Chapter 21.

By Carycomic

LITTLE TENCTON,

LOS ANGELES, CAL.

SEPT. 26, 1999

(2:00 A. M./PST)

As soon as Angel had doubled back to the Federal Building, Doyle had driven away in the former's black convertible. He drove straight to Clem's All-Nite Eatery, parking at the delivery entrance in back before honking on the horn as gently as possible. Whereupon, the Kiasyd vampire (who normally resembled a purple-skinned basset hound) came outside.*

"Where is he?" asked Clem.

Doyle's right thumb pointed towards the trunk even as his left index finger pressed the remote control that popped it. Following which, he jumped out of the driver's seat to help drag Humphrey Dumpty inside the restaurant. Once that had been accomplished, they removed the gag and ropes binding the drugged Newcomer before putting him in a suitably stuffed chair in Clem's office.

"Now, are ya sure you can use that fae hoodoo of yours to give him the right degree of amnesia?" asked the half-Brachen Irishman.

Clem nodded. "He'll think he was mugged by Purist street punks just as I was coming back from a delivery."

"Fine. Then, I'll be on my way, then."

Five minutes later, however, while not even half-way back to the underground garage where Angel usually kept the convertible, Doyle's cellphone began vibrating in his right front pocket. So, mindful of how careful Angel expected him to be while driving it, Doyle pulled the convertible over to the nearest curb before answering the call.

"Aye?" was his first word on doing so.

"Mr. Doyle? It's Jill. I was just awakened from a sound sleep by someone called 'Riley.' He said that someone called 'Spike' has been recaptured. And that, if you want to question him about something called 'the Order of Teraka,' you should drag your butt over to the BHPD morgue, toot-sweet! Sir, what is going on?"

Doyle swore to himself before replying.

"I'll tell ya later, at work, lass. That's a promise! In the meantime, good job. . .and go back to sleep."

Whereupon, he switched off the phone before flooring the accelerator.

KING O' CLUBS

(91 MIN. EARLIER)

When the paramedics arrived on the scene, it did not take much effort for them to determine that Spike was clinically dead.

"Dead?!" Sykes had echoed. "Are you sure?"

The paramedic (a Newcomer named Bill O'Lading) nodded. "From the looks of it, he was hit with this tranquilizer dart. Which means he either had a badly allergic reaction to the stuff that was in it; or he was accidentally overdosed with same. Either way, there's no heartbeat, pulse beat, or respiration."

"Then, take him to the morgue at BHPD," replied Detective Sgt. Dobbs. "It's a lot closer than Parker Plaza. And we'll be right behind you."

"I don't know, Freddy," began Sykes. "I mean, that strange creature is still on the loose and. . ."

"That reminds me," the other interrupted. "How are the two magician's assistants?"

"The brunette seems to be alright, physically. But, she might be in shock. She kept muttering something under her breath about having left something behind in Sunnydale (wherever that is)!"

"And the blonde? Our material witness?"

Sykes actually blushed in front of his erstwhile co-worker.

"I'm afraid she's (no pun intended) disappeared. . .again."

Now, it was Dobbs' turn to mutter under his breath. Yet, that was the only thing he said prior to their arrival at Beverly Hills Police Headquarters. When he and Sykes got to the morgue, however, the two of them exclaimed the same thing, at the top of their lungs, upon seeing the state of the autopsy room. For the medical examiner and his chief assistant were dead! And the body of the blond-haired intruder from the nightclub. . .

. . .was rolling around on the floor, almost stark naked, with the bronze-looking creature from earlier on top of him.

BHPD MORGUE

(10 MIN. EARLIER)

The paralytic compound of thorazine and garlic extract had worn off literally two seconds before the medical examiner began lowering his scalpel to make the customary Y-incision. So, to describe the reactions of himself and his assistant as "completely startled" would have been an understatement! Spike, of course, half-seriously apologized for his non-clad condition.

"You mind if I borrow this sheet to cover up me naughty bits?" he had added, quite rhetorically. "I like to consider them exclusive property of the ladies."

Both coroners were struggling to voice some kind of reply, when the young assistant suddenly had his throat impaled from behind! Consequently, both his supervisor and the Caitiff anarch turned as one to look towards the double doors of the entry way. The latter swearing in fluent Cockney when he saw who it was. Namely,. . .

. . .the Ratkin Abomination.

"Don't you have any bloody respect for the dead?!" Spike exclaimed in sarcastic frustration.

"When I bring about your Final Death. . ." she telepathically transmitted in reply. " . . .I'll have all the respect I need from Prince Cyrus."

Whereupon, she resumed her bronze-colored insectoid form. Unfortunately, for him, this proved too much for the medical examiner who immediately ran towards a nearby fire alarm button! Yet, all he succeeded in doing was getting hit, in his carotid artery, by the Abomination's radula. This, in turn, distracted her long enough for Spike to pick up the dropped scalpel in his right hand (his left hand being too busy holding up his improvised kilt) and lunge at her with it! She recovered a second too soon for him, however, and wrestled him to the floor.

Which is where Dobbs and Sykes had found both of them, a moment later.

To their credit, this time, they did not even try to yell "Freeze!" They simply began to open fire. Unfortunately, for Spike, the Abomination managed to jump towards the ceiling a fraction of a second sooner than that. Leaving the vampire's bare chest to take the initial brunt of the ensuing fusillade! As a result, the Abomination had landed behind them just as the two police detectives realized their mistake. True, they did spin about, in perfect unison, to once again catch her in their sights. But, once again, she proved just a fraction too fast for them. The Abomination shooting out her radula once more. Only, this time,. . .

. . .its victim was Detective Sgt. Dobbs.

The barb-like tip of the tongue went straight through his Adam's apple like the proverbial hot knife through butter! And the best that Sykes could do was fire a bullet through the stretch of tongue twelve inches below that.

The moment Doyle heard the gunfire, he knew he had made the right decision bringing along the old shillelagh.* He had it inherited from his maternal grandfather (a Fianna Kinsman of the Whispering Rover sept) who had taught him how to wield it, bojitsu-style, the same way the latter had been taught by a Hakken yamabushi named Ohara! Consequently, when he saw the Abomination quickly withdraw its injured radula, back into its mouth, he knew he would not have a better chance to take it by surprise.

"YARRRRRRGH!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as he barged through the double doors to the autopsy room. Swinging the shillelagh from right to left, across the Abomination's upper jaw. He then reversed the swing, doing the same damage from left to right. Following which, he rammed the knob-like top of the shillelagh into the creature's mid-section, twice in a row, before bringing the knob upward into its lower jaw. Concluding the whole display with a brief flurry of baton-like twirling prior to bringing the knob straight downward upon the Abomination's skull! Causing it to fall to the floor face-first.

"Y'all right there, Officer?" Doyle now asked of Sykes.

"It's 'Detective,' " the other corrected him. "But, yeah. Better than my colleague, here! I don't know who you are, mister."

"Allen Francis Doyle," replied the half-Brachen Irishman. "At your service."

"Thanks, Mr. Doyle," declared Sykes. "I mean that! You're a material witness to whatever the blazes just happened here, though. So, I'm afraid I have to ask you to stick around while I call for some back-up on the nearest intercom."

"In that case, mate, could you have them bring me some soddin' clothes, while you're at it?" asked a familiar Cockney voice.

Sykes turned around and gasped when he beheld Spike back on his feet. Doyle's subsequent utterance, however, was much more intelligible and succinct.

"Oh, shite!"

Spike, of course, did not fail to note the latter's brogue.

"Bloody hell! You mean, my arse was saved by a soddin' m- -k?"

Doyle glared daggers at him.

"Watch your mouth, l- - -y! Or I'll shove this shillelagh through your good-for-nothin' heart!"

Spike put his game face back on.

"You and what bloody army?"

As if in response, the blond-haired vampire suddenly started convulsing as he was hit with a stream of high voltage electric current! Only when that current was finally turned off did he slump back down to the floor (face-first, just like the Abomination). Whereupon, Doyle and Sykes turned, as one, to look behind them at the newest arrival. A petite individual wearing a black leather jacket with matching unitard, boots, and plexiglas-fronted motorcycle helmet.

"How does the U.S. Department of Defense grab you?" a decidedly female voice asked (somewhat rhetorically).

Muffled as it was, Doyle's eyebrows shot upward in astounded recognition.

"Jill? ? ?"

Tbc

Glossary -

*Shillelagh: commonly pronounced "shill-lay-lee," this is a traditional form of Irish walking stick, usually carved in a zig-zag pattern from the wood of the blackthorn tree (Prunus spinosa).

Fianna: Garou tribe of Celtic descent.

Kinsman: non-morphic relatives of the Garou are collectively called "Kinfolk."

Whispering Rover(s): a Fianna sept who are supposedly just a glorified messenger service. But, their otherwise well-proven reliability as such is often negated by their doing stealth work for the highest bidders (usually non-Garou)!

Hakken: Japanese Kinfolk of the Shadowlord Garou.

Yamabushi: any religious hermit of the Japanese Buddhist sect called "Shugendo," whose ascetic ways supposedly gave birth to ninjutsu.