Chapter 13

SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.

(8:30 P.M./PST)

"Oh, bloody hell!" he muttered: "ANGEL! It's a trap!"

Doyle had no sooner shouted that warning, than the one posing as Sonny Toussaint came back up with a sawed-off Stevens twelve gauge shotgun.

BOOM!

Angel barely evaded the twin-barreled blast...which turned out to consist of garlic salt. Such being the case, a couple of particles managed to make it into his mouth, sending him into a paroxysm of coughing. This, in turn, allowed his assailant to exit from the right front passenger door, carrying a net filled with pink children's party balloons.

And, with each balloon filled with holy water.

The counterfeit cop tried to use that net like a giant blackjack. Striving to bring it down on the still-coughing vampire's head! But, with Cordelia's help, Doyle was able to drag Angel off the hood of the unmarked police car just in time.

Even so, some of the water droplets managed to find their way on to the bare skin of Angel's face and hands. Burning him just as badly as droplets of sulfuric acid would a human! And, seeing this, Angel's attacker tossed another projectile into the air. This one, a hard-boiled egg containing powdered magnesium.

"To your left!" yelled Doyle.

The disparate trio just barely managed to avoid going up in flames as the water ignited the magnesium. Their vision, however, was temporarily impaired by the brief explosion of white light. Thereby allowing their attacker (who had dropped all semblance of Sonny Toussaint) to get behind them, and throw a silver shuriken at Angel's forehead.

Once again, Doyle's foresight came to the aid of the other two. Although, at a great cost to himself.

"Look out, Corrrrrrrrrrrrgh!"

"DOYLE!"

The half-mortal Brachen had used his own body to shield Angel and Cordelia. And, he half-smiled as he slowly slid to his knees and expired.

Cordelia, completely in shock, unknowingly dropped Angel to the ground as she fell to her own knees and cradled Doyle's head in her arms. Thus, she never saw the ninja-to of their attacker suddenly wrested from her grasp by a young, pony-tailed blonde woman wearing a black turtleneck sweater and matching slacks.

MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.

The rapidity of the attack took even Buffy by surprise. She immediately dove through the unopened window of the second floor room we had rented (at the House of Lavender Flame). But, by the time she somersaulted enough to land on the ground in a cat-like crouch, the one called Doyle was down.

The best Buffy could try to do, at that point, was use his killer's own sword to decapitate her. But, the kunoichi proved just as agile as the Slayer. Literally bending over backward to avoid the blow! And, coming back up with a pair of sais to counter-attack with.

The eye-blurring speed with which they parried and thrusted put every martial arts movie duel I've ever seen to shame. I wasn't destined to enjoy my ring-side seat for long, though. Because, to my left, I suddenly saw two figures emerge from the shadows. A man and woman who were dressed like they'd seen one too many gangster-movies.

Unfortunately, the firearms they were carrying weren't movie props. The man was armed with a .45 caliber Thompson sub-machine gun with a circular drum. While the woman had a .38 caliber Webley-Fosbery automatic revolver in each hand! And, when they came to a stop, it was in a side-by-side stance that I knew meant they were going to open fire on the two women any second.

Not if I could help it.

"GERONIMOOOOOOOO!" I shouted, as I leaped from the window right down on top of them.

I landed atop the woman, who I immediately sensed was a vampiress. Unfortunately, I was distracted by this long enough for her to kick me off of her. Using stiletto heels!

"Uhnnnnn!" I grunted with pain as my back collided with the wall of the hotel between the second and third floors. I fell back down to the ground, landing a whole lot less gracefully than Buffy had. And, that's when the male vampire drew a bead on me.

"You want a dance, hombre? Then dance to this music!"

The ensuing hail of .45 caliber bullets, fired at my feet, had me hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean on a hot plate. That is, till his girlfriend was ready to get into the act.

"That's enough, Lyle! Now, it's my turn."

With a grin like a Cheshire cat with rabies, she centered her twin .38's on my head. Only to scream with intense pain, as a loud explosion sent her flying off her feet at the same time it began to incinerate her body!

"Harmony!" screamed her boyfriend. He then spun about, loading a fresh ammo drum on to the tommy-gun as he did so. In that interim, I spotted the one who had rescued me from target practice. It was an African-American guy in a brown leather jacket. Rope burns on his wrists...and an SFPD badge on his belt.

He had a "blooper" gun in his hands. The type SWAT teams use for launching tear gas shells. Yet, the acrid stench reaching my nostrils told me Harmony had been on the receiving end of a white phosphorus shell! And my rescuer was busy loading a new one into the chamber as fast as he could.

He'd never be able to fire it off, though, before Lyle opened fire first. Probably with wood-tipped "dum-dum" bullets (basically, steel-jacketed wooden darts)! So, I did the first thing that popped into my head. I dove for the discarded Webleys.

"Hey, hombre! Eat lead!"

I emptied both revolver into him. First, his legs above the kneecaps. Then, his stomach. And, finally; one each to his heart and head. Sure enough! My hunch about the bullets had been right.

Lyle's body turned to dust, just like those Sunnydale vampires Buffy and the others had told me about. That was when I noticed how quiet it had gotten. No more clanging of metal on metal. I looked towards where Buffy had been fighting the kunoichi. And, the latter was down for the count as well.

When I looked at where the girl called Cordelia was crying over the man called Doyle, however, I could only consider it a Pyrrhic victory.

tbc