Chapter 3
In Which Mysteries Abound Freely
All office buildings look alike in the dead of night. Blocks of steel and glass silhouetted against the night sky, their parking garages lit by the harsh artificial security lights. The only signs of life are the occasional bored security guard making his rounds, and perhaps a dog barking from somewhere far off. It is the silence that makes any such building seem so dead. The complete, total and absolute silen—
CRASH!
Any such building, that is, except perhaps the offices of Ical Corporation.
***********
This is not my night, thought Gerald as he picked himself up from the wreckage he had just caused. He looked down at his feet to see what he had tripped over. I swear that trash can was not there this morning.
He shook his head and began cleaning up the mess by the dim light his pocket flashlight provided. He had only been in Ical about 45 minutes, and had already knocked into a lunch cart, slammed into a door someone had left open, and fallen into a rather large potted tree in the lobby, narrowly escaping the notice of the building's sole security guard. If I didn't know better I'd say this place was amateurly booby trapped. But that was ridiculous. The fact that the office was so easy to break into gave evidence enough that there was nothing in here worth protecting. Gerald had almost decided to give up and try back later, however. May as well have brought a bullhorn so I could shout "Gerald Johansson is coming!" to anyone else who might be here. He finished putting the trash back and stood up.
He was finally on his floor. His object in coming tonight had been twofold – first, figure out if anyone else was interested in coming to Ical after hours, and if possible who and why. Second, snoop around Helga's office a bit to try and see what she was up to, if anything. He'd already scared off anyone here, so that was out. On the other hand, Helga's office was just a few feet away. Gerald checked his watch with his flashlight. Still fifteen minutes before the guard checks out this floor. Well, guess I could try and get one thing done before I leave then. He headed – carefully – down the hall.
The cheap lock on Helga's door was easy enough to pick, and in just a few moments Gerald was shining his flashlight around in her office. He hadn't really noticed it much the last time he was in here, and he took the opportunity now to check it out. It was very neat, almost clinically so, which struck him as contrary to the Helga he remembered. But she's changed. We all have. There were no pictures of any family members or friends anywhere to be seen, in fact the only decoration was a print on the wall of a woman by a white building, which Gerald thought he recognized from some art class along the way. He walked over to inspect her desk.
There was nothing on it worth noting. He wondered if he should risk turning on her computer but decided not to try it tonight. Instead he just went through her desk drawers. The two top ones had a few office supplies in them, and the middle was empty. Well, this is turning out to be a productive night. Gerald shook his head and pulled on the bottom drawer.
It was locked. A few twists with a bit of wire remedied that. He opened the drawer and looked with surprise at the mess inside. There was paper everywhere in no apparent order, several notebooks in varying colors, a half-eaten bag of Fritos and what appeared to be a tiny pink teddy bear. He looked at it. It had on a pink bow that was really too big for it, and a scowl on its face that seemed oddly appropriate to Gerald. He picked it up and immediately heard a voice in his head.
"Come on Gerald, you can do it!"
"Cheeze it Pheebs, he's concentrating!"
"Cheesing."
Must have been High School. Phoebe and I had decided to get together – just as friends, we insisted – with Arnold, Lila, Helga and Harold for pizza and an evening at the arcade.
"No way he can make that. I'll bet you a dollar Arnold."
"No bet Harold, I'd just be taking your money."
"Oh yeah?"
"Quiet geekbaits!"
Helga and Harold, that one had been a shock. After years of yelling at each other, out of the blue sophomore year they announced they were dating. Not that they stopped yelling at each other, in fact it seemed to happen even more often than before. But then I always suspected they enjoyed it far more than they let on. Even when they broke up a year later they stayed good friends…which was more than could be said for say, Sid and Rhonda. Now that was a breakup.
"Come on Arnold…"
"I said no."
"Guys, shh! I've almost got it!"
Come to think of it Lila wasn't there after all. Arnold had tried to get her to come but she decided she had to study for that "oh so difficult test tomorrow", which would have scared Phoebe back home as well except that Helga and I put our foot…er, feet down. I think Arnold barely escaped the "I-just-like-you" speech again that time.
"Got it!"
"You owe me a dollar Harold."
"Aw, man!"
I pulled out the bear and handed it proudly to Phoebe, who blushed lightly. "Anyone else want to try? I think you could still get that stuffed cat in the back."
Helga folded her arms and looked at Harold.
"No way Helga, I'm no good at those claw things. Besides, I just gave Arnold my last dollar."
"I could try it if you really want something Helga."
"Listen Football Head, I don't need any favors from you, ok? Just because my boyfriend doesn't think I'm worth it—"
"Yeah? Well maybe you're not, Madam Fortress Mommy!"
"Helga, you can have this bear if you like." Phoebe, sensing a storm coming, handed her best friend the stuffed animal. Harold stared at it.
"That's the ugliest bear I've ever seen!" he said bluntly.
I took a closer look at it. It was small and pink, which was alright if you liked that sort of thing. The problem was that whoever made the face obviously had no idea what a smile looked like. The bear appeared to be scowling up at Helga.
"It is true that the animal has an…unusual expression on it's face…though that's not why I gave it to her." Phoebe assured me quickly. I didn't really mind. At least now she wouldn't be looking at that and thinking of me.
"What are you people talking about? It looks fine." Helga gave us all a look that so perfectly matched the bear's it was all I could do not to burst out laughing.
"Helga—"
"No, she's right Harold. It just needs something…" Arnold reached up and pulled out one of the many pink ribbons Helga had strung through her blonde hair that night. The action must have startled her as much as it did me, because she didn't slug him like I expected her to. Instead she just watched as he tied a bow on the bear, making it look even more ridiculous to my eye.
But Helga didn't seem to think so. She just gave him a half-grin, stuffed the bear in her pocket and looped her arm through Harold's. "Thanks Hair Boy. Anyone up for air hockey?"
Heh. Who knew she'd hang on to this thing? Now this is more the Helga I know. He put the bear back and surveyed the drawer with satisfaction, picking up what looked like the last piece of paper she had stuffed in it.
It was a printout of an email she had sent, apparently put here to remind her to call the addressee. Gerald didn't recognize the address she had sent it to.
PB—
I know how much this venture means to you, but I have to recommend against it for right now. Give me some time to tilt the odds in your direction first, and you'll have a much better chance of success. Our mutual friend may have an idea of what is going on, and if that is the case then I will find out about it and take whatever actions are necessary to insure a profitable return. Trust me on this one. You know I will do whatever needs to be done. I'll call you when I have more information.
--H.
A sound from out in the hall made Gerald put back the paper and close the drawer so fast he almost slammed his finger in the desk as well. He crouched by Helga's chair, checked his watch and stopped. He still had four minutes before the guard was supposed to check this floor, and he knew this guard -- he might be late on his rounds, but never early. Gerald held his breath and listened.
There. A footstep. Someone else was here. Curious, he crept to the door and looked through the gap underneath. No dice. Whoever it was, they didn't want to be caught. Either that or they simply had no need for oh, say a light at three in the morning. He couldn't even see the bright sweeps of a flashlight being used. Oh that's wonderful. Three minutes 'til the guard gets here, and this clown is blocking my exit! He couldn't hear exactly where the person was outside, but didn't want to risk them seeing him leaving Helga's office.
Wait. He heard the muffled steps suddenly become much clearer, and realized that he must have been hearing them on carpet before, and that they now had moved onto the linoleum. Which means he had to have been in a cubicle, since they and the offices are the only places with carpet around here, and I didn't hear a door close. He tried to picture what was down the hall. Phil's office was at the very end around the corner, then came the cubicles – Joe's, the weird lady with the sunglasses', what's-his-name's across the hall, and…mine, Gerald thought lifting his head. Suddenly he very much wanted to know what this person was doing.
The footsteps clicked past him and turned the corner towards the stairs. Gerald noted that whoever it was, they were apparently much better at avoiding trash cans than he was. He had two minutes before the guard arrived. Quickly as possible without making a noise, Gerald opened Helga's door and slid into the hallway. Now what? If he left by the side stairs, he might run into the other burglar. But any minute now the guard would be coming up the main stairway. He'd probably be better off ducking back into the office and hoping the guard only checked to see if it was locked. Or…
He was never sure what made him do it, but instead of going back, Gerald went forward. He entered his cubicle and did a quick check with his flashlight. It didn't look like anything was amiss. At least I don't keep anything valuable in here. Of course, I'm not even sure that creep was in this cubicle. He thought about checking the others but realized that he wouldn't notice if anything was missing anyway.
Someone was coming! Gerald dived for the only hiding place in sight – under his desk. He moved his desk chair in front of him and waited for the guard to pass. He heard footsteps again and then saw the faint outline of a shadow moving by the stairs. But wait – this person didn't have a flashlight either. Had the first intruder doubled back, or was this yet another unauthorized visitor? Who knew Ical was the place to be at three in the morning?
The person in the hallway stopped for a moment, and Gerald realized he (she? it?) was listening to the same sound Gerald was unconsciously hearing. The guard, whistling aimlessly, was coming up the main stairs. Gerald heard the person turn, hesitate, then walk…right towards me! Find your own hiding place, this one's taken, he thought indignantly.
The (second?) intruder must have read his mind, because suddenly he turned around again and ran off towards the side stairs. Gerald let out a sigh of relief as the other person ran down the hall, turned the corner and—
CRASH! "Agggh!"
…slammed into a trash can. A smug smile spread across Gerald's face. He wanted more than anything to go see who else was sneaking around Ical, but even the deafest of guards will hear if you overturn a metal trash can 40 ft away from him.
"Hey! Who's there?"
There was a mad scuffle of feet, the sound of a guard running and panting heavily, and then silence.
Well. Gerald stood up. That guard was going to be busy for a while. Time enough to finish sorting through Helga's bottom drawer.
*************
Ah, coffee. Forget ambrosia, this is the true sustenance of the gods.
"…and these reports need to be proofread and distributed as well." Gerald's boss dumped yet another pile of paperwork on his desk. "You ok there Johansson? You look a little down and out."
"I'm fine, thanks Mr. Briteon. I'll have these ready as soon as I can."
"No hurry. Just be sure they're out by the end of the day." He turned to go.
"Yes sir."
Alone again in his cubicle, Gerald sipped on his fifth cup of coffee and tried once again to make sense of the world. There had been no more incidents last night after the guard left (he must not have caught the burglar, because he seemed very disgruntled when he left), but Gerald was no closer to figuring out what was going on either. Though he had read through every scrap of paper in Helga's drawer, none had made any more specific references to the "venture", "our mutual friend" or who "PB" might be. Most of the notebooks had been empty, with large sections of pages torn out. The few with writing in them were scribbled on so badly it was impossible to read what they had said. Even the Fritos were stale.
The only other object of interest to Gerald was a photo he had found at the very bottom of the pile. It was only interesting to him because it was familiar – he had an exact copy at home in his apartment. Everyone in the old gang had one. It was a graduating class photo taken the last day of High School, of everyone from PS 118 except Sid, who had shot the picture. That had been an odd day. It was the only time he remembered Helga wearing a color other than pink. Well, there was the Swiss Miss incident, but that had been her nanny's fault. He smiled at the thought of Helga's eyes glaring at him from underneath a wreath of white flowers…heh heh. Those were the days. He wished he had a picture of that.
But enough reminiscing. Although Gerald had looked carefully through his things and found nothing out of the ordinary, the thought that someone might have been in his cubicle bothered him. He had no way of knowing what they were looking for or what they had found. He also didn't have a door to lock. He could be careful about what kind of information he left in his desk, but he was still a bit worried about his computer.
This morning before work he had stopped at the FBI headquarters and picked up a little device that would relieve Gerald's mind some. It was a keycatcher, a cylindrical memory device which would record every key typed on his computer. If someone broke in and looked at his files, he would know about it by the next morning. All he had to do was plug it into the back of his computer and he was all set. Gerald knelt on the ground beside his computer tower and turned it around to do just that.
There was only one slight problem. A keycatcher was already in place.
A/N: Heh, this chapter was going to be even longer, but I figured I've given you enough to think about for now. Yes, there is such a thing as a keycatcher, you can buy them at most good computer stores. If this chapter is confusing, let me know…I'm bad at explaining myself at times I know. I think it's a genetic preference for keeping people guessing. :)
Miss Matched: Huh, what do you know, he did call her "Mrs. Pataki" didn't he? How about that…
Haley: Sorry, not much of Arnold in this chapter. Sadly, he's not going to be around much for quite a while…but don't worry, when it comes time, you'll see him so much you'll get sick of him, lol.
Review please ya'll! I can't become a better writer without your input. The next chapter should be out pretty soon, probably next week sometime as this seems to be going pretty fast. ~PJ