Being A Patient Man
by Rob Morris
Hank entered his new house, realizing his wife was away on her own manner of patrol.
"No grass grown beneath your feet. Barely back from Vegas, too. Real initiative, that girl."
A wife wished for justice. A tyrannical father and husband elsewhere in the vicinity had suddenly lost all timing. From then on, his wife and children would always be able to hide whatever they were doing, just in time and where he would never find the evidence. Fortunately, he was a brow-beater so egotistical, striking people was something he considered beneath him, even as his authority became wholly imaginary. That last part, Hank understood all too well.
"Honey? I found an Aldi's in the next town over. They only require you to bring your own bag, and the groceries are cheaper as a...Anya?"
A horned, smiling figure greeted Hank in the kitchen area. Hank's seeming cluelessness did not prevent him from knowing his wife's employer.
"D'Hoffryn? Is something wrong with Anya?"
The Chief Vengeance Demon bid him sit down.
"Henry, I'll be brief. I've found a way to rescue Anyanka from whatever vengeance your children decide to put upon you, when the time comes."
Hank nodded.
"That's good."
D'Hoffryn smiled.
"It's by killing you."
Hank nodded.
"That's bad."
D'Hoffryn's grin never quite left him.
"Now, I know what you're probably thinking. Your fate is hers, and all that. But I found a most interesting loophole in the standard contract my people sign before entering my service. Seems that, if one of my people were somehow to gain, say, a cursed appendage, like an arm that fights them or a leg that tries to drag them off a too-high cliff-I can sever that appendage, free of other mystic and/or cosmic consequences."
Hank nodded. He seemed to be good at it.
"And I'm the appendage?"
D'Hoffryn pointed.
"Just remember-you said it, I didn't."
The appendage held up one finger, while digging through a pile of papers. D'Hoffryn was confident that he could deal with any weapon or spell, but confident did not mean patient.
"Henry? I'm waiting."
"Just a minute, D'Hoffryn. I've almost got it all."
The Chief Vengeance Demon saw Hank Summers sit down and open a folder. He handed D'Hoffryn some reading material.
"What is this? Last will, curse on my head, application for leniency?"
Hank pointed.
"Nope. Its evidence. In case what I did was found out, I didn't want Xander or any of my family being accused. So what do you think?"
D'Hoffryn skimmed over the many pages. At last he whistled. He looked at Hank.
"I'll need to verify all this, of course. But-let's put a permanent hold on your execution. Even if this turns out to be a fake, it's a thing of beauty. And if it's for real? Henry, we will have to talk. Because I have wholly underestimated you. That just doesn't happen very often."
Hank nodded.
"So. Grilled Cheese with Bacon and Tomato?"
D'Hoffryn nodded as Hank went to the fridge.
"Yeah, but brown spicy mustard. Yellow does things to my insides. It makes even we vengeance demons squeamish."
When the bachelor's special sandwich was served, D'Hoffryn enjoyed the food - but it wasn't what was making him drool.
SUNNYDALE, EARLY SUMMER, 2002
Some less-than-choice bourbon on his breath, George Harris actually smiled at his seeming good fortune. The man at the opened door was as good as gold.
"May I be to coming in, sir?"
He talked exactly like George and the sleepy Louise expected a recent immigrant to talk. But he had made a mistake.
"Whadarya, a Vampire?"
The man crossed the door's threshold without effort.
"I am not being vampire, sir. But I know of the fiends."
Louise finally staggered out of the chair.
"S'bout time this stinking city sent some help, along with yuer piddling disability check."
George shrugged.
"Gotta name?"
The man pshawed him.
"My name is being one of those thick immigrational names, Meester Horris. Simply better to think of me as a patient man, here to deliver what you and your lady are firmly deserving."
George sat down, grinning, and pointing at the mess that was his house's natural state.
"Patient Man-it's all yours. Only don't steal."
Louise looked up before resuming her stupor.
"We know how to count."
Thinking all their troubles done with, the pair drifted off into their pre-Happy Hours nap. When they awoke-the house was as clean as they had been promised.
"How'd that little creep cut through all this crap in just two hours?"
The patient man was already there, more drinks in hand.
"The Horrises were sleeping for twelve hours. I have taken that time as well to have restocked their marvellous liquor cabinet. Their refridegerattoor is not so well restocked, I fear."
George grunted, took his drink (the vodka had a much better kick than usual) and tossed his new servant his endorsed disability check.
"Then stock it, moron. And take care of my bills, while you're at it. Hey, how long is it you're here for?"
Louise stood up.
"This city owes us! Our kid helps keep this stinkhole standing up, for all he's worth. Which by blood, ain't much."
The pair laughed at this insult. The patient man stood silent for a moment, after that, then got going. Louise poured herself another bourbon.
"Where'd he find this? It's actually got some buzz goin' on."
A week passed, and the patient man found a way to make their budget stretch in all the right places. Even the credit card people stopped calling, and that was something they never did. George smiled to look at the fridge and cupboard.
"Kettle Chips! Hi-Grade Ice Cream. Burgers, dogs-freakin' Fettucine Alfredo!"
Louise was on her second tub of Ben and Jerry's.
"Ya know, we're really not supposed to have all this stuff. Crummy doctors..."
The patient man pshawed them again.
"As far as I am to concerned, sir and lady may eat and drink as they see fit, and let no physician stop what is to come."
And so they did, and so they were happy. But one day, a visitor came, and the patient man seemed very nervous indeed. George shrugged at the voice outside the door.
"It's the kid. You get it."
The patient man now actually seemed to sweat.
"Sir, I am having had this happen before. If your child finds out about me, he may want me to help him as well."
Louise nodded.
"He's gotta point. I ain't sharing this gold mine. Hide, and don't make noise, or I'm calling immigracione. Got it?!"
The patient man had himself well hid as Xander Harris walked in, looking somewhat flustered.
"Why am I getting a bill for a wedding YOU volunteered out of the clear blue sky to pay for?"
George chuckled.
"Ask yourself. I'm not the one who couldn't keep his woman happy—and around."
Louise stood up.
"You owe us for a lot more than this, you ungrateful snot. You have no clue what we got you out of. You don't deserve parents like us."
To his credit, Xander did not even touch that one.
"I am not paying this. Try and make me, I'll raise this roof till something shakes loose. And If I can't, I know two ladies who can."
"Go on and hide behind your skirts, you worthless..."
Xander stalked out, and from his hiding place the patient man saw where he hid the Harrises' car keys outside, in the vain hope he could prevent the disaster that every police officer in Sunnydale called the 'free ride', those ticket-quota filling times when the drunken couple would defy almost every court in California and drive in their own deadly fashion. The patient man asked a question upon emerging.
"Sir, if it is our son is oweing this household of yours money, I know several attorneys who could regain it for you."
George and Louise both laughed out loud.
"Pally-boy, I didn't lose a cent on that wedding. That bill was just insurance."
"Insurance being against what?"
Louise grinned even wider.
"One day, sonny-boy may want recompense for a little thing came up around the time he was born. He tries to sue us, we slap him back with the wedding bill. Then-good riddance."
George nodded in his seat.
"All those questions-wasn't what we went in for. Maybe the girl instead...she's the strong one."
Louise seemed lost as she went to sleep.
"Lousy witch. Locked us in here before we could even dump the little piece of crap..."
For long moments after they fell asleep, the patient man held a lit match, and stared at it intently. Then he put it out.
"No. The mission. It's all about the mission."
But the time eventually came. The patient man had them sign some forms. Louise cackled.
"We actually have life insurance again!"
George read the fine print, but was happy with it.
"Well, it's barely enough to get us buried, but it'll do. Pally, you are sooo what we had coming. Got any more of that good rotgut?"
Louise drank some, and looked delirious.
"What do they add to this stuff?"
The patient man smiled.
"A liquor called Absinthe, Madam. It brings on health and clear thinking."
The patient man smiled, and held up a pair of car keys.
"Is anyone being for a drive?"
George felt his life was now complete. He and Louise had no idea.
"You found em'!"
Louise had visions of being out on a town that didn't want to see either of them. But with their recent good fortune, even George had become tolerable.
"You still know how to drive?"
They hopped in, their systems hopped up on too much salt, fat and sugar, and on mixed liquors that did not promote anything like health and clarity. The patient man left instructions to a supposed restaurant.
"What the hell is this?"
Louise looked around. They were in the middle of an abandoned drive-in movie parking lot, two towns over.
"Betcha that little slug is robbing the place while you've got us stuck out here!"
"Shuddup! Sides, he's had like a billion chances if he wanted the crap we have. Like that toaster oven your aunt gave us."
Her foot jerked out, and kicked over his.
"LOOSSEEERRR! I MARRIED A FRICKIN LOSSEERR!"
It happened, then. A car with a record from the mechanic almost demanding several levels of repair, starting with full system brake replacement, driven by two people who, the autopsy would reveal, had been abusing themselves as never before, surged forward, hitting an ancient metal pole that crushed a roof that had always needed reinforcement. Xander Harris was now technically an orphan.
But only technically. In the distance, having erased every trace of himself from the Harris residence, was the patient man, father of a daughter killed by a vampire and a son stolen by thieving bullies. But the daughter had gotten better. After all, she was The Slayer. Now, the man who had bullies take his son had made them pay, and made it look like an accident. His patience had paid off, and soon he would walk back into the lives of his children, with no one the wiser. None of the neighbors had ever known of the Harrises' supposedly city-paid servant.
That had been the plan. It had worked to perfection.
TWO MONTHS LATER
D'Hoffryn finished looking over the gathered evidence, once again nearly drooling as he did.
"So you wiped off - and then burned- all the makeup, destroyed the receipts for the money orders you used to pay their bills out of their own back disability-checks they misfiled on-heh-heh- Oh my, it was the perfect murder. You even did the home invite thing. Oh, how I wish we gave points for blistering political incorrectness. I outright cringed at that SNL-skit accent. Lame, but thorough. What can I say?"
The man whose patience had paid off was not displeased with himself. His family was restored, and growing larger. Like his son, so many had so continually underestimated him. But now his true calling had found him. D'Hoffryn began the process.
"Welcome to the fold of vengeance demons. Do us proud, in the name of every bullied little man who only wanted peace."
Hank Summers nodded, and hoped that his family besides Anya would understand, when the time came.
"Done."
