Chapter 4
In Which Gerald Fights the Evil Laser Printer, Helga Plots, Arnold Paints, and Phoebe Finally Makes an Appearance
Gerald was not having a good day. It had taken him three days to get to Simon and report on his experiences with Ical. Simon's secretary had the apparent sole purpose in life of thwarting any attempts to speak with him. For two days she had refused to make an appointment. ("Is it an emergency?" "No." "Sorry, he's booked all day.") On the third day, today, he had simply walked into his boss's office first thing in the morning, despite the secretary's cries. He had found Simon practicing golf in front of his desk.
After a hasty explanation that he was testing a new golf-ball shaped camera, (to which Gerald smiled and nodded) Simon listened to Gerald's report. He was, however, supremely unconcerned. He dismissed the keycatcher, ("Probably upper management wants to know what internet sites you go to.") ignored Helga's suspicious email, ("You've got no names, and you obtained the information illegally. We can't use it.") and flatly refused to run a criminal check on Helga Pataki. ("Do you know how much that would cost?") The only thing he thought was interesting at all was Gerald's story of the two extra intruders that night.
"Of course," he said, "We wouldn't have put you there if we didn't think there was something going on."
He told Gerald to try and discover their identities, something Gerald was already planning to do, and dismissed him.
"Try not to leap to conclusions." He advised as he showed him the door.
This was only the beginning of Gerald's day. Once he had made it to Ical, mentally cursing Simon and his eye-twitch all the way, he was informed that the break room was completely out of coffee. In desperation someone had mixed up some instant, but it was decaf, as Gerald soon discovered when Joe found him snoozing in his cubicle, face jammed into his keyboard.
Well, at least that will give whoever checks this keycatcher a puzzle, Gerald had thought looking at the jumble of letters on his screen. At which point Phil had dropped by with a huge stack of paperwork for him.
All this to say, Gerald was in no mood to be tackling the company laser printer. But tackle it he must, as he needed 200 copies neatly printed of a report on splint faults. (Which wasn't as interesting as it sounded.)
Gerald sent the report to the printer from his cubicle's computer, then got up and headed towards the media room. He walked through the open doorway and approached the printer warily. It was a mammoth thing leftover from the '80s with a bad temper to boot. It was also the only semi-nice printer in the building. And it did not like Gerald.
It was currently humming in much the same way that dragons snore, which Gerald took to be a good sign. He moved to the (much nicer) copy machine and pretended to be doing something over there. Hopefully the printer wouldn't realize it was printing a job for him until it was too late.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a red light begin to flash. Drat. After a few minutes he gave up hope that it would just blow over and went to investigate. The printer was making gurgling sounds in the pit of its gullet somewhere. On the status screen it screamed "ERROR 33" which was of no help at all since all the manuals had been lost years ago. Gerald eyed the printer. The printer eyed him back. Gerald reached out a tentative finger and pressed the "Clear" button. The printer hiccupped, spat out a few sheets of blank paper and turned on its "Paper Tray Empty" light.
Gerald opened the paper tray. It was full. Liar. He closed the tray, but the light didn't go off. He tapped the tray lightly with his foot, and was rewarded with a slight mechanical sound from the printer. Thus encouraged, Gerald tapped a few more times, then, getting into the spirit of the thing, hauled back and kicked the tray, hard.
The printer did nothing. The tray, however, dented nicely. Great. And now my foot hurts. He folded his arms and glared at the machine.
Suddenly for no apparent reason the printer cleared its error lights and began to print out a document. Gerald blinked in surprise, let out a small whoop and grabbed one of the papers to inspect it.
INPORTS, USS Revel, con.
BANDAGES, cotton
500 crates, CA
SPLINTS, wood
145 crates, NY
MORPHINE, canisters
100 crates, NY
EXPORTS expected, USS Cardinal IV
COTTON SWABS
This isn't my report, it's the shipping account, Gerald realized with a groan. He turned his vengeful eyes upon the evil printer.
"I order you, by the evil computer demon Og…"
The printer clicked at him impatiently.
"Erm, and the even eviler printer demon, uh, Pog…"
The printer continued happily printing the shipping account. Gerald lost what little temper (and, quite possibly, sanity) he had left. He grabbed both sides of the machine and shook it wildly.
"Come out, come out come out, dang you, print, I say, print, print print, printprintprintprintpri—!"
"Ahem."
Gerald whirled around. His boss was standing in the doorway, giving him a rather odd look. Naturally. Should have remembered Murphy's law.
"Sorry Mr. Briteon. I was having some problems with the printer."
Phil cocked his head at him. "So I see. And I assume you've attempted to fix the problem?"
"Uh, yes sir."
"How?" wondered Phil.
"Erm…by ignoring the problem and hoping it would go away?"
"Hm. After which you of course tried a different method."
"I used…percussion therapy."
"Yes," said his boss looking at the dented paper tray, "I thought as much. And did that work?"
"No."
"So you naturally decided an exorcism was in order?"
"It seemed the logical choice sir."
"Of course. Well, I don't mind telling you, Johansson," Phil stepped towards the printer cautiously, "That so far you've gotten farther than I ever have with this thing. Ah, it's printed my document instead. Well, pages 3 through 11 at any rate." He picked up the papers and thumbed through them. "I should probably be satisfied with this. I doubt I'll get anything better out of it."
The two of them had been standing around poking and prodding while the printer amused itself by occasionally turning various lights on and off for about twenty minutes when they were interrupted.
"Alright, which of you idiots left a huge print job on the IE666 without bothering to print it off?"
Gerald and Phil both looked sheepishly at the newly arrived Helga. She did not look pleased.
"Uh, that would be me, Helga. Sorry." Gerald answered.
She looked at him in exasperation. "And you just left it in memory? This thing can't take that! Plus now you've bogged down the whole network with rejected packets, I can barely get online!"
Gerald and Phil tried their best to look as though they completely understood the problem. Helga took one look at their faces and rolled her eyes in a way that said plainly, "Men." She strode over to the printer, glanced at the error lights and pressed a button.
The printer positively purred as it began to print out Gerald's report. He blinked.
"How did—" Helga's look cut him off, "I mean, thanks He—Mrs. Pataki."
"Don't mention it." She left the room, calling over her shoulder, "And that paper tray's coming out of your salary, Johansson."
That went a lot better than I expected, Gerald thought with relief. Phil looked at him curiously. "What?"
"I thought she'd never talked to you before."
"She hasn't really. Why?"
"Kind of odd that she knew your name. She chooses to forget mine most of the time."
"Maybe she was in a good mood," said Gerald as casually as he could.
"Could be. I'd better get this back to the office." Phil gathered his things and headed out.
When the printer had finished, (Gerald felt that it did it grudgingly, but it did finish) Gerald picked up his report and left, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with the media room again today. He was thinking about the puzzle that was Helga, which probably explains how he ended up in front of her office instead of stopping at his cubicle like he intended. When he saw where he was, he turned to go back but paused at hearing her voice.
She was on the phone with someone, and she wasn't yelling. That in itself told Gerald that this was something he wanted to hear. He pretended to be looking for something in his report absent mindedly, while standing as near to her cracked open door as he could without being seen.
"…alright then, let's do it tonight," she was saying. "No, I don't think so. I won't be able to make it until late…sure midnight will be fine. How about the back lot of the supermarket? Skaters usually stick to the front…yeah I know. Don't worry about me, I've got it under control." She laughed, which startled Gerald. I haven't heard her laugh since I got here, he realized. "Oh yes, always. See you then." She hung up the phone and Gerald walked back to his cubicle with a smile on his face.
Sounds like I've got a date tonight.
*************
When Arnold woke up, for a moment he was nine again.
The clouds through his skylight looked like a group of clipper ships, and he imagined them bringing spices through the vast oceans, braving storms and pirates along the way. He smiled, half-awake, and wondered if the new Evil Twin movie was out yet, and if Gerald would be able to go see it with him after school. At the thought of school he sat up, which had the effect of waking him completely.
His room hadn't changed that much since he had been nine. The remote controlled lights, stereo and couch were all still there. His alarm clock still called "Hey Arnold!" on those rare occasions that he set it nowdays. He had upgraded his computer but it still rested in the same spot on his desk. The main difference however, the one that reminded him of his age every morning, was his paintings.
They were everywhere. Leaning against his desk, hung on all the walls, stacked in his closet. There were paintings of people he knew, favorite buildings in the city, dreams he had had, and a hundred other things. His floor was one huge white tarp, splashed with every color imaginable. In the center of the room was a medium-sized easel, though lately he had been doing most of his work on a much larger one on the roof. He had always felt inspired up there.
Arnold ran his fingers through his pillow hair and looked at his clock. It was noon. So much for breakfast. He didn't have to be at Mrs. Vitello's until three o'clock, so he got up, yawned and threw on some of the clothes he had lying beside the bed. He rubbed his eyes and climbed up to look at the painting he had started last night.
It was supposed to be a wheat field under an open sky, blown about by a prairie wind. At least, that was what he was thinking when he had started it. Now, however, it just looked like Arnie's backyard, which was not a pleasant thought. Lila and Arnie had married their senior year of high school. Arnold had known it was coming ever since Lila told him she thought he was her "oh-so-special-someone" at the end of their junior year, but everyone had expected them to finish school first. However, when Arnie's dad died unexpectedly leaving him the farm, they decided to drop out and get married right away so they wouldn't risk losing it. Arnold had taken it…ok. He had still felt something for Lila then, and if he was honest with himself he knew he still did now. But he knew Arnie made her happy, and so he hadn't done anything to try and make her stay.
Well, not much of anything. He had told her how he felt, the last day she was in school. But she left anyway. He had told her, then, that he understood. And he did, sort of. Arnie could give her what he never could – a life back on a farm like the one she grew up on. Arnold had stayed in the city, gone to college, moved on with his life. He wasn't heartbroken. Not much.
Arnold grabbed some white base and began to paint over what he had done last night so he could reuse the canvas. This idea obviously wasn't going anywhere he wanted to be. He heard the faint sounds of someone calling his name, so he stuck his head back in his room.
"What was that, Grandma?"
"Colonel Mustard, you come down here and eat something, it's not poison you know! And your friend Miss Scarlet is here to see you!"
Arnold tried to imagine who "Miss Scarlet" might be but came up blank.
"Who, Grandma?"
"Miss Scarlet. In the lobby. With a candlestick."
That wasn't much more help, but Arnold suddenly remembered that Phoebe was supposed to come over for lunch today. He slapped his forehead and yelled, "Ok, I'll be right there!"
Arnold quickly put the lid back on the base, changed his shirt to one that didn't have a huge stain on it, and tumbled down the stairs while simultaneously trying to do something with his hair.
Phoebe was sitting in the dining room waiting for him, but she stood when he came in. Arnold took in her as-always neat appearance in her deep purple suit, her cropped hair nicely in place around her petite flawless face. He half-smiled and gestured towards his own rather sloppy outfit.
"I'm a horrible friend, Pheebs, I forgot totally that you were coming. I haven't even taken a shower yet."
Phoebe's dark almond eyes twinkled behind her glasses. "Arnold, you never remember. That's why we always meet at your place."
"One of these times I am going to remember. I'll pick you up at work at you'll die of shock."
"I'll look forward to it. Come on, let's go."
"But –"
"I don't have time for you to take a shower, I only have a 45 minute lunch break, you know. So as long as you're not wilting my salad I think I can stand you unwashed. If you don't mind, that is." She laughed.
Arnold shrugged and grinned. "Just remember you asked for it."
A few minutes later they were sitting at their favorite café, watching the pigeons as they waited for their food.
"So how are things at work?" Arnold asked.
"Good. Very good, actually, that's one of the reasons I wanted to have lunch with you today."
"Why what's up?"
"The lab has just been awarded the Viksten Science and Technology Grant they've been trying for. So…"
"Pheebs! You got your promotion?"
Phoebe smiled and blushed slightly. "You're looking at the new Co-Director of Research. I get my own office, finally no more sharing with the other researchers. Plus I have the whole lab at my disposal and the top level to devote solely to my projects. Arnold do you realize what this means?!" Phoebe suddenly stopped her calm charade and waved her hands in the air, almost unbalancing the waiter bringing their food. "I could spend the whole day studying quarks without some supervisor breathing down my neck asking why I haven't invented a better toilet paper! I can refresh my knowledge of Quantum Psychics and discover new laws and never clock my time! I never have to say the word "sir" again!!" She took a deep breath, face shining.
"That's wonderful Phoebe! If I had the money I'd buy you a glass of champagne. On second thought, what's money? Waiter! Two glasses of champagne for me the soon-to-be-world-famous doctor here!"
"Ok Arnold, but I'm paying." Phoebe insisted.
"Oh good," Arnold looked sheepish, "Because I just realized I only have five bucks in my pocket."
"Arnold!" Phoebe pretended to be insulted, "Is that any way to treat a lady?"
"Obviously, I wouldn't know." He shook his head and shrugged, which made Phoebe suddenly frown at him.
"You know, you really need to get out there more Arnold. When was the last time you had a date?"
"Oh, about the same time I had a full-time job."
"Arnold—"
"Don't worry about me Pheebs, I'm fine, really. I just haven't found someone I'm really interested in, that's all. You sound like Gerald."
"Well, that's what best friends are for Arnold. To worry about each other." Phoebe paused for a moment, then added, "I miss Helga."
Arnold seemed surprised. "You mean you haven't been talking to her? I thought you guys kept in touch."
"Oh, well, yes. I mean, we do. It's just that…well, she's been really busy lately with work and everything and I just haven't heard from her in…a few days." Phoebe said quickly. Or a few months, she thought.
"I know how that can be. I called Gerald a few days ago but I haven't heard from him since. Sometimes I think he is the FBI, if you know what I mean."
Phoebe's face softened a little, and they were silent for a while, eating. Then she asked, "How is he doing? Didn't you say he moved?"
"Yeah he was transferred to New Jersey. Hey, actually he saw Helga there, so I guess they live in the same area now. Do you know, I am so out of the loop I hadn't even heard she was married?"
Phoebe's fork stopped half-way to her mouth. She stared at Arnold.
Arnold hung his head a bit. "I know, I'm a horrible friend huh? Still, it must have been a pretty small wedding. I don't even remember anyone mentioning getting an invitation or anything."
Phoebe finished her bite of salad and put her fork down. She took a last sip of her champagne and smiled at Arnold. "I believe it was quite a diminutive ceremony." Stop it Pheebs, he's going to know something's wrong if you start talking like a dictionary. "Nothing to be concerned about missing. Excuse me though Arnold, I'm afraid I must return to the lab. My promotion isn't official until next Friday and I must resume testing fabric softeners." She waved down a waiter, paid for the bill and left before Arnold thought to ask her who Helga had married.
Not that it would have done him any good to ask, thought Phoebe fiercely as she made her way back to work. The last I heard, Helga was living in Virginia. And single.
*********
The skaters who mainly kept to the front of the supermarket parking lot had not even bothered to show up tonight, which was perfect for the people planning on meeting in the back lot. And for the person planning on watching them.
Gerald was dressed in his dark "I-work-at-Ical-and-would-never-dream-of-spying-on-you" outfit again, crouched in some convenient bushes near the building. It was 11:55, and no one had shown up yet. Why aren't evil plotting people ever early?
He shifted position. One of the most tedious jobs in the world was surveillance when there was nothing to see. Gerald hoped they would show up soon or his butt was going to fall asleep. Or else he would. He still hadn't had much coffee today, though he did manage a nap between work and coming here.
11:57. Was this even the right parking lot? He tried to remember if there were any other supermarkets in the area, but came up with nothing.
11:58. Did the mini-store at the gas station count? He'd never seen any skaters there but it did have a back lot.
11:59. If they don't show up by midnight, I'll try the other place.
12:00. Gerald waited another minute just to be sure.
12:01. Maybe one more minute.
12:02. That's it. Gerald got up.
"Freeze, scumbag," said a female voice. He froze. Someone walked up behind him and pressed what felt like a gun to his back, pushing him into the glare of the parking lot lights.
"Hands up." Gerald held up his hands and turned his head slightly towards the lights. The person behind him took in a sudden breath of air.
"Gerald?" He didn't answer.
"Turn around," the voice commanded. He did, and his captor stepped into the light. Gerald blinked.
It wasn't Helga.
A/N: Heh, sorry for the super long chapter folks. Got a bit carried away there I think. BTW, sorry for those who asked for more, but "The Accomplice" is not going to continue. I like the ending too much to change it. :) My apologies.
Haley: I rather enjoy writing Gerald, he amuses me. As does Grandpa, I might do a chapter fic on him later…but it would be very different from this. I doubt very much that Grandpa can stay serious for more than a few paragraphs at a time. Oh, and I threw you an Arnold-shaped bone in this chapter, hope you enjoyed it.
Helga Pataki: Good! I want to know what happens next too, certain characters aren't telling me all their secrets, how dare they. grin
Ann Onamous: Every time I write a line I really enjoy, I think "Hm. I wonder if Ann will like this one!" lol, keep telling me when you do!
Solid Munch: You're right. I don't think Helga's that bad either, frankly. But I do think that everything she does, she does for a reason. Just a thought. Glad you're enjoying it otherwise.
Miss Matched: *accepts the kudos graciously, and hopes it's chocolate*
Pokey: Thank you. Much obliged. :)
Jennavette: Different is good. Creative is better. Impressive is awesome. :) Many thanks.
Maxine: I believe your question will be answered in the next chapter. Hm, both of them actually. Glad you're enjoying it, thanks!
Speaking of the next chapter…it should be out next week sometime…but, I am going out of town on the 1st. This means either a) the next chapter and/or the next will be a few days late or b) the next couple of chapters will be up really really fast since I'll be bored silly and suddenly have a cable modem. Keep your fingers crossed, ya'll. ~PJ