Summary: After deciding that he is no good to the Slayer the way he is, Spike takes a trip into the wild unknown...

Disclaimer et al: see chapter one

Chapter Two - Jake Ntombi

Two hours later he was stranded on a dirty corner in a buzzing part of the city and his car had been stolen.

Spike couldn't believe it. Somebody had ripped off his brand new wheels and there was nothing he could do about it. If he ever needed the sodding chip out it was now and those bastards in ski masks with big guns would get it bad and terminal. He'd actually been sitting at a red light when three of them had come at him from nowhere, waving weapons. Of course, he hadn't locked the doors, so he'd been inelegantly hauled out of the seat, with the muzzle of an AK-47 shoved in his chest lest he think about protesting. It wasn't the gun that had stopped him from kicking ass, it was the chip - because his hijackers were human. The only thing that prevented them from taking the clothes off his back was that he'd given them serious fangs. They had screamed away in the car, rubber still burning on the tar, while Spike was left to dust himself off and use the more colourful phrases in his vocabulary.

It was beneath him, but he had been forced to walk into the busy night district where he'd had to use his game face more than once to ward off would be muggers. He'd also used the demon face to scare the overly eager tarts that hung around the hydrogen street lamps - not that a bit of comfort wouldn't have been nice, but Spike was here on business after all, and he didn't suppose the lasses would appreciate his lack of currency.

He was beginning to think the hell mouth had temporarily relocated except for one thing - there was not a demon in sight although there were plenty of people - of all colours and creeds. Even the evil beasties knew when a place was worse than bad and he began to suspect that this city was worse than the big bad. It was a disturbing thought - could there be a place that even Spike was weary of? And Lorne had sent him straight there.

The thought of making his way back to the airport and shipping his box back the hell out of here was looking more tempting by the minute when a white mini van with tinted windows screeched to a halt next to him.

Spike rolled his eyes. He could only guess at what crime syndicate would burst out the van's sliding doors and he prepared to bring his demon visage to the fore.

The driver's window rolled down and a dark, lean face wearing dark glasses and gold earrings leaned out.

"Hey white brother, you're looking lost - downtown or uptown?"

"Excuse me?" Spike was taken aback that the man had bothered to talk to him at all.

"You look like you need a ride, man. Anybody who's standing still on a street corner in Hillbrow is looking for a ride - of one kind or other - if you get my drift." The dark man flashed a white smile at him.

"Why would you give me a ride?" Spike was cautious, but the fellow behind the shades seemed to be harmless.

"It's my job," he said as he pointed to the black letters on the side of the van; 'Jake Ntombi, taxi service'. "That's me, Jake, and this is my service, bro." He slapped the empty seat next to him. "So get in and I'll take you where you want to go - for a price, of course."

Spike nodded, "of course. Call me Spike." Perhaps this young man could help him, but Spike would not be paying fare. "Actually, I'm looking for someone specific, maybe you've heard of him." He fished out the card and showed Jake the name that was printed on it.

Jake's eyebrows shot up over his sunglasses and he whistled. "Eish! You're after real muti, man. Can't help you. You'd better forget it, okay?" He started to roll up the window, but Spike moved fast and forced it back down again.

"You know the name. You have to help me," Spike growled and there was a measure of desperation in his voice.

"I am helping you, bro - just stay away from that. It's nothing a white foreigner should ever be involved in. And where did you get that card in the first place?"

"A friend gave it to me," Spike said, and hoped it was the truth.

Jake shook his head. "Some friend."

Spike's hand shot out and grabbed the black man by the throat. He winced as the chip fired, but didn't let go. "Take me to this Mister Mfozo, mate, or you'll get more than you bargained for."

Shifting in his seat, Jake tried to stay cool. He was obviously not too shocked that Spike would try to attack him, but seemed more disconcerted that the man who had him by the throat had unusually cold fingers. "Is this what a brother gets for trying to help out his comrades? I'm telling you, I can't help you. Sure, I've heard of the name - who hasn't in this city? Doesn't mean I know where he is, man."

"Okay," Spike hissed, "then you're going to help me find someone who does. Got it?"

Jake nodded, "I got it. But maybe you don't." He produced a handgun and held it to Spike's head.

The vampire just laughed. "Yeah, like a big hole in my head's gonna help. Somehow I don't think you're the killing kind, boy."

"And you are?" Jake snorted.

Shrugging, Spike removed his hands away from Jake's neck. "Truce?" He asked.

"Ja, all right." Jake lowered the weapon. "It's not loaded, you know."

"I could have told you that, boy," Spike grinned. "I've been around a lot longer than you would think."

Jake's mouth stretched into a toothy smile in return. "No jokes, you've got some serious shit hovering around you."

"Trouble is, I didn't think there was anything that could surprise me, anymore," Spike said. He looked around at the dilapidated neon lit buildings and the cars and people that were flowing past them, unconcerned about their violent confrontation. "It's nice to know that I'm wrong."

Nodding wisely, Jake said, "You're new in town, you get used to it."

"I need a guide," Spike said, "and I need help to find this Mfozo guru, or whatever he is. And I'll pay you - even if I have to steal the cash."

"Sangoma," Jake said, "He's a sangoma. It means Witch Doctor. And you better get in, I don't like hanging around here with a white man for protection."

Spike raised an eyebrow. His new acquaintance had already forgotten the tension between them at the mention of money. Since the chip, Spike had always needed allies among humans, and although it had galled him at first, he now found it a comfort. Perhaps this Jake could be an ally in his quest. He moved around to the passenger side of the van and pulled open the door. As he hopped into the free seat, he said, "What time does the sun rise around here?"

Part 3