Chapter II – Force Majeure

Eavesdropping was bloody easy for a vampire. Spike could separate sound into compartments. Block out what he didn't want to hear from what he did. It was a skill he’d used often over the years, especially around Angelus and Darla. It also had come in handy those first weeks after Herschel broke him and Gunn out of hell. He couldn’t stand the sound of his own sodding screams, let alone the scary noises Gunn was making in the room next door. So he’d found something else to hone in on. He hadn’t known Connor well enough back then to recognize his voice. He just concentrated on the words and the soft tenor seeping through the vents reciting Keats and Browning.

Now it was the gravelly baritone of Sylvester Corleone he wanted to hear. The super-sized demon, bending the hinges of his chair, was sitting at a table ten feet in front of Spike. Gunn was on the opposite side, with Herschel standing behind Gunn’s chair, protecting the boss’ back.

Spike propped himself up against one of the man-sized speakers near the edge of the dance floor. It was blasting hip-hop music. The humans and demons surrounding him were screeching like wild pigs as they jumped up and down on the dance floor. Spike ignored them. He had something more interesting to listen to.

“The entire fucking world is in debt.” Corleone was saying as he raised a glass of whiskey to his lips. “Bills aren’t paid. Contracts are meaningless, and even honorable demons make promises they have no intentions of keeping.”

Gunn was looking at Corleone as if there was no one in the Culver City Bar and Grill but the two of them. Gunn’s hands were folded and resting on top of the table. His head was tilted slightly to the left and his lips had curved into a small smile. An insincere smile, thought Spike, but a smile nonetheless. Gunn’s eyes were busy, too. They swept over the planes and angles of Corleone’s broad face like it was a puzzle he’d already solved.

Spike searched for signs of fatigue in Gunn, or the dreaded twitching. Then he noticed that Gunn hadn’t touched the glass of whiskey Herschel had made such a fuss about. Maybe Gunn didn’t need a swig to keep his body in check tonight.

“This shit has caused Wolfram and Hart serious problems for months,” Corleone reached for his whiskey and with a huff, placed the empty glass back on the table. “So, the Senior Partners in all of their wisdom, decided to go outside the rank and file and put together a new wet team to handle the situation.” Corleone winked at Gunn. “A little purging was necessary to get things back on track. You understand how that works, Gunn.” He chuckled. “And it was sweet in the beginning.” Corleone appeared to be drooling. “The new unit’s covert ops were sublime, and their undercover work, magical. Not literally, you understand. It was just a thing of beauty. No one knew who they were, or what they were doing until they struck. They’d line up their targets, and take them out. Fast. No mess. No fuss. The best.”

“You got a hard on, Sly,” said Gunn, his tone dangerously playful.

Corleone laughed. “And you will too, when you see them in action.”

“Sounds like some bloody tough demons,” said Spike out loud from his post next to the dance floor. Gunn started to turn his head as if he’d heard him, but Corleone was still talking.

“These devil bitches turned on us though.” His voice growled. “Each and every one of them.”

Gunn’s chin went to his chest for a moment and then he leveled his gaze at Corleone. “Their contract is the problem.” It was a statement, not a question. “You can’t fire them.”

Corleone looked surprised. “You’re right.” He laughed nervously, but quickly recovered his casual demeanor. “Of course. I nearly forgot. Of all people, you’d know the fine points of Wolfram and Hart contract law.” Then Corleone pointed a finger in Spike’s direction. “You and your vampire associate over there might still be in hell if it weren’t for your talents in that area, I’d wager.”

Cover blown, Spike advanced on the table swiftly, stopping next to Herschel who was chewing on an unlit cigarette. “Thought you were swearing off fags.” He whispered to the Bracken.

Herschel narrowed his eyes at Spike. “If you were going to spy on us, you could have picked a better hiding place.” Then he added quietly. “Besides, you were told to stay put.”

“Well, he’s here now,” said Gunn, not turning around.

With a quick smirk at Herschel, Spike slid into the chair next to Gunn, leaving a seat empty between him and Corleone.

“Why not enlist the Waste Management Department to handle this?” Gunn said to Corleone.

“We lost a unit a month ago, and another last night,” spat the Terex demon angrily. “We don’t have any more people to put on this. So, we started looking at some of our other contracts.”

Gunn nodded, as if he understood what the Terex was implying. “Our contract with Wolfram and Hart is exclusive to the Senior Partners and the CEO in charge when it was signed. And that CEO is gone.”

Spike watched as Gunn unfolded his hands, rested his palms on the tabletop and leaned forward. “What are you not telling me?”

Corleone smiled broadly. “Your contract has a Force Majeure clause, I believe.”

“What about it?” Gunn’s voice sounded sharp and Spike sensed Herschel stiffen behind him. He didn’t understand what Gunn and Corleone were saying, but he recognized lawyer talk. That meant Gunn was in his element.

Then Spike noticed Gunn’s leg twitching under the table.

Corleone snapped his finger and the Muumuus bartender appeared with another bottle of whiskey. The demon had to have been squatting under the table, thought Spike vaguely.

“The Force Majeure clause comes into play if there is an apocalypse.” Gunn said as one hand left the table to rest on his shaking thigh.

“There will be an apocalypse if these fiends aren’t stopped.” Corleone filled his glass.

“How many world ending events can there be?” mumbled Gunn, shaking his head. He then looked at Corleone. “When did Wolfram and Hart start caring about stopping apocalypses?”

“Let’s just say we need to avoid one right now,” said Corleone. “Our former CEO, the late great Angel, put us behind a bit of an eight ball, and this rogue unit is smart. They know the ins and outs of contracts, nearly as well as you do, Gunn.”

“So, you think we’d help you to prevent another apocalypse?” Gunn’s eyebrow arched to a point. As did Spike’s. But the vampire wasn’t questioning whether Gunn would accept the assignment to avert an apocalypse. He was trying to figure out what was missing from Corleone’s story.

Corleone tapped the table with his fingernail. “Angel Investigations is the only freelance unit out here that’s qualified to stop these assassins. But the beauty of this assignment is that you’ll want to.”

“Why’s that?” asked Gunn.

“They’re killing everything in sight. Clients, employees, innocent men, women and children…”

“Innocent men, women and children?” repeated Gunn warily.

Corleone picked something long and thin from between his teeth and flicked it to the floor. “Yep.” Then he rested his elbows on the table. “I figured that would be the part to get your attention.”

Corleone sucked in his jaw, smacking his lips noisily. “Two nights ago, they killed an old man, two women and a child, couldn’t have been more than two years old, when their leader snapped the baby’s neck.”

“Maybe they got the wrong address,” suggested Gunn.

“Maybe they’re just mindless killers.”

“Can’t be that dumb,” said Gunn to Corleone. “They’ve got you looking to us for help.”

“Just doing some thinking outside the box, that’s all.”

“One thing, I don’t get.” Gunn had settled both hands on the table again. “How can hired assassins end the world…again? Sounds like W and H lost a few brain cells if you hired that kind of muscle.”

“What kind is that?” Corleone shot back.

“The kind that’s too powerful to control,” replied Gunn.

“I didn’t hire them…it was the new CEO’s call,” said Corleone. Then he looked at Spike. “I’m surprised you haven’t guessed.”

Spike squinted at him. “Guessed what?”

“Who they are?”

“I don’t like guessing.” Spike responded coolly.

“They’re slayers.”

Spike tried to swallow, but he didn’t have any spit.

“Rogue slayers and their demon energy has generated a new Hellmouth, right here in Culver City,” Corleone chuckled and looked at Gunn. “And between your contract’s Force Majeure clause and your team’s experience with slayers…?” He lifted a knowing eyebrow. “You’re the logical choice to help Wolfram and Hart out, unless you’re ready to tear up that contract.”

Gunn stared at him, a gaze that penetrated like the blade of a small knife, peeling away layer after layer from Corleone’s exterior calm.

The Terex demon tugged awkwardly at the lapels of his suit jacket and then peeked at Spike. “Our records show your vampire has put three slayers in the ground, one just last year. He even fucked another. His shit must be good, she was useless for months.”

“They’re slayers…?” repeated Spike, his mind coming out of a fog.

“Rogue slayers,” said Corleone. “Five of them, and Angel Investigations is going to put them down, or risk extinction.”

“Force Majeure,” whispered Gunn.

“Yep,” said Corleone, glancing over his shoulder at the bar. “Besides the vampire, you have the don’t-really-know-what-he-is wunderkind over there, too.” He pointed at Connor. “With his powers, the vampire’s experience, your bodyguard’s surveillance skills and your brains, your team should rid us of this crew in no time.”

Reaching across the table, he patted Gunn on the shoulder. “You should be proud. The new Angel Investigations are a much better fighting unit than its predecessor.”

Gunn shoved Corleone’s hand away. “You don’t mention them to me, you fucking, oversized ape.”

Corleone was on his feet, towering above the three of them, his shoulders trembling with rage.

Herschel gripped the handlebars of Gunn’s wheelchair prepping to push him to safety, if necessary. A good thing because it gave Spike a clear shot at Corleone. Moving in from his right, he glimpsed Connor on his side of the dance floor, only a few feet away.

Then Spike heard Gunn gulping down his tumbler of bourbon. “How can we be certain you’re not lying about these slayers?” Gunn said to Corleone.

“We don’t have to lie to Angel Investigations,” he responded. “Not anymore. But if you need proof that these slayers are murdering bitches, come back here tomorrow night and see for yourselves.”

Corleone straightened his tie, grinning broadly as he patted the chest pocket of his jacket. He then bowed as much as his height would allow, turned and abruptly walked away, leaving a void of silence.

Spike couldn’t think of anything to say to Herschel or Gunn. And they weren’t talking. So the three of them watched Corleone as his massive frame glided up the staircase to the top of the balcony and out the front door of the Culver City Bar and Grill.

_______________________________________________


Connor and Herschel were sitting opposite Gunn at his desk in Angel's old office. Spike slouched in the doorway, sulking. It was seven o’clock in the morning. Less than an hour earlier, he’d been at the bar downing shots with the stubby Muumuus demon. He’d lingered, not anxious to return to the Hyperion or face Gunn until he’d had time to digest what he’d heard. After a few bottles of Jack, Spike thought he had a handle on it. Then he thought about not returning to the Hyperion at all. He’d had his fill of Wolfram and Hart. But after he drained the fourth bottle, he changed his mind.

“We can’t do this.” Spike stepped into the crowded office.

Gunn’s gloved hands spun the wheels of his chair sharply, propelling him toward the bookcase on the other side of the room. “There’s a clause in our contract and if it goes into effect, we cease to exist. And I mean, really cease to exist. Are you ready for that, Spike?”

Spike clenched his jaw, his lips tensing into a thin line.

“I’m not,” said Gunn. “This is our business, and to do what we need to do, we've got to be around to get it done.”

“This is insane,” shouted Spike, moving swiftly toward Gunn.

“Let’s not argue, boys,” said Herschel, rapping a pen on the desktop for emphasis.

“Killing slayers is now our bloody business?” It was getting harder for Spike not to go into game face.

“Rogue slayers.” Connor corrected him.

“Right.” He shot a look at Connor and then Gunn. “We’re going to take the word of a Wolfram and Hart executive that these slayers are killers?”

“If he can prove it. Yes.” Gunn had pulled a handful of scrolls from behind a row of books from a nearby shelf. “Slayers have been popping up everywhere since Buffy pulled the hat trick in Sunnydale,” said Gunn.

“Not all of them can be good, Spike.” Herschel chimed in.

“You do remember Dana,” added Gunn.

Spike reeled away from the trio and faced the office doorway, glaring into the lobby of the Hyperion. The urge to take a bite out of each and every one of them was nearly uncontrollable. Turning, he gritted out his words. “Yeah, I remember. But damn it, taking a job killing slayers?”

“They are Wolfram and Hart assassins, and they’re killing innocent bystanders. Women and children and old men,” proclaimed Connor. “Besides, you’ve killed slayers before. What’s the big deal?”

“Did a lot of things before.”

“Did a lot of things since,” Connor countered.

“You’re pushing the envelope, son.”

“Don’t call me that,” snapped Connor. “You’re not my father, never could be. He didn’t abandon his family to save his own ass.”

Connor was on his feet and Spike was across the room, but Herschel stepped between them. “You ‘all need to put a harness on this hostility, boys.”

And because he didn’t feel like tussling with Connor, he grabbed Herschel and slapped him down on the desktop, holding him in a headlock before anyone could move.

“Get him off me.”

“Spike!” shouted Gunn. “Let him go. Let him go now.”

Spike gave Herschel’s neck another squeeze and then let go, backing away and raising his hands in mock surrender.

“You need to take this shit down a notch.” Gunn slammed his fist on top of his desk.

Spike pulled his coat up around his shoulders. “I don’t understand.” He looked at Gunn. “Why you’re so willing to believe Corleone’s story without proof.”

Gunn didn’t answer as Spike searched the faces of the three men in the room with him.

Abruptly, Gunn began flipping through the pages of a book on his desk. Connor had sidled into a corner near the bookcase, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes were angry and cold as thye followed Spike’s movements. Herschel had paled, as if being pinned to the desktop had sapped the last ounce of his strength. Then slowly, he started picking up scrolls from the floor and placing them back on the shelf where Gunn had knocked them off.

“Bloody hell.” Spike shouted at no one in particular. “Why are we doing this?”

“We’ve been hearing these stories about rogue slayers for months.” Gunn looked up from his book. “Five years ago, it was Dana. Last year, it was the slayer in Hollywood.” Gunn paused. “What was her name?”

“You know her name.” Spike glowered at Gunn. He shouldn’t play with Spike. They both remembered her name.

“Melody,” said Connor softly from the shadows. Then he stepped into the center of the room and the light from the ceiling gave his skin a soft yellow glow. “You killed her Spike. So, I’m confused. Why are you so against killing these Wolfram and Hart slayers?”

“You sodding fool,” said Spike. “We were fighting to survive that night and I had no choice but to kill her. This time, we’re assassins for hire. No better than the Watcher’s Council’s goon squads.”

“No, not them. They don’t kill,” said Gunn. “They rehabilitate. And if what Corleone says is true, these slayers don’t deserve a second chance.”

“Let’s wait until tomorrow night before we make a final decision, huh, boys?” Herschel had pulled himself together and flopped back into the chair in front of Gunn’s desk.

Gunn eyed Spike. “Sounds like a plan.”

“You hear what he said Spike?” said Connor.

“Yeah, I heard.” Spike walked out of the office, across the lobby and up the stairs to his room. He still didn’t like the idea of accepting a job from Wolfram and Hart to kill slayers. But if they had any hope of getting even with Wolfram and Hart for Angel, Illyria and Wesley, they had to be around to get it done.

And Spike wasn’t ready to give up his bloody revenge, even if it meant killing another slayer.

to be continued...