A/N: OK, back to business. Just Shoot Me is supposed to be funny, so I'm going to try to get back to that, but that last chapter was something, wasn't it? Oh, there's one other thing Just Shoot Me is, and that is...NOT MINE. It belongs to Brillstein-Grey, NBC, Sony and Steven Levitan. And I'd ask you to please mind your own business about it.

MR GALLO GOES TO WASHINGTON

Based on characters created by Steven Levitan

It came to him like a thunderbolt that particular morning as he got out of his car and headed for the elevator. That was where he'd seen them before.

In his early days as a photographer, Elliot DiMaruo had been assigned by his first employer, the Independent News Service of Chicago, Illinois, to cover a hostage situation at a bank in Cicero. The guy inside had twelve people inside, a sawed off shotgun, a bomb and a grudge. He remembered to this day the tension in the air, the looks of the police and the bystanders as they waited for the 'boom' or the crackling of gunfire as SWAT moved in.

That had ended peacefully,as it turned out. There was, in reality, no bomb and the man, who thought his wife was sleeping with the bank's manager, surrendered before a shot was fired, but those feelings and expressions remained to this day.

The same feelings and expressions that ran rampant through the offices of Blush Magazine that morning as he got off the elevator and stepped into the bullpen, he thought to himself. This time there was no gun or bomb...at least as far as anyone knew.

Jack hadn't left his office in three days, since he'd fired Maya and Finch walked out, apparently in protest of Maya's termination. There hadn't been any sound from there in twenty-four hours. Except for the fact that their boss, and current floundering political candidate Jack Gallo, had not shown his face and might, in fact, be dead in there, it had been rather peaceful. No inane memos, no staff meetings, no trying to use 'executive priveldge' as an excuse to watch bikini shoots. It was calm...too calm, maybe.

Nina was at the kitchen making her morning cup of coffee as he walked by.

"Still in there?" he asked.

"Who?" she asked.

"Jack?"

She looked confused. "Jack? I don't know any Jack."

"Nina, Jack. Gallo. The publisher..."

The light finally came on. "Oh, him. Sorry. You know what they say, out of sight..."

"You'd think he'd come out by now. At least to have a donut. I mean look..."

He crossed the bullpen to what had been Dennis' desk and picked up an iced long john from a basket on it.

"Donuts," he finished, "Three days and he hasn't come out for donuts. Someone needs to go in there."

He grabbed the knob to the door but Nina grabbed him by the other arm.

"You can't go in there, Elliot," she told him, "What if he'd dead? Or worse, unshaven..."

"Listen, I worked with Carl Kolchak in Chicago for two years. Nothing can scare me anymore..."

He threw the door open and stood in shock.

Jack sat at his desk, staring at the phone. His eyes were wide and red. He had the receiver in one hand and held it halfway between his ear and the rest of the phone. The index finger of the other hand tapped on the '2' button uselessly and his lips formed the soundless word, 'Hello...hello...' repeatedly.

"...Except that."

Elliot approached cautiously, Nina creeping behind him, a deathgrip on his sweater.

"Jack?"

He didn't move, just kept pressing the two key and mouthing 'hello...hello...'

"Jack," Elliot tried again, louder, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to call out." Jack finally croaked.

Elliot gently removed the receiver from Jack's hand as Nina opened the window behind him.

"How long has it been?" Jack asked, seeming to come around.

"Let's see," Nina answered, "You called Finch in here, then I went to Armani's party and passed out, then I went to Tommy Hilfiger's, where I met this really rich old...Oh, my God!"

"What is it, Nina?" Elliot asked, alarmed.

"I think I'm married! I've got to go."

They watched Nina sprint out, then Elliot turned to Jack and asked, "Jack, just hire Maya back and Dennis will follow her, you know that. He's like..."

"A little puppy dog."

"Well, I was thinking 'stalker' but that works, too..."

"Why did he do that to me? After all the things we've been through, he deserts me. Why?"

"Maybe you were wrong.

"Jack, look, I'm not the noble type, but look. I know why you fired Maya, but don't you think you went a bit overboard?"

"Not you, too, Elliot?" Jack rose from the desk and went to the bar built into the side of his office.

"Now, just hear me out, Jack. Maya's a great employee, probably one of the best we have here at the magazine. Maybe...well, maybe it's better if you just kept the campaign and the magazine separate."

Taking his drink back to his desk, Jack dropped back into his chair. "You're right, Elliot. My manager's been saying I need to take a step back from Blush anyway. They say it takes up too much time and energy.

"But I've spent so much of my life and energy on Blush. I just can't walk away."

"Who said walk away? Maybe just not come to work for four out of five days."

Jack seemed to be warming to the idea.

"Yes, yes. I could even put out a release saying that I've handed control of the magazine over to Maya for the duration of the campaign. That's perfect."

"Except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"You fired her."

"Not to worry, my boy, not to worry. Now, let me see. I just need to make a call..."

"Maybe it's better you go see her."

Outside the Criminal Courts building, Bud and Lou waited for a cab.

"Lucky that judge let us go, huh, Bud?" Lou asked.

"Yeah," Bud responded, "Too lucky. Something's up."

"Aw, come on, Bud. You think too much."

Just as Lou said this, a black car pulled up in front of them and a little, grey haired man stepped out of it. He was wearing a black coat and wire rimmed glasses that gave him the look of a cartoon doctor, the type that wrung his hands and said, 'Oh, dear' a lot.

"Hey, look," Lou said happily, "It's that Stewart guy."

"Gentlemen," Stewart said, reaching into his coat pockets.

Lou screamed and passed out. Bud threw up his hands and yelped.

In each hand, the man held a roll of bills. He handed one to Bud and, kneeling, stuck the other into Lou's coat.

"A gift," he said, "From my boss. He appreciates your efforts and advises you to follow the terms of your probation to the letter. Furthermore, he advises you not to mention that I had any type of involvement with you."

"Sure, sure," Bud agreed, "Anything you say."

Returning to his car, Stewart pulled away, dialing his carphone. When it began to ring on the hook, he picked up the receiver and waited for the other end to pick up.

"It's Stewie...all taken care of."

A/N: Ok, it's kind of short, but I don't want to stretch it too far on this one. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. I suppose I should be polite and say that I do not own the character 'Carl Kolchak' or the 'Independent News Service of Chicago, Illinois', both of which are creations of Jeff Rice and the television series 'Kolchak: the Night Stalker', owned by Universal Television, Rice, ABC and (I think) Darren McGavin. I'm also a big fan of this show and I thought I'd give it a brief mention in this just for kicks.