Chapter 12
In Which the Jungle Beckons
"Hello Gerald" a voice whispered.
Oh great, another mysterious being bent on either helping or hurting me. I swear I'm caught in a Purdy Boy's novel. "Who is this?" Gerald asked bluntly. He was tired of playing games.
"Mr. Smith." the voice replied calmly.
"And how am I supposed to believe that?"
"Remember the Mustang?"
"How could I forget?" he answered fervently.
"You still have the keys." It was not a question.
Gerald narrowed his eyes while Helga raised an eyebrow at him. (She had tilted the phone in her direction so she could hear too.) He fished the keys out of his pocket and glanced at them longingly.
"So?"
"I placed a homing device in them. Just in case."
Gerald handed the phone to Helga so he could use both hands to examine the keys. Sure enough, as he pried open the plastic key chain he saw a computer chip and a tiny blinking light. He showed it to Helga and took the phone back.
"Ok, so I take it you know what happened."
"Yes."
"Any sage advice?"
There was a pause. "Have you read the contents of the document I gave you?"
Gerald had skimmed it, but it was too technical for him to understand. "Sure, I practically memorized the thing."
"Then you should know what to do."
"Right. Of course. Say," Gerald smoothed his goatee with his hand in what he considered a thoughtful manner, "You don't suppose you could summarize the document for me? As an extra assurance that you are who you say you are?"
If he didn't know Mr. Smith was too cool to do something like that, Gerald would have sworn he had heard him slap his forehead.
"So you didn't read the document."
"Ah, no. Not exactly, no."
"I will refrain from mentioning how long it took me to compile it. Perhaps I should speak to your female companion. I understand that she is more technologically capable of—"
Helga stifled a giggle. "Hey now man, that cuts deep. Besides, I didn't show it to her yet."
"Then allow me to put this to you in terms that you will understand. You are currently in an airport. Get on a plane. Go to Brazil. There will—"
"Did you just say Brazil?"
"Go to Brazil." said Mr. Smith patiently, "There will be someone waiting for you."
"An agent? We're not sure where the leak is, Mr. Smith, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't involve the agency at this point – and are you sure we need to go to Brazil?"
"Not an agent, Mr. Johansson." Is he mocking me? "A personal friend of mine who happens to be close to the situation in that area. She will direct you from there. That is all. Get rid of the keys; the beacon is not secure, someone might stumble across it."
"Brazil?"
"Goodbye Gerald." There was a click, and the phone went dead. Helga hung it up and looked at Gerald. Gerald just stood there, blinking.
"He did say Brazil, didn't he? I didn't just mishear him saying South Dakota?"
Helga rolled her eyes and tossed the keys into a trashcan nearby, then as an afterthought threw her cell phone in also. Then she waited while Gerald dug through the trash, separated the keys from the homing device and pocketed them.
"Sentimental value?" he told her sheepishly.
Helga chose not to address this. "Give me your cell Gerald. You can't use it now."
Gerald handed it to her and watched as she threw it away. Then he pulled himself together and squared his shoulders. "Well then, Brazil, here we come. Let's get a later flight, I need a shower. And something to eat. And we really should get some appropriate jungle clothes. And I need coffee."
Helga nodded until his last sentence. "Earl Gray. Must have Earl Gray."
"Right. Let's go."
Brenda watched from her station behind the Delta airline information desk as the two suspicious characters threw something away and then walked off in a hurried fashion. This was not good. That was a classic bomb-setting behavior if she ever saw one. Not that she had, but that wasn't the point. She was about to call security when she saw Carl, one of the sanitation engineers, start to empty the can.
"Wait!" She hurried over to a surprised Carl. "There may be a bomb in there," she gasped.
Carl cocked his head and looked in the trash can. Brenda held her breath and waited to be blown up. Her suspicions were confirmed when the trash began ringing.
************
"…so then I said, 'I'm terribly, terribly sorry miss, but I was talking to my wife.'"
Nadine cracked up and hit the table with her hand. Everyone else laughed politely. Peapod Kid's jokes were usually no laughing matter.
The gang – or what was left of it in Hillside – had made it a tradition to meet once a week for lunch at the docks. There was no official invitation or anything, but whoever could make it on any given week, did. Today Arnold, Peapod Kid and his wife Nadine, Eugene and his wife Sheena, Harold and Rhonda were present. Today was special as they were also un-officially celebrating Harold and Rhonda's engagement. (Rhonda's pressing social calendar hadn't allowed them to attend lunch before this.)
In other words, all couples. And Arnold.
I wish Phoebe was here. As if reading Arnold's thoughts, Sheena spoke up. "Where's Phoebe today? She usually never misses our lunch."
"She's at the lab. Apparently she has some huge project going that she doesn't want to leave for anything. She's practically living there."
Rhonda sighed and shook her head. "That girl is never going to get married."
All the guys looked at her incredulously. Nadine said, "Rhonda…"
"Well it's true! Look at all of us. We're the only people she hangs out with and we're all married – or soon to be at least," she glanced at Harold and smiled as she said this, "The only ones left around here are Phoebe, Stinky and Arnold. Phoebe and Stinky…well we all know there's a bit of a clash of minds there, no offense meant of course. And Arnold's gay."
"What?" Arnold gaped at her. Rhonda blinked in surprise.
"Oh come on Arnold, it's so obvious. You're an artist. You haven't had a date in who knows how long."
"I haven't had a date with a guy either!"
Rhonda shrugged.
"Rhonda, I'm not gay! I'm just…not interested right now."
Rhonda snorted and folded her arms. Arnold looked around the table for help. Sheena giggled slightly, but everyone else was uncomfortably silent. Arnold was disbelieving.
"Does everyone think I'm gay?"
There was another silence, and then Harold spoke up. "Well you are into all that artsy stuff…"
"And you are terribly, terribly sensitive." put in Peapod.
"I don't believe this. I'm not—"
"Of course he isn't." Nadine burst out. "Rhonda you're horrible. He isn't gay. He just still hasn't gotten over Lila, that's all."
Arnold wasn't sure whether to thank Nadine for this or not.
"Lila?" Rhonda untwisted her arms and looked over at Arnold. "I thought you got over that ages ago."
"I…" Arnold became very interested in the tablecloth. "I…not quite." he said very quietly.
"Oh! Then that explains it! I thought—"
"Yeah I got that." snapped Arnold, but he regretted it immediately. Rhonda hadn't meant any harm. Fortunately she didn't notice his tone of voice.
"Well then! Maybe Arnold can marry Phoebe. They're both so nice, and—"
"Rhonda," Arnold was putting a stop to this right away, "Phoebe and I are just friends. That's all."
But Rhonda would not be put off. "Just like her and Gerald were just friends? "Just friends" for all of high school, but neither dated anyone else? And then Gerald just left her—"
"It wasn't like that. They were going to different colleges—"
"And I suppose it was easy to break up then. After all, what was there to break up?" Rhonda gestured with her fork, narrowly missing Harold, who had been about to sample her salad. "That's why the girl will never get married."
Sheena said thoughtfully, "I thought she was dating someone anyway?"
"Oh I know all about that. Her boss, or at least he was her boss until she was miraculously promoted."
"Rhonda, if you're suggesting Phoebe used—"
"Of course not Nadine. Phoebe's too nice a girl to do that. But you have to admit it is convenient for her. I bet it won't last over two months, tops."
"Arnold," Nadine decided to take the conversation in hand, "How is your Christmas painting going?" Arnold tried to answer, but everyone was distracted at that point by Eugene falling off his chair, causing a waitress to trip over him and the spaghetti she was carrying to fly everywhere.
"I'm ok…"
They got everything cleaned up, then talked for a little while longer, but Arnold had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach from the mention of Lila. As soon as he could, he excused himself and left to go home.
Why couldn't he just forget about her? She'd made it crystal clear more than enough times that she felt nothing for him, and now she was even married to his cousin. Shouldn't there be some sort of automatic shut-off valve for a heart, so that it stopped loving someone when there was no hope?
He trudged along the street towards the boarding house. He didn't want to go home yet, but then he needed to get that painting done. As he reached the front steps and put his hand on the knob, someone opened the door from the inside.
It was Grandpa. He had a look on his face which Arnold could not immediately place.
"Oh…" Grandpa looked at his feet. "Hey there Shortman, I was just going out to look for you."
Arnold's stomach clenched suddenly, and a cold shiver washed over him. "What's wrong Grandpa?"
"Well I don't really know how to say this Arnold, but…" he rubbed the back of his neck, "I guess I'll just say it." He put his hand on Arnold's shoulder.
"Shortman, there's been an accident."
******************
The man shifted his considerable weight in his chair, causing it to complain loudly. One of the kittens paused in mid-scamper to look at him curiously, but was instantly distracted by a menacing piece of lint. The lint was more than the kitten could handle by himself, so he called for backup from the other kitten, who informed him that he would be there just as soon as he finished tackling the rug.
The man ignored the kittens. This was unusual. Generally he was either watching their various antics or working. Sometimes he slept, and he also occasionally ate but he was doing none of those things now. He was expecting a visitor.
Impatient footsteps down the hall foretold the almost vicious opening of the door to the man's office. A middle-aged sweaty man squeezed into the small space and somehow managed to slam the door behind him. He also ignored the kittens and addressed the large man sharply.
"What happened?"
The man in the chair had his back to the other man. He rolled his eyes at the kittens.
"Hello Phil."
Phil was obviously not in the mood for small talk. "Don't 'Hello Phil' me. I asked you a question. Why aren't they dead?!"
The fat man shrugged. "Blew car. Not there."
"Not there? What do you mean they weren't there? Didn't you pressure activate it? This is not hard!" Phil paused to wipe his brow. "They sit down. They get up. They blow up. So why didn't they??"
"Valet service."
"Valet service? You mean to tell me you blew up some 12-year-old kid?"
The man shrugged. "High school."
"Fine, 16-year-old kid then. Great. Wonderful. Exactly what I need." Phil slumped against the wall. "I don't suppose you have any idea where they are now?"
The fat man was saved from having to answer this when his equipment on the table suddenly switched on. He motioned Phil to be quiet and grabbed a pen and his kitty pad.
"Hello?" It was a male voice, one the fat man didn't recognize.
"Baby sis?" A high-pitched female voice answered, which he also didn't recognize.
"I'm sorry?"
"Is Helga there?"
"Miss, I just—"
"Ooo! Are you my baby sister's new little boyfriend? Aww, Mommy, Daddy!" she called, "Helga's got a new boyfriend!"
There was a grunt that sounded like "Again?" and a feeble murmur that the man couldn't make out. The girl on the phone laughed and came back on the line.
"Miss, I'm sorry, but I just found this phone—"
"Wait until you meet the family, they'll be just dying to see you! In fact—"
The girl rambled for a while, but the fat man had stopped writing. Instead, he was fiddling with some of the wires on the table, stopping to jot something down and then pressing buttons and twirling what looked to Phil like random dials. He's just trying to look busy.
Finally, the girl settled down. "I'm Olga, by the way. Oh, how silly of me to not even have told you my name! Can I speak to my baby sister now?"
"Listen lady, this phone was in the trash. I just answered it when—"
"The trash? But I don't understand, why would Helga throw – oh! It must be broken! She probably hasn't changed the number to her new phone yet, I'm so sorry for bothering you sir!"
"That's alright. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help." The man sounded relieved that Olga had finally gotten the message.
"Oh thank you so much sir! I'll just wait and call her again tomorrow. Thank you again!"
There was a click, and the line went dead. Phil exploded.
"I can't believe it! Now how are we going to find them? Could this day get any worse?" He hit the wall and spent the next few minutes holding his hand in pain.
The other man continued working. In a few minutes, he looked up.
"Tracked call."
"What good does that do us? She's not there anymore!"
The man pressed on. "Atlanta airport."
"So?"
The fat man sighed and turned to one of his computers. He worked without saying a word for about twenty minutes. Phil sat down on the floor gingerly and fended off the kittens, who had decided that he was in league with the lint.
"There." The man pointed at the screen, and Phil came over to look.
It was an airline flight list. Helga and Gerald's names were both on it. Phil blinked.
"Where's that going?"
"Brazil."
Phil's eyes grew to twice their normal size. He got out his handkerchief and started mopping his brow again.
"When?" he choked out.
"Tonight." The fat man gave Phil a smile that turned his stomach. Then he said the first real sentence Phil had heard him say since he entered the room.
"They're coming for you."
A/N: Whoo hoo! Done at last! This chapter took longer than I expected, sorry I suddenly realized that I needed to work out an unexpected plot hole for later on, which took me a while. Oy. But all better now. :) ~PJ
(ps, don't forget to vote for Miss Matched's awards! I'm reminding myself here as well…)
Miss Matched: You, a bad reviewer? Yeah, like Curly's sane! ::chomps on kudos happily::
Sennical: Congrats, yes it was Mr. Smith. You get a "good guess" award. :)
TADAHmon: More things to leave ya'll hanging on this chapter…what can I say, I'm just a sucker for suspense…
Jacquleine Schaeffer: Your questions will be answered in due time…but it may be longer than you might like. In other words, there are one or two mysteries in this story that won't be totally explained until a sequel…but most will probably be answered in the next few weeks as I finish this one up.
pokey: Next part for ya. Hopefully the next chapter won't take too long…I'm thinking maybe by the end of the week.