”Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, ”Where have I gone wrong?” Then a voice says to me, ”This is going to take more than one night.”
--Charlie Brown
”You know, this brings back very weird memories,” Cordelia said, adjusting the fake stomach for the umpteenth time since they started their walk. They had gone to some lenghts to make it look realistic, even filled a bra of a size Cordelia had uttered a hope she would never wear for real, and Angel knew exactly which memories she was talking about.
”Well, it’s just cotton,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. ”And maybe if you can remember what it was like... I mean, to be pregnant, not the demon thing... oh, forget it.”
”No, you’re right,” Cordelia replied, watching the street signs. ”Okay, this is the street. That’s just what Dostoevsky says.”
”Dostoevsky?”
”Yeah, he had all these ideas about how to use your life when you’re acting.”
”Dostoevsky was a novelist.”
That puzzled her. ”Really? Then who am I thinking of?”
”Maybe Chekhov?”
”No, it was definitely one of those four-syllable guys.” She waved that away. ”Never mind. We’re here.”
They entered the flashy building, and Angel read the names by the door. ”Martin. Fourth floor.” He started up the stairs, but Cordelia stopped him.
”What are you, nuts? We can’t go straight up. What if he saw us enter?”
Angel sighed. ”So what do you propose we do?”
Grinning, she opened her bag and handed him a handful of the disordered pamphlets they had picked up at the shelter. Angel was no more comfortable with those than with the borrowed uniforms Johnny had managed to get for them. He looked at the one on top with distaste. Cordelia’s grin got wider, and he knew what she was going to say.
”Hand these out.”
”Cordy...”
”Didn’t anyone tell you? It’s the deal for using the uniforms. We’re not going back until they’re all gone.”
He stared at her, and she started to walk up the stairs. Her steps were the waddly pregnant kind, but she managed to look cheerful even from behind.
”You’re kidding me, aren’t you?” he asked, still only halfway up the flight of stairs as he heard her ring the first doorbell.
”Can’t we just throw them in a dumpster or something?”
She just laughed at that and started an amiable speech on the person opening the door. ”Hello, I come from the Salvation Army, would you like...”
Angel normally found sales pitch embarrassing, and this being an act made it only slightly better. He was relieved when they got as far as the fourth floor and Cordelia started her fake moan. Angel wasn’t all that experienced with women in labour, but he thought she did it well. He rung the doorbell and listened for the footsteps approaching the door.
Lucien Martin was a young, neatly dressed man with mild eyes and a small brown beard, and he seemed very surprised at seeing a young Salvation soldier about to have a baby on his doorstep.
”Can we come in and use the phone?” Angel asked. ”My wife just went into labour.”
”I suppose...” Lucien said, which really wasn’t good enough. Fortunately, he continued with, ”Come on in.”
Angel supported Cordelia, who sat down on a chair in the hall, and followed Lucien to the study. The lawyer stood by the threshold, suspiciously watching both Cordy and Angel. That might have been alarming if his suspicions had been even remotely directed at the right things. As it was, Angel did exactly what he had said he would do, which was to pick up the phone and call a taxi for Cordelia.
She was still doing her panting and moaning act, and when Angel came out she gave him a brave little smile. ”Did you get a taxi?”
”It’ll be right here,” he said, turning to explain to Lucien, ”It’s our first child.”
”Well, that’s nice.” He seemed eager to get them out of here. ”Seems a bit risky to hand out pamphlets when you’re due to have a baby. Especially this late.”
”It took a little longer than expected, that’s true,” Cordelia said, being aided by Angel to rise from her chair. She smiled at Lucien. ”Thank you so much for your help. God will surely bless you.”
Lucien’s face softened a little, and he shut the door behind them. ”Here. Let me help you into the elevator.”
Going outside to the taxi, Angel turned to Cordelia. ” ’God will surely bless you’?”
”What? I was in character! That’s what a Salvation woman would say, isn’t it?”
”Not to him, it isn’t.”
Cordelia sighed and sat down in the taxi, giving the driver the address to the Hyperion. ”What now, then?” she asked as they drove away.
Angel nodded towards the rear window. ”See that old bum begging by the sidewalk?”
”No, I don’t, because I can’t turn around. I’m guessing it’s one of Doyle’s old friends?”
”His name is Les, and he’s got enough spare change in that box to call me the minute Lucien leaves the building.”
Cordelia leaned back. ”Well, isn’t that convenient.” She shifted in the seat, trying to reach a good position. ”Can’t wait to get out of this thing. It’s killing my back.”
**********
Angel had to wait until about seven thirty the next night before Les called, and by then he was so jumpy he was in his car and on his way in no time. Not that there was any need to hurry. Lucien was out with a woman, ”in a fancy dress that shows too much, so take your time,” as Les had put it.
Lock picking wasn’t his specialty, but since they were going for inconspicuous, he didn’t have much of a choice. He hoped the neighbours stayed inside and minded their own business, and since this was Los Angeles, the chances for that were pretty good. He swirled the little piece of metal inside the lock and smiled when the bolt was taken aside at an early try.
The hall looked just like the day before, and he proceeded into the study at the right, where he had been using the phone.Then there had been a laptop open at the desk. He was alarmed to find that it wasn’t there now, until he spotted it on a small table on the side. Opening it, he search in vain for a power button and finally just pressed an arbitrary button. The screen lit up, and in about a minute he had access to the hard disc. For the rest, he would need Cordelia. He called her number on his cell phone and waited for instructions.
”I’m in, what now? Yeah, I can see it. Uh-huh.” He went to the search engine and typed in ”Sierk.”
*No file found.*
Damn. Apparently they had thought it best to let the information on Sierk disappear along with the demon himself. What then?
”There’s nothing there, what should I... Search *what* else? None of the dealers that had proven to be involved are important enough for Wolfram and Hart to deal with.” He waited for a moment while Cordelia was thinking.
”What do you mean, ’content’? Okay, okay.” He rearranged the search program to look for content instead of file names. A few files came up, and he opened the one that said ”informants”. So, Sierk had been a snitch. Angel browsed through the unimportant details, looking for anything that would tell him about the drug affair the Pythia had claimed Sierk was involved in. There were plenty of cases he had been helpful with, but all entries were brief and told little. Only the last line really called his attention: ”Dawkins has required his removal”.
Was Dawkins a lawyer or a client? Angel returned to the files that had come up in his latest search and looked for a Dawkins. There it was. Dawkins, June, last file update three days ago. Opening the file, he found the usual biography, accompanied with a photo of someone who looked familiar. As he looked closer, it struck him who he was looking at. Her hair was different and the picture was blurred, but there was no mistaking that vapid look on her face. Owen Madison’s bimbo girlfriend. Only it seemed from this file that the description wasn’t quite accurate.
Angel sat back, intrigued by what he read. June Elizabeth Dawkins, b. 1970, m. Owen Madison 1993. So she wasn’t just some young girl for sale. She wasn’t even all that young. And she had a chemistry degree, who would have thought? Even more alarming than that was what the file told him about her abilities in fields of witchcraft. Angel kept reading and felt like a complete idiot for letting her get away along with her husband. But how was he supposed to have known? He looked for names of the leaders, but although Lucien was a bit on the careless side with his personal computer, he wasn’t stupid, and although there were plenty of names of family and associates, there was nothing that said ”manufacturer of demon-suited drugs”.
Then he found the address in Santa Monica she had told him about the night she left town. Apparently she had found no need to change the outdated information -- or maybe she really had been honest, although he doubted it more now than he had then. There was a list of terms that would have meant nothing to him if he hadn’t known so much about demons. He saw the line ”specializing in Mastema leather”. Mastema was a not entirely uncommon type of demon, he knew that much, and he vaguely remembered Wesley mentioning something about their skin being used.
All of a sudden, the file closed by itself, and Angel gave an irritated sigh. When he tried to open it again, a window opened that said *file inaccessible*. After a few tries, he gave up and moved on to some other files, with the same result. ”Everything closes, what...”
*You’ve got mail.*
He stared at the message, contemplating what to do. ”Cordy, I just got an e-mail... You sure?” Not too happy about this turn of things, he opened it.
*Who the hell are you?*
That was all. Angel hurried to turn off the computer. ”Cordy? I’m heading out.”
On the street, he ran into Les, who was asking bypassers for money.
”Done already?”
Angel shook his head. ”I ran into some trouble, people might be coming over. I don’t think anyone will notice you, but just in case, you might want to move to another street.”
”You got it,” Les said and held out his hand. Angel placed a coin in it and they went separate ways. Angel wondered what he was to do now. Sure he had found out some new things, but it wasn’t really anything useful, since June Dawkins was long gone. Of course, there were the Mastema. From what he remembered, they were quite fierce. Maybe they had a thing or two to say about their skin being ripped off.
”Found anything?” Cordelia asked when Wesley returned after spending a day at home looking through books.
”Not really. There are obviously many known cases of demons using drugs, but in most modern cases it’s the regular kind. The few hints of this trade I could find didn’t really tell anything new. How did it go for the rest of you at Madison’s place?”
Cordelia nodded towards her desk. ”No goods, thank God, but we found a few hints on what has been used. She picked up the phone.
”Well, I suppose that could be useful,” Wesley said, trying not to show his lack of enthusiasm. ”I’m not sure it matters if we know the ingredients, though.”
”Don’t be so sure,” Cordelia said, listening to a message on the phone. ”This is Cordelia Chase of Angel Investigations. I would like to talk to you about how to keep your skin. Call me!”
She hung up and looked at Wesley with a triumphant smile.
”Keep your skin?”
”I’m calling the types of demon in the immediate danger zone. Even demons want to stay alive, right?”
”Right,” Wesley agreed. ”Good thinking.”
”Well, Angel mentioned a thing or two about demon research, and the idea just popped up. He called, by the way, said he’ll be back here within a few minutes.”
Wesley’s thoughts wandered away in a predictable direction. ”Where are the others?”
”They went to the movies,” Cordelia said, calling another number. ”Hello, Miss Eltha, my name is Cordelia Chase, I work for Angel Investigations. Oh, you’ve heard of us?”
”The movies?” Wesley said, feeling a pang of jealousy. Cordelia put her hand over the mouthpiece.
”There was no work for them. You really shouldn’t expect Doyle to hang around just for your benefit. Now, if you excuse me, I’m on the phone!”
”I don’t expect Doyle to do anything!” Wesley replied, very upset, but Cordelia only waved a dismissive hand at him. Wesley sat down, and Cordelia couldn’t help grinning at his expression.
”Don’t sulk,” she mouthed.
Angel did return within a few minutes, and Doyle and Gunn showed up shorty afterwards. Cordelia gave them a quick summary of her efforts. ”So far, only two have wanted to join up, but they seemed pretty certain others would join them. Both were Mastema. One of them said, and I quote, ’give me one of these guys and I’ll eat *his* skin’. Are these guys the eaty sort?”
”Omnivores,” Wesley said. ”They eat anything they can get. The females are more likely to prefer meat, but they usually stay away from humans unless they’re provoked.”
”I’d say they’re provoked alright,” Doyle said with a slight smile.
”We still have to find the lab, though,” Cordelia pointed out. ”Otherwise there will be nothing for them to eat.”
”Nobody is going to eat anybody,” Angel said, very irritated. ”We can’t just send a pack of demons on these people!”
”I’m not crazy about the idea of an eat-party either,” Cordelia said. ”But if it’s either that or letting these jerks loose, I think it’s the lesser of two evils.”
”No matter what they’re doing, they’re human,” Angel said.
”Which in Angel’s world makes all the difference,” Doyle said. His chin was leaning in his hands, and his voice was less than friendly.
”Excuse me?” Angel said in a voice that warned Doyle not to take this any further. The warning was ignored.
”They’re a danger to everyone around them, Angel, not just demons. I’m not giving any special treatment to them just because they have the right genetic codes and bank balances.”
Anxious to get the thunder out of the air, Wesley walked up to Doyle and put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down: ”It’s not about that. Angel can’t risk killing a human.” But there was no way Doyle could know the full implications of this. He hadn’t been there during the dark times.
”Nobody’s asking him to.” Although Doyle let the hand stay where it was, it had no calming effect on him. ”These aren’t your people, Angel, you’re not setting the rules anymore.”
”Okay, enough already!” Cordelia shouted, slamming both her hands down on the desk. ”Doyle, I know you’ve had a crappy time lately, but you’re not exactly helping out here, so cut out the attitude! There’s nothing as annoying as bitching done by an amateur, and I really don’t have time to show you how it’s done.”
The guys stared at her, but Doyle did shut up and nodded at her with something resembling amusement. ”Okay, princess, what’s your thought on this?”
Cordelia sat down with a sigh. ”Well, if we’re not going to kill them or let the Mastema do it, we have to destroy the goods, right? Only, if we do that, they’ll make more.”
”We could mess with their records,” Gunn suggested. ”Change the measurements or something.”
”They’re bound to have copies,” Doyle said, drumming his fingers on his knee in deep thought. ”Besides, if we don’t know what we’re doing, we could kill half the clientele.”
”There are anti-poison spells,” Wesley said, thinking this over. ”There must be spells to prevent drugs from working as well.
”But how do we get that into their records?” Angel asked.
”Computer virus?” Cordelia said, sounding rather uncertain.
”Do you know how to make one?” Wesley asked, quite positive the answer was ’no’.
”No, but I bet Willow Rosenberg does.”
The others stared at her, stunned. Finally Wesley left Doyle’s side and walked up to the phone. ”I’ll call her,” he said. He browsed through their address book almost absently.
”I’m not all good looks, I’ll have you know,” Cordelia said, proud to have come up with a solution that pleased the others, but also annoyed that they were so surprised about it. ”Oh, and say hi.”
It took two weeks before Johnny Trash gave them a call. Willow had been calling every other day to exchange information, and was, according to her own statement, ”almost there”. A place found by a bum in north Pasadena was most likely the lab they were looking for, the question was whether they’d actually be able to verify it.
”The locks aren’t just the kind you break open,” Angel said to the others after a quick recon. ”You’ll need a key *and* a card -- and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a code as well.”
”Well, two out of three isn’t bad,” Johnny Trash said, and Doyle grinned a little. Angel frowned when he saw it. He didn’t like not knowing what Doyle was thinking, and he rarely did these days. What he could guess, he didn’t much like. And what was going on with Wesley, for one thing? At this very moment, Wesley was leaning his arm on Doyle’s shoulder, his face in deep thought. It was a casual touch that was more than reasonable between friends, but something told him there was more to it than that. They were friends as well, growing closer for each day of these passing weeks, but this other something had been there from day one, and Angel didn’t like it.
”Give us a few hours, and we’ll sort it out,” Doyle told them, still grinning a bit. ”You’d better get back on the phone with Willow and help her finish the spell virus.”
”Are you sure you shouldn’t go back too?” Wesley asked. He knew better than to mention it, but Doyle had gone out of mental focus twice during the past twenty four hours, and he was worried.
”Johnny knows what to do if something happens,” Doyle reminded him, for once letting a comment like that pass. ”We can’t stand a whole bunch out here and wait, it would look suspicious to say the least. And it’s going closer to dawn by the second,” he added as Angel was about to say something.
Angel shut his mouth and nodded , not very happy about it. ”Gunn?” he asked.
”Yeah, sure, I’ll hang around,” Gunn said, sitting down on a rail to prove the point.
Wesley’s expression when they left to go back to the hotel was so telling Cordelia couldn’t help grinning. She leaned in and told him, ”It could be worse, you know. He could be back there with me. Gunn’s the one person in this agency he’s made no attempt of seducing.”
”Will you stop making suggestive remarks!” Wesley managed to keep his voice low in spite of his apparent anger. Cordelia just gave him a Sphinx-like smile.
”Hey, if my exes decide they like each other, I’m entitled to some sort of revenge.”
”Cordelia...”
But Cordelia just smiled again.
When Doyle and Gunn returned, Doyle casually dropped a magnetic card and a bunch of keys on the reception desk. Angel had a strange feeling this was a peace offering.
”You should have seen them,” Gunn said, sitting down. He shook his head in admiration. ”Johnny starts asking this man for money, Doyle comes up to get Johnny off the guy -- and before you know it, they’re both coming back with the inside of his pockets. I’ve never seen anyone work that smooth.”
”You stole his wallet?” Angel said, wishing it hadn’t come out the way it did.
”And a few other things.” Doyle’s face darkened. ”You never said anything about no stealing. As I recall, you’re not against that sort of thing yourself.”
”I’m not...” Stealing from a crook was one thing. But if Doyle was a craftsman at this, it was quite another. ”Is that what you have been doing for a living? Stealing?”
Doyle stood silent for a few seconds, then he sighed. ”I’m sorry, Angel, this isn’t working out.” He turned around an left for the door.
”Where are you going?” Wesley asked, putting a hand on Doyle’s arm to stop him from leaving the room.
”Getting a job.”
”Who’d hire you?” Angel asked and immediately regretted it. Everything he said seemed to be the wrong thing. Doyle just gave him a dark glance and left, brushing past Wesley in the process. Wesley jumped as a hand touched his behind, and then Doyle was gone.
There was a moment of silence, and then Angel shrugged. It had come to the end he had tried to avoid, and what he wanted to do was go punch something, but they still had work to do. He walked up to the phone and dialled Willow’s number. ”Will? It’s Angel? How’s it... you are? Great. Biblical phrases? Yeah, I’m sure we could learn those. Uh-huh.” He scribbled down the verses she mentioned on a post-it note. ”Okay, but you can do your part of the job without these? Thank you very much.”
He hung up the phone and gave half a smile to the others. ”She’s done. The disc will be coming in the post tomorrow or the next day. All we have to do is learn a few Biblical verses.”
”I’ll check them up,” Wesley said, to the others’ surprise, and took the post-it note. He needed to do something to keep himself from running after Doyle, and research seemed to be the best available option. ”Hebrew?” he asked, hoping it wouldn’t be.
”Latin.”
That was better. Wesley sat down with a Versio Vulgata and tried not to think of Doyle at all. Since Willow had been detailed in reference, it was a simple job, and he soon had all the verses in front of him, repeating them quietly over and over.
Cordelia sat down next to him. ”Care to come out for coffee with us?”
”Soon.” He repeated two of the verses from the Psalm he was learning, with his hand covering the note. ”Scuto circumdabit te veritas ejus: non timebis a timore nocturno: a sagitta volante in die, a negotio perambulante in tenebris: ab incursu, et daemonio meridiano.” Taking away his hand, he checked with the text. Word for word.
Cordelia frowned. ”Do we really have to learn them by heart?”
”No, but it helps if we’re fluid.” He noticed her expression and smiled. ”It’s not that difficult.”
”Not for you who know Latin.” She kicked with her legs against the chair. ”So, coffee?”
”Yes, of course.” Wesley stood up and reached for his wallet in his back pocket, but stopped short. ”Oh second thought, I think I’ll go look for Doyle.”
”Now?” Cordelia protested. ”You might have wanted to try that when he left.”
”Yes, well, I wanted to give him some time on his own.”
”Yeah, right, like half an hour. How are you going to find him, anyway?”
Wesley took his car keys from the drawer and turned back to Cordelia. ”I’ll be back later. Tell Angel to help you with the verses, his Latin is almost as good as mine.”
Cordelia sunk back into the chair and watched Wesley leave. ”Great,” she muttered. ”The rats flee the ship.”
Three hours later Wesley stepped into the shelter, where Doyle was sitting cross-legged reading a brochure. He looked up when Wesley entered and his eyes widened, seeming both pleased and offended at once.
”How did you know I was here?” he asked, making room for Wesley on the sofa where he was sitting.
”I didn’t. I asked the major to call me if you came in, and she did.”
For a second, the offence in Doyle’s face won over the pleasure. ”You’re keeping check on me?”
”No, I’m keeping check on my wallet, which I believe you have.” Wesley raised an eyebrow at Doyle, who nodded slowly and took the wallet from the pocket of his jacket.
”I’m sorry about that. I didn’t want to leave without money, and I couldn’t very well ask Angel, could I?”
”You didn’t *ask* me either.” Wesley accepted the wallet and looked it through. When he had counted the money he looked up, confused. ”There’s thirty dollars more in it than it was when you took it.”
”Twenty, actually. There was a tenner in the lid for photos.”
Wesley tried not to smile, but didn’t succeed very well. ”You gambled with my money?”
”Just a little bit, to pay for the bribes.”
”Which bribes?”
”Oh, to pretty much everyone I asked for a job.” Doyle sighed and looked down, folding up the brochure to have something to do with his fingers.
Wesley was stunned. He had thought Doyle’s expressed wish to find a job was just something he had said to annoy Angel, but it seemed there was more to it than that. ”Did it help?”
Doyle shook his head. ”Angel’s right. Who’d hire a drunken half-demon nutcase?”
Wesley thought about that and shrugged. ”Lorne might.”
”Who’s Lorne?” Doyle asked, obviously taking the suggestion seriously.
The question surprised Wesley. ”You’ve never been to Caritas?”
Doyle shook his head, looking hopeful, and Wesley started to wonder if Lorne would actually hire him. It was worth a try, at least. ”Then I guess that’s where we’re going. You haven’t been drinking *now*, have you?” It was usually impossible to tell when Doyle had been drinking, but there was enough to ruin the first impression as it was.
Doyle tilted his head and looked at Wesley as if he thought very little of his brains, but there was tenderness in his eyes. ”If I had gone into a pub, I’d still be there, wouldn’t I?”
”Good point.” They were both grinning now, feeling slightly thrilled like children on holiday. Doyle threw the crumpled-up brochure in the trash can and followed Wesley to the car. As they were riding towards Caritas, Wesley thought of something and snorted. ”And I actually thought you were groping me.”
”If you want me to, I don’t mind groping you,” Doyle volunteered, eyes glittering.
Wesley didn’t dare to look at him, but threw him a glance in the rear view mirror, shaking his head ”Here it is,” he said, glad to get out of the embarrassing situation. He stopped the car, and they both went inside. While Doyle looked around, Wesley’s eye caught the Host’s, who waved for them to come over.
”Hello, Wesley,” he said, looking curiously at Doyle. ”Who is this?”
”A friend of mine, Doyle. Doyle, this is Lorne.”
”Nice to meet you,” Doyle said and shook the Host’s hand. The Host looked very interested.
”Doyle the dead guy?”
”Doyle the resurrected guy,” Wesley corrected. ”He needs a job, do you have something?”
The Host bit his lip. ”I don’t know. What do you do?”
”Well,” Doyle said, rubbing his chin. ”I’m good at maths, particularly if it has to do with poker, and I’ve had some experience in the fighting area. I’m good with nine-year-old children, too, but I doubt there will be any of those in here.”
”And he’s a master at talking to people,” Wesley filled in, and Doyle smiled.
”That’s his opinion. Listen, I’d take anything. Cleaning up, filling stocks... it’s not like I have a lot to choose from.”
”Because you’re part demon?” the Host asked.
”Well, that I can hide if I want to,” Doyle said. ”It’s more the fact that I’ve spent quite some time dead or on the street. It’s hard to explain to people.”
”I can imagine,” the Host said. ”Can you sing?”
”Not well enough to perform,” Doyle said cautiously.
”Oh, you don’t have to perform. Just sing.”
”Now?”
”Yes, please.”
Doyle looked at Wesley, who nodded to show he should do as the Host asked. Confused but cooperative, Doyle shrugged and started singing. His voice was nothing special, but at least he sang in tune: ”Oh citizens, hear me singing, I’m sitting in the dust. It’s the wrong time for music, but I feel like I must. I’m filled up with sadness, I’m in a dirty mood. Tomorrow it might be better, but it’ll never be good. Tomorrow it might be better, but it’ll never be good.”
The Host looked thoughtfully at Doyle, and Wesley held his breath, grateful Doyle didn’t know just how much his singing had said. ”Yeah, okay, I could use some more help. How about a little bit of everything for the next couple of weeks, and then we’ll see what will suit you best?”
”That would be... great,” Doyle said with a stunned smile.
”Seven fifty an hour? To start with?”
”Sure.”
”Okay, then. You can start tomorrow.”
”Thank you.” Doyle shook the Host’s hand and, still smiling, hugged Wesley. ”And thank you, too.” He repeated his thanks to the Host enthusiastically.
”All I need now is somewhere to stay,” he told Wesley as they stepped outside. ”Don’t get me wrong, I’m still in the game, but I don’t think I can stand living in the Hyperion even with a job.”
”You can stay at my place,” Wesley suggested. ”I mean... I understand if you don’t want to repeat the situation you’ve had with Angel...”
”Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Doyle said. ”If it’s a serious offer, I’d be glad to take it.”
”It’s a serious offer,” Wesley said. He added, ”But I’m afraid it’s also a serious dump.”
”Wouldn’t be the first one.” Doyle grinned again, and Wesley began to wonder if this had really been a good decision.
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