Capitalism and Funny Syphilis 3/5

[vinniebatman]

Title: Capitalism and Funny Syphilis: In Which Anya Makes a Friend
Author: batmanvinnie aka vinniebatman
Fandom: BtVS/Highlander
Pairings: Xander/Anya (referenced)
Rating/Warnings: This one is teen.
Prompt: A Scooby working at Joe's bar, posted at Twisting the Hellmouth
Disclaimer: I so totally own the show. Bow Down! *Doctor's Note: Patient exhibits delusions of grandeur and any claims of ownership are pure fantasy. No harm is meant. Seriously, it's better than her throwing rocks at people.
Author's Note: Okay, so I'm not majorly into Highlander, but I do watch it when I can catch an episode. Because of that, this occurs in no specific time period. I don't know of anywhere else to post this here on lj, but it is posted on TtH 
Dedicated to the Divinely Supreme amejisutoWithout her, there would be no joy, no happiness, and less tail pr0n

Humming, Amanda strolled through down the street, ignoring a grumbling Richie as he carried her packages. It was a warm winter's day, the sun shining. And she was on her way to her fence with an antique copy of the Bible, its pages covered in gilded, garish images. Life was good. The shop was located on a small side -street, its windows covered by draperies. It was a sadly typical fence's store. The products on the shelf were fairly pedestrian and outdated. Had any decent detective entered the store, they would have noticed the owner's suspect merchandise.

To be honest, Leroy wasn't her favorite fence. Gerard, and elderly gentleman in Paris, was always full of lively anecdotes, and his wife always brought fresh pastries to the shop. But Gerard was also a lot smarter than Leroy, and could tell from a glance how easily an item would be recognized, it's value, and how likely it was to be discovered by the police. Oftentimes, Amanda would leave Gerard's shop with the item she'd intended on selling, filled with pastry but without money. Leroy, on the other hand, was an idiot. He may know the value of an item, but he never knew if it would give him more trouble than monetary gain. It made him the best fence if you needed to get rid of something, but he was also a shrewd negotiator.

Inside, the store was musty and smelled vaguely of cheap Scotch and even cheaper cigars. Leroy was a portly man, who always had a cigar between his lips and stains on his shirt. A thoroughly unattractive man, he combed his few red hairs over his bald spot and hit on pretty young girls. Like Anya, who was standing in front of him. Behind her, Amanda heard Richie drop the packages, a stunned "Muh?" his only comment.

"Listen, I don't care if you think it's pretty, I'm not selling it for less than $2,400, sugar." Amanda watched as Anya narrowed her eyes

"Well as I was saying before I interrupted, it's pretty except for the fact that it's hot. Now I could just go and call the police and tell them that you have a stolen Kirvovich, missing since 1894, or you can sell it to me for $1,000. Because I can guarantee you that once I call the cops, you won't be able to give this thing away."

Leroy paled, then sneered. "Fine," he snarled. "$1000." Anya pulled out a wad of bills and handed it to him. As she turned to leave, she smiled in surprise at Amanda and Richie.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Well, uh, we were just shopping-," Richie started.

Anya rolled her eyes. "Please, the only people that come in here to shop are looking for stolen merchandise." She narrowed her eyes and shrewdly assessed the package Amanda held under her arm. "Or they're selling something stolen. Can I see?"

Amanda's mouth opened to respond, but her brain couldn't quite find the words. Not only was this girl insane, but she was way too shrewd and smart for someone here age. Rolling her eyes, Anya grabbed the package from Amanda and removed it from the cloth bag.

"Oh, the Marchanz Bible," she murmured. Opening the pages, Anya peered not at the Latin words, but the gilded embellishments on borders. Suddenly she smiled. "Wow, ancient Sumerian. Hmm . . . Dawnie would love this!" Then Anya frowned. "But so would Giles."

"You know what it is?" Amanda asked, puzzled and surprised. The Bible was a rare book, known of only to the most studied of book collectors.

"Yes, and I may even know some people who'll buy it from you," Anya offered brightly.

"You do? Because it's worth more than $725,000," Amanda pointed out.

"I'm guessing you had a buyer, but the buyer died. Because this isn't something you steal and then take to a fence. You had a buyer who died or was sent to jail or something, and now you need to get rid of it. Which sucks because you have to take it to a fence who'll give you maybe a twentieth of what it's worth."

"Maybe," Amanda admitted. Anya pulled out a cell phone and scrolled through the numbers. Muttering the numbers to herself, she pulled a receipt out of a shopping bag and wrote the number on the back of it.

"Here, call this number. Ask for Rupert Giles and tell him what you have. Just don't tell him that you know me," she explained.

"Ex-boyfriend?" Richie asked, pretending that he wasn't interested.

"No. Well, I thought he was my fiancee for a while, but that was this whole thing. It’s just that he knows my Xander, and Xander can't know I'm here," Anya explained in a rush.

"Xander?" Richie asked, his voice sad and hopeless.

"He was my fiancee. We almost got married, but he left me at the altar. I hated him for that, but he did it because he was afraid he'd hurt me. Eventually I got over it and I decided that if I have to get old and wrinkled, I want to do it with him by my side."

Amanda raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Uh, okay." After a short pause, allowing her to regain her composure, Amanda spoke again. "Are you working tonight?"

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

It was near eight that night when Anya and Amanda breezed in. Small shopping bags dangled from their wrists as they moved toward the bar. Joe smiled at them.

"Well ladies, what can I get for you?"

"I'll have a Maker's Mark Manhattan," Amanda said, dropping onto a stool. Anya sat down next to her.

"I'll have a dirty martini, please. We should probably get Richie something, too. How about a coke for him, please." Joe frowned.

"Where is Richie?" The two women turned toward the door. A few seconds later the door opened and Richie stumbled in, carrying several large shopping bags and boxes. Joe shook his head. "Poor bastard."

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

Three Days Later . . .

Giles poured himself a glass of Scotch before settling down behind his desk. Pulling out his magnifying glass, he went over the printed computer images sent to him. Deciding that it could be the genuine article, he set down the magnifying glass and picked up the phone. Dialing the number from memory, he took a sip of his drink while listening to the phone ring.

"Hello Dawn. . . . I'm doing quite well, thank you. How's the vacation going . . . ? Excellent. Now, I have an official request for you. . . . No, nothing terrifying. Now, you're in San Francisco, right . . . ? All I need you to do it head to Seacouver before returning. I've received word of a text for sale there, and I do believe it is the genuine article. . . . The Marchanz Bible. . . . You will? Excellent . . . . Just let me contact the seller and notify her that you'll be there. I'll have Rona meet you at the airport. . . . She agreed to head the Northwest Division last week and arrived there a few days ago. I think she’s mostly just curious about the identity of the person who notified of Seacouver’s difficulties. . . . No, no leads on our ‘friend,’ yet. . . . Look, it should be a simple exchange, but I still want her to go with you even though she is rather busy. . . . No arguments, Dawn, or I'll send Buffy to help you . . . . Thank you. I'll have my secretary book a flight for you leaving in two days. I'll call you with the details in a day or so. . . . All right Dawn, have fun. Be careful. . . . Goodbye."

As Giles hung up the phone, he had no idea of the chaos Dawn's trip would unleash. Poor bastard.