Spike couldn't help but smile a bit, as the head went bouncing down the alley. He'd have done it, himself, but he was too busy mourning the body's lack of exploding into dust. He hated these ones that left a corpse lying around.

"I certainly wouldn't be fool enough to loan that cow a penny," Spike said, wiping the blade on the leg of his jeans and then slipping the machete into his jacket. "The name's Spike," he said, fishing a cigarette from his pocket.