Chapter 1
In Which Gerald Decides To Make Some Changes in His Life
Washington DC, several months previous
DC is a city of restaurants. From snooty five-stars to run-down diners, even the most discerning of appetites can find something edible in the area. The food at The Falling Saucer was more than edible, having been rated "Most Diverse Menu" by local critics for the past three years running and placed on the Top Ten Mid-Range Restaurants list for five.
Although the food was unarguably diverse (ostrich steaks and ox-tail soup were among the favorites on the menu) it was really the atmosphere that made the place so popular. The acoustics were designed so well that even when the building was filled to capacity at over 300 tables, near silence reigned over the patrons as long as they spoke in normal tones.
Which was why table 43 was receiving some very pointed looks.
"Listen, Ginger sweetie, it's not you. It's me."
"Don't you start with me Gerry! You used that exact same line the last time we broke up!"
Gerald started to mentally slap himself, but stopped when Ginger did it for him. Ouch. Now that he thought about it, she was right, he had used that line last time. Or was it the time before? He had long since lost track of the number of times he and Ginger had broken up, got back together, broken up, got back together…ever since they had first met in college. Was there a line he hadn't used? He thought harder.
"I want to know the truth! Gerry, are you listening to me? The truth!"
Well, there's a first time for everything. Gerald looked at the redhead across from him. Her arms were folded and she was utterly ignoring the stares from the other tables, focusing on him her patented death glare. So much for thinking she wouldn't make a scene in public. She probably thought there was someone else. He almost laughed. Who else would put up with him? He had been working with the FBI for most of his adult life, and he was, well, the job. Women came second, and in his limited experience, they didn't stand that for long. Except Ginger. Ginger who had followed him to DC. Ginger who got him his first job. Ginger who would do anything for him.
Anything except break up with him, which was the only thing he was interested in right now. The truth, huh? Let's see…how about you're the only girl I've ever met who only grows a spine when we break up? That our fights when it's over are the best part of our relationship? That I've finally figured out that I want something more than a shadow…with fangs? He shook his head. He didn't really want to hurt her, they'd been friends too long for that. Well…friends…slightly psychotic acquaintances…same thing. She was still waiting. Well, here goes.
"I've put in for a transfer."
She hadn't expected that. "You what?"
"A transfer. To New Jersey. You know, for that joint effort thing. Anti-terrorist stuff." He tried to make it sound as though he wasn't excited about it and didn't want to get far, far away from Ginger.
Ginger gave her head a shake and recovered her anger. "You expect me to believe that?"
"I asked Charlie myself. He said it's all but guaranteed."
That did it. Ginger got up so fast she knocked her chair over. "Oh really? Well I don't ever want to see you again, Gerald Martin Johansson!!" She threw her napkin at the table, grabbed her purse, and was about to storm off when she stopped and turned a few feet away.
"One more thing. You're fired!" She flounced as if she had made her point and finished storming off.
Gerald looked sheepishly around at the shocked patrons and shrugged.
"Never date your boss," he advised them.
************
Two weeks later, Gerald was walking through his nearly-bare apartment, making sure he hadn't forgotten to pack anything. His transfer had come through quicker than he expected (Ginger probably had something to do with that) and he had to get out now or pay another six month's rent, which in DC was no small beans.
Anti-terrorism. Finally, I get to be the good guy again. He had found that after working with the FBI for a while, you sometimes get confused about whose side you're really on. Was he working to protect the people from drugs? That he could handle. Criminals? No problem. But you can't protect people from themselves, he thought tiredly. He had seen too many people destroy their own lives, and had to clean up the mess afterwards. He had seen abuse of all kinds. And he had seen fellow agents who were so used to it, they hardly saw it anymore. He didn't want to end up like that. He had already seen too much.
He went through the bathroom and bedroom and was inspecting the kitchen when the mail dropped through the slot on the front door. Gerald noted that he still had to get the sole surviving plant he owned down from the ceiling hook and went to go get his daily junk.
"American Express bill…I may have won a million bucks…application for an American Express card…" he muttered to himself as he sorted through the small pile of envelopes. He came to a single hand-written envelope at the bottom of the pile. "Shoot!" Arnold! "I knew I forgot to tell someone I was moving! Some best friend I am," he said irritably to the potted plant, which listened attentively.
Gerald sighed and opened the letter, after checking the return address. Still at the boarding house. Arnold had been saying he wanted to get out of there and see the world ever since he graduated from the community college nearby. But somehow, something had always gotten in the way. Right now it was money. Regardless of how great his friends and family thought Arnold's paintings were, the fact remained that they just weren't selling. He was working at Mrs. Vitello's right now to make ends meet, and from what Gerald had heard he gathered that those few boarders with paying jobs helped him out from time to time.
He read the letter, which was full of optimism as usual. Same old Arnold. As always, he had a plan to get the money he needed, but first he had to take care of some problems with the boarders, his grandparents, a friend… Gerald shook his head. Arnold was never getting out of there. Maybe when his grandparents died (they were still going strong, despite being well into their nineties by now) he could sell the boarding house and…but no, not if anyone still needed to live there. Arnold just couldn't abandon anyone like that. So, he was stuck.
Gerald finished the letter, folded it and jammed it in his back pocket. At least he seems happy. He couldn't imagine Arnold without his sense of hope. He thought back to his school days with a smile, thinking of all the do-goody things he had done for his best friend's sake. It was partly in honor of those times and his friend that he was changing his life now. And partly because he was looking for something, he knew that. He just didn't know what it was he was looking for.
"I am a messed up guy," he told the plant as he unhooked it from the ceiling and prepared to go, "But all that is going to change, you'll see." The plant thought it best not to respond.
****************
"Hey new guy. I'm going for some coffee, want some?"
"No thanks. And my name's Gerald."
"Right, nice to meet ya. I'm Joe. See ya around then."
"Yep." Gerald leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. His first day on the job, and he was already getting eye strain from the cheap computer monitor he had been assigned. He had never realized that a desk job was so…boring. He stared at his screen saver, watching the words "Ical Corp." bounce around.
When he had reported to his new boss in Jersey (a short, balding man named Simon, who had a very distracting eye twitch) Gerald had been assigned a field position almost immediately. It seems that the FBI had been hearing rumors about certain biological weapons possibly being smuggled into the States through small-size medical and chemical export/import companies in the area, such as Ical Corporation. It was more a long shot than anything else, and no more details were known about it, but they didn't want to take any chances. Hence Gerald's new desk job, with the added instructions to "keep an eye out". He had the distinct impression that this was one of those "newbie" assignments no one else would touch.
Actually the whole thing seemed kind of ridiculous to Gerald. Simon had offered him a new identity for the job but he had decided it was best to keep it simple, besides he felt silly enough as it was. What was he supposed to be looking for? They didn't even ship supplies through the office in Jersey, it was just a business office. Any smuggling would be done in New York, where the shipping office was located. And the people he was working with certainly didn't seem like terrorists. They were boring maybe, but not dangerous.
He sighed. Oh well, he hadn't met everyone in the office yet. Who knows, maybe there was an evil villain lurking around here somewhere, with a secret underground tunnel where he kept… He shook his head. Obviously, I've read way too many Purdy Boys mysteries over the years.
Coffee was starting to sound good though. It was only 2:30, and he needed waking up if he was going to make it until five. Gerald got up, stretched and headed out of his cubicle and down the hallway to the break room.
Someone was yelling up ahead. It sounded like someone was getting reamed out by a superior. Not wanting to get in the way, he slowed down some to let them finish before he got there. He could hear two people, one male, one female. The female seemed to be the one doing most of the yelling. The male sounded like he was about to cry.
"…read the memo…" he whimpered.
"I'll tell you where you can stick your memo! Next time you tell me directly, do you hear? That means face-to-face, bucko! Now scram!"
The man got out of there so fast he almost ran into Gerald. "S-sorry." he muttered and Gerald was shocked to recognize him as the man who had hired him into Ical. At the time, he had struck him as a firm, almost imposing person, though Gerald was changing his mind fast. Curious to see the woman responsible for breaking his new boss, he peered around the corner.
At first he couldn't see her face. She had bent over to retrieve a paper the man had probably dropped on the floor in his hurry. She was wearing a nicely tailored mauve business suit that fit her form in a way that made him think maybe this job wouldn't be so boring after all. Gerald straightened his tie without thinking as she turned around to face him.
"Yeah? What're you looking…" she didn't finish. Instead she stared at him with her bright blue eyes, framed nicely by her long blonde hair and accented by two deep black eyebrows…Gerald realized he was staring back and blinked.
"Helga?"
A/N: I know, I know, "What about Phoebe??" Don't worry, she'll show up…eventually.
Ok, thanks to: Roxynomekop1288, CoolGirl89, Miss Matched, DropsofJupiter, :), and Ann Onamous, who all reviewed before this was even a story! Wow! Thanks ya'll!
I'm not going to answer predictions because I'm afraid I'll ruin it for someone, but if anyone has any questions about the plot so far I'll be happy to clear things up. Feel free to email me also if you like, and review please of course. The next chapter should be up next week at some point. ~PJ