Chuck vs the Jackpot
Chapter 4
Mo(rgan) Money, Mo(rgan) Problems
Custom Suits And Rare Pelts
7:05 pm
"I feel ridiculous, Morgan."
Chuck tugged at the collar of his tuxedo as Morgan paid the saleslady. "No one feels ridiculous in a custom-made tux, my man."
"They do if it's made out of crushed blue velvet."
"Are you kidding me?" Morgan spun around and threw his arms out wide, showing off his own velvet masterpiece, a perfect match for Chuck's tuxedo, with the exception that Morgan's was maroon. "How many people can say they own one of these? Just us, compadre!"
"Lucky us," Chuck muttered, straightening his tie in the mirror. He wondered what Sarah would say if she could see him. She'd probably smile that wry smile of hers, brush off his lapel, and remind him of the bright side of things. Chuck tried to imagine the bright side to wearing a velvet tuxedo - well, it was really comfortable.
He glanced over at Morgan, flirting shamelessly with the saleslady and tipping her a hundred dollar bill for her "exceptional service in the face of overwhelming odds." Morgan seemed to be readily accepting his sudden wealth, whereas Chuck still felt uncomfortable with the idea of commanding that much money. Something didn't feel right about spending money he didn't earn.
A clap on his shoulder broke Chuck from his thoughts. "Almost ready to hit this town in style, my lifelong friend," Morgan said, beaming. Chuck couldn't help but smile at Morgan's excitement, and decided to do his best to give himself one night off from worry and guilt.
"Almost?"
"Well, yeah, Chuck. You're about to witness the end of an era." Morgan solemnly reached into his pocket and pulled out his bus pass.
Chuck quickly put on a face of mock concern. "Morgan… no…"
"Oh, yes, Chuck. Nancy?" Morgan held out his hand like a surgeon waiting for a scalpel, and their saleslady slapped a pair of scissors into his palm. Morgan opened the scissors, positioned them around his bus pass, and sliced the pass in two with one decisive motion. Chuck grasped the ruffles over his chest.
"The Greater Los Angeles Mass Transit System will never be the same," he bemoaned.
Morgan handed the remnants of the pass to Nancy. "Burn that along with our old clothes, doll." Nancy nodded obediently, saluted, and marched away. "Now," Morgan continued, "our journey continues. Do you know, Chuck, why I chose this particular haberdashery for our wardrobe enhancement?"
"Because it's walking distance from the 105 express?"
Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Do you know the other reason I picked this joint?"
Chuck shrugged. Morgan took hold of his arm and positioned him towards the window, directing his gaze across the street.
"Because it's a crosswalk away… from that."
xxx
Sarah hung up the phone, having successfully rescheduled Chuck's meetings with the CIA-approved lawyers and accountants. She supposed she should have been somewhat insulted at having been regulated to the position of Chuck's personal secretary, but for some reason it didn't bother her at all.
Her thoughts traveled to her father; at the scores of different cons he'd already have dreamed up to separate Chuck from his newfound wealth. A short con to nab a hundred grand? Or maybe a long con, something where they'd make off with a couple million. It pained her to think that her father was the type of person from whom she'd now have to protect Chuck, in addition to the ones she already was.
Sarah wondered about the implications of Chuck commanding that much money. Would it change him? Make him less interested in the missions? Make him forget about… well… certain people?
Sarah shook those thoughts from her head. This was Chuck. Money or no money, he was still Chuck.
xxx
More Luxurious Than Necessary Motors
7:38pm
"The Aston Martin DBS," the salesman intoned reverently in his cultured, British-accented voice, "is the pinnacle of design and engineering in a luxury sports car. It is speed, it is performance, it is elegance. It is, my young friends, the very personification of style."
Morgan stood, mouth agape, staring at the sleek coupe sitting in the center of the showroom floor. Chuck worried that at any moment drool would begin to flow from Morgan's mouth. He wondered if the green handkerchief stuffed into his breast pocket had any absorbent properties.
The salesman, a distinguished-looking older man, gestured at the car. "I believe this is what you had in mind," he continued, "when you requested 'the dope-est hooptie on our lot.'"
"It is indeed," Morgan gasped, finally recovering from his momentary paralysis. "I'll take it."
"Um, Morgan," Chuck interrupted, "don't you want to maybe take it for a test drive first? Or consult Consumer Reports? Or, I don't know, ask how much it costs?"
"I do not," Morgan replied. "But thanks for the suggestions."
"Very good, sir," the salesman nodded. "I'll have this model ordered and delivered for you in no time at all."
"Ordered?" Morgan asked. "Delivered? That sounds like it involves waiting, which does not fit into my new lifestyle of instant gratification. No, I'll take this one. Right here. Now."
Very good, sir," the salesman replied, unflappable. "Would you like the optional floor mats?"
Morgan furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure. How much are they?"
Chuck slapped his hand to his forehead.
"Sir, you've been such an outstanding customer, I'll include them free of charge."
"Excellent," Morgan beamed, as he looked proudly at Chuck. Chuck nodded back and gave a thumbs up. "One more thing," Morgan said, looking back at the salesman. "I'll give you twenty thousand dollars to be our designated driver for tonight."
Chuck whipped his head around and glared at Morgan. "WHAT?"
Morgan shrugged at Chuck. "Chuck, we're about to go out and get plastered out of our minds at several different locations throughout the county. It'd be irresponsible not to have a designated driver."
"Right," Chuck deadpanned. "And paying twenty grand for that service is completely responsible."
"I like this guy," Morgan replied, turning back to the salesman. "He's classy and he sounds like Gandalf."
Chuck winced. "This is not going to end well."
"Thank you, sir," the salesman bowed. "And it would be my pleasure to chauffer you tonight."
"Outstanding," Morgan beamed, offering his hand for the salesman to shake. "What's your name?"
"It's Philip, sir," the salesman replied, accepting Morgan's hand and shaking it cordially.
"Philip…" Morgan considered that for a moment. "No, I don't think that'll work," he finally said. "From here on out, your name is Jarvis."
"Very good, sir."
xxx
d'être riche
8:45pm
The waiter brought Chuck and Morgan their respective dinners under silver domes. He lifted the domes dramatically and bowed. Chuck looked down at his plate and saw three sprigs of parsley, a mushroom, and parallelogram drawn out of some sort of brown sauce.
"Um…" Chuck said, "I think there's been a mistake. I ordered the chicken."
The waiter straightened up and raised an eyebrow. "The chicken was not right for you, monsieur. You will enjoy this more."
"But-"
The waiter turned on his heel and walked away. Chuck frowned at his dish. "This does not look like eighty dollars' worth of food."
"Don't worry about it my man," Morgan said as he cut the single lima bean on his plate. "I don't even think rich people need to eat. We probably absorb nutrients from hundred dollar bills through some sort of osmosis." He popped half the lima bean into his mouth and pushed his plate away. "Ugh. I'm stuffed. Let's check out the talent." Morgan swiveled his head at the various well-dressed women populating the exclusive restaurant.
"What about Anna?" Chuck asked, trying to mop up some of the brown sauce with bread.
"Mutual realization that we each can do better now," Morgan replied, craning his neck to follow a shapely bottom. "I think she's having dinner with one of the castoffs from 'The Bachelorette' tonight."
"What? Really? You guys broke up because of the money?"
"What else could we have done?" Morgan asked, eyeing a blonde as she nibbled on 1/8th of a spinach leaf. "It's only a matter of time before we're each tempted by droves of members of the opposite sex we're now bound to reel in."
Chuck furrowed his brow. "You don't really believe that, do you? I mean, it shouldn't make any difference how much money we have, we're still the same guys."
Morgan shook his head and sighed. "Chuck, you have to understand: our newfound wealth makes us incredibly attractive to a previously unattainable echelon of women."
"Morgan, I really don't think that's-"
"Pardon me," a silkily smooth voice interrupted. Chuck and Morgan looked up from their debate to a beautiful woman with piercing blue eyes and luxuriously dark hair. She wore a form-fitting yet tasteful dress that wouldn't have been out of place at the Academy Awards. "I apologize for interrupting," she said, a hint of a smile playing at her ruby red lips, "but while you previously may have found me to be unattainable, I just wanted to let you know that I now find you incredibly attractive. Here's my number."
She laid a calligraphy-scripted card down on the table and slid it towards Morgan, pivoted gracefully, and smiled over her shoulder as she walked away. Chuck blinked twice.
"Was that Angelina Jolie?" he gasped.
"Yeah," Morgan sighed as picked up the card and tore it into shreds. "Not really looking for baby momma drama, though; know what I'm sayin', my man?"
xxx
Santa Monica Freeway
9:50pm
"Alfred!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Can't this thing go any faster?"
"Of course, sir. However, local speed limits prohibit me from doing so."
"Nonsense. If you're pulled over, I'll simply buy the LAPD a new prison."
"Very good, sir."
xxx
Sapphire Ruby
10:02pm
Chuck stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice him. It shouldn't have been that difficult - the place wasn't very crowded, and he was the only six foot four guy wearing a blue tuxedo. Still, he went ignored.
"May I offer a suggestion, sir?"
Chuck turned to see that their designated driver had joined him at the bar.
"Philip!"
"It's Alfred now, sir."
"Oh," Chuck said. "So, you're… um… taking that seriously. Okay, Alfred it is."
"Thank you, sir. As I was saying, a suggestion: Do you have any large bills on hand?"
"I do," Chuck responded, leaning towards Alfred and whispering, "but I don't like to flash it around, you know?"
"Very prudent, sir; unfortunately, it has a less than desired effect when trying to get attention from those of us in the service industry. Now, if you will - take out a hundred dollar bill, fold it twice, lean forward on the bar, and tap the bill on the bar with a slight air of impatience."
Chuck shrugged, took out a hundred, and did what Alfred instructed. After three taps, the bartender sprang to life and hurried over.
"Huh," Chuck said, turning back to Alfred. "It-" He looked around; Alfred was gone. "Worked," he said to no one.
"What can I get you, sir?" the bartender asked, smiling at the hundred dollar bill.
A generous tip later Chuck approached their table, drinks in hand, as a gorgeous blonde sauntered away. Chuck set the drinks down on the table.
"Was that Kristen Bell?"
"Yeah," Morgan replied, blowing his nose with the monogrammed handkerchief upon which the starlet had written her number. "Ol' Veronica Mars has really let herself go, man. It's tragic." He took a sip of his Purple Avalanche and shook his head sadly.
xxx
Sunset Boulevard
1:08am
"Standish, that last place was positively a morgue."
"My apologies, sir."
"No apology necessary; simply bring us to a place that befits our new social standing."
"Of course, sir."
xxx
No name, just the atomic symbol for magnesium over the door
1:15am
"-just wanted to let you know that I now find you incredibly attractive."
Natalie Portman gave a flirtatious wink as she turned and skipped merrily away. Chuck, head propped up by his arm, turned to look sideways at Morgan, who was gazing forlornly at the 1st edition copy of 'War and Peace' that the young actress had autographed with her phone number.
"Let me guess. Upset with her portrayal of Queen Amidala?"
"I suppose it wasn't her fault," Morgan sighed, using the book as a coaster. "I mean, not everyone can deliver Lucas' dialogue."
"You're officially an insane person, you know that?"
"If being selective in my choice of female companionship is insane, then I don't want to be sane, my friend."
"Not much risk of that."
xxx
Venice Boulevard
2:41am
"I'm afraid that the hour limits your choice of appropriate venues, sir."
"Smithers, I have complete faith that you will triumph over the odds."
"Your confidence is an inspiration, sir."
"That it is, Smithers; that it is."
xxx
The Deep Pocket
2:45am
Chuck grimaced as he looked around the bar. The theme seemed to be well-to-do older men and flashy younger women. Morgan, beginning to wobble a bit, clapped him on the shoulder.
"Whatsa matter, my fellow artistoca- aristocar- rich guy?"
"When I saw the name of this place, I was kind of hoping it'd be a pool hall."
"Pish," Morgan replied. "Pool. A sport for the comniners. Now, lissen. Alla these dames is after these guys 'cause they got money. They like that. But they're old, see? But us, we're young. They're gonna like that, too."
"Morgan, I think you're a little past the 'charmingly tipsy' stage. Maybe we should call it a night."
"Jus a soon as I lure one 'a these tasty morsels away from her grampa." Morgan stumbled off, a panther in search of his prey. Well, a panther with an inner ear infection.
Chuck sighed and looked around at the bar's patrons. Young women squeezed into tiny dresses, giggling at their suitor's lines. If this was how the other half lived…
Shouting from across the bar pulled Chuck from his thoughts. One voice was unfamiliar, but he recognized the other one.
"Hey! Hands off the velvet!"
Chuck cringed and rushed to the source of the commotion. As he broke through the gathering crowd, he saw a girl with a wet stain on the front of her a low-cut dress, and Morgan being held up at the lapels by someone who looked familiar. Chuck took hold of the man holding Morgan, and his eyes widened as he recognized-
"Gary Busey?"
"That's right," the wild-eyed actor sang out. "And your little Chinese friend here is about to get his soul eaten."
Chuck blinked. Twice. "Um… what?"
"Did I stutter? This little Kamikaze spills his drink on my girl, calls me 'Mr. Joshua,' and thinks he's gonna walk out of here with his Tao in line with his Chi? I don't think so."
Chuck looked at Morgan, who managed to shrug despite being held up by his coat. "Okay, putting aside the fact that he's not even remotely Asian," Chuck said, "in all fairness, you did play a character named 'Mr Joshua' in one of the most popular movies of all time."
"Yeah? Well if that's so, how come I don't remember it?"
"Could be any combination of narcotics and numerous blows to the head."
Gary Busey stared at Chuck. For a very long time. A disturbingly long time. Then, finally:
"That's probably true."
Busey let go of Morgan, and Chuck let go of Busey, breathing a sigh of relief. "Tell you what," Busey said. "If the Eskimo here cleans up the mess he made, we'll call it no hard feelings."
Morgan straightened his jacket and attempted a regal salute. "Asbolutely," he slurred. He turned towards the girl with the wet dress, pulled out his handkerchief, and proceeded to stuff it down the front of her dress as her (and everyone else's) eyed widened in shock.
"This does not have very absorbent properties," Morgan lamented.
"Okay, first one's free," Chuck said.
Busey punched Morgan across the jaw, and a moment later Chuck grabbed Busey and spun him into the crowd. He connected with an older man who apparently took offense, and punched Busey in the gut.
Suddenly the whole place went haywire, with fights breaking out all over. Chuck tried to make his way over to Morgan, but was stopped by a hand clamped on his shoulder. The hand spun him around to face-
"David Hasselhoff?"
"You hassle with Busey," the tanned actor growled, "you hassle with the Hoff." As he drew his arm back, Chuck closed his eyes and braced for the impact. But a loud crash sounded, and Chuck found himself unhurt. He opened his eyes to see-
"Philip?"
Their designated driver stood over Hasselhoff's fallen form, dusting his sleeves off.
"Mr. Grimes has seen fit to address me as Duckworth for the moment, sir."
"Uh… okay…" A chair flew past Chuck's head. "Thanks for the save."
"I have been charged with the occupation of seeing you and Mr. Grimes safely home, sir," Duckworth said, reaching out to snatch a flying bottle out of the air before it could connect with Chuck's head and setting it gently down on the bar. "I take that assignment very seriously."
"Cadbury!" Morgan's voice rose over the din. Chuck and Cadbury turned to see Morgan struggling to get out of a half-nelson. "They're ruffling my ruffles!"
Cadbury faced Chuck for a moment. "Pardon me, sir." He strode gracefully towards Morgan, stepping briefly to the side to avoid a stumbling brawl participant before resuming his calm journey. Chuck stared in disbelief.
"Best… car salesman… ever."
xxx
Casa Bartowski
4:18am
After dropping an unconscious Morgan off on Chuck's living room couch, Chuck and Cadbury went out to the courtyard and stood by the fountain.
"Are you all right, sir?" Cadbury asked.
Chuck gingerly touched a sore spot on his cheek that was sure to sport a bruise the following day. "All things considered, Cadbury; it could have been much worse."
"Well said, sir."
"You know, I'm not really comfortable with all the 'sir' stuff. It's Chuck." Chuck held his hand out.
Cadbury paused. "In that case," he said, "I suppose you should call me Philip." He shook Chuck's hand, and they grinned.
"You need a ride home, Philip?"
"Thank you, s- Chuck, but I have a service I can call. If you have no further need of my services, I'll be on my way."
"Yeah, of course," Chuck said. "Thanks for taking care of us."
"My pleasure, Chuck."
Philip turned and took a few steps away, and Chuck opened his door. Before he could enter-
"Chuck."
Chuck turned to look at Philip again.
"What's money?" Philip said. "A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do."
Chuck smiled. "James Joyce?"
Philip smiled back. "Bob Dylan."
Philip turned and walked out of the complex. Chuck watched him go, a grin on his face. A moment later, a groggy Morgan made his way to Chuck's side.
"Where'd Benson go?"
"I don't know, little buddy," Chuck said. "But I do know this. You didn't pay him enough."
Why can't I do the little dashes to seperate sections anymore? It's stupid and it makes me angry.