Calling the FBI
Agent Paul Smecker was at his desk when his cell phone rang. It wasn’t the phone that everyone knew the number for; no this was the one that couldn’t be traced to him in any way. Someone else paid for the minutes, it was under a phony name and address and most of all no one had ever seen what it looked like because he always answered it in the can. Most of the people he worked with thought that the mysterious phone connected him to his lover, whoever he was and that said lover was deep, deep in the closet. They were all wrong. The phone connected him to three crazy Irish lunatics that he was supposed to be looking for but instead supported as best as he could because he believed in what they were doing.
The Saints believed they had been called by God to kill evil men who escaped justice through the system. Not by running or something like that, but those who made a mockery of the system by getting out on a ridiculous bail or who sat through trial after trial and walked or those who even though everyone knew that they were behind crime after crime, the cops just couldn’t get enough solid evidence on to arrest. Those were the ones that made good cops blood boil and Smecker was a good cop. So every once in a while he might point them toward someone they would be interested in or some where they really shouldn’t be for a while. In return they gave him information from the streets that he couldn’t get anywhere else.
So it was with both trepidation and excitement that he hustled to the men’s bathroom and locked himself in a stall. “Yeah,” he said as he answered the phone.
“Smecker, got something that might be up yer alley. There’s a one bedroom apartment in the building across from McGinty’s, fourth floor. You’ll find four dead men. They had two college girls and two twelve year olds, all tied up as packages.” Conner wasn’t worried about anyone finding out that they were the ones who had killed those men. They had prayed for the souls of the dead and the police would know. That wouldn’t stop them from doing their duty to God.
“Right,” Smecker said as he wrote down the information. “Did you get the girls out or did you leave them?”
“We got them out; the ladies were friends of a friend.”
“Are they lesbians?” Smecker asked.
“Are you fuckin’ nuts man? I canna go and ask them that! They’re ladies!” Conner practically screeched into the phone.
“If they are, it ties into a case I’m working on,” Smecker said calmly. He had held the phone away from his ear after he had asked the question because he had known how Conner would react. It wasn’t the gay part that had Conner upset; it was the fact that a gentleman didn’t ask such things about a lady’s love life. “Someone has been snatching ten to fourteen year old girls and older women all across the country. The older women are always lesbians and the ones who aren’t technically virgins are the ones who are killed. The ones who are technically virgins haven’t been found, no trace at all. So ask,” he pushed.
“Well, I ain’t askin about the second part,” Conner said and lowered the phone. “Umm, ladies I bin talkin’ to a friend in the FBI, he needs ta know if you’re, well ah, ummm, more interested in lasses then ya are in lads, if ya are this might be parta one a his cases.” The apologetic look on his face was enough to send both Willow and Tara into a state of giggles. Taking pity on the poor man Willow kissed Tara rather passionately so as not to embarrass him any more. Conner turned his back to them and said yes into the phone. It wouldn’t do to have anyone see how much he had enjoyed the show.
“Alright, catch you boys later,” he lilted.
“Not if we see ya first,” Conner laughed. The Saints taskforce was a joke between them and at the same time it wasn’t. If Smecker was ever in a position where he had to bring them in he would and they knew that. It actually helped because it made them more careful for his sake.
“Too bad,” Murphy said as Willow finished the kiss. “The two of ya are very pretty ladies and I wouldna mind buying ya a pint.” He had finished his cigarette out on the balcony and had come in just in time to see the kiss.
“Young Sammy says he’s glad you’re alright and that we’re to make sure all four of ya get to Cleveland as soon as possible,” The Duke said as he closed his cell phone.
“Well, that won’t be until tomorrow,” Willow said. “In the meantime would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Hey detectives,” one of the uniformed officers greeted the two Boston detectives as they arrived at the crime scene. “It looks like the Saints were busy last night.”
Greenly shook his head. When the Saints were busy the bodies piled up and other crime went down as the perps did their best to keep their heads off the Saints radar. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Oh he was glad that the perps were dead because they were ones that he couldn’t get off the streets, but he hated calling Smecker in. He always felt like such an idiot around the man.
“Who are the Saints?” David Polodecki was new to the Boston Police force, having transferred from the Sunnydale Police department before the town went under last month. He had done so on the advice of one of Buffy Summers friends. When they told you to get out of town, you went, especially if you were at all aware of what when on in that town. He wondered if this was connected to that sort of nightlife.
The looks that the uniforms were giving the new guy shouted how stupid they thought that question was. “Give the guy a break, he just moved here from California,” Greenly chided them. Then he turned to David, he never could get the guy’s last name right. “The Saints of South Boston are vigilantes from Ireland. No one knows what the father’s name is; everyone just calls him The Duke, or Il Duce, as the Italian Mob calls him. The other two are his sons, we think. We had one witness say that at least one of the younger two called The Duke, Da. They go after perps that get through the cracks in the system or that we haven’t been able to get off the streets yet. They only go after men, no women or children. Their signature is pennies on the eyes of the dead and if they have time, the arms are crossed. They always say a prayer as they kill. It isn’t like anything you’ve ever heard. They think they’re on a mission from God.” Greenly wasn’t about to tell the new guy that he had helped the Saints take out the Mafia Boss Papa Joe just before he walked out of the court room and made a joke of them all.
Polodecki shrugged, it wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever heard. “Maybe they are. I’ve seen weirder callings.” ‘Like a sixteen year old girl being called as the Slayer to fight vampires every night,’ he thought to himself. He walked into the one bedroom apartment to find four men dead on the floor, two on the left and two on the right. All four had shoulder holsters but they hadn’t had time to draw the guns he saw as he squatted down and checked the bodies. The shots had been very professional, one shot per man and only one had his weapon partially drawn. That meant that either he was the last one to die or that the gun had been jostled clear when the Saints had moved the bodies to cross the arms. “Do they ever leave prints on the pennies?” he called.
“Nope, but bag them anyway,” Greenly said from where he was calling Smecker.
“Well, I don’t think we want to turn this into a school, or at least not an official high school,” John was saying. “I’ve been going over the records that Joyce sent me and it looks like we’ve got about 1,000 new Slayers world wide. The bad news is that most of them are over eighteen.”
“That makes sense,” Wesley said as he passed the milk on to Dean. The Cleveland crew was sitting in the dining room having breakfast. “The Harbringers wouldn’t have bothered killing anyone over Calling age. They were concentrating on those who were young enough that they were likely to be called in the future. That is the age group that they devastated.”
“Yeah, there are hardly any between the ages of fifteen and eighteen and Willow hasn’t bothered looking for new Potentials yet,” Buffy said. “She said she knows that they’re out there. She can feel them, but it is like they’re still sleeping and at least one new one was born in the last month. But she hasn’t gone looking to figure out who any of them are yet.”
“Yeah, we’ve got too much on our plate right now to worry about them,” Jack said, “How about a college? A small private one would make sense. I mean there are a lot of small colleges that no one ever hears about.”
“And we can say that the girls are being accepted into college early when the next Potentials are called,” Dawn said.
Heads nodded around the table. That did make sense and it would give them decades to work out a plan for the new Slayers who were being born now. “We’ll still need class rooms and a dorm,” Xander pointed out.
Buffy looked over the list next to her plate. “We’re really going to need language teachers too. There is no way that most of these Slayers are going to be speaking English.”
“And most of the Watchers that survived don’t speak many modern languages,” Wesley sighed. “And how are we going to remove them from their current lives without attracting too much attention?”
“College scholarships,” Dean said. “Going to school in the States is a very big deal. Aren’t most of these ladies involved in professions that require higher learning?”
Jack snorted, “I know Carter and Benson have to take on going college classes for their jobs. Of course, most of the time Carter’s teaching those classes but,” he shrugged.
“Ok, we’ve got the kitchen set up cafeteria style, the ballroom/throne room converted to a workout gym, and the library set up. That leaves dorm rooms of some type, classrooms, bathrooms, offices,” Xander was going over his own list. “I think most of this we can use the rooms we’ve got as is and we can take the reconstruction one wing and level at a time.”
“Ok, Xander, you and John run that past Giles and see if we can get set up for a small summer class. I’m sure that we can get whatever permits and paperwork taken care of by then. Faith; did you and Dean find the hellmouth?” Buffy asked.
“Yep, it’s in an abandoned bar down town.” Faith pushed over a street map that she’d marked earlier. “Dean and I are thinking about buying it and giving a few Slayers jobs as waitresses and the like.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with that as long as you can keep Dean from making too many puns about the place,” John said. He knew that if he didn’t make that point clear Dean would be all over naming it Dante’s Inferno or something and he didn’t even want to imagine the drink list.
“Dad, the hellmouth is in the bar’s cleaning closet,” Dean pointed out. “I can’t ignore that one.”
“It’s in the closet?” Buffy asked, wide eyed. “Is it shy?” John groaned, they were never going to stop now.