Something Gray chapter 9/26

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Chapter 9
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Spike stopped just outside the Bronze and lit another cigarette. He was feeling a bit of a buzz from the whiskey and beer and was really wishing he could go on a proper hunt, feel like his old self again. He tucked the bottle under his arm and headed towards the end of the alley and the Watcher’s apartment.

“Hey, Prince Charlie, stop! I think you have something that belongs to us. Didn’t think you could cheat us at the table and just walk, did you? I am so hoping you plan to fight back for the cash, man, ‘cause I really want a piece of you,” taunted Steve. He was the obvious spokesman for the large number of drunken athletes that had followed Spike from the Bronze.

“I’d kinda like that coat he’s wearing,” said one of Steve’s less physically endowed friends. “Think the girls might like it,” he said.

The crowd began to close around Spike, cutting off any easy exit from the alley.

“Looks like you need all the help you can get in that department, mate,” Spike shot back as he prepared to defend himself. He set the bottle of Jack down near some boxes and started to turn to the advancing group. He felt the first fist slam into his midsection before he completed the turn.

After the initial blows were delivered, Spike was reminded why he should have used his speed and energy running instead of standing up to the pack of jackals. The damned chip made it impossible for him to take on even one of these rejects.

Just a month or so ago, Spike could have killed the lot of them and drained enough to glut himself with no effort at all. Now he couldn’t even block blows fast enough and was crippled by the chip when he’d try to punch back.

They had him down in short order and rained blow after blow on the fallen, helpless vampire. They helped themselves to the cash he had on him, even what he had started with, and took the coat for good measure.

“Hey, Steve, I think we may have killed him! I’m not getting a pulse here,” one of them said in a panic.

“Shit! Well, let’s get out of here quick. I think we can wake up Coach, make up some story about this clown pulling a knife or something and he’ll square everything with the cops. You remember how great he was last year with that bitch and her accusations. Lots of people saw this jerk hustling us for cash in there. He’s a lowlife. We’re the proud home team,” Steve reasoned. “No need for anybody to panic.”

The suddenly sober gang sprinted down the alley and headed for the home of their coach and the safety of his influence with the authorities.

They left the broken body of Spike in a large pool of his own blood, blessedly unconscious. There was a deep stab wound from the knife that one of the gang had put into Spike’s hand. The boy had stabbed Spike before putting it in his hand, and then rolled him over to make it look like he had stabbed himself with his own knife in a fall during the fight. Spike had been past feeling anything at that point.

A soft rain began to fall, mixing with the blood making small rivulets of red to wash down the alley.

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/197539.html