were found in the wound. Neither I nor the Chief of Police are satisfied with the outcome of that investigation, even though a confessed killer is serving time. So, no, we do not allow Buffy carte-blanch. Some day, I may have to arrest her, that'll be an interesting day, won't it Ms. Summers?"
"All you have to do to arrest me, Detective, is to make certain that I know I did something wrong. In that case, I'll turn myself in without any drama."
Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Dawn finally left for home after many hours of officialness. The questioning wasn't too bad: mostly they didn't ask if they didn't want to know the answer. And it was remarkable how many answers they didn't want.
--- ---
"Buffy, BUFFY! BUFFY! Did you see this shit?" asked an outraged Willow, wildly shaking the morning paper in front of Buffy. "Benedetto was released on ten thousand dollars bail. RELEASED! I can't fucking believe it! For fucking pocket change! What the fucking hell kind of fucking legal system do we fucking have!"
"Calm down Willow," Buffy the voice-of-reason replied, "and when did you get all potty-mouthed?"
"I'm just soo — oooh! I can't think straight, I can't think of a word bad enough to describe what I feel, and yes that includes the words I already used. May he be consumed by the flames of hell, starting at his toes and taking an eternity to reach his cursed head!"
Tara, walking down the stairs, interrupted, "Willow honey, I can feel your rage all through the house. Calm yourself, feel the earth, enhance your spirit, we're all part of Gaia; remember, the millstones of justice turn slowly but exceedingly fine." Tara's words worked their magic on Willow, she could feel her anger dissipate, albeit slowly.
The front door slammed shut so hard the walls shook. Dawn stalked into the front room, she too was shaking with rage, plus a little fear, as she said, "Buffy, I just heard on the radio that Benedetto was granted bail! Can you believe this shit! I can't! What are we going to do about it?"
"Dawn, watch your language!"
"What! Focus please: the star of several recent personal nightmares of mine is out walking around all, 'la la la', while I'm in here seriously thinking about committing murder. That guy belongs in prison! And I seriously want to help you put him there, unless we accidentally slay him first."
"We're not going to be murdering anybody, Dawn, even those who richly deserve it. But we will attempt to get him in prison. Did, um, any of us, well, did anyone actually go to the hearing? It'd be nice to know what happened."
"No," said Willow, "it was early this AM, I had classes."
"I think Xander said something about going," said Dawn, I suppose we could call him."
The doorbell rang, Buffy answered it to find a no-nonsense woman and Special Agent Robertson standing on her porch. "To what do I owe this occasion?" asked Buffy.
"We just have some more questions, Ms. Summers, may we come in?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," Buffy answered, not notably enthusiastic.
Once in the living room, Robertson said, "This is Special Agent Linda Sisneros. We just have some follow-up questions, just to fill in the blanks."
"So this is Buffy Summers," said Sisneros, "is Buffy short for Buffalo?"
"B-b-b-b buffalo?" sputtered Buffy, "that's..."
Willow swallowed a laugh, making little choking noises, but Dawn just let loose an out-loud guffaw. "Buffalo! A big, fat, smelly, hairy, clumsy animal—perfect!" Dawn laughed joyfully, "I can't believe I never thought of that one!"
"Well you must be the sister, Dawn Summers. I'm glad to have added ammunition for your sisterly love and affection, but I didn't mean to be insulting. I was just wondered what Ms. Summers first name really is."
"It's not short for anything," said Willow, "not even Elizabeth. Buffy's mom just liked the name. I guess she expected her daughter to become a cheerleader."
"I was a cheerleader. But what's wrong with my name? I like it, how come you're all making fun of me?"
Agent Sisneros said, "I guess I put my foot in it Ms. Summers, but after all, buffaloes are also strong, stalwart, and fearless." Buffy snorted, much like a buffalo.
Willow asked, "So what brings the FBI to our humble abode this morning?"
Buffy looked at Willow and mouthed silently: Humble abode? Willow shrugged.
Agent Sisneros said, "We were blindsided by the judge yesterday and Mr. Benedetto was released on bail, with what was small change for him I'm sure. Special Agent Robertson is in charge of the Benedetto case, I am in charge of investigating the judge. We wondered if you had anything to suggest to us."
"You mean other than burglarizing the judge's chambers?" asked Anya.
The FBI agents looked askance and shook their heads in unison. Eventually they left, no one had much to say.
--- ---
A few days later Buffy, yawning with her first cup of coffee over the morning paper, sat up straight and started to reread the headline story. "Dawn!" she yelled, "look at the paper this morning!" There was an answering thump from somewhere upstairs, but no other acknowledgment. Willow wandered out on the porch, stretching as she walked and sat down.
"What's all the yelling about Buff?" she asked.
"According to this article in the paper, the judge at the arraignment, the one who set Benedetto's bail, was being blackmailed by Mr. Benedetto. It seems that the judge bought a house for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from a colleague of Jack Reichs a couple of years ago—right about the time that Reichs and Benedetto turned up in Sunnydale. And then he turned around and re-sold it a few weeks later for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Pretty good return, huh? Pretty good blackmail, too."
"Yeah," Willow smiled, "wait 'till you see what else is in that article."
"Did you already read it? No wait, I got the paper off the porch roof this morning, you couldn't have. What did you do Willow?"
"Well, Anya and I did a little burglary a couple of nights ago..."
Buffy interrupted, "So that's why I saw you and Anya acting thick as thieves, you were thieving!"
"No, no, Buffy, we didn't steal anything, we just took copies, you know, pictures, of stuff that, well, we found laying around, in the judge's safe, in his office, in his chambers. Then we sent the pics to the paper, anonymously." Willow finally trailed off.
"You broke into the courthouse? Willow, that's like a felony or something."
"Not me," Willow squeaked out, "it was Anya who did the actual breakage. Although I did enter with her. And I used my 733t ubёr-hax00r skilz to disable the alarm system. Plus a little witchcraft to keep the guards distracted in another part of the building."
"Hmmm," said Buffy perusing the paper a little further, "it looks like your criminal enterprise is having good results. The FBI obtained warrants for the judge, Reichs, and Benedetto. So, at the very least, maybe Dawn and I won't have to listen to you swear like a sailor anymore."
"Dawn never heard me. But it won't happen again, unless I get riled up again of course. Besides, I think that swear like a sailor thing is is mere legend. Tara and I met a couple of nice sailors in San Diego and neither one was into cursing."
"Yeah? Were they boy sailors or girl sailors?"
"Uh, both women. It's possible my sample was too small."
--- ---
Don Benedetto sat in his cell staring out the barred door. He was in the new city jail, not the county lock-up and that gave him a little to cheer about—the building was so new that the cells smelled more of disinfectant and less like shit and vomit. That may not sound like much, but it was a big improvement over just about any other jail Benedetto had been in, whether resident or just visiting.
He had a lot of time to think about his enemies and he thought about striking back. Deciding who he would get, what forces to marshal and who to have killed first. He thought about hit men. He spent a lot of time daydreaming about Buffy Summer's corpse. More time than was healthy, really, but it kept him going. He also wondered if his boss was doing anything constructive. He didn't like the guy, but he was good at keeping a criminal enterprise profitable and that included getting his people out of jail.
At the next shift-change a new officer approached his cell. He stopped in front of the door and looked around. No one was nearby. He snaked a small object out of his pocket and contemptuously tossed it through the bars to Benedetto. Who, in turn, thanked the officer and suggested he look for a package left at the lost and found at the 12th street YMCA. Benedetto carefully described what the package looked like so there would be no error. The officer nodded and continued on his rounds.
Benedetto looked at the object in his hand and spent a moment marveling at cell-phone technology. Then he made his first call.
--- ---
It had been a quiet, dark, and lonely stretch of road. A service road to the cemetery that was now filled up with cop cars, an ambulance, a bunch of cops and FBI agents. And Buffy Summers.
Buffy was sitting on a convenient post, one of many made from cut-up painted telephone poles that lined the side of the road. Standing in a semi-circle around her were a number of police, detectives, and FBI agents, as well a crime-scene technician. All were looking at Buffy the way a scientist studies an insect. Buffy, however, looked back the same way.
"Seriously guys," Buffy said, "he stepped out of the woods and tripped over that chain right there. Then his gun went off and he shot himself in the foot. Then he fell down on his knife and injured himself as he hit his head on that 2x6 that happens to be lying on the ground, knocking himself out. If you don't like that story, I suppose you could make something up about how Buffy Summers, at one hundred pounds, beat up a mafia hit-man, at two hundred eighty pounds—all muscle I might add."
"How do you know he's mafia?" asked Agent Sisneros.
"I don't, I'm just guessing," said Buffy, "but I don't actually many people that are mad enough at me to want to hire assassins."
The cops didn't have much reason to do anything but arrest the guy. He was after all, armed to the teeth and caught (somehow) in suspicious circumstances at a suspicious time of the night attacking someone (who shouldn't have been there) who nevertheless appeared to be an innocent victim.
--- ---
Buffy and Willow walked down main street the next afternoon. They were idly chatting when Willow suddenly stiffened and muttered something vaguely Latin-sounding under her breath. Buffy was alarmed to see that her eyes went black for a moment.
Seconds later there was a loud smack and a puff of dust on the wall a couple of feet from Buffy. A few seconds after that they heard a gunshot echoing from some distance away. It must have been a subsonic load, Buffy thought. Buffy saw someone suddenly stand up behind the sign on top of the theater. But he lost the grip on his rifle which fell to the sidewalk below. Oddly enough, he fell too, but was caught by his belt on some projecting piece of architectural detail. Buffy wondered if she should say anything at all when the police arrived or just play supremely stupid.
--- ---
Buffy was in the shower when she noticed a man-shaped shadow on her shower curtain. She whipped the curtain aside only to be confronted by a man with a gun. A total stranger. Buffy was only mildly discomfited as she she stepped closer and prepared to kick and disable her new attacker. He said, "Well, you are certainly a sight for sore eyes aren't you blondie? And a real blond too I believe."
Buffy's eyes narrowed and she immediately attacked. The assassin tried to shoot her, but he managed only to graze her side. He got off another shot as Buffy's foot reached his gun. By the time she subdued him, there were four or five bullet holes all over Buffy's shower and bathroom.
Then the door crashed open and Willow, Xander and Dawn all crowded in.
"Xander!" Buffy exclaimed, "don't you knock before entering a girl's bathroom?"
Xander blushed furiously and backed out, "Uh, sorry, I guess you don't really need me in here do you?"
Buffy grabbed her robe and replied, "You all might as well wait downstairs. One of you call the police." But it wasn't necessary because the officer on duty in front of the Summer's residence came charging up the stairs.
It wasn't long before Detectives Bianchi and Stein arrived
--- ---
Benedetto was feeling even more put out than usual when he realized that the third man to occupy the adjoining cells was the third hitman that he had hired. This was getting seriously upsetting. It was time to call Mr. One Hundred Per Cent Smith.
Chapter 8
I decided to enter the field of action by train. They wouldn't expect that, even if there was anyone to suspect anything at all. But, that was my way, I operated one hundred per cent clean at all times.
The train ride was nice, California scenery always intrigued me. I thought about buying one of those new Hasselblads with the 22mp back and taking up landscape photography. Maybe when I retire.
Eventually we hummed into Sunnydale Station and I hiked into town. No good could come of letting a taxi-driver connect my face with the train station. Once I was near downtown I checked a phone book and taxied to the local Marriott. Then I spent the rest of the day wandering here and there, looking at this and that. I looked at flowers for awhile, maybe I would take up gardening one day. I imagined myself growing champion orchids.
The next day I went to the Espresso Pump and ordered a double espresso with a slice of lemon and prepared to spend some time with the morning paper. I thought about running a small espresso bar somewhere in my declining years. Maybe with books and a smoking room. My target appeared within the hour, but she had two bystanders with her. I left.
It was another two days before the target dropped by for a latte without any inconvenient friends in tow. Since she had already put me into the everyday background she had no reason to notice me in particular. So it was easy to "accidentally" bump into her and spill my espresso on her white angora sweater. I hated to waste the espresso, but my policy was anything for the timely completion of a contract.
She exclaimed and was upset, so I turned on the charm (I took a course in acting some years earlier so I could appear nonthreatening to my targets), and offered to give her a ride home so she could change. She didn't notice when I steered her to the traffic side of the sidewalk.
We crossed the street at the crosswalk and just as we regained the sidewalk on the north side of the street, she asked where my car was. I casually placed my hand on her arm and started to turn and pointed across the cross-street. My timing was excellent so I applied just a little extra pressure and swiveled my foot to position myself.
I always enjoyed these little moves before a hit, everything was just right: I could see it all fall into place just like a set of well-rehearsed chess moves. So when the truck that was passing by just outside of the curb in the right-turn lane was in the perfect position (I could tell by the pitch of the tire noise) I kicked the back of her knee and pushed against her back.
For the first time in many years something went wrong. She didn't fall into the path of the truck but somehow leaped straight up, and twisted in the air and came down several feet back of me. This was insupportable. I swept my jacket back and grabbed my gun. Just as I got it lined up in one-handed grip, she kicked it out of my hands. So I jerked my hands in a particular fashion and two switchblades fell into my palms. I flicked each of them open and, without trying anything fancy, swept one blade in an arc towards her stomach while driving the other straight to her neck. Her hands struck my wrists hard, I lost one knife and barely kept the other. I swiftly riposted as if the knife were a small sword and aimed towards her chest. She leaped back and kicked my hand, disarming me. Well, she may have thought that but I still had plenty of tricks.
I grabbed her foot, which was passing my shoulder at that moment, and yanked upward. She flipped herself down and pushed off the sidewalk with her hands at an impossible acceleration. She turned and twisted in the air but I grabbed and held her right wrist. This caused her to suddenly decelerate and she landed on her feet next to me. So I twisted this way and pushed that way to dislocate her shoulder while trying for a neck twist, but she hit me in the chest so hard I was stunned. Then she kicked me and I fell against the building and passed ...
--- ---
I woke up in a hospital with my hands restrained. I looked at the ceiling until a police detective walked in and started to question me. I said little except that I was thinking of growing flowers and taking pictures of them while drinking espresso. He told me about all the various weapons they had found in my possession as well as eyewitness accounts of the aborted fight on the sidewalk. I usually did better than that.
Eventually he left. I could tell that he was a little angry at my lack of response. About three hours later a pair of police officers in uniform came in with a doctor. The doctor checked me over perfunctorily and pronounced me fit for jail. They uncuffed me. The big one said something about how I must feel like a big wuss to have been defeated by a teenaged girl. I gripped his wrist and twisted while pushing. This dislocated his shoulder. Then I snaked my arm around his neck from the back and twirled him around until he was in just the right position for me to kick back into his knee, bending it in the wrong direction. As he fell screaming to floor I relieved him of his gun and shot his partner. I trained the gun on the nurse standing in the doorway with her hand to her mouth. I told her to get on the floor and I left. There was a security officer rushing down the hall. I shot him and took his gun. I ducked into the stairs, went up one floor, then took the elevator to the basement.
A man was getting out of his car when I walked into the parking garage. I shot him and took his keys. I figured I had about half an hour to finish my contract and get out of town before the heat got too hot to stand. I drove straight to the target's residence and parked in her driveway. I got out and found another police officer. I shot him in the leg, just to distract him, and disarmed him. By this time I was so weighted down with other peoples firearms that I nearly clanked as I walked.
A bystander poked her head out the front door and quickly jerked back inside. Then the target came out from the side of the house and I shot her. Damn, I missed. I don't know how she could move sideways so fast but she looked me straight in the eye and dodged. Then she was on me and kicked the gun out of my hand. I did a complete turn and came around with another gun. She kicked and hit me with her feet and fists as I shot, perhaps wildly, but I was trying to distract her. Finally, I tried to break her fucking neck, but I couldn't, and she hit me back too hard, I heard something within me crack, and then it was all black.
Chapter 9
"BUFFY!" Dawn screamed as she ran out the front door, "are you all right?"
"I'm fine Dawn," she replied, "and yes, it is safe to come out now. But would you call 911? And maybe Willow and I can help the policeman with some first aid."
Willow and Buffy tried to help the shot officer but Buffy was not happy. She said, "I'm sorry you got shot, it's probably my fault, I was his target after all."
"Miss, you needn't apologize," he said, "it is my job to protect young women from criminals, and I couldn't. But you finished the job very well indeed. You have nothing to worry about."
It was only a few minutes before ambulances, police and detectives descended on the Summers residence and started to sort things out.
--- ---
"Did you hear Benedetto? Some crazy killer went wild this morning, he shot or wounded four or five police officers, killed a security guard and some guy in a parking garage and was killed himself by a girl. Good grief, I wouldn't want to meet her in a dark alley!"
Benedetto sat down heavily on his bunk, lost in thought.
To be continued.
