The Shield and Buffy the Vampire Slayer

in a crossover FanFiction

Antwon's Fangs

by

Lancer47

aka LancerFourSeven

& aka STFarnham

A/N: There are some remarks that reference scenes that were in Season 4 of The Shield that are not detailed here. I'd rather not rehash the entire season and so I have assumed that most people reading this story have at least seen the show. If anything gets too puzzling, let me know, I can always explain further.

Chapter Seven

The ride back to Riley's house was quiet for the first few miles. Riley kept looking nervously over her shoulder at Melc, who rode quietly in the back seat, next to Buffy. Rover, in the back behind a wire screen, spent the whole trip standing on his feet, his fur ruffled, staring at Melc, growling continuously with an occasional 'woof' thrown in for punctuation. He was a very upset dog.

"You can let me off anywhere," Melc said, looking nervously at Rover, "really, this is fine, you don't have to go out of your way for me, I'm feeling a bit peckish, so right along here, maybe near that alley entrance..."

Faith turned and said, "Shut it. We're gonna have a debriefing first."

"But I don't wear briefs!" Melc wailed pitifully.

"Not that kind of debriefing, doofus, a talk. We're gonna sit down in an interview room and talk about your experience with Antwon Mitchell: everything you can remember he said, everything he had you do, everything he wanted you to do... Do I have to go on? We want everything you know about Antwon and his merry men."

"Oh, I don't know about any of that," said Melc, "my memory is kinda shot. I think I have may have mad demon disease."

Buffy frowned and asked, "What the heck is that?"

"Well, it's kinda like mad cow disease, except exclusive to demons, my kind of demon at that."

Faith said, "You know what I think? I think you're trying to weasel out of paying us back for rescuing you from your grave. Our price isn't very high, you don't have to pay us in kittens, or money, or very much time. We don't need you to do anything you'd find intolerable or disgusting, we don't want you to go back down in a hole and be covered in dirt. All we want from you, is talk. That's all."

"Yeah, but if Antwon hears about it, he'll send his hit couple back after me. And I gotta tell you, that Peas and 8-Ball scare the everlovin' spleen outta me, and I don't know if I even have a spleen."

Faith grinned at him. "Well hell, if that's all that's bothering you, I got good news. Peas and 8-Ball were killed a few weeks ago. In fact, their bodies were found in the same field we just came from, not more'n fifty feet from your grave. The big difference bein' they ain't comin' back from the dead, seein' as they started to rot."

Melc was amazed, her jaw dropped, her eyes got big, her hands shook and she spread her fingers and claws and waved them around aimlessly. "Seriously!? You wouldn't be trying to kid me, would you?" she was almost pleading.

"Seriously, I kid you not," said Faith. "I've read the reports. The identity of their bodies has been confirmed. One was stabbed with a big fuckin' knife and the other was shot with his own gun, although we don't know who killed them, yet."

Melc sat back and let out a huge breath of air. She dabbed at her eyes. "You don't know how much this means to me! I feel like I can relax for the first time in months. Those two, well, they weren't demons and I would have known, but they sure acted like demons. They had a bigger body count than all but the most ferocious beasts from hell. Terrifying they were."

"So," said Buffy, "you can tell us about Antwon now?"

"Well, he's still alive, right?"

"Yeah," said Faith, "but with your help, maybe he won't be free much longer. In fact, even without your help I suspect he's going back to prison sooner or later. But with your help, it'll be sooner. And you don't have to worry about testifying. With your, uh, unusual looks, I doubt the DA will want to see you in court – although it sure might be entertaining to watch a jury listening to you. But we do need you to talk to the cops."

"Are you sure? Cuz I don't like cops, I really don't."

"Whatta ya think B? Can we pass him off as the victim of a horrible skin disease?"

"Hmmm. I'd rather not try."

"The other solution is make him a C.I."

"See eye? What's that mean?" Melc wondered.

"C.I., as in Confidential Informant. We can register you with the department and even get you paid a little."

"Oh, will they pay me in kittens?"

"No, just greenbacks."

"Oh, well I guess that'll have to do. Sure, sign me up."

Vic Mackey slumped down on the old couch in the 'clubhouse' at the 'Barn'. A few minutes later Curtis Lemansky and Ron Gardarki came in and sat at the table.

"What's up boss? You know I can't be here officially right now."

"Yeah, yeah, the captain wants you here, she'll square it with your boss. Look guys, I got a line on two kilos of black tar, prime, uncut. But I don't know what we'd do with 'em right now. Ideas?"

"Jesus!" said Curtis looking around wildly, "You swept the clubhouse?"

"Of course I swept it! Just a few minutes ago, what the hell, ya think I gotta suicide wish?"

"Okay, okay," said Curtis, still nervous. "Just makin' sure. As far as the tar goes, I got nothing, I don't need that shit for anything right now."

Ron shrugged. "I don't have any plans for running any dealers these days."

Mackey said, "Yeah, me neither, but I sure could use the cash."

"What, you need to buy a yacht?"

"Fuck no, but I got a family to take of, and it costs more when we ain't livin' under the same roof."

"Yeah, I can see that. But I think you're on your own for this one. My new department is a tight shop."

Ron said, "I don't think we need to get into this shit, not right now."

"I can let the stuff sit where it is, but there's people in jail who know about it. I can let it lie fallow, but only if I can move it to a safe place."

"When?"

"Three nights from now. The place is still being watched."

"Watched! By who?"

"The rest of the department. The stuff's at the place we raided yesterday."

"Damn, I thought you found two hundred kilos. Ain't it all in evidence?"

"Well, there was two hundred and two kilos at the scene, but I guess it got rounded off in all the excitement."

"So whattaya wanna do with it?"

"Not sure. Bury it somewhere, I guess."

"Not bad, but I don't think I can help, Vic. It's just too squirrely around me right now."

Ron said, "I'll help if I can, but three days from now I have a bust goin' down. Should be over by five, but you know how these things go."

"Yeah, yeah, don't expect you 'fore midnight. Okay, I'll figure something out."

Antwon stormed around his warehouse, his people eyed him nervously. They knew very well that he was capable of murdering people for no reason other than being pissed off. "What the FUCK is going on around here! My warehouse got held up by the fuckin' po-po! How'd they know? Who leaked? Two hundred good pounds down the fuckin' drain! This ain't acceptable, do you think I got this shit insured?"

"And Peas and 8-Ball are dead? Who? Who's the mutherfucker responsible for this, this, outrage! I want you to find him! Find the mutherfucking cocksucker who did this! I will torture them myself!

"And Delia! What the fuck happened to our vamps? And our assassins? What the hell, I send all these fuckers to kill one girl, one fucking chick, a dimwit cunt, a fucking thief too dumb to pick easy victims, and they's all dead! Every fuckin' one of them!"

"Ah," said one brave underling, "Conrad is still alive."

"And that's another fucking thing! We's gonna haveta get him, in fucking solitary or not, he has to be permanently shut!"

"Ah, Antwon, all our snitches say his jaws so tight shut they checked him for lockjaw. He old school, he won't say a thing."

"I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE THAT CHANCE! I want him dead!"

"If you kill Conrad, you'll lose a lotta your own people; ol' Connie's tight, he won't never say a word to the cops."

Antwon swung a fist at the wall. At the last moment he stopped short, even in his anger realizing that punching a concrete wall would be the height of stupidity. He stopped moving, stood still, let his breathing return to normal. After a minute he turned around and walked calmly over to his Barca-Lounger and sat down.

"Beer."

Someone brought him a cold one.

"Aw-right, we gotta plan. What's been the common thing about trying to kill this fucking girl, hell I can't believe she's still alive, anyone heard her prog?"

"Yeah, she gettin' better, supposed to be a full recovery in a matter of weeks."

"The fuck!? She got hit in the head with a fuckin' .338! How the hell she survive that?!"

"Apparently the bullet entered along side of her head and it didn't even break her skull; fuckin' alky couldn't shoot straight even with a six-thousand dollar rifle."

"Shit on my father's grave! Why the hell did Conrad hire that shaky mutherfucker?"

"He looked like a good cutout. After all, he useta be army, a sniper."

"Yeah, ten fuckin' years and a couple hunnerd barrels of cheap whiskey ago. Even my dead sista coulda hit her dead-on with that rifle!"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Yeah, yeah, I thought so too," said Antwon. "Okay, how about the two vamps you sent, Delia?"

Delia stalked over. "You sure you wanna hear from your dead sister? Or am I too incompetent?"

"Jesus Christ, Delia, ya know I didn't mean anything by that! It was just a, a, some sort of a metaphor! That's what it was, a metaphor!"

Delia growled softly enough so that only Antwon could hear her. Antwon didn't piss his pants, but he suddenly uncomfortably aware of the beer he just slammed down. He didn't feel confident enough to pat his pockets to check on his holy water, cross and stakes, not with Delia staring at him with that death glare of hers.

"Delia, please, the business at hand. What happened to the two vamps you sent to kill that Kennedy chick?"

"Word on the street is they was dusted by a Slayer."

"What's a slayer? The Fuckin' LA Slayers think they can fuckin' move in on my territory! What the hell, we'll kill them fuckers!"

"No, no, brother dear. Not the gang. Vampire Slayers. Mystical creatures whose sole reason for existence is to kill my kind. Mostly there's been only one at a time, when the Slayer dies, the next one is called. I thought they were just tales, you know, stories that demon mamas can tell their little demons to keep them in line."

"Thas fucking ridiculous! You're tellin' me fairytales?!"

"Recently I found out it ain't no fairytale. Slayers are real. And worse, it looks like there's more than one these days. But no vamp I know of has seen 'em and lived to tell about it. We don't know what this creature looks like. And anyways, it just be rumor one's here. It's the only explanation I know of, though. I mean, otherwise it mean that this little lezzie done defeated two vamps and three-and-a-half stone-cold killers."

Antwon looked startled for a moment. Then he said, "Nah, that's too stupid for words, after she just a girl."

Delia said softly, the menace clear in every word, "I'm just a girl."

"But you're also a vampire, a creature of the night. That do make a difference, Delia."

"You're sayin' before I was sired, I was nuthin'? Just some cunt?!"

"No, no, of course not. You made your bones, hell, you an important member of this organization, before and after!" Antwon tried not to allow his worry show. He was thinking more than ever that maybe he didn't really need Delia around much longer, he'd sure feel safer without her hanging around. And after all, she wasn't his sister anymore, no matter what she looked like, his sister was dead. She just needed to be buried.

One of his lieutenants, either bolder or stupider than the others, said, "Peas was a girl."

"And look what fuckin' happened to her!" Antwon shook his head. "Alright, everyone settle the fuck down. We gots to figure out what to do next."

"That girl, Kennedy, she gots friends."

"Yeah?" Antwon said, with interest. "What kinda friends?"

"She got a rug-muncher partner. Girl spending day and night by Kennedy's side, sniffling and shit. We pick her up, maybe effect a trade."

"That might work. Now you've checked her out, right? She ain't some mutherfuckin' Ninja or some shit, right?" said Antwon.

"Nah, she just a wet chick, cryin' all the time. A rich nerd. She got money, couldn't possibly understand the real world. Works in London, in some corp most of the time."

"Okay. Who else?"

"Besides the redhead, there's a short blonde, cheerleader type, good looking, probably the receptionist. She also works in London. Some sort of antique dealers, nothin' special. But the other one, she might be a bit of problem. She some sort of Federal Agent, works outta the Pentagon for something called DCIS."

"What the fuck is that?"

"I dunno, somethin' to do with the military."

"She carry a gun?"'

"Yeah, she's an agent aw-right, a Fed, I jus' doan know what kind."

"Yeah, let's not fuck with the Feds. Go after the easy target, the redhead dyke."

TBC