Eight
Someone lights a cigarette
While riding in a car
Some ol' guy takes a swig
And passes back the jar
But where they were last night
No-one can remember
Somebody got murdered
Goodbye, for keeps, forever
Somebody got murdered
Somebody's dead forever
And you're minding your own business
Carrying spare change
You wouldn't cosh a barber
You're hungry all the same
I been very tempted
To grab it from the till
I been very hungry
But not enough to kill
Somebody got murdered
His name cannot be found
A small stain on the pavement
They'll scrub it off the ground
As the daily crown disperses
No-one says that much
Somebody got murdered
And it' left me with a touch
Somebody got murdered
Somebody's dead forever
Sounds like murder!
Those shouts!
Are they drunk down below?
It's late, and my watch stopped
Some time ago
Sounds like murder!
Those screams!
Are they drunk down below?
Spike resisted the urge to drive through his neighborhood. It was a near thing, since he wanted to know which of Angelus’ minions had his apartment staked out, but the need to get to safety was paramount. Instead of heading across town to the Manhattan Bridge, he headed west, toward the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel.
It wasn’t long before he realized they had picked up a tail, though he didn’t say anything to either of the women. His eyes flicked between the rearview mirror and the slick road ahead. He had two options – he could continue through the tunnel to Brooklyn, or he could cut off onto one of the side streets, into the deserted financial district, hoping to lose the tail. Making a split second decision, Spike eased the truck into the far right lane. When the tail angled to follow him, he hit the gas and made a hard left, cutting across all six lanes in a wide, arcing U-turn, weaving in and out of the other vehicles.
“What the hell’d you do that for?”
“What happened?”
Spike drove, not answering either of the females. They continued to squawk at him and he ground his teeth in irritation. “Gimme a minute, ladies.”
The screech and squeal of tires on wet pavement reached them and Spike headed down one of the tiny streets, hoping to lose the tail before they had a chance to recover. He drove east, then turned onto Broadway, heading toward the Seaport. A glance in the rearview and side mirrors gave him a moment to breathe and answer the questions. “Had a tail. Didn’t want to get trapped in the tunnel, figured this would be better.”
Headlights flared behind them and his curses were colorful, filling the SUV’s interior.
Spike swerved left, turning onto Water Street, then down to William Street. He was trying to reach the FDR Drive or the Brooklyn Bridge, hopefully losing their tail on a wild-goose chase through Brooklyn and Queens. There were too many one-way streets in Manhattan for that game. In the outer boroughs, there was more opportunity to hide.
Whoever it was – and Spike had his suspicions – either had access to very sophisticated equipment or they’d had a tail on him for days.
Either scenario was unsettling.
Somewhere in the streets of Brooklyn, between Carroll Gardens and Park Slope, Spike lost their shadow. Breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, he slowed the SUV to a crawl, cruising down Prospect Park Boulevard.
Nikki had stopped asking questions, keeping her eyes glued to the side mirror. “You’ve lost them.”
“Not takin’ any chances. Don’t know who it is, an’ ‘m not ready to find out just yet.”
“This is one prime piece you’re protecting.” Nikki peered over her shoulder at the sleepy girl huddled on the back seat.
He didn’t respond at first. Then, his voice lowered to a bare whisper, he told Nikki why he was protecting her. He kept his eyes on the street, not wanting to see the censure he could feel rolling off Nikki in waves. After he finished speaking, Spike focused on driving, slowly making his way out of Brooklyn in search of an unexpected route back into Manhattan.
It was only a matter of moments before Nikki started speaking, and, from the tone of her voice, she wasn’t buying all of his story. “Tell me again why you snuck her out of the hospital?”
When he didn’t answer her, she swung around in her seat. Taking a good look at the girl before leveling her gaze on him, her chocolate eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t play me for a fool, William.”
“I’m not.” At her snort of amused disbelief, he turned briefly to face her. “She’s got no one else.”
“And that just pushes all your buttons.” Nikki sighed, shaking her head. “What’s special about this one?”
Spike’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, landing on the curve of Buffy’s cheek. “Wish I knew.”
Even as he uttered the words, Spike knew there was more than just his professional interest at play, but he was reluctant to confide in Nikki. He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was feeling, which fueled his reticence. And although he trusted Nikki, he wasn’t about to let her start second-guessing him or his motives. He was doing enough of that on his own.
Once more he glanced in the mirror, his eyes lighting on Buffy’s features. She was awake, that much he could tell by the tension in her narrow shoulders, and she’d probably heard most of what he’d told Nikki. Her eyes opened, meeting his in the mirror and he could see the effects of pulling her out of the hospital and running had on her. She was exhausted, barely holding on and he needed to get her to safety so she could rest.
Buffy’s eyes haunted him.
Will could feel the censure wafting off Nikki in waves, which was one of the reasons he’d kept quiet for so long.
The drive back into Manhattan gave him time to think; to focus on how easily their tail had managed to follow them and who might be calling the shots. It finally dawned on him as he drove north on the FDR Drive that he’d been traced via his cell phone. It was the only possible explanation. And whoever had his number hadn’t started tracking him until after his second call to Gunn.
Spike was reluctant to suspect his partner, but all evidence was leading him to that conclusion. Gunn had called him twice. The goons had come after him the second time and then again after he’d called Nikki. If their equipment was sophisticated enough, they now had Nikki’s number as well.
“Fuck.”
It was the first word any of them had uttered for the better part of an hour and it startled both his passengers. Nikki swung around, gun already palmed and aimed at the back window over Buffy’s head. The blond shrieked, ducking down below eye level.
“Nikki! Stand down.” Spike reached over to cover her gun hand with his own. “We’re safe.”
“Then what the hell you yelling like that for?” Nikki glared at him.
“Figured something out.” He waited until she turned back around.
When she was settled and her seatbelt right again, Nikki sent him a baleful glance. “So? What did you figure out?”
“Our tail must’ve gotten my cell number and tracked me that way. And now – “ He stopped when she flinched.
“Now they’ve got my number now, too.” The tall African-American woman grimaced, then pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “Get into the right lane.”
Will had a feeling he knew what she was planning. “Wait until we hit the bridge.” He handed her his phone. “Here.”
Buffy listened to their exchange, confusion clouding her mind. “Will?”
He could hear the confusion and fear lacing her voice and knew she needed reassurance. Chancing a backwards glance, he caught her eyes. “Gonna be alright, kitten. I promise.”
He was grateful when Nikki made no contradiction.
Halfway over the Triboro Bridge, Spike eased into the far right lane. He flicked on the hazards and slowed to a crawl. Giving Nikki a nod, he waited while she slipped out of the seatbelt. Window down, Nikki sat on the door, upper body completely outside the SUV. Her left hand wrapped around the panic handle and before he could blink, she had lobbed both cell phones into the murky waters below. She slid down into the seat, whooped once, then groused at him. “I hope to hell this works. And don’t think you ain’t gonna reimburse me for that phone!”
“It’ll work.” It bloody well has too.
Twenty-five minutes later, Spike headed north again, then took the first exit into Washington Heights.
He’d been living up here when he and Nikki first met and he still owned the apartment. It had been empty since his last tenants moved six weeks ago. Though it was bleak and sparsely furnished, it was the only safe place he knew. The only person who knew its location was Nikki. Not even the NYPD had this address. None of the utilities were in his name, in fact, nothing for the apartment was in his name. He’d bought it using his mother’s maiden name, a trick he’d learned while hunting Angelus and others like him. Travers, his first handler, had always told him to have a safe place, a place no one knew he had; a bolthole in case something went majorly wrong with a job.
He figured this current cock-up counted as something going wrong.
It was the safest place he could think of.
Hell, it was the only place he could think to bring Buffy.
Pulling to a stop just outside of Fort Tryon, Spike glanced at Nikki, then at Buffy. He’d already involved Nikki more than he wanted to, and now she was in danger. “Might be a good idea to hide the truck for a bit. Or change the plates.”
She eyed him again, exasperation on her usually placid features. “I used to wonder why we never made a go of things.” Undoing her seatbelt again, Nikki growled at him. “But then I remember whenever you act like this, you can be one serious dumbass, William.”
Will didn’t bother responding, instead he lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror, catching Buffy’s tired gaze. “You okay, kitten?”
“I guess.” She shrugged, wincing from the pain. Her face sported a massive bruise and a ring of equally bad bruising marred her throat. “I’ll manage.”
“Almost there, just a little bit further.” Will drove slowly up Broadway, then turned onto Arden Street.
The apartment was in the second building in from the corner, within walking distance – through the park – of The Cloisters museum. It was secluded and out of the way, and while it was somewhat world famous, the park and museum had a charm that reminded him of home.
“Here we are.” He smoothly pulled to a parking space between buildings and cut the engine.
Buffy had only managed to unhook her seatbelt, before he was out of the SUV and at her door. Spike reached in, sliding his arms around her and gently lifting her out. The poor girl wobbled on her feet, only steadying when he wrapped his arm around her waist. “Steady on.”
She smiled up at him, gifting him with a look so full of trust enough that it gave him pause. No one, not even Dru had ever trusted him the way she did. Buffy gazed up at him and Spike was hard pressed not to promise her things he’d never be able to deliver. Promises to always keep her safe, to move mountains to keep her looking at him that way. He wanted to be worthy of that look.
But the sinking feeling in his belly caused him to look away.
He’d never been a hero. He doubted himself at every turn and knew there was no way she wouldn’t be totally disillusioned when all was said and done.
Will would fail. Just like he’d failed Travers, like he’d failed Drusilla and Nikki.
He wasn’t anyone’s hero.
Yeah, I know. It's been a really long time since I updated this one. I'm so sorry. Sorry for the delays in posting everything, sorry for the lack of timely updates, sorry for a lot of things. I'm the one to blame. I'm the slacker. So I will understand completely if everyone's stopped reading this story and no one cares. I will. I'm sorry. I'll try to pick up the pace, on this and on Resolutions. Thank you for even reading this. I appreciate it. Thanks. Nia.