By Shotzette

Rated PG-13

This is a work of fan fiction only and is not intended to infringe upon anyone's copyrights or intellectual property.  This was written for grins and giggles, not dollars and cents.

What was really happening around the gang, pre-“Chosen-Verse”?  Thanks for the inspiration, OTF!

Leonard Kosnowski glanced breathed a sigh of relief as the two chambermaids exited the service elevator on the fourth floor.  Alone at last, he thought as he yanked down the hunk of fabric that had ridden up his backside due to his too short coveralls.  That’s the last time I let Reynolds do the prop work for a mission.  Then again, glancing down at the faded and nondescript-- albeit made for a shorter man-jump suit emblazoned with the logo “Ernie’s Pest Control”, he had to admit that Reynolds hadn’t done too bad of a job setting things up with less than two hours notice.

The elevator doors opened on the penthouse level of the Pfister Chase, one of, if not the priciest apartment buildings in downtown Milwaukee.  Leonard walked up to the second unit and knocked loudly on the door.  “Exterminator service,” he said loudly replacing his usual nasal New Jersey accent with one that harbored the flat tones of the Midwest.

The door opened to reveal a heavyset woman in her mid fifties, dressed in the timeless uniform of a maid.  “May I help you?” she asked, in a condescending rude manner that was characteristic of her employers.

Leonard put on his oft worn blank look that he hoped would convey harmlessness and limited intelligence.  “Exterminator, m’am.  We got a call about the roaches.”

“We do not have roaches,” she said, and moved as too slam the door in his face.

Leonard quickly inserted his foot between the swinging door and the jamb.  “Sorry, m’am.  My boss just got a call from the manager here a couple of hours ago.  Seems like a new family just moved in a few days ago and brought them with them.  They’re down on the third floor, but the manager has already received calls from tenants on the seventh and ninth floors.  I guess he’d rather head ‘em off at the pass, by starting with the upper floors first.  Y’know, spray before the tenants see them and then have to pack up their belongings and have to throw things out.  Perhaps even move…” 

Leonard let the last phrase sink in suggestively.  Vivian Brune and her latest husband, Marshall Stuart, had just moved in to their pied a Terre two weeks ago, and he knew for a fact that people like them never unpacked their own belongings, or did much of anything for themselves.

“Mr. and Mrs. Stuart do not know about the infestation yet?” A small trade of hope entered the housekeeper’s frigid tone.

Leonard flashed her a quick conspirator’s grin before adding, “I have the funny feeling that the manager wants to take care of this fast.  And quiet,” he added.  “They never have to know,” he added, as he tried to look sincere.

The housekeeper’s face flickered with a smile that was quickly checked, and then looked out into the hallway quickly before whispering, “Come in.”

Leonard stepped inside the apartment and removed the large metal spray can from the harness over his shoulder.  “I’ll need to start with the kitchen first.”

“You want I should empty the cupboards?”

He shook his head.  “Nah, not with this new stuff.  I can just spray around in the corners.”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked at Leonard with renewed suspicion.  “Is that safe?”

Leonard didn’t know what worried her more, that her employers would become ill, or she would somehow be blamed for their illness and have to find a new job.  Smiling his bland working-Joe grin once again, he replied, “This stuff is the greatest.  X-13 A is going to replace DDT as the number one pest control product the next couple of years.”

“Really?” the housekeeper asked, as her suspicion was quickly replaced by avarice, “and it is called X-13, no?”

He nodded, and then visualized the woman scanning the financial pages in her near off hours, and then said,” Yeah, me and the wife are saving up our money to start our own franchise and become distributors.  It’s that good.  And the best part…”

“Yes?”

“The smell only lasts for half an hour.  No one will even know that we’ve sprayed.”

He was rewarded by a full smile of straight, but yellowed teeth.

“How many rooms are there in this unit?”

“Only twelve.”

“Good.  It shouldn’t take me more than an hour or so.  Don’t let me keep you if you have chores to do.”

Leonard began spraying the blended mixture of chloroform and Pine Sol into the cabinets as he waited for the housekeeper to leave.  The noxious scent and the incapacitating fumes did their job as always, and he squelched a smile as he heard her brogans beat a hasty retreat out of the kitchen.

He then made his way around the spacious apartment, pretending to spray the shoe rail molding with insecticide as he glanced around looking for clues to the Stuart’s sudden appearance in Milwaukee.

Milwaukee’s Hellmouth wasn’t a huge one like that Armageddon in the making in southern California, he thought; or even the medium-sized one in Cleveland; but that’s most like why Vivian Brune-Stuart, the high priestess of A’Mok’Ula, a chaos demon of the fifth order would have arrived in Wisconsin on the eve of the millennial anniversary of his ascension.  That and the fact that her cousin, Max Shotz, was holding some sort of get together that night, couldn’t be a coincidence.

Leonard frowned.  He’d been working as a truck driver for Shotz for years as his cover to watch over his, so far, unchosen slayer, and he had yet to decide if Shirley working for a brewing company owned by one of the older, albeit more quiet players, in the underworld hierarchy was a blessing or a curse.

Max Shotz, for all the power he wielded subtly and not so subtly in Milwaukee was still on the outer fringes as the larger, more deadly demonic conspiracies went, but Leonard knew that the playing table could change at any time.  Max Shotz’s father, Heinrich Shotz had emigrated from Germany in the late eighteen hundreds, and built the Shotz fortune overnight.  Not that big successes were unusual in the era of robber barons, but even by the standards of the Carnegies and the Vanderbilts, Heinrich Shotz’s rise to fame with his “Olde Worlde” brew was meteoric.

The fact that prior to arriving in the United States, the proud brewmeister’s family was know for alchemy as well as brewing hops was a fact that seemed to remain parked on Ellis Island-along with the record one hundred and sixty other passenger’s on his ship that didn’t arrive breathing.  Old Heinrich had then made a beeline to Milwaukee, courtesy of a “benefactor” and started up “Shotz Brewery” at a breathtaking pace, while unceremoniously elbowing past the better established Pabst and Budweiser companies.

Then again, Leonard reasoned with himself, as he pretended to spray his faux pesticide, maybe it was just luck that Heinrich had a benefactor, or that Shotz had never been plagued by the union uprisings like their competitors had been.  Especially since union leaders and their families seemed to “disappear” rather quickly.  Shotz’s strikes had been few, and relatively minor; usually ending with the worker’s caving into their growling bellies, or convincing themselves to be grateful for a mere .02 per hour raise.

“Always the little guys paying the price,” he muttered, as his friend’s faces flashed before his eyes.  As usual, the fact that he could solve most of his friend’s problems by whipping out his checkbook made him flush with shame.  Although he knew they needed it, he also knew that they would be the last one’s to take money from him-especially if they knew how many lies he had told them over the years.

A creaking floorboard by the foot of the antique brocade bed caught his attention.  Swanky or not, most upscale hotels and apartment buildings have their room safes in the same room, usually the master bedroom.  Glancing around for the housekeeper, he was relieved when his straining ears heard the theme song of “Queen for a Day” playing from down the hall.  Better be careful, Brunhilde, that could be why Marshall Stuart’s last valet was never seen again after their trip to Majorca.  Or, they could have sacrificed him to Dec Ar’Scal, the Sea Demon-but most likely it was for goofing off on the job.

Leonard smiled as he quickly cracked the safe mounted under the floorboards, courtesy of the miniature stethoscope that he had in his repairman’s satchel.  The magical wards proved a bit more challenging, but then again, there was a reason that he never left him without his pocket tools, scrying stones, and essence of elder root.    He quickly snapped photos of the various papers, photographs, and scrolls that had been locked in the safe. Before putting them back.  His mission tonight was merely reconnaissance; the photos snapped would be developed and deciphered by the cadre of research agents employed by the Council.

He glanced at his watch, and figured that Brunhilde would be glued in front of the set for another ten minutes until Mrs. Agnes Terwilliger of Iowa City won her brand new Bendix washing machine, which would give him plenty of time to…

Hell.  He nearly groaned aloud when he realized that he had forgotten that he had promised Squiggy to meet him at his Uncle Elliot’s Wax Museum in half an hour.    Squiggy had it all planned out that they would help themselves to the dresses worn by the wax figures of Donna Reed and Anne Blythe for Shirley and Laverne.  Leonard smiled when he thought of his slayer’s best friend, Laverne DeFazio.  He’d accepted her at first as a minor annoyance, and had resigned himself that she would always be around until Shirley was chosen.

Then she’s started to grow on him.  He didn’t know exactly when, most likely sometime during their last year of high school, that he’d come to look forward to seeing Laverne more than seeing Shirley.  Not exactly the level of focus that the Watcher’s Council approved of, he thought.

He shook his head quickly.  Laverne was Shirley’s friend, nothing more.  He only flirted with her clumsily because Squiggy had made it very clear that he was interested in Shirley, and Leonard was secure in the fact that Shirley did not feel the same way.  Laverne came with the package, nothing more.  Anyway, he thought, with a degree of bitterness, it’s not like Laverne had ever given him the time of day.  She made if very clear that she liked attractive, bold, men of action; not unfocused greasers.  And, he thought as he visualized the persona that had allowed him to non-threateningly get close to the girls years earlier, loser-greaser is the only way Laverne would-could ever see him.  If his cover was blown…

A bright flash of blue chiffon caught his eye from the bedroom across the haul.  Quietly Leonard tiptoed out, realizing he was cutting his chances if “Queen For A Day” ended early, or Brunhilde decided to use a commercial break to check up on him.  The bedroom he walked into was a nauseating array of white lace and princess pink, enough to make the average guy starting peeing sitting down.  However, past the canopied twin beds, hanging from the opened closet door hung two dresses.  Beautiful dresses.  Leonard held his breath as he quickly looked at the tags on the inside.  Once size five, and one size ten.  Perfect, and definitely nicer than the moth-eaten rags that Squiggy had planned to palm off on the girls.  Besides, he rationalized as he quickly stuffed the dresses into his duffel bag, taking these dresses would allow him time to delivery the photos to Yuri himself and see his slayer tonight.  Even the Council Chair would approve of that.  Nothing could possibly go wrong…

Leonard breathed a sigh of relief as he let his eyes adjust to the darkened bowling alley.  A second rate stag film flickered across a not-too-clean sheet that Carmine had taped against the back wall.  Things could have been worse, he reasoned with himself.  There hadn’t been a riot, his potential slayer hadn’t been forced to defend herself against a possible gang-bang, and no one was the wiser to his true identity.  He should be thrilled.

However, the overly watery beer-yet another reason to hate the demonic influence of Max Shotz-and the almost overwhelming stench of rancid bowling shoes were souring his stomach.  Not that he was thrilled with the slurping sounds of the couple making out in the chair right behind him.  What kind of power did this Fonzie guy have over women?  Surreptitiously, Leonard reached in his pocket and withdrew the spoon he’d swiped from the kitchen-to be used as a shoehorn, if anyone asked-and watched Fonzie paw Laverne. 

He had no idea how this egomaniacal creep had gotten most of the available-and unavailable by all counts women of Milwaukee to raise their skirts for him.  Fonzie wasn’t a demon- Leonard had checked.  Twice.  He didn’t look like the type to study magic and he wasn’t wealthy enough to employ someone who did.  The Fonz was a puzzle.  Then again, Leonard reasoned, you never saw the guy without his leather jacket on…  There had been stories, rumors really, flying around the council for decades regarding charmed clothing.  It was improbable but…

Laverne’s moan caught his attention, and he scowled as he pocketed the spoon and tried to return his attention to the good couple in black socks on the screen.

“Wow, her father didn’t scream at her or nothing.  Do you think Mr. DeFazio is getting soft in his old age?” Squiggy asked, his last words mumbled into his beer mug.

Leonard chose to communicate with his usual shrug as he squelched a smile.  Laverne didn’t do it; she didn’t marry Sal, he cheered to himself, glad that no one could hear the singsong tone in his head.  He hadn’t been looking forward to the ceremony and could have just punched Squiggy for volunteering the two of them as ushers.

His brow furrowed as he stared into his beer mug.  Today just put off the inevitable.  Laverne was going to find someone and it sure as hell would be some greasy loser that she could barely stomach being in the same room with.  He needed to deal with that and prepare for it.  Maybe the next time that he was able to sneak back to England for training, he should stop in New York on the way back and visit Margaret-distract himself, he thought as he inwardly smirked at the term “visit”.

He allowed his eyes to drift from Shirley to her roommate, and the sadness he saw in Laverne’s eyes made him feel ashamed of his gloating.  The decision hadn’t been an easy one for her, as the dark circles under her eyes belied the truth. 

He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but he knew what he could do tonight.  “C’mon, he said as he slapped Squiggy on the back and fished through his pockets for a stray nickel for the jukebox, “let’s all do the stroll!”

Leonard sat unmoved on his bunk bed as he tried to ignore the sounds of Carmine grunting has he tried to move the bed across the floor.  Just go!  Give me a moment’s peace so I can reorganize my belongings and figure out how I’m going to let the council know that I have a roommate.

“That’s it, that’s IT!” Carmine’s voice dripped with sarcasm and irritation.  “Are you sure that there ain’t nothing else you want?”

“Nah, we can move the TV in when we buy it.”

“Ahh!” the shorter man walked away from him in disgust and stomped over the apartment’s door. 

Laverne walked in, clutching a brown paper bag.  “Hi, Carmine.”

“Don’t help them move nothing!” Carmine barked at her before pushing past her and heading down the hallway.

Piccadilly Circus at noon isn’t this busy!    Leonard’s first instincts had been right, pick a fight and then throw Squiggy out.  He would have had the apartment-in his slayer’s building-all to himself; a perfect perch from where he could watch her, do research, and go on about his dreary undercover shell of a life.

He truly hadn’t counted on Squiggy seeking sanctuary with the girls, and had been shocked when Laverne arrived at his door playing the peacemaker.  I really should have locked that door, he thought as he looked at the woman standing in front of him.

It wasn’t like he’d had any choice other than to apologize to Squiggy; he rationalized to himself.  If Squiggy had ended up staying with the girls, he would have been pushed to the outer limits of their social circle.  He couldn’t have just dropped in if Squiggy was staying there-at least that’s what he was planning on telling his father and the other council heads when they banded together to ream him out for this error in judgment.  It seemed like they were doing that a lot these days…

He then realized that Laverne was staring at him, curiosity lighting up her green eyes.  Leonard automatically plastered his usual half-witted grin on his face and said, “Shirley just went down to the laundry room.”  Now please leave so I can get some work done before Squiggy comes back, he thought as he guiltily pushed the small packet of bright pink dye under the edge of his blanket.

“Well, I really came to see you,” she said, uttering the words he’d never thought he’d hear.

For once, Lenny’s idiotic grin swept across Leonard’s face of it’s own accord.  “Oh yeah?  Came to see me again, huh?” 

Laverne smiled.  “Yeah, you were so nice about taking Squiggy back…I thought I owed you something.”

His heart leaped at the precise moment that he realized that moving into the building was a mistake.  “Should I take a shower?” he asked smarmily as he braced himself for a slap in the face.

The look of revulsion on her face didn’t surprise, though the level of hurt that it caused did.  “Relax Len,” she said as she immediately backed away from him.  “I brought you your jacket back.”  She reached into the paper bag and drew out the garish orange jacket with a flourish.

Damn, he’d thought he’d seen the last of that ugly thing.  He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Chang had insisted when Leonard had dropped off the payment for the “articles of interest” that Chang’s brother had liberated from the Maoists during his escape from the walled city.  Why Chang had insisted on emblazoning the name of his signature martial arts move on the back of the jacket, god only knew.  Like Leonard would ever be limber enough to try the ‘One Wolf’…  “You found it!”  He hoped that the forced glee in his voice sounded remotely sincere.

“No, I took it.”

“What did you do that for?”  Fear gripped his gut; she was able to get into his apartment and rifling through his belongings without him knowing about it?  Moving into the Knapp Street building seemed like a worse idea by the moment, he thought as he mentally counted the several secret-hiding places containing weapons, reference books, and large sums of emergency cash that he has spent most the night cutting into the floorboards.

“I knew how upset you were, so I fixed it,” Laverne explained as she flipped the jacket over and showed him the giant cursive “L” that she had sewn on the back.

This time, the glee wasn’t forced.  “Oh boy, that’s great!  Thanks that’s wonderful!” he said, touched by her clumsy thoughtfulness.  Immediately, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, and for a split second he saw something akin to attraction spark in her eye.  Cursing his duty and his own cowardice, he purposefully jammed his tongue rudely into her mouth. 

“Sorry, Laverne,” he said quietly as he watched her run from the apartment.

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

The darkened tent reeked of animal waste and musty canvas.  Leonard looked over his shoulder quickly as he tried to tiptoe as quietly as one could in his curly-toed elf-shoes.   He spared a quick glance to the soft snoring sound on his right and checked a sigh of relief.  The Fat Lady was still snoring, which meant it wasn’t time for her to sing-a good omen..

He turned his attention once again to the cage in front of him, squinting his eyes to better see the dark hairy form curled up in the back corner.  The creature gold eyes regarded him levelly, fixating on his jugular vein in a discomfiting way.

He approached the cage quietly and willed his voice to be calm and reassuring.  “Shhh…  My name is Leonard, and I am here to help you.”

The grunting in the cramped filthy cage was his only answer.

His mouth tightened in irritation.  “Look, don’t play dumb with me,” he said as he reached into the hat band of the ridiculously undersized top hat that was perched haphazardly on his greasy ducktail and pulled out a tiny skeleton key, “I know you can understand me and speak.”

A low growl answered back from the near dark, and the creature tensed as if ready to pounce, or worse-howl.  “I’m with the Council,” he added quickly as his cheeks reddened at the very Lenny-like quaver in his voice.

“So why didn’t you say so?”  The creature asked in a harsh growling voice that was made even stranger by its heavy southern drawl.  The werewolf padded softly over to the door of the cage, rising on to its legs-hind feet all the while sniffing excitedly.

Leonard shrugged as he turned his attention back to the cheap padlock in his hand.  “I thought I just did.”

“And you’re springing me from the hoosegow why?”  The werewolf cocked his head, unconsciously-or consciously, doing a dark impression of the RCA Victrola terrier.

Leonard smiled as he heard the tumblers in the lock fall into place, but didn’t open the door.  “The council is reaching out for --allies, for lack of a better term.”

Canine lips curled to reveal a very frightening set of teeth complete with three-inch long canines that were still stained red at the tips.  “Recruiting?  Let me guess.  You let me out of this here dog pound and I owe you boys, right?”

“Well, I was going to say it a tad more diplomatically, but-yes.”  He stared intently into the werewolf’s eyes, until the latter broke the gaze and looked at the floor.

The wolf stepped back from the cage door.  “Considering that I don’t have a lot of options, that doesn’t sound like such a bad deal.  I owe you one”

Leonard looked at him for a long moment as he tried to read the creature’s body language for signs of deceit or trickery.  Not that he had the slightest clue on how to tell a lying werewolf from a non-lying one who would gleefully rip out one’s throat in a split second, but he knew the staring and silence gave him an air of perceived superiority.  Shirley’s face, with it’s exasperated yet mildly disgusted expression, flashed before his eyes.  Or, people usually just thought he was a moron.  “How did they catch you, anyhow?”

The creature appeared to shrug.  “Moonlight, poultry farm, you know the drill…  I would have been okay if the head of that old man’s cane hadn’t been sterling.”  He snorted in a sound that was slightly similar to a human laugh.  “I guess I should be glad that the old codger didn’t beat me to death on the spot.”

“Well,” Leonard said as he pulled the padlock free from the latch and slowly swung the creaking door open, “selling you to Zimmerman wasn’t really what I’d call an act of kindness.”

“C’mon, Zimmerman just thinks that I’m the village idiot with a hormone problem.”

Leonard looked at his companion quizzically.  “About that…  The last full moon was four days ago.  How come you’re still…?”

“Fluffy?” The large canine head cocked to the side again.  “The moon might make us change if we want to or not, but the lack of moon doesn’t have to mean we change back if we don’t want to.  As long as I’m the hairy monster in the locked cage, I can’t hurt anyone.  But, if anyone finds out they’re keeping an average guy locked in a cage…”

Leonard caught on.  “Someone calls the authorities and Zimmerman has some explaining to do.  Or…”

“Or, he has to disappear the man in the cage.”  The wolf’s last words were whispered in a shadow of a growl that cloaked a very human sounding tone of fear.  “I hate to break it to you, friend, but circus people aren’t known to be the most upstanding bunch of folks you’d ever run across.”

“So I’ve heard.”  Leonard looked behind him quickly, startled by the small, choking, sound, and was rewarded by the awful sight of Two Ton Tina’s open-mouthed, gap-toothed snore.  “The longer you stay, the longer you push your luck,” he said as he and the werewolf quietly moved towards the open tent flap.  “I’m heading back towards the main tent and I’ll cause a distraction.  You go that way, to the left side of the parking area.  You will see a green Chevy pick up truck waiting there with the motor running.”

The werewolf shook his head.  “I really don’t think I can drive this way.  It’s hard sitting up, and I’d probably hit the brake and the accelerator at the same time with the big, fuzzy feet and stall out and…”

”Don’t worry,” Leonard interrupted as he held back a giggle at he thought of his new friend careening down Knapp Street in a manner that would make Laverne feel good about her behind the wheel skills, “you’re not the driver, you’re the cargo.  There’s a tarp in the back of the truck.  Hop in the tailgate and cover yourself up; when you’re covered, bang three times on the tailgate and the driver will do the rest.”

The gold eyes glittered at him with feral suspicion.  “And the rest is?”

“They’ll take you to a safe house.  Look, why would I go through all of this if the Council wasn’t sincere about reaching out?  We could have just left you here for good; or until you changed back, and we’d have another were wolf off the streets, err, fields.  Farmlands.  You know what I mean, uh…”

“Duane.  Duane Hollis.  Pleased to meet you,” the werewolf said has he offered up a very hairy paw.  Hand?

Leonard smiled in return as his large hand was swallowed up in Duane’s.  Finally, a mission going the right way.  “Likewise.  Kosnowski.  Leonard Kosnowski,. 

Duane’s eyes flickered down Lenny’s frame and he looked suddenly uncomfortable.  “Not that I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth, but is there any particular reason you’re wearing tights?”

Leonard grimaced as he picked up his bucket of oranges and headed towards the main tent.  “Long story.  Let’s just say I had to convince some friends that I ran away to join the circus.”

“Have you lost your mind?”  Michael Kosnowski’s normally pale face was florid with anger.

Leonard instinctively straightened his shoulders and sucked in his gut.  “Hello, Father.  You’re looking well.”

“Don’t ‘Hello Father’ me!  What were you thinking of?  Proposing to your slayer’s roommate?  What if that girl had accepted?

Leonard’s heart leapt, unwillingly at the thought.  “She didn’t.  Turns out she didn’t have any reason to get married.”  He forced his expression to remain bland, his tone light.  You are a Watcher, Shirley is your Slayer; no one else matters.

His father snorted in distaste as he picked an miniscule piece of lint off of his tweed suite coat.  “Yes, that would have been another wonderful attribute.  Part of the Wyndham Kosnowski trust going to a-“

“Don’t!”  His word came out much harsher than he had intended.  “You don’t need to go on about it,” Leonard continued, his voice once again the epitome of Eton elocution.  “Laverne isn’t pregnant, so I don’t have to marry her and…”

His father’s jaw dropped.  “Have to?  Leonard, are you and that girl…”

Leonard smiled and shook his head.  “No, we are not.”  Damn the luck.    “However, I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“Explain yourself; if you can.”

“Laverne is Shirley’s closest friend, ergo, I marry the girl to save her reputation and give her child a name, and I earn Shirley’s lifelong gratitude.”

A crafty smile formed on Michael’s face.  “Which would give you constant access to Shirley’s life, via Laverne, until she’s chosen; or not.  I do see your point, son,” he said grudgingly, as he poured himself a glass of scotch.  “However, marrying such a common girl, even when you’re trying to do your duty as a Watcher is not something that I could ever condone.  You realize that, don’t you?”

Leonard smiled as he clinked his glass of McCallan’s against his father’s.  “All to well, Father.  All too well.”

The girls’ shrieking made them both jump back in mock shame.  Squiggy leered as he once again reached for the loosened tarp that partially covered the back of their beer truck, but he stopped suddenly and looked at this friend with a puzzled expression on his face.  “Len, where’re you going?”

Leonard forced a sheepish grin before answering, “I think the keys fell outta my pocket inside.  I’ll go get ‘em while you…”

“Enjoy the show?  Yes, you do that, Lenny my good man,” he said with an oily charm.

Leonard turned and headed back into the building as he tried to ignore his friend’s annoying libidinous side.  You didn’t exactly close your eyes when he flipped up the tarp, though, did you?

The goofy grin was once again pasted on his face by the time he reached the reception area.  “Forgot my keys,” he said to the addled old bat behind the desk.  Leonard shuddered to think what sort of pills they were feeding her to keep her oblivious to what really went on into the Milwaukee chapter of The Institute for Behavioral Research. 

As he walked through back hallways to the back stairs, he tried to ignore the muffled sounds that came from the lower chambers of the institute, and for the hundredth time wondered why the Council had partnered itself with The Initiative on this project.  There had always been a rivalry between the two groups since the latter’s inception twenty years ago.  Eschewing the Council’s centuries old traditions of grooming slayers and studying ancient magicks as a weapon against evil, the Initiative was convinced that science was the key; that evil was just another disease to be categorized, isolated, and cured.  And, like the Council, they believed in research.

Unfortunately, the Initiative’s form of research came by experimentation on vampires, werewolves, demons, and other dark denizens unwise enough to allow themselves to be caught alive.  Leonard never thought that he would see the day when he could feel pity for a vampire until he had witnessed on of the initiatives more benign experiments.

Silently, he cursed the bargain he’d made with the Council heads; acting as a field liaison between the two groups and adding one more duty on to his already crowded plate to stay as Shirley Feeney’s Watcher.  Getting away from Squiggy every few weeks was the hard part until he had the idea that they could become paid volunteers for the experiments for the sham studies at the institute.  Twenty five dollars for a weekend’s non-work was all the prodding that Squiggy had needed to let himself be put into a chemically induced coma for two days-all the while Leonard was coordinating attack plans and reconnaissance missions with his counterparts at the initiative.

He never thought that Squiggy would let anyone in on their own private gold mine, but he babbled his little heart out to Shirley after a few gentle tugs on his hairworm.  Not like Laverne nuzzling his neck for twelve and a half tantalizing seconds would have made him crack.  He probably would have said anything for nearly a whole minute.  Or, gotten his face slapped by trying to advance the interrogation process…

He shook his head briskly to clear his thoughts, and pulled his damnably garish Lone Wolf jacket further down his hips-just in case.

The noises grew louder and less easy to ignore as he reached the bottom of the stairwell.  Quietly, he punched in the seven-digit code that he had been given two weekends ago and was disappointed, but relieved, to see that they hadn’t changed the code yet.  Mentally, he made a note to let the Council know that their ally was sloppy with their security enforcement.

He walked past the armed guards who he’d seen for several months now, mentally willing them to believe that he belonged among them today, even though there wasn’t a scheduled meeting.  The head doctor’s office proved to be unlocked-more sloppiness, and the lock on the filing cabinet was ridiculously easy to pick.  He had opened the drawer marked “B though F” when he heard the faint click of a hammer being drawn back.

“Thievery?  I always thought the Council was above that sort of thing; unless they were rummaging through age old ruins for magical icons and the like,” the smooth voice said from behind him.

Leonard straightened up and forced himself to react calmly.  “Dr. Romono,” he acknowledged.  “You weren’t here, and I needed to collect some information that must have been retrieved in error.”  Turning his back, he once again reached for the file.

“Ah yes, I didn’t receive your…request… to not to take any samples from you potential slayer until after the deed was done.  I meant to dispose of that myself,” he said as he pointed to the manila folder and the small vial of blood that was secured within it.

Leonard’s grip tightened on the folder.  “I’ll be more than happy to save you the trouble, Doctor.  Can’t really have a potential slayer’s blood sample in an unsecured area.  Who knows how many charms and portents could possible be made from it and sold to beings with less than altruistic agendas?”

A cold sneer crept across Romono’s Mediterranean features.  “Typical Watcher, if you boys aren’t spending your nights reading ancient texts, you’re recreating archaic rituals that involve chicken carcasses and sheep entrails.  I can’t believe none of you have yet to kiss a girl.”  Romono sighed heavily and put the Glock on his desktop-still within easy reach.  “Heaven forbid you ever do anything with a blood sample like put it under a microscope and see how it compares and contrasts to other blood samples, and possibly find out what makes slayers so damned special…”

“Our lackluster social lives aside, I will take this off your hands.  And this one too,” he said as he reached back into the file drawer for the file marked “DeFazio, Laverne Marie”.  Suddenly, the thought of Dr. Rex Romono touching anything that had once been part of Laverne made him feel queasy.

Romono’s thin lips drew back in an almost cadaverous parody of a human smile.  “Be my guest, Mr. Kosnowski.  As I said, the samples were taken in error.”

As he reached the door, Leonard wanted to turn his head and give the not so good doctor one last zinger; but the realization that he was two hundred feet underground with a battalion of heavily armed, and possibly chemically enhanced Marines, made him rethink his decision.

He didn’t even look back to see Dr. Romono smile as he opened another drawer in his desk and take out a file marked, “Feeney, Shirley Wilhemina”.

Leonard groaned quietly as he lowered the heavy keg onto the carpeted floor.  He was alone in the receiving room of the mortuary with the very late Mr. Flanagan.  Through the paper-thin walls, he could hear Squiggy talking to the mortician about monster movies and asking every inappropriate question under the son.  That’s it, buddy.  Keep him busy for a bit.  Once again, Leonard thanked the occasionally benevolent deity who gave him Andrew Squigman for a best friend.  Best friend?  Where the hell did that come from?  Sure, Squiggy was a great guy if one took the time to get to know him and look beyond his eccentricities, but Leonard had never allowed himself to think, or believe…  Friends.  These people had become his friends; much more than any of his acquaintances at the Watcher’s Council had ever been.  And you use them all as pawns; he thought to himself spitefully as Squiggy and Laverne’s faces flashed before his eyes.

Shaking the distracting thoughts from his head like a feather duster would shake off a cobweb, Lenny quietly tiptoed out the side door of the receiving room and into the hallway.  He nearly gasped aloud when he saw her sitting in a chair in the reception area as she nervously tried to smooth down the wrinkles of her “L” adorned skirt.

What the hell?  Good god, Leonard thought, Frank.  Laverne’s father must have…  Visions of the man throwing him out of the Pizza Bowl and cursing him out in Italian-a very low dialect to be sure, swept before Leonard’s eyes and he felt himself choke up.  Then again…

Laverne wouldn’t be fussing with her hair and reapplying her lipstick a second time if her father had just passed away; would she?  What was she doing in a mortuary?  Getting an eyeful of you if you don’t move, his inner voice screamed at him.  Stealthily, Leonard quickly crept down the staircase to the prep room and tried to push Laverne out of his mind.  Good luck with that.

The prep room stank of alcohol and formaldehyde; Leonard tried to breathe shallowly and tried not to think about what sort of long-term damage that breathing the vapors would due to living lung tissue.  Before he could speculate himself into complete nausea, he spied a covered figure prone on the exam table, coved by a sheet.  The late Sally Malone, per the chart hanging from the end of the table.  Steeling himself, he drew back the sheet to look at the once pretty face of a young girl.  Damn, he thought, she couldn’t have been more than eighteen.   Her nose had been smashed and her right cheekbone was broken; more fumbling under the sheet showed evidence of scraped knuckles and ragged palms and knees, as if she’d been thrown to the pavement, or against a brick wall.  It looked like the rumors had been correct; the young lady had been the victim of a mugging.

Unless you saw the two small puncture wounds on the right side of her neck.  Leonard’s heart sank with the realization that a vampire roamed the dark streets of Milwaukee, and that his potential slayer wasn’t up, ready, or more importantly, chosen to dispatch the beast.  His head reeled with the possibilities.  The vampire may no longer be around, he thought trying to keep hope alive.  With Milwaukee’s heaving docking traffic on Lake Michigan, the vampire could have stowed away, or booked passage on any of the supply ships, naval, coast guard, merchant marine, cruise ships, or ferry’s that docked two blocks from his apartment.  For all he knew, the vamp could be happily feasting in Detroit, Chicago, or Toronto by now.  Or...

Or, he or she decided that the hunting was good in Milwaukee.  The transient crowd by the docks would be a great place to hide, and with people coming and going on a regular basis, the beast could hunt at will without raising suspicion.

Unless it got sloppy and decided to chow down on someone who would be missed, like the Prom Queen from Jefferson High.  Quickly, Leonard walked over to the cremator on the other side of the room.  Gas; the proprietor had upgraded recently from the usual coal fueled models.  Perfect.  Praying that there wasn’t a fail-safe alarm that would sound, Leonard held his breath and pushed the red button marked “ignition”.  Instantly, blue flames silently appeared behind the glass window as the gauge by the door slowly crept up to six hundred degrees.  Between eight hundred seventy and nine hundred eighty degrees was optimal for disposing of a human course, vampires tended to have a significantly lower flash point than their non-damned counter parts. 

Leonard gathered up the sheet clad victim in his arms, and for a fleeting second prayed that Sally Malone’s family would forgive his disrespect, before turning back towards the open cremator doors.  As he lifted the girl’s slight body to throw it through into the searing heat, the thing his arms came to life and writhed with a strength that it had never possessed while living.  Viciously he slammed the creature’s head against the metal wall and was rewarded by dull thudding bangs accompanied by a hellish scream as Sally’s now iron like fingers clutched at his coveralls. 

Fortunately, fledgling vampires were clumsy and not fully in control of their new bodies which gave him the advantage.  He reached around her and twisted her head and shoulders brutally, a movement that would have broken her neck had she still been alive and shoved the upper portion of her torso into the flames.  Her shrieks echoed in the cement-walled room but her hands released him in a vain attempt to grab the edge of the door and pull herself out of the flames.  With all of his might, Leonard shoved her forward with the closing door as he did his best to ignore the sounds of her fingers breaking as they were crushed between the door and the crematory.

He slammed his body against the hot door, trying to hold it closed for all he was worth.  The screeching howl rose to a crescendo and then stopped abruptly.  Still pressing the door, Leonard counted to ten under this breath.  One chimpanzee, two chimpanzee-he was damned if he was going to be one of those fools who checked to see if the monster was dead before it even had a chance to die.  By chimpanzee number twenty, it was obvious that whatever remained of Miss Sally Malone was gone for good; he hoped.  He looked down tat the floor and grimaced as he gingerly picked up two severed fingers, an index and a ring finger, he guessed, and quickly opened the door and threw them in to the contained inferno.

He sagged against the cement wall as his shaking legs gave out from under him.  Looking down, he saw that the work issue canvas coverall was none the worse for wear except for a few strained seams.  He’d deal with the bruises underneath later.  I’ll tell Squiggy I fell off he roof.  Again.

“Is it over?”

Leonard’s head jerked up and he looked into the rheumy eyes of the mortuary’s proprietor, the man who had contacted the council upon examination of the body.

“It’s over,” Leonard said unable to keep the sour tone out of his voice.  “Thanks for all of the help, buy the way.”

The man’s lips pursed together in irritation, as he looked offended that his one phone call to the council hadn’t been regarded as his good deed for the year.  “I’m sixty eight and have emphysema, do you really think that I would have been an asset? “

“Your partner upstairs looks like he’s in pretty good shape.”

“He’s my son, and he’s not my partner.  Not yet.”  At Leonard’s blank look, the old man continued, “He does not know of these things.”

Leonard looked at the man in askance.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.   How can he not?”

He shrugged.  “We live in the quarters behind the mortuary; Stanley grew up here.  How can a father tell his son that not all dead remain dead; especially when he has to see the dead every day?”

Michael Kosnowski’s face flashed before his son’s eyes as Leonard remembered his father emotionlessly telling him about a particularly horrific Egyptian burial rite when he was eight and attempting to bury his dead turtle.  “They find a way,” he grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet and headed to the stairs, “they find a way.”

The night was unseasonably warm for March; jacket weather, perhaps.  He looked at his orange jacket and smiled; it looked better on Amy than it ever had on him.  They sat on the stoop as innocently as they had earlier in the afternoon, listening to the clumsy piano playing and drunken warbling waft upwards from the girl’s living room window.

The fact that they had been out here alone for nearly twenty minutes and Edna Babbish hadn’t checked up on them made him smile despite himself, until he remembered how much it had hurt him earlier that day when he realized what she thought he may be capable off.  He frowned slightly as he looked down the darkened street.  He had never pretended to be much more than the neighborhood knucklehead to Edna; just barely competent enough so that she would consider taking him in as a tenant.  He couldn’t believe that she thought that his alter ego would consider harming her daughter.  Maybe I need to straighten up and fly right for a while…  His spine stiffened as he realized where his thoughts were taking him.

It could never happen; he could never let it happen.  Amy was …special.  She was too fragile for the world she knew, much less the darkness that existed in his.  No woman could tolerate what he knew to be the greater truth, he thought, as fragments of another face with dancing green eyes and an overbite that he thought was oddly enough the sexiest thing in the world drifted through his mind.

He couldn’t bend the rules to allow him the possibility of a future with Laverne; how the hell could he consider subjecting Amy to such horrors?  A door slammed shut in his heart; the door was getting easier to shut with everything that he had denied himself over the last several years and part of him wondered if there would be anything behind the door in the near future.  Leonard took a deep breath and forced Lenny’s bland and witless smile onto his face.  He looked down into Amy’s fragile and fae-like face and realized that he smiled alone.  “Something wrong?  Are you cold?”

She shook her head and bit her lower lip, choosing her few words carefully as always.  “You’re a fibber.”

He blinked in surprise.  “Huh?”

“You fib,” she clarified.  She looked away from him, her profile almost Victorian in its fragile beauty.  She looked back into his eyes again.  “You’re not really like me, are you?”

He forced a coarse guffaw thru his lips, “Nah; you’re a bee and I’m a bird.  OR, am I the bee and you the bird?  Squig says I always get the two of them mixed up.  Let’s go find him and ask, ‘kay?”   In a swift motion, he rose from the stoop, aching for the physical distance that would give him clarity and reason.

“No,” she said as she yanked back on his hand, forcing back down on the stoop.  “You’re not really a dummy, are you Lenny?”

“You ain’t a dummy, Amy!  Don’t let nobody tell you that.”  Leonard’s gut clenched as he tried to make his voice remain its usual carefree New Jersey whine.

She shrugged and regarded him with sad blue eyes.  “It’s the truth.  For me, any way.”

He said nothing as he felt a hot flush creep up his cheeks.  Inwardly he cursed himself for losing control earlier, but hearing the word that Squiggy called him daily used on Amy had pushed him over the edge.  He shuddered to think how close he’d come to breaking both of Squiggy’s collarbones before he had stopped himself and then flung the smaller man into the table at the pizza bowl. 

Leonard didn’t realize that he was shaking until he felt her hand in on his.  He looked into her eyes, shiny blue as if ready to birth tears.  “You’re not making fun of me?”

“Never,” he whispered, realizing how much self-doubt she carried with her.

Amy shook her head sadly.  “You can’t tell me why, can you?”

“No.  Please don’t tell anyone else.”  He held his breath as he waited for her response.  The Council hadn’t always dealt to kindly with those they thought had betrayed him and deep down he knew he couldn’t count on them to have compassion for a retarded girl.

“I won’t; promise.”  She looked back down the darkened street and frowned ever so slightly.

Lenny followed her gaze into the darkness and saw nothing.  However, years of training and of listening to his gut had taught him that just because he saw nothing didn’t mean that there wasn’t something lurking in the darkness.  Lenny squared his shoulders and draped his left arm around Amy’s slender frame.

“I’m not cold,” she said as she looked up at him, her eyes innocent again as if the previous conversation had never happened.

“I know,” he whispered, as he scooted closer to her protectively.

She was beautiful in his eyes; a radiant vision swirling on the dance floor below in what looked like turquoise silk if he squinted hard enough.  Leonard smiled despite himself.

“I hope that you are enjoying your little joke.”

He immediately straightened his shoulders; her aged yet regal voice had intimidated him far greater than any of the combat trainers employed by the Council ever had.  He turned slowly around and forced himself to look her in the eyes.  “Grandmother,” he said with an incline of his head.  Don’t let her smell your fear…

The Arch Duchess of Kulikowski responded with a slight nod of her head that made his looked like a demented chicken bobbing about for grubs in a farmyard.  Her wizened gazed raked over Laverne as she danced with the Duke before she turned back to her grandson.  “You never cease to amaze; or embarrass me, Leonard.”

“You made it clear that my attendance was mandatory; and that I should not come alone, did you not?”

“I did.  I just didn’t dream that you would bring someone so …entertaining.  You must be very fond of her to subject her to being the center of attention.”

Leonard ignored the barb.  “I couldn’t help what happened to Laverne earlier.  I just hope that dancing with Francois makes up for it.”

“He is a kind man.”

“He’s a man who doesn’t want to spend the evening fending off Lady Evelyn and will use anyone within reach as a buffer.  I think he would have danced with me if I had asked him nicely.”

“Why didn’t you?  You do not seem to have any apprehensions about embarrassing the good name of Kosnowski.”

“You shouldn’t have insisted on me coming.  Why didn’t you ask father?”

“The situation between your father and myself hasn’t changed.”

“It could.”

“Your father made his choice when he chose to devote his life to the Council.  He walked away from his title that day.  I had always hoped that you would prove to be a wiser man that he is, Leonard.  You do have other options.”

He looked back at the dance floor when he heard the applause.  Laverne curtseyed to the Duke and he responded with precise and formal bow.  Just like they taught us at Eton, eh, Frankie?

He turned back to his grandmother and smiled.  “Sit on my duff and play polo with the likes of Frankie all day?  Do you think that is a worthwhile way for anyone to spend their time, Grandmother?”

The frown etched the fine worry lines deeper in to Sabinka Kosnowski’s face.  “I expect you to honor the alliances that were forged by your ancestors centuries ago, Leonard.  I expect you to respect them.  Your council serves a noble purpose; but it is not your destiny to serve with them.”

“Hobnobbing about with the titled but unemployed doesn’t sound like much of a destiny, Grandmother.”

She shook her head sadly.  “Governments form and topple and no one ever truly remembers why.  Monarchies have memories, Leonard, memories that reach back further than some of the legends you chase.  These people could be allies if you would learn to cultivate them.”

“Cultivate them?  You mean manipulate and interrogate them, don’t you?”  He glanced back at Lady Evelyn.  If I hadn’t brought Laverne and come as myself, I could have found out more information on why her late father had his hunting lodge built atop the shrine of Cthullu in the highlands after two drinks; three drinks and I could have had anything I wanted.

Once again, she looked at Laverne as the latter awkwardly filled her punch glass, eschewing the ladle to dip her glass into the punch bowl.  “You have lost all subtlety, haven’t you?  I would like to blame the coarseness of your day-to-day companions, but I hear too much of Michael in your voice.”

Instinctively, he sucked in his breath.  “That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, now would it?  Your son is widely respected within the counsel and outside.”

Blue eyes, dimmed with age peered at him intensely as though seeing his lie.  “A life amongst the aristocracy would not be perfect, Leonard, but you would have a life.  What you are doing now is not living; it is lying.”

“My lies protect the greater good.”

“I am proud that you are honoring a vow that you made when you were eighteen; however, do you know what price you are paying?”

His face twisted into a pained smile as his gaze once again was drawn to the figure in turquoise standing on the edge of the dance floor and looking around; for him.

“I know, Grandmother.  Believe me, I know.”

Leonard absently swirled his speared olive around the rim of his martini glass as he stared at the singer on the stage.  For the first time that night, he was glad that Margaret had insisted that he take her out on the town instead of the two of them cocooning in her apartment like they usually did on one of his stopovers from England.  The singer was new to the Blue Angel and her voice was an uncanny blend of superb technique and heart breaking emotion.  He never thought that he’d ever heard anything as beautiful.

“Miss me?”

He blinked in surprised and then wondered if Margaret had even left the table.  “What do you think?”

“I think that maybe I should be a little jealous.”

A small frown crossed his features.  “Why?”  There relationship, for lack of a better word, was not one that would involve any emotions aside from the primal and biological.  He’d thought he’d made himself clear.

Oblivious, Margaret looked at the young singer on stage with a smirk on her beautiful, but cold face.  “Her voice isn’t bad, but if she thinks that she’s going to make it in show business with that nose, the poor girl is deluding herself.”

You’d know all about nose jobs.  “I don’t know, I think she’s attractive.”

“You’re just trying to bait me, Leonard.”

“I happen to think that women with long noses are very attractive,” he said as he thought of a third woman’s face.  “Besides, if she had it fixed, it might change her voice, so where would that put her?”

Margaret smiled, giving her usually pretty face an almost feline expression.  “If the package is pretty enough, it wouldn’t matter.”

Leonard took a sip of his martini.  “How very…”

“Very what?”

“I’m trying to think of a nice way to say shallow.  No,” he said as he shook his head, “I don’t think there is a way.”

The feline smile drooped a little.  “My, you’re in a mood tonight.  Jet lag?  I know an eight hour flight isn’t fun and games, but…”

“I didn’t come from England this time.  I was…doing business.  In Brooklyn,” he said in a way that he hoped would deter further questions.

She wrinkled her nose.  “Brooklyn?  Good god, what is there?”

He frowned, remembering Mrs. DeFazio’s generosity in opening up her home to complete strangers in a gesture of hospitality that was unheard of in New York, at least in Manhattan.  “People, Margaret.  This may surprise you, but some people actually do not spend their entire lives on the Upper East Side.”

Her dark eyes rolled back in a presumably oft-used expression of dramatic exasperation.  “I know that!  I have a maid, you know!”

“I take it back, Margaret.  Karl Marx would be proud of you.”

“Was he the blond one with the horn?”

“Yes,” Leonard replied, deadpan.  “Yes, he was.”

“I never cared for them.  So,” she said in a tone that she was dying to talk about other topics, or her favorite-herself, “can you tell me what you were doing in Brooklyn?  Eating spaghetti, consorting with mobsters?  Or, is this part of your top-secret job that you never discuss?”  Her manicured nails played lightly over the back of his hand, a movement which had seemed seductive hours ago, now merely seemed practiced and artificial.

“All of the above; or none.  I haven’t decided.”  He took another sip of his martini while deciding that he would not be spending the rest of the evening with Margaret.  He instinctively reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket to feel the key from the locker in Grand Central Station, where his madras shorts and Hawaiian shirt had spent the last twelve hours.

“My hairdresser thinks your married.”

Her words brought him back to the reality of his situation, and how far this game had gone.  “You’ve discussed me with your hairdresser?”  Quickly, Leonard tried to think of any stray bit of information that he may have accidentally let slip.  Fortunately, good conversation was not one of the keystones with in the time he spent with Margaret Wells, interior decorator to the rich and famous.

“Are you?” she pressed, “Married, I mean.”

  ‘No.  And,” he said pointedly, “I never will be.”

Her perfectly painted lips pursed in apparent annoyance.  “You don’t have to be mean about it, Leonard.  It’s just rather odd that you are as secretive as you are.”

“I told you that my line of work was very hush-hush when we first met.  “

“I know, but we’ve been seeing each other….” She began, her perfect lips parting to show her perfectly capped white teeth.

“Seeing each other irregularly and not exclusively,” he pointed out.

“And why is that?  I mean, I know that you travel a lot from Chicago to England, but…”

“Margaret, I’m going to cut to the chase for both of our sakes.  I don’t want this relationship to grow any further than it is at this minute.  I don’t want to marry you, or even see you exclusively.  I thought I made my self clear, but…”

The shower of gin and vermouth covering his face cut off his next words.  “Leonard McAllister, I never want to see you again.  Pierre was right about you; you’re a heel!” With that, Margaret reached blindly around for her fox stole and purse as she glared at him; as if wanting him to stop her.

Instead, his eyes never left hers as he said loudly to the astonished waiter who had materialized at his side, dry napkins in hand, “May I please have another drink?  This one didn’t last very long.”

He watched her run out of the club on impossibly long legs, partially sheathed by a tight black dress.  “Good bye, Margaret,” he whispered.  “It was fun for a while.”

He glanced up into the surprised face of the singer.  “I’m sorry that I interrupted your show, he said.  “You have a magnificent voice.”

She blushed like a schoolgirl, “Thanks,” she replied with a self-consciousness that was endearingly familiar.

“I’m sure that you hear compliments like that all the time with your gift.”

She snorted a nasal laugh that was more of a sound from a high school girl than a lounge singer.  “I was thanking you for what you said about girls with long noses.”

Leonard winced.  “You heard that?”

“Yeah, your girlfriend is kinda loud.”

“I don’t think she’s my girlfriend anymore,” Leonard said in a confidential tone.

“I don’t think she ever really was,” the singer replied.

“Talented and perceptive.  Miss Streisand, I think you will go far.”

“From your mouth to god’s ears.”

Michael Kosnowski’s jaw dropped in amazement.  “And that’s it?”

Leonard leaned back into the tufted leather chair.  “You’ve read my report on the incident,” he said wearily.  He glanced around his father’s study, paying particular attention to the ancient texts which filled the shelves which ran from the floors to the twelve foot ceiling.  You’ve memorized every archaic line, but when was the last time you smiled, Father?

“Yes, Leonard.  I read the facts.  However, you have not answered any questions.  What caused your potential’s memory loss and why did you ever allow her to get on that stage?”

Leonard suppressed a frustrated groan.  “I was hoping that Shirley would have a strong emotional reaction that would bring her back to her senses.  Dr. Schoenbroom hinted that it would be the safest way to try to bring her out of her delusion.”

Michael Kosnowski’s eyes were unreadable, as they seemed to be most days to his son.  “You realize that I am being pressured to replace you as Miss Feeney’s watcher, don’t you, Leonard?”

Leonard’s gut clenched, but he struggled to keep his expression neutral.  “I guessed as much.”

“The Council thinks that perhaps you have grown too attached to these people; that you have lost your objectivity.”

“I have been working with Shirley for ten years, Father.  She trusts me-to a point.  How long do you think it would take for a new operative to ingratiate himself into her world?  What could happen in the interim?”

“Son, I’m not saying that I agree with the Council.  I’m just warning you that you are on very shaky ground and you need to tread carefully.  That whole incident with the -what are they called again?”

“The Loyal Oorder of the Bass,” he replied with a straight face.

“Loyal order of the-good grief.  It could have been much more of a disaster than it was, Leonard.  If Shirley Feeney is the next slayer, and if she is prone to mental instability-well I don’t think that I have to spell it out for you, do I?”

“No, not at all.  Anyhow,” he said as he placed a battered satchel on the table and rifled through his files; “the whole incident began when Shirley somehow fell down a flight of stairs…”

Michael blinked.  “Somehow?”

“She doesn’t remember blacking out or any of the incidents during her fugue state.  However, during my last meeting with the Initiative task force, I over heard come conversations dealing with weapons designed to disrupt neurological functions.  I would like the Council’s permission to investigate this further…”

He watched her in the dim light of the street lamps as she walked through the loading dock towards the sidewalk of Lincoln Avenue, her steps more hurried than normal.  She usually didn’t work overtime, but the opportunity came up and she had taken it, most likely eager to get a few extra dollars for a new outfit, he thought sadly.  Once again he cursed his inability to help his friends out financially, to ease some of the monetary burdens that they were too much of a part of their day-to-day lives.  Not something to risk their lives over, he thought as he saw a larger, dark shape in the alley between Laverne and himself move slightly.

He could wait no longer, and could only pray that Laverne was out of earshot when he made his move.  He ignored the pain of his shoulder colliding with bone as he launched himself into the larger frame of Biff Parker and took small satisfaction in the other man’s squawk of surprise as they both slammed into the rough asphalt.

Biff rolled out from under him with more grace than he had given the larger man credit.  Biff’s eyes widened when he saw the face of his assailant and his face twisted into an ugly sneer.  “Kosnowski, you sonovabitch!”  Biff jerked his chin contemptuously down the street Laverne had walked down.  “I can settle up with that tramp later, but you’re gonna pay for what you and your little friend did to me last night,” he said as he lashed out with his right fist--a fist that was easily deflected by Leonard’s left forearm, as his right painfully impacted with Biff’s already damaged ribs.  When Biff doubled over in pain, Leonard used the opportunity to slam his opponent’s face against the brick wall of the alley.

Rage at a level that he had never experienced before surged through Leonard’s body as he grabbed Biff by his denim jacket and slammed him repeatedly against the wall.  The image of Laverne’s terrified face flashed before his eyes while the sounds of his own impotent excuses flooded his ears as he cursed himself for not risking his cover and stopping Biff in the beginning.  Biff’s misshapen and bloody face was in front of him, but the face he beat was that of his damned ineffectual alter ego, Idiot-Lenny.

His shaking subsided somewhat as he gulped in a few agonizing breaths while listening to Biff wheeze on the pavement.  Broken ribs and nose, possible punctured lung, but alive, he coldly assessed.  He felt an odd sense of calm as he watched the other man stagger slowly to his feet.

“You bastard,” Biff wheezed.  “I’m gonna call the cops!”

Leonard snorted contemptuously at the broken man on the ground.  “Yeah, and tell them that Lenny Kosnowski over on Knapp Street kicked your ass.  Who’d believe you, Biff? No,” he said as he reached into his jacket-and smiled coldly as Biff flinched-and withdrew his wallet-his real wallet, from the lining of Lone Wolf.  “What you are going to do tonight, Biff, is leave,” he said, as he handed the man a marked one hundred dollar bill.  “You’re going to go to the bus station tonight and go wherever you want.  Only thing is you’re not coming back.  Not ever, for nothing or nobody.  Got it?”

Biff’s hand trembled as he reached for the bill.  Leonard withdrew his hand slightly, forcing Biff to look him in the eye.  “If you do come back, I’ll know about it before you’ve been in this town for two minutes.  You won’t be breathing ten minutes after that.”

Watching the man clumsily limp down the darkened street, Leonard finally exhaled.  He squared his shoulders and headed down the street in the opposite direction.  It was only nine; maybe it wasn’t too late to drop in on the girls and see how they were doing?

The doctor’s eyes were filled with reproach as he offered Leonard the sealed manila envelope.  “I don’t like lying to a patient.”

Leonard took the envelope after once again looking quickly around the hospital parking lot, looking for stray visitors, or hospital employees leaving work at the ungodly hour of three in the morning.  “She wasn’t your patient, Doctor.  Her mother was.”

“Still…” 

“Don’t think about it.  You did the right thing,” said, remembering how sometimes hearing the lie made it easier to go along with a wrong.  Mentally he began to polish off his, “It’s all for the greater good” speech-just in case it was needed.

The doctor’s jaw was clenched and his eyes hooded as he scrutinized Lenny, as though if he stared hard enough, Leonard would crack and spill all of the Council’s ancient secrets in the convenient Reader’s Digest version.  “They’re something that you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

Leonard allowed himself a small smile.  “There’s a lot that I’m not telling you, Doctor.  Be happy for that.”

“What are you going to do with that file?” Doctor Howard asked.

Calmly, Leonard reached into his pocket and withdrew a Zippo lighter.  “The only other copy of Miss Feeney’s birth record is in a very safe place; this one was not.”

“I assure you, Mr. Kosnowski, Milwaukee General keeps all of our patient’s medical information securely guarded.”

“So securely guarded that two women were able to break in this after noon and nearly get away with this information?”

“Why is the truth about Miss Feeney’s parentage such an important issue to you?”

“Doctor, that is one of the many things that I can’t tell you.”  Leonard watched in grim satisfaction as the manila envelope blackened and curled in his grip.  When the warmth of the flames became unbearable on his fingertips, he tossed the charred vestiges on the grown and stared at them until they became ash on the asphalt of the parking lot.  Warily, he looked at the doctor and reached slowly into the interior pocket of his overcoat.

Doctor Howard paled and drew back, until Leonard withdrew a bulky envelope and offered it to him.  “What is this for?”

Leonard smiled, inwardly pleased that the doctor hadn’t opened the envelope to count the bills inside, it said a lot about him.  Either he was too honest to expect it, or too sharp to publicly advertise it. Either way, his estimation of the good doctor went up a notch.  “Consider it a thank you.  We know that you have been fund raising to add on to your oncology ward, a project that you have been spearheading if I’m correct.    I was under the impressions that charitable donations are always welcome.”

“Yes, yes they are.  But…”

“No more questions, Doctor.  Just take that money and…”

“And what?”  the doctor asked as his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Suddenly Leonard was tired; very tired.  “Try to do some good in this miserable world.  Please?”

Dr. Romono’s back made a dull thudding sound as Leonard slammed him up against the already cracked wall in the hallway of the Knapp Street building.  The doctor’s dark eyes glittered in the half-light malevolently; his cold sneer unmoved by the threats of violence.

“Why the hell are you really here?” He whispered harshly in the man’s face again, as his fists gripped the lapels of the doctor’s jacket more tightly and prepared for another back meets wall interface.

“First,” Romono replied in a voice so cold that it could give frostbite, “I do not answer to you or any of the other pompous windbags on your Council.” 

“You’ll answer me or your head will be shoved thru the plaster, buddy!”

“Charming.  You really are immersing yourself in the role aren’t you?  I’m sure that Lawrence Olivier could learn a few things about performing from you, couldn’t he Leonard?”

Leonard’s jaw clenched as he fought back the urge to slam Doctor Romono into the wall again.  He held himself in check with the cold realization that he wouldn’t stop with just one slam this time.

The dark eyes regarded him with malevolent curiosity, like a child getting ready to pull the wings off of a fly.  “You’re really lost your ability to remain objective around these people, haven’t you?  I’m not surprised, first the counsel sent a boy to do a man’s job, and leaving you here all of these years, with no end in sight…  No wonder you’re becoming what you are…”

“And what is that?”  Leonard asked, loathing himself for playing into Romono’s game.

“A lost man.  Too far gone to even realize it.”

“You’re full of…”

“The truth, Leonard.  The horrible truth.  How long do you intend to keep this charade up?  Working at a mindless job for forty hours a week?  Socializing with people that you wouldn’t hire to take out your rubbish?  Being at the beck and call of the Council and flitting back and forth from Milwaukee to England every time someone discovers an old bone in a churchyard?” 

His grip tightened on the other man’s shoulders.  “I don’t recall inviting you to play ‘This Is Your Life’, Romono,’ he said, gruffly, “I asked you a question…”

“They are wasting your talent, your abilities.  My god, Leonard, when I think of how far a man like you could go in The Initiative…” Romono’s voice trailed off seductively.

“Why are you here?”  Leonard’s shout echoed dangerously through the empty basement.

“Always the faithful lapdog…” He shook his head sadly.  “Mark my words, blind loyalty will one day be your undoing.”

“Why.  Are.  You.  Here?”

“We’ve detected a nest…”

Leonard relaxed his grip slightly.  “Where?”

“Somewhere in a six block radius…”

“Oh, that narrows it down.”

Romono ignored his sarcasm.  “More than you think.  We’re developing technology, Leonard.  Technology that will let us pinpoint where vampires hide when they’re dormant during the day…”

“So you can get them when they’re more vulnerable?”

“Smart boy.  Your father would be so proud.”

“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing to the furnace.”  Leonard looked at the scattered tools on the basement floor.

“Simple.  This building, filthy rattrap that it is-- is the epicenter to where we’re starting our search grid.”

“We?”

Romono smiled, and expression that made his face look even less human.  “A small task force.  We’ll only need the place for a month or so…”

Realization dawned on Leonard.  “So you’re sabotaging the building so that people will move out?”

“A lengthy process, I grant you.  However ‘relocating’ everyone in the dead of night isn’t an option.  Yet,” he added, looking hard at Leonard.

“It won’t be.”

“Don’t be too sure.  There are what, fifteen units in this slum?  An active nest of vampires could make a Sunday dinner out of that.  If vampires celebrated Sundays, naturally.”

Leonard’s jaw clenched as he thought of his neighbors-friends.  “Those fifteen units are homes to nearly twelve families, Romono.”

“You may want to put something on that bleeding heart before you attract more vampires, Leonard.  The tenants will leave, one way or another.”

The matter of fact tone in the doctor’s voice chilled Leonard to the bone.  The people here were nothing to Romono, he thought, seeing Laverne’s face flashed in front of his eyes.

“You’ll help me.” It was a statement rather than a question.

Wordlessly, Leonard glared at the doctor, and then picked up a wrench from the floor and began to pry the thermostat valve loose from the boiler.

Leonard sat in the cramped men’s room small and tried with all of his might to only inhale through his mouth as he fiddled with the earpiece of his surveillance receiver.  Dr. Gentry had been easier to manipulate that he had earlier imagined; Leonard had kept control of the session and set his own boundaries on the topics that he would discuss with the good doctor.  His act had worked like a charm up to and including planting his little listening device under the table in the beginning of the session.

Leonard’s large fingers suddenly hit the sweet spot on the transistor’s dial and Shirley Feeney’s perk voice filled his left ear. 

“You liked my house?” a tinny version of his possible slayer trilled, seemingly thrilled to have a man in the medical profession pay attention to her.  He’s a guy who loan’s himself out to Max Shotz to weed out any unstable workers, Shirley.  Don’t get too cozy.

“Your house is very nice.  You have a walkway going up to the front door, smoke coming out of the fire place, flowers in the yard,” said Dr. Gentry in a condescending tone that irritated Leonard, “There’s only one thing.  There are no people in your house, Shirley.  Why is that?”

Tiny bursts of static were all that greeted Lenny as he waited anxiously for her reply.  

“What do you mean there aren’t any people in my house?  There have to be people in my house, to have a house without people in it would be insane.  Now why,” she asked as Leonard’s ears were assaulted by a thudding noise, “why wouldn’t there be any people?  I know,” she said, in a voice that was all enthusiasm tinged with desperation.  “We all went to Disney world.  That’s it-Disney world.  Myself, my husband the doctor, our three children Todd, Davy, and Kelly-I guess our collie is staying in a kennel-but…” There was a long pause.  “Gee, Dr. Gentry.  I don’t know why there aren’t any people in my house.  Maybe…maybe this isn’t meant to be my house.”

Leonard leaned forward on the porcelain seat as he anticipated, and dreaded her next words.

“Maybe it never will be my house.  Maybe the life that I really want for myself won’t happen….” Shirley said, as her voice trembled.

“Or, maybe we just didn’t give you time to finish your picture,” Dr Gentry suggested.

“That’s it!  Thank you, Doctor!”

Leonard exhaled in disgust, then remembered where he was and tried not to inhale too deeply.  Damned quack!  Where did Shotz find this idiot?  He’d seen better analysis by Dr. Joyce Brothers on the Jack Paar show!  Yeah, Dr. Brothers would have given this moron a run for his money…  He remembered that program that she’d been on; his television was broken and Laverne was still awake so he showed up at her door and they watched TV together for half an hour before Shirley had gotten home.  Laverne…

A static-ridden version of Laverne’s voice was suddenly in his ear…  “I dunno, Doc, do you think it’s…cheap…for a girl to make out on the first date?”

“Not at all.”

Both of your hands better be on the table, buddy.  .

“You’re awfully good at this,” Laverne said.

“You ask awfully good questions…”

Oh please…With some effort, Leonard pushed the thought of Laverne from his mind and thought about what Shirley had said.  Was she simply reflecting on her life realistically, or was there something more behind her words, a precognitive notion of destiny?

Leonard’s pondering was interrupted by Dr. Gentry’s voice on the phone.  “No, the last one just left.  Yes, she was in the last group.”  The hairs on the back of Leonard’s neck stood on end at Dr. Gentry’s next words.  “I’ll have the report to you within the hour, Dr. Romono.”

Leonard held a handkerchief over his nose, but the noxious odor gasses from the flames still made his eyes tear up, even standing nearly a block away.  Thoughtless morons…

“You can thank me later, Leonard.”

Leonard spared the man at his left a glance before his eyes were drawn back to the burning apartment building.  “People lived in that building, Romono.”

“So did vampires.  There weren’t that many people alive when the team when in, anyhow.”

“How many is not too many?”

“They were familiars, Leonard; the vampires arms and legs during the daylight.  Don’t be too quick to mourn those who would betray their own kind.”

“Just familiars?”  Like you’d believe anything that came out of that bastard’s mouth.

“There was a woman that a few of the vampires were in the process of turning.  Trust me, she’s better off.  Don’t give me that look; anyone on the Council would have made the same call.”

The memory of his mother’s face, twisted like a mask over some horrific “thing” flashed before Leonard’s eyes.  “Perhaps…”

“Collateral damage is inevitable in a battle such as this; even you tweed clad windbags should realize that.”

“Realizing it and liking it are two different things, Romono.”  The cold breeze that flashed through his unzippered rain slicker caught Leonard’s attention.  “The wind’s picking up; it looks like the fire is getting worse.”

“Perhaps it is,” Romano replied absently as he flecked a piece of ash off of his wool topcoat.  “Look at him,” he said as he gestured to a group of yellow-coated fireman in the distance as one darted back into the building.  “Poor bastard doesn’t realize that there’s not anyone in there left to save…”

Leonard saw the number on the back of the fireman’s raincoat.  “God, no,” he whispered to himself as he watched helplessly as the roof caved in.

Leonard’s stomach roiled with the chloroform induced nausea.  Stupid!  He’d been trying to figure out a way to tell Squiggy that there was something ‘off’ about the woman who said that she’d seen Shirley just moments ago in the baggage car when she had unexpectedly whirled around and shoved her chloroform saturated handkerchief in his face.

He squinted in a vain attempt to clear his blurred vision.  Voices sounded lower than normal, distorted to his musician’s ears by the drugs.  The old woman with the handkerchief was bald now and brandishing a gun at a terrified Laverne and…Shirley’s grandfather?

The bald woman turned and glared at him before saying something unintelligible and yanking his gag down.  His eye found Laverne’s and his mouth started moving, but no sound came out.  Last chance, must tell her everything…Have to save Laverne…

The bald woman lunged at he girls as Leonard forced himself up off of the floor of the baggage car.  He forced his aching and bound legs to hop towards the bald woman’s back and his last conscious thought was how muscular she seemed when he grabbed her shoulders…

Leonard nearly spewed his eighteen-year-old McCallistar out of his nose in surprise.  “You’re kidding me.”  Coughing, he reached for his handkerchief as he eyed his father with suspicion.

Michael Kosnowski favored his son with a smug smile from behind his massive mahogany desk.  “Hardly.”

“Max Shotz is no longer a threat?”  The words said aloud sounded insane to his ears.

“Max Shotz is now considered to be a minimal threat at best,” his father corrected.  “With the Hellmouth sealed and half of the demon population in the northern hemisphere knowing that his incompetence had a hand in closing it, Shotz will be lucky to live to see next month.  More scotch?,” he asked as he proffered the half empty bottle.

Leonard shook his head and tried to absorb what his father had told him.  “I was under the impression that it was his nephew Tad who gave us access to those ancient writs.” 

“It was, but Max Shotz is responsible for the actions of his progeny.”  Michael’s blue eyes regarded his son slyly.  “A concept that I understand, but apparently you might not.”

Leonard’s face colored at the barb.  “Meaning?”

“Meaning that you are too close to your potential slayer, Leonard.  You’ve been Shirley Feeney’s watcher for eleven years now and the chance that she is chosen becomes less with each passing month.  I believe, and the Council supports me in this decision, that you need to be reassigned.”

Sheer willpower kept Leonard from dropping the Waterford highball glass on the stone floor.  “I’ve invested…”

“Eleven years of your life.”  His father looked away briefly and then looked back.  “Leonard, I know that and that is the problem.  Do you really think that I am ignorant of the cavalier ways that you have bent the rules to help Miss Feeney?

“Bending the rules isn’t the same as breaking them.  You taught me that, Father.”

“You’ve allowed yourself to grow too attached to these people, Leonard.  You no longer have any objectivity and your lack of focus could put countless endeavors in jeopardy.  The fact that you do not even realize that this is an issue shows how dire the situation is.  You will be reassigned by the end of the month; and the Council’s decision is final.”

“So you are going to ship me back to England, lock me in a library so that I can know the joy of researching day in and day out?”

“Melodrama is beneath you,” his father replied in a withering tone.  “Actually, we want to relocate you to southern California.” 

“Sunnydale?”  Leonard felt the enthusiasm surge in his veins, despite himself.

“No, but we do want you in closer proximity to the Hellmouth.  Recent findings indicate that the situation may be direr than we anticipated.”

Leonard blinked in surprise.  “Worse than borderline Armageddon?”

His father nodded.  “Certain portents have indicated that our earlier timeline may have been inaccurate.  We now believe that the Sunnydale Hellmouth’s dimensional portal maybe a threat within this century, not next.”

“But I thought when Perkins translated the texts…”

“Yes, we all thought that,” Michael snapped.  “I really wish that we had proofread his notes more diligently thirty-five years ago, but we didn’t.  We now believe that if a group of vampires are able to massacre enough victims for the necessary ritual…”

“When?”  Leonard forced himself not to visualize the grisly harvest ritual and to focus on his father’s words-and a solution.

“It could be as early as the mid nineteen nineties, Michael reluctantly admitted.  “That’s why you are needed there as a field agent, Leonard.  We need someone with strong leadership skills; who understands what’s at stake.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “You don’t have faith that I can be an effective watcher, yet you want me to take over field ops.  What aren’t you telling me?”

A steel door seemed to slam itself down behind Michael’s eyes.  “That information is restricted.  Certain facts have come to light, which makes us reevaluate our information sharing with the Initiative.”

“Such as?”  What did Romono do?

His father’s tone brooked no argument.  “No, Leonard.  As you know, you need to clean up your affairs here before you leave your assignment.” 

“So good old Lenny gets a job in a new town; or do I just disappear, or have one of those ‘we never found the body’ accidents?”

His father shot him a withering look.  “I’d rather you tie up your loose ends yourself and save us the trouble.”

“I’m nothing if not a company man,” Leonard replied stiffly as he set his drink down on the credenza and left his father’s office.

He took the elevator down to the archive level and headed toward the back section to the smaller reference alcove.  “Hello?”

A loud and low growl reverberated through the stacks; seeming to come from all directions at once.

“Duane?”

“Leonard?”  A slightly built man with thinning hair and a rumpled dress shirt and a clip on tie stepped out from behind a stack of books.  “It’s good to see you,” Duane said with a grin that revealed some slightly longer than average canine teeth.

“I wouldn’t know from that greeting. “

Duane scowled.  “I thought you were Whitscombe; don’t ask.”

“I’ve known Chaz since prep school, and I don’t have to.”

“What brings you down here to the world of dust and the Dewey decimal system?”

Leonard smiled.  “Just wanted to see an old friend.”

Duane sniffed the air, and then shook his head.  “No, really.  What do you want?”

“I forgot you have an added edge in the truth sniffing department.  Are you happy here, Duane?”

The other man shrugged.  “Yes, for the most part.  I’m not too thrilled to be the glorified gofer, but not many places let you take four days off every month and give you a nice room to stay in.  Okay, the door’s locked from the outside…”

“Yes, the Council is known for it’s generous benefit package.”

“I’m not complaining,” Duane insisted, shaking his head.  “Ever since I got myself bit, it’s been hard holding down a regular job.”

“How would you like to try something new?”

“Would it be more exciting than collating, filing, and returning books to the shelves?”

“Yes, and you’d be repaying me for springing you from that cage.”

“It’s that big of a deal?  I’m in.  Who do I have to eat?  If it’s Whitscombe, it will be my pleasure.”

Leonard grinned at he vision of Chaz Whitscombe morphing into a bowl of Purina Werewolf Chow.  “Tempting, but no.  Before your unfortunate exposure to lycanthropy…”

“You always did have a nice way of saying things...”

Leonard ignored the interruption.  “What did you do?”

Duane puffed his sunken chest out proudly.  “I was a sales trainee for Dwight’s Tractor Emporium back in Blowing Rock, North Carolina.”

Leonard’s grin widened.  “So you know your way around industrial machinery?”

“I’m a fast learner; what do you need?”

“I need you to research bottle capping machinery.”

“Why?”

“Because, my friend, you are going to make Max Shotz an offer that his wallet can’t refuse…”

Leonard tilted back his head and drained the remnants of the bitter convenience store coffee before chucking the paper cup into the trashcan.  He’d had all of six hours worth of sleep in the last four days and it didn’t look like he’d be getting anymore sleep for at least a day and a half.

“Mr. Kosnowski?”

He turned his head towards the young man in fatigues and grimaced at the sudden movement. 

“They’re going to be waking up pretty soon; we should probably clear out,” he said as he gestured to the three unconscious people lying across one of the beds in his room at the Royal Cactus.

Leonard forced a small smile.  “The gas works faster than our old tranquilizing darts, doesn’t it, Harris?”

Harris nodded, looking every bit as old as his twenty-three years.  “They won’t remember feeling a pinprick and they’re not even going to feel hung over when they wake up,” he answered in his thick Manchester accent.

“Lucky them,” Leonard murmured as he closed his eyes and tipped his head back while praying that his aspirin would kick in sooner rather than later.  When he opened his eyes again, Harris was staring at the three people on the bed in confusion.

“How did those women,” he gestured towards the girls as they lay in their makeshift tramp wear, Laverne in an assortment of Phil’s of Peewaukee’s finest and Shirley in a strapless bathing suit, “get possessed by sye-elths?”

Leonard shook his head ruefully.  “The only time they were on their own was at a taco stand about forty five miles east of here on the interstate.  It was just on the outskirts of a Navaho reservation if that’s any help.”  Inwardly, he cursed himself for not being more diligent over his charge.  Shirley may no longer technically be his potential slayer, but he’d be damned if he’d let any of his friends be turned into Native American succubus’s-sucubbi -on his watch.  “The same old story; disenfranchised indigenous populace resorting to raising demons to settle the score.  If I had a pound….”

Harris nodded in agreement.  “You’d be richer than the Queen; yes, I agree.  So the sye-elths took possession tried the old corruption by seduction routine on you and your friend, and…”  Harris’s eyes were dilated and he looked intently at Leonard as he waited breathlessly for the reply.

Leonard sighed.  “And nothing.  Sorry, kid.  You’re not going to hear about the Watcher’s version of a letter to Penthouse this time.  I realized what was going on.”

Harris’s eyes looked at him unblinkingly.

Leonard coughed.  “All right.  Eventually, I realized what was going on, worked one of my emergency gas bombs out of old Jeffrey, over there” he said as he gestured to the stuffed iguana with the zipper in it’s belly, “and they were all out like lights.”

“Well,” Harris said as he looked skeptically at the unconscious three.

“What?”

The younger man colored.  “I mean, how did you figure it out so quickly?  I mean, the demonic influence part?”

Leonard shot a wistful look at Laverne’s black lace covered torso.  “Trust me, I know these girls very well.” But not as well as I’d like too….

“How are you going to explain all of this?”  Harris asked, his eyes never leaving Shirley’s legs.

“I’m over here.”  Leonard waited until the young man’s attention was refocused before continuing.  “Between the gas, the case of beer we bought at the convenience store, and sleep deprivation; I’m sure they’re not going to remember anything.  If they do, it will probably just seem like some sort of weird dream.  We don’t have anything to worry about.”

At the knock on the door, Leonard swiftly tossed the text of Ha’Maru death rites that he had been studying between his bunk and the wall and focused his attention on the twin tattered copies of “Black Scorpion #44” and Playboy in front of him.

“Lenny?”

He looked up in displeasure to see Rhonda Lee standing before him in the filthy apartment wearing one of her many skintight outfits.  “Hey Rhonda, I woulda got up to answer the door, but I forgot how the knob works again.  Stupid me…”

Rhonda bit her lip and looked vaguely uncomfortable at his words.  “Rhonda deserved that.”

Damn right, you did!  “Squiggy ain’t here,” he muttered as he forced himself to return his attention to the lovely Miss Feburary of 1963.   Unfortunately for him, blatant displays of nudity didn’t seem to disturb Rhonda as easily as it did the girls.  Gotta love Hollywood…

“Rhonda didn’t come here to see Squiggy; why would you ever think that?”  she asked with a slight shudder.

Leonard’s eyes narrowed.  “I don’t know, then again, I ain’t much for thinking.”

Surprisingly, she still didn’t leave.  “Rhonda is sorry that she said that to you.”

“Yeah right,” he sneered, not wanting to admit, even to himself, how much her words had hurt him.  Like Laverne didn’t think you were stupid until Rhonda pointed it out?  “Whaddya want?”

“ Rhonda--I didn’t know that you would get so hurt.  I am really sorry.”

The quaver in her voice irritated him.  “Well, I guess I just ain’t bright enough to catch on to the game.  That’s what you mean, don’t cha?”

She shook her head.  “No, Rhonda doesn’t.”

“So you don’t think I’m dumb?”  And we’ll see how good of an actress you really are.

She looked at the tops of her incredibly uncomfortable looking shoes for a few moments before she replied.  “Rhonda’s sorry that she hurt your feelings, Lenny.  Bringing that game over wasn’t one of Rhonda’s best ideas.”

“No kidding.”  It’s not her fault.  Everyone has been on edge lately; it almost seems like we’re not all friends anymore.  If I didn’t know better, I’d think the Hellmouth was in Burbank rather than Sunnydale.  The girls had been fighting over nothing; Sonny and Carmine were even sniping at each other and those two rarely let little things bother them.  Squiggy’s been sulking for three days over the fact that Shirley had called him ugly.  “Does anyone ever like that game?”

Rhonda shrugged, momentarily looking unsure of herself.  “I don’t really know.  I’ve only played it once or twice before; it’s the new hit at all of the big Hollywood parties.  Rhonda had a bit part in the new Steve McQueen movie that will be out next month, and the director was giving these games out as gifts at the wrap party.”

“I guess you Hollywood types don’t let anything bother you.”

“No.  It’s just that-most people are just used to the cruelty I guess.  I mean, the game says that it helps you learn about your friends, but I think it only gives you a few cheap laughs at the expense of other people.”

“Sounds like a barrel of laughs.”  As much as he tried to let go, he couldn’t get the bitterness out of his voice.

“Lenny, Rhonda is truly sorry that she hurt your feelings, but…”

“But what?”  he asked as his impatience got the better of him.

“Why are you here?”  Her plaintive voice made her seem more childlike that he’d ever imagined her.

“What?”

“You just-and please don’t take this the wrong way-you just don’t seem to fit in…I mean, none of you really do, but you don’t the most.  Lenny, Hollywood is a very tough town.  You don’t understand how rotten some people can be.”

“I think I can,” he said, dryly.

She looked away, looking self conscious and uncomfortable for once; as if she didn’t relish being center stage at that moment.  “Rhonda’s been here for a few years, trust Rhonda when she says that there are people waiting to suck the very life out of you, to rip you apart, and eat you alive.”

“And?”  He whispered, momentarily afraid she’d bolt, but more afraid of what she might say as a knot of dread tightened in his stomach.

“You’re just so-nice.  And decent.  You’re also pretty honest.”

He sucked in his breath and looked away, momentarily afraid to open his mouth.

“You just don’t get how dangerous and frightening this place can be” Her lips pursed together tightly and for a split second the radiant golden goddess was gone, replaced by a very grim, older looking woman.  “You should go back to Wisconsin, all of you.  This town devours people like you.  Trust me.”

Yanosh favored him with an oily smile as he handed over the spell book in the corridor in the back of the theatre.  “You are a man of your word, Kosnowski.  Your father was right when he told me that I could trust you despite your recent actions.”

Leonard returned a grim smile and gave the other man a slight nod of his head as he tucked the book into the lapel pocket of his cheap and shiny brown suit.  He momentarily wondered if the polyester fabric would do any irreparable damage to the fragile paper.  “I’m impressed, Yanosh.  Your English has improved rapidly in the last day.  I now regret spending all of that time brushing up on my conversational Latvian.”

“It is better not to tip one’s hand, no?  If people think that I do not understand them, they are more inclined to say much more interesting things in my presence.”

“The Council owes you and your troop a lot.  I know that delivering this book to us has put you at risk.”

“Not as much risk as my father took taking it with him when he escaped Dachau with a handful of other Gypsies.  He only survived for eight days after the escape; his wounds were mortal, but he knew that the secrets of our people could not fall into the hands of the Nazis.”

“He was a very brave man to take such a risk and endanger his whole community.”

Yanosh looked away and his voice hardened.  “He did not have the options that I have.  Our exposure on television today has put us in the spotlight.  It will be much harder for us to be “disappeared”.  I owe you for that,” he added, grudgingly.

Leonard hefted the spell book.  “Consider us even on that count.”

Yanosh grinned.  “We have already received an offer from the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas to perform.  Pretty good for five men who used to share a one bedroom apartment.”

“I’m not surprised,” Leonard said.  “You are very talented and American’s have a huge appetite for entertainment.  You should do well on this side of the Atlantic.”

Yanosh gestured down the hall of the television studio.  “You’re friend isn’t expecting us to stay with him, is he?”

Leonard struggled to hide his disappointment.  Squiggy had worked his tail off to get the troop the gig at the Hollywood Palace; his tenacity had amazed even his closest friend.  “Yes, he is.  However, I can always tell him that I lost your paperwork.  You’ll be free to sign with another agent if you want.  You might want to give Squiggy a chance, however.”

“I didn’t risk life and limb crossing the Atlantic to ally myself with a fool.“

“I think that you are making a hasty decision, but your career choices are no longer my concern,” Leonard said, as he turned to leave.

Yanosh stepped in front of him.  “Do not misunderstand.  I am very grateful to you and the Council for arranging all of this.”  He stopped to leer at a leggy showgirl as she walked past their corridor on four-inch heels.  “America has a lot more to offer me than just work,” he added, smiling his oily grin again.

His patience at an end, Leonard inwardly started counting to ten and forced a smile.  “About that,“ he said, and then stopped counting around seven.  The resounding blow caused Yanosh to fall to his knees.  “That was for leading my friend on and getting her punched out by your wife.  Welcome to Burbank, Yanosh.”

Lenny sipped the now lukewarm champagne in the hotel ballroom as he watched the happy couple whirl on the dance floor.  Laverne had disappeared half an hour earlier with the hotel’s concierge, but he was too focused on Shirley and Carmine to follow her on today’s tawdry adventure.

Why didn’t you say I do, Shirley?  The question ran over and over in his head like a broken record.  This was her dream wedding, she loved Carmine, the day had been-well, he admitted, close enough to perfection for her.  Why hadn’t she married Carmine?

Carmine held Shirley closely to him as they danced.  He looked more dashing than ever in his second hand, bullet riddled tux and wore the biggest smile that Leonard had ever seen on anyone’s face.  Carmine, you may have the cake, but I still don’t think she’ll let you eat it tonight.

Carmine kissed Shirley and her arms draped around him.  When Carmine lowered his lips to nuzzle her neck, Leonard felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Leonard looked around Sinbad’s furtively before leaning over to speak quietly to the man sitting on the bar stool next to him.  “I need a favor.”

Duane sipped his seven and seven and looked at him suspiciously.  “Another one?  Not that getting out of the library was a bad thing.  I owe you one for that.  Now that they know I can be trusted in the field, I’ve been promoted.”

Leonard nodded impatiently, “Yes, to the Finance Division.”

“For a guy who never attends board meetings, you know a lot about the day-to-day happenings of the Council.  “

“They still send me the newsletter,” he mumbled.  “Look, Duane.  I know that I’m not exactly the Council’s golden boy….”

Duane snorted.  “That’s a nice way of putting it.  If they had an award for the opposite of Employee of the Month, you’d be a shoe in.  Don’t take this the wrong way, but if your Daddy wasn’t stepping in, you might not be here today.”

Leonard looked at his companion sharply.  “ What are you trying to say?”

“I don’t know much, but people have a way of getting quiet when I walk in to the room, that’s all,” he said, before motioning to the bartender for a refill.

“I’m sorry that you’re position is being affected by your relationship with me.”  Inwardly Leonard groaned.  While being trapped behind a desk at the Council would be a fate worse than death for himself, he had no right to screw up any sort of normal-or as close to normal as Duane would ever get-life.

Duane laughed, a short humorless barking sound, which sounded even odder since he was in full human form right down to the ill fitting Nehru jacket.  “If it weren’t for my relationship with you, I’d be in a shallow grave in a field somewhere in the mid-west, not living in an apartment in San Pedro.  I’m a big dog, and I can take care of myself.  What do you need?”

“How long have you been working in the Finance Division?”

Duane smirked.  “Something you don’t know?  Five months now.”

“Jarvis Wentworth is putting together a task force on locating and disrupting financial avenues among demons.”

Duane nodded.  “I know.  I’m the junior member and the US liaison, which I’m sure you know as well.  It’s going to be interesting,” he said, “Money’s getting harder to exchange these days.  The IRS-by the way, are they…?”

“No.  We checked.  Five times.”

“Anywho, it’s not like the good old days where you could just melt down some Sumarian artifacts, hammer out jewelry and hock it at a pawnshop.  People and governments ask questions when treasures go missing and they see large chunks of change going into somebody’s bank account for no reason.”

“Welcome to the world of organized crime and money laundering.  Mobsters aren’t the only ones hiding their assets these days.  To be powerful, you must buy power, and it doesn’t come cheap.”  Leonard thought briefly of the once great Shotz Empire, now bankrupt and it’s competition picking over the bones of its assets like vultures.  Max Shotz was smart to blow his brains out with that hunting rifle.  Forget what the other demon overlords would have done to him, the IRS wouldn’t have left them anything to torture.

“The idea is that if we knock out the financial legs out from under some of these corporations, we can nip some of their long-term plans in the bud.   Let’s face it, vampires are excellent financial planners,” Duane confided.

“Never underestimate a long term investment.  I think they took their cue from the monarchy,” he muttered.  “By the way, disrupting their financial pipelines is an idea I wholly support.  Except…”

“Except for what?”  Duane asked, his eyes suddenly wary and more than a little bit feral.

“There’s one guy that I’d just like you to leave alone; Sal Malina.”

Duane’s jaw dropped.  “Sal Malina of Malina Electric, or as they’re now known, Western Electrico?  You have to be kidding?  The guy is up to his neck in this!”

Leonard nodded before taking a sip of his drink.  “You’re right.”

Duane shook his head vigorously.  “You don’t understand, this guy is really involved.  I mean he is so connected that he’s a shareholder in Wolfram Hart.  Hello?”

Leonard grimaced at the overly wet martini in his hand before replying.  “I know how deep he’s in.  Please, when I knew the guy, he was a second-class seaman-ten years later he’s a multi millionaire?”

“Billionaire.  I guess that you don’t know everything.  What are you asking me to do, Leonard?”

Leonard took a deep breath.  It’s for Laverne.  “Give him a chance to turn on Wolfram Hart.  Make a deal with him.”

“And if he says no?”

Leonard shrugged.  “You would have given him a chance.  After that, you do what you have to do,” he mumbled as he inwardly prayed Laverne would understand someday.

Duane’s thick eyebrows drew together in a frown.  “Isn’t this the same guy who…”

“Yes.”  The pathetic martini in his hand was suddenly fascinating.

“Do you think he knows that Shirley Feeney could be the next slayer?”

Leonard smirked.  Only a guy as dumb as Sal could be making back room deals with demons without knowing that his ex girlfriend’s roommate’s head on a platter would have him in like Flynn.  Hopefully, Sal wouldn’t wise up anytime in the near future.  “No.  His interest is with her best friend, Laverne De Fazio.”

Duane smirked.  “Now that’s a name I’ve heard before.”

Leonard choked on his martini.  “What do you mean?  When have you heard about Laverne?”

“I’ve heard that name during those important discussions that grind to a halt when I walk into the room.  That’s not a name a guy easily forgets.  Then again,” he said as he raised an eyebrow at his friend, “I don’t think I have to tell you that.”

“Hello!  What’s so funny?” Squiggy asked as they burst through door into the girls’ apartment.  Laverne was doubled up laughing on the couch while Shirley was glaring at her, her arms crossed in front of her.

“Shirley was just telling me about this dream she had last night…” Laverne gasped between laughs.

Shirley’s face flushed.  “Laverne!”

Leonard leered at her before plopping himself down on the chair and putting his feet on the coffee table.  “Hey, hey, what was you doing with Fabian, Shirley?”

Shirley’s dainty size five’s kicked his motorcycle boots off of the table.  “Fabian for once was not in my dream, Leonard!” she said as she shot Laverne a warning look.

“Yeah, that would have been normal!”  Laverne howled again in laughter before getting off the couch and wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Laverne!  Honestly, I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

“Aw, cmon, Shirl!  Even you have to admit that this one was too weird not to share.”

Squiggy vaulted over the back of the couch and commandeered the spot Laverne had vacated.  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, get to the part where I was rich and famous and you was my love slave…” 

Shirley’s face took on a bit of a cruel smile.  “Not really, Andrew.  I was---was your wife,” she said, all but choking on the words, “but Laverne was your love slave!”

Leonard blinked in surprised and shot Squiggy a dirty look before the absurdity of blaming his friend for another person’s dream hit him.  “Huh?”

“Yes, she was your secretary and you two were carrying on right behind my back for five years…” Shirley continued, shooting Laverne a triumphant look over Squiggy’s head.

Laverne’s laughter ceased abruptly.  “Shirl, you remember this was a dream, right?  And the reason you dreamed it is you felt bad for losing my blue purse?”

“Well, Laverne, a purse is one thing, but carrying on with a married man is something quite more!”

Laverne’s eyes narrowed.  “Oh yeah?  You haven’t been jumping to tell Lenny the role he played in your little dream there, have you?”

Shirley’s cheeks flushed a dark pink.

“Yeah?  What, or who was I doing in your dream, Shirl?” he asked, playing it up to the hilt for Laverne’s benefit.  A woman always wants what another woman has…

“You were the family chauffeur;” Shirley said quietly, as she stared at the cheap ceramic blowfish on the coffee table.

Leonard’s shoulder’s sagged in disappointment.  “Awe, ya mean I just had to drive Squiggy around when he went from you to Laverne?  That’s a rotten job!”

“Probably not even union,” Squiggy added.

“Even worse!”  Leonard allowed his features to sag into Lenny’s usual hangdog expression while sneaking glances at the way the hem of Laverne’s night shirt rode up her thighs.

“No, Len.  While Shirley’s all upset that imaginary me was having an affair with her imaginary husband…”

“I’m right here, woman!” Squiggy hollered.

Laverne ignored him and her voice took on more of an edge as her green eyes glared at her friend, “little Miss Perfect over here was vodey-oh-doeing with the chauffeur!”

Leonard’s jaw dropped in shock.  “Shirley?”

Shirley jumped to her feet, put her hands on her hips and began to bawl out her best friend.  “Laverne!  Honestly, you are the loudest and most indiscreet creature that ever walked the face of the earth, do you know that?”

“My best friend and my wife; how could you?” Squiggy moaned before curling himself up fetal position around Laverne’s Hello Sailor! pillow.

“Squiggy, it didn’t really happen.  It was all a dream,” Leonard said absently, as he tried to focus on the implications of Shirley’s dream.  And continued looking at Laverne’s thighs.

“More like a nightmare!”  Rage propelled Squiggy off of the couch.  As he strode towards the door, he whirled around, pointing his finger at Lenny.  “ I thought I knew you, Leonard Kosnowski!  It’s like I’ve been rooming with a stranger for years!”

“Squig!”  Desperately, Leonard forced himself not to run out the apartment door after his best friend.

“Don’t speak to me!  And you, Shirley…  You was so pure like the ivory soap-I can’t even look at you!”

“Squiggy!”  Shirley shrieked at the slamming door.

Laverne tossed her head and headed upstairs.  “I gotta get showered, I’m late for work…”

“Ok, fine,” Shirley yelled at her friend’s back, “Start a fight and leave the room!”

Laverne turned around at the top of the stairs and said in a forced patient tone.  “If I’m late, Bardwell’s docks my pay and the last time I looked we needed to pay the water bill, Miss Fill Up Everyone’s Birdbaths on the whole block!”

“Well if you took more cold showers, that would solve two of our problems right there, wouldn’t it?” Shirley retorted to Laverne’s retreating form.

Leonard let out one of Lenny’s goofy giggles.  “Wow, you’re really mad at her,” he said, in a pathetic and admittedly cowardly way of trying to change the subject.

Shirley looked at him uncomfortably before looking away.  “No.  I just wish she hadn’t told everyone.”

“So Squiggy ain’t your dream guy?”

“Even that part didn’t bug me,” she admitted.  “It, well Leonard.”

He suppressed a start as she used his proper name.  It never failed to unnerve him.

“I just-you seemed-different.  You seemed like you were the only one who fit in with rich people.”

Once again, Lenny’s giggle escaped his lips as Leonard’s mind worked furiously.  “Shirley, I was the chauffeur.”

“You were, but---,” she hesitated, as though the words falling from her lips made no sense to her.  “It seemed more right that you were in a big fancy house than me.  You seemed at home there, and even sounded a little different.”  She looked down at him with big, blue, curious eyes, like she was seeing a stranger.

Leonard swallowed, afraid for where her questions could lead.  “Really?” he asked, despite himself.

She nodded and peered at him intently.  “Sometimes I think there’s more to you than meet’s the eye.”

FIN