Disclaimer :: The characters herein are the property of their creators. I make no profit from their use.


:: T h e C r u e l e s t M o n t h ::

written by Starlet2367 { e-mail // livejournal }

The Cruelest Month - Part 2


"Sounds good." He glanced at Gunn and Wes. "You guys wanna handle his house? I suspect it'll be kinda tough to break and enter with the cops all over it, but maybe it'll give us a clue."

"'kay," Gunn said. He looked around at the crew. "Sounds like we all got our assignments. I say we break for the night, catch some shuteye."

Cordy yawned. "Now that you mention it, I could use a few more hours of sleep."

"Let's rendezvous at the office tomorrow about one o'clock," Wes said. "That'll give us enough time to make a preliminary analysis. We can go from there." He tapped his coffee cup. "Thanks for the fortifier," he said.

The Host nodded. "Least I could do after dragging you guys out of bed in the middle of the night."

Cordy pushed the barstool back and hopped off. "See you later, then."

"Cordelia, hold up a minute, will ya?" the Host asked. He waved goodnight and they watched as the guys shuffled toward the stairs.

Angel glanced over his shoulder. "You okay to drive home?"

"Fine, thanks."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and stood watching her for a few seconds. Then he turned and disappeared into the red glare made by the emergency exit sign over the door.

She leaned her elbows on the bar. "What's up?"

He rinsed Wes's mug in the sink. The sound of water on stainless steel soothed Cordy's frayed edges. She thought she could probably put her head down on the bar and conk out right there.

"You sure you're okay, sweetie?"

"Besides being tired enough to sleep for a week? I'm fine, thanks."

He nodded toward the door. "Kinda hard on Angelcakes, tonight."

Guilt's fist clenched. "Yeah, well, he deserved it."

The Host pulled a towel out from under the counter and started drying. "Far as I can tell, he's working really hard to make up for what he did." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Which was to make a bad decision. Nothing the rest of us haven't done."

She was too tired to keep up the walls. "I know." She slid onto the closest barstool. "It's just--" She waved her hand, searching for words. "I trusted him."

He put the mug on top of the tidy stack on the shelf behind the bar. It landed with a clink. "What he did was harsh, I won't deny it." He draped the towel over the faucet then folded his arms and leaned on the edge of the counter.

She snorted. "Harsh, my butt. What he did was cruel, irresponsible and selfish. And, damn it, he gave away my clothes!"

He glanced down at his leopard-print shirt. "If my best friend emptied my closet, I gotta say, forgiveness would be awfully tough." He tapped his temple with his finger. "But you guys are linked, you know?"

Cordy sighed. "That's part of what's pissing me off. I mean, I'm stuck with the killer visions, while Angel skates off to take a vengeance vacation? Where's the justice in that?"

He shook his head. "I don't think this about justice, Cordelia. I think it's about forgiveness. Life's a form of currency. You don't want to invest it all in one stock." He patted her hand. "All I'm saying is that bitterness is never a good deal, even if it's a buyer's market."

"I know you're right," she said. "I've been feeling guilty for giving him such a hard time. And believe me, that's hard to admit."

"That's a good first step, though," the Host said. He walked out from behind the bar. "Speaking of, let's get you stepping out of here, huh? You really do look tired." He waited while she slid off the stool then walked her upstairs.

They walked out the open door and onto the sidewalk. Crime scene tape fluttered in the light breeze and Cordy ducked under and made her way across the sidewalk.

"You really okay to drive?"

She rounded the car and shot him a glance. "Yeah. That wasn't just for Angel's benefit."

He nodded. "Good girl. See you tomorrow?"

She unlocked the car. "You bet."

He gave her a jaunty wave. "Drive careful, now." He closed the big, metal door and Cordy heard him throw the bolt.

She slid behind the wheel and listened to the silence. The Host was right. Life was short—and as bad as the visions had gotten lately, it could be very short in her case.

She started the car, put it in gear and pulled out into the street. She wasn't quite ready to let Angel off the hook yet, but maybe she could start cutting him some slack.

***

Angel found Andy and Merl at a bar not far from Caritas. Run-down was a kind description of the dark, narrow room. A line of vinyl-covered booths ranged down one wall. The open area in the middle held a few scarred tables and chairs.

He could smell the remnants of cigarette and cigar smoke embedded in the walls and wood--remnants that even years of non-smoking laws hadn't eradicated. Combine that with stale beer and mildew in the dirty bathroom and he really, really wanted to walk back out into the Los Angeles night and give his nose a break.

Unfortunately, Andy and Merl were sitting at the long, broken-down bar, swilling some of that stale beer. They couldn't see him in the mirror, so he got right up behind them before he spoke. "Merl," he said loudly.

Merl jumped nearly a foot in the air and whirled around on his barstool. "Angel!" His voice cracked.

Angel nodded at Andy. "Andy," he said, as the yellow-skinned demon stuffed an entire boiled egg into his mouth.

Andy chewed once then swallowed. He smiled, showing uneven teeth, flecked with greenish yolk. "Yo," he said, sticking out his hand.

Angel stuck his hands in his pockets and took a step back. "I hear you were at Caritas earlier tonight."

Merl turned back to his beer. "Don't know who told ya that," he said, muttering into the weak, yellow brew.

"The Host. Said you might be in need of a job?" He slid a folded twenty from his pocket and waved it in the mirror so Merl could see it.

Merl shrugged like he didn't give a shit. "Pretty flush right now," he said, taking a sip of his brew. "But thanks."

Angel put the bill back in his pocket. "Too bad. There was more where that came from," he said. He turned and walked toward the door. He had his hand on the doorknob when Merl spoke up.

"Hey."

Angel smirked and stopped walking. He glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Merl scooted across the floor and sidled up next to him. "I, uh--" Merl looked back at Andy, who was stuffing another egg in his mouth. "That is, uh, Andy and I, we were at, uh--" His gaze darted around the room, as if he were actually worried that someone would overhear them. He leaned in and whispered. "We were at Caritas earlier tonight. We might have some information for you."

Angel arched an eyebrow. "Really? So the Host wasn't lying?"

Merl grinned, showing most of his teeth. "He's a good guy, but you know how it is. Don't wanna offend the local business people, if you get my drift." He looked around the room again.

It might have been a useful tactic if there was anyone else in the bar. As it was, the only other person there was the bartender, and he was in the back doing dishes. Angel leaned in. "You mean Koreatown Benny?" he whispered.

Merl jumped back like Angel had bared his fangs. "How'd you know--" He squeaked and pulled his collar away from his throat like he suddenly felt hot. "Who told you that?"

Merl really was a dim bulb. But that was part of what made him a good informant; he was like an information-absorbent sponge. "Wasn't too hard to figure out." Angel glanced at his watch. "Tick tock, Merl. I don't have all night."

"Fine, fine." He scurried to the barstool and grabbed his jacket off the bar. "Be right back," he said to Andy.

Andy stood and stuck his hand in his pants pocket. He came up with a bill and threw it on the bar. "Nah, I'm about ready to head, anyway. I'll walk out with ya."

Angel stepped onto the sidewalk. In the east he could see light slicing through the purpling sky. His skin prickled. Nearly time to head home, himself.

Andy and Merl crowded out behind him. "Let's make this fast," Merl said. He stuck his hand out. "Give me the money and I'll tell you what I know."

Angel shook his head. "You know me better than that." He crossed his arms over his chest. "You give me your info and I'll decide what it's worth."

Merl whined. Angel held firm.

"Fine," Merl said on a huff. "Me and Andy were out front at Caritas. He was smoking a cigarette."

"Speaking of--" Andy pulled a pack from his pocket , tapped one out and lipped it.

Angel ignored him. "Meter's running, Merl."

"So we were standing out there, and this guy comes up. Been gut-shot. Knee capped." He looked around furtively and leaned in. "Koreatown Benny's work, if you ask me," he said.

"Please," Andy said, touching his lighter to the tip of the cigarette and taking a long draw. "You wouldn't know Benny's work if it bit you in the ass."

Merl cut his eyes at Andy. "Whatever. Anyway, we went down to tell the Host, then the cops came." He held up his hands. "That was it. I swear."

Angel pulled the twenty out of his pocket and held it casually between his fingers. He glanced at Andy. "That all?"

Andy blew out a puff of smoke. "Didn't pay a whole lotta attention. Dude was human." He shrugged, but he glanced at the twenty.

Angel looked back at Merl. "Nothing else comes to mind? Nothing at all."

Merl stuck his hands in the pockets of his tan slacks, eyes darting toward the money and back to Angel's face. "Um, well, he did write something on the step in his own blood, but that was it."

Angel squinted at Merl. "That's it?" He shook his head. "You didn't give me anything new, Merl. Why should I pay you for information I already have?" He slipped the money back into his pocket.

"Hey!" Merl said, lunging at Angel. "Gimme my money!"

Angel danced aside. "You give me something worth paying you for, and we'll discuss it." He glanced at his watch again. "Oops. Time's up."

Merl bounced on the toes of his shoes. "Y-you! You dirty, rotten--"

Andy shook his head and pursed his lips. "What'd I tell ya, Merl? Never trust a blood-sucker."

Merl glared at Angel. "I have to make extra appointments with my therapist because of you."

"Hey, don't blame me. I wasn't the one who dropped you on your head when you were a baby." He arched a brow at him. "You find some new information, let me know." He turned, letting his coat flare behind him, and walked toward the Plymouth. He could still hear them talking.

"Come on, man. He's just yanking your chain."

"Yeah, well, that chain-yanker owes me," Merl said.

Angel smiled. Merl would come through for him. He always did.

***

The next morning, Cordy adjusted the dove-gray jacket to the last power suit in her wardrobe and slipped into her tall, chunky heels. The soft, black leather was a remnant of her old life, luxurious and sensual. A far cry from her fifty-percent-off's from Nordstrom, or-- God forbid--her flip-flops from Penny Saver.

She looped her grandmother's pearls around her neck and for the final touch dug her black, smart-girl glasses out of her jewelry drawer. A glance in the mirror showed her five feet, ten inches of well- tailored, intelligent beauty.

Now, if only she could convince the people at Genesys of that.

She rested her hand on her stomach to still the butterflies, then blew out a cleansing breath, shouldered her smallest black purse and picked up her black leather briefcase. Dennis closed and locked the door behind her and she took the stairs down to her car.

"Hey, Cordelia," her neighbor, Matt, said as he unloaded a bag of groceries from the back seat of his beat-up Toyota. "You look great. Audition?"

She shot him a smile. "Thanks. Yeah, uh, I've got an audition." She unlocked her car and slid behind the wheel. "Wish me luck!"

"You got it," he called, balancing the groceries and shooting her a thumbs-up.

Cordy slipped into the flow of traffic and made her way to Sunset. While she waited for the light to change, she thought about her acting career. It had been ages since she'd had an audition, and time was seriously doing that sands-through-the-hourglass thing. If she was gonna have a shot at being the superstar she knew she was destined to be, she needed to do something now.

Sunset flashed past and she hung a left onto North Alvarado. She flipped her radio on and caught some new song KROC had just started playing called "Drops of Jupiter."

It wasn't like her job at Angel Investigations was furthering her life in any meaningful way, she thought, as she tapped the steering wheel in time to the music. She nosed onto the Pasadena Freeway. "Two- hundred-fifty years and he never developed a stock portfolio," she grumbled.

Mid-morning traffic flowed sluggishly and she glanced at her watch. She'd given herself an hour of travel time, but if she was lucky, she could do it in forty-five. "Not that he has trouble with money," she said to herself. "Haven't quite figured that out, considering he never takes a paycheck. Wonder where--"

Just as she swung onto the 210 traffic clogged. "Crap," she said, scanning the road for signs of life. Nothing but a long, stinking line of cars adding to the already deadly haze.

She sighed and reached into her purse for her lipstick. Train faded to Rod Stewart and she ignored him while she touched up the sedate plum gloss and smoothed her hair. At least her looks wouldn't fade, she thought, as she glanced in the mirror.

Live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse. Pretty standard philosophy for a graduate of Sunnydale High. But she was one of the few who graduated alive. And she refused to wait for that big hourglass in the sky to bury her without giving it one more shot.

She dropped her lipstick back into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. Her agent's number was still on speed-dial. She hit it and waited while the thing dialed. "Hey, Joe, it's Cordelia Chase," she said into the voice mail system.

"Long time no talk. Listen, I'd like you to activate my file again. I've got those seizures under control--" Which was a big, damn lie, but it was worth it if it got her a lead. "And I'd love to start auditioning again. TV, commercials, plays, whatever you've got. My time off has been incredibly beneficial. I'd love to show you my new head shots."

She rolled her eyes at the extra two-fifty she just committed herself to spending. "Anyway, call me. I'm at three-two-three, five-five- five, oh-one-seven-five." She powered down the phone and dropped it back in her purse.

Then she steadied her trembling hands on the wheel and took a deep breath. Nothing like a little proactivity to get the heart pumping.

Traffic burped, and she rolled forward with the line of cars. She aimed for the rumpled-sheet outline of the San Gabriel Mountains and let the 210 suck her straight into the 'burbs.

Genesys was handily located a couple of blocks from City of Hope. She hopped off at Central then wound her way through Duarte, a suburban wasteland of small, older houses, cheap hotels and car lots. If you believed the billboards, which advertised Bingo parlors and Metamucil, no one under 60 lived here. One of the circles of hell, as far as she was concerned, though it probably wouldn't be so bad if you just drove in to staff the hospital and its associated businesses.

Genesys was one of those associated businesses. City of Hope's main focus was cancer research, and Genesys helped them meet their goal for a cure by providing them with biotech services. Of course, Genesys served a much broader audience than City of Hope; it couldn't have survived otherwise.

And it was obviously doing well, Cordy thought, as she pulled into the driveway. The U-shaped building shot up from the desert floor and gleamed in the harsh morning sun. The long, green lawn surrounding it said more about Genesys' financial affairs than the building. No one watered that much grass in Southern California unless they had money to burn.

She passed the Genesys sign and curved around to the gatehouse. Her bumper nosed the striped barrier and Cordy rolled down her window. "I have a...." She glanced at the clock on her dashboard and fudged to the nearest half-hour. "Nine-thirty meeting with Kevin Wating."

The guard picked up a clipboard and ran his finger down a list. "He's in the B Wing." He pointed to the left side of the building. "You'll wanna park in Lot C," he said, setting the board down and holding out a parking pass.

"Thanks," she said, rolling up the window and dropping the pass on the dash. As she pulled into a parking space she took a deep breath. She'd gotten past the guard pretty easily; obviously word hadn't made it to the staff that Kevin was dead.

Now if her luck would follow her into the building.

***

Kevin Wating lived in a small, pink stucco house off of Grandview Avenue in Sierra Madre. His neighborhood looked like all the neighborhoods in this part of town: gentrified blue collar with big lawns and sidewalks that marched in straight lines from front doors to wide streets.

No one used the sidewalks except to get the mail; most houses had more than one car in the driveway, even at a time of day when most of the neighborhood was at work. Ah, Los Angeles, Gunn thought. Why walk when you can drive?

He and Wes circled the block to scope out the place.

"Looks like the police have already been here," Wes said.

Gunn saw the black and yellow flutter of crime scene tape across the front door. "Quick work. You think they'll be back?"

Wes shrugged. "Let's park a block off and walk over, just to be safe."

Gunn grunted and pulled the truck around to Laurel. It shuddered when he killed the ignition and he patted the dashboard. "Poor girl needs service," he said.

Wes opened the passenger door with a squeak of the hinge and closed it with a bang. "Sounds like more than just the engine could use some tending," he said. "You know the company will pay for that, right?"

Gunn wiped the back of his hand across his nose. "Sh-yeah," he said. "Kinda hard for a dead guy to win the lottery last I heard. And that's the *only* way that dude's ever gonna be payin' me anything more than a nothin'." He locked up his baby and started around the corner toward Kevin's.

Wes fell in beside him. At nine thirty on a Tuesday morning, there weren't many people around. A green mini-van with a load of little kids passed. The woman behind the wheel was too busy refereeing to notice them, but Gunn ducked his head, anyway.

Habit, more than anything. Trying to blend in; not be seen.

As they walked down the wide, paved street, he took in the tidy lawns and good-sized trees. Wisteria's soft purple trumpets crept up trellises, porches and roofs. The sweet, hyacinth-like smell hit him. He sneezed.

"Bless you," Wes said.

Gunn wiped his nose again. "Damn flowers. This is why I don't live in the `burbs."

They came up on Kevin's house. The grass was a little long, the mailbox door partially open so he could see the white flash of uncollected mail. Nothing beyond the crime scene tape to hint that Kevin didn't live there anymore.

"It's weird," he said quietly as they walked up the sidewalk.

"What's weird?" Wes asked, stepping onto the small porch. He rang the doorbell. The sound shimmered through the house.

"How the guy's dead, but the house still looks lived in."

"Mmm," Wes said, punching the doorbell again. "Well, he only just died last night." He looked at Gunn and raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't seem to be anyone home."

Gunn glanced across the street. No one home there, either. The jacaranda bushes on either side of the porch blocked the view of the neighbors next door. "Huh. Seems like the cops coulda missed something," he said, elbowing Wes aside. "Maybe we should check it out, just to be sure."

He pulled out a pair of surgeon's gloves and snapped them on. Then he opened his jean jacket and grabbed a couple of tension wrenches from the inside pocket. "Cover me."

Wes stepped in behind him and Gunn hunched over the lock and started picking it. After a couple of wiggles of the wrench the door swung open. "Yeah, I still got it," he said over his shoulder.

They slipped under the tape and into the quiet house. "No need to get cocky," Wes said, shutting the door behind them.

"It's only cocky if you ain't got the skills," Gunn said, pocketing the lock picking tools. They stood in the foyer, which opened up onto one, large room. The dining room table sat on one side under the front window. The living room took up the other half of the space. Fingerprint dust smudged the surfaces, but otherwise the room looked normal.

"Pretty fly for a white guy," he said, nodding his head at the leather couch and chairs and huge entertainment center on the back wall.

They moved through the rooms quietly, getting the lay of the land. "Not the Taj Mahal, but not the slums either." Gunn poked his finger in the Mexican pottery centerpiece on the dining room table and found a couple of stray keys, a punch card for a free coffee at Beanie's, and thirty-eight cents. "Shame to risk losing it all. `Specially when you're likely to end up with a cellmate named Big Al."

"Everyone wants to live better," Wes commented as he flipped through a stack of magazines on the nearest end table. "Besides, a guy who deals with Benny knows there are risks," he said. "Maybe he thought they were worth it." He moved down the long, narrow hall that bisected the house.

Gunn lost track of him and decided to scope out the kitchen. The refrigerator held several take-out cartons, a six-pack of Michelob and a bottle of mustard. "Not much with the cooking," Gunn muttered.

"Gunn," Wes called.

Gunn followed his voice down the hall to one of the bedrooms that had been converted into a home office. A black leather and chrome chair sat behind a black, pressboard desk. The computer was steel gray with a large hard drive on the floor and a set of speakers resting on either side of the drive-in sized monitor.

Wes ran his hand over the back of the chair. "Dusty," he said. "He must not have spent much time at home." He opened the desk drawer and rummaged around. His hand stopped moving. He let out a soft laugh.

"What?" Gunn stepped farther into the room.

Wes held up a Pez dispenser.

***

"Hi, I have an appointment with Kevin Wating," Cordy said to the receptionist. She adjusted her glasses for maximum fashion-and- disguise impact. "I'm Cordelia Chase. He's expecting me at nine-thirty."

A look of surprise flashed on the receptionist's face, but was quickly covered. "I'm sorry," she said in a well-modulated voice. "Mr. Wating is...no longer with the company." The woman's French-blue shirt matched the color of her eyes. The shirt was silk shantung; the eyes were sharp as a hawk's.

Cordy feigned impatience. "Well, that's unexpected." She glanced at her watch. "I've traveled from Portland to meet him," she said. "Maybe there's someone else who can help me, Ms. ...." She raised her eyebrows.

"It's Mrs.," the woman said. "Mrs. Davis. And if you'll tell me what your purpose is, I'll be glad to see if I can find someone else you can speak with."

Cordy's mind went as blank as Mrs. Davis's Zenlike white screen saver.

"Ms. Chase?" Her eyebrow raised and she waited, hand poised over the phone receiver.

"Sorry," Cordy said, giving a toss of her head. "Having one of those I-think-I-left-the-oven-on moments." She took a deep breath--and a leap of faith. "Pez," she said, hoping like heck she wasn't gonna get tossed out on her butt by the burly guard at the front door. "I had some information for him on the Pez project."

Mrs. Price stared at her for a long, itchy minute. Then she nodded and dropped her eyes to the phone on the desk in front of her. "Ah, yes," she said, picking up the receiver and dialing a series of numbers. "If you'll just take a seat, I'll have his partner, Dan, come down and meet you."

Cordy eased herself into one of the navy-and-chrome side chairs and drew her briefcase into her lap. She watched as Genesys staffers, well-dressed and predominantly white or Asian, hustled through the lobby.

Elevators binged softly; lights and walls were muted white. Tall palms climbed to the top of the open, courtyard-like reception area. Brushed silver containers of camellias and trailing ivy were strategically placed to provide a sense of privacy in the midst of the openness. The overall feel was restrained, high-tech wealth.

For some reason it gave Cordelia the wiggins.

"Ms. Chase?"

She turned to find a young man a few years older than she was standing just to her left. "Hi," she said, getting to her feet and extending her hand. "I'm Cordelia Chase." They shook hands, and she shouldered her purse and picked up her briefcase. "I was here to meet Mr. Wating, but I hear he's no longer with the company."

Dan blanched. "You could say that." His face was puffy, his eyes red. He'd obviously taken the news of Kevin's death hard. But he didn't mention it; instead he simply extended his hand toward the elevator. "If you'll come with me, we can go to my office and you can tell me what you're here for."

Cordy followed him to the elevator, which opened soundlessly and rode them up the building's spine. There were three other people in the cab with them, and no one spoke, so Cordy didn't try to make chit-chat.

The bell dinged, and the doors slid open. "This is my floor," Dan said, ushering her out.

They made their way down a plush, gray-carpeted hallway. Doors all the way down were closed, and they were the only two people in sight. She couldn't even hear phones ringing. It was eerily quiet. A shiver traveled up her back.

"Here we are," Dan said, unlocking the door to office B-10 with a pass card. She walked inside and found herself in a generic-looking office with a sleek, black desk and chair, bookcases filled with books and notebooks, and diplomas on the wall. One of the ubiquitous palms thrived in the light from the window that overlooked the profile of the San Gabriel Mountains.

"Nice office," she said.

"Thanks." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Have a seat." He motioned toward one of the two guest chairs in front of the desk.

Cordy put her bags down, settled in, and crossed her legs, making sure to flash some thigh. A little thigh never hurt in a situation like this.

Unfortunately, Dan didn't even seem to notice. Instead he settled in his chair and folded his hands on the desk. "How do you know about PEZ?"

Her laugh was a nervous trill. "Everyone knows about Pez, Dan," she said, trying desperately to buy some time. "Who doesn't love their sweet, yummy goodness?"

Dan leaned forward in his chair, his face going grim. "Look, I don't know who you are but--"

Cordy dropped the act. "I'm working for Kevin," she said in a low tone. "Is this a safe place to talk?"

back to part one // on to part three