Burglary

Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Elsa Frohman : Burglary

Summary: Spike and Buffy track down a house breaker.

AUTHOR: Elsa Frohman
EMAIL: elsa@frohman.net
RATING: G
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike
SPOILERS: An answer to Melissa's burglary challenge. No continuity. Fits anywhere you want to put it. Up to you to decide whether it's pre- or post-soul.
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"I'm not the police, Spike. This is nothing but burglary. Not my thing. You know where the police station is. Tell Clem to file a report," Buffy said with a frown.

Spike knitted his brows with frustration.

"It's not like Clem can just walk into the police station and get help. Funny thing, when the demons in this town have a problem, the police all seem to go blind, deaf and dumb. Besides, the break-in was at my crypt. It was all his stuff they got, but it was still my crypt. Kind of hard to explain to the cops why someone was living there."

"If you had a lock on the door, this wouldn't have happened."

"A lock? Who burglarizes crypts?" Spike shouted in exasperation.

Buffy cocked her head to the side. "Vampires, for the most part."

"See? It is your problem," Spike said with a smirk.

It was Buffy's turn to be exasperated.

"All right. What am I supposed to do about it?"

"Find the ones who did it."

"Why don't you? It was your crypt."

"Well, I'll help. But if it was a human, there isn't much I can do, is there?"

"Why do you think it was a human?"

"It's not just my place. Demons are getting cleaned out all over Sunnydale. And the thieves aren't going for the magical stuff -- if it was that I'd say we had someone planning something bad. They're going for the mundane stuff: tellies, DVD players, CD players, microwaves, Cuisinarts."

"Cuisinarts? Demons have fancy kitchen appliances?"

Spike ignored her last comment. "It all stuff that's easy to pawn. If you ask me we've got a demon-aware druggie, who's supporting his habit by hitting on the poor sods who can't go to the police."

"I don't have a Cuisinart," Buffy said with a pout.

Spike glowered at her.

"All right," she said. "Stuff that's easy to fence. So we should start by checking the pawnshops and seeing if we can find anything you recognize. If we can find where the thief is fencing the goods, we can stake it out and maybe catch him."

"Then what?" Spike asked.

"If it's a human, we turn him over to the police. If it's a demon, you can deal with him however you like."

"Right," Spike said, giving her an odd look. "And what do we tell the police? Remember, this is all stuff that nobody has filed a stolen property report on."

"I don't know... we'll worry about that when the time comes."

"We'll have about an hour and a half between sunset and when the stores close," Spike said. "Going after dark will save us some time we would have spent negotiating the sewers."

"Time you would have spent negotiating the sewers," Buffy grumbled.

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They worked their way down Main Street checking all the pawn shops and second-hand stores. At the Salvation Army store, Buffy stopped in front of a display of small appliances.

"Clem has a Cuisinart?" Buffy said plaintively.

"No. The Cuisinart belonged to a Medrel demon," Spike said irritably. "They're very big into fancy cooking. You find them in most of the posh restaurant kitchens. Work for less than minimum. Do it 'cause they love it. Most Medrel would rather chop onions than shag."

Buffy looked sad.

"If you want a Cuisinart so bad, I'll get you a bloody Cuisinart."

Buffy pouted. "You'd just steal it."

"No, not feeling much like nicking things at the moment."

"Never mind. I can't remember the last time I cooked anything that didn't involve pressing the reheat button on the microwave. I just want to know why a Medrel working for less than minimum wage has better stuff than me."

Spike gave her a cold look. "Probably because he lived in an abandoned shed, and the sum total of his possessions was a Cuisinart, a couple of pots, a hot plate and a good set of kitchen knives. And despite the fact that nobody with any self-respect would rob someone who had so little, this bastard took it all -- and he didn't even need a sack to carry it away."

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They found Clems' DVD player at the third pawn shop they visited.

"Are you sure? Seems to me all Sony players are going to look pretty much alike," Buffy said as Spike pointed triumphantly at the machine.

"Open the drawer," Spike replied. "I bet you'll find a rental copy of Touch of Evil in there. Bastard left the empty case behind."

Buffy did and Spike was right.

"Didn't know you were into Orson Welles," Buffy mused.

"Not me. Clem. He's the classic movie buff."

"We'll talk to the owner. See if he'll tell us who brought this in."

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The pawn shop owner was less than helpful. For some reason, nearly everything in the shop had been pawned by someone named John Smith. And the address in the ledger was for a vacant lot near the warehouse district.

But there was an empty storefront across the street, and after Spike picked the lock, they settled down in the dark to watch the pawn shop through the front window.

"How are we going to know which of his customers is the thief?" Buffy asked.

"You can figure anyone who comes to pawn a telly after hours probably didn't buy it at Sears," Spike said.

"Yeah, but what good does it do if we nab a thief, but it isn't the one who's been robbing the demons? We might get a burglar off the street, but the robberies will go on."

Spike shrugged. "We can worry about that when we get there."

The pawn shop owner locked his front door at 9 p.m., but stayed inside.

"I thought so," Spike growled. "His clientele doesn't keep regular hours." He lit a cigarette.

They sat for a while in silence, watching the shop across the street.

Buffy saw the coal on the end of Spike's cigarette flare orange as he drew a breath preparing to speak.

"Does it ever bug you, Slayer?"

"What?"

"That there is a whole community of people in this town that has no access to the law and no rights, because as far as Sunnydale's upstanding citizens are concerned, they don't exist."

Buffy was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes," she said at last. "But I honestly don't know what I could do about it."

"Care."

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but only because it's Clem who got ripped off. You know him and you like him. What if I'd just told it was demons in general?"

Buffy frowned. "I'm feeling bad enough about what I said before. You don't have to rub it in. I was acting like a spoiled brat. I admit it. The Medrel has as much right to not having people take his stuff as I have."

"He has a name -- not that you asked."

"OK, what's his name?"

"Rawl."

"OK, Rawl has as much right to security as anybody else. But honestly, Spike, I don't see what can be done. It's fine to talk about civil rights and tolerance, but you aren't going to get humans to accept demons as equals just because you say it's right.

"There are worse things than being ignored, and most of them would start happening to the demons here if we started calling attention to them."

"Yeah..."

"You don't sound convinced."

Buffy heard a slight movement, probably Spike shrugging. "Doesn't much matter if I'm convinced, does it? I'm just a demon."

"Then tell me what I'm supposed to... Look! I think we have a suspect."

Across the street, a scrawny young man with a shaved head, dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans, got out of a battered blue van. He went around to the back and took out a VCR and portable television.

"Yeah, I think that may be our guy."

"But is he just a burglar, or the burglar we're looking for?"

"Well, how many of Sunnydale's legitimate residents would have a VCR hooked up to a little black and white telly? I think we're looking at loot from someone who didn't have a lot to start with."

"Good point."

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When Tommy Cress returned to his van a small blonde woman and a tall, slender man with platinum hair were leaning casually against the driver-side door. The platinum hair was the giveaway. He knew who this had to be. He gave the pair an unpleasant smile.

"Get much for it?" Spike asked.

"Not much," Tommy said with a smirk. "It was junk."

"Too bad, 'cause it's gonna cost you."

"Oh right. I'm supposed to be shaking in my boots, aren't I? But I know who you are. Spike, the vampire who can't bite. Get out of my way."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Maybe he can't bite, but I don't have that problem, and I can guarantee you aren't going to like what I'm going to do."

In a flash, she was behind him with his arm twisted behind his back. "Now come along. We're going to go across the street to that empty store, and have a little ... talk," she said sweetly. "It's all about things that belong to you and things that don't belong to you -- and telling the difference."

"You can't do anything to me, bitch!"

"Think not?" She twisted his arm harder, until he cried out in pain. "Get moving."

"Wait," Spike said. He reached into Tommy's pocket and took out a switchblade. Next, he pulled up the thief's pant leg and took the small knife that was tucked into his sock. "Now, get moving," he said.

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Buffy tossed Tommy across the dirty floor of the empty store. He skidded on the dusty linoleum, leaving a wide smear -- just visible in the dim light coming in from the street.

"Now, we're going to have that little talk," Buffy said coldly. She advanced on him and hauled him up by the front of his sweater.

"There are two kinds of stuff in the world. Stuff that's yours, and stuff that isn't yours. You can do what you want with the first kind. But YOU.DON'T.TOUCH.OTHER.PEOPLE'S.STUFF," she said, punctuating each word with a tooth-rattling shake of the thief's slight frame.

"Hey! It's not like I take *people's* stuff," the boy sneered. "I only take from demons."

Spike had been standing off to the side watching with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Yeah, strange that," he said. "And not very bright. You'd get a lot more if you went for people who actually had stuff."

"Shut up, vampire!"

"He's right. You're stealing junk. You're not just a thief, you're a stupid thief," Buffy said angrily. "And you're getting some very dangerous beings mad at you."

"Nah... I never steal from polgaras or fyarls. That would be dumb. Just vampires -- they can't come after you if you get back to your house, and the wimpy ones -- you know, like that floppy-eared guy who hangs out in the cemetery."

Buffy was looking into the boy's face. There was something familiar...

"Wait... Don't I know you? You're Tom Cress. You were two years behind me at Sunnydale High. You were an honor student and on the debate team. You could have had a real future. You could have gone to college. What the hell happened to you?"

"Demons!" the boy spat. "What happened to me? You mean other than the Mayor turning into a snake and eating my sister? Other than the school blowing up and everybody having to finish school in other towns. Other than living in Sunnydale where the friggin' demons are everywhere?"

Spike snorted. "So you blame the fact that you're a cowardly little weasel on demons? It's our fault you're worthless? You think it's my fault you've got a crack habit?

"Let me let you in on something, pillock. Sometimes things go wrong. And when they do, the ones that are worth anything get back up and go on. Then there are the ones like you who decide that it's all someone else's fault that they can't wipe their own bums."

"Let go of me," Tommy sneered. "I know who you are, too, Buffy. You're the Slayer. You don't hurt humans. So there's nothing you can do to me." He pulled out of Buffy's grip and started to walk away.

"Hey, don't let him leave like that," Spike protested.

"You can't even turn me in to the police," Tommy said, gaining confidence. "You can't prove anything I've taken is stolen!"

"It's not the police you have to worry about, pillock," Spike growled.

"No, Spike, he's right," Buffy said. "He's had a hard time. Anybody who was at Sunnydale High when the Mayor ascended has." She reached into her back pocket, where she'd stashed a few dollars wrapped around her I.D. She never
carried a purse on patrol, but it was always a good idea to have some money and I.D. along -- just in case she wanted to go to the Bronze afterward.

Buffy took the folded wad of money and pressed it into Tommy's hand. "There, you didn't get much for the stuff you pawned tonight. Take this, and for heaven's sake do something with it. Get hold of yourself. Don't spend it on crack."

The boy looked confused, but he tucked the folded money into his back pocket and headed for the door.

"What?" Spike protested. "You're going to let him walk out?"

"Wait..." She counted to five under her breath then ran for the door.

"HELP! POLICE! HELP! He grabbed my purse! Help, somebody help me! He's a purse snatcher!" she screamed pointing at Tommy who was fumbling for his keys to open the van.

Buffy kept up her screaming as Tommy realized what was happening. He started to run, but a bystander on the sidewalk -- a burley middle-aged man who still remembered his days of high school football -- tackled him and pinned him to the ground.

"This the guy, miss?" the good Samaritan asked.

"Yeah, look in his back pocket. He's got my money and I.D. in there. He threw away the purse," Buffy said, sniffling a little bit and looking as frightened as she could manage.

The man pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking up at Buffy.

She nodded, still keeping up her frightened but brave act. "He hit me," she said pitifully. "But I think I'm OK."

"I wouldn't be you for anything," the stranger said to Tommy. "Aggravated assault, unarmed robbery. You're in big trouble, boy."

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After the police took Tommy Cress away in handcuffs, Buffy went back across the street to the empty store where Spike was waiting.

"Gotta hand it to you, Slayer," he said. "That was slick."

Buffy smiled. "An idea passes through my blonde head from time to time."

"Yeah, you're cute when you're smart."

"I didn't see Rawl's stuff in the pawn shop," Buffy said, changing the subject.

Spike shrugged. "He may have pawned it somewhere else, or it may have sold already," he said. "But it hardly matters. Since we can't prove it was stolen, the only way to get it back would be to pay for it."

"Yeah," Buffy said. "Doesn't seem fair."

"Lotta things don't."

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It was two nights later that Rawl the Medrel demon came home from a late shift at the restaurant. He was humming to himself as he approached the ramshackle shed he called home. He was still a bit sad about losing his possessions a week earlier, but life wasn't all bad. He still had his job, and that gave him just as much joy as it always had. And tonight had been particularly
good. A busy night for the restaurant, and the orders had just kept coming. He wasn't a demon to brood over things lost.

But as he approached the shed, his heart sank. The door was ajar. The thief had been back. It wasn't like he had anything else worth stealing, but it was still a horrible thing to think his home had been violated. Why couldn't they leave him alone?

He stepped inside and pulled the string that turned on the bare light bulb overhead.

At first, it seemed nothing had been disturbed. But then a glint of white caught his eye. Sitting on the table was a Cuisinart. Not the one he'd lost. This one was brand new -- and it had all the different slicing and shredding discs. He'd only had a single blade for the old one.

There was a Post-it note stuck to the side of the plastic bowl.

"Invite me over for dinner sometime," it said.

It was signed: "Buffy."

The End.

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Elsa Frohman - elsa@frohman.net