Vampire Fever


The final credits of High Plains Drifter faded from the screen as Spike hit the off button on the remote.

He let his gaze travel up the length of Angel's body, dressed in its habitual black pants and form fitting silk shirt. As usual, Angel was reading some ancient book and looking like he was auditioning for the part of Giles Junior in the straight-to-video title 'My 100 Favourite Libraries.'

Spike was bored. "You know, Angel, I think you would've made a good cowboy. You've got the big broody forehead that could carry off wearing a Stetson. Swap the poncy Italian trousers for some black jeans; strap a gun belt over the stomach to hide the flab and you'd fit right in propping up the bar in some one-horse town."

Angel looked up from his book and glared. "Shut up Spike." He sighed, "I say that so often I should just tape it and play it back on a loop."

Spike didn't shut up. "Work with me here, Angel. Just picture it; you're knocking back a shot of the local rotgut and the saloon doors swing open, to reveal Ugly Jake, the most notorious outlaw in the whole of the Wild West."

Angel shut his book and thumped it onto the side table. "Do I have to stake you to get a quiet night in?"

Spike ignored the empty threat. "Ugly Jake lumbers up to the bar and shouts for a bottle of whiskey. He downs 3 glasses of it before turning round and grabbing Buffy, the town's only good time gal, in his meaty paws. Buffy shrieks and struggles against his dirt stained vest. You, the silent stranger who's been minding his own business, drawls under his breath, 'Let the lady go.' Ugly Jake stops laughing at Buffy's attempts to get away from him and focuses his menacing glare on the man in black. The room goes silent. 'You talking to me?' roars the outlaw. 'No one else here acting like a horse's ass,' says you, the mysterious stranger."

Angel snorted, trying not to laugh, "Buffy as the town whore, really Spike!"

Spike laughed, "I know, I know, typecasting, I was being lazy. So Ugly Jake pushes Buffy away and stands with his thumbs hooked into his belt, 'Get ready to die punk,' sneers Ugly Jake and he reaches for his gun. But before he's even touched the handle, you've pulled your gun in a blur of speed and have it cocked and aimed right at him."

Angel interrupted, "Fastest gun in the West, I'm flattered Spike."

Spike snorted, "Don't be, you're only the second fastest. Anyway, there you are with your gun pointed at Ugly Jake and the stupid geezer goes for his gun and BAM, you pull the trigger and shoot the bastard. Blood everywhere, Buffy screaming, people running out of the saloon. You blow the smoke away from your gun and twirl it before dropping it back in its holster."

Angel interrupted again, "I wouldn't twirl the gun, that's tacky."

Spike gave him a 'sheesh' face and continued, "Okay then, no twirling. Buffy goes all melodramatic and cries 'My hero!' before trying to throw herself into your arms. But she's pulled aside by some other cowboy, as the Mayor makes a dramatic entrance into the saloon. He steps over the dead body of Ugly Jake and slaps you heartily on the back, 'Well done friend,' he bellows, 'Good riddance to bad rubbish. That outlaw has been menacing this town for years. You've done us all a great service.' He turns to the room and shouts, 'All those in favour of making this gentleman our Deputy say aye.' You'll be glad to know that you get a resounding vote of confidence."

"Deputy? Why not the Sheriff? They should make me Sheriff."

"You can't be Sheriff because I'm the Sheriff. You get to be my Deputy."

"If you're the Sheriff, why didn't you come in and sort out Ugly Jake?"

Spike sighed in mock exasperation, "Because I'm out visiting a ranch that's got a problem with rustlers. Stealing cows is a major issue for us authority types you know."

Angel considered this for a moment, "First of all I'm not saying I'm agreeing to be your Deputy, but I want to know how we can be effective lawmen if we can't go out in the daytime?"

Spike got that 'sheesh' look on his face again. "This is just a game you twat, a fantasy. How about you try and imagine that we're not vamp cowboys, just regular human ones. And you are
so going to be my Deputy."

"Am not."

"Are too. I'm going to order you about. Call you sonny and make you cook the prisoners' victuals."

"What prisoners?"

"The ones in the jail-house."

"We get prisoners?"

"You're missing the big picture here Angel. We get whips and ropes and chains and handcuffs and our very own jail to play with."

Spike could tell Angel was thinking because he had that constipated look on his face.

"You want to play with whips and chains and cuffs, hmm?"

Spike liked the direction Angel's mind was moving in, however slowly it took to get there. "Well duh! Its all part of being a good cowboy and Sheriff, yessirree Bob!"

"Well why didn't you just say so?" Angel stood up and, with surprising speed for such a large oaf, had Spike whisked into the bedroom and his hands cuffed to the iron bed frame.

"Hey, I was supposed to be in charge." Spike whinged.

Angel stroked his hand over the leather of his oldest whip and smiled. "That was your fantasy. This is mine."

Well lookee here, it's the mysterious silent stranger in black! Spike wasn't bored anymore.






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