A/N: Before you groan, NOT ANOTHER ONE! Some fics are ending, so this is a throw it out there and see what you guys think. I write a series of novels that I actually publish, and I have a short story I've kicked around, using those characters. My main female lead may be based off of Sarah Walker (Totally is). This is an unfinished manuscript I have tweaked to fit the Chuck world. If there's interest we could see more of this world, if not, eh. Remember this is a noir world, but present day (I swear it works). Things are harder, grimier, and the characters have an edge. So give this a try, Walker, PI, Ch 1, The Nerd
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. For the record Steampunk . Chuckster not only gave me her blessing but helped me in working out details in the original short story.
(Italics indicate a voiceover)
It started out like any other night that summer. I was in my office…melting. It was hot. The kinda hot that made you want to sleep without a stich of clothing on. But not just hot. The air was alive…and oppressive. It was thick enough to cut with a knife, and then pull back the knife to see it had rusted. The window was open to try to cool the office, but the streets still radiated heat and it wafted like the smells of a bakery below, covering you, enveloping you, and squeezing you until you could just barely breathe. The heat had caused a thunderstorm to break, and the rain was coming down, providing a bit of relief.
The newspaper on my desk told of another Good Samaritan deed that had been done. Information had been leaked to the press of a Ponzi scheme and most of the money had been returned to the rightful owners. It was the fourth such act in the past month. All the press reported was it was a modern day robin hood. My contact down at the precinct, John Casey, said some guy named Piranha was taking the credit. If I had had any sense I would have thrown the paper in the trash, burned it, scattered its ashes everywhere, and had my mind wiped of any knowledge of it, but I didn't. That's when he walked into my life.
If I had known then what I know now, I would have shoved him out the door, locked it, jumped out the window - yeah, I know it's five stories off the ground, but that's how serious I am - and ran somewhere far away…but I didn't. I was sitting at my desk, my feet propped up, considering taking off my heels. I loved the way they made my legs look in the skirt I was wearing, but they were a pain. I had fixed my evening drink and was beginning to take a sip of my Belvedere with a splash of freshly squeezed grapefruit, because that's how I like it, when he knocked.
"It's open!" I yelled. The door opened, and there he was. I couldn't help but have a slight grin when I first saw him. He stood there like a drown rat. But it wasn't just that, I knew who he was. Everyone who could read or watch a TV knew who he was, Chuck Bartowski. The son of a dead police officer that tried to bring down a Russian gangster and a former college professor that went a bit wonky after his wife's death. He left Stanford after his girlfriend was murdered, a crime never solved, and one that seemed to haunt him. He and his father had built Orion Industries, and were quite successful. Some say he had developed a problem with the drink, and I could confirm from where I was sitting he wasn't a stranger. Alcohol drifted off of him and assaulted my sense of smell. That wasn't the only sense being assaulted. I had seen pictures of him, but seeing those, and seeing the real thing…there was no comparison. I took a pull from my drink and studied him. There was no doubt, he was a long cool drink of water. He stood over six feet tall, and his jaw made me want to rub my finger along the stubble. My gaze drifted to his eyes, and something in my throat caught, not that I would ever let him see it. He had these big brown eyes that seemed like they could see into your soul. If felt like looking into them he would know if you were telling the truth or not when you spoke. That was fine with me, if I didn't speak he wouldn't know if I was lying.
"Something I can help you with, Mister?" I asked. He glanced at the bottle, with a sort of longing. I only drank the good stuff, but I thought why not. I tilted my head toward another glass on top of the file cabinet. He took the glass, water dripping from him, poured two fingers, downed the drink, and placed the bottle back where he found it.
"Thanks," he said. He looked down and noticed he was dripping. I nodded to the coat rack, never changing my position on the desk. He glanced at my legs, and suddenly seemed nervous. I grinned from behind the glass I was holding close to my face. I took a slow pull from my glass, as he took off his hat and coat. There was a small pool of water on the floor, but I could care less. I pulled my feet off the desk, brought the chair up to a sitting position, and stood up. He turned, looked to where I had been siting and brought his gaze up my entire 5' 10" frame…okay, close to 6 foot with my heels on. He swallowed loudly.
"I know who you are. I know you lost your girlfriend, and walked out of Stanford. I know you and your father created a new software company," I said, as I paused for a second, playing with him. For some reason I felt like a cat, and he definitely was the mouse. "But, my eyes are up here, Mr. Bartwoski." He hadn't been looking anywhere inappropriate, not that I would have minded if he would, in fact he seemed to go out of his way not to. It was like he was looking into another dimension, his eyes, very unfocused. He looked startled, and looked like he was about to stammer. He calmed himself, and leaned forward, his hands on the outside of my desk. I mimicked his stance, a little something I learned in my short time on the Job, how to interrogate people. Our stances had put our faces very close together, and a heat radiated off of him that made me have cold sweats. He licked his lips nervously, and I thought about doing the same…on his, not mine. It's a good thing he found the courage to speak, because I was close to doing some speaking of my own.
"I need your help." He said. He took a deep breath and I couldn't help myself.
"Doing what?" I asked as seductively as I knew how. He swallowed loudly.
"People are going to die, and I need your help." I straightened up, and smiled, intrigued. I should have ran. I should have never gotten mixed up with him, but I did get mixed up with him and that's why I have to tell you my story.
A/N: Cue the music….Dun, dun, duhhhhhhhhh…Seriously, it's mostly written, just have to tweak it. Reviews and PMs are always welcomed!
DC