InsaneJournal

Who: Angel and Booth
What: P.I. meets FBI
Where: The Sly Fox Pub
When: Night (backdated to the weekend because I fail at keeping up with stuff D:)
Rating: PG-13
Status: Incomplete


The bright full moon cast a luminous glow against the man's silhouette. It was hard to miss, even for the particularly less observant, that he was an impressive specimen. Tall and clean-shaven with a headful of dark hair styled with a copious amount of styling gel, the worn-out leather jacket around the breadth of his shoulders only accentuated the well-built muscles underneath. There was the proverbial dark and mysterious look about him as he stepped into the pub and sauntered up in predatory strides up to the bar.

'House margarita on the rocks,' said he, in a voice that was surprisingly soft and fluid, almost scholarly. The barkeep produced the drink and the man nonchalantly slid over a denomination that was far in excess of his bill. The bartender mutely accepted this, neither man meeting eyes or acknowledging this apparent slip of the hand. The man stationed himself upon a stool and took leisure sips of the alcohol, showing no interest in his fellow patrons. Shortly thereafter, the bartender reappeared and exchanged meaningful glance with the man. House Margarita On The Rocks promptly drained his glass and headed for the little hallway to the back that led to the facilities. There, he turned the corner and walked past the men's room and stalked into an area marked Employees Only in emblazoned letters against a thick gold plate.

House Margarita On The Rocks was an observant man, a careful man, as anyone who got anywhere in the Business had to be. But the simple fact of the matter was that he was not as good as the man who had been watching him with keen interest since the moment of his arrival. House Margarita shouldn't feel too badly about it though. The man who watched him had years of experience. And by years, try a couple of centuries.

House Margarita's Better traced his quarry's steps to the door marked Employees Only. Unlike the rest of the establishment, the build quality of this entryway was top-notch. He gave the knob a slight jiggle and was entirely unsurprised to find it locked. Instead of being deterred, however, he merely tightened his grip and gave it a nice jerk. And voila. Past thick velvet privacy curtain stood another impediment: a sentry, whose grim face etched with a deep-set look of ill will at the sight of an intruder.

A few seconds later, House Margarita's Better stepped irreverently over the unconscious huddle that was the sentry and continued past a second set of doors. More muscles were stationed on either sides with ominous bulges in their pockets, but only a couple from a table of poker faces bothered to be distracted.

'This is a private game' one informed matter-of-factly, while the other returned to the game.

'I'm a friend of Evan Stevens.' House Margarita's Better identified himself. It only vaguely registered in his mind that House Margarita was seated near the far end, oblivious to the tail that he had guided here.

'Yeah?' The host took a lofty sip of his drink. 'Heard somebody put him out of the game. Real sorry to hear it; kid owed me five grand.' He paused and gave a meaningful look. 'Wouldn't be here to settle the balance, would you?'

'Five grand. That's a lot.'

'Depends on who you're talking to,' the host replied slyly. 'Now, in or out?'

'Neither. I need information.'

'What, about the kid? Don't know why you're so hung up about a shrimp like him, but hey, not my business. But you know what is my business?' The host rubbed his thumb and forefinger with the gleeful feel of invisible green benjamins. 'Knowledge is power and power is a commodity. You want what I know, you're going to have to play for it.'

Friend of Evan Stevens stared blankly, not because he failed to comprehend, but because he had no interest in playing anything in this room. 'How about I pay you upfront and we say I played?' he offered.

'Well, that depends on how much you're offering.' The host quirked an expectant eyebrow as Friend of Evan Stevens rummaged through his pocket and came up with... 'A twenty? What do I look like, a kid in a candy store in the nineteen fifties?'

'I know it's lacking, but I'm a little short on cash.' Then he added an awkward 'I'm not from around here,' as though that explained everything. It was true. Though they used the same currency in this dimension, he technically did not exist here. Neither did his business and any of the bank accounts associated with it.

'Yeah, sure. Not my problem. Get this joker out of here.' The Host, clearly miffed if not insulted, signalled the guards with his chin.

'Wait,' Friend of Steven protested as the grunts converged on him. He paused as though to consider a difficult decision. 'I'll play.'

'With that twenty in your pocket?' the host scoffed as though this was the most laughable notion he had heard all week. 'You gotta be out of your mind--'

'Not exactly,' Friend of Steven replied. What happened in the next short while wiped the condescending smirk off the host's face as their uninvited guest's two fists respectively met the faces of the muscles at his elbows. A pair of unpleasant crunches resonated in unison and through it all, one of them managed to retain enough senses to reach for his weapon. Unfortunately, Friend of Steven was faster, delivering another blow to the temple, reeling the figure around and thrusting him into the other. Then something happened to his face, complete with fangs that were surprisingly not ridiculous given the circumstances. Game over, everybody went home and would attribute it to too much alcohol--everybody, except for the host, who was not so gently invited to stay behind.

'What the hell are you?' the host sputtered, choking in the vampire's grip against the wall.

'I think I'm done playing, how about you?' he countered instead, making it clear that he would be the one asking the questions.

'All right, all right! Kid had an uncle. Way over his head into this stuff. Way I heard it, kid was trying to help the old man out. Wipe his slate clean, you know, get him out. Let me tell you, thing about guys like him? Never works. Always come crawling back to the table. It's called an addiction for a reason, dumbass. Kid ended up emptying his bank account twice over. I even cut him a little break 'cause I felt for him. What? I got a heart too, y'know. You didn't think he really owed me just the 5k, did you?'

'Where's the uncle now?'

'Funny story. Idiot thought I was the one who bumped his precious nephew off on account of what he owed me. Thought I was sending him a message. Watched one too many movies, if you ask me. Took off on the first train out of town.'

'Were you?'

"Was I what? Oh. Oh, come on, you don't think it's just a little, I don't know, stupid to kill people who still owe you money?'

'Five grand could be petty change depending on who you ask. Your words.'

'Hey, you can think what you want. Not like you're the police. Besides, I heard how he went. Wouldn't be my style. If I was into that kind of stuff, which I'm not. Anyways, you really think anybody human could've done that? Between you and me, I'm liking you for it. Not,' he added hurriedly as he felt the threatening pressure against his throat, 'saying you did it. Just saying, anyone can pull crap like that out of the air and call it a theory, but it wouldn't help him none, is all.'

That's all he knew, he swore it up and down and on his mother's grave and Angel left the elusive Employee Only area, not any more satisfied leaving than arriving. Back at the bar, night life was reaching its peak.