Once back in Chicago, Chuck only had time for a quick shower and shave before he headed to work at Strauss and Associates. He made it into the building with 10 minutes to spare.
Chuck stepped into the elevator and found himself watching the numbers over the door as the elevator ascended. Two. Three. He told himself that he wasn't going to the 7 1/2 floor anymore. He needed to go to work. Chuck realized he had taken a lot of time off in the last couple of days and hoped he still had a job. Four. He needed to go to work, but this was so fascinating. He'd felt Gary's adrenaline rush as he ran from Russell. It was exhilarating. It was a different kind of rush than the one he got from stock brokering. Maybe that's why he always went with Gary on his rescues. Five. Curiosity was getting the better of him. He had found out that another of the paper's recipients was actually using the paper to make money. Were they all like that? Was Gary the only one not making a profit from this? Six. Was that one of the "unspoken" rules? Make money. If so he *had* to inform Gary. But he had to go to work. Seven...
Just as the elevator light blinked off the number seven display, then it stopped, which broke Chuck's whole train of thought. He didn't even realize that he pushed the emergency stop button.
"Well, can't do anything about it now..." he tried to convince himself. He pried the doors open and found himself once again on the 7 1/2 floor. Chuck didn't care. He just picked any door and stepped through.
He was actually getting use to the ride. He wasn't as dizzy and disoriented. He actually felt somewhat okay. This person seemed to be staring into a computer screen. He watched the little arrow trail across the screen. After a few minutes the arrow clicked onto a few links and a financial page came up.
"Uncle Remy, our stocks doing well," a female voice spoke.
Chuck's view shifted to an older man wearing a plaid shirt and overalls, sitting in a leather recliner. He presumed that was Uncle Remy. Remy was watching an old floor model TV which, which still used two rabbit ears to get it's semi clear picture.
"What did you think was going to happen, Honey? You did use the newspaper..." Remy spoke, never looking away from the television.
(That's what I'm talking about. Apparently Gary's the only one not making a profit from this... I really have to show him this floor...)
"Hmmp." Chuck's view shifted to the financial section of a newspaper. A finger, well manicured with French tips, scrolled down the columns until it stopped on a stock that sunk 5 11/16 points. "We need to sell our toy stock. It's going to drop by two-thirds tomorrow."
"So sell," Remy said over the TV.
"Yeah. I should cash in anyway. I think we have enough to donate to the tornado victims."
(Donate?)
"Is it enough for them to rebuild?"
(Rebuild? What! Your not going to keep the money for yourself?)
"Just enough. We have to eat Spam for the rest of the month but it's just enough."
(Spam??)
"Oh joy..." Uncle Remy stood up and patted her on the shoulder. "I'm just kidding sweetie... Now come one we have to deliver those toys to the mission."
"Thanks Uncle Remy. For the pep talk and the for being here and helping me... What would I do without you?"
"Run yourself ragged... Is there anything we need to do before we go?"
"Let me check..." The paper flipped from the financial section to the front page. Christina's eyes scanned the pages of the Indianapolis Star slowly, reading each article and picture. She stopped on page ten and pointed to a picture of a dog in the middle of the page. "We need to be on the corner of Hillside and Main... We need to save a stray dog from getting hit by a bus. "
(Helps stray dogs... I think I'm going to be sick... They're worse than Gary...)
"I'll drive. We can even drop the dog off at the pound, it's on the way..."
Chuck welcomed the unseen force's intervention. He'd actually been trying to extricate himself from this body for the last five minutes. He knew he had to brace himself though. He was about to land in another unknown place.
Chuck prayed it wouldn't be another landfill.
---
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!" With a loud THUD, Chuck found himself on the floor.
"What the hell?" A figure to Chuck's left shouted. Startled from their nap and the figure, whose feet were propped up on the desk and leaning all the way back in their chair, almost fell to the floor. After a quick struggle to catch the hat that covered his eyes and at the same time plant their feet to the floor, the person swung their chair in Chuck's direction.
Chuck picked himself up off the floor. He glanced around his surroundings. Concrete and iron bars ceiling high, with a lone bunk in the corner. The surrounds looked vaguely familiar like he'd been in here before.
"Fishman?"
"Joe?" He walked up to the bars and looked at the handsome blond Chief of Police standing in front of him. "I guess I'm in Hickory then."
"What are you doing in there?"
"I don't know, what am I doing in here?"
"I don't know..."
"So let me out..."
"I can't..."
"Why?"
"You had to be locked up for a reason."
"Do you know why?"
"No..."
"So let me out..."
"I told you, I can't..."
"That's it!" Chuck yelled from the cell. "I'm gonna sue you for false imprisonment and hire Johnny Cochrine..."
Chuck argued with Joe for an hour before the Chief of Police actually checked if Chuck had been arrested. Finding nothing, Joe grudgingly let Chuck out.
"I told you, I didn't do anything," Chuck said smugly.
"I'm sorry for holding you so long..." The Chief said while scratching his head, wondering how he got in there in the first place. He sighed loudly and began to mumble as he continued speaking. "...And you were right and I was wrong... Are you happy now?"
"Yes..."
Once free he headed back to Chicago.
Chuck stepped into the elevator and found himself watching the numbers over the door as the elevator ascended. Two. Three. He told himself that he wasn't going to the 7 1/2 floor anymore. He needed to go to work. Chuck realized he had taken a lot of time off in the last couple of days and hoped he still had a job. Four. He needed to go to work, but this was so fascinating. He'd felt Gary's adrenaline rush as he ran from Russell. It was exhilarating. It was a different kind of rush than the one he got from stock brokering. Maybe that's why he always went with Gary on his rescues. Five. Curiosity was getting the better of him. He had found out that another of the paper's recipients was actually using the paper to make money. Were they all like that? Was Gary the only one not making a profit from this? Six. Was that one of the "unspoken" rules? Make money. If so he *had* to inform Gary. But he had to go to work. Seven...
Just as the elevator light blinked off the number seven display, then it stopped, which broke Chuck's whole train of thought. He didn't even realize that he pushed the emergency stop button.
"Well, can't do anything about it now..." he tried to convince himself. He pried the doors open and found himself once again on the 7 1/2 floor. Chuck didn't care. He just picked any door and stepped through.
He was actually getting use to the ride. He wasn't as dizzy and disoriented. He actually felt somewhat okay. This person seemed to be staring into a computer screen. He watched the little arrow trail across the screen. After a few minutes the arrow clicked onto a few links and a financial page came up.
"Uncle Remy, our stocks doing well," a female voice spoke.
Chuck's view shifted to an older man wearing a plaid shirt and overalls, sitting in a leather recliner. He presumed that was Uncle Remy. Remy was watching an old floor model TV which, which still used two rabbit ears to get it's semi clear picture.
"What did you think was going to happen, Honey? You did use the newspaper..." Remy spoke, never looking away from the television.
(That's what I'm talking about. Apparently Gary's the only one not making a profit from this... I really have to show him this floor...)
"Hmmp." Chuck's view shifted to the financial section of a newspaper. A finger, well manicured with French tips, scrolled down the columns until it stopped on a stock that sunk 5 11/16 points. "We need to sell our toy stock. It's going to drop by two-thirds tomorrow."
"So sell," Remy said over the TV.
"Yeah. I should cash in anyway. I think we have enough to donate to the tornado victims."
(Donate?)
"Is it enough for them to rebuild?"
(Rebuild? What! Your not going to keep the money for yourself?)
"Just enough. We have to eat Spam for the rest of the month but it's just enough."
(Spam??)
"Oh joy..." Uncle Remy stood up and patted her on the shoulder. "I'm just kidding sweetie... Now come one we have to deliver those toys to the mission."
"Thanks Uncle Remy. For the pep talk and the for being here and helping me... What would I do without you?"
"Run yourself ragged... Is there anything we need to do before we go?"
"Let me check..." The paper flipped from the financial section to the front page. Christina's eyes scanned the pages of the Indianapolis Star slowly, reading each article and picture. She stopped on page ten and pointed to a picture of a dog in the middle of the page. "We need to be on the corner of Hillside and Main... We need to save a stray dog from getting hit by a bus. "
(Helps stray dogs... I think I'm going to be sick... They're worse than Gary...)
"I'll drive. We can even drop the dog off at the pound, it's on the way..."
Chuck welcomed the unseen force's intervention. He'd actually been trying to extricate himself from this body for the last five minutes. He knew he had to brace himself though. He was about to land in another unknown place.
Chuck prayed it wouldn't be another landfill.
---
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!" With a loud THUD, Chuck found himself on the floor.
"What the hell?" A figure to Chuck's left shouted. Startled from their nap and the figure, whose feet were propped up on the desk and leaning all the way back in their chair, almost fell to the floor. After a quick struggle to catch the hat that covered his eyes and at the same time plant their feet to the floor, the person swung their chair in Chuck's direction.
Chuck picked himself up off the floor. He glanced around his surroundings. Concrete and iron bars ceiling high, with a lone bunk in the corner. The surrounds looked vaguely familiar like he'd been in here before.
"Fishman?"
"Joe?" He walked up to the bars and looked at the handsome blond Chief of Police standing in front of him. "I guess I'm in Hickory then."
"What are you doing in there?"
"I don't know, what am I doing in here?"
"I don't know..."
"So let me out..."
"I can't..."
"Why?"
"You had to be locked up for a reason."
"Do you know why?"
"No..."
"So let me out..."
"I told you, I can't..."
"That's it!" Chuck yelled from the cell. "I'm gonna sue you for false imprisonment and hire Johnny Cochrine..."
Chuck argued with Joe for an hour before the Chief of Police actually checked if Chuck had been arrested. Finding nothing, Joe grudgingly let Chuck out.
"I told you, I didn't do anything," Chuck said smugly.
"I'm sorry for holding you so long..." The Chief said while scratching his head, wondering how he got in there in the first place. He sighed loudly and began to mumble as he continued speaking. "...And you were right and I was wrong... Are you happy now?"
"Yes..."
Once free he headed back to Chicago.