3

Angel really hadn’t decided how he felt about this whole thing when the issue was forced.

It was strange, but he sensed him before he even opened the office door; it was something like an itch between his shoulder blades, along with the certain sense that another vampire was trespassing on his territory. He felt a surge by Angelus, a spike of anger, but he tamped it down. The most distressing thing about this awakening of the Aurelius gene - or whatever it was exactly - was it seemed to make Angelus stronger, in spite of his soul. But he still had no problem keeping him down, so perhaps Angelus wasn’t the only one who had gotten a new shot of power.

He steadied himself before opening his office door and looking out at the man who had just entered - Bren’s boyfriend, Kier. Bob, Logan, and Brendan had all been right: he was very attractive, with sharp cheekbones that could have cut and a fine boned face that would have looked fantastic on a thirty foot high screen. Instead of the slight pallor of the vampire making him looked washed out and ghoulish, it just highlighted the almost supernatural blue of his eyes, and his glossy black hair didn’t make him look Goth; he just looked fashionable, striking, a male model dressed down in a sleeveless t-shirt advertising a Death Valley motorcycle club and form fitting blue jeans. He smiled upon seeing him, flashing pearly whites that must have been capped when he was still alive.

“Hey,” he began cheerfully, holding out his hand. “I’m -”

“In my office,” Angel said coldly, turning away and walking back inside.

What word had Bren used to describe him? “Starfucker”. Angel had always thought that referred to groupies, and he didn’t have groupies; vampires couldn’t have groupies.

Could they?

Oh hell. He blamed Anne Rice. If she didn’t make those goddamn rock star vampires, this never would have happened. Or at least not as much.

Kier came in and shut the door behind him, his body posture suggesting wariness while he kept the loose, friendly expression on his face. Bren was right - as actors went, he wasn’t bad. “I realize Bren probably pulled some strings to get you to -”

“Bob paid you a visit. Do you remember?”

He paused, cocking his head to the side, and just as he was about to speak, it was clear he did remember. Horror blossomed in his eyes, and they widened enough that Angel thought they might fall out of his sockets. Bob hadn’t made him forget the visit he paid to him, just made him dismiss it, like an idle thought. “Who the hell was that?” he finally asked, his professional smile gone. “I thought that was the Decapitator.”

“Bob was in his body. Don’t ask, it’s a long story, but it was only temporary. Here’s what you actually need to know. He’s King of the Belials, and -”

Kier gasped almost explosively. “Shit! That was Maximum Bob?” So he’d heard the name. Not a big surprise. He simply nodded, and Kier looked just horrified. “Oh fuck me. He’s a friend of yours?”

That made Angel hesitate, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s an … acquaintance. The point is, I know what you’re after, and so does Brendan.”

Kier met his gaze levelly, slightly chagrinned but unbowed. “You can’t lie to him.”

“It’s his kingdom. You’d be a fool to try.”

Although he exhaled as if still shocked, Angel had to give him grudging credit; he hadn’t broken down and begged for forgiveness, started making excuses, or run screaming from the room. “Fine, you know I want in. What do you think?”

He stared at him a minute, making Kier shift foot to foot nervously before he responded. “I don’t appreciate you using Bren.”

He held up his hands in a warding off gesture. “I like -”

“I don’t care that you actually like him,” Angel snapped. “In the beginning he was nothing but a means to an end to you, and I don’t think that screams “trust”, do you?” Kier at least had the decency to look down at the floor, although it could have been more acting; it was going to be hard to tell with this one, he just knew it. “And all those people out there are not putting their lives on the line every day just so they can become “notorious”. They do it because they’re dedicated to fighting evil, and if you think I’m going to take you on just because you’re Brendan’s boyfriend, you’re mistaken. You want to do some good with your miserable undead existence? Fine, but you earn your place, and none of this show business crap, Kieran.”

Angel then moved, fast enough to even startle himself. He went from standing there to having Kier pinned up against the wall, a hand around his throat in a crushing grip. Kier’s eyes bulged and he grabbed the wrist of the hand around his throat, but to his continued credit, he didn’t try and fight. “If you try and fuck Brendan over, or fuck any of us over, I will personally rip your head off with my own bare hands. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” he agreed, his voice a gravelly croak.

He had not been thrilled with Logan’s cold blooded idea of using Kier until he proved to be a liability, just because he tried to use Bren. And yet there was a certain ruthless logic to it. Another vampire on their side - for whatever dubious reason - and one with such connections in the underground, could only be helpful. Until he screwed them over, of course, but Angel had little doubt he could take this young punk with his eyes closed (new powers or not). And for his part, Kier seemed to understand who was the alpha vampire around here, and wasn’t even trying to challenge him.

Although something in him wanted to squeeze Kier’s neck until his head popped off, he fought the urge and let him go. He stepped back and gestured towards the door. “Should we?” He made it a question, but it wasn’t one. Kier nodded, rubbing his throat, and led the way back out into the front office.

Bren had been sitting tensely behind his desk, apparently trying to decide if he should rush in if he was trying to stake him, or just let nature take his course. Although he looked vaguely relieved, he also looked just a little worried, as if it wasn’t necessarily a positive development.

The day was still overcast and grey, but the blinds were drawn anyways, giving the front office a slightly gloomy atmosphere. Bren was behind his desk, the blue glow of the computer screen highlighting his face, while Giles and Naomi sat close to each other on the sofa, pouring over some of Giles’s older, moldier volumes salvaged from the old Watchers headquarters in London. Everyone looked up as they came out, but tried to pretend that they didn’t think anything monumental happened.

Kier clapped his hands together, as if nothing had happened at all, and asked, “So you all know who I am?” There were nods all around. “Okay, I’ll just get right to the point then. There’s something weird going on down in the sewers, and I thought you might want to check it out, as that’s your milieu.”

“The sewers?” Giles asked facetiously.

Kier gave his a reproving look. “No. Weird things.”

Angel leaned against his door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Like what exactly?”

“A bunch of Minawarans have gone missing, and they left all their stuff behind. And Ted - the patriarch of the clan - he loved L.A.; he found a great garbage spot. Why would he go?”

Naomi fixed him with a steady stare. She’d dyed her razor cut hair an icy shade of pale blue, a very odd color, and it looked surprisingly good on her. It also seemed to be a vaguely electrical color, so it was probably more appropriate to her powers. “Garbage?”

Giles shifted slightly, looking up from his book. He was wearing his contacts today, otherwise Angel was certain he would have straightened his glasses before launching into Watcher explanation mode. “Minawarans are scavengers; they do no hunting on their own, they simply clean up after other demons and people. Non-violent and not often seen by others.”

“They’re also pack rats,” Angel continued. “They never throw anything away.”

Kier nodded vigorously. “Exactly. But they left their whole nest down there; I’ll show you. It’s really weird. And I’ve heard from some others that they’re not the only ones who went into the sewers and never came back out.”

Now Giles sat forward and closed the book he was reading. “There’s something hunting in the sewers?”

Kier shrugged, and looked genuinely baffled. “I’ve got no fucking idea. I haven’t seen anything weird, but as far as I know, no vampires are missing. Just a bunch of other demons. And maybe a person.”

The silence that filled the office after that revelation was almost portentous. “Maybe a person?” Giles repeatedly sharply, breaking the silence.

Kier grimaced, realizing that maybe he should have started with that. “A sewer worker, one who works for the city supposedly went missing down in the tunnels the other day. But there’s so many vamps using it it’s like the underground L.A. Freeway - somebody could’ve grabbed him for a snack.”

“Except most vampires are smart enough not to do that,” Angel riposted. “A worker missing brings more people into the tunnels, including those with weapons. Even the dumbest vampires knows it’s in their best interest not to garner too much attention to their daytime sanctuary.”

“Well, true.”

“So either we’re dealing with a really dumb vampire, or some kind of sewer monster?” Naomi asked, sounding dubious.

“I doubt even a desperate vampire would eat a Minawaran,” Giles told her. “I’m leaning towards sewer monster.”

She fixed him with a wry stare. “You’re going to tell me there’s a whole bunch of them, aren’t you?”

Giles grimaced sheepishly. “Define a “bunch”. There’s a large amount of species that could be causing havoc. We’re going to need some kind of evidence to narrow it down to a manageable level.”

“I can take you to Ted’s nest,” Kier volunteered. “But I don’t think there’s much there to help.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Angel said, as Giles and Naomi both stood up, preparing to leave.

It could have been a trap, but Kier wasn’t stupid - he wouldn’t try that so soon, or so blatantly. Still, Angel intended to watch him, and keep a close eye on him for some time to come.

He was going to betray them - it was a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t shake. He just hoped it didn’t kill Brendan when he did.

****

Although he was surprised by his presence, Tony was just too cool to show it. He bowed deeply at the waist, and said, “Thank you for your timely arrival, Ms. O’Hanlon. And it’s good to see you again, Logan.”

Before he could go on, Logan told him, in Japanese (so Faith didn’t understand it), “I’m just here for her. I’m not ready to forgive you yet, but I’m not gonna let that color her future. Just so we’re clear.”

He dipped his head, looking mildly disappointed but not terribly surprised. “I understand.”

Faith raised her hand and waved it. “Uh, guys? Don’t speak Japanese over here.”

Tony faced her with a small but genuine smile. “All apologies. Logan is so fluent in the language he sometimes doesn’t realize when he’s speaking Japanese.”

And Tony just gave him an out. Did he think this would give him brownie points? He sighed, and admitted to a slightly suspicious Faith, “Um, yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I hear it all the same in my head, and sometimes it takes me a moment to realize what I’m actually speaking.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

She stared at him in mild surprise. “Really? Weird. So how many languages do you speak exactly?”

Damn - she had to ask that question. He shrugged helplessly. “I dunno. Quite a few, I guess. I worked as an interpreter before I lost my memory.”

“His language is impeccable,” Tony concurred, probably talking about his Japanese. (Or maybe his English; he knew some people were surprised he could string complete sentences together.)

Faith clearly seemed confused, but decided not to pursue this immediately. Maybe she’d ask about it in private later on. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Logan gestured towards the luxury sedan. “Shall we go?” Tony had people who would transfer Faith’s stuff to her place, with such efficiency that they’d probably beat them there. How nice was it to have people who did things for you?

“Of course,” Tony agreed, and stepped aside, so Ehud could open the back door. Tony stepped back and motioned for Faith to get in, and she did, but when Tony looked at him, Logan simply shook his head. “I’ll be up front.”

Ehud was wearing black bodyguard issue sunglasses, but he was pretty sure he saw a muscle in his jaw clench. What, wasn’t he looking forward to having some company?

Ehud got in the driver’s side, and Logan went around to the passenger side and slid in. He was glad to shake the feeling of someone staring at him; probably one of the workers in the hangar across the way. He was tired of assholes staring at him, but it happened enough that he knew he couldn’t really let it get to him.

Even though the car wasn’t a limousine, there was still a bulletproof glass partition between the back seat and the front, guaranteeing an extra level of both safety and silence. As Ehud started the car, he looked at him sharply from the side of his sunglasses, and he saw Ehud’s eyes were an oddly light grey, the color of an overcast day. “Are you putting on your belt or not?” he asked, in a clipped, stern tone. His voice just had a trace of an Israeli accent, but most of it was gone. How long had he been working for Tony? Or out of Israel, for that matter?

Logan shrugged. “Don’t need it.”

“You enjoy flying out through the windshield?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just started driving. “You’re a show boater.”

“I am not! I just figured you were a better driver than that. But, if you’re shit at it …”

He grunted in ill humor. “Going to have to do better than that.”

Logan felt he was starting to get that. Ehud seemed like a smoldering cauldron of strength, just waiting to pop its lid and swamp your sorry ass. That was professional control, not necessarily easily learned. “So how long were you in the Mossad?” he wondered. Ehud simply glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Quick and cold, and it told him all he needed to know: he was never going to admit such a thing to a civilian. “Wow, that long? You don’t look that old.”

“You should talk.”

“Touché.” He looked out at British Columbia sliding by, trying to figure out where they were. This wasn’t Vancouver but the outskirts, a semi-private airport used by weekend pilots and the otherwise wealthy, but too legit for most drug flights. It was generally a rural locale, though, farmlands and meadows greeting them as they drove away. There was a roan horse wearing a blue blanket cropping grass behind a split-rail fence, hardly swishing its tail as they passed.

To his surprise, the statue generally known as Ehud broke the silence. “In spite of what you said to Mr. Tagawa, I presume you’ve heard.”

There were a couple of things he had to puzzle out before he could respond. First of all, he hadn’t said much of note to Tony with Faith listening, so Ehud must speak Japanese. (Well duh. It was probably a job qualification.) But he still couldn’t puzzle out the second. “Heard what?”

Again that glance from the side of his sunglasses, furtive and yet strangely all-encompassing. He was starting to wonder how Ehud had ended up here. “You’re telling me this is coincidence?” He snorted derisively and shook his head. “What a weird world.”

Okay, now he was starting to dislike this. “What? What the fuck have you heard?”

He sighed, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. “They put Mr. Tagawa back on the hit list again.”

“Who’s “they”?”

“Who do you think? The Triad and the Yakuza.”

Yeah, he should have guessed that. He rubbed his eyes and tried to decide if he should cut that fucking glass shield down or just yank the steering wheel out of Ehud‘s meaty hands and send them careening to the side of the road first. “He’s bringing Faith into the middle of a fucking gang war?”

“He doesn’t know about it yet. I’ve been monitoring the situation and they seem to be waiting for something. They’ve made no move to implement anything.”

Logan found it hard to believe that Tony didn’t know something - information was his bread and butter - but Ehud wasn’t lying. (If Tony did actually know, he didn’t know about it.) “What are they waiting for?”

He shrugged, his shoulders rolling beneath the dark fabric of his jacket, and from the way Ehud briefly grimaced, it pained him to admit not knowing something (probably not as much as actually not knowing something. It reminded him of a line from that movie The Constant Gardener: “Only God knows everything. He works for Mossad.”) “I can’t even guess, and it bothers me.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Could they be waiting to see which went after him first? Leaving the testing of the defenses to the other group? No, that wouldn’t make sense, because what if the first group in was successful? Neither of them would want to take that chance, and besides, they were probably both inordinately confident of their ability to take out Tony whenever they wished it. “Why do they even want him?”

Wrong thing to say. He got that icy, disdainful glance, and it occurred to Logan he would never have wanted to be interrogated by Ehud. He had the withering look down to a science. “Okay, scratch that, I know why they want him: they blame him for that whole anodyne deal going down the crapper, and they hold pointless grudges like that.”

“Revenge is never pointless,” Ehud corrected him. “It is its own point.”

Great, now he was a philosopher too. The fact that he was right didn't make him any less annoyed with him. On the one hand, it was good they were holding back, as that didn't put Faith in immediate danger; on the other hand, it was bad because it made no fucking sense, and if the gangs made no sense, it made them unpredictable. That in itself was not good.

"I thought you had come to help," Ehud continued, his voice taking on a sharp edge. It implied 'if you're not here to help, why are you wasting my fucking time'. "You had a rather large role in the anodyne affair yourself."

"Only 'cause Tony wasn't clear about his intentions. Your boss lied to me, in case you've forgotten."

"He didn't lie; he only omitted certain facts. Hardly the same thing."

Logan scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. Only ex-Mossad could see deliberate lying and "omission of certain facts" as different things. "Either way, it was shitty, and you know it. He just wanted me in to scare the Yakuza."

"And it worked. But it's funny, you don't look Japanese at all, Yashida."

He glared at him, but Ehud didn't glance at him, only briefly smiled at himself in the rearview mirror. Smug bastard. "Now you want me in again to scare them. Fuck you, turn this car around, drop me back at the airport."

"What about your girlfriend?"

"She can come with me. I'm just too old for this bullshit." But he paused then, and realized how suspicious that smile was when he called him Yashida. "Wait just a fucking second. What d'ya know about me?"

He sighed in a manner that was almost wistful. "Not enough to let you near Mr. Tagawa, but he insists you're all right."

"Fuck your shit. Answer me straight - what does the Mossad know about me?"

The glance he got this time was frosty but sly. "I don't know why you insist I was Mossad. Just because I'm a big Israeli doesn't make me Mossad."

He glared at him. "Marc told me you were ex-Mossad, and he doesn't make up racist shit. He knows you are, and I do too. I also know from all this information you seem to have that you still have contacts in the agency. So come on, Hebrew Hammer, what are you afraid of?"

Now all the calculation was gone from his look. It was simply cold, like his eyes were frozen solid in a baleful glance. "Not you."

He was considering punching him, or better yet just popping the claws and holding them up to his throat, but Logan saw something moving fast out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see it.

It was a large SUV type vehicle, black as night, coming at them from a crossroads at probably somewhere around a hundred miles per hour. Ehud had noticed it at the same time, but instead of braking - which was the natural, instinctive response - the bodyguard showed he had defensive driving skills drilled into him with astonishing depth, as he instantly threw the car into reverse (the engine clunked like it hated this so much it wanted to fall out and hitch a ride with a nicer driver, but it didn't). He burned rubber backwards at an equally astonishing speed, attempting to avoid the collision, showing off just how scarily fucking good he was at his job.

But it was both too late, the SUV was just barreling down at them at ramming speed, and too little, as suddenly another black SUV filled the rearview mirror, driving up from a copse of trees to block their retreat. Ehud probably would have rammed them anyways, but never got the chance - the first SUV slammed into their front end, sending the car spinning like a bottle in a child's kissing game. The glass in the passenger side window erupted on impact, showering him with glass, Logan felt chips of it bury themselves in his cheek, and he grabbed on to the edge of his seat so hard his claws popped and dug into the leather seat, trying to give him a solid object to hang on to.

Even as they were thrown around with whiplash inducing centrifugal force, Ehud fought to get the car under control, trying to turn the spin into an escape opportunity. Considering he was nothing but a normal Human (admittedly a normal Human with a frightening amount of training), it was an amazing thing to watch. The most amazing thing was he was starting to get it to, the wheels that had turned to jelly beneath them were solidifying as Ehud wrestled the steering wheel like a wild beast, getting the thing to respond to his control.

But the car was then slammed from the rear by the second SUV, and they went tumbling roof over floor into a small gully on the opposite side of the road, the glass shattering with an explosive noise as the metal warped and screamed.

Logan braced himself for impact as best he could, but he already knew that this was going to be bad.

The world finally stopped its end over end tumble, but the floor was now the ceiling, and Logan found himself bruised and bloodied but miraculously conscious, and he knew why - his claw. Still rammed in the seat, he had managed to keep himself tethered, so while he was thrown around, he never went too far in any one given direction. Of course he’d nearly wrenched his arm out of his socket, but kept the muscles locked around his shoulder so they’d be more likely to tear than pop his arm out of the socket. Torn muscles healed a lot faster than a dislocated arm.

He retracted his claws as he steadied himself on the floor (ceiling), and as broken glass shifted and settled, he looked around, wiping blood out of his eyes. (It was the flying glass in a car crash that always took it out on you.) Ehud’s seatbelt held, so he was still sitting in his seat even though he was upside down, his tie dangling down like a useless limb. Blood was dripping from his face, but only from surface glass cuts; he appeared unconscious, but not badly hurt. If his seatbelt held, then Faith’s and Tony’s probably did too; everyone was probably all right, or as close to it for this bad a crash.

But the danger was still present, and it had nothing to do with the car crash itself, just the cause of it.

He heard one engine stop, while the other remained on the road, the idling of its engine a low purr. He didn’t bother to kick open the door, just slid out through the busted passenger window, glad he wasn’t on the side facing the road. But he was only half way out, shattered glass grinding into his belly, when he heard a man shout in clear, accented Japanese, “Come out slowly with your hands in plain sight, Yashida, or we will be forced to shoot out the gas tank and burn your friends to a crisp. They do die, yes? Shall we see?”

Son of a bitch. Were they never content to hurt him? Why did they always have to lash out at the people around him? But even as he thought it he knew the answer as well as those fucks on the roads with their guns: they did kill him, he just never stayed dead. Other people, now they had a better tendency to obey simple physical laws. Mariko wasn’t walking around, was she?

“One … ” the man said, as some guns were cocked, magazines slammed home, gravel sliding down the hillside as men adjusted their footing. Smell and sound had him guessing there were maybe half a dozen men, but things were too screwed up at the moment - his nostrils too heavy with the scent of blood, gasoline, and exhaust;  his brain still a little rattled from the roller coaster ride down the gully -
for him to trust it. He needed a look to properly gauge the amount of men he’d be facing. “Two …”

He had a sick feeling he knew what the Yakuza and the Triad had been waiting for all this time.

Him.