Walking into the office, I see Tara reading the paper. Ten'll get you twenty that it's either the horoscopes or the sports section. She reads both sections religiously everyday. Sports I can understand, but I never got the fascination with horoscopes. Someone who doesn't know you and has never even met you is going to predict how your day will go, all based on when you were born.

"Delivery for you, care of the British Consulate," she says without looking up from the paper. "I left it in your office."

I grunt and walk past her desk, noticing the frown on her lips as she reads the recap of the Kings game last night. There's no way in hell that they're going to make the playoffs this season, and Tara knows it. She just lives in denial. I enter my office and see a large manila envelope on my desk. Taking a seat I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the switchblade I habitually carry.

What? Sunnydale can be a rough town, alright?"

Slicing the top of the envelope open I pull out the papers within. Not much. A list of names and addresses. Another photocopy of The Slayer, this one in greater detail. Lord Giles scribbled some notes, mostly the dimensions of the thing and esthetics. Dear lord, even his shorthand was stiff and proper.

Putting aside the pretty picture, I scanned the names. It's a short list. The name of the original buyer was the first on the list, followed by people his Lordship thought had the resources and the want to pay for it. Going over each name, I wasn't surprised to find that I didn't know a single one of them.

Except one.

I heard a creak and realized I was clenching my jaw so tight my teeth were ready to crack.

I stared at the name and imagined his handsome, smug face starting at me, an amused smile on his lips as he walked passed me in court. "Better luck next time, Officer Harris."

I saw him in the morgue, identifying a body of a girlfriend. "Such a shame, don't you think, Officer Harris. She had her whole life a head of her. Maybe even eternity." Looking at me with the knowledge that I couldn't pin it on him and taunting me with it. "She was so curious about everything. Things that she really shouldn't have involved herself following a strange noise in a dark ally. Such a shame."

"Don't be a stranger, Officer.I mean, Mr. Harris." Standing in a dark suit and a sad smile in another courtroom, after my badge was taken away. "Good luck with the future, Mr. Harris. I'm sure you'll land on your feet."

I stared down at the sheet of paper, looking at the name as if I could turn him to dust if I looked at it long enough. I let a breath I didn't know I was holding out, forcing my body to relax. I should have known that this job was too good to be true.

My life is never that easy.

Sighing, I scan the list again from bottom to top until I reach the original buyer. His shop is in one of the more trendy areas of Sunnydale. Lots of galleries and antique shops. Types of places I don't make a habit of hanging around in. For some reason the smell of ill-gottin money makes me nauseous.

I put both papers down on my desk and then light a cigarette. When this thing first got dropped into my lap, my gut was leaning toward insurance fraud. Guy buys a lot of worthless junk, insures it for a mint, then has it stolen. Happens ever day. Maybe the guy knew that one of the things he'd bought with this priceless relic, maybe not. If he's any kind of business man, and from his address I have to assume he is, then he's going to want to sell it, not donate to some museum. But why stop just a resale? Collecting the insurance and then selling it to a certain rich piece of slime I know, would increase his profits.

On the other hand, it could be a case of out and out theft. Which didn't change who I was thinking had 'The Slayer'. He was an exploitative piece of garbage who would sell his soul for some respect. And flashing this relic around would get him a lot of respect in the society he wanted into desperately. Killing the driver of a truck and stealing it out right is a little more blunt then I would usually think of him, but hey.I wouldn't put it past him either. And he wouldn't have done it himself. His type don't get their hands dirty anymore.

Unconsciously I was rolling the cigarette in-between my fingers. I looked down at the burning tip, not really seeing it. What I did see was another courtroom. A face staring at me from the defense table as I sat on the stand, his lawyer calling me a cop with a vendetta, telling the jury that I planted evidence and was lying. Smiling eyes set in an innocent face, content in the knowledge that he was going to get away again, and that I knew it before the charges were filed.

Tobacco fell onto my desk as I crushed the slender cigarette tube between my fingers, ashes mixing with flakes of shredded leaf.

"I can nail him," I said out loud, feeling my mouth turn up with a smile with no humor in it.

I never thought I would get the chance again. Not after my badge got taken away. Not after Jessie died. But here it was. If he had this relic, this priceless piece of wood, it was dirty. Whether it was the dealer that did the deed or him, if I could nail him in the murder of the truck driver.

I shook head. I had to be objective. All because he was a rich, dirty piece of shit didn't mean he did this. It meant he was my prime suspect, but like I thought when the Duke was in my office laying this all out for me, it could just be some rich snob who really doesn't care where something he wants comes from, as long as he gets it.

Those types are a dime a dozen in this town. Some people can just make a call, saying they want so and so to happen. And that's it. The dominos start falling all over the city, the state or the country, depending on what they want. Those dominos could be businesses, jobs or even lives. And the person who caused it all doesn't feel a shred of guilt. Because they don't know and don't care to know what had to happen to others so they could get something they want. It's beneath them to even spare a thought about it.

And I feel uncomfortable in the fact that I'm one off those dominos. Someone like Rupert Giles could have made a call or passed a note to have me hired to track down this piece of wood. It was his good luck, or bad luck depending on his view, that he picked someone who still had a shred of dignity and small passing respect for the law. He could have easily walked into to some other hard on his luck detective, thrown a pile of money on his desk and said "Get me this" and it would have begun. Dominos. Falling one by one.

Well I may be a domino in this, but that doesn't mean I have to knock over anyone else to get the job done. And, if I could help it, I'm not about to let myself fall face down in the dirt for it either.

Snubbing the coffin nail out, I get up and go out to the reception area. "Tara, I need checks on everyone on this list," I told her, slipping the list over the newspaper.

"Expensive," she said, only giving the list a glance. I point out one name in particular, tapping it with my finger. Tara's eyes widen slightly and then turn up to look at me, a mixture of hope, fear and something else. A question, probably. "I'll call Felix right away."

Felix Soho is a tool. And not just in the sense that he's a prick. He's also fat, ugly and smells like old pizza and sweat. Felix does what he would call 'background checks' on people. He, or others in his profession can, with a few clicks on a computer and a couple of phone calls, dig up ever thing you've ever done in your entire life. From something as large as your financial history, to the grade you got in finger painting in kindergarten. If there's a record of it somewhere, then men like Felix Soho can get a copy of it. With a phone call, you can have your worst enemy's life story, dirty bits included, on your desk in a day or two.

You know, if I actually had a private life, I'd be pissed off about it all.

"Tell him to make it a priority." I smiled when Tara's eyes widened again, this time trying to calculate how much this was all going to cost. "And make sure you keep the bill for Lord Giles expense report."

Tara's lips quirked into a smile. "Sure thing, boss."

While she's looking up Felix's number in her Rolodex, I jot down the original buy's name and address on a scrap of paper. "Alright honey, I'm off. You get the ball rolling with Felix and then take the rest of the day off." I gave her a crooked grin when she looked up at me. "Go get your hair done or something. Treat yourself."

"I know ya have you're blood up, Xand, but where's this new found generosity coming from?"

I blink and give her a sweet smile. "From Lord Giles, of course! Remember to get a receipt, sweets."

Tara gives me a scandalized look, but there's obviously more then a bit of good humor in her eyes. "You, Mr. Harris, are a bad man!"

"Damn straight," I say over my shoulder as I leave the office.

Starting the car, I point it toward uptown where I have an antique dealer, a Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, to rake over the coals.