Angel was waiting for him in the parking garage as he left the building. He wasn’t at all surprised. “Angelus, it’s been a long time. How is Darla?”
“Lindsey MacDonald. Interesting choice of names. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Did you expect me to? I knew that you wouldn’t change.”
“Actually, I’ve changed a lot. First of all, Darla and I aren’t together any more. We parted in China and met again briefly in California. We also split up with William and Drusilla. I don’t see them any more.”
“Unbelievable. The four of you were so tight. So what are you doing now—besides pushing my clients out of windows and rescuing would-be actresses, that is?”
“I’m a private investigator. Before that I did a lot of traveling. China, New York, Rumania.”
“I heard rumours about you in Rumania. I heard that somewhere along the line a gypsy cursed you with a soul. True? I guess it must be, or you wouldn’t have done what you did last night and today.”
“Well, I prefer not to think of it as being cursed. So tell me what you’ve been up to. I see you became a lawyer.”
“It seemed the thing to do at the time. Actually it’s a great field for somebody like me. I can’t really go back to my old occupation, can I?”
“No, you’re just doing it legally now. You stayed in London for a long time, didn’t you? But you’ve been here quite a while. Your accent manages to slip every now and then and I hear the Brit coming through.”
“Yes, I did stay. I changed my name to MacHeath and hung around the docks and, of course, Whitechapel.”
“I thought that was you. Jack the Ripper. Never a doubt in my mind.”
“You know they’re still thinking it was the royal doctor covering up for the Duke of Clarence’s marriage to a Catholic girl. Poor Annie Crook, in Bedlam and she wasn’t even mad.”
“Did the Prince of Wales pay you to kill those girls who knew about the marriage, or did you do it for fun?”
A smirk crossed Lindsey’s face. “Both, actually. They were filthy, diseased cows. I should have been knighted for getting them off the streets. Long Liz positively reeked.”
“Then what, Lindsey? Across the ocean I guess.”
“New York for a while and then Texas. I’ve been told I’ve picked up something of a western accent. I went by the name William Bonney for a while.”
“Billy the Kid. Sure, why not. You’ve always had that kid’s face. That’s why he painted you in the first place. Do you still have the portrait?”
“Of course. As if I’d part with it. I keep it in a good safe place.”
“I’d like to see it. I’ll bet it’s pretty disgusting by now.”
“No way, Angelus. If you really are trying to redeem yourself, you’re the last one I’d show that too. I like my life as it is.”
“How did you ever get Wolfram & Hart to recruit you?”
"They didn’t recruit me. I recruited them. I had heard about them through the grapevine. They were extremely impressed by my ‘credentials,’ enough to pay my way through college and law school. It’s my kind of place. I’ve got my eyes on a senior partnership one day. Speaking of which, I have to get back to work. Good seeing you, Angelus. I hope I never see you again. You could be a real thorn in my side.”“Good seeing you too, Dorian.”
On his way back to work, Lindsey stopped at his condo. In a secret steel-lined vault behind his closet was the portrait. While he had stayed young and handsome, the portrait had aged and shown the signs of every evil deed he had ever done in his hundred fifty plus years of life. He smiled at it and put it away. Dorian Grey, no, Lindsey MacDonald now, headed back to work singing the happy tune that Berthold Brecht and Kurt Weill had written in his honor, Mack the Knife.