Trick For Your Treats: A Maypole Dance Around Spike

October 31st, 1997

Part 3: Willy Hanging

2 hours later:

Spike:Hey Willy, how's it hangin'?

Willy: A little to the left.

Spike: That so. Feeling a bit peckish myself.

The barkeep turned his head toward the speaker who had a rough English accent, keeping a good grip upon the crate of cheap Vodka coming in off the delivery truck.

Willy schooled his expression into a polite mask he recognized the pale man as a vampire. Vamps made up enough of Willy's clientele that he knew all the telltales, and could spot one a mile off. This English vampire was a stranger. Willy'd never seen him before.

"Do I know you?" Willy asked, careful not to offend. Even the weakest vampire could reduce the bartender to a blood slurpee inside of three shakes of a lamb's tail.

"No, but I know you." The vampire perched upon one of the barstools, leaning casually against the counter.

"Okaayyy…" Willy exhaled through his nostrils and set the crate down. "What can I do for you then? Pint O'?"

"Yeah, and a pack of Camels. All my previous ones got crushed. I'm Aurelius by the way. Name's Spike. You might know my grand-sire, Angelus."

It might be Willy's imagination, but Spike says his grandpa's name with a lip curl that strongly resembles a sneer, and seems to blow a puff of air, emitting a soft pop that sounds like 'POOF'. Interesting. Must be some tension there. He files the observation away for reference.

"Of course, Angel's in here all the time. One of my biggest customers," Willy said, suddenly extra respectful, more so than before. Angel literally is one of his larger customers. Not the biggest, but looming enough in size and power to make a little guy like Willy nervous. Besides, Bloodline Aurelius makes both Angel and Spike bigwigs in the demon world. It's quite the pedigree.

Word around town has it that Angel is staying at the Anointed One's old factory, along with at least two other vampires. (And Angel buys enough blood to feed a half dozen easy.)

Word around town also has it that Angel & Co. are the parties responsible for dusting the great AO who happened to be The Master's heir apparent. If both rumors pan out, then that makes Angel the defacto master vampire of Sunnydale. Willy happens to have powerful instincts for survival, and he knows whose butt to kiss.

Spike is a chatty fellow, and seems innocuous enough. He hangs out with the bartender for a bit, downing a pint of blood and a few beers, making casual chitchat. The blonde vampire is remarkably gregarious and likeable, especially in comparison with hulking Angel who glares at and threatens Willy in turn.

Willy isn't a fool. He knows that Spike is in his establishment to vet the bar, watching the level of business, counting the take. This is a shakedown. "So, how's this gonna work?" Willy asked, performing some quick mental calculations. He can afford to give Spike seven, maybe nine percent of receipts, if he pinches pennies like Ebenezer Scrooge.

Spike at least has the decency not to pretend that he doesn't know what Willy is talking about. The blonde vampire finishes his beer, and sets the mug down. "I'm gonna be working here two four hour shifts a week, bouncing, bartending, don't really care."

"Uh huh," Willy said, taken aback. This wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting.

"In exchange, our bar tab is covered. Blood, booze, spicy hot wings. And I'll be keeping my tips." Spike shot Willy a look at that pinned the human in place, causing him to freeze up like a deer before a wolf. The precision of it amazed Willy even as he succumbed to a cold sweat, drenched in instinctual fear.

Spike has gone deathly still, cocking his head to the side, as if waiting for an invitation to kill. Willy doesn't intend to offer one. Not ever.

"Any information comes through town – gossip, rumors, wedding announcements – you hear about it, then I'd better hear about it. If you betray me – if I even think that you've betrayed me – I won't hesitate to gut you like a suckling pig and string your intestines from the lighting fixtures. Don't think you can run to the slayer for protection. Angel's hot n' heavy with the bird. She won't even give you the time of day. Got it?"

"Got it." Willy nodded fast and hard. The fact is that the offer is unusually generous. (And it never would have occurred to him to run to the slayer.) He'd expected to have to tithe part of the bar's receipts in exchange for protection. Free food and beverage…in exchange for a few hours of work…is reasonable. Fair. Even if Spike doesn't lift a finger to do any actual work, Willy is getting off easy and he knows it. And, bonus, none of the other vamps around Sunnydale would dare lay a finger on Willy while he was under the protective banner of Clan Aurelius.

Always a businessman, Willy sees another opportunity for profit. "You know, if you're not fussy about what you do, then I can get you at least a thousand a night."

"Really? A grand?" Spike looks intrigued.

"Seriously. More if you're good."

Abruptly, Spike grinned and shook his head. "Thanks, but no, I'll be keeping my clothes on. I've got enough problems without that."

Willy chuckled, and went to fetch his new boss a beer. As he filled the mug, a particularly juicy piece of gossip that he'd overheard from a pair of Kalish demons rose in his thoughts.

"Speaking of news, it might interest you to know that one of your countrymen is in town," Willy began, setting down the mug in front of Spike who cocked a scarred eyebrow in interest.

"Do tell."

End Part 3.