Trust

by Rob Sorenson

Chapter Twenty-three

*******Laurel Canyon, 9:30 AM*******

Jaime Rosenbloom reclined in his leather office chair and closed his eyes.

“Ok…guess my part of this is pretty much done. I assume you won’t be returning to the warehouse one way or the other?”

He rolled his eyes as his (hopefully) soon to be ex-business associate began her rambling.

The shit I will do for money…

“Sorry to interrupt, hon…I was wondering if you could just give me a simple answer to the question just this once…” He sighed as she began to ramble again. “Yeah, we’ve been over how neglected Miss Edith’s been. It’s time she sees the world. Tea time for the little ones. I got it. Is that your way of saying yes?”

Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m happy Spike always understood you.” Whoever the fuck that is. “Maybe after all this you two can get back-“

He cleared his throat as the voice raised in pitch.

“Whoa, whoa…don’t cry, ok? I’m sure he’ll see what he’s missing.…well, ok, if you wanna tear off his skin in sections, that’s cool too. Whatever…you know, gives the dollies a jolly. Look, don’t you have preparations to make or something?”

He sighed again, this time with visible relief. “Right. Ok, well…thanks for lettin’ me know. Good luck with that whole flaying of your enemies thing.”

The phone was replaced in its shiny brass cradle. “Bitch never answered the fuckin’ question.”

Jaime looked around his palatial office while placing his elbows on top of his custom-made mahogany desk with cherry drawers. Realizing he felt a bit stuffy, he rolled back slightly in his chair and threw open the french doors that led to the stone balcony overlooking his property. Taking a long, satisfying breath, he gazed at the green expanse of his lawn, not for the first time marveling at just how far he’d come.

He’d been born twenty-eight years before, the son of a 7^th Avenue clothes cutter and a part-time maid. Everything about his young life was a study in contrast, starting with his incongruous name. The son of Seth Rosenbloom and the former Julia Marquez had but one thing in common: little Jaime. His first name alone was an enormous bone of contention between Mom and Dad – his father hadn’t been at the hospital when she’d made that decision.

Jaime chuckled bitterly to himself at the memory. Mama’s English was rather limited in those days – she was a first generation American – but there was a keen mind at work within her nonetheless.

How they’d ever hooked up, he would never know for sure…but in retrospect, Mama was a lovely woman, and Pop must’ve looked like a well-to-do businessman. Had his own rent-controlled apartment and everything. Despite their obvious cultural differences, the key body parts were the same…and those body parts knew precisely jack-shit about where anyone came from. They just knew what they liked.

Therefore a New York Jew and a Roman Catholic girl from Panama produced a profoundly unwanted son. If there was one thing their respective faiths shared in common, it was the need to legitimize such happenings post haste. As a result, just one month later a quickly arranged wedding had taken place before Julia could appear more obviously pregnant than she already was.

Six months later, Julia Rosenbloom named her son. It was no accident that, when spelled phonetically, Jaime was an ill-disguised derogatory term for a Jew. On the day of his birth, that choice of name signaled the start of a decade long battle for the little boy’s soul. He’d been baptized at St Patrick’s one Sunday while Papa was attending a convention in Atlantic City; a few short years later (almost before he was able to read), Jaime had been required to memorize the mitzvos of the Torah.

Through immersion on both sides, he was able to speak Yiddish and Spanish conversationally by the time he reached 2nd grade. This strange combination drew whispers from faculty and students alike, a sort of uncomfortable buzz that Jaime forced himself to endure in silence.

Eventually the constant tension at Casa Rosenbloom had been too much; instead of walking straight home from school (even THAT decision had been a carved-out compromise between his parents), he slipped into the pool halls that were whispered about in English class. Perfectly groomed young men, sporting suits that cost more than a month’s rent to his parents, immediately got a kick out this oddball kid. Before he knew it, he had money in his pocket every day…for doing practically nothing! Just a matter of taking a little package down the street a few blocks to a barber shop on Lexington. What could be easier?

Most importantly, no one gave a shit (his mom and dad would’ve smacked him around – another of the few things they had in common - for using such words) whether he wore a yamaca on his head or a rosary around his neck. They seemed genuinely interested in who HE was…instead of laughing at his hodgepodge accent, they ruffled his hair and told him being different got a man noticed.

Plus, they had the coolest names. No one laughed at Tommy “Switchblade” Santana or Bad Mickey Steinman. Who would ever dream of screwing with guys who had names like that? When the other kids – the same ones who had brought him to that pool hall a couple of years before – began having a problem with all the favor Jaime was shown, he found the courage to fight back for the first time in his life. More than once Jimmy (the name he gratefully accepted from the guys) had to be pulled away from a bleeding opponent before someone wound up in the hospital…or worse.

After a while, people started whispering about him in the pool halls and social clubs too…but this time Jimmy didn’t mind in the least.

Two months short of his 13^th birthday, things got even more tense at home as Papa began making noise about the celebration of his Bar Mitzvah. Apparently this had been the straw that broke the camel’s back for Julia. Within a week Jimmy found himself on a plane to California, and he hadn’t seen his father since.

He found a way to stay in contact with the guys in the expensive suits, though. That had been a much higher priority.

Getting inregrated into those kinds of circles in LA had been a much different experience, but Jimmy was nothing if not adaptable. His ability to communicate with anyone was equaled only by his ruthless ambition…and God knew Southern California was a land of opportunity. Rising through the ranks here was much simpler than the well-oiled Outfit machine in the east.

On his eighteenth birthday, Jaime Rosenbloom created his own personal rite of passage by legally becoming Jimmy Royal. His mother hadn’t spoken to him since that day…not that she’d been doing much of that anyway.

Now, as he sat in his sinfully appointed office, Jimmy smiled to himself. In ten short years he’d graduated from a mere numbers runner to a respected member of the local Mob. Once relations with the old guard had been consolidated, he was charged with the responsibility of organizing the lower-level operations in town. Dutifully, Jimmy did his street time, whipping a variety of badly disorganized businesses into shape. Moving quickly from prostitution and drugs to backroom casinos and high-level politics, capos all over the country had been suitably impressed with this wunderkind. All he needed to do after that was make a wise political move or two within the gang. After a few short years he reached his first big goal.

Jimmy Royal was currently the youngest boss of bosses in any major metropolitan area of the United States. Naturally, men such as he made enemies. He’d therefore poured a ton of money into the walled compound in Laurel Canyon where he currently resided. As he’d calcuated, no one squawked as long as the profits kept rolling in. Jimmy had finally crossed over to the right side of the tracks.

His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. He peered at the blinking line; it was the guard from the front gate. Who the hell could be coming here now?

“Yeah, Sam?”

(Mr. Royal, someone’s here requesting to see you.)

He glanced at the clock. “No morning appointments that I know of.”

(Yes sir, I know. Says you’ll want to talk to her anyway.)

He sat back in his chair. “Really? What’s her name?”

(Faith. She won’t give me a last name. Says you’ll know who it is.)

That caused him to sit up in his chair. “You’re shittin’ me, right?”

The voice from the guardshack shook slightly.

(N-no sir. That’s what she said. I can get rid of her-)

“No. Pat her down and send her in.”

(Yes sir.)

“Sam?”

(Yes?)

“Be thorough. Bitch probably ain’t my biggest fan.”

(Right.)

************************************

Faith took a deep breath as the shitheap who worked inside the guard shack put his hands all over her, lingering just a little longer than necessary in certain places.

“I’m not packing.”

The guard stepped away, leering at her as he pressed the button to open the swinging metal gate.

“I am. Can’t you tell?”

Faith raised an eyebrow and glanced at his crotch as she stepped back into her car.

“Actually, I can’t. You know, they have pills for that.”

She drove through the gate without waiting for a response. The winding driveway revealed more of the impressive layout.

The compound was made up of six structures altogether. Three smallish bungalows for the permanent staff came first, closely followed by a pair of larger, more luxurious guest homes for more important visitors.

At the end of the ¼ mile drive stood the compound’s centerpiece: an impressive four story mansion, stretching out over twenty thousand square feet. Faith, though she loved and missed it terribly, often felt that the home she shared with Xander was far too large for two people. This sucker can hold our place three times over. Jesus.

The driveway ended with a loop; Faith veered to the right and made the required semi-circle around the perfectly manicured lawn to reach the front door. She turned off the engine and closed her eyes.

He’s in there. Ok. Hey, not like he’s a demon or anything. Find out what you have to and get out.

After taking a few deep breaths, Faith got out of the car, taking careful note of her surroundings as she walked toward the door. Though she knew better, it felt like she was totally alone as she climbed the white marble staircase, her sneakers making little squeaking noises with each step. Once she got to the polished oak double doors, there was another moment’s hesitation. Finally, after taking another deep breath, Faith reached for the heavy brass door knocker and rapped once, making a sound that reverberated across the quiet landscape behind her.

The door was opened by an exceptionally large man in a tailored suit that looked a couple of sizes too small. Faith gave him a quick once-over, instantly evaluating him as nothing more than a moving blunt instrument. His nose, having been broken one too many times, curved slightly to the left. Overall, a tough guy who was supposed to look that way. She figured he barely knew how to string two words together.

“You Faith?”

“Yeah.”

“This way, please.”

Huh. Three words. I stand corrected. Dude’s polite, too...gotta give him that.

He led her up one flight of stairs. Once they reached the second floor, he turned suddenly, nearly causing her to bump into him.

“I’ve been told to search you.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Been done already.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

Faith found herself slightly impressed; the guy actually sounded genuinely apologetic. She turned around, placing her hands against the wall.

“Enjoy.”

He patted her down thoroughly, but unlike his counterpart at the front gate, took no unnecessary liberties. After a moment, he stepped back and walked down the hall, indicating the room to his left.

“Second door. You want some coffee?”

“Um…no, thanks.” Faith was slightly taken aback.

The big man said nothing more, opening the door and turning around. She stepped across the threshold…and there he was.

“Well…I cannot believe it. It really is you.”

Faith tried to swallow, but found nothing. Jimmy stood, moving around the desk to regard her more closely.

“Christ, you’re even finer. Years have been good to you.”

“Hasn’t been that long,” Faith croaked, cursing the lack of moisture in her mouth.

“For some girls, five years is a fuckin eternity...but I guess you’d remember that, right?”

He turned back to walk around his desk, not hearing Faith’s knuckles crack as she clenched her fists reflexively.

Chill, Faith. Come on.

Jimmy sat back down, gesturing toward the leather chair opposite him.

“Have a seat.”

She complied silently, forcing her hands back to a relaxed position. The gangster regarded her for a moment, then leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head.

“You come alone?”

Faith nodded.

“For all the world, I thought you’d been left for dead in a dumpster or something. Feels like I’m steppin’ into the past.”

Faith said nothing.

“So what happened to you?”

The Slayer shrugged one shoulder lazily. “Got out.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “That much I can put together.”

“Found some people who needed me to leave the life behind.” Which was true enough.

“Yeah? See, that’s the kinda shit that happens when I move up in the world. Discipline goes all to hell. I told Miguel when he took the job ‘Watch all the girls like a hawk, but especially Faith. She’s a slick one.’ Guess he wasn’t listening.”

Faith shifted in her seat. “I came here-“

“Poor Miguel. Man gets the job for what, about a month? Then he winds up getting the shit beat out of him. Were you around for that? Yeah, sure you were. Happened just before you disappeared.”

“Look, Jimmy…I didn’t come here to get all nostalgic-“

“What’d he wind up with, a dozen broken bones or something? The amazing thing is, Miguel swears he never saw the dude’s face. Whole thing drove the poor bastard into early retirement.”

Faith remembered how satisfying the sound of each bone snapping had been…while incarcerated, it had been one of the several things she’d been forced to spend endless hours contemplating. He’s getting to you. Stick to the friggin plan!

“So Faith…what can I do for you?”

“I’m here because there’s some stuff I think you can help with.”

Jimmy smiled slowly. “Now you got me curious. What’s up?”

The Slayer hesitated. Driving over here from the Hyperion, Faith had asked herself exactly how she planned to approach Jimmy. Appealing to his humanity was the first thing she’d checked off her list. The Scoobs had money, but once she got a look at Jimmy’s crib that option went out the window.

That left her with the strongest motivator of all: self-preservation.

“I think you’re involved in some stuff that might be more than you expected.”

Jimmy couldn’t keep himself from laughing. “Do you now?”

That laugh. Faith closed her eyes, desperately trying to stem the tide of sense-memory.

“Vampires,” she grated.

Jimmy tilted his head. “Say again?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah…look, whatever meds you’re taking, might be time to lower the dosage.”

Faith’s eyes flashed open. “You always were the expert on how much to give out.”

Jimmy folded his arms. “Thought we weren’t going down memory lane.”

She swallowed. “Right. Look, why don’t we cut the bullshit?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know you, Jimmy. If you’re running the territory, there’s no way that many employees would disappear without you knowing.”

“That’s nice of you to say. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“They’re killing the pimps and siring the hookers. I need to know why.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Faith ran her fingers through her hair. “Jimmy…I know you never saw a profitable deal you didn’t like, but this is about more than money.”

“See now, that hurts. Not everything is about dollars and cents to me.”

She just stared at him. Jimmy waved his hand around the room.

“All this stuff…it’s great, but you gotta remember…I grew up with nothing. A man like me needs to remember where he comes from. So I came up with little reminders. Everything in this house has a name.”

“Jimmy-“

“You’ll recognize some of ‘em.” He patted his desk. “I call this little beauty Diana. Remember her?”

Faith blinked, momentarily losing her train of thought. Jimmy smiled.

“I see you do. Great little worker. Bitch cleared two grand on a slow night…she just had that certain something, you know?”

Faith spoke tonelessly. “Until she OD’ed.”

“Yeah. Still, she played a part in my getting here. Credit where it’s due, and all that shit.”

He jerked a thumb toward his window.

“Gotta catamaran in the garage I call Marta. She was before your time. Then we have Marcie the marble staircase…you stepped all over her comin’ to my door.”

“Look, it’s not like comin’ here to talk to you is on my ‘to do’ list-“

Jimmy continued as if Faith hadn’t spoken.

“Those are all well and good, but the best of all is downstairs.”

“-but this is kind of an extreme circumstance. You’re in over your head.” Faith forged on, hoping to distract him.

Jimmy’s eyes were shining. “It’s a solid mahogany empire center dining table, resting on paw claw feet. Paid eighteen grand for it.” He leaned forward with a smirk. “Guess who I named that after. I never forgot you, Faith. I think of you whenever I eat.”

She was on the edge of leaping across the desk when the phone rang. Jimmy chuckled.

“Hey, it’s just the phone. Calm down already.” He picked it up. “Yeah?” He frowned. “How long ago?” He stole a glance at Faith; she was taking deep breaths with her eyes closed. “We got any idea who it is? Huh. Ok, check it out and get back to me.”

Jimmy hung up the phone. “Grand Central Fuckin’ Station. Sorry about that. Where were we?”

Faith flexed her fingers. “I was trying to tell you dealing with demons is bad business.”

“Right. Ok, let’s assume that you’re sane for a sec, and I am dealing with a buncha Draculas-“

“There’s only one.”

“Huh?”

“Dracula. Just found that out myself.”

Jimmy stared at her for a long moment.

“Ok, getting back to my point. If I am doing business with vampires, why would you care?”

“Like I said…talkin’ to you isn’t something I ever planned to do again. Thing is, these days I sort of deal with demons a lot-“

She was interrrupted by a discreet knock.

“What?” Jimmy called out. His office door opened, revealing the man who had escorted Faith to the door.

“Sorry to interrupt. We’ve got the guy here.”

Jimmy nodded abruptly and addressed Faith. “Sit tight. This is just starting to get interesting.”

He rose from his desk and walked out, closing the door behind him. Faith cocked her head to one side, concentrating on the whispering going on through the door.

“You run a make on his plate?”

“Yeah. On a hunch, I ran the girl’s, too. They both live at the same address in some little hick town up north called Sunnydale.”

Faith’s eyes widened. Oh God.

Before she could do anything else, the door opened again.

“You said you came alone.”

Faith said nothing. Jimmy shook his head.

“You never could fool me, Faith…or did you forget that?” He raised his voice. “Bring him in.”

Two security guards hauled a struggling Xander into the room.

****Wesley’s Apartment, 10:15 AM****

Dawn always loved the refreshing chill she felt when she stepped out of the bathroom after a hot shower. After the astounding news from Buffy, Xander and Willow, she’d felt the need to establish some space and think.

Not to mention Wesley’s place had hot water that lasted longer than three minutes.

While toweling off, her nose wrinkled slightly…there was a distinct aroma in the house, aside from the vanilla-scented body wash that Wesley loved so much. After taking a moment to run a comb through her hair, Dawn threw on a robe and headed for the kitchen.

Wesley was standing with his back to her, busily busily pouring rice into a good-sized pot. She smiled to herself.

“Whatcha doin’?”

He jerked, causing a few grains of rice to go flying in all directions. Dawn giggled.

“Did I scare you?”

He glared at her with mild amusement. “You walk softly. What of it?”

“Maybe I got some Slayer stealth passed down.” She nodded at the stove. “Cooking?”

“Yes.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Pork chops and rice.”

Dawn raised an eyebrow. “My favorite. So…you DO know it’s 10:30 in the morning, right?”

“Call it a brunch.”

“O…kay. What’s the what here?”

Wesley leaned against the kitchen counter.

“I would only cook this for you. No one else.”

Her face softened, remembering her sarcastic meal suggestion during their argument the night before. “Oh.”

Wes gave her a little grin before stepping toward his refrigerator. He bent over, rummaging for a moment before re-emerging with a bottle of white zinfandel.

“Would you like some?”

Dawn’s eyebrow raised yet again. “Again I say 10:30.”

“I shan’t say a word. Join me?”

“I don’t really want any-“

“Please?”

Whenever he looked at her with those pleading blue eyes, Dawn was a goner.

“Ok…but only because I’m a little dizzy from staring at your butt while you were looking in the fridge.”

They shared a chuckle as he poured two glasses. He proffered one to Dawn, which she accepted with a nod.

“I don’t suppose you would consider reciprocating?”

Dawn paused with the glass at her lips. “What do you mean?”

Wesley tilted his head. “I bent over for you…”

Her cheeks flushed. “I see. I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wyndham Pryce, but I never asked you to bend over for me in the first place. Therefore reciprocation is unwarranted.”

Wes turned back to the stove. “Stop it. You know using large words turns me on.”

They giggled again. Dawn took a sip of wine, then scuffed the linoleum of his kitchen floor with her bare toes, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry.”

Wesley turned around, eyes soft. “As am I.”

“I went a little freakazoid over all this, and it isn’t anyone’s fault but Lilah’s. I know how hard this is for you too.”

“I know perfectly well how strong and capable you are. Disrespecting you is the last thing I would ever wish to do.”

Dawn held out her glass. “A toast to silly people?”

Wesley clinked his glass against hers. “Here, here.”

They took another sip, eyes locked. Without thinking he took two steps across the kitchen and kissed her. Dawn hummed slightly, balancing the wine with one hand while placing her other hand on the back of his neck. She moaned again when his tongue requested entry, which she quickly granted.

His lips held the tart sweetness of the wine.

Wesley pressed his body against hers, placing his own wine glass on the counter so he could run both hands freely across her. Dawn closed her eyes, moaning into his mouth…

And proceeded to spill half a glass of chilled wine down his back.

Wes jumped involuntarily and moved away a step. Dawn’s eyes widened. “Ooh..sorry! Let me clean that-“

She stopped talking when she saw him staring…but not into her eyes.

Her robe had fallen open. Dawn suddenly forgot to breathe.

They stood that way for a long moment, neither saying a word. Finally Dawn swallowed hard.

“You’re going to foam over,” she whispered.

“What?” he whispered back.

She pointed behind him. Wes turned, noticing the boiling water on the stove coming dangerously close to bubbling over the edge of the pot. “Oh!” Quickly grabbing a pair of oven mitts from the drawer, he managed to pull the steaming receptacle off the burner.

“Wesley?” Dawn’s voice had a hoarse quality to it that made him shiver involuntarily. He turned slowly to face her.

She’d removed the robe completely.

*********************************

Faith tried desperately to keep a straight face, but the smirk on Jimmy’s made it clear that effort was wasted.

“Faith, who the fuck is this yutz?”

One of the guards spoke up. “Driver’s license says Alexander Harris.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Yeah…you showed it to me outside, Tony. I’m goin’ for dramatic effect here, ok?”

Tony nodded uncertainly. Jimmy sighed. “Just…hold him still, all right? Can you do that?”

The minion nodded again. Jimmy shrugged at Faith. “He came cheap…unlike you, babe.”

The Slayer swallowed hard. “Jimmy…I didn’t come here to cause any trouble. Trying to help you out, remember?”

The mobster’s eyes lit up. “Right! You were saying something about dealing with demons?”

“Yeah. I know this is gonna sound a little crazy. I’m part of a group of people who deal with this kind of stuff. We think what’s been going on in your neighborhood is part of a bigger plan…something more serious than you might have been told.”

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “So I’m stupid, is that what you’re saying?”

Faith lost patience. “Jimmy, you’ve been doin’ pretty well for yourself, by the looks of things. World ends, those fancy walls you put up ain’t gonna get you an exemption.”

Jimmy took a glance at his underlings for a moment before looking back to Faith with a confused expression. “World ends? As in…”

“You heard me right?”

“Like apocalypse now or something?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I was kidding about you and the meds thing, but now I gotta say I am truly concerned about your mental-“

“Stop playing games, Jimmy! This is serious!”

He chuckled. “Actually, it’s kinda funny.”

“I’ve never lied to you-“

“Sure you have.” Jimmy’s smile faded. “But then, I taught you a lesson about that, as I recall.”

Faith’s porcelain skin paled even further. She spoke through gritted teeth.

“Point is, I’m not lying now. You’re dealing with forces that you can’t possibly understand.”

Jimmy resumed smiling, leaning forward in his chair.

“Again with the callin’ me stupid.”

Xander spoke for the first time. “If the shoe fits…”

Faith gave him a glance with widened eyes. Slowly, Jimmy turned his head toward Xander.

“He speaks.”

“Quite often, actually,” Xander replied.

Jimmy tilted his head. “Lemme guess…sometimes you speak more than you should. Right?”

Faith spoke quickly. “Jimmy, we need to-“

“Hold up. This is interesting.” He kept his eyes on Xander. “You’re shackin’ up with Faith these days, am I right?”

No one spoke. Jimmy shook his head and smiled.

“I got a way of reading people. Kind of a gift, I guess. First thing I noticed was the way your eyes changed when you walked in and saw her.” He nodded toward Faith. “She’s somethin’ ain’t she? Just walks into a room and the temperature goes up a few degrees…and the bitch doesn’t even try.”

Xander’s eyes flashed. “Watch your mouth.”

“Xander…” Faith’s voice was pleading.

“Xander! Oh, Xander!” Jimmy mocked her. He laughed. “Oh, man…this is classic. Faith, you’re not just fuckin’ this guy, are you? You’re in looove.”

The men holding Xander began to chuckle with their boss. Jimmy sighed heavily.

“You didn’t invite Xander along, didja? Well, that’s understandable. Less he knows, the better, right?” He looked back and forth between them, before settling his eyes on Xander.

“I can’t help but wonder how much you really know.”

Xander swallowed. “I know enough.”

“Really? In that case, what are you doin’ following her around?”

Silence.

“I believe in honesty, Xander. Since you came all the way out here, I figure I might as well help you out. What do you wanna know?”

Xander took a deep breath. “Faith already told you. The people who work for you are dying, and she thinks you know something about-“

Jimmy waved his hand. “Oh, hell…not about THAT. I mean what do you wanna know about the best whore I ever owned?”

Xander made a lunge toward him, but one of his captors slammed a set of brass knuckles behind his ear. Faith was halfway out of her chair before anyone could blink, but-

“Sit down, Faith.” Jimmy had pulled the gun out of nowhere. Faith’s eyes darted back and forth between the pistol and her husband, mentally calculating the distance.

“I got no reason to kill you, Faith…not yet. On the other hand, doesn’t take me much to get motivated. Sit…the fuck…down.”

Xander groaned slightly, but remained conscious. Jimmy held his gaze on Faith. Finally, realizing she couldn’t take all three without potentially getting her husband killed, sat back down.

“Good girl. So…Xander, you still with us? Not gonna do anything stupid again, are you? ‘Cause next time, I’ll put a bullet through your girlie’s forehead, nostalgic feelings or not.”

Xander managed to shake his head, giving Faith a view of the blood seeping from behind his ear.

“Ok, then. Story goes a little something like this: back in the day, I spent some time recruiting girls. Inherited some when I took over for the last guy, of course…but they were old, used up. Trash bag whores that were so ugly Stevie Wonder’d get turned off, you know?”

He laughed at his own joke; his minions joined in companionably.

“Anyway, I weeded out the dead wood and kept my eye out for fresh talent. Had some hits and misses…some of the girls just didn’t have the stomach for it. Then one magical day…I found her.”

His eyes fell on Faith, whose face was now devoid of expression.

“She was unreal, man. Twelve years old, goin’ on nineteen. A body that stopped traffic, and an attitude to match. Poor thing was starving, though…ribs showin’ and everything. I gave her a little money for food and my address.”

Jimmy grinned. “When someone’s hungry enough, you’d be amazed at what they’ll do to survive. Worked every time. Eventually, Faith sought me out.”

His shook his head in feigned amazement. “Xander, you ever see that movie with the fucked up dude who could count all the toothpicks in a box after they went flyin’? What was the name of that?”

“Rain Man,” one of the guards said.

“Yeah…that’s the one. See, I made it my policy to test drive every model personally before letting any of ‘em out on the lot. Faith didn’t have a hell of a lot going on upstairs, but in the sack…damn. To this day, there’s never been anyone like her, and I’ve damn near had ‘em all. What was it the guy said in the movie again?”

He leered. “She was an excellent driver. Right, Faith? Nobody steered like you.”

Xander lurched toward him again, causing his captor to raise his hand to strike. He froze when a soft, yet somehow intimidating voice spoke behind him.

“I wouldn’t touch him if I were you.”

All eyes turned to the doorway. Buffy stood there, aiming a crossbow directly toward the guard’s head. She turned to Jimmy, blinking innocently.

“I’m sorry…did I interrupt anything?”

His smile slowly dissipated. “Who the fuck are you?”

Buffy smiled softly. “You can call me backup. Now…obviously dialogue has broken down here, so what do you say we change the topic?”

“How did you get in here?”

“Oh, sorry. Not the topic choice I had in mind.”

Jimmy’s eyes filled with rage. “You wanna get cute with me?” He nodded toward Faith. “I’ll kill her right where she sits.”

Buffy’s face went blank. “Then I’ll put an arrow through your goon’s head.”

The gangster smiled cruelly. “No great loss to me. Go ahead. I’ll trade dead bodies with you. Oh, and just a friendly reminder-” Jimmy waved the gun slightly “-you brought a fuckin’ bow to a gunfight. By the time you get that medieval piece of shit reloaded, I can put a hole in everyone in this room.”

Buffy hesitated. Jimmy’s eyes bore into her. “Your move, babe.”

The blonde Slayer sighed. “Ok. How about we take a break?”

“What?”

Buffy looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue. “You know…a timeout. Everybody agrees not to move, then you can reconsider your game plan.”

Jimmy looked at Faith while shaking his head in disbelief. “Is everyone you know fuckin’ stupid?”

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck when the brunette Slayer smiled slightly.

“Sometimes, yeah. On the other hand…”

He frowned, darting his eyes toward his men. Both of them were looking over his shoulder.

“Nice french doors,” Riley said from the balcony. “I’ve always liked these.”

There was an audible click as the soldier cocked his pistol inches from the gangster’s skull.

Buffy looked to the ceiling. “What were those words again? Oh yeah.” She looked back to Jimmy with an arctic smile.

“Your move…babe.”

- End Chapter Twenty-three -