Grosse Pointe Buff

By TalesOfSpike

Disclaimer: Spike, Buffy and all the other members of the Sunnydale crowd belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Fox, and so on, and so on. Grosse Point Blank was written by Tom Jankiewicz, D V deVincentis, S K Boatman & the vastly talented John Cusack. It is of course owned by Hollywood pictures and Caravan Pictures and not me. I’m ripping them both off for no profit whatsoever, other than the happies I may get when and if you lovely people review.

Note: Flashbacks are shown in italics

Chapter 17

Cordy reckoned this was the best time she'd ever had in a morning's work. She sang a tuneless version of a song that no-one else would have recognised as "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" as she sloshed kerosene all around the office. When the second can was empty, she picked up a large hammer and tipping over the pc's tower unit, she began to thump away. Papers from the antique filing cabinets lay sprawled in accelerant soaked heaps on the floor. Anything that could possibly tell anyone that the so-called shipping firm was anything other than what it seemed was ready to go up with a nice big whoosh, preferably after it was smashed to smithereens. In the midst of this delinquent's playtime, the phone rang.

"Are we out of business yet?" Spike asked.

Cordy didn't even stop her destruction to answer, just the singing. "I'm closing up the office, as we speak," she replied into her headset as she tossed the pc unit across the room.

"Good. I'll put things right, and then I'll find you."

Cordy's voice was laced with suspicion as she asked, "Why?"

Spike sighed. "It's not like that, Cordy. Look under your desk. I left a little something for you... Right under." Cordy felt around on the underside of the huge desk.

"You couldn't have told me this before I doused the carpet all the way round the desk with kerosene?"

"No, you stupid bint, I waited specially. "

Cordy pulled out a parcel roughly the size of two house bricks. Pulling away the parcel tape that had held the bundle to the bottom of the desk, she found herself staring into the plastic-wrapped face of a dead president, Benjamin Franklin if memory served, lots of Benjamin Franklins.

"You shouldn't have."

"It's profit-sharing. You've earned it."

"Now all you need to do is sort out my love-life, and I will call you God."

"Actually, if you make it back to your California roots, I probably could set you up with someone. Independent business man, but he still keeps his hand in on the physical side of things..."

"Porsche?"

"Audi TT."

"I could settle," Cordy said with a playful lilt to her voice.

Spike gave a snort of amusement. "Bye, pet. I'll be in touch."

He pulled off the phone headset. The harsh light of day didn't make Spike's situation look any better than it had done the night before. A shower and a change of clothes, back to the jeans and duster had helped a bit though. He picked up the familiar cling-film covered parcel in front of him, peeling back the layers of wrapping till he got down to the red wallet. He pulled the top sheet up, knowing it would have the key to his target's identity. He read the name, and then sat there with the parcel in his hands, stupefied by the ludicrous twist of fate. "Bugger it all to hell an' back." Picking up the file, he grabbed his gun case and started to jog to his car.

The jogger came into sight over the brow of the hill. As he did, the rifle's crosshairs trained first on his head and then on his heart. Angelus leant back from his position in the front passenger seat to instruct the man with the rifle, who was taking aim through the open side door of the large, white van.

"Wait a while, Dalton. You can't get a sure kill with a single shot at this distance, and if the old fart falls over, he'll make a bastard of a target. Never mind the fact that if he dies of a coronary, the tight fuckers'll try an' welch on payin' you."

Just as he finished speaking, Spike's Town Car crested the rise, slewing almost immediately into a handbrake turn that left him parked across the road, with the body of the car blocking Dalton's shot. Giles watched with a bemused expression as Spike leaned over and flung open the passenger door.

"Yes, Spike. Was there something that you wanted?"

"For Christ sake! Get in the bloody car, quick! And keep your head down."

As soon as Giles got in the car, Spike hit the accelerator and took off away from the point where the van was waiting. He took a zig-zag route to the house on Revello drive instead of the more direct one that would have taken Giles within fifty yards of the gunman. Unsure whether Spike would return to the house, or take Giles somewhere else until it was time for his court appearance, Angelus had no alternative but to follow him.

Spike reached through the gap between the two front seats, pulling out the red file and tipped it into Giles' lap, photographs and documents spreading everywhere. Giles pulled out a handful of sheets at random.

"Good Lord! They've got my whole life in here."

"Hopefully not," Spike responded.

"What exactly is going on here, William?"

"Well, I was hired to kill you." Spike glanced apprehensively over at the older man, knowing that in a brawl, especially when his opponent was distracted by, say, driving a car for example, Rupert was more than capable of holding his own. "But I'm not going to. Don't ask me why."

"Why?"

"It's my job. I seem to remember I told you that already. At the time you gave the impression you approved, as I recall."

"I did? I guess I wasn't really listening. Sometimes I find it's better not to hear what you young people say."

"God, Giles I knew about the glasses. I didn't realise you had selective deafness as well."

Giles continued to sift through the papers in his lap. "Why not?"

"Why not what- Oh. Look. I don't know. It's either because I'm in love with your daughter... or I have a new found respect for life.. or both. I'm not sure."

Behind them the white van followed as fast as it could, but the Lincoln seemed to handle better on the turns, and Spike knew where he was going, whilst the van's driver had to try to react. Angelus watched the car in front as if he could will the distance in between to disappear.

"That punk is either in love with that guy's daughter... or he has a new found respect for life."

The van's driver looked over at Angelus. "FYI sweet cheeks, no-one says punk any more. That went out with platforms and Dirty Harry movies, and it's only the platforms that came back."

"Coming from someone who dresses like he stole his wardrobe from the cast of guys and dolls, I think that's a bit rich." Angelus voice almost became a whine. "And he is a punk, literally. You should have seen him when I met him. Billy Idol wanna-be..." Turning in his seat, he swallowed something he'd taken from a tub in his pocket. Holding out the lidless tub toward the two men in the back, he offered to the men seated behind him, "Durazac?"

Giles stopped sifting and stared at the piece of paper currently at the top of the stack.

"A strip mall. Someone wants me dead, so that they can build a strip mall on our dig site."

Spike shrugged. "It's economics, Rupes. It cheaper to pay someone to kill you. Then, if no-one else gets all the paperwork in soon enough to stop them, they can put up the mall right where they first intended, rather than find a new site and start from scratch."

"You were going to kill me just so a gaggle of women can buy even more shoes that they'll wear once and then keep for special occasions until they can't wear them any more because they're last season's."

"It's not me! Why does everybody think it's personal?" Spike swung the steering wheel sharply and hit the brakes, swinging them around the side of the house and into an area directly adjacent to the back porch that was never intended for vehicular traffic.

Giles fixed Spike with a disapproving stare as the younger man turned to grab his case from the back seat. "Joyce is going to kill you when she sees the state of her roses."

"Not if you're still around for her to see the state of, she won't." Spike rebutted. "Now move, they're not far behind us." Spike made a dash for the back door carrying the case full of guns and knives.

Spike pushed Giles through the back door and into the kitchen. Buffy looked up from her bowl of cereal, saw Spike, and then looked back down at her yummy sushi pyjamas. "Giles, what's he doing here? He's not welcome. Kick his butt out of here."

Giles sighed and looked from Buffy to Spike, who was currently unloading large portions of his case out onto the kitchen island. "There are some people trying to kill me. Spike just saved my life. Now can the pair of you be civil, or do we have to pretend you're both fifteen again?"

Buffy gave a disbelieving snort as Spike ushered her and Giles into a corner of the dining room where they were protected by a brick wall rather than wood and were out of sight from the front of the house. Spike pulled back the slider on a Desert Eagle pistol and handed it to Buffy, before he headed back to the kitchen island grabbing a pair of 9mm pistols for himself and talking as he made his way through the living room to the hall.

"So... prom night, I'm sitting there in this bloody nancy-boy rented tux. I've got a corsage in one hand and a bottle of champagne, that you'd probably have told me you were too young to drink, in the other." Spike heard Giles snort of amusement at how wary Buffy had once been of alcohol. "So I just sit there, and suddenly I can see the whole night. It just flashes before my eyes. And then, suddenly, it's not a prom dress you're wearing. It's a wedding dress, and it's my whole life that's flashing in front of my eyes... And that was when I realised. For the first time in my life I really wanted to kill someone. So I figured, since I loved you so much, that it'd be a good idea if I didn't see you any more."

Buffy could tell by Spike's voice that he'd moved into the hall and she started to move forward, determined to give him back his gun. Just then, two shots rang out at the front of the house, and Spike took off for the kitchen again. In the dining room, Buffy and Giles shifted far enough to see the two tennis ball sized holes that Spike's shots had put through the front door. Buffy pointed in the direction of the kitchen to indicate Spike, and then made a twirling motion to one side of her head to indicate what she thought of his mental state. Then she pointed back and forward between her and Giles and then at the front door. Giles nodded, and the pair made a break for it. Buffy pulled the front door wide, ready for a quick getaway, only to see the gun-toting corpse that decorated the front porch, and Angelus running down the path toward her. She slammed it shut again, running back to the spot where Spike had originally left her. Giles followed close behind.

The station wagon turned onto the suburban street just in time for the spooks to see the white van screech to a halt in front of 1630 Revello Drive. Angelus, Dalton and another gunman jumped out of the van almost as soon as it stopped, passing out of their line of sight. A few seconds later, Angelus ran back to the vehicle and seemed to be waving his weapon at the vehicle's driver. Forrest pointed to a narrow turn off between them and the house. "Take the back lane we'll come up on them from behind."

"No way, dumpling. I don't do guns."

"Why don't you just pick up a gun, and get your arse in the house, before I stick a bullet in it."

Lorne tutted at him. "And waste ammo you might need for Blondie? I don't think so. You said everybody had to join the union, so I joined. You hired me to drive, so I drove-"

"Almost. Remind me to stay out of whatever state gave you a licence," interjected Angelus.

"Semantics. But I don't do guns. And I most especially don't do the other end of a gun from cup-cake in there. So, if you want someone poisoned, or you make it out of there, your chauffeur will be waiting, but until then, have fun without me."

Angelus gave a grunt of disgust and set off at a run toward the house. The front door miraculously opened to show his target standing just behind his step daughter. He opened fire with both the handguns he was carrying, just as the door slammed shut again. He blew several holes through the door, but it still provided a miraculously solid barrier, preventing his entry. He decided to see if Dalton had had better luck at the side of the building.

Dalton's shot shattered the glass in the upper half of the back door into smithereens and sent Spike ducking for cover behind the island. As soon as he was mostly in cover, his left hand came up over the unit, firing four shots blind in the general direction of the doorway. Dalton's body fell forward. His upper body hung in the kitchen. His lower half was still standing on the porch. Spike cautiously looked around the side of the island. As soon as he saw Dalton's body, he dashed back to where he had left Buffy and Giles and began to usher them through the hall and upstairs ahead of him.

"The bathroom. The tub's cast iron. Get in there, lock both the doors and lie down in the tub."

As he made his way up the last flight of stairs, Angelus' barrage of shots came through the front door. Spike turned and crouched. Then, taking aim between the balusters, he loosed several shots in the area of the front door. When it seemed that no further attack was coming from that direction, Spike continued on up to the top landing, where he made sure he had a clear line of fire on anyone who tried to come up the stairs and started swapping the partially used clips in his guns for fresh ones he had in his duster pockets.

As he worked he called out so that Buffy would be able to hear him. "I love you, Buffy... I know we can make this work... Back then I was afraid to commit to a relationship... I mean eighteen's no age to be settling down... But there was never anyone else, and I know I'm ready now to make it happen. I know what I do isn't, well moral per se, but it's over now, and if you can just look past that, then you'd see a man worth loving."

Angelus voice echoed up from downstairs. "Don't listen to him. He's a professional. It's in his blood. He'll never give up... "

Spike knocked quietly as he could on the bathroom door. After some whispered words between himself and Giles, the door opened a few inches briefly and then closed again. Abandoning the stairs, Spike made his way to Buffy's room. It only took him seconds to open the window and get down to the ground using the familiar tree. As he paused cautiously, debating whether to use Giles' front door key to let himself back into the house, he could hear Angelus' voice coming from the dining room. Choosing caution, he darted round to the side of the house, entering through the kitchen.

"What's up, Spike? Does your girlfriend not want to listen to your pathetic serenade? Doesn't she believe that the Big Bad's retired?"

Spike couldn't see anything from his view point and started sneaking through the living room, while Angelus hearing movement in the other end of the house, made for the kitchen. Spike had almost come full circle through the downstairs of the house, when the back door (now minus Dalton's body) was kicked in. "National Secur-" Spike turned to where Graham Miller and Forrest Gates were framed in the doorway and started firing with both guns. A double stream of bullets also came from the kitchen just to one side of the serving hatch, telling him where Angelus was.

Spike moved as he fired. He wanted to be sure that once the NSA agents were taken down he would be able to step into cover at the side of the serving hatch, so that his position effectively mirrored Angelus' with the counter between them. Miller's body must have had about thirty rounds in it from the four automatic pistols before it began to drop and sag enough that the shots began to hit Forrest. It only took slightly over a second from the abortive warning shout till the second agent hit the floor.

Spike turned toward Angelus and shot even as he saw the larger man's guns pivot toward him. He blessed his lucky stars that both guns were empty, the sliders jammed in the back position. Spike waited for the recoil to jar his wrists. When it didn't, he realised that Angelus' guns weren't the only ones with no ammunition.

"What d'ya know. Both empty," Angelus quipped.

Angelus ducked down behind the serving hatch, and Spike sidestepped into the cover the wall. As he did so, he noticed the cumbersome old TV that had once adorned the living room, but had obviously been relegated to the seldom used dining room when it was replaced with a sleeker model.

"So Spike, You out?"

"Maybe," Spike hedged testing the weight of the old set. "You?"

"I'm fine... How about I sell you a piece for a hundred grand?" Angelus asked from his spot behind the counter.

"Front me?" Spike asked as he moved back to his original position with the TV in his arms.

"Okay."

A gun arced its way over the counter too near the middle for Spike to have been able to catch it, even if he wasn't holding the TV set. From the position of the slider, Spike noted that it was empty. As the gun clattered to the dining room floor, Angelus began to rise up from his position behind the counter with a fresh gun in each hand. As his head popped up, Spike brought the TV down, screen first. Angelus fell over in the middle of the kitchen; his head encased by the mock wood of the TV's sides. As Spike peered over the counter, his leg twitched slightly, and a blue flicker of electricity sparked near his head. Jerking the cable from the wall, on the grounds that Joyce would never forgive him if he burnt the house down, Spike began to make his weary way upstairs.

His face still sported several cuts, and his left eye had turned black and blue overnight. His hands were dripping with blood from the splinters of glass that found their way there when he smashed the TV, but none of that mattered because he was the last man standing. He stood to one side as he knocked on the bathroom door and was pleased that he did when two holes larger than his fist suddenly appeared in it.

"Buffy, it's me, Spike. They're gone. Well not gone, but... You can come out."

When no-one answered, Spike reached through one of the holes, undoing the bolt that held the door shut. "Buffy, I know I'm not a good man." Spike pushed the door open to see Buffy and Giles spooned together in the somewhat cramped bathtub. "...But I think I can be a good husband. Buffy, will you marry me?" Buffy looked up at him with a look that conveyed sheer exhaustion, but Giles piped up in a somewhat dry tone. "Well, I think you can have my blessing." Spike slumped to the floor.

~+~

"Okay, people of Sunnydale. It's another sunny morning, and Radio Sunnydale is here with six hours of non-stop music. Some people say forgive and forget. I say forget about forgiving and just accept, and get the hell out of town."

Spike snapped the radio off with a jerk. "I've already got to listen to you gibbering away about where you want to go next without listening to a tape of you on the wireless as well."

"Wireless. It's a radio. Where do you think you are? England? In the 1950's?"

"Not yet."

"And not till I've had at least a week shopping in Paris, either..."

DEDICATION

Dedicated two the memory of two souls who departed this life in December, leaving the rest of us poorer for their absence, Glen Quinn and Joe Strummer.