Chapter 3
Trouble Waiting To Happen
My day was over 'bout quarter to ten
I climbed right back into bed again
I'd write this down if I could hold a pen
I might get better but I don't know when
And so I'm gonna wait right here 'til then...
Trouble waiting to happen.
--Warren Zevon
"So your girlfriend isn't your girlfriend anymore, and you want your best friend to be your girlfriend, but she just broke up with _her_ girlfriend, and now neither of you has a girlfriend," Laura said. She had just heard the entire tale of Willow and Xander's relationship. She looked confused. Xander could hardly blame her.
"Pretty much."
"You ever think of dating someone with...y'know...less baggage?"
"Can't help it. I love her baggage."
Laura smiled. "Is your uncle half as sweet as you?"
"You'd have to ask him." Xander nodded towards Rory and Tracy. They were murmuring to one another now. Tracy popped her head up and motioned for Laura to come over. The two of them talked and giggled for a moment, then whispered something in Rory's ear. Whatever they said made his complexion go redder than usual.
"Just give me a minute," Rory finally said. He clapped his hand on Xander's shoulder. "C'mon. Let's take a walk."
"Oh, you remembered I exist? I'm touched, Ror, I really am."
"Hey, I'm sorry. I thought one of them was talking to you."
"Ah, she was...so what's the deal?"
"Me and the girls are headed up to their suite. For a nightcap." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"But you don't drink."
"Xander, by nightcap, I mean 'sex with both of them.'"
"Uh....huh. Rory, you do realize they're criminals, right?"
"Oh, yeah." By this time, they had reached the men's room. They stepped inside and Rory began emptying his pockets. "That's why you're gonna hold my wallet. And my money clip...and my car keys...and the room keys...wait, I just need something from that wallet..."
"I'll bet you do," Xander said, smirking. "Live the dream, my man."
"How do I look?"
"Like Matt Dillon in There's Something About Mary."
"Uh huh. Don't wait up."
Rory turned and walked out, leaving Xander to shake his head.
_Yep. That might be my dad. Explains a lot._
Buffy had seen angry before, from Faith, from Giles, from her enemies, from her friends. But she'd never really seen it before from Willow.
She was certainly seeing it _now_, though. At the moment, she was gripping the witch about the midsection, restraining her from physically ripping the information she wanted out of Draculina's head.
"I don't _know_ where he's going!" the tamer was yelling. "He said something about making some kind of deal, but he didn't give us any information!"
"You're _lying_!" Willow screamed. "Tell me! _Where's he taking Oz_?!"
"Willow!" Buffy yelled. "Calm down!"
"I've got a whole _box_ of pencils in this purse, d'you hear me?!"
"_What_?" Draculina asked, totally confused.
"_Hey_!" Buffy suddenly lifted Willow up, flipped her over, and deposited her on her feet. She grabbed Willow by the shoulders and held her, looking into her eyes. "Get a _grip_, Will!"
"No! I've had it with this kidnapping crap! Spike kidnaps me and Xander, the Initiative kidnaps Oz, Hades kidnaps Tara... that's _it_! No more kidnapping!"
"I know. I know." She rubbed Willow's shoulder briefly. "We'll find him."
"Damn right we will." Willow was still bristling with fury, but she relaxed enough that Buffy let her go. The Slayer turned to Draculina, who had taken the opportunity to pick up her whip. She held it at her side, like a gunslinger.
"Where's his office?" Buffy asked.
"Outside."
Draculina led the two young women to one of the nearby trailers. Inside, it looked as though it had been heavily ransacked.
"I'd guess French Guy wasn't planning on coming back."
"Fine with me. LeChevre never knew anything about marketing."
"Is that his computer?" Without waiting for an answer, Willow took a seat at LeChevre's tiny desk and booted up a battered PC.
"Yeah. He's got it wired to one of the telephone poles."
"Organized, is he?"
"He's on this thing half the night, from what the zombies tell me."
"From what the--" Buffy shook her head. "You _talk_ to them?"
"There's no one else around here to talk to. The Ponks don't speak English and the magician keeps to himself."
Willow began typing. It took her six tries before she came up with a password. "Huh. 'Jumbo.' Do you guys have an elephant?"
"Uh...no."
"Ew. Let's see...come on, come on...here we go. His History cache shows he's been looking at map sites. Looks like he got driving directions to..." She blinked. "Las Vegas."
"Is there an address?"
"Yeah. And in Express, he's got an appointment for tonight...some guy named--"
"Lemuel Ledbetter, at your service."
The man was impressive. Six foot six, three hundred pounds, all of it wrapped in Armani. He spoke with a slight Southern accent, and the light of the hotel suite gleamed off his bald head. His teeth seemed impressively white against the dark brown of his skin.
"I've seen you on telly!" Spike said, shaking Ledbetter's hand. "You're that fight promoter, right?"
"Indeed I am, sir, indeed I am. Can I get you something to drink?"
"What've you got?"
Ledbetter grinned and snapped his fingers. Across the room, one of his flunkies opened the minibar. Inside were several large glass bottles, all of them full of blood.
"Here ya go, Mr. Ledbetter," the flunky said, giving Ledbetter two bottles.
"Please, Ralphie, call me Lem."
"My, my," Spike said. "What's that, orangutan?"
"Far from it." Ledbetter handed the bottles to Spike and Justin. "It's human. From a sweet virgin of 18 years of age." Ledbetter smiled pleasantly. "You'd be surprised what some people are willing to do for a record contract."
Spike popped open the bottle and took a sip.
"Ohhhh," he moaned. "Oh, that hit the spot."
"Practically taste the innocence, can't ya?" Justin said.
"Justin here was one of the first to join my new concern," Ledbetter said. "He talked you up quite a bit. I'm anxious to learn if the stories are true."
"Oh, they are," Spike said, grinning. "But suppose you tell me just what this concern is, eh?"
"By all means." Ledbetter motioned to the couch behind the two vampires; he himself took a seat in a large leather armchair. When he was quite sure all attention was focused on him, he began. "I've been a boxing man all my life. Have been since my days in the ring in the Alabama circuit. But the truth of the matter is, it's played out. It's done. There hasn't been a fight in the past five years where the outcome wasn't decided months in advance. Sure, pay per-view does big business, but the fact of it is, it's on the way out.
"So I was looking for the coming thing. And I found it." Ledbetter took a long sip from his wineglass. "Last year, I was in Los Angeles, attending what I was told would be an underground fight. I always like to check these events out; it's a good way to find fighters. But this one was a little different. At the time, I wasn't aware of the...well, what's the word I want? Supernatural population?"
"'sfine with me," Spike says. "Not like we have advocacy groups or anything."
"At any rate, seems these two brothers... damn if I can remember their names, the McMurphys or something like that...they'd hit upon the idea of capturing demons and forcing them to fight. They were pulling in money hand over fist until they brought in this guy, some kind of...you ever heard of a vampire with a soul?"
Spike nearly choked on his blood. "I'm familiar with him, yeah. Lemme guess; pooped the party, did he?"
"The McWhatsisnames are dead, yes. The demons were scattered to the wind. But I'll tell you, that night, I saw it. I saw the coming thing. Those boys, they had the right idea, just the wrong execution. Enslaving the demons might have seemed cheaper in the short term, but in the long run..."
"Ahhhh." Spike grinned. "Plus, demons don't need much cash, yeah?"
"You're getting it," Ledbetter said, smiling. "Also, demons...and vampires...hardly ever get pulled over by the police with a kilo of cocaine in the trunk. They tend not to beat the stuffing out of complete strangers in nightclub. They don't knock up the women they bring home..."
"Well, your incubi will."
"...and even if they did, who's to believe it?"
"And demons don't mind fightin' to the death," Spike said, his smile rather humorless now.
"We gotta keep the sport pure." Ledbetter finished his drink. "Which brings me to you. We've got a few players already, but what we need...what the sport needs...is a star. Someone with charisma. No offense, Justin."
"Oh, none taken," Justin said drily.
"In short...I need someone like you, Spike."
Spike tipped back his bottle, guzzling the last of the blood.
"See if I've got this straight. You want to pay me lots of money to kill demons."
"That's right."
"Well, hell, Lem, you had me at hello." Spike set the bottle down. "Any more of that blood while I look over my new contract?"
From time to time, Buffy thought she could hear a slight sizzling sound as she floored it towards Las Vegas. At first, she thought it was coming from the engine. Then, she thought it was coming from Willow.
Willow was furiously sharpening pencils. She did, indeed, have a box of them hidden away in her purse, and she was honing each to a sharp point.
"Willow," Buffy said as they approached the Nevada border.
"_What?_"
"Calm down."
"Oh, I really don't see that happening."
"Will--"
"He pointed a _gun_ at me."
Buffy looked at her; Willow's knuckles were white around the pencil as she ground it into the sharpener. The fact that the sharpener was shaped like a pig took away from the effect, but not much.
"You want to shoot an eldritch bolt at me, fine. Curses, fangs, I can handle it. But you do _not_ point a gun at me." She put the pencil in the box with its brethren. "I don't like it."
"Right."
"He had Oz in a cage. A _cage_! And that, that collar was hooked up to something. Who knows how long he's been like that? God, he could have been caught when he was leaving town again..."
"It's possible," Buffy admitted.
"Right. So when we get our hands on Circus Boy, he's _mine_." Willow shoved another pencil into the sharpener. "I'll teach the little creep to point guns at people..."
"Okay," Buffy said, not wanting to press the issue. "But he's technically a human being, so, you know, sticking him with floating pencils would fall under the category of bad."
"_He_ doesn't know that."
"Don't get all grim and obsessed on me, Will."
"Just drive, Buffy."
They drove on, the silence only broken by the occasional snap of wood and lead.
LeChevre's truck pulled up outside the Restful Vista Trailer Park. A luxury car waited. Two men with the requisite bulges beneath their jackets stood on either side of the passenger side door.
"Ah, mes amis," LeChevre said as he hopped out of the truck. "Where can I find M'sieur Ledbetter?"
The smoked glass window rolled down with an electric whine. Ledbetter's face appeared, a large cigar between his lips.
"Mr. LeChevre," he said. "Do you have a passenger?"
"It's in ze back."
One of the torpedoes opened the door for Ledbetter; he followed LeChevre to the back of the truck. Inside, the werewolf lay on his side, breathing shallowly.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Ah...I am afraid m'sieur loup-homme was a bit unwilling to cooperate. I found it necessary to shock him once or twice."
Ledbetter glared at the ringmaster.
"Possibly thrice."
"If he's injured..." Ledbetter didn't bother to finish the threat. He snapped his fingers. One of the torpedoes appeared at the back of the truck. He held a small cooler from which he produced a plastic bag full of red meat. Behind him, the second man held a tranquilizer rifle.
"You want me to do that, Lem?" the torpedo asked.
"No, Vin," Ledbetter replied. "It's important that I establish trust first." He dipped into the bag and pulled out a generous portion of the sliced-up steak. He reached through the bars and deposited it inside.
Oz stirred. He wobbily got to his feet and growled.
"Back away, Mr. LeChevre," Ledbetter said, not taking his eyes from the werewolf. LeChevre was only to happy to comply, backing up about twenty feet. Ledbetter reached into the bag again and dropped some more meat into the cage.
Oz snarled and snapped at Ledbetter's hand, but Ledbetter took his time pulling away. Oz sniffed at the meat. Then, hunger overwhelming distrust, he devoured it in three bites.
"There you go," Ledbetter said, reaching in again. "We're buddies now, aren't we?"
"Jeez," Vin said. "I can't believe you're doing that..."
"Frankly, neither can I. Oh, if this boy was in the wild, he'd have my arm gnawed off by now..." Ledbetter scooped the last of the meat into the cage. "But as it is, he's had his ass kicked for the past few months, getting shocked and drugged up. Domesticated, you might say."
Oz, having finished the rest of the meat, slumped onto the floor of the cage.
"How soon until the trank takes effect?" Ledbetter asked.
"Should be any--"
The werewolf's eyes closed. He began to snore heavily.
"There you go," Vin said. "And now..."
They watched as slowly, the transformation occurred. First the claws retracted...the jaw reverted to its regular shape... the hair sank back beneath the skin. At last, it was Daniel Osborne who lay in the cage.
"Get the blanket," Ledbetter said. "And Mr. LeChevre's money. And Harry...keep that rifle handy, just in case."
As his associates went about their tasks, Ledbetter approached LeChevre, who had no intention of coming near his truck again until it was werewolf free.
"Well, Mr. LeChevre, he looks relatively unscarred. Thin, certainly, but we'll soon put some muscle back on him."
"You're welcome to him," LeChevre said. "What do you want such a cursed creature for anyway?"
"What else?" Ledbetter's smile was huge. "Show business."
"--ck! BACK! Hello? Oh! Xander! Hello. Could you hold on one moment? Thank you."
*GROWL*
"You put that down, you miserable son of a--"
*SMASH*
"Right, you'll pay for that! Take this!"
*FZAAAM*
*THUD*
"See how you like that. Pillock.
"Xander? Sorry. The, um, the kettle was on. Is everything all right?
"Oh, good. Hopefully that's the last we'll see of him.
"Ah, excellent. I enjoy Tony Bennett myself.
"How does that mean you're getting old? Oh, be quiet.
"Well, it was very nice of you to check in, but I have things very much under control.
*SNARL*
"Oh, bugger.
"What? Nothing. I just need to take care of...a thing. My dinner is burning...right. Have a good time. Bye now."
*CLICK*
"All right, all right, let's be reasonable. Just because somebody summoned you from the Dungeon Dimensions is no reason for you to smash up my furni--don't you _dare_ touch that vase--"
*SMASH*
The arena was located in one of the Aquapolis' sub-basements. A sunken concrete pit sat in the middle of it, surrounded by plush bleachers and a judge's table. There were also several of Ledbetter's associates surrounding the wire-fenced edge of the pit.
Spike walked into the pit and looked up at the seats; it was a sparse crowd. Apparently the word hadn't got round that the Big Bad was in town.
Justin helped Spike out of his coat. He was acting as the cornerman tonight.
"You nervous?" he asked.
"Me? Nervous? I do this sort of thing for breakfast, remember?" Spike peeled off his wifebeater T-shirt and threw it into the crowd, where it completely failed to be scooped up by adoring fans. "'s a bit of a rush, though, innit? I mean, I was just hired this afternoon."
"Hey, that's the way Lem works. Fast."
"So who's my opponent?"
"Nozev of the Many Tentacles," Justin said. "He's one of those whattayacallits. He's all purple and slimy, got a bunch of tentacles coming off his back. Hence the name."
"His first time too?"
"Nope. He's the champ."
"The--" Spike turned to Justin incredulously. "I get a championship bout my first time out?!"
"Like I said, he works fast."
"Llllllllllllladiessssss annnn' gennnnnnnnlemennnnn!"
Spike looked up. A guy in a tuxedo stood at the edge of the pit. He bellowed into a wireless microphone.
"Leadbelly Productions, in association with Aquapolis Enterprises, is pleased to bring you this night of Ultimate Underworld Fighting! Remember, the only rule is..."
Some of the crowd joined in on this line.
"..._there are no rules_!"
Spike shadow-boxed for a moment, psyching himself for the fight. He caught the eye of a pretty young trophy wife and tossed her a wink.
"Innnnn this corner, making his Ultimate Underworld Fighting debut, a vampire with not one but _two_ Slayer kills on his record...the terror of Sunnydale...the Big Bad Himself...from Manchester, England, weighing in at 175 pounds, wearing the black jeans and boots, put your hands together for...SPIIIIIIKE!"
Spike raised his fists and bellowed as the crowd cheered or booed, depending on their fancy.
"And entering the ring...from beyond the twelfth circle of Hell itself...a demon with twenty kills in this arena alone...shudder in terror as you gaze upon the terrible visage of...NOZEV OF THE MANY TENNNNNTACLES!"
The crowd roared as the stone doors opened. In stepped a man, or at least something shaped like a man. As advertised, its skin was bruise purple, and it glistened. Its tentacles flexed expectantly as Nozev glared at his opponent.
He had a face that Spike would enjoy breaking in half.
The two demons stepped to the center of the ring. At the edge of the pit, the announcer leaned closer.
"You know the rules?" he asked.
"No rules," Spike said.
"Kill," Nozev added helpfully.
"Attaboy. Wait until you hear the bell to--"
The announcer was flung backward as one of Nozev's tentacles lashed out, slapping him across the face. The other tentacles reached for Spike, one of them wrapping around his neck.
"Oh, nice one," Spike snarled as he kicked at the thing. "I'm a vampire, mate, we're not big on the air thIIIIIIIING!"
Spike found himself being hurled back and forth. First, he was thrown into one wall of the pit, then the other. Next, Nozev lifted Spike up and hurled him into the ground so hard he bounced.
Spike didn't even have the energy to swear as another tentacle wrapped around his ankles. Nozev spun the vampire around, spinning him faster and faster, then letting go. Spike smashed into the wall, face first.
It took a moment for him to get to his feet. When he did, Nozev was waiting for him. He used his fists to pummel Spike about the midsection as his tentacles squirmed around Spike's wrists and ankles.
With a cry of rage, Spike jabbed forward with his head, connecting with the noselike appendage in the middle of Nozev's face. Nozev squealed in pain, and the tentacles loosened enough for Spike to get one leg free.
Never one to waste an opportunity, Spike brought his leg up sharply, connecting with what he hoped were the thing's bollocks. Spike was nothing if not a lover of the classics.
Nozev moaned and lashed out with the tentacles again, this time around Spike's face. One nearly slapped him cross-eyed, but he brought his hand up and caught the next. He squeezed; if it bothered Nozev, he didn't show it.
He punched and punched at the squid demon, all the while tugging at the tentacle. Finally, he sent his opponent spinning with a blow, which gave Spike an idea. He grabbed a goodly length of the tentacle and yanked.
He was quickly covered in a horrible mixture of ink and blood. He opened his mouth to catch some of it, tasted it, and spat it out. He squatted over the fallen squid demon and wrapped the tentacle around its neck.
"Let's see how _you_ handle the air thing," he snarled as he cinched the tentacle tight.
It was over in a few minutes of thrashing. When everyone was quite sure, the announcer hopped into the pit and held up Nozev's arm. It fell lifelessly.
"Ladiiiies annnn gennnlemennnn!!" he cried into his microphone. "The winnah...an' NEW champeen...SPIIIIKE!"
Spike screamed a victory cry as the crowd bellowed its approval. He picked up the squid demon's body and hurled it across the pit, where it made a nasty stain on one of the concrete walls. He limped over to his corner, where Justin was waiting with a bottle of blood.
"So how was that for ya?" Justin asked.
"I sodding _love_ this city," Spike said gleefully.
The sun had gone down three hours ago. The gas meter on Willow's car had been teasing the E for five minutes before they pulled into a gas station. Buffy got out and stretched; Willow, whose anger was now at a low simmer, started pumping gas.
"I need to euphemism," Buffy said. "You?"
"Not that badly," Willow said, looking at the general griminess of the place. "You go ahead."
"'kay. Be right back."
Willow finished filling the tank and pulled a twenty out of her pocket. She stalked over to the booth in the middle of the aisles of gas pumps and stuffed it under the Plexiglass.
A gun.
He pointed a _gun_ at her. Oh, his ass was kicked when she got her hands on him. Buffy or no Buffy, he was going to need a tetanus shot by the time Willow was through.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes and accepted her change. This was wrong, she knew. It wasn't like her. But boiling rage beat the hell out of whining misery any day of the week. No wonder Xander got pissed off so easily. It _felt_ better.
Xander...she briefly wondered what he was doing. Hopefully, it was something more fun than this. She walked back to the car, opened the door...and saw the truck pull in opposite her.
LeChevre, looking the worse for all this wear and tear, limped out of the cab, every bit of him aching. Still, his heart was light. He had made a tidy profit on the werewolf sale. Most of the cash, he'd deposited in a Vegas bank. When he got to the Grand Caymans, he'd have it transferred. The other five grand he was keeping as mad money.
He sighed, closed his eyes, and imagined the Cote d'Azur at this time of year.
Then he opened his eyes.
Two sharpened pencils hovered in front of them, their leaden points mere inches away. Beyond them, he could see--
"Oh, mon dieu," he moaned, as Willow stepped closer to him, backing him up against the truck.
"Well, well, well," she said, her voice unnaturally calm. "Look who it is."
"I...uh..."
"You pointed a _gun_ at me," Willow snarled.
"It wasn't loaded!"
"And I'm comforted by that." LeChevre saw two more pencils on the edges of his vision; these seemed to be pointed at his temples. He screwed his eyes closed tightly.
"Please do not kill me."
"Maybe I will and maybe I won't," Willow bluffed. "Where's Oz?"
"Qu'est-ce que c'est...who is Oz?"
The pencils at his temples touched the skin.
"Oz," Willow said in the very quiet voice of one who is repeating _Must restrain the killing fist_ to herself over and over, "is the name of the _man_ you had in that cage."
"Ah, ze werewolf!"
The pencils broke the skin.
"Ze man! Ze man!"
"Will?" Buffy came running up when she saw the thin rivulet of blood oozing from the ringmaster's temple. She spoke cautiously. "Will, remember that conversation we had about not killing people?"
"I asked you a question, LeChevre," Willow said.
"I made ze deal already!" LeChevre cried. "Ledbetter has him!"
"Willow," Buffy said warningly.
"And Ledbetter is where?"
"I don't know!"
"You want a case of lead poisoning?" Willow yelled. "_Where_?!"
"_Willow Sarah Rosenberg_!" Buffy yelled. Using all three names worked when her mother used it on her; maybe it'd work here.
"He's going to tell me," Willow said evenly.
"Zee Aquapolis!" LeChevre howled. "I think he works out of zee Aquapolis!"
Willow and Buffy looked at each other, surprised. A moment later, the pencils fell to the ground.
"Right," Willow said, a bit shakily. "Well. That wasn't so...yeah. How much did you get for him?"
"Five s'ousand dollars," LeChevre said. He could think very quickly when he had to.
"Where is it?"
"In the cab."
"Watch him," Willow ordered. As she walked around to the passenger side of the truck, Buffy looked at the trembling ringmaster. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue. She offered it to him.
"She's going through a tough time," she said apologetically.
LeChevre said nothing. He accepted the tissue and pressed it to his wound.
"I actually thought you put on a pretty good show," Buffy continued. "That magician guy was--"
"I'm sorry," LeChevre said. "When the hunter sold him to me, I thought I was buying an orangutan! And zen he was always howling and trying to get out...I didn't know what else to do!"
"And you think that's an excuse?" Willow said. She was holding LeChevre's briefcase.
"What was I supposed to do? Release him into ze wild?"
"Well...I..." She looked from Buffy to LeChevre and back. "Hey, he pointed a gun at me!"
"I think you owe him an apology," Buffy said quietly.
"_What_?!"
"Zose pencils really hurt."
"But...he..." Willow sagged. "I'm sorry I tortured you with pencils."
"Ah. Well. I accept your--"
"But we're still taking some of your money."
"We are?" Buffy asked.
"We need traveling money," Willow said. "And...and...he pointed a _gun_ at me!" She opened the briefcase. "I'm taking...how much is this, $2000?"
"Take it! Take it! Just leave me alone!"
"And your gun."
"My..." LeChevre looked at the floor of the cab. The gun was just under the driver's seat. "It's really not loaded."
"I don't care. It's a gun and I don't like them, and anyone who can command zombies should have better ways of protecting himself."
"Fine! Take it!" LeChevre bristled as Buffy reached into the cab and took the gun. It wasn't a fine example of the form, and with a little pressure, she managed to pinch the barrel shut. She gently placed it in a nearby trash can. After a moment, she scooped up some of the fast-food wrappers near the top and covered the gun with them.
"We should go," Buffy murmured.
"Right." Willow handed the briefcase back. "Well, um...I'm really sorry about the pencil thing."
"I am sorry about ze gun," LeChevre said after a moment. He watched as they backed towards their car and took off. He waited until they were out of sight to sag against the cab, spent.
Two thousand dollars, one pistol and the price of a tetanus shot. It could have been worse, he supposed. He reckoned it would be six hours before he got on a plane and left this psychotic country for good.
"Still," he murmured as he got back into the truck, "I wonder if I could learn that pencil trick..."
It could have been a pretty deadly evening, really. He was, after all, in an unfamiliar city, all alone and feeling bereft.
Of course, that was before he realized that Rory had given him the credit cards.
It was closing in on two a.m. when Xander stumbled back to his room. He was slightly buzzed; he was running into an awful lot of nearsighted waitresses in this town, and they'd brought him a few drinks during the Tony Bennett concert. That had been...well, all right, not really his kind of music. Mostly, it just made him wish that Willow was with him.
That could easily have sent him into another depress-o-rama, so he acted quickly to remedy it by playing games. Mostly video games. He didn't want to lose too much of Rory's money, after all. He'd gotten in a good run of blackjack, though, and had come out about a hundred bucks ahead. Not real impressive for this town, maybe, but it was a victory nonetheless.
Now, he saw Tracy standing outside the door to their suite, checking her watch. She looked up and smiled when she saw him approaching.
"Hi!" she said. "Do you have the keys? Rory needs something from his suitcase."
"Uh huh," Xander said. "What's he need? I'll bring it out."
"Well," she said, batting her eyes seductively, "it's of a slightly personal nature..."
"Mmmm...I'd, uh, feel more comfortable if I could just bring it out." He smiled. "Nothin' personal."
Tracy gave him an appraising look. She was still wearing the slinky red dress, and her raven hair looked more than a little mussed, but that just added to the hotness.
"It's a small bottle," she said. "Of...er...little blue pills."
"Little blue pills. Got it." Then he blinked. "Uh...little blue pills?"
Tracy grinned wickedly.
"Right," Xander said, nodding. "Little blue pills. Be right back." He unlocked the door and stepped inside, shaking his head. Damn. Too much information. Still, the man was in his forties...years of alcohol abuse probably took some of the lead out of his pencil...and they'd been up there for a few hours now...
He unzipped Rory's suitcase and rummaged around. He touched something plastic that rattled; he pulled it out.
"Naproxen Sodium?" he muttered. Shaking his head, he opened the door and handed it to Tracy, who took it gratefully.
"Thanks ever so," she said. "You know, we've got room for one more..."
"That's okay," Xander replied. "I'm beat. Uh...if I could just ask..." He pointed at the bottle of painkiller.
"Headboard," Tracy explained.
"...wow. Too much information. G'night."
"Night," Tracy replied, smiling. He watched her walk to the elevator, enjoying the view.
Oz was so surprised not to be awakened by a bolt of electricity to the neck that he almost shot out of bed. He looked around, getting his bearings.
It was swanky, wherever it was. The bed was large and elaborate. He prodded it with a finger and was tempted to get back in and go back to sleep.
Instead, he looked around for something to wear. There was a huge dresser opposite the bed; he opened the drawers and found them full of clothes.
Clothes that fit perfectly.
He pulled on a pair of shorts and stumbled towards the window. Somewhere in the back of his head, he had the horrible feeling that he'd look out and see a quaint Welsh village full of sinister eccentrics...
It was not, of course. It was Las Vegas. That presented its own problems, of course, but he could deal with them.
"Ah, Mr. Osborne."
Oz prided himself on his cool--or rather, he didn't, because pride in and of itself wasn't very cool--but he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard that voice behind him. He whirled around and saw Lemuel Ledbetter standing there. The promoter held a huge tray, covered with foodstuffs.
"You must be hungry," he said simply.
Oz nodded.
"Take a seat," Ledbetter said. He placed the tray on a table and motioned for Oz to take a seat.
The big man watched in silence as Oz warily sat down at the table and prodded the food. He sniffed; the food didn't smell like it had been tampered with. It only took a few moments for hunger to wrestle distrust to the ground, and minutes later, the tray was clean.
"I gather Frenchie didn't feed you very well," Ledbetter remarked as Oz finished the last of the bacon.
"Kibble," Oz said. He drained a glass of orange juice in a single swallow and winced.
"I'm Lemuel Ledbetter, by the way."
"I know."
"Ah. Seen me on TV?"
"No, I just..." Oz frowned. "I know your scent."
"I fed you last night."
"Thank you."
"That's all right. Circus Boy was only too happy to get rid of you."
"You buy me?"
Ledbetter's face darkened.
"I did not _buy_ you, no. I am not in the habit of _buying_ human beings." He relaxed. "Let's say I bought out your contract."
"Out of the kindness of your heart."
"You always this snotty, Mr. Osborne, or is this the drugs talking?"
"I'm always this snotty."
The two men stared at one another for a moment. Ledbetter allowed himself to smile again.
"Well, let's be frank with each other, then. I paid off Circus Boy because I'm starting a new concern. When I heard that somebody had an honest-to-God werewolf in captivity, I said to myself, 'Lem, that boy'd be perfect for you.'"
"To do what?"
"You ever do any prizefighting, Mr. Osborne?"
"I..." Oz paused. "I try to stay as non-violent as possible."
"And that's commendable. But it's hard, isn't it? See, I've been boning up on werewolf lore. You've been trying to find a cure, haven't you?"
Oz said nothing.
"I mean, sure as hell wasn't a full moon last night."
Oz said more nothing.
"Like I said, I've been boning up. Meditation, right? You try and achieve inner peace. Herbs, drugs, maybe a little wolfsbane on the side--"
"What's your point?"
"My point." Ledbetter looked into Oz's eyes. "My point is, the harder you fight to stifle that wolf inside you, the harder it fights back. Isn't that right?"
After a moment, Oz nodded.
"What if I were to offer you...an outlet. A way to let the wolf loose in a controlled environment. A way to feel the thrill of the hunt, but to know you haven't spilled any innocent blood."
"There's no way."
"There is."
"It wouldn't work," Oz said. "I've tried it. Bars, chains. They break eventually."
"How about ten strong men with tranquilizer rifles?"
Oz blinked. "What are we talking about here?"
"Ultimate Underworld Fighting."
Oz blinked again.
"You gotta be kidding."
"We pay well," Ledbetter continued. "Plus bennies. A suite here at the hotel, drinks, and the knowledge that the monster inside you is sated."
"Yeah? Life insurance come with that package?"
"Yes indeed."
"No thanks." Oz stood up. "Look, I just spent however long it was trapped in the wolf. I'm not goin' back. Now where are my pants?"
Ledbetter stood up.
"You're in no condition to go anywhere yet."
"Watch me."
Oz turned to bolt for the door. He got halfway there before his knees buckled and his legs gave up. He fell to the floor in a heap.
"You're suffering from malnutrition," Ledbetter said. "Dehydration. We had a doctor in here earlier. In the bathroom, you'll find a whole shelf of vitamins." He bent down and gently picked the werewolf up, depositing him on the bed. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more later."
"Thought...you didn't own me."
"I don't," Ledbetter said with a smile. "I'm just protecting my investment."
Ledbetter closed the door and motioned to Vin and Roger.
"Bring him in another plate of food. But watch him. He needs time to get used to the idea."
"Gotcha, Lem."
"What about the new boy...whatsisname, with the hair?"
"Spike? He's in for the day. We got him set up in his new suite."
They'd sent up a girl after the fight. Ledbetter's way of congratulating him, he supposed. He'd tossed her some bills and told her to sod off. Somehow, he just wasn't in the mood.
Which was a bad sign.
He got out of the bed he'd laid down in only an hour or two ago. It's not like he was tired. He was only in here because his only set of clothes was soaked with blood and ink, and he couldn't go gamble in a towel. Not for long, anyway.
He clicked on the telly and wondered what his problem was. This was the perfect setup. Blood _and_ money _and_ violence. And women, apparently.
Not like that bloody Slayer, of course. Well, one that looked like her wouldn't be bad. A girl with long blonde hair...tight abs...and that set of--
The door to the room opened. He could see a woman in a suit outlined in the doorway.
"Uh...Mr. Spike? Sorry if I woke you, but Mr. Ledbetter wanted to make sure you got these." She was holding a dry-cleaning bag.
Spike took a look at the outline. It was wearing a tailored suit. It had blonde hair. And it was...mmmm.
"C'mon in," Spike said. His voice wore a greasy grin.
The shrieking banshee of death screamed in Xander's ear. He bolted upright, or at least he would have if the sheets weren't tangled around him. He jerked inside the bed, his reflexes slapping him into consciousness. Finally, he sat up. The shrieking banshee of death was, in fact, the phone. He snatched up the receiver.
"Somebody better be dead," he growled.
"Xander? It's me!"
"Rory?" Xander looked at the clock. "Do you know what time--"
"No, I don't. You know why? Because I just dialed the phone with my tongue."
Xander blinked.
"Do I even want to know?" he asked.
"Just come down to room 420. There's a little packet of tools in my suitcase; bring 'em."
"Okay."
"And some pants."
Xander rubbed his eyes.
"Oh, Rory."
"Just hurry, willya?"
Xander hung up and started to pull on some clothes. He reached into his duffel bag and came up with a T-shirt. It looked dirty. He spread it wide and realized that this was _that_ T-shirt...the one Willow had been wearing when she'd been kidnapped by Pan and taken to Hades' domain. He smelled it; he thought he could detect a faint scent of her on it.
"Not that I'm psycho or anything like that," he muttered as he put on the shirt.
"So."
"So."
Willow and Buffy stood in the lengthy line at the Aquapolis' front desk.
"Do you really think we should get a room here?" Willow asked.
"Why not?" Buffy replied. "We need to find Ledbetter. If this is his hangout, this is the place to be. Besides, we can find Xander and get his help."
"Uh huh." Willow frowned.
"Pretty coincidental, huh? Him being at the same hotel as Xander, that is."
"No."
Buffy looked at her.
"You don't find it coincidental."
"No."
"You don't find it even slightly coincidental that we pulled off the highway and found your ex being held in a cage, and the trail leads to the hotel your semi-requited love is staying at?"
"Nice dangling participle there."
"Don't change the subject!"
"Fine. It's very coincidental. So what? It's not like it means anything," Willow said, folding her arms.
Buffy took a moment to go over that.
"Will...on the weekend we were trying to get away from all this you and Xander stuff, events have unfolded in such a way that you're going to be spending time with him. I mean, that's pretty fate-y."
"It's not fate-y! It means nothing! Nothing I tell you!"
Buffy shook her head with mock sadness.
"Send me a postcard from denial, willya?"
"Fine. As soon as you send me one from Obnoxious, Minnesota."
"You know, you've been in a bad mood this entire trip!"
"Told you you should have let me see the goats."
"I'm glad you find this amusing," Rory said when it was clear Xander wasn't going to stop laughing anytime soon. "Just bring those lockpicks over here!"
The room looked like a tornado had hit it, and it looked like the center of the action had been the bed. The bed to which Rory was currently handcuffed. He lay spread-eagled, both hands attached to the headboard. He was also completely naked other than a conveniently placed cowboy hat. To make things complete, someone had painted his toenails bright pink.
"Well, well, well," Xander said as he walked over to the bed. "What happened here?"
"What happened here was they drugged me, man," Rory said. "After they...y'know, after."
"Really." Xander produced the small plastic packet of tools. "What am I doing with this?"
"Take that long skinny one and put it in the keyhole." Xander did this. "Now fiddle around until you hear a click."
"So...how was it?"
Rory grinned.
"Damn near worth this."
"For you, maybe. It's gonna take me a while to scrub this image outta my head." The handcuff clicked; Xander pulled it open. "There ya go. Want me to do the other?"
"I got it," Rory said, taking the tool.
"They took your clothes," Xander said, shaking his head. "Well, at least some good came of this."
"Hey, that shirt was a classic. But the joke's on them. They didn't get my cash, my credit cards, my..." Rory blinked. "Where's my watch?"
Xander didn't stop laughing until after Rory was dressed.
"Mr. Osborne?"
Vin stepped into the suite. He held a tray laden with bacon, steak and eggs and hash browns. This made him very nervous, not because he was worried about Oz's cholesterol intake, but because it kept his hands full and away from the automatic tucked into his jacket.
Vin was, despite his standing as a professional ass-kicker, a church-going, God-fearing man. All this demon stuff made him uncomfortable. Lem had explained to him--more than once-that these things were a different species, nothing more. Which was easy to say. But dealing with a horned man with bright red skin who called himself the Jersey Devil was something else entirely.
Still, werewolves...that was easy enough to deal with. They were just unlucky slobs who found themselves in the wrong mouth at the wrong time. Vin opened the door to the bedroom and looked inside.
Oz lay on his back, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed. He looked bad, pale and drawn and thin enough to clean drains with.
"Mr. Osborne?" Vin asked again. He walked closer to the bed. "Got that extra breakfast for ya..."
Oz didn't move. Vin bent down to get a better look. If this guy dropped dead, Lem was gonna be out a cool twen--
Before he could finish the thought, Oz's leg lashed out. It kicked the tray of food directly into Vin's face. Vin screamed and fell backward. Before he could get the eggs out of his eyes, Oz was on him; he grabbed the tray and brought it down on top of Vin's head. It was a heavy tray. Vin was out.
"Sorry," Oz said, getting shakily to his feet. "Sorry." He turned to go...then turned back, grabbed a couple of strips of bacon, stuffed them into his mouth and ran.
"Hee hee hee..."
"Shut up."
"Hey, Rory, could I ask a question?"
"No. Shut up."
"No, seriously. I have a serious question."
"*sigh* Fine. Go ahead."
"What time is it?"
"Oh, shut your piehole!"
Xander snickered as the two men walked toward the elevator. Rory looked uncomfortable. The fact that he had no shoes might have been a factor. The fact that he had no underwear might have been an even larger one.
"I don't believe it," Rory muttered as he pressed the UP button. "My watch. I won that watch from Baby Jake Sienkeiwicz in Atlantic City."
"Uh huh."
"It could tell time in four different time zones."
"Right." Xander's smirk was in danger of cracking his face in half.
"And my shoes! You know how hard it is to find alligator skin shoes nowadays?"
"It's a tragedy." Xander faced front as the elevator dinged. "I must say, Rory, that was a sight I thought I would never see--"
The doors opened. Xander gaped. Oz was standing there. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and he had half a piece of bacon sticking out of his mouth.
"...for instance," Xander finished.
"Xander?" Oz asked.
"Oz?" Xander asked.
"Uh...who?" Rory asked.
Oz looked blearily at Rory...then he stumbled forward. Xander caught him and got him back on his feet. He circled around so that he was facing Oz.
"Are you all right, man? What happened?"
"I...these guys...holding me upstairs...I gotta get out."
"Okay," Xander said. "Okay. We'll get you outta here." He tried to lead Oz back into the elevator...but now Oz was resisting.
"Smell somethin'."
"It's probably Rory. Rory, this is Oz. Oz, this is my uncle Ror--"
"Willow."
Xander froze.
"Smell her."
Oz looked up at Xander, confused.
"On _you_."
"Uh..." Xander let go of Oz and started to back away. "Well, yeah. This is--see, she was wearing this shirt..."
"She was wearing your shirt?"
"Rory, get in the elevator and close the door," Xander said, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"What?"
"No..." Oz moaned as he sank to his knees. "No, I'm okay...I can...control...
need my..." He snarled.
"Do it, Rory! Now!"
"What about you?" Rory said as he edged past Oz into the elevator.
"I can't get by him. Maybe...maybe I can talk him down or--"
Oz suddenly raised his head and screamed. As he did, Xander saw that his eyes were black. His jaw was beginning to extend.
"Sorry," he managed to say. Then, a wolf's snarl emerged from his throat.
"Go, Rory!" Xander yelled. As Rory slapped the CLOSE DOOR button over and over, Xander turned and ran.
He was halfway to the stairwell when he heard the howling begin.
Chapter 4
All of this is copyright Joss Whedon,
except the stuff that isn't.
