Not The Way It Works
Okay, here it is: my cya_ficathon assignment.
(And in honour of the occasion, I'll even attempt some proper headings…)
Title: Not The Way It Works
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3600
Disclaimer: All places mentioned in this story are fictional, and no reference to real locations is intended. Except for Los Angeles - apparently that’s real.
Warnings: Grenades, dubious business practices, a longing for ice-cream, graffiti, and far too many pastry-based nicknames. And fire. Lots of fire.
Beta-ed by the lovely dreamincolor.
[A/N - My original assignment will be listed at the end of this post.]
Not The Way It Works
Matthew Fleming, junior salesman at the Roxbury Furniture Company, stepped out into the evening air, and checked his watch. It was exactly 5:03 pm, and the street was empty. He’d just have to wait.
Matthew crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall, and hummed softly to himself. He had a big night planned: movies with his girlfriend, dinner at Sora Delisa (a new club near Crofts Plaza), and then on to a party next to the river. It’d be good.
But for now, he was stuck doing this.
He always got landed with the most boring jobs.
For some reason, he failed to notice the figure watching him intently from the roof opposite.
Instead, he just hummed some more, and kept on waiting.
“Coffee’s ready.” Fred passed Lorne the second cup, and sank into the nearest chair. “I think,” she pronounced, carefully, “I think they’ve actually gone to sleep.”
Lorne sighed. “Well that’s about time. And this little munchkin hasn’t said a word, have you, cutie?”
Connor blinked up at him, but stayed quiet.
“He doesn’t need another bottle?”
“Nope.”
“Or his diaper changed? Or maybe something to look at - because it’s important for babies to have plenty of visual stimulus so that they can develop their cerebral-”
“Hey! Fredikins - calm down. Diapers are clean, little boys are fed and warm and have my gorgeous features to look at, and our fine detective team are actually quiet for the first time in two days. This is the perfect opportunity for you to relax, Little Miss Run-Off-Her-Feet.”
Fred sat down again, and drank her coffee sheepishly.
Lorne turned back to the baby, and cooed, “Auntie Fred is getting a bit sick of all the sick people, isn’t she? And we’ll have to be extra nice to Auntie Fred, and not cry too much, because she’s very busy, won’t we? That’s right - we will.”
He smiled at her. “Don’t worry, honey. It’ll all be over soon. Then we can go out on the town, and dance to our hearts’ content.”
Fred smiled back. “When this is all over,” she mused, “I’m going to have ice-cream.”
“Ice-cream?”
A nod. “One of those incredible sundaes they do at Gandalf’s Creamery. Five flavours, chocolate fudge, hard caramel chips, wafer, and lots of cream… I think we deserve it.”
“Absolutely.”
A bell rang softly, upstairs.
Fred sighed, and got to her feet. “Here we go again.”
People tend to forget how interesting Los Angeles can be at night-time.
On this particular night…
…there were jewel thieves in a warehouse on Stace Street planning their next heist…
…there were five blocks of cars stuck in a traffic jam…
…there was a man standing on the corner of Rime and Carcynon handing out flyers for a new French restaurant…
…the cast of Interesting Death were celebrating the end of filming…
…a couple on vacation from New Jersey were having their first fight…
…and on a third storey roof, overlooking the back entrance to a furniture store, were some grenades, a crossbow, a bag filled with supplies, and a black-clad figure holding a mirror in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other.
In the street below, Matthew Fleming checked his watch again.
The figure lowered the binoculars, nodded thoughtfully, and then picked up the crossbow and took careful aim.
The street was still annoyingly empty, but Matthew’s muttered comment about slack drivers was cut short.
Mostly because of the crossbow bolt that had just buried itself in his chest.
“Lullaby, don’t you cry,
There’s nothing I can do.
Daddy’s sick, and cannot help,
And Cordy is sick too.
And so you’re stuck, here with me,
To help you I am trying,
Your belly’s full, your diaper’s dry,
So please just stop your crying…”
No joy. He was still wailing as much as ever. Lorne patted him on the back, and was about to start another song when Fred walked into the office.
She was covered from the waist up in a dark red substance that almost looked like- oh. Hmm.
“Okay there, sweetie?”
A rueful “I’m fine,” and she was walking over to the change table. She picked up a towel and started wiping her face clean.
Lorne adjusted Connor in his arms. “You don’t happen to have a secret technique for stopping this noise, do you?”
“Try making some silly faces. He likes that.”
“Good idea.” He tried to sound casual. “So… um… is there some sort of reason why you’re covered in blood?”
Her reply was muffled by the towel. “Affgl.”
“Apples?”
“Angel. I was trying to fluff up his pillow, and he got all queasy.” Fred turned, frowning. “I didn’t even know it was possible for vampires to vomit.”
“Well I guess if it’s a mystical illness, it can come complete with mystical vomit,” reasoned Lorne.
“I s’pose.” She looked down at her top - formerly white. Now extremely pink. “I don’t think this is going to come out.”
“Oh, it might. Don’t worry, honey - I’ll pick up a truly excellent detergent when I go shopping this afternoon.”
“You’re going shopping again?”
“Wesley needs comfort food.”
“But we got the comfort food - ten cans of it. And toast.”
“Mmm, well it turns out that English baked beans aren’t the same as the Los Angeles variety.”
Fred sat down, and sighed. “I guess you’d better get some more, then.”
“You know,” she commented, “when people talk about working for a supernatural detective agency, they make it sound chock-full of glamour, excitement, and hunting down monsters. They kinda gloss over the vomit.”
Lorne smiled sympathetically. “Ain’t that the truth.”
He glanced over at the counter. “Looks like we have a new client.”
Anthony Jensen set aside the invoices he’d been leafing through, and picked up the phone. “Roxbury’s. How may I help you?”
“Am I at the right place?”
“Well, if you want to buy some furniture...”
“Your deliveries entrance is in Edith Street, right?” She sounded rather annoyed.
“Uh… that’s right.”
“Well I’ve been waiting for nearly five minutes. Are y’all planning to unload my truck ever?”
Maybe if we’d known you were here… Anthony didn’t bother finishing the thought. The customer was always right - it was the only way to stay civil when you were on the phone with them.
“I’m so sorry. If I could just-”
“You know, I’ve got plenty of deliveries to make tonight. I don’t think it’s very professional of you to waste my time like this.”
The customer is always right. Polite voice. “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll send someone out straight away.”
He stood up. “Hey Dan. Delivery truck’s here. Come and help me unload. You too, Lucas.”
The three of them made their way to the back entrance, and stepped into the alley. The empty alley. No truck in sight.
They paused, and looked around, slightly puzzled.
And suddenly the sky was full of flames.
He was in his mid-forties, wearing a tailored suit, and he already seemed pretty on-edge.
“My name is Tom Bedford, of Bedford’s Home Furnishings: ‘Beds are Better at Bedford’s.’”
“Well, don’t worry, Mr Bedford. You’ve come to the right place.” Lorne opened a notebook and tried to look professional. “What can we do for you?”
“I need you to put my competitors out of business.”
Fred paused in the middle of entertaining Connor, and looked over.
“Uh…”
“We don’t really…”
Mr Bedford pulled some papers out of his briefcase, and handed them to Lorne.
“They’re called the Roxbury Furniture Company, and their store is on Mackerley Avenue - that’s only two streets away from mine.”
“That must be…”
“They’ve been advertising in all the major newspapers,” he explained.
“Really? I’m sure-”
“And you should see their storefront: premium lighting designs, as-in-home settings, interactive windows - I can’t compete!”
“Yes, but we don’t really-”
He lit a cigarette, nervously, and continued: “I’ve been losing customers every day. Especially now that they’ve set up their Loyalty Points system.”
“If you don’t have an actual-”
“And now with the new billboards - I’m running out of time.”
“I’m afraid we can’t just-”
“They’ve already eaten five of my employees!”
“If there aren’t… uh… what?”
“They say they’re going to kill a cashier every day until I close down.”
“What?”
“By my calculations, in two weeks I won’t have anyone left.”
“But-”
“As it is, my part-time girls are all refusing to come into the store until Roxbury’s leaves us alone.”
“Uh…”
“I’ve been in this business over twenty years - never given in to intimidation tactics, and never will. But without my girls, I won’t be able to open tonight.”
Lorne nodded mutely.
“And it’s the January sales! Missing a day in the January sales - it’s even worse than the May rush. And I can’t just-”
“Wait a second.” Fred handed Connor to Lorne, and sat down. “Let me just check: your competitors want you to close down, so they’re eating your employees?”
“Well, yes.” He frowned. “They’re all vampires - didn’t I say?”
The Molotov cocktails crashed down into the street, landing right at their feet. Anthony and Lucas reacted in time - one singed leg, and no real harm done - but Dan’s jacket was set alight and they watched, horrified, as he dissolved into dust in front of them.
Then, almost in slow motion, an object dropped out of the sky and bounced along the sidewalk.
It was a grenade.
The explosion was impressive. And loud. But not really… explosive. When the smoke cleared, the alley still contained two very intact figures - who were now calling inside for assistance.
On the roof, the assassin frowned.
And assistance was arriving. Salesmen in pin-stripes ran into the street and began scanning the rooftops, trying to spot their attacker.
The assassin knelt, and opened the supply bag. Taking up most of the room was a box filled with balloons.
She picked up two of them, and grinned.
“Uh… Angel?”
No reply.
“Hello? Angelcakes?”
Again - a distinct lack of reply. Lorne eased the door open anyway, and tiptoed across the room to the object lying huddled under the very rumpled bed sheets.
“We’ve managed to find a bit of a case, and we were wondering if-”
There was a groan.
“-if you might be up to giving us a smidge of assistance with the fighting part of it.”
Another groan, followed by a muffled “Lee-me-‘lone.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. No need to trouble the sickie.”
He got halfway to the door, and turned back.
“Except it’s mainly a nest of vampires giving the local shopkeepers hell - and since you know a lot about vampires… and about hell… we thought it might be good to have you onboard.”
There was a short pause. And then a sigh. And Angel’s head emerged from the covers.
“Okay,” he said weakly. “I’m up. What are we fighting?”
“Great! Well, it seems a group of your unsouled compatriots decided free enterprise was the way to go. Except they don’t mean ‘free’ so much as ‘enough dirty dealing to make a Sinatra fan blush’. The lovely Miss Burkle is downstairs researching them as we speak. There shouldn’t be more than a dozen or so - so with your fighting prowess leading the charge it shouldn’t be…” He trailed off. “Uh… Angel? Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You just… look even paler than usual.”
“I’ll be okay. So - what are we fighting?”
Lorne hesitated, and then shook his head decisively. “No. It’s alright. We’ll ask Wesley. You go back to sleep.”
A bombardment of waterbombs hit the street, splashing holy water over the Roxbury employees. They yelled, and tried to get out of the way, but more kept coming. Balloon after balloon smashed into their heads, with no sign of stopping.
Rocko and Stefan were the first to give up - sprinting for the main road and not looking back. A fast-track career with dental and a company car just wasn’t worth it anymore.
And the waterbombs continued to hail down.
“I’d say they’re definitely vampires.”
The Roxbury website was open on the computer, and she was frantically making notes.
Lorne made his way to the corner to check on the sleeping baby. “No joy upstairs. Gunn suggested Angel, Angel suggested Wesley, Wesley asked for more toast, and Cordelia is still seeing bright green unicorns.” He paused. “I hope that’s not actually a vision. Does LA have unicorns?”
“Probably. It has everything else, right?”
“Well, we can look into it later.”
“Uh-huh.” She kept writing. “It looks like they have eleven employees on their payroll - if all of them are vampires it’s going to be tricky.” Fred looked up. “If I buy an apartment opposite the store, how long will it take for the invitation barrier to kick in?”
“Um… I don’t think we have enough money to do that.”
“Okay. I’ll think of something else.”
“Fred?”
“Yeah.”
“I know you’ve got a lot of information to go through… and I support that. But…”
“Hmm?”
“…should you really be writing on the desk?”
She didn’t stop. “It’s okay - it’s a Sharpie. They’re designed to work on unusual surfaces.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“I can get you some paper…” He moved to the cupboard.
“Don’t bother. Stakes, sunshine, fire… what else?”
“You sure?”
“Paper tears too easily. Hard surfaces are soothing.” Fred looked thoughtful. “Do we have any weapons?”
The numbers were ticked off, carefully: three dusted, five last seen running from the premises in a bucket load of pain.
A satisfied nod.
She closed the notebook, and carefully stored it in a side-pocket on the bag. Then she reached in, and pulled out an axe.
It gleamed.
“Hey, an axe. This is good.” She turned. “Axes work on vampires, right?”
“I’d say so.”
“Good.” She put it to one side. “Then I’ll take that.”
“Are you sure about this, crumbcake?”
“I probably shouldn’t take a sword - I haven’t had much to do with them.”
Lorne tried again. “It’s a hell of a job to take on…”
“Grenades?” Fred picked one up, and examined it. “How did we end up with grenades?”
“…especially by yourself…”
“Do you think I’ll need more than one axe?”
“Fred!”
She went still.
“Fred, sweetie… muffin… dollface… you don’t have to do this. Not by yourself.”
There was no reply.
“No-one will blame you for staying here. We can always tell Mr Bedford to find someone else.”
“Who else is there, Lorne?” she asked quietly.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Nowhere is it written that you have to take on ten vampires by yourself.”
“Eleven.”
“Which isn’t much better.”
“Or maybe twelve.”
“Regardless of the math, my point is: taking care of the occasional vampire? Part of the gig. Clearing a nest? Bad idea. Very bad idea. Stay here instead, and help me run a bath for the tiny one over there.”
“And we just let the vampires run riot through the city. That’s not the way it works, Lorne.” She looked at him, determination written across her face. “Our champions are all out of commission - but we still need to do the championing.”
Lorne hesitated. “We do? I mean - I’m right there with you,” he added, “all the way. But I’m not really one of nature’s born fighters. Couldn’t we wait until the others-”
“You’re not coming,” Fred interrupted.
“What? But-”
“You have to take care of Connor.”
“Well… he probably won’t wake up before we get back…”
“And when Angel hunts us down and kills us horribly for leaving his son alone, how are we going to get out of that?”
She had a point.
Lorne nodded. “Okay, honey. You do what you have to do. I’ll hold down the fort.”
Fred turned back to the weapons cabinet, and sighed.
“Scared?”
A tiny smile. “Terrified.”
“Come here.” He pulled her into a hug.
She cuddled into his arms, and Lorne felt her slowly relax. Then came the soft question: “A flail would probably be overkill, wouldn’t it?”
There was a knock at the side door.
Clive Mason looked over, and frowned slightly. No-one used that door - no-one except for the staff. And they all had keys.
The knock came again.
Clive pushed back his chair, and walked over.
He opened the door, looked out cautiously…
- and an axe slammed through the air, straight into his neck.
There was a soft noise, like a body crumbling to dust.
Then the door was pushed open, and a woman - dressed in black, and carrying a battle axe - stepped inside.
She checked out the room. Desks, lots of paperwork, and no people in sight. No - wrong. There were two talking in the break room on the right. But they wouldn’t notice her in time.
There really was a lot of paperwork on these desks.
She picked up a couple of invoices, and watched as flames slowly licked up the side of them. Then she dropped them onto the nearest desk.
A brief check that the fire would stay alight, and she put the lighter back in her pocket with a quiet smile, and walked out into the store.
“Oh, look.” Lorne picked it up. “It looks like Mr Bedford forgot his cigarette lighter.”
Fred came over. “He did?”
“Yep.” He examined it. “Proper silver, too. Do we have a lost property box?”
“No. It’s okay - I’ll take it. It might come in handy.” She pocketed the lighter, and returned to the weapons cabinet.
“Good evening, and… um… welcome to the Roxbury Furniture Company. We’re delighted to have you shopping with us tonight, but it seems that we have a sort of emergency, so if y’all would like to leave the store quickly before it burns down, that would be appreciated.”
The customers looked around, mildly puzzled.
Emergency? It didn’t exactly look like…
The PA system started again: “Um, hello? I was actually serious about that last one. If I could find the fire alarm we’d have the big whooping noise, too - but even without the whooping, the store is still on fire… Please get out. Uh, now.”
It could always be a hoax. But the owner, Mr Roxbury, seemed to be taking it seriously enough - sprinting towards the back of the store - and all the other salesmen seemed to have disappeared. In their absence, PA voices should probably be believed.
They griped about the inconvenience, but started leaving.
Phil Roxbury could already smell the smoke, obviously. He just hadn’t registered what it meant - not until that damn girl made her announcement.
And once he reached Settees And Side Tables, there was no denying it: the office area was definitely going up in flames. And there - at the cash register in Assorted Chairs - was the cause of the problem. Still using the microphone for the PA.
It took less than a second to get to her.
“Go to sleep, baby boy,
Uncle Lorne is here.
I will take care of you,
You’re safe, so do not fear.
We’ll make everything okay,
Me and Auntie Fred,
I will heat your bottles up,
And she’ll dust the undead…”
Lorne peeked under the blanket: Connor was sound asleep.
He sighed. “I just hope she’s okay.”
He had her by the throat, holding her almost carelessly as he went through her bag.
“Crossbow, binoculars, flail… you came well prepared. Most people who want to kill me just bring a stake. But then-” - tighter grip - “most people don’t set fire to my store.”
There was a gasping noise.
Roxbury loosened his hold on her, and smiled. “I was choking you, wasn’t I? I do apologise. There are some things I tend to get irrational about - and you’ve hit the jackpot. I built this business. Me. Stellar furniture at stellar prices, great location, genuine service, and a team of the best salesmen in-” He stopped, and looked around the store. “Speaking of which, where are my salesmen?”
She pulled away, ripping her sweater as she wriggled out of his grip, and said quietly, “They’re gone.”
“Really? You planned this pretty carefully, didn’t you? I think I’ll return the compliment - and plan a nice, careful death.”
She took a step backwards, her eyes darting towards the bag. Roxbury flung it across the store - it landed in Mirrors And Picture Frames with a loud clatter - and smiled. “Something slow, I think. Involving a lot of knives… or maybe just a lot of fire. It would be fairly fitting.”
The flames had reached Beds And Bedding, which started burning at an alarming rate. But he didn’t take his eyes off the girl in front of him. He took another menacing step forward.
But this time she didn’t back away. She stood her ground, meeting his eyes, and tried to hide her all-too-obvious fear.
“Please,” he laughed. “I’ve got three hundred years of experience killing little girls. What have you got?”
“Your catalogue.”
Fred launched herself forward, knocking them both into the Fine Dining arrangement behind him. They crashed to the ground, smashing the furniture beneath them - bits of chair flying in every direction.
There was a short pause.
Then she got up, brushing her clothing, and continued, “I read it this afternoon. And apparently, these chairs are genuine oak.” A smile. “They’re not very durable, though.”
Fred looked at the pile of dust at her feet, and sighed.
Then she pulled out her cell phone.
“Hey, Lorne - it’s me… …Yep. Problem solved… …Uh-huh… …I won’t be back for a while longer, though. I’m going to get myself some ice-cream.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My assignment: Fred taking charge of a more-action-than-solving-the-puzzle type of case by herself.
(And in honour of the occasion, I'll even attempt some proper headings…)
Title: Not The Way It Works
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3600
Disclaimer: All places mentioned in this story are fictional, and no reference to real locations is intended. Except for Los Angeles - apparently that’s real.
Warnings: Grenades, dubious business practices, a longing for ice-cream, graffiti, and far too many pastry-based nicknames. And fire. Lots of fire.
Beta-ed by the lovely dreamincolor.
[A/N - My original assignment will be listed at the end of this post.]
Not The Way It Works
Matthew Fleming, junior salesman at the Roxbury Furniture Company, stepped out into the evening air, and checked his watch. It was exactly 5:03 pm, and the street was empty. He’d just have to wait.
Matthew crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall, and hummed softly to himself. He had a big night planned: movies with his girlfriend, dinner at Sora Delisa (a new club near Crofts Plaza), and then on to a party next to the river. It’d be good.
But for now, he was stuck doing this.
He always got landed with the most boring jobs.
For some reason, he failed to notice the figure watching him intently from the roof opposite.
Instead, he just hummed some more, and kept on waiting.
“Coffee’s ready.” Fred passed Lorne the second cup, and sank into the nearest chair. “I think,” she pronounced, carefully, “I think they’ve actually gone to sleep.”
Lorne sighed. “Well that’s about time. And this little munchkin hasn’t said a word, have you, cutie?”
Connor blinked up at him, but stayed quiet.
“He doesn’t need another bottle?”
“Nope.”
“Or his diaper changed? Or maybe something to look at - because it’s important for babies to have plenty of visual stimulus so that they can develop their cerebral-”
“Hey! Fredikins - calm down. Diapers are clean, little boys are fed and warm and have my gorgeous features to look at, and our fine detective team are actually quiet for the first time in two days. This is the perfect opportunity for you to relax, Little Miss Run-Off-Her-Feet.”
Fred sat down again, and drank her coffee sheepishly.
Lorne turned back to the baby, and cooed, “Auntie Fred is getting a bit sick of all the sick people, isn’t she? And we’ll have to be extra nice to Auntie Fred, and not cry too much, because she’s very busy, won’t we? That’s right - we will.”
He smiled at her. “Don’t worry, honey. It’ll all be over soon. Then we can go out on the town, and dance to our hearts’ content.”
Fred smiled back. “When this is all over,” she mused, “I’m going to have ice-cream.”
“Ice-cream?”
A nod. “One of those incredible sundaes they do at Gandalf’s Creamery. Five flavours, chocolate fudge, hard caramel chips, wafer, and lots of cream… I think we deserve it.”
“Absolutely.”
A bell rang softly, upstairs.
Fred sighed, and got to her feet. “Here we go again.”
People tend to forget how interesting Los Angeles can be at night-time.
On this particular night…
…there were jewel thieves in a warehouse on Stace Street planning their next heist…
…there were five blocks of cars stuck in a traffic jam…
…there was a man standing on the corner of Rime and Carcynon handing out flyers for a new French restaurant…
…the cast of Interesting Death were celebrating the end of filming…
…a couple on vacation from New Jersey were having their first fight…
…and on a third storey roof, overlooking the back entrance to a furniture store, were some grenades, a crossbow, a bag filled with supplies, and a black-clad figure holding a mirror in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other.
In the street below, Matthew Fleming checked his watch again.
The figure lowered the binoculars, nodded thoughtfully, and then picked up the crossbow and took careful aim.
The street was still annoyingly empty, but Matthew’s muttered comment about slack drivers was cut short.
Mostly because of the crossbow bolt that had just buried itself in his chest.
“Lullaby, don’t you cry,
There’s nothing I can do.
Daddy’s sick, and cannot help,
And Cordy is sick too.
And so you’re stuck, here with me,
To help you I am trying,
Your belly’s full, your diaper’s dry,
So please just stop your crying…”
No joy. He was still wailing as much as ever. Lorne patted him on the back, and was about to start another song when Fred walked into the office.
She was covered from the waist up in a dark red substance that almost looked like- oh. Hmm.
“Okay there, sweetie?”
A rueful “I’m fine,” and she was walking over to the change table. She picked up a towel and started wiping her face clean.
Lorne adjusted Connor in his arms. “You don’t happen to have a secret technique for stopping this noise, do you?”
“Try making some silly faces. He likes that.”
“Good idea.” He tried to sound casual. “So… um… is there some sort of reason why you’re covered in blood?”
Her reply was muffled by the towel. “Affgl.”
“Apples?”
“Angel. I was trying to fluff up his pillow, and he got all queasy.” Fred turned, frowning. “I didn’t even know it was possible for vampires to vomit.”
“Well I guess if it’s a mystical illness, it can come complete with mystical vomit,” reasoned Lorne.
“I s’pose.” She looked down at her top - formerly white. Now extremely pink. “I don’t think this is going to come out.”
“Oh, it might. Don’t worry, honey - I’ll pick up a truly excellent detergent when I go shopping this afternoon.”
“You’re going shopping again?”
“Wesley needs comfort food.”
“But we got the comfort food - ten cans of it. And toast.”
“Mmm, well it turns out that English baked beans aren’t the same as the Los Angeles variety.”
Fred sat down, and sighed. “I guess you’d better get some more, then.”
“You know,” she commented, “when people talk about working for a supernatural detective agency, they make it sound chock-full of glamour, excitement, and hunting down monsters. They kinda gloss over the vomit.”
Lorne smiled sympathetically. “Ain’t that the truth.”
He glanced over at the counter. “Looks like we have a new client.”
Anthony Jensen set aside the invoices he’d been leafing through, and picked up the phone. “Roxbury’s. How may I help you?”
“Am I at the right place?”
“Well, if you want to buy some furniture...”
“Your deliveries entrance is in Edith Street, right?” She sounded rather annoyed.
“Uh… that’s right.”
“Well I’ve been waiting for nearly five minutes. Are y’all planning to unload my truck ever?”
Maybe if we’d known you were here… Anthony didn’t bother finishing the thought. The customer was always right - it was the only way to stay civil when you were on the phone with them.
“I’m so sorry. If I could just-”
“You know, I’ve got plenty of deliveries to make tonight. I don’t think it’s very professional of you to waste my time like this.”
The customer is always right. Polite voice. “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll send someone out straight away.”
He stood up. “Hey Dan. Delivery truck’s here. Come and help me unload. You too, Lucas.”
The three of them made their way to the back entrance, and stepped into the alley. The empty alley. No truck in sight.
They paused, and looked around, slightly puzzled.
And suddenly the sky was full of flames.
He was in his mid-forties, wearing a tailored suit, and he already seemed pretty on-edge.
“My name is Tom Bedford, of Bedford’s Home Furnishings: ‘Beds are Better at Bedford’s.’”
“Well, don’t worry, Mr Bedford. You’ve come to the right place.” Lorne opened a notebook and tried to look professional. “What can we do for you?”
“I need you to put my competitors out of business.”
Fred paused in the middle of entertaining Connor, and looked over.
“Uh…”
“We don’t really…”
Mr Bedford pulled some papers out of his briefcase, and handed them to Lorne.
“They’re called the Roxbury Furniture Company, and their store is on Mackerley Avenue - that’s only two streets away from mine.”
“That must be…”
“They’ve been advertising in all the major newspapers,” he explained.
“Really? I’m sure-”
“And you should see their storefront: premium lighting designs, as-in-home settings, interactive windows - I can’t compete!”
“Yes, but we don’t really-”
He lit a cigarette, nervously, and continued: “I’ve been losing customers every day. Especially now that they’ve set up their Loyalty Points system.”
“If you don’t have an actual-”
“And now with the new billboards - I’m running out of time.”
“I’m afraid we can’t just-”
“They’ve already eaten five of my employees!”
“If there aren’t… uh… what?”
“They say they’re going to kill a cashier every day until I close down.”
“What?”
“By my calculations, in two weeks I won’t have anyone left.”
“But-”
“As it is, my part-time girls are all refusing to come into the store until Roxbury’s leaves us alone.”
“Uh…”
“I’ve been in this business over twenty years - never given in to intimidation tactics, and never will. But without my girls, I won’t be able to open tonight.”
Lorne nodded mutely.
“And it’s the January sales! Missing a day in the January sales - it’s even worse than the May rush. And I can’t just-”
“Wait a second.” Fred handed Connor to Lorne, and sat down. “Let me just check: your competitors want you to close down, so they’re eating your employees?”
“Well, yes.” He frowned. “They’re all vampires - didn’t I say?”
The Molotov cocktails crashed down into the street, landing right at their feet. Anthony and Lucas reacted in time - one singed leg, and no real harm done - but Dan’s jacket was set alight and they watched, horrified, as he dissolved into dust in front of them.
Then, almost in slow motion, an object dropped out of the sky and bounced along the sidewalk.
It was a grenade.
The explosion was impressive. And loud. But not really… explosive. When the smoke cleared, the alley still contained two very intact figures - who were now calling inside for assistance.
On the roof, the assassin frowned.
And assistance was arriving. Salesmen in pin-stripes ran into the street and began scanning the rooftops, trying to spot their attacker.
The assassin knelt, and opened the supply bag. Taking up most of the room was a box filled with balloons.
She picked up two of them, and grinned.
“Uh… Angel?”
No reply.
“Hello? Angelcakes?”
Again - a distinct lack of reply. Lorne eased the door open anyway, and tiptoed across the room to the object lying huddled under the very rumpled bed sheets.
“We’ve managed to find a bit of a case, and we were wondering if-”
There was a groan.
“-if you might be up to giving us a smidge of assistance with the fighting part of it.”
Another groan, followed by a muffled “Lee-me-‘lone.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. No need to trouble the sickie.”
He got halfway to the door, and turned back.
“Except it’s mainly a nest of vampires giving the local shopkeepers hell - and since you know a lot about vampires… and about hell… we thought it might be good to have you onboard.”
There was a short pause. And then a sigh. And Angel’s head emerged from the covers.
“Okay,” he said weakly. “I’m up. What are we fighting?”
“Great! Well, it seems a group of your unsouled compatriots decided free enterprise was the way to go. Except they don’t mean ‘free’ so much as ‘enough dirty dealing to make a Sinatra fan blush’. The lovely Miss Burkle is downstairs researching them as we speak. There shouldn’t be more than a dozen or so - so with your fighting prowess leading the charge it shouldn’t be…” He trailed off. “Uh… Angel? Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You just… look even paler than usual.”
“I’ll be okay. So - what are we fighting?”
Lorne hesitated, and then shook his head decisively. “No. It’s alright. We’ll ask Wesley. You go back to sleep.”
A bombardment of waterbombs hit the street, splashing holy water over the Roxbury employees. They yelled, and tried to get out of the way, but more kept coming. Balloon after balloon smashed into their heads, with no sign of stopping.
Rocko and Stefan were the first to give up - sprinting for the main road and not looking back. A fast-track career with dental and a company car just wasn’t worth it anymore.
And the waterbombs continued to hail down.
“I’d say they’re definitely vampires.”
The Roxbury website was open on the computer, and she was frantically making notes.
Lorne made his way to the corner to check on the sleeping baby. “No joy upstairs. Gunn suggested Angel, Angel suggested Wesley, Wesley asked for more toast, and Cordelia is still seeing bright green unicorns.” He paused. “I hope that’s not actually a vision. Does LA have unicorns?”
“Probably. It has everything else, right?”
“Well, we can look into it later.”
“Uh-huh.” She kept writing. “It looks like they have eleven employees on their payroll - if all of them are vampires it’s going to be tricky.” Fred looked up. “If I buy an apartment opposite the store, how long will it take for the invitation barrier to kick in?”
“Um… I don’t think we have enough money to do that.”
“Okay. I’ll think of something else.”
“Fred?”
“Yeah.”
“I know you’ve got a lot of information to go through… and I support that. But…”
“Hmm?”
“…should you really be writing on the desk?”
She didn’t stop. “It’s okay - it’s a Sharpie. They’re designed to work on unusual surfaces.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“I can get you some paper…” He moved to the cupboard.
“Don’t bother. Stakes, sunshine, fire… what else?”
“You sure?”
“Paper tears too easily. Hard surfaces are soothing.” Fred looked thoughtful. “Do we have any weapons?”
The numbers were ticked off, carefully: three dusted, five last seen running from the premises in a bucket load of pain.
A satisfied nod.
She closed the notebook, and carefully stored it in a side-pocket on the bag. Then she reached in, and pulled out an axe.
It gleamed.
“Hey, an axe. This is good.” She turned. “Axes work on vampires, right?”
“I’d say so.”
“Good.” She put it to one side. “Then I’ll take that.”
“Are you sure about this, crumbcake?”
“I probably shouldn’t take a sword - I haven’t had much to do with them.”
Lorne tried again. “It’s a hell of a job to take on…”
“Grenades?” Fred picked one up, and examined it. “How did we end up with grenades?”
“…especially by yourself…”
“Do you think I’ll need more than one axe?”
“Fred!”
She went still.
“Fred, sweetie… muffin… dollface… you don’t have to do this. Not by yourself.”
There was no reply.
“No-one will blame you for staying here. We can always tell Mr Bedford to find someone else.”
“Who else is there, Lorne?” she asked quietly.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Nowhere is it written that you have to take on ten vampires by yourself.”
“Eleven.”
“Which isn’t much better.”
“Or maybe twelve.”
“Regardless of the math, my point is: taking care of the occasional vampire? Part of the gig. Clearing a nest? Bad idea. Very bad idea. Stay here instead, and help me run a bath for the tiny one over there.”
“And we just let the vampires run riot through the city. That’s not the way it works, Lorne.” She looked at him, determination written across her face. “Our champions are all out of commission - but we still need to do the championing.”
Lorne hesitated. “We do? I mean - I’m right there with you,” he added, “all the way. But I’m not really one of nature’s born fighters. Couldn’t we wait until the others-”
“You’re not coming,” Fred interrupted.
“What? But-”
“You have to take care of Connor.”
“Well… he probably won’t wake up before we get back…”
“And when Angel hunts us down and kills us horribly for leaving his son alone, how are we going to get out of that?”
She had a point.
Lorne nodded. “Okay, honey. You do what you have to do. I’ll hold down the fort.”
Fred turned back to the weapons cabinet, and sighed.
“Scared?”
A tiny smile. “Terrified.”
“Come here.” He pulled her into a hug.
She cuddled into his arms, and Lorne felt her slowly relax. Then came the soft question: “A flail would probably be overkill, wouldn’t it?”
There was a knock at the side door.
Clive Mason looked over, and frowned slightly. No-one used that door - no-one except for the staff. And they all had keys.
The knock came again.
Clive pushed back his chair, and walked over.
He opened the door, looked out cautiously…
- and an axe slammed through the air, straight into his neck.
There was a soft noise, like a body crumbling to dust.
Then the door was pushed open, and a woman - dressed in black, and carrying a battle axe - stepped inside.
She checked out the room. Desks, lots of paperwork, and no people in sight. No - wrong. There were two talking in the break room on the right. But they wouldn’t notice her in time.
There really was a lot of paperwork on these desks.
She picked up a couple of invoices, and watched as flames slowly licked up the side of them. Then she dropped them onto the nearest desk.
A brief check that the fire would stay alight, and she put the lighter back in her pocket with a quiet smile, and walked out into the store.
“Oh, look.” Lorne picked it up. “It looks like Mr Bedford forgot his cigarette lighter.”
Fred came over. “He did?”
“Yep.” He examined it. “Proper silver, too. Do we have a lost property box?”
“No. It’s okay - I’ll take it. It might come in handy.” She pocketed the lighter, and returned to the weapons cabinet.
“Good evening, and… um… welcome to the Roxbury Furniture Company. We’re delighted to have you shopping with us tonight, but it seems that we have a sort of emergency, so if y’all would like to leave the store quickly before it burns down, that would be appreciated.”
The customers looked around, mildly puzzled.
Emergency? It didn’t exactly look like…
The PA system started again: “Um, hello? I was actually serious about that last one. If I could find the fire alarm we’d have the big whooping noise, too - but even without the whooping, the store is still on fire… Please get out. Uh, now.”
It could always be a hoax. But the owner, Mr Roxbury, seemed to be taking it seriously enough - sprinting towards the back of the store - and all the other salesmen seemed to have disappeared. In their absence, PA voices should probably be believed.
They griped about the inconvenience, but started leaving.
Phil Roxbury could already smell the smoke, obviously. He just hadn’t registered what it meant - not until that damn girl made her announcement.
And once he reached Settees And Side Tables, there was no denying it: the office area was definitely going up in flames. And there - at the cash register in Assorted Chairs - was the cause of the problem. Still using the microphone for the PA.
It took less than a second to get to her.
“Go to sleep, baby boy,
Uncle Lorne is here.
I will take care of you,
You’re safe, so do not fear.
We’ll make everything okay,
Me and Auntie Fred,
I will heat your bottles up,
And she’ll dust the undead…”
Lorne peeked under the blanket: Connor was sound asleep.
He sighed. “I just hope she’s okay.”
He had her by the throat, holding her almost carelessly as he went through her bag.
“Crossbow, binoculars, flail… you came well prepared. Most people who want to kill me just bring a stake. But then-” - tighter grip - “most people don’t set fire to my store.”
There was a gasping noise.
Roxbury loosened his hold on her, and smiled. “I was choking you, wasn’t I? I do apologise. There are some things I tend to get irrational about - and you’ve hit the jackpot. I built this business. Me. Stellar furniture at stellar prices, great location, genuine service, and a team of the best salesmen in-” He stopped, and looked around the store. “Speaking of which, where are my salesmen?”
She pulled away, ripping her sweater as she wriggled out of his grip, and said quietly, “They’re gone.”
“Really? You planned this pretty carefully, didn’t you? I think I’ll return the compliment - and plan a nice, careful death.”
She took a step backwards, her eyes darting towards the bag. Roxbury flung it across the store - it landed in Mirrors And Picture Frames with a loud clatter - and smiled. “Something slow, I think. Involving a lot of knives… or maybe just a lot of fire. It would be fairly fitting.”
The flames had reached Beds And Bedding, which started burning at an alarming rate. But he didn’t take his eyes off the girl in front of him. He took another menacing step forward.
But this time she didn’t back away. She stood her ground, meeting his eyes, and tried to hide her all-too-obvious fear.
“Please,” he laughed. “I’ve got three hundred years of experience killing little girls. What have you got?”
“Your catalogue.”
Fred launched herself forward, knocking them both into the Fine Dining arrangement behind him. They crashed to the ground, smashing the furniture beneath them - bits of chair flying in every direction.
There was a short pause.
Then she got up, brushing her clothing, and continued, “I read it this afternoon. And apparently, these chairs are genuine oak.” A smile. “They’re not very durable, though.”
Fred looked at the pile of dust at her feet, and sighed.
Then she pulled out her cell phone.
“Hey, Lorne - it’s me… …Yep. Problem solved… …Uh-huh… …I won’t be back for a while longer, though. I’m going to get myself some ice-cream.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My assignment: Fred taking charge of a more-action-than-solving-the-puzzle type of case by herself.