"Yes, I know." He ran his hands over the front of the hood, smiling fondly. "The Fireflite Sportsman, in Starlight Black. That's why we picked this one, because Dru liked the name of the color. She thought she was the only one who knew the stars were actually black."

Hector glanced at the second man, wondering if he should be concerned about the other one's behavior.

The second man smiled calmly. "Where did you get the DeSoto?"

"Oh, at a police auction in a little town a couple of hours from here. I got a very good deal on it." He glanced at the car sympathetically. "The poor thing was in terrible shape, with the windows covered in spray paint and really horrible stains on the upholstery. But we've got her all fixed up and looking as good as new."

The blond man walked slowly up the driver's side, running his hand along the fender. "Looks just like she did in that carlot in Memphis, where we got her."

Hector was beginning to feel faintly nervous. "Where you . . ."

"Yep. A clean, one-owner vehicle, she was." He shrugged. "Well, clean being relative, of course."

"But you're not old enough to have bought that car new."

The smile was disturbing. "Never said anything about buying, mate." He tilted his head back thoughtfully. "The salesman was quite happy to come with us on the test drive."

The other man chuckled faintly. "Let me guess, you've been test driving it ever since?"

"In a manner of speaking." He fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys, then glanced up at Hector. "Unless you've changed the locks, mate."

Hector shook his head. "I brought in a locksmith, he made new keys. This was your car? You're the one who owned it before the police seized it?"

"Which they had no right to do, as I was being illegally detained at the time." He unlocked the driver's door and swung it open. "Well, that buggering squeak's finally gone." He slid into the driver's seat with a contented sigh. "And you've fixed that damned annoying broken spring in the seat. Thank you. Oi! Where's my stereo!"

"It--was missing when I bought it."

"Rotten coppers must have kifed it, no one else in Sunnydale would have the balls to rob my car."

Hector took a step towards the door, suddenly not very comfortable with these strange visitors. Especially not if one of them was the person responsible for some of the things the police said they'd pulled out of the DeSoto.

The second man put his hand on Hector's shoulder. "Don't leave yet, Mr. Ramierez. I'm sure Spike has other questions about what happened to his car."

Despite everything, Hector could not pull away from that hand. "Please . . . I want no trouble."

"Neither do we, sir. No trouble at all."

The DeSoto's engine turned over and caught without a problem. The blond laughed and revved it a few times before turning it off. "Sweeter than she's sounded in forty years," he said, climbing out of the car. "And a full tank of gas, too. Thank you, mate." He strolled over to join them.

Hector kept shaking his head. "Just take it . . . please. I won't even call the police."

"Of course you won't." He stopped in front of Hector, then glanced thoughtfully at his friend. "Unless you want to?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you. The girl at the club earlier was enough for me."

"Right, then." He smiled at Hector. "And because you did such a nice job on the car, this will be very quick."

Hector didn't even have a chance to finish saying "What?" before his neck was snapped and fangs were in his throat.

When Spike was finished, he let the man's body fall gently and grinned at Giles. "So, fancy a new car, do you? I bet we can find the keys to these beauties around here somewhere."

Giles looked around thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I'm really fairly fond of the BMW. The E-Type would just make people think I'm having a midlife crisis or something."

"You're a baby vampire, Ripper, you're too young to have a midlife anything."

"I am not a baby."

"Are."

"Not." He shook his head. "Just get your car and let's go."

"Right. Let me get the spray paint."

"We'll be back in Sunnydale well before dawn, don't deface that lovely car if you don't have to. We can get the windows tinted when we get home."

Spike hesitated, then shrugged. "If it's not dark enough, then I'll get the paint. Fair enough, home we go." He hopped over the body on the floor and strode back to the DeSoto, bouncing happily. "And I'm getting a stereo put back in first thing!"

"Good! You can get those damned discs of yours out of my car then."

• **

yep, the boys are back in town.

Wonderful stuff! I like that Spike and Ripper are still, well, evil.

connie! I love it! Want more!

falls at connie's feet, worshipfully

I like it a lot too. What I don't like is that lj made some of my writing one with the universe. But the board seems to be "healthy" again...maybe I'll post in here.
Ethan Rayne was fuming.He'd thought he'd had his whole chocolate plan well in hand--deliver the tribute to Nokomis, muck with Ripper's playground, and slip out like the fog. Simple and pleasant. But now that know-it-all succubus was here. Or to be more correct, half-succubus. Unfortunately, her libido tended toward "repressed human" rather than "insatiably demonic" and who would think she'd get famous? He suspected that her public rancor about bi- and homosexuals had to do with her place in his queue. She just couldn't understand about the boys. And the sodding book tour happened at the worst possible time. But here she was, wearing white again...she looked more like an iceberg every time he saw her. "Hello, Ethan. Aren't you happy to see me?"
She extended her hand. He kissed it. American women were fools for a phony courtly gesture...he'd learned that much in his time here. "Of course, pet. But your notoriety is damned inconvenient at the moment. Tell Rupert to call off his boys, will you?"
"I asked you never to talk about that."
"Not Ripper, darling. Rupert Murdoch. It's funny...Ripper was the one with the natural talent, but Murdoch made the dark arts pay. Ripper had too many questions. What if we're wrong, Ethan? What if we hurt somebody, Ethan? Murdoch never worried about it. "
"A real man's man," Ann agreed, sighing.
"I always knew you fancied him."
"It's the power. But you have my soul. Literally."

And the sodding book tour happened at the worst possible time. But here she was, wearing white again...she looked more like an iceberg every time he saw her.

(whimper)

"Not Ripper, darling. Rupert Murdoch. It's funny...Ripper was the one with the natural talent, but Murdoch made the dark arts pay.

(whimpermphmphmwhimperBWAH!)

Oh my lord. Anne Coulter, Demon Bitch. About to taken down by three Homicide detectives eating band candy, and Willow.

I am so happy.

I can't wait. But a bigger question? What's Frank doing? And I have no idea, whatever. And that is so wrong. And poor Will got stuck waiting in the car, so I have to get her out...and it's funny that she and Munch don't like each other, especially.Funny strange not ha-ha.

Hmmmm. I think one of two things could happen:

a. Willow can get bored, wander into the hotel, do something minorly witchy to not be seen by security, the desk staff, or the concierge, and join the party; or

b. Either another Scoob or another Homicide detective (paging Detective Pembleton) can be sent to the Hilton. After all, you know the CoulterDemon requires tributes of dead liberal flesh to appease her, right?

I wondered how she got her skin to look like that.

Brava, connie! More please.