Drink Me

Spike sat on the motel room’s floor, he was in his usual garments, the leather duster lay on the bed beside him, and he had decided screw subterfuge, as that really hadn't worked so far. He had also very carefully positioned steel reinforcements in the toes of his Doc Martins, he was ready to kick ass, what he needed was ass to kick.

He looked at the phone on the bedside table for the fiftieth time, "Should I ring 'em, should I get Giles and Xander and the others 'ere?"

No!, he would have to wait for them to turn up, and the Slayer might be long gone by the time they arrived. She might be long gone already.

He had noticed the way that the wretched bartender had looked at him, he had made a bloody awful mistake. Someone must have recognized him and told the bloke, then two and two had been put together.

Spike looked at the clock on the wall, three hours to go. "Three bloody hours to go, I better find 'er or by god some fuckin' bastard is going to die."

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

Browne sat at a table in a small rented house in Santa Monica, he was in a windowless room that opened onto the garage into which he had driven the van.

It was his secondary hideout, he had secured it the night he went to Sunnydale and he had realized how bad things might get. A call to a realtor who knew how vampires operated had been all it took. A bundle of cash and a vacant property with electrically operated garage door was his, he had stopped off here long enough to be invited in then gone about his business.

There was some danger that Bakull might hear about it, but Browne had been hunted many times in the past 118 years and he was ready for whatever happened.

On his way here he had found a deep underpass and not caring if he was seen had dumped the bodies. A slash down the torso to cut the belt buckle of the equipment harnesses the men wore, and then they were tossed to the ground like the dead meat they had become.

The items gathered lay before him now, seven submachine guns, nine pistols and a mass of ammunition. He had enough weapons to start a war, this was good, he intended to.

Carefully cleaning a Colt Semi-automatic Browne reflected on what he had to do, find Bakull, then from the Turk get the location of Lord Charlie B. Neither would be easy, they moved around, vampire politics tended to be a matter of blood feud and surprise attack, neither wanted to be fucked up the ass by a rival. Both of them had armed men or vampires guarding their backs for that very reason.

So who could tell him were Bakull would be tonight. Sliding a loaded magazine into the pistol Browne knew where he had to go, to the Silver Snake and who to torture when he got there.

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

Buffy slept deeply, she was still wearing her blue silk pyjamas, but she was not in her bed.

The box was six foot in length by four in width and three foot high, it was metal, magically enhanced metal at that, and upholstered inside for its passengers comfort. Buffy easily fitted inside.

It lay in the middle of the concrete floor of Bakull's hanger, between the two Lear Jets he owned for short-haul flights around his empire, LA, Frisco, Vegas and San Diego. Sunnydale?, who needed it, who wanted the world destroyed with so many humans corrupted by his money.

Six vampires and four humans lounged around inside the hanger, other mortals patrolled the area outside. Nobody touched the box, nobody thought to open the box. Bakull had made it clear if he caught the scent of any of his servants on the Slayer they would all die slowly. Having all at one time or another witnessed what that meant they weren't curious as to whether or not the Slayer was as beautiful as was claimed.

Drugged, Buffy slept. She did not dream.

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

Bakull was in his most secure stronghold, a network of caves dug down into the rock of the Verdugo Mountains. A mansion covered the entrance way into his 'bat caves', he did not usual bring his business associates here but this was a special occasion.

He sat beside an inlaid desk, he wore a Savile row suit, the tailor had been handsomely rewarded for the risk of flying over to measure such a client. A box of Havana’s lay open before him and he puffed on one contentedly as the lift brought Lord Charles and his Minions down to meet him.

The Peer had flown in reinforcements, eight vampires followed him from the lift, eight vampires who carried slung automatic weapons. The Turk just smiled, the wall behind him was lined by his men and in the balconies above, one in each corner of the room, were mounted M-60's he had acquired from a contact at Camp Pendleton, the crews were all turned Marines he had obtained at the same time.

"Charles, how good of you to come," Bakull rose and extended a hand, the English nobleman looked at it like it was a poisonous viper. "What, no handshake......a pity, please take a seat."

"Bugger take a seat!" Lord Charles sent a trail of spittle down his chin so passionately did he speak. "And bugger you!, where's the girl?"

"You are an offensive piece of shit......" Hands went for guns in both sides, but the dry click of machine guns being cocked made the English vampires look up and take note. "And if you were not so rich, you would die here and now."

"We have a deal......" It was hissed, this was what came of dealing with trade, rather than a gentleman. "How dare you try to cheat me."

"What do you think I am?" Bakull smiled and picked his cigar back up. "An Anatolian Goatherd just of the boat from Istanbul. I have dwelled in this country for seventy years, and I have learned its ways, a million for the Slayer, do you think me a fool?"

"That was the price we agreed!" Spittle landed on the desk, if the Peers heart had been working he would have been clutching his chest by now.

"Today I lost sixteen of my men, expensively recruited. I have invested time and money and now blood in this venture." The Turk flicked some ash away. "Browne is alive, his mate is dead, he is a strange creature half English half Pushtun. The English are a martial race, the Pushtun are a mountain one. Tell me Lord Charles do you know the meaning of the term pukhtunwali?"

"You bloody know I don't," having realized that anger would get him nowhere the Peer grew calmer. "Get to the point man."

"It is the honour code of the Pushtun, it obliges them to grant hospitality and shelter to any who ask it," now Bakull's voice took on a dangerous note and he crushed the cigar out. "And to avenge with blood any insult or injury, no matter how long it takes, unless the opposing party offers a payment of blood money in recompense. You have thus plunged me into a blood feud, this increases the price for now I must hunt Browne down and kill him, ere he kills me, unless by some miracle I could persuade him to let the matter rest for money. A approach I would find difficulty in making to him since he will keep in the shadows and which would anyway cause me a loss of face."

Without offering his guest one Bakull selected another cigar and prepared to light it.

"I took a trip today to the place were I have hidden the Slayer, she is a rose, a golden one." Now Bakull spat neatly just between his guests feet. "You would besmirch her, I would cultivate her. I do not think that I could make her love me but I would in time bring her to a condition where she would kiss the hand she could not bite. If I give her to you she will be destroyed"

"This also increases the price."

Even though he had thought he was long past such experiences Lord Charles began to feel a cold sweat on his back, he knew that if he did not strike a deal the Turk would kill him and keep the girl for himself. He asked the all-important question.

"How much?"

"Six million dollars."

"Done!" The Beresford family fortunes had just taken a beating but the Peer was confident of recovering the money if he got the Slayer home. "I'll have the funds transferred once you deliver the girl to me, prove you have her and I will make the preparations today."

"One of your men, one cell phone." Bakull shrugged he would rather have the money that an unexploded Slayer in his cellars any day, but he was aware from Beresford’s immediate fold that if he had asked for ten he might have got it. "He will be taken to the hiding place, once he phones you we will arrange the handover for tomorrow night. You may go now, I grow tired of you."

Inwardly seething the English vamp retreated to the lift. *First thing I'm doing once I have the gal house broke is to bring her back here, I'll show the bugger cultivation!!!"

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

Smoking very slightly, Spike dived behind the wheel of his De Soto and headed off the Motel lot, the dying rays of the setting sun had been bearable, he might have a tan for a few days but little more. Rapidly he headed for his destination, The Silver Snake Club.

He arrived as proper darkness fell, he parked round the back and as quietly as possible headed up the fire escape.

The building was under the protection of both organized crime and vampires, therefore security around back could afford to be lax. Spike headed for the third storey a window there had steel shutters either side of it, just the target he was looking for, the office.

A glance inside revealed he was in luck, two people, one a vampire one a human sat drinking at a desk, both well dressed. The vampire owners representative and the club manager at a guess, both well informed, one more easily tortured than the other, Spike morphed and rising too his feet kicked the glass in.

The earlier visit had been handy; an all welcome sign had given him all the leave he needed for future visits, now he made the most of it.

Regardless of broken glass he dived in, the vampire was trying to pull a stake from a coat pocket, Spike was faster he drew and hurled his stake straight into the vampire’s heart. Even as the dust flew Spike was diving onto the mortal dragging him back from a panic button.

"Oh no you don't cully, I've a problem you can help me with mate." Spike's clawed fingers covered the man's mouth. "Where's the Slayer?"

Allowed to breath a little the man replied. "Slayer, don't know what your talking about...ouuuffh."

Spike's knee came out of the mans groin and spewing he was dropped to the floor. "And for that you get a kicking to....."

The sound of a gun being cocked halted Spike's Doc Martin in mid air. "Sorry sonny can't let you do that, you kick 'im to death and I 'aint goin' to find out what I needs to know."

A vampire was leaning through the window Spike had opened, aiming an SMG at Spike.

"You from London, mate?" Spike calculated the distance to his stake. "Small world, isn't it?"

"Not small enough for you to reach that before I kill you," the vampire smiled. "My names James Cahill Browne, an’ from the way your dressed, I'd say your Spike, we 'ave a mutual need for info, mate, care to join forces?"

"Don't you work for the toffs?" Spike was taking in bandaged hands and ragged clothes. "Or 'ave you 'ad a falling out with ‘em?"

"Could say that we ‘as gone our separates yes." Browne nodded towards the mortal, who was lying doggo hoping to be forgotten. "He knows where the bloke who's got your Slayer is, but kicking 'im to death wont 'elp. Lift 'im up an let me ask nice."

"What the fuck do you think I'd tell you for....." The man looked round wide-eyed. "What you can do to me ain't nothing to what Bakull will, I'm gonna die easier with you than him."

"Where does he rest tonight scum?" Browne came in and put down the gun, then drew the long butchers knife he had taken from the first Pushtun he had killed all those years ago. "You are dead already, yes that's true, but it will not be easy, I will cut the appendages and extremities from thy foul carcass and make you eat them raw and slice the eyes from your head. Or it can be swift."

Spike wished he could look away as the vampire advanced on them, there was the sharp smell of urine as their prisoner fouled himself. "No, I can't tell."

"Spike, put his left hand on the desk." Much against his will the blond vampire pinned the hand down. "There are fifteen joints per 'and, that's fifteen cuts a side."

The knife flashed and the tip of the mans little finger was sliced away, "Or maybe faster, why don't I take your thumb."

Trying to scream past Spike's hand the man almost passed out. "We could lock you in that car outsides boot, come on my son, do you want to go to Allah slashed about, I won't kill you if you tell."

"The Verdugo mountains, a country road just past Woodbury University heading north on route 5, head up there till you reach a white mansion its unmissable, please don't cut me anymore."

They had to get him to repeat it without Spike's hand in the way before they were satisfied, the two vamps exchanged looks. "What's in it for you?" Spike asked first.

"Revenge, I want the buggers dead." Browne wiped his knife blade clean. "Before I kill Bakull I'll make him tell you were your girl is, 'ow's that sound."

"Like a deal, do you think he's telling the truth." Spike gave their sobbing, bleeding, stinking victim a shake.

"Yeah," Picking up his gun Browne headed for the window. "Kill 'im."
"But you said....." Spike began.

"I said I wouldn't kill 'im, an you look pale." the vetala looked back at his new partner. "Best feed whilst you've a chance."

*Common sense enough,* Spike bit home and drank, he'd promised not to kill in Sunnydale, this was LA.

"Shall we go?"

Both vampires clattered down the fire escape and ran to their respective vehicles. With Spike leading they headed for the freeway.
Just as their late and unlamented informant had told them Bakull's Mansion was impossible to miss. It was a grand three-storied structure that had obviously been substituted for a mountaintop. Several acres of land had been fenced off around it. The vampires, their vehicle lights extinguished, pulled off the road 500 meters from the complexes gates.

Browne was out of the van straight away peering up the road. There was no mad scramble of guards so he assumed they were unseen. Spike joined him and they moved back from the road.

"Looks to me like there's at least six blokes on the gate tonight, no way in there." Browne pointed up the slope. "So we climb, and finds ourselves a way through the fence."

"We have to be quick about this mate, Buffy won't be in LA much longer, we 'aint got the time to hoof it there and back." Spike looked at his watch. "We got seven hours of darkness left as it is."

"We walks up, we drive back shootin'." Browne eyed his new compatriot up and down. "You ever soldiered?"

"No, but I've had to use a gun from time to time."

"Good," hastily the vetala threw open the vans doors. "Pick yourself out one then."

The stench was gagging, flies had got in and been feeding on the blood. "Hell mate, 'ave you been slaugterin' pigs in there?"

"Sort of," Browne intended to drive down in a new car so he could ditch the bloodstained vehicle he currently owned. "Hurry up mate."

Picking up the most substantial piece Spike tried it for balance. "I'll take this, if it's alright by you."

"Heckler and Koch, good gun." Browne handed the blond a weapon that looked like an outsized pistol with a huge silencer
attachment. "Take this Ingram to, well 'ave to start off quiet."

A haversack was thrown at Spike next, it rattled. "Your ammo, straight clips for the Ingram." He handed over a half dozen more. "Curved clips for the H and K, their taped in two's, empty, eject, turn em round and reload."

Then Browne picked up two Uzi's and slung them around his body, then another Ingram. "Come on then mate, lots to do."

They climbed silently, there was a path but they did not walk it, keeping instead to the trees on one side. The going was rough but both vampires were motivated and moved quickly. Then they reached the fence.

The velata picked up a stone and threw it forward, no sparks flew. Carefully he studied the fence to left and right. "No electricity, no cameras, guess the bloke must have put the fear of god into the opposition so bad 'e don't worry about intruders much anymore. We'll make 'im regret that."

"How many guys we expecting," Spike had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, he had a reason to live, he'd begun to suspect that Browne didn't. "We can't take on an army."

"We won't," from his pocket the vetala produced a small pair of insulated wire cutters. "We take's em out one or two at a time, and that way the only time we 'as to face em in numbers is when we're leaving, an that'll be down 'ill in the fastest car we can find."

Preparing to cut the wire Browne gave Spike a not particularly sane grin. "If I goes up in a shower of blue sparks you'll 'ave to try the gate, mate."

"Poetry at a time like this," Spike shook his head. "Either your mad or I am, get on with it."

The wire cutters snapped away, the fence wasn't electrified. Probably too many wild animals around to make electrification practical. Working swiftly and taking it in turns to cut the vamps soon had a hole big enough to crawl through.

Browne led off, gun at the ready, the slope was a little less steep here and the two vampires jogged up it. Twice at Browne's held up hand the two dropped to the ground as patrols passed in the distance, mortals only though, the vampires were probably closer to Bakull.

Then the white walls of the house came into sight.

Crouching at the edge of the woodland Browne whispered to Spike. "Use the suppressor for as long as you can, single shots so you don't burn it out. Aim for the heart on 'umans, 'ead on vamps, stake em if you got the time. Don't whatever you do kill Bakull, we needs 'im to tell us were the girl is. We got the 'ard part now, when I says go, we run for the wall, if they see us coming we're dead."

"I thought I already was." Spike got ready, he had a firm two-handed grip on the Ingram and the other machine gun was tightly slung over his back. "Lets do it."

"Shabash bahadur, come on." They sprang forward running as low and as silent as they could. No gunshots, no shouts, no alarm bells. They hit the base of the houses wall together. "Either 'e knows we're coming and 'e wants us inside, or 'e's got so confident about 'is strength that 'e don't bother with security. Or 'e's got so many blokes inside 'e don't care either way."

"Thanks," Spike didn't need the odds spelled out again. "Can we just find our way into the bloody place?"

"Alright mate, keep yer 'air on." Skirting the base of the wall Browne headed for the nearest corner. Keeping very low he glanced round it. Turning back he morphed and showed Spike a beaming mouthful of fangs. "Mortal, smokin', by an open door, fifteen yards up, count of three."

Both charged round the corner, the man had his back turned they where ten yards away by the time he heard them, even as he wheeled round the suppressors had cancelled out the noise of two shots, Spike hit the head, Browne the throat. Their victim didn't make a sound.

"Smoking." Spike carefully stamped out the cigarette end. "Always 'eard it could kill ya."

Quickly they slipped in through the open door