Call Waiting: Angel
by: Eric Jablow
Rating: PG~*~
Cordelia sat at her desk in a reverie. She had been typing up an invoice after a successful case, her second favorite duty; only depositing the check pleased her more. Winifred, Wesley, and Gunn were trying to get Fred's life in order; the IRS does not like it when someone fails to file tax returns for five years, and the DMV has similar objections to people letting their car insurance lapse. Meanwhile, Angel was dusting the furniture; he had developed a cleanliness fetish since their return from Pylea.
She was roused by the front door opening. Two men walked into the hotel; she gave them the basic scan. They seemed unlikely to be clients. One was short and stubby, with an often-broken nose and the hint of a cauliflower ear, and he wore a cheap suit. Not well. The other was taller, and wore an elegant suit, but something seemed off.
The short guy said, “Is this Angel Investigations?”
“Yes.”
“You Angel?”
“Angel, some visitors for you.” Angel walked toward her desk. Then, Cordelia noted a bulge in the shoulder of the tall guy's suit. Uh-oh. These weren't clients, and the firm hadn't had any problems with the cops for months. She slid her large drawer open.
Stubby turned toward Angel while the tall guy turned to her. She put her hands back on the table and gave him her best fake smile. Suddenly, Stubby reached into his jacket, pulled out a collapsible baton, shook it open, and slammed it onto Angel's arm.
“The boss don't like it when you screw around with his business.”
“Ow! Do I know your boss? What are you talking about?”
Stubby wound up for another swing.
“Boss Capodiamonte doesn't like it when you screw with his people.”
Cordelia recognized the name; Capodiamonte was a local mobster who had bought himself a little respectability by taking over a local TV studio.
“I don't know what you're talking about.” The goon swung again, but Angel ducked under it. “You know, that really isn't a good idea.”
Stubby took one more swing. He didn't connect, because Angel turned and caught the baton with his other hand. Angel then attempted a side kick to Stubby's belly; Stubby jumped back to avoid it.
Unfortunately for Stubby, he did not let his baton go. Angel pulled on the baton, jerking Stubby off balance, and then Angel let go. Stubby began to fall forward, and Angel caught him by the collar. Angel lifted Stubby up, and Stubby began to choke.
The tall guy turned to Angel and said, “You'd better put him down now.”
“Why?”
Tall guy answered by pulling a pistol from his shoulder holster. He never got the chance to fire; first he heard a fizzing noise, and then he felt a dart punch him in the seat of his pants. His eyes curled up and he slumped to the floor. Angel winked at Cordelia, and she immediately reloaded her tranquilizer gun.
Stubby began to claw frantically at Angel's arm. Angel waited until Cordy nodded, and then he dropped Stubby to the floor.
Stubby lay there trying to regain his breath, and Angel stared at him, giving him a flash of vamp-face. Stubby shuddered, and tried to scoot away.
“Get out of here, now, and take your friend with you. And don't come back.”
“He'll be alright in 4 hours or so,” added Cordy.
“And leave the hardware.”
Stubby slowly got up, picked up the unconscious goon, and shuffled out.
“What was that about?”
“You haven't bothered any mobsters recently, Angel?”
“Noo. Unless the Gnargs have taken over the mob.”
“I doubt that. They'd be good running protection rackets, though.”
They stood a while in thought, and then they were interrupted by the telephone. Cordelia put it on speaker.
“Angel Investigations. We help the helpless.”
“Cordelia, is that you? It's Ta-Tara.”
“Tara? Sunnydale's still there, isn't it.”
“Not the problem. Tell me, did you just send some ads through e-mail?”
“Us? We don't even have a web site.”
“Well, something calling itself 'Angel Investigations' just spammed the 'net with zillions of e-mails advertising the 'Internet Spy'. Willow got 85 copies. She's really furious.” Tara's voice went softer for a moment, as they heard, “No, Willow. Put down that censer!”
“Oh, God.”
“Damn.”
“She even said something about scanning Moloch back into the 'net. I don't understand that reference. Willow, put down that athame!”
“Well, we didn't do that.”
“I knew you wouldn't, but Willow's pretty beserk now. You'd better find out who this 'Angel' is. Willow, put down those candles, or no smoochies for a week!” Tara hung up the phone with a crash.
“Well, that explains those goons. Ah, bleep.”
“You can curse around me, Angel.”
“Ah, sh—”
*****
The next evening:
“We're going to have to change our phone number, Angel.”
The gang were sitting at an Internet cafe; the obscene phone calls and harassing e-mails they had been getting for the last 24 hours had driven them out of the hotel.
“Have you found anything yet, Cordy?”
“Nah. I'm no good at this; I wish we could get Willow to help, but—not today. Wesley? Wesley? What on Earth are you doing?”
“Yes!”
“Cool it, English. I've still fragged you 4 times to 1. Uh-oh.”
Cordy glared at them. “Men.”
“Angel—I think I have it. I've traced through the mail headers; it's been relayed through ten sites, but no anonymizers. I think it's this guy. Angel@xyzzy.plugh.ca.us.” Wesley and Gunn walked around to look at Fred's screen, as Fred pointed out her trace.
“Thanks, Fred. That's not my address, at least. Can you get a profile on this bastard. If I catch up with him, I'll—”
“Kill him? Don't—that's too easy.”
“No, but I certainly want to scare him.”
“We, Wesley. We want to scare him.”
“I know this guy. He's been one of LA's most irritating con men since Nixon was President. Incompetent, too. So, he's now discovered spam.”
“The LA Times has some articles mentioning the guy. Let's find out where he lives, shall we.”
“Of course, Wesley.”
*****
The next evening:
A scared man driving a clunker drove fast. He was trying to get away from Angel and Gunn in Angel's black Plymouth, and Gunn was waving an ax at him. Meanwhile, Wesley was alongside the clunker on his motorcycle; he brandished a dagger, and occasionally, he scored the paint on the man's car.
Finally, the man saw a parking lot on his right; he drove into it and made a panic stop. His car spun and all 4 tires blew, but his car came to a stop without hitting anything. Angel and Wesley were going too fast to follow, so they drove further up the road, made U-turns, and came back.
Slowly, the man got out of his car, and wheezed his way toward a mobile home. “Jim! Jim!” A light snapped on inside the mobile home. Meanwhile, Angel and Wesley drove into the lot.
“Jim, Jimbo! You gotta let me in.”
“Hold your horses. What's wrong now?” Angel stopped his car and got out; he ran toward the mobile home.
“These nuts; they've been chasing me all the way from Hollywood. They were waving axes at me!”
“Now, what did you do?”
“Nothing. Nothing, I swear!”
“Really. How long have I known you?” Angel was 50 feet away.
“I swear!” Angel was 30 feet away.
Jim opened the screen door and said, “All right, Angel. You might as well come in.”
The suprised vampire called out “Thanks!” and followed the man through the door.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!”
End
*****
Notes: The characters of Jim Rockford and Angel Martin are the possessions of NBC [the series], CBS [the TV-movies], Roy Huggins, Stephen Cannell, Meta Rosenberg, Universal Television [boo!], and James Garner and Stuart Margolin, of course. Please don't sue.
Also, the word spam is meant only to refer to disruptive e-mails and news postings. It has nothing whatsoever to do with SPAM™, a product of the Hormel Corporation.
*****
Disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, David Greenwalt, Greenwolf Productions, Sand Dollar, and the Kuzuis. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
