He wasn't usually in this side of town, but he had a client he had to meet. Clients in low places: Wolfram and Hart's motto. He sighed and entered a small, dingy diner aptly named "Helen's Kitchen". It was buzzing with girls in sparse clothing, men in leather jackets and torn jeans, and lemon meringue pie. He loved the smell. He hadn't had lemon meringue pie since Joyce. He was too lazy to cook anything that he had once loved: warm banana pudding, pie of any kind, or any side food like mashed potatoes. Every time he saw mashed potatoes, he flashed back to a Thanksgiving in which Buffy had made a potato volcano. Which reminded him, he needed to call her soon.
He glumly sat down and looked down on a sheet of information on his new case.
Marshal Lewis, 18 years old, held up a convenience store even though he had a daddy at home bankrolling him and his BMW. Hank hated kids like that, rebellion that had no cause, stealing candy even though they had more than enough money to pay for it. He felt sick.
"Anything else?" He heard a woman's voice ask in the other corner.
"That'll do us, Peaches." A rude voice noted. Hank looked over.
The blonde waitress in pigtails tore off their bill and put it on the table.
"Pay at the counter." She said, obviously irritated.
"Sure you don't want me to work it off for you?" The voice said again. Thought he was funny, Hank's mouth contorted into a line.
The crude man's friend laughed at the comment. The waitress began to walk away when the man slapped her on the butt. The girl stopped in her tracks.
Hank knew what was coming, she was going to beat them up. Maybe he could defend her. He always liked taking trials involving a young petite blonde. Maybe they all reminded him of Buffy. It made him mad to think about what he would do if a man had done that to her.
He focused back in on the scene. The two men just chuckled. She turned her head slightly, but stopped and walked away. The girl stopped at the back and asked if she could leave, her shift was almost over.
"No, honey, Sheri's late, maybe after you cover another order." 'Helen' said.
"Okay, Helen." The girl said almost sadly.
"Take the man in the corner, he'll probably tip pretty big, he's got a nice suit." Helen smiled.
She walked over to where the man was sitting. His head was bent down, reading a sheet of paper.
"Hi, how may I help you?" She put on a cheery voice.
He looked up. His eyebrows bunched together in confusion "Buffy?"
Her eyes widened. "Ohmigod! Dad!" She said in a hushed voice.
"What in the 'hell' are you doing here?" He exclaimed.
"Dad! Shhh! I would actually like to keep my job." Her nostrils flared.
"Then we'll take this outside, young lady." His eyebrows knitted angrily.
"Helen! I'll be right back!" Buffy called to the kitchen as her father escorted her out.
Her harasser, paying at the counter, watched and muttered "Guess she likes older guys."
"What are you doing here?" Hank asked angrily.
"It's been a hard year, Dad." She crossed her arms.
"Where's your mother?"
"Dad, she kicked me out." Buffy looked to the ground.
"Are you pregnant? Addicted to drugs, what?" His eyes bugged.
"Dad, I'm the Slayer." She looked at him as she spoke nervously.
"Not this crap, again! God, Buffy, I thought we fixed this."
"It's the truth. I can't just make it go away." Her jaws clenched. "You think I haven't tried?"
He lit a cigarette in a panic "Not hard enough" He muttered.
"You want proof? Fine, I'll take you out on patrol." She settled.
Yep, Hank works at Wolfram and Hart, I just felt like doing that. And Marshall Lewis, who may or may not appear again, "ghettofied" himself. He takes his cab down to that part of town and tries to blend. Oh yeah, he's a weirdo. So far, Buffy's dad is a good guy. But, I might, if persuaded, make him have questionable affairs. Next chapter invloves some Sunnydale. Squee!