Part 1, A Hot, Hot Day
It's hot in Casablanca. The dusty, narrow streets of the Moorish section are hotter yet. The streets are incredibly crowded with all sorts of humans and demonic creatures, the torrid heat making them quiet and tranquil.
Inside the police station an officer turns to the microphone and intones:
"To all officers. Two Slayer couriers, carrying important official magical objects, were murdered on the train from Oran. Murderer and possible accomplices headed for Casablanca. Round up all suspicious suspects and search them for stolen objects."
Out in the torpid streets another officer blows his whistle. The crowds panic as police begin to round up demons and people alike. A police car screams through the plaza and stops in front of the market. Everyone tries to escape but some are caught and tossed into arriving wagons.
Two officers stop an Ornak demon, an inoffensive looking creature with red slime spurting out from an orifice on the top of his head. The first officer, a tall, well muscled dark-haired man with a stern military bearing, demands, "May we see your papers?"
"I don't think I have them on me," answers the nervous demon.
Graham is unforgiving. "In that case we'll have to ask you to come along."
The demon frantically sifts through the folds of skin that cover him, "Wait, it's just possible I have..." He finds something and presents it to the second officer, an even taller black man, with a shaved head, "Yes, here they are!" The demon does a double-take. "Say, I thought Adam killed you!"
"I got better," Forrest growls and rolls his eyes. Forrest examines the papers briefly before throwing them into the dust. "These expired three weeks ago. You'll have to come with us!"
The demon suddenly breaks away, running wildly, desperately. Forrest and Graham both shout "HALT!", but the demon ignores them.
Across the square a young couple, Gunn and Fred, watch, confused as Forrest and Graham gang-tackle the fleeing demon, who falls in a flail of appendages, the fall breaking his neck. The officers search the body but find nothing important and leave it behind in a huff.
"Like I always said: animals!" snorts Forrest. Graham nods his head wisely.
Later in the day, in front of the Palais de Police, suspect Bovine demons are being herded into the station. In a cafe across the street an elderly Fyarl couple watch the commotion in front of the Palais as a wagon lets out more suspects.
A sneaky Snoggle sitting at the adjacent table has been keeping at least three of his ten eyes on the gullible couple. He overhears the female Fyarl ask, "What's going on?" The timing is perfect and the Snoggle gets up.
"Pardon." interupts the Snoggle. "It's just the usual roundup of suspects, refugees, liberals--and a beautiful lady for Mr. William, the recently installed Prefect of Police. And along with these refugees have arrived the scum demons of Europe," the demon with many eyes says as he pats the male Fyarl demon gently on the shoulder, making sure to avoid any fast-setting snot that might fly from his nose. "Watch yourself, be on guard, this place is full of vultures. Vultures everywhere!"
"Ah, thank you my good ma--thing, thank you very much for the warning," replies the male.
"Not at all! Au revoir."
The Fyarl turns to his companion, "An amusing little Snoggle. Waiter!" He checks his pockets but can't find his wallet. "How silly of me!"
"What, dear?" asks the female.
"I seem to have left my wallet in the hotel." His face clouds up as he looks after the retreating Snoggle. Disgusted, he blows his nose at the waiter and storms off with his wife.
A magic carpet, in final approach to land, appears over the plaza. Refugees lined up outside the Palais look up in longing at that symbol of hope. Gunn and Fred, now having mysteriously moved to where the real action is, look up wistfully.
"Perhaps tomorrow we'll be on that carpet?" Fred asks Gunn. Gunn just shrugs his shoulders and continues to watch the carpet as it swoops past another building adjacent to the airport. There is a sign on the front of the establishment:
"Al's Authentic California Juice Bar"
The carpet comes to a swooshing halt in front of a group of Slayer Army lackeys and French police officers, including one Captain William, Prefect of Police. Captain William is suave, debonair, alert, has a really bad dye job, plus two other afflictions to be introduced shortly.
Buffy steps off the carpet, dusting herself off. Her expression is iron hard as she looks around with a piercing glare.
Dawn, one of the lackeys, comes up to her and makes a stabbing gesture. "First Slayer!" she salutes.
"First Slayer!" Buffy automatically replies, making a sloppy stabbing gesture in a return salute. They then embrace each other.
"It's so cool to see you again, Buffy!" Dawn exults.
Buffy is cool and imperious in her reply, "Thank you, thank you."
Dawn turns and lifts her hand to indicate one of the waiting officers. "May I present Captain William, Police Prefect of Casablanca."
"Hey!" Buffy exclaims, "Spike!" She starts to go to him but is held back by Dawn.
"Yeah, it's Spike. He's been sandal-shoed or something," Dawn hurriedly explains. "And he's human. And apparently he got amnesia as a side-effect of some prophecy. He doesn't remember anything about you, Sunnydale or, well, just about everything." Dawn shrugs, she's beyond caring.
Buffy is a little taken aback by this odd bit of news. "Sounds like a pathetic plot device if you ask me." Dawn does not deny this and neither does the author.
Captain William approaches Buffy and salutes. "Welcome to Casablanca."
Trying to play it casual, for she is a professional, Buffy replies, "Thank you, Captain, it is very good to be here. But what's with the French accent? I thought you were British?"
Spike pointedly ignores Buffy's last comment as he introduces his aid, "Zis is my aide, Lieutenant Tara."
As professional as she is Buffy still can't help her shocked expression. "Tara! But you're dead!"
"I got better."
"Oh."
The groups turn and begin walking away from the carpet, Buffy alongside Captain William, the others following behind. Captain William speaks first, "You may find ze climate of Casablanca a trifle warm, Buffy."
"Oh, we Slayers must get used to all the climates, from Russia to the Sahara. But perhaps you were not referring to the weather?"
He easily dodges the question, "But what else, my dear Buffy?"
Buffy has serious business in mind. "By the way, the murder of the slayer couriers. What have you done?"
"Realizing ze importance of ze case, we 'ave rounded up TWICE ze usual number of suspects," Spike proudly announces.
"We already know who the murderer is!" Tara breaks in from behind.
Buffy is visibly pleased. "Good. Is he in custody?"
Captain William answered the question, "Oh, zer is no 'urry. Tonight 'ee will be at Al's. Everybody comes to Al's!"
Buffy glares at Captain William upon hearing of this. "I've already heard of this 'Al's', she growls, "And also the proprietor, Mr. Alexander Harris."
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