Angel - Shakedown Part 3

Doyle jumped to his feet and Angel whirled around, tensing for trouble.

Cordelia had the check in both hands.

"Did you see how much this isfor? Oh my G.o.d!"

"Bit of a delayed reaction, Cordy?" Doyle asked.

"No. I justinternalizedit until he left. Iaman actress, you know."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea to socialize with clients," Angel said.

"Don't think of it as socializin'," Doyle said, settling back onto the couch. "Think of it as research. You said yourself we need to know more about these Serpentene guys. This is the perfect opportunity to feel 'em out."

"I was thinking more along the lines of spending a few hours doing some reading-"

"Oh, no," Cordelia said. "Reading or fighting, those are your solutions to everything. You're like the Bruce Lee of bookworms. You should get out and enjoy yourself a little more-and this check is definitelya reason to celebrate."

"I'd rather do my research over a pint than a page," Doyle said. "What do you say? Between the three of us, I'm sure we can-"

"Um, excuse me?" Cordelia said. "I hope by 'the three of us' you mean you, Angel and an imaginary friend, because nowayam I partying in a bas.e.m.e.nt full of walking boa constrictors. I mean, sure, I'll take their money-but what if there's another quake and we get trapped down there? They'll turn me into Cordelia-jerky faster than a marooned soccer team."

"That's also a consideration," Angel admitted. "I don't want to put either of you in danger."

"Look, man," Doyle said reasonably. "It boils down t'this:somebody'sgot t'go, to check these guys out.

You're the one they hired, so you gotta make an appearance. Now, if you go alone, you know you're just gonna do your lurking-in-the-corner-lookin'uncomfortable thing, and you won't find out b.u.g.g.e.rall.

Me, though, I know how t'work a room; gimme a couple drinks and a little mood music, I'll have the clan history on the back of a c.o.c.ktail napkin in half an hour."

"Okay, so you and I go-"

"-and I'm not goin' unless Cordy does."

"What?"Cordelia snapped.

"Come on, Cordy, it'll be fun. And with you there, we'll learn twice as much. Who could say no to those big, beautiful eyes?"

"Well . . ."

"Then it's settled," Doyle said. "Tonight, wemingle!"

"I'll see you guys later, then," Cordelia said, getting up and grabbing her coat.

"Where are you going?" Angel asked.

"To get ready, of course."

"Cordelia, it's two in the afternoon."

"Look, if I have to go to this-this demonfest, I will. But demons or not, they obviously have money and they know how to dress. Unless you want themto treat me like the drive-thru girl at Burger World, you better let me do some preparation. That means new hair, shoes and wardrobe, all on the microscopic salary you pay me. I need the rest of the day, minimum, to put together a look that doesn't scream Salvation Army."

"'Uh-okay . . ."

When Cordelia had left, Angel said, "You didn't have to force her to come along."

"Oh, come on, man," Doyle said, getting up from the couch. "You know as well as I do that not all demons are bad news-but Cordy's a little unclear on the concept. If I can't get her to see some demons as at least being on our side, what chance is there that she'd consider dating one?"

"You're only half-demon, Doyle."

"Like that's gonna make a difference. 'Hey, Cordy, only one side of my family hails from the Infernal Pit, but maybe Thanksgiving withyourfolks is a better idea.' She'd love that."

"Doyle, you haven't even asked her out yet and you're already planning where to spend the holidays."

"Yeah, well, it's never too soon to start planning a dysfunctional relationship." Doyle jammed his hands into his pockets and frowned. "Thanks for goin' along with this, though. It's about as close as I can see to me and Cordy going on a date."

"You're going to have to tell her eventually."

"I know, I know. Just give me some time . . ."

A young, blond Serpentene woman in a short black dress met them at the front door of the complex.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Kyra. Come with me."

She ushered them through the lobby and into the elevator. Once the doors had closed, she pulled out a key and inserted it into the elevator's control panel. "This is how we stay hidden," she informed them.

"We rent out the upper floors to humans, but we're careful to never ride with them."

The doors opened on the first Serpentene floor. "Galvin's the one throwing the party," Kyra said, leading them down the hall. "Wait 'til you see his place-it'samazing."

"Aren't you worried the upstairs tenants might hear the . . . festivities?" Angel asked.

"There's studio-quality soundproofing between our floors and the rest of the building," Kyra answered.

"We don't have to worry about noise."

Cordelia shot Angel a look. He knew exactly what she was thinking:and it conveniently m.u.f.fles all sorts of ruckus, like the horrible screams when we murder our party guests.

Galvin met them at the door. "Angel, Doyle, Cordelia! I'm so glad you made it!" He beamed at them happily. "Come in, come in-let me show you around."

The suite was large, at least seven rooms, and full of people. Galvin took obvious pride in showing off his acquisitions: the living room boasted a Pica.s.so, a Rembrandt and a Van Gogh; the master bedroom contained a Louis XIV bed; the library had first editions from d.i.c.kens, Poe and Twain. Even the bathroom held a Ming Dynasty vase.

When the tour was over, Galvin apologized for being a poor host. "Here I am blathering over all my worldly goods, and you don't even have a drink in hand to dull the pain! Come, let's do something about that."

He led them over to the bar, a ma.s.sive chunk of teak that took up most of one wall. "What's your pleasure? We have a fine selection of single malts, both scotch and whiskey. Or perhaps you'd prefer wine, or beer? We have Guinness on tap, and an excellent oatmeal stout."

"Uh, we brought this," Doyle said. He held out a bottle-shaped paper bag.

Galvin took it, opened it, peered inside. "Ah," he said. "How nice. We'll just put that here for later, shall we?"

Doyle looked around the room as Galvin poured drinks. Everyone seemed young, attractive and well-dressed.If this wasn't L.A.,Doyle thought,it'd almost be creepy.

Maureen, the Serpentene woman Angel had met yesterday, came up to them. She wore an evening gown of pale yellow and emeralds at her throat and ears. "h.e.l.lo again," she said.

Angel introduced Doyle and Cordelia, and they nodded h.e.l.lo. Galvin excused himself as more guests arrived, leaving the four of them alone.

There was a moment's awkward silence.

"So-you're a demon," Cordelia said brightly. "What'sthatlike?"

"What she means is-" Doyle interjected hastily, "she's never-uh, she's not experienced with-"

Maureen laughed. "It's all right. We spend so much time hiding, it's refreshing to encounter honesty for a change." She took a sip from her gla.s.s of white wine. "Actually, if I'm going to be honest- and remember, you started it-it's a little scary, too."

"I can understand that," Doyle said. "Bein' afraid of what people might think if they knew the real you, and all. Well, don't worry; we're here for a good time, not an interrogation."

"Actually, therearea few things I need to ask Galvin," Angel said. "If you'll excuse me?" He slipped away.

"Good ol' Angel-always on the job," Doyle said. "If that boy were wound any tighter he could run a clock."

"We're used to it," Maureen said. "That kind of att.i.tude, I mean. We're all sort of workaholics, here."

"What exactly do you workat,anyway?" Cordelia asked.

"I'm a sales rep for Neiman-Marcus."

Cordelia's eyes widened. "What department?"

"Women's fashions, mostly."

"And I'll bet you get a big employee's discount, don't you-"

"You know it. You should see the line that just came in-"

The conversation shifted to fashion. Doyle, whose fashion sense Cordelia once described as "thrift store lounge lizard," felt his eyes beginning to glaze over after the first two minutes. He excused himself to go use the bathroom; Maureen and Cordelia hardly noticed he'd left.

"So, Galvin," Angel said. "Are all the Serpentene Irish?"

"Aye, it's where we hail from," Galvin said, affecting a thick brogue for a moment. He picked his drink up from the white grand piano he'd set it down on. "Not for some time, though. Not a one of us has set foot on our native soil since we were banished. Much like you, we can't go where we're not wanted."

"It wouldn't be Saint Patrick who banished you, would it?"

"Well, of course it was! Where d'you think all those snakes went? To America, land of opportunity."

"In the fifth century?"

"So we had a few detours along the way. I understand you've been down a few roads yourself."

"I've . . . done my share of traveling," Angel said.

The smell of the lemon trees mingling with the odor of charred wood and decaying flesh. The cries of the gulls as they fought over the bodies of the dead . . .

"Yes, you were quite . . . notorious, throughout Europe. Or rather, Angelus was."

"That wasn't me," Angel said flatly.

"I realize that," Galvin said gently. "And I apologize if I've offended you. I just thought it best if you understood: we know about your past, and we know that it is history, nothing more. That we do not judge you by the horrific reputation of Angelus, but by the honorable standards you have established since you regained your soul. We know we are not the first demons you've helped-but wewouldlike to be the most grateful."

"That's . . . very kind," Angel said, fumbling for words. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. The basis of a good friendship is simple, I've always found: you forgive your companions for not being perfect, and they do the same for you."

"We could all use a little forgiveness," Angel said.

"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned," Angelus intoned. "Come on now, I'm sure a good Catholic like you knows the words."

The voice from beneath the floorboards sounded weaker. ". . . fforgive me, Father . . ."

The voice trailed off. Silence.

"Come on, now," Angelus urged. "How can I give you the last rites if you don't confess your sins first?"

"Tell her you're the Pope," Darla said. "At this point, she'll believe anything."

"Maria?" Angelus asked. "You still there, darlin'?" ". . . why . . . why do I need the last rites? I thought you were going to . . . rescue us . . ."

"Purely a formality, my dear. In case we don't make it in time. You wouldn't want to be spending eternity roasting in h.e.l.l over a technicality, would you?"

". . . no . . ."

"Then go ahead. Tell me your sins."

". . . I . . . I had an argument with my mother, the last time I saw her. I was disrespectful when she wanted me to do the washing . . ."

Darla snorted. "A dispute over laundry. Boring. I don't want to hear about the insignificant details of her tiny life-"

"Shhhhh," Angelus said, glaring at her.

". . . and now . . . I don't know . . ."

"You don't know if you'll ever see your poor mother again," Angelus said. "Or if she went to her grave with anger in her heart, anger toward an ungrateful child that wouldn't do something as simple as washing a few clothes. Is that it?"

A choked sobbing was Maria's only reply.

Angelus straightened up and gave Darla a satisfied smile. "It's not the big things, darlin'," he said to her.

"It's the insignificant details that worm their way into your soul . . ."

Doyle was lost.