The Angel and The Fat Man
The Angel Chronicles #3
by the BuffyOtaku
Disclaimer: “Angel” and “Cordelia Chase” are the intellectual property of the actors, Joss Whedon, the WB, and others who are not me. GoodFellas was written by Nicholas Pileggi and Martin Scorsese. Don’t sue me, please.
Rating: R, language.
Summary: Cordelia moves in with Angel. This is being written before the premiere of Angel : the series, and so is not even close to what will probably happen.
When Angel dropped me off, he helped me unpack my stuff. It was strange to me, because he’d never really been that friendly to me. I think our conversation in the car was what did it. Looking back, I think he maybe felt a little closer to me after he discovered that I was also in love with someone I would never be able to have.
So there I was. Me, Cordelia Chase, Sunnydale High May Queen, cheerleader, A-student, former rich bitch, now broke as a joke and moving into a hovel of a studio apartment in Los Angeles with the dubious assistance of a 243-year-old vampire.
When I unlocked the door, the first thing I noticed were the windows. There were only two, and both were covered in grime. The carpet was filthy, and the furniture smelled of cat piss and cigarette smoke. I set the box in my arms down and turned to hold the door for Angel.
“This place is....disgusting.” He said.
“This is what I can afford.” I said dryly. “You expected maybe the Hilton?”
“I thought your father was paying for your move.”
I went in the little hallway off the bathroom that served as a tiny kitchen. There was a two-burner stove, an eensy weensy oven, and a dorm-sized refriegerator you couldn’t store stamps in. My bedroom at home had been bigger than my whole apartment was here! “Daddy’s broke.” I said quietly.
“Oh.” Angel frowned. “I didn’t know.”
“No reason you should.” I replied.
I have no idea what possesed him to say what he said next. “Get your money back.”
“What?” I asked. “And go where?”
“I have a huge apartment. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, fireplace, laundry facility, indoor pool. No grime.”
Angel was asking me to move in with him. On impulse. I thought he was too old to have impulses. Then again, he probably slept with Buffy on impulse. This could get uglier than that did. “Are you nuts?”
Angel crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at me. I wish I’d had a camera. “I’m completely crazy. But, you’re a friend of Buffy’s. I’m sure she’d never forgive me if I let you live in a shithole like this...and in this horrifying neighborhood.” He smiled at me, took the keys out of the door, and turned around to leave. “Let’s go.”
“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.” I murmured as I locked the apartment up and went down the starirs behind him.
“You won’t be getting your money back, and that’s that.”
I stared incredulously at the fat, smelly, balding building super. “What do you mean? I’m not moving in, I didn’t sign a lease. All I did was write you a check. Which I want back.”
“No way. You paid a security deposit, and the first month’s rent. The apartment is yours for the month, even if you don’t want it. I’m the one paying the money to advertise and taking the time to show the place...”
“Bullshit.” I said. “Anyone who wants the place can rent it by walking in the office and fronting the cash. I want out. The place is a shitpile!”
I was beginning to be sorry I’d made Angel wait outside.
The super and I argued for fifteen minutes. I guess Angel was tired of waiting. It was 4:30 AM. Sunrise was in forty-five minutes, and we needed to get him to his apartment and cover the windows up before he turned into a crispy critter. Maybe that’s why he came into the office right then. Then again, he was probably waiting outside to make sure I got the money back and got tired of listening to me whine.
So the door flew open, and the super said, “Hey, buddy, this is a private --”
Angel was at the door one second, the next he had the guy by the collar and was growling, “Give Cordelia her money. Before I get angry.”
“Dude! Let me go!” The guy was struggling to get away, but the vampire’s grip only seemed to get tighter.
“I’m losing my patience with you, fat boy. Now, you give my sister her money, or I’ll rip your lungs out.” Angel shook him hard and then slammed him against the wall by the throat.
“In the top drawer. Left side,” he wheezed. “Take it. Take it all.”
“Take what you paid, sis, and let’s go.”
I grabbed my $1200 and the guy’s wallet out of the drawer. I pulled out his health insurance card, looked at him, and said, “You may think you know who we are, but we know who you are.” I shoved a $50 in the empty space, and said, “Let him go, bro.”
Angel held the guy until he nodded at me, then dropped him on the floor. I was just thankful he’d played along with my ploy to keep the guy from calling the cops. We took off quickly after that, mostly intact, and with $1150 cash.
“What the hell was that all about?” Angel asked as we drove off.
“What, this?” I said, waving the blue laminate card.
“Yeah. ‘We know who you are’? What’s up with that?”
“Would you believe I saw it in GoodFellas?”
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