"Tell us that this is the last place we're going to go?" Willow said as Enrico pulled the Highway Patrol car up in front of a two story building that was covered in Bosch murals.
"This is the last place we're going to," Sunny said as she got out and released them from the back seat again.
"Why am I not reassured?" Giles wondered. Willow gave him a shove, and he crawled out of the car. They staggered about when Willow attempted to get out on Giles's right side, effectively dragging his left arm along on its handcuff into the small of his back and yanking her around under his right armpit.
"Wait, hold still!" Willow complained. "You've got your elbow on my neck!"
"Well, be careful!" he growled. "My arm really wasn't made to be bent in certain directions."
"Jeez, can't you two do anything right?" Sunny complained, using her nightstick to pry the handcuffed prisoners out of their knot.
"Ouch!" Willow yelped. "Watch out where you're sticking that thing! You know, the newspapers are always on the lookout for police brutality stories."
The doorperson, a tall and impossibly thin creature dressed in a shepherdess costume complete with golden curls and crook, grinned at the four of them from the entrance to 'The Goose's Crypt'. "Little early for Amateur Hour, people."
"Big belly laughs, Beau," Enrico griped as he came around from the other side of the car. "We got a slight case of missing cuff key here."
"Just call us Key R Us," the doorperson said. "But you should stick around for Amateur Hour. You guys would be a big hit.
"What's the prize?" Enrico said, with interest.
"Trip for four to Belize."
"How long would we have to wait around?" Willow asked.
"Don't you officers have a party to go to?" Giles pleaded with Sunny.
"Com'on, Enrico." She grabbed Giles by the elbow. "We've already been to Belize. Highway Patrol Christmas Party of '96, remember?"
"But we had fun, didn't we?" Enrico said as he followed them in.
"You had fun. I had dysentery."
Sunny led Giles and Willow into a gloomy room that had been decorated in flocked red Victorian wallpaper, burgundy carpeting, and black leather furniture. A cherrywood bar stood to one side, backed by a glittering display of bottles, wall-mounted surgical instruments, and television terminals flashing with fuzzy black and white images. There was a raised spotlighted area up front that currently boasted a single black-clad couple who were pretending to dance while relying on each other to remain standing. The Doors' "The End" played on the sound system.
The area around the stage was clustered with tiny dark tables and uncomfortable chairs. A few of these were occupied by clusters of jaundiced people dressed in red, or black, or the occasional virginal white. Several individuals roused themselves long enough to give the newcomers a smattering of applause before lapsing back into apathy.
"See? Big hit!" The doorperson went behind the bar and pulled out an immense basket. It was filled to the rim with keys. "There you go. You ought to find a match somewhere in there."
Sunny picked a key off the top of the basket and pulled Giles' and Willow's wrists over so she could try it on the handcuffs. She threw it on the counter and tried another key. She threw it on the counter. "What time is it, Enrico?"
He checked his watch. "4:32 AM."
"Okay, we're off shift." She turned to the bartender, a plump woman with big hair. "I'll have a Margarita. Plenty of salt."
Enrico poked through the pile of keys. "Here's the key to my storage locker with my Beachboys collection! No wonder I couldn't find it at home. Get me a Walking Zombie?"
"Walking Zombie for my pal," Sunny said. "This man here is paying." She pointed a thumb at Giles.
"I am not," Giles said indignantly.
"Hey, we're on our own time now, man. The least you can do for the trouble you're causing us is to buy us a drink.
"I've never had the Walking Zombie before," Enrico said. "Does this look like our patrol car key to you, Sunny? This floating eyeball key ring is exactly like the one I had the old key attached to."
"Nah, ours was more bloodshot than that." She picked out an immense key that bristled with ratchets. "This should just about fit Flex's chastity belt," she smirked.
"Didn't know he needed one," Enrico said.
The bartender set two drinks in front of the patrol people.
"Can I have another beer?" Willow asked Giles. "I didn't get to drink much of my last one."
Giles threw a twenty on the bar top. "Two beers," he said to the bartender.
The bartender pulled two bottles out from under the counter and set them down in front of them. "I'll get your change in a minute," She hurried to the other end of the bar. "Your order, Mein Herr?"
Willow started to take a drink of her beer, when something occurred to her. "What if I have to -- you know -- go to the Little Girls' room?"
Giles looked at her. "You don't."
"No! I mean, I thought about the beers and. . ." She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well I didn't have to. . ."
"Don't think about it. It'll go away," Sunny said as she sifted through keys. She picked out a slender ornate one, tried it out on the cuffs, then tossed it into the discard pile. "Drink slow. I bet you we'll have a match about the time you finish your beer."
"How slowly are we expected to drink?" Giles said.
"You know. . ." Rico took a long slug of his Zombie, "It's attitudes like that that end up getting you in fights at the side of the road at four in the morning."
Willow shoved her beer away from her.
"See what a corrupting influence you are on your young friend?" the patrolman continued. "Cynicism is a terrible thing." He shook his head sadly.
"What do I see here?" a horribly familiar voice intruded. "Why it's the school librarian in a very compromising position."
Willow and Giles turned to confront their doom.
Willow cleared her throat and tried to speak, but only managed a squeak.
"Principal Snyder," Giles finally managed. "How -- uh -- interesting to encounter you here."
"The interest is all mine," Snyder smirked gleefully. "And maybe the School Board's as well."
"Here's your Bloody Mary, Mein Herr!" the bartender said, shoving a tall red drink across the counter.
"Are you going to wear that outfit to the board meeting?" Giles inquired.
Snyder's grin faded.
"You should!" Willow affirmed eagerly. "It really suits you."
"You think they'll believe you two over --"
"Girl's right," Sunny said, eyeing Snyder with a flicker of interest. "Black is your color. And uniforms are always a turn-on." She winked at him. "Ask any cop."
"Are you here for Amateur Hour?" Willow asked.
Snyder grabbed his drink possessively. "I heard rumors," he snapped, "that certain Sunnydale city employees were seen frequenting this establishment --"
"Got that right," Enrico said cheerfully. "The Mayor of Sunnydale just walked in."
Snyder looked over his shoulder and turned white. "Don't you say anything about this to anyone, either of you," he hissed. He pulled his cap down over his eyes and scuttled back into the shadows towards the rear of the club.
Willow craned to look towards the entrance, but the cause of Snyder's alarm had already moved on to some nether recess of the building. "Was that really the Mayor?"
"Sure," said the bartender. "The Mayor is one of our regulars."
Willow shuddered. "Sometimes I get the creeps when I think that I've actually been growing up in Sunnydale and everything. What was my first grade teacher, Mrs. Waddly, really doing on the weekends when we didn't see her?"
"Don't think about it," Giles advised. "It would give you no peace of mind whatsoever." He frowned at Sunny, who was trying out a key that looked as if it belonged to a child's diary. "Are you making any attempt to try out the more likely keys?"
She flipped the tiny key into the growing pile by her elbow. "And don't you know how to talk properly to an officer of the law?"
"I'll let you know as soon as I see one," he growled.
Enrico, halfway into his Walking Zombie, tittered.
Willow dug around in the basket and pulled out a key to try her own luck. As she tried to fit her choice with the lock, she actually looked at the goings-on upon one of the television screens over the bar. Her jaw dropped. "Is -- that live?" she gasped.
The bartender craned her neck at an odd angle to look. "Uh, well as close as it gets to 'live' around here," she said cryptically.
Sunny tried another key, this one looking like it had come out of a wind-up toy. She flipped it into the pile. "Enrico, watch the prisoners. I gotta go to the can."
"'Kay," Enrico said snoozily, his head propped heavily on one hand. "Use th' ones in th' back. They haven' taken th' cam'ras outta th' other ones. Assumin' you care."
Giles sighed and dug into the basket of keys. He came up with one on a heart-shaped key ring attached to a round case inscribed 'Love Wrapper'. He tossed it into the pile, hesitated, then fished it out again to try it on the handcuffs.
"This is like a really boring two piece jigsaw puzzle," Willow complained, "except we're missing one piece."
Giles looked at their guard, who for all practical purposes was dead to the world, his head resting in a puddle on the counter. Willow regarded the patrolman for a moment. "Maybe we should make a break for it?"
He pulled his hand up, dragging her wrist up with it, and looked at her.
"Maybe Buffy could break it," Willow said doubtfully. "Oh okay. No leverage. But maybe we could find an ax --"
"I'm not coming within a dozen meters of any sharp cutting implement tonight," Giles said. He pulled out a key that had a penknife attached and quickly discarded it.
"There was this movie I saw once," the bartender noted, "where they looped the manacle chain over the tracks in front of this oncoming train. Or, I've got a Magnum in the back. We could try shooting them off!"
Willow pulled her cuff to the base of her thumb and tried pushing it off over her wrist bone. "Ouch!" she said reprovingly at Giles.
"Or," the bartender said, "there was this book where the chick sawed her thumb off --"
"Why don't I just gnaw my hand off at the wrist?" Giles snapped.
"Can I watch?" the bartender said.
"Go away," he snarled.
"Yeah!" Willow said. "Don't you have an orgy to cater or something?"
"Touchy," the woman grumbled as she backed off. "If you guys are going to be 'subs', you're going to have to learn to play the part."
Giles stood very suddenly, but his impulse to random violence was curtailed by his pulling Willow off her stool and onto the floor. He was promptly yanked down on top of her.
"Owww!" she grunted. "Giles!"
"Sorry, sorry," he said, instantly chagrined. He tried to climb up off of her, but they'd gotten their wrists inexplicably meshed up with the bar stool and it toppled down on top of them.
"Stop already!" Willow snapped. "Geez, you've got two bodies to think about here, okay?"
"You guys sure you don't want to stick around for Amateur Hour?" The bartender hung over the edge of the bar, regarding them with a harpy-like glee. "Your lack of practice at this gig is sweet. The gang'll love you two to pieces."
"If you really want to kill her," Willow said, "we're gonna have to coordinate here."
"Right," Giles panted. He got his knees under him and shoved the bar stool out of the way. "On the count of three, then."
"Uh, guys." The Harpy was beginning to shrink back. "It's not cool to switch from 'sub' to 'dom' all of a sudden like this. I mean, it's this whole life style thing that needs serious consideration, and in any case it doesn't go very well with the handcuffs --"
"-- Three!" Giles said. He and Willow stood as one and lunged for the top of the bar. The bartender yomped and fell off the back. Willow immediately scrambled to the top and started to dive over to the other side.
"Willow!" Giles yelped. "Coordinate, damnit!"
"Oops!" Willow said, as she lost balance and fell off to the other side. He grunted in pain as her weight yanked him into the edge of the bar then pulled him up halfway over. He struggled to get his free arm under him.
"Wait! Wait!" Willow whimpered from below. "Ow! Hold still 'til I get my legs under me!"
"Hurry," he grunted, his own arm bent at a highly uncomfortable angle.
"This is what happens when 'subs' try to get above themselves," the bartender grumbled from below.
"Kick her if you get a chance," Giles panted.
His arm was stretched painfully as Willow twisted about. "Missed. Darn." The awful tension on his wrist eased, and her red head popped up over the edge of the bar. "Is your arm still in its socket?"
He flexed the arm painfully. "Just barely."
Somebody was applauding up front. "I see the floor show here has really improved," a Cockney accent said.
"Oh Christ," Giles said, and sat up.
"Hi, Spike!" The bartender hauled herself to a stand behind the counter. "Gee whiz, we haven't seen you in ages. I still have that special brew you asked for last time you were in though. Want me to throw a couple of bottles into the microwave?"
"I dunno." Spike stalked in, four henchmen at his heels. "I fancy something a little fresher tonight." He eyed Giles and Willow seated on the bar top. "And they're coming in twin packs now! I love modern conveniences."
"You'd better stay away," Willow said. "We've got a police escort.
Enrico snored loudly into his puddle.
Spike opened his mouth to say something, then thought better. "You know," he said to the spectacled vampire at his side. "That is so adorably optimistic that I think I'm just going to let it stand." He looked at Giles and his smile disappeared. "I've been told that my car was last seen in your company. I'd like to know what you did with it."
Giles and Willow exchanged glances. "Mechanical difficulties," Giles ventured. "We left it down the road." He slipped off to the back of the bar. Willow followed suit.
Spike advanced on them. "You wouldn't mind showing me where?"
"Ask Sheila," Willow said. "She knows where."
"I don't know where Sheila's at, at the moment, darlin'," Spike said pleasantly. "So I guess you two lollypops are going to have to do."
"You'd better track the girl down then," Giles said. "The car's obviously not going anywhere. And she seemed quite out of control last we saw of her. No telling what mischief she might be getting into."
"Well, we'll have a go at that second." Spike motioned at his henchmen. "Right after I get my car back, and just before I do you two up as a treat."
"Uh Spike, they're in police custody right now," the bartender interjected. "Maybe you'd better wait. We don't need any trouble with the police; they're half our clientele. And I don't want them thinking they can't bring their prisoners in here."
"I'm fagged out," Spike growled. "And in a nasty mood to boot. I mean nastier than usual. And you're telling me who I can and can't pick up?"
"No, no!" the bartender hastened to reassure him. "I'm thinking that maybe you can wait until they're released is all."
"I'm going to release them all right," Spike said. "I'm going to damn well liberate them from all their worldly cares." Giles and Willow edged down towards the far end of the bar, only to be cut off by two of the henchmen. "Com'on, kiddies," Spike cooed, "Play time's over, we're going home now."
A henchman snatched Giles and Willow by the backs of the necks and dragged them out.
"Don't let go now, unless you're looking for some real personalized mayhem," Spike growled at the henchman. He scribbled on a cocktail napkin. "And for your policemen, here's an IOU: 'Two Prisoners'."
"They were more worried about the handcuffs," the bartender grumbled. "Now they're going to expect me to cover the cost."
"It's a felony stealing these handcuffs," Willow insisted. "You'll get arrested and they'll expect you to come to court in a suit and a tie."
"I'll borrow the Watcher's tie," Spike said as he rounded about to herd them towards the door. "He sure as hell won't be needing it any more."
There was another black Thunderbird hardtop parked behind the patrol car in front of the club.
"What, are you breeding your own cars?" Giles asked.
"It's a classic," Spike growled, "and I'm not about to start defending myself to my lunch."
"More like dinner by now," the henchman next to Willow grumbled.
Spike grabbed the vampire, hit him hard in the nose, and tossed him on top of the patrol car. "Anybody else have any witticisms to offer?"
Nobody said anything.
"Too bad," Spike said. "I still have plenty of anger to unsublimate here. Well, we'll work on it." He strode back and threw the rear door of the Thunderbird open. "All right, everybody. In. And let's be proportional about this -- prisoners go in the middle. Dalton, you're up front with me."
"You don't trust me in back?" Dalton said with a hurt little grimace.
Spike looked at him. Dalton opened the front door and climbed into the passenger seat.
"In." The vampire holding Giles shoved him into Willow, towards the car.
Spike got into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. "Now then," he said in satisfaction, "we're finally on the right track." He looked to the back seat. "Prisoners still in place?" Giles and Willow looked stonily back. "Good."
He reached for the ignition. "All right. Who's got the car keys?"
"You gabe dem to Daldon," the vampire with the broken nose mumbled.
"No!" Dalton insisted, even as he frantically searched through his pockets. "I swear, Spike!" He glared back at the broken-nosed vampire. "I wasn't sitting up front with you when we arrived!"
"He didn' gib dem to me," the broken-nosed vampire said. "He's lyin' Spigue. You know wha' a whiner he is. He's always lyin' --"
"You're just covering up your own ineptitude!" Dalton yelled, shaking his finger at his antagonist. "You're always screwing up and blaming me for it."
"'Ooh! Everybody's always blaming me!'" one of the other henchmen mocked in a high-pitched whine. "Everybody hates you Dalton, but you're such a fuck-up nobody has to blame you for anything."
"You take that back!" Dalton yelled.
"KEYS!" Spike screamed.
The car grew very quiet except for the sounds of rustling clothing.
"Never bloody mind!" Spike said. "The day I can't hot-wire a car --" He scrunched down under the dashboard. "Flashlight! Are you all set on proving yourselves worse than fucking useless tonight?"
Dalton fumbled nervously through the glove compartment. "Here it is, Spike!" he babbled, thrusting the flashlight into Spike's outstretched hand.
After a long pause, Spike said, in a conversational voice, "Who changed the batteries in the flashlight last?"
Another long pause. "I'm thinking," Spike said finally, "that none of you has done it in a while. Am I right?"
One of the henchmen whimpered.
A long black car glided up on their left. "Hey, Spike!" a cheerful voice said from the car's front passenger seat. "You got them. Cool!"
"And where the hell have you been?" Spike shouted out the window.
"Doin' a little Slayer divertage," Sheila said. "Took a few extra minutes. You want to ride back in a Caddie?"
"You're in the nick of time, luv." He turned to his henchmen. "Everybody change cars. Except for you two wannabe sunbathers," he glared at Dalton and the broken nosed vamp. "Your assignment, whether you want it or not, is to get this car back to Sunnydale. Tonight."
Dalton stared at him in dismay. "Spike, you don't know --" He yelped as Spike's fingers closed around his throat. "Okay Spike," he grated out, "you do know what you're doing. But Sheila, you have to watch her --"
"Yeah, yeah, Dalton," said a henchman as he dragged Willow backwards out of the car. Another henchman shoved Giles roughly out from behind. "Sheila hates you too."
"Bet your teeny-weenie, I do," Sheila grinned through her fangs. She shoved the rear door open. "Toss them in anywhere. It's a Caddie. We've got plenty of room." She craned up out of her seat to peer at the club entrance. "Better hurry though. Slayer coming at 4 o'clock."
All the vamps turned "Christ!" Spike growled. "I thought you said you took care of her?"
"Said I diverted her," Sheila said, pulling herself back into the car. "Didn't say nothing about how long. She was acting real cocky -- kept sayin' how she's been kickin' your ass all night long. If she's been kickin' your ass, I didn't want to tangle with her."
"That lying bitch," Spike said. "Let's see how smart she talks when I'm kicking her ass up the highway." He slammed the door to the Thunderbird and rounded back towards the club.
"Gee," said Sheila, still craning out the window. "Wonder if the Slayer still has those juicy young kids with her. Bet Spike would be ticked if he starts whomping her ass and he gets jumped by all of them."
"Here!" one of Spike's henchmen grabbed Sheila's hand and wrapped it around Giles' wrist. "You guys make sure these two stay in the car. We're going to back him up."
"You can count on us!" Sheila yelled after the henchman. "They won't set a foot out of the car!"
She rolled up the window. "Didn't say nothin' about the car staying here, though," she said to Boyce.
He started the Cadillac again. "I dunno, Sheila. You've never seen Spike's collection of railroad stuff. Like it's cool and everything, but he does gross stuff with it sometimes. Which is kinda cool, except if it was to me."
"Oh, I dunno," Viola said from the back seat as she snuggled up to Giles. "That would be kind of cool too."
Sheila rolled her eyes. "You guys act like he's Mr. Bigshot Number One Power Guy of the Universe."
Giles edged away from Viola until he had Willow pinned up against the door. "I expect we should be grateful for the rescue and all," he said.
Sheila grinned. "Damned right you should."
"But why are you doing this?"
"It's my job," Sheila said airily. "And I've hired these guys now, so it's their job too. We're gonna have to go back to that biker bar, Boyce. Cause we've got the wrong chick."
Boyce looked back and grinned goofily at Willow. "This one looks pretty chicky to me."
Willow smiled at him.
Sheila looked at Willow blankly. "I guess," she said. "If geek chic is your thing. But Rory wants Cordelia."
"Oh gods, no," Giles moaned as he slumped back in his seat.
"It's okay, Giles," Willow reassured him. "They've already filmed my scene. And Mr. Vitali pays way better than union scale."