Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and to him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.
ICYMI: Arnold and Phoebe dig deeper into Scheck's background and aren't encouraged by what they find. Scheck consolidates his position of power and tasks Vasquez with a not insignificant assignment. Arnold and Phoebe have an unintended consummation. Right, onward to the story!
9. Tell Him That It's Human Nature
The brass at the precinct had given Detective Mark Vasquez the day off in the wake of the previous night's heroics. More time to gather insight and maybe get into the mind of Arnold Philip Shortman. The file comprised myriad notes and transcripts of Helga Pataki's visits to Dr. Bliss. One particular excerpt stood out.
xxXXXxx
"Helga Pataki: I love Arnold! There, I said it! I love him! I love him! Arnold! Arnold! Arnold! I'm absitively posolutely in love with the boy! I want to grow up having a fabulous life, traveling around the world with him! Coffee in Paris, roses, sailboats, the whole nine yards! I want to have a perfume named after us: 'Arnold Helga'! I Love ARNOLD!"
xxXXXxx
Here he was, home alone on a Tuesday morning poring through the Helga Pataki file for the umpteenth time. Interesting but not particularly helpful, Detective Mark Vasquez thought. Olga had told him repeatedly just how wonderful her baby sister was, but the file suggested that a lot of the facts were being sugar-coated. As a beat cop and as a detective he'd encountered several examples of such obsessions over other persons, none of which had ended well. Results varied from restraining orders, suicides, first-degree murder or any combinations thereof.
It was great to know all the hidden details of his late kid sister-in-law, but how was that going to help him against Arnold Shortman? Maybe, against all the better judgment in the world, Shortman also had feelings for the girl. Maybe something extraordinary happened that made him accept her feelings.
He then recalled and reread more intently a transcript from another meeting, which according to the date was Helga Pataki's final session. The final minutes were of particular interest.
xxXXXxx
"Dr. Bliss: So he finally acknowledged his feelings for you after that rather…harrowing adventure, shall we say?
Helga Pataki: Don't forget the kiss at the temple, Doctor. Nine seconds of unbridled euphoria! Nine seconds! I calculated it. It would have been longer had we not been interrupted. If not, who knows? I might even have…
"Dr. Bliss: Wow, Helga. That sounds very…cathartic.
Helga Pataki: It was, Doctor it was! To think that he finally accepted my feelings!
Dr. Bliss: How certain are you of that?
Helga Pataki: Get this! Later on, he sort of proposed to me.
Dr. Bliss: Proposed? Sort of?
Helga Pataki: Well doi, not marriage! It's like he finally grew a pair and actually had a heart to heart with me. That he himself initiated!
Dr. Bliss: And how did that make you feel?
Helga Pataki: Really truly? I was scared at first. I mean, I always had my ideal of the moment when he'd finally confess his feelings to me. Soft lighting, solitude, heck, every hackneyed convention under the sun! But no, the footballhead chooses a Central American airport terminal to make his feelings known.
Dr. Bliss: Oh?
Helga Pataki: Let me rephrase that. He chooses a Central American airport terminal to make his feelings public. Public! In front of exactly, and I mean exactly, all of the people that I don't want to know about us! You ask me how did I feel about being called out in the open? Scared out of my mind, that's how!
Dr. Bliss: And your response?
Helga Pataki: You see, Doc, either he was extremely lucky, or he had planned for the moment in advance. Effectively I was trapped. I couldn't retreat. I couldn't run away. Otherwise, I'd miss my flight home and still be subsisting in the tropics.
Dr. Bliss: So you spoke frankly to him?
Helga Pataki: More like the other way round. He did all the talking. Things about gaining perspective, realizing he could have lost me and how much it frightened him. Would you believe he even swore at me? 'Dammit Helga, that's enough!' Any other time, I'd have decked him. That's why I said he must have grown a pair.
Dr. Bliss: Why do you think he'd do that?
Helga Pataki: I suppose he already knew from the FTI matter that I…didn't hate him. Since FTI I didn't seem to have as much antipathy towards him. You could say that sometimes we even got along semi-normally. Then I think back to the airport, where I'm trapped and reverting to the hard exterior. I don't think he was having any of that…hence 'Dammit, Helga!'
Dr. Bliss: Helga, our session is almost over. One last question and I promise I'm not being sarcastic: Did your world come to an end afterward? After your heart to heart, shall we say?
Helga Pataki: Honestly, I was in Heaven! He took the initiative! And he kissed me. Again! And it was so much better than at the temple! He showed me that being honest with my feelings was not the end of the world. I believe that's what you'd call 'progress'. Something to build on.
Dr. Bliss: Certainly, Helga. And I look forward to our next meeting to hear more of your progress.
Helga Pataki: No, thank you, Doc. For everything. Now if you don't mind, I have to book! The footballhead's having a rooftop soiree for the San Lorenzo gang and I'm looking forward to being with my beloved."
xxXXXxx
Interesting. So it seemed that Helga Pataki's death at the Sunset Arms might have sent young Arnold off the deep end. Nationwide coverage of him telling Robert Pataki to fuck off and his subsequent withdrawal from society seemed to reinforce Vasquez's conclusion.
Promising. Maybe the detective could use her death as leverage to blunt the army man's tactical edge. He'd still have to lure Shortman back to Hillwood...if the bastard wasn't already planning to come back anyway and take the fight to whoever was in charge. Phoebe too, because Vasquez reckoned no way would she not have started digging into Scheck. Two loose ends, waiting to be dealt with.
Then there was the mention of Brainy in the first session.
xxXXXxx
"Helga Pataki: So I hit him, so what? Brainy, he doesn't mind. I do it all the time. What? You would sock him too if he was standing behind you breathing."
xxXXXxx
Too many coincidences, his analytical mind reflected.
Brainy: Phoebe's spook.
Brainy: Classmate of Phoebe, Shortman and also Helga Pataki.
Brainy: Being mentioned by Helga Pataki.
What's the connection? More deliberation. Another, more in-depth look at the transcripts. Aha! Also on the final session.
xxXXXxx
"Dr. Bliss: So tell me. This…Brainy, is it? Has your situation with him changed at all?
Helga Pataki: Nope, he's still behind my back most of the time with that creepy wheeze of his.
Dr. Bliss: And you're still bothered with his, shall we say, behavioral quirks?
Helga Pataki: Not really. He's completely harmless. And…as it happens, very kindly in his own twisted way.
Dr. Bliss: How so?
Helga Pataki: Well, there was a point during our San Lorenzo trip when I was so frustrated with Arnold that I gave up on him. I shunned him. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him! Then Brainy came along and encouraged me, reminded me of my love of Arnold.
Dr. Bliss: How did he do that?
Helga Pataki: See this locket? Notice how the picture of Arnold is torn up? I did it when the footballhead frustrated me beyond the breaking point. I was all 'last straw mode engaged'. Tore it up, tossed everything in the river. Then – get this! – Brainy somehow sees me doing this. Then behind my back, he dives into the river with its strong currents, crocodiles and who knows what else. In the dark, in the freaking dark! Somehow he's able to find the locket and enough pieces to put together and present it all back to me. That's when I knew…"
xxXXXxx
That's when Detective Mark Vasquez knew what the man called Brainy's angle was and also how to find him.
That's so you, Arnold. Those were Phoebe's thoughts upon the revelation.
They were back at Arnold's place now that CSU had wrapped up their investigations and as a courtesy to Arnold, boarded up all the shot-out windows. They were preparing for the journey back to Hillwood. For what, they didn't exactly know. But given the resources and ruthlessness of Alphonse Scheck, they had figured that if a major confrontation was imminent then it would be best played out away from Arnie, Hilda and the many residents of the town that Arnold had come to love.
Phoebe's morning had properly started in the motel room, where she quietly reflected on the previous night while Arnold was showering. As a lover, in terms of robustness and durability, he'd been at least on par with any of her previous partners. But he had the whole lot beat in terms of consideration, tenderness, and also attentiveness; with each session he prioritized her enjoyment, making her feel more like an active participant than an accessory. Each aftermath was characterized by his warm, tight, intimate embrace and his sweet nothings, none of which ever broke the mood. That he had a rakishly muscular physique did not hurt his appeal, and the numerous scars across his body only added to his mystique.
Once both were showered and fed, they were brought back to Arnold's home by one of Arnie's deputies. From there the place was abuzz with their scurried packing. Then came the revelation of Arnold's car in which the journey would be made. Phoebe had it pegged as either a truck or a muscle car.
The revelation was different: a VW Golf GTi, the Mk 5 version, red. In many ways, Phoebe appraised, the car reflected Arnold: a smallish but deceptively talented all-rounder.
That's so you, Arnold.
As they were loading the vehicle, Arnie pulled up the driveway in his cruiser. He alighted to the couple's greetings.
"Morning, everyone."
"Sheriff!" from Phoebe. "How are you this morning? How about Hilda? Is she OK?"
"She's fine, Miss Heyerdahl. Not a scratch on her. The doctors just decided to keep her overnight for observation. She put up a fight, but they eventually convinced her."
"Thank goodness!" Phoebe's relief was audible.
"Arnie," from Arnold. "Here to see us off?"
"Something like that," Arnie replied. "Now that your case is officially closed, I figure you might want this back." With that, he presented Arnold's holstered Glock and spare magazines to him. "And for you, Miss Heyerdahl…" he turned his attention to Phoebe, "a gift from Hilda. She figures you might be needing it." For her, he produced a small holstered revolver – Arnold recognized it as a Smith and Wesson Bodyguard – and presented it to her.
Before Phoebe could protest, Arnie interrupted: "Don't worry, Miss Heyerdahl. She took this off a meth dealer some years ago. No serial number, plus she cleaned it up real good, and it will always trace back to the drug-dealing bastard should you have any need to use it. Assuming that he'll still be alive."
"It's all nice of Hilda, really," said Phoebe, "but I can't accept."
"You don't understand. This is because Hilda believes you'll be needing it sooner than you think," Arnie rebutted. "And Hilda is never wrong about these things."
"Never," Arnold backed him up. "Make it easy on yourself and accept it. Trust me." Then to Arnie: "Arnie, what did she load it with?"
"Glaser Blues all around," Arnie replied.
Arnold immediately turned to Phoebe and said with simple insistence: "Phoebe, take it!" Phoebe had no choice but to accept Hilda's consideration and generosity. "Thanks, I guess," she answered with some uncertainty.
Arnie turned back to Arnold: "So, you're taking the fight back to Hillwood?"
"If there's going to be a fight, it's my fight and I'd rather take it there. Um, can I ask you to watch the house after I'm gone? You still got your set of keys, right? Also, I'm only taking the Glock and the Black Widow. I'm not sure Hillwood would look kindly on open carrying rifles and shotguns, so can you please look after those as well?"
"Sure, consider it done."
At which point Arnold received a prod in his ribs from Phoebe's elbow. "Hey! Don't forget this is my fight as well. It's our fight!"
"What she said," corrected Arnold while blenching from the prod.
"Any idea when you'll be returning?" Arnie asked with a grave undertone in his voice, as if he knew what the answer would be.
Arnold matched his grave tone: "Sorry, but I'm not sure. This is big-league shit here. I'll…we'll…be done when we're done."
"Sure wish I could help more," protested Arnie.
"Arnie, you're possibly my last blood relation. And soon you're going to be a father for god's sake! I've lost enough family and I don't want…" Arnie cut in with a bear-hug of an embrace: "I know, Coz, I know." Arnold returned the embrace and followed up with: "I'll fucking deny this if I'm ever asked to repeat it, but you've become more like a brother to me and I love you, man!"
After the cousins' embrace, Phoebe stepped up to Arnie: "Arnie, thank you for taking care of Arnold and thank you for all the help you've been." With that said, she planted a kiss on his cheek. "I truly regret not knowing you and Hilda for longer. I truly believe we all could be great friends."
"You know, That's just what Hilda said…" Arnie would have continued, but his radio crackled to life. "Sheriff, come in, please. Callout from the clinic. Deputy Hilda's contractions have started. She's gone into labor. She says, and I quote, if you're not here in five minutes then you're fucking dead. Over."
"On my way," Arnie replied with superficial calm. Then to the couple: "Sorry, gotta go! Take care!"
Arnie sped to his cruiser, knowing that Hilda's threat was not idle.
"Sheriff! One last thing!" Arnie stopped and turned towards them. Phoebe continued: "One more moment please!" She hurriedly retrieved her old phone and the power bank purchased the previous day, and just as hurriedly handed them to Arnie: "They tracked us here through my phone. In case they're still waiting for it to come back online so that they can resume tracking us again, can you perhaps help throw them off the scent? Please?"
"Fine fine fine! I'll give it to Foutley! He'll have them chasing you all the way to Newfoundland!" replied a now flustered Arnie as he clambered into his cruiser, then tore down the driveway in reverse before executing a screeching 270 spin on the main road and motoring towards the clinic with his siren at full peal.
Arnold and Phoebe were left behind to examine the aftermath of the precision driving spectacle.
"So, it's just you and me again," Arnold contemplated.
"Not that I'm complaining," answered Phoebe.
Brainy was in love with Helga!
That was the only conclusion for Detective Mark Vasquez that fully explained his involvement.
Complication #1 for Brainy: Helga won't give him the time of day. Because Complication #2: Helga is borderline psychotically head over heels with Arnold.
So, undeterred by her rejection, the poor bastard keeps holding a torch for her. Then she dies and her death is officially ruled an accident, only he isn't buying it. So he keeps the torch burning, hoping to solve the mystery surrounding her death…in her honor. How fucking noble.
Detective Vasquez was walking through the local cemetery. He was looking for a specific place; he had a hypothesis he was testing. OK, so you're gaga over someone long dead. Doesn't matter that she'll never give you the time of day. Doesn't matter that she'll never ever return your feelings on account of her being dead. You'll want to ensure that her memory stays alive in your mind for as long as possible, but how? What's the best way to accomplish that? Visit her gravestone regularly, force yourself never to forget. Only, you happen to operate in the shadows, you're not keen on attracting attention. So you visit at the quietest possible times. Tuesday morning seemed as viable a time as any.
Detective Vasquez knew exactly where the grave was, and he also knew that its headstone was easily the best maintained amidst a vast expanse of cracked marble and weathered granite. He recalled Miriam mentioning how she maintained the site as penance for the daughter that she couldn't save. How she turned around a failing enterprise into profitability to prove that she was not a useless person, that maybe her lost daughter would look at her from the beyond and approve of the person her mother had become.
Onward he walked, scanning, observing.
Remembering.
Today he was good at remembering.
Remembering the handful of visits to the grave with Olga and her mother.
Olga's constant animosity towards Miriam. Olga's inevitably tearful breakdowns when reminiscing about 'my wonderful baby sister'.
Miriam trying to comfort her surviving daughter.
Olga rejecting her mother's comfort, citing bitterly how she betrayed Daddy in court. Mark Vasquez defusing the situation and leading Olga back home with profuse apologies to Miriam.
Today, as with any other given day, a heavy air of mournful silence marked the location: an elderly griever here and there, gravediggers going about their business. Otherwise…the silence.
Then he spotted something promising: a slender man, about 5'11", stood in front of the gravestone. The man was dressed in light grey from head to toe: golf shirt, cargo pants, even his sneakers. He was placing a small teddy bear at the base of the stone.
His facial features came into better focus as the detective approached him, and their resemblance to the result of the facial aging software became more and more uncanny.
Finally, there he was: the man named Brainy! But something felt off. Although Brainy wasn't looking in the detective's direction, he projected an aura of expectation, that his being at this place at this very time was no coincidence.
Detective Vasquez slotted alongside Brainy and joined him in silently viewing the gravestone.
"Helga Geraldine Pataki
A Better Daughter Than Any Parent Deserved
A Better Friend Than Any Person Could Want"
Miriam overcompensating. How touching.
"She must have meant a lot to you."
With no beat missed, Brainy replied: "She was no less than a goddess made flesh."
"Too bad her heart was always set on Arnold. How did it feel knowing you'd never be hers? Must have pissed you off royally."
"Not at all. I loved her enough to respect how she found her own happiness." Not even a whiff of emotion in his voice. He was not one to be easily riled up. The detective pressed on: "You know, if I found myself pining like this for someone who was never mine and now never will be, I'd check myself into the nearest funny farm. But that's just me." Maybe that would get a rise.
"Funny you should mention mental asylums, Detective," his tone remained flat. "Wasn't your wife once a guest at one such facility?"
The detective let his voice slip. "How'd you find out about that?" he sputtered. "Those records are sealed!"
"Records get sealed, but people talk and I listen. It's what I do, it's who I am."
"And just who are you? I asked around, but no-one I've spoken to seems to know your name for sure. All sorts of names get thrown my way: Craig Viksten, Steve Bartlett, Larry Kolosov, the list goes on. Nobody seems to know for sure."
"Let them enjoy the chase, I say. I suppose you're here because you figured out my history with Arnold and Phoebe." Fuck, so he wasn't surprised. "I'd expect nothing less from Hillwood PD's hero detective."
"Just what's your angle here, Brainy or whatever the hell your name is? Your goddess died…what…seventeen years ago. From what I gather, you've been sitting on intel for god knows how long that could bring down my employers. Instead, you help out some reporter, get her in way over her head, send her to the goddess's boyfriend who for all we know has had so much ass over the years that he's completely forgotten about her."
That's when Brainy interrupted: "He hasn't forgotten. Believe me, he hasn't."
"Yeah? And how can you be certain?" Detective Vasquez inquired suspiciously. "You have a Psych degree I should know about?"
"I know people. I know him. I was there when the building collapsed. I looked him directly in his eyes when he realized he'd lost everything: the look of a boy who lost everything that made his life worth living. I'll never forget how broken he was. No way was he ever going to forget."
"I get it," Detective Vasquez's voice took on a scornful edge. "You couldn't save her, so now you're trying to save her boyfriend to honor her memory? Like that's ever going to bring her back! You're one dumb son of a bitch, you know?"
"You got it wrong. I'm not trying to save him. I'm looking to give him the closure he's been seeking all these seventeen years. I'm helping him help himself by dealing him back into your boss's sick game."
The detective was angered by that statement: "Damn you! This was all part of your plan, wasn't it? To use him to bring down Santalov and now Scheck?"
"What plan? All I'm doing is offering him a chance to do right by the people he lost."
"Yeah, and how come you're not among them? The reports placed you at ground zero when the building collapsed. How the fuck did you survive?"
"That's a story for another time," was all that Brainy offered.
"Oh, you think you're walking away from here? How about I run you in? Obstruction of Justice for a start. Suspicion of hacking and data theft. I'll think of more as we reach the station!"
Brainy remained calm even as the detective produced his handcuffs. "I know I'm walking from here, Detective," his calm tone was grating the detective's nerves. "You see, I have many clients who employ my services. Mostly cops and DA investigators. Three of whom right now have in their possession flash drives which they don't yet know contain bank statements of a certain Vitaly Santalov, highlighting specifically the settlement of student loan debt incurred by one Mark César Vasquez and all subsequent payments made to an offshore account opened up in the name of…who else?... Olga Pataki-Vasquez." Detective Mark Vasquez froze.
"Which, by the way," continued Brainy, "is cold, even for you: dragging your wife into your mess. Don't you think she's had enough drama in her lifetime? Anyhow, I don't walk out of here on my own volition, the contents of the flash drives get opened, read and escalated. See where this is going?"
Shit, so he was prepared! "You bastard!" was all that Detective Vasquez could gather as an act of defiance towards Brainy. Defeated, he put the handcuffs away.
"It's not me you should worry about, Detective. It's Arnold," reminded Brainy. "He took down Scheck once before, he'll do it again. If I were you, I'd find a way to jump ship while I still can," With that, he started on his way. The detective stopped him with a firm hand on the shoulder. Brainy turned around into an oncoming right hook that connected sweetly with his left cheekbone. The impact was enough for a brief loss of motoneuron control from his brain to his legs, and moments later there he was on his knees, nursing a bruised and cut cheek together with a loud ringing inside his skull.
"Consider that a gift from your goddess," a contemptuous Mark Vasquez sneered. "She reckoned you wouldn't mind." Then as he turned to walk away: "You're lucky the old man only wants Arnold. You're lucky he doesn't consider you a threat. For now, at least. Now stay down until I'm gone!"
No problem. Brainy was left groggily waiting for the ringing inside his head to subside, which it eventually did.
"Better than expected," he reflected as he stood up, gathered the teddy bear and staggered on his way.
"…and then…and then…" she struggled to contain her laughter, "after he's put the two beers on the counter, the bartender…the bartender says 'Damn, these mathematicians don't know their limits'!". No use. The mirth overcame her, and her uncontrollable laughter followed.
Arnold was not similarly overcome. "Oooooh! That's bad!" he replied, grateful for at least remembering the properties of convergent geometric sequences.
"Oh poo, Arnold!" pouted Phoebe. "That's the funniest joke I know! Maybe a bit too niche, too specific for general consumption, hmm?"
"Definitely," he agreed.
Arnold and Phoebe were three-and-a-bit hours into their journey to Hillwood. As urgent as both felt the underlying matter for their return was, they also felt that caution was key in the journey. So they were avoiding the highways and sticking with the backroads.
They did have a slight advantage, or so they hoped. An hour earlier, Foutley had called to announce that Phoebe's old phone was in his possession and that after some of his tinkering, anyone tracking the phone would believe that the couple had fled to Providence, Rhode Island. Arnold and Phoebe were not sure how much time he had bought them, only that they had to make the most of what they had.
Sometime after Foutley, it was Arnie who called and his exuberance spilled out of the phone's speaker as he announced the birth of his daughter, Arnold's niece.
"She looks just like her mother, man!" Arnie had exclaimed with what sounded like tearful joy, the most emotional anyone besides Hilda might have heard him.
"Great!" Arnold replied. "So she's guaranteed to be human!"
"Arnold!" Phoebe chided; Arnold's phone was on speaker for this call. "Don't listen to him, Arnie! He's being a jackass again!"
"When isn't he?" Arnie's joy had not subsided at all. "She's so beautiful. Just so, so beautiful."
From Phoebe: "And how is Hilda faring?"
"Exhausted. Medicated. She's resting right now. Who can blame her, right? Still, could have been worse. The baby could have resembled me!"
Arnold then chipped in: "That's what I was thinking. Kid with a head like yours or mine? Not enough meds in the world for that poor woman!"
"Arnold!" Phoebe sounded like a typical disapproving headmistress, although she had to concede that his point was a valid one. So did Arnie with his response: "It's not like he's lying, Miss Heyerdahl."
"Yes, I suppose that's a good point," Phoebe conceded and looked over to Arnold who was now sporting a self-satisfied smile. "Oh, shut up, Arnold!" she said in elfish disapproval. Then back to Arnie: "So does she have a name yet?"
"Nope. We haven't decided yet."
From an incredulous Arnold: "What? You mean nine months wasn't enough time?" This time he was speaking for Phoebe as well, as she nodded in agreement with Arnold's statement.
"Hey, we want to get it just right. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be back with my family. You two take care and stay safe."
"Bye, Arnie!" the travelers called out in unison as the call came to an end.
Since then, their conversation had been dominated by small talk and telling each other the lamest jokes they could conjure.
When out of nowhere…
"You know," from a tentative Phoebe, "Helga wasn't the only one who liked you."
"Pardon?" Arnold asked while still giving the road exactly as much concentration as necessary.
"We all liked you, Arnold. Rhonda, Nadine…..me. For exactly the same reasons Helga liked you. It's just…long before San Lorenzo, we all deduced that her displays of hatred towards you were just too exaggerated and that she was protesting too much about you. We all gave her space to see how it all would play out. Then she kissed you in Romeo and Juliet with that intensity and…that was that. We never told her to her face, but we knew she didn't fake it on-stage. And just like that, you were officially off the market."
Arnold's responsibility as the driver was the only reason he wasn't turned to face Phoebe at that moment. "But you ended up with Gerald," he spoke. "Are you saying he was your second choice?"
"Yes, once you were off-limits. Don't be mistaken, I made it work with him. If not for…you know…I could easily see myself happily married to him today. But know this, Arnold," her voice was now marked by a more solemn tone, "that you were my first choice and, present underlying circumstances notwithstanding, I'm glad to be together with you right now."
Arnold was at a loss, but eventually he found a sequence of coherent words: "Not that I'm not flattered but…yikes! Why tell me now?"
Phoebe moved to clarify: "Remember last night on the sidewalk with me saying I'd very much like to know you so much better? Well, please consider what I just told you an act of good faith on my part. I just shared a facet of my life with you that I would never have shared with even my best friend ever."
Arnold mulled over what he had just heard before answering: "Did I ever tell you that I was born in the middle of a volcanic eruption..?"
And suddenly the journey didn't seem long enough.
And that's your lot for this chapter! Thank you so much for sticking with me so far. A special shoutout to guest reviewer EJ for your constant encouragement throughout the chapters; much appreciation from my side! Also to KawaiiKilala77 for your kind words; I hope you found this chapter no less engaging.
Author's Note: To follow up on the review from DeepVoice'06. Thank you for taking a chance with my seemingly controversial theme. And yes, it was crucially important to me that I kept Arnold and Phoebe in character so that their development would be as organic as possible.
Author's Note #2: For the Brainy/Vasquez meeting I benchmarked the scene in Heat where Robert de Niro and Al Pacino meet up in the diner. I hoping to convey a mutual understanding, if not outright respect for each other. Also for each character to lay their cards on the table and proclaim that neither would budge from their position.
Author's Note #3: You've probably guessed that Vasquez was the star of this chapter. Hopefully, I've established his credentials and abilities as a detective, and also that he'll make a formidable foe for Arnold.
Author's Note #4: My Spotify playlist for this chapter [or: the songs that most influenced my writing this chapter]:
I'd Like - Freshlyground
Waiting in Vain - Annie Lennox
The Crossroads - Bone Thugs 'n Harmony
Pilgrim - Eric Clapton
The Experience of Love - Eric Serra
That's it then. See you next chapter.