Collections by Denny
Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector's passion borders on the chaos of memories. Walter Benjamin (1892-1940), German critic, philosopher.
Chapter I – Sylvester Corleone
This was a sodding mess.
The last time Spike had been this brassed off was in Mexico when he’d found Drusilla with the Chaos Demon. Those fucking dripping antlers had made him raving mad. He’d wanted to snap them off of the demon’s big ass head and smash them into Drusilla’s face.
But he hadn’t done it.
Next, there was the time Angel refused to admit that cavemen had the edge over astronauts. That was the day they’d lost Fred though, and Angel…well, a few months later, he’d ended up toasted and roasted by a dragon. So that argument didn't work. Besides, it was more of a bittersweet memory than a legitimate sore spot, which meant...
Spike couldn’t count it.
This latest piece of shit, however, had to rate over any other piece of shit he could think of…well, at least at the moment. Only difference here—he didn’t want to snap the hood ornaments off of his adversary’s head.
He just wanted to drain every pint of blood from Charles Gunn’s body.
Problem though, besides Gunn being his boss, was the sodding Bracken. Gunn’s bodyguard wouldn’t let his charge lose a drop of blood without a fight. Not that Spike minded getting into a bit of fists and fangs. He just had a thing about killing Brackens. That’s all. Tempted the fates.
Angel had had a Bracken for a partner in the early days of Angel Investigations. Spike had even run into him once when he’d been in LA searching for a piece of jewelry Buffy had snatched from him. When he and that Bracken met, he’d had no clue that he was first a Bracken, or second, his name was Doyle. When Lindsey showed up as his Doyle, Spike hadn’t thought to make a connection. He excused this lapse in judgement to having spent the prior three months as a bloody ghost. Then after the Lindsay fool-on-you gambit ended, Spike decided to stay clear of tiny Texans and Brackens. The lot of them had caused him too much trouble.
Spike turned away from the Bracken sitting on the other side of the room guarding their fearless leader and set his sights on one of Gunn’s other loyal followers. That self-righteous piss-head happened to be sitting next to him. Although, it was too bad Spike couldn’t hurt the bloody pounce as badly as he would have beaten the Bracken. Connor’s head was too damn hard. Still, he sighed, the effort might make him feel better.
Spike growled at Connor, but the boy simply sipped his beer and wiped the girlish bangs from his eyes.
“Why are we hiding in the shadows like wankers?” Spike tightened the grip on the glass in his hand. “We’re bloody superheroes and kick demon ass for a living. Shouldn’t have to sit and wait for some Wolfram and Hart V.I.P to walk in here as carefree as you please and tell us what to do.” He slammed the glass down, splashing liquor on the bar and his leather coat.
“Gunn said to wait.” Connor repeated calmly for what sounded like the umpteenth time. “And if Gunn says wait, then that’s what we do.”
Unbelievable, thought Spike, scowling. When had the boy turned into such a twit? “A while back, you wouldn’t be caught chained to a coffin at the bottom of the sea doing anything Charles Gunn said.”
“It’s our job, Spike.” Connor waved at the bartender. “Hey, my friend here needs another drink.” He called out.
Spike squinted at Connor. The crack about the coffin should have gotten a rise out of him. “That’s right, mate." Spike said to the bartender. “A vampire needs a swig or ten to get him through these long, aimless nights of kissing Wolfram and Hart arse.”
“Whadda say old man?” mumbled the bartender. “Another drink?”
“How long does it take to comprehend the words…get…me…a…drink?” said Spike to the squat demon as he waddled by, cursing under his breath.
Then something hit Spike in the back. He reeled around on the barstool.
“It usually takes more than two seconds to get a drink from a Muumuus demon,” said Herschel. “Legs too short and stubby to move very fast, you know?”
“Get your hands off me.”
“Don’t be that way buckaroo,” drawled Herschel, leaning in close.
The Bracken’s breath reeked of peppermints and bourbon and Spike cringed. There had to be a reason he could come up with for beating the Bracken to a bloody pulp that Gunn would understand. “Shouldn’t you be guarding our leader?” He nodded at Gunn, who was still in his chair on the other side of the room.
“You know the boss likes to be secluded from prying eyes,” grinned Herschel. “Might start a riot if the demons and badass humans at the Culver City Bar and Grill knew the leader of the legendary Angel Investigations was in the house.”
Herschel straightened the prissy plaid tie knotted around his throat. “The man doesn’t worry about things the way we do.” He whispered into Spike’s ear. “Been to hell and back more than once, you know.” Turning sideways, Herschel wedged his slender body between Spike and Connor’s stools.
“So bloody what if Gunn was in hell a couple of times,” said Spike. Then for Connor’s benefit, he taunted, “Haven’t we all?”
Herschel snapped his fingers at the bartender. “Well, I reckon a trip or two to hell ain’t that rare amongst the members of this team. Am I right?”
Spike groaned. If Herschel was going to share his opinions on the pluses and minuses of spending time in hell dimensions again, Spike might be forced to risk pissing off Gunn.
“One man’s hell is another man’s vanilla ice cream and cherry pie.” Herschel flashed a set of big white teeth.
“Bollocks man, will you shut your trap?” Spike snarled at Herschel.
Herschel pouted at Spike and then gestured to the Muumuus demon. “Two bourbons on the rocks now please.”
The bartender’s short legs scurried toward a shelf crammed with bottles of Jim Beam. He poured two glasses full of the brown smelly booze and rushed back to Herschel.
“What about my drink?” Spike grabbed the Muumuus demon by the throat as he walked by and smiled at Herschel as the bartender spilled half the contents of the glasses on the bar.
“Patience dear Spike. Patience.” Herschel pried Spike’s fingers from the thin layer of floppy skin between the bartender’s chin and chest. The demon put the near empty glasses on the bar in front of Herschel, his gaze on the floor.
“We’ve got to get the boss a drink before the meeting begins. It keeps him from getting twitchy,” said the Bracken to Spike.
“That’s right.” Connor chimed in. “We don’t want Gunn to get twitchy,” he said seriously. “Doesn’t look good.”
“Just cause a chicken got wings, don’t mean it can fly, am I right?” added Herschel, grinning.
“What in the bloody hell are you talking about?” snapped Spike, shaking free of Herschel's grip.
“Appearances can be deceiving, that’s all I meant.” Herschel turned to Connor. “Like with you boy. For seventeen years, you were in a hell dimension fighting for your life everyday. That was some damn hard living. But for your dad, bless his soul, those two weeks broke his heart in two and put him through a different kind of hell...” His voice trailed off.
“How’d we get back on this subject?” Spike reached over the bar to a row of bottles within his reach. Moving a few of them out of the way, he found a fifth of Jack and shot the Muumuus demon a warning glare.
“That was a long time ago.” Connor took another sip of his beer.
“I believe your dad spent more time in hell than any of ya’ll.” Herschel thumped Connor on the shoulder. “But hell is what you make of it.”
“I guess,” said Connor, his lips barely moving.
“I bet there was no fire in Acathla's hell dimension.” Spike’s words were deliberately taunting and directed toward Connor. “Even if there was…fire…Angel probably loved every bloody minute of it...he was such a broody twit.”
Connor leapt to his feet. “Take that back.”
Quick as lightening, Connor pushed Herschel out of the way and was standing inches from Spike’s face.
Spike dropped his bottle on the floor as he jumped to his feet. "You’d better watch out,” grinned Spike. “Wouldn’t want Gunn to see you making a scene. Might spoil our meeting.”
“I think fucking up meetings is your specialty,” countered Connor.
Spike bared his fangs.
All of a sudden, Herschel’s porcupine headgear shot from his head. Spike ducked to keep from getting poked in the eye as the Bracken wedged his body between Spike and Connor. Then a scaly hand shoved him in the chest, pushing him back and away from Connor.
“Keep your wits about you boys, or we’ll blow this before it begins.” Herschel was strong when he had his demon on, but not strong enough to stop Spike or Connor if they’d really wanted to give it a go. The two demons held their ground.
The Bracken shook his head, disappointment filling his glowing red eyes. “Makes no sense for family to fuss like this in public.”
Spike peered over Herschel’s shoulder at Connor. “Found your Achilles’ heel, didn’t I?”
Connor lunged at him again, but Herschel still blocked their paths. “Boys, boys, boys. We’re here to work, not fight. Save it for when we get back to the Hyperion.“
Connor didn't budge for a few seconds. Then abruptly he turned and flopped down on his stool. Spike thought about giving him one more jab, but Herschel was glaring at both of them.
With a shrug, Spike sat down in his seat. He hated to admit it, but Angel Investigations needed this case. For millions of reasons and one in particular, they had to do this job to keep Wolfram and Hart off of their backs a little while longer. He rested his elbows on the bar and shouted at the bartender. “If you’d like to keep your bloody ass unbroken, you’d better get me another bottle of Jack.” He might as well get drunk if all he was going to do was wait.
“You two are dumb as a bucket of rocks,” said Herschel. “Gunn’s not gonna put up with this nonsense much longer.” Herschel lowered his voice. “Can’t let everybody in the joint know what we’re up to. Am I right?”
“Maybe you’re right. Then again, maybe not.” Spike was watching the bartender’s tiny green hands wipe the spilled liquor from the bar. They trembled as he pulled another bottle of bourbon from the counter and filled two more tumblers with ice and booze. He then reached as far across the bar as his arms would allow and extended the glasses to Herschel, mumbling his apologies.
“And again, I say what about my drink?” protested Spike angrily. But no one was paying attention to him. They were looking up.
Connor poked him in the side. “Corleone’s here.”
Spike followed Connor’s eyes as the boy stood up and started toward the staircase.
“He’s not going anywhere, mate. Just wait. He’ll be down," said Spike.
Connor stopped.
Towering a story above them, Sylvester Winchester Corleone’s massive frame stretched across half the railing of the balcony. He was at least seven feet tall with a chest span that would have made the Governor of California think twice, back in his Mr. Universe days. He was a Devil look-alike, too, thought Spike, complete with horns, a greasy goatee and a three-piece designer suit. He had the title to go with the pricey clothes as well. Executive Vice President of Collections, Wolfram and Hart, LA headquarters.
“My, my, my. Sly has dressed up for us tonight, hasn’t he?” Herschel waved at the demon, grinning broadly, as he turned, drinks in hand, and shimmied through the crowd toward Gunn’s table.
“Its show time, folks,” said Spike to Connor, grabbing the boy’s unfinished pint and draining it.
“We still have to wait.” Connor’s eyes stayed on Corleone, watching him intently as he moved down the staircase.
“You stay here,” said Spike. “ I’ll get closer.”
Connor’s body went rigid and his nostrils flared. Still, Spike knew he could count on Connor to stay put. The game was in play and the boy understood how to play it. Besides, Connor could move across a room faster than most vampires, even him. If trouble started, Connor would be at his side in a flash.
Spike shoved a few demons out of the way as he cut a path toward Gunn’s table. He’d had his fill of doing what he was told for one night.
to be continued...
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!