Chapter Four
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or anything at all related to The Mummy, except the DVD.
Author's Note: Thank you SOOO much everyone who has reviewed!!! Its so nice of you!
I'm sorry, anyone who has been following this story, that there's been such a delay and all. I was busy, and then I wrote the end of the chapter wrong- I don't know how, but it got all serious and deep and meaningful, completely different in style from the first bit. When I read it through I even shocked myself! So I had to go back had to change everything, which took FOREVER.
Thankfully, it's finally finished.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I often flattered myself that I was a rather composed, sensible person, just as unlikely to be much affected by an uncomfortable situation as I was to be the cause of one. Of course, when I uttered or thought anything to this effect I was usually referring to waiting patiently in a long queue, or dealing with incompetent salespeople. (Fancy working in Harrods and not knowing where the book department was!) Usually, I was not referring to potentially life-threatening situations like the ones I had recently found myself in.
Like the one I was in now.
I don't believe it is necessary to convey just what was going through my mind at the time of the unknown hand clamping down upon my shoulder, and the low, uneven voice bidding me to stop.
Anyone might correctly conclude that I was rather unpleasantly surprised.
I was not exactly scared out of my wits, however. Just as little unnerved- like one might be after receiving an invitation to tea at nine o'clock at night, or witnessing a nearby bus blow up.
That sort of thing.
The night's occurrences had hardened me considerably. After one lives through being threatened by a dark, surly Egyptian man with a claw who hadn't even read Peter Pan and more dark, surly Egyptian men appearing out of nowhere and shooting at one and one's guide, one tends to be forever altered.
Especially considering all that had happened afterwards.
By that time, I was quite ready to roll my eyes and inform no-one in particular that after the surprisingly many horrid things that had happened to me lately, I just didn't see a HAND as much of a threat.
Even one with dirty fingernails.
Which, I couldn't help but notice, were in desperate need of a trim.
I would have acted so, had I not involuntarily begun contemplating what the hand was connected to.
This train of thought was less than comforting, to say the least.
Luckily, Mr O'Connell, with his ready wit and equally ready handgun, was all too ready to come to my rescue.
'Who the hell are you?' he shouted, his gun aimed at whoever now had a firm hold on me from behind.
Utterly brilliant, Mr O'Connell, I couldn't help but think with scorn. If that declaration wouldn't free me from the degrading experience of being held by a man who had fleas, nothing would.
There was no answer from my captor- one could hardly blame him, really- other than a grunt. Then I felt something cold under my chin that made me more sick to the stomach than a bad oyster.
I stood very still and hoped it was just a wet face towel.
'You're one of the guys off the barge, aren't you? Let her go or I'll send you to meet your friends.' O'Connell continued, with a degree of bravado that was most certainly feigned. Only O'Connell could still try to preserve his reputation as a Big Hero at a time like this! Didn't he know my life was at stake?
SOMEONE wasn't going to get a tip at the end of the expedition. In fact, he'd be lucky to be paid at all at this rate.
'Where is the key?' my captor demanded in broken English.
The key?
What key?
Did he mean the key to Cairo museum, I wondered? Or the key to the old Carnahan mansion back in England?
I supposed he could have those, if he asked nicely. The Magic Word wouldn't have gone astray at that point, either.
Maybe the key to Jonathan's liquor cabinet? Jonathan would never talk to me again if I gave it away, but what choice did I have?
The only other key in my possession was the key to my diary, and the rude man with the unclean fingernails certainly must have had a high opinion of himself if he thought I was going to part with that!
'What key?' O'Connell demanded. 'Do you know what he's talking about, Evie?'
I shook my head, causing the man's grip on my arm to tighten so much I could practically feel my blood clotting. No doubt I would have an ugly purple bruise there in the morning- just what I needed! NOT!
I had always considered purple to be a rather vulgar colour, probably because Jonathan frequently bought me fashionable evening dresses in that shade, insisting they matched my eyes. Just what colour he considered my eyes to be I was never brave enough to ask.
'Tell me where it is, or else. . .' the man said softly, grating his knife against my throat. Suddenly it occurred to me that if I was not careful I wouldn't be alive in the morning to worry about my bruise.
My eyes swung to meet O'Connell's, and our gazes locked for what seemed to be an eternity. I saw something in his eyes that made me want to live to see my bruise, just to find out if he thought purple matched my eyes... ... ...
He swallowed hard, blinking, and for the first time since I'd known him, he looked afraid. Like he cared about what happened to me . . .
Then again, he'd probably just got a grain of sand in his eye.
'We don't know were the key is! We don't even know WHAT it is!' I blabbered, trying not to look at Mr O'Connell too much, lest I grow weak in the knees and jeopardise our chances of a hasty escape, should we attempt one.
'You lie!' the man barked. I could hear from his impatient tone that I was running out of time. I desperately tried to think of a way out of the situation and the uncomfortable grasp on my upper arm.
Wait a minute- why didn't O'Connell just shoot the man? He'd be getting a nice dose of violence to keep him happy and rescuing me at the same time, thus securing his eventual payment forever!
What was WRONG with him? Just my luck that the one time I actually wanted Mr O'Connell to be violent, he simply stood there helplessly.
Why didn't he shoot?
Oh, right. I was standing directly between O'Connell's gun and my attacker. He'd have to shoot me first, and that would certainly put his money in jeopardy. Not to mention Jonathan's pa-
Wait a minute-
Jonathan.
Jonathan's coat! Jonathan's borrowed gun, in the pocket of Jonathan's coat!
Which I happened to be wearing, thanks to Mr O'Connell's excellent nursing skills after I had knocked myself out earlier! Really, there might have been some hope for that man after all. . . a career in doctoring would present him with an opportunity to give something back to society and greatly benefit mankind, while simultaneously provide plenty of opportunities for him to hack away at people and get covered in their blood!
That would be right up his ally!
I knew I had to act fast if I was to ensure I would live to tell Mr O'Connell my wonderful plan, and see him act on it. If we made it back to Cairo, I could even show him the medical section of the library.
I didn't mean to boast, but the Cairo library - even if I said so myself as a former employee- had an excellent medical section.
'Umm, you're right.' I said, thinking quickly. O'Connell looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. I glared warningly at him. 'We ARE lying. I'll take you to the key, but only if you promise to spare our lives.'
My attacker grunted in a way I took to be a reluctant agreement. Honestly! He was just as irritatingly inarticulate as Mr O'Connell!
Perhaps even more so, though it was difficult to tell at this early stage.
Mr O'Connell looked to me expectantly. 'It's at our campsite,' I said, giving him a meaningful look in which I hoped to convey that I had things under control- all he had to do was follow my lead, and although I had never been a particularly good dancer, I felt confident I could do this type of leading with profound competence.
After all, leading an escape attempt was probably easier than leading a girl across a dance floor, if Jonathan's failure was anything to go by. He invariably stepped on my toes more than the polished wooden floor, and a worse dancing partner I have yet to find, although I upon reflection I imagined I would probably find one in O'Connell, if I looked hard enough.
'Uh, yeah. Follow me.' the American said, still looking unsure. He gestured in the direction we'd come from and began walking back, frequently looking over his shoulder to see if we were following in a way that reminded me of the guilty murderers in the cheap thriller plays Jonathan had been fond of seeing back in England. Of course, Rick hadn't murdered anyone-lately- and certainly wouldn't have been feeling guilty if he had.
Of this I was quite certain.
My attacker shoved me forward and walked after O'Connell, still holding his knife to my throat and tightly grasping one of my arms. I resisted the urge to request that he refrain from cutting off my circulation.
Instead, I focused on my free arm.
I groped around in the coat pocket until my hand connected with cold metal. I grasped the weapon, trying to remember all my father had taught me long ago about firing hunting rifles, before he discovered I had no more interest in shooting at innocent creatures than I had aptitude for the wretched sport. Of course, shooting at such close range was much easier.
Wasn't it?
Hoping fervently that it was loaded, I flicked the safety catch off with my thumb as I made as much noise as possible to cover the action by loudly asking O'Connell if we were nearly there.
'Almost.' I heard him reply. He still didn't know what was going on, but one had to give credit where credit was due- he was doing an excellent job of shutting up and cooperating. I knew few men intimately, but those I did know would not have been at all willing to let a women take over what they considered to be 'a man's job', let alone in a situation like this.
Especially in a situation such as this.
Maybe if a career in medicine didn't work out O'Connell could try his hand at giving a few lectures on feminism. Write a book, perhaps- Why Women Should Be Allowed To Lead Intricate Escape Attempts And Ballroom Dancing.
Turning my concentration once more to the task at hand, I poised my finger on the trigger and gripped the gun determinedly. Then I whisked the gun out of my pocket and quickly twisted my arm over my shoulder to shoot the man in the shoulder.
Everything that happened afterwards is somewhat blurred, like when I try to read the newspaper, only to find that my glasses are on my head, as I sometimes do.
Or when Jonathan takes the lenses out for a joke, as he sometimes does.
After O'Connell had shot the poor man a few more times and asked me if I was all right a few more times than a few times, we set off to the campsite in companionable silence. I felt strangely elated, not least because of the furtive admiring glances O'Connell was throwing in my direction.
'I didn't know you knew how to use a gun,' he remarked, and I knew what he meant was, 'I didn't know women knew how to use guns, especially conservative women.'
Not to imply that O'Connell knew the meaning of the word 'conservative', of course, because I am quite sure he did not.
Positive, in fact.
'There are many things you don't know about me, Mr O'Connell.' I replied airily, accentuating 'mr.'
He had the nerve to look amused- he actually chuckled!
Twice!
'I know that the more I know about you, the less of what I thought I did know is true.'
He looked at me sideways with a slight smile. I smiled back. I imagined fireworks exploding above his head. Momentarily, there was an unexplainable bond between us. If I didn't think it was rude and uncouth to swear, I'd have sworn the very air separating our faces shuddered.
I didn't answer him at first. I was busy being glad I hadn't been stabbed, as then I never would have had the Momentary Unexplainable Bond.
And I never would have seen the air shudder.
(Whoever would have guessed air could shudder?)
Finally, still reliving the violent scene I had started -who would have thought that I, Evelyn Carnahan, was capable of starting a violent scene?- and wishing I'd known how to prevent being taken hostage in the first place, I said, 'I don't know much about this sort of thing at all, really. I wish I did.'
Mr O'Connell looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows, but couldn't keep the smile from his lips. (His oh-so-appealing lips, with their- oh for heaven's sake! When would I learn to control myself?)
'Do you?' he asked in a low voice. My goodness, he was even more attractive than usual when he spoke in a low voice! If this kept up my knees would certainly give and he'd have to carry me the rest of the way in his arms, against his -muscly, though no doubt hairy (oh god)- chest.
A prospect that was increasingly appealing, despite my intense hatred of chest hairs.
'Of course. I believe everyone should know how to defend themselves.' I replied truthfully.
To my surprise, O'Connell suddenly looked disappointed! His face fell two inches and he said 'huh', as if. . . well. . .as if he'd wanted to say he would protect me, but now couldn't because I'd said I wanted to protect myself!
Could that be it? It seemed a viably possibility.
The only other viable possibility was that he'd swallowed a fly.
Oh, how horrid! What had I done? What could I do to fix it?
'Of course,' I added hurriedly, 'sometimes one finds oneself powerless to protected oneself.'
'Yeah. But listen, if you, uh, really want to know how to, uh, fight, I could teach you a little. If you wanted.' O'Connell rambled, looking unsure of himself for once.
Well. Not quite what I had been expecting, but acceptable, nonetheless. Very acceptable. Not that I'd go around recommending that O'Connell started a career in public speaking, or anything.
Not with his vocabulary.
'That would be lovely.' I replied. And to my surprise I realised that I meant it.
It WOULD be lovely!
O'Connell smiled, relieved. We walked on.
Then, after a minute or two, he suddenly stopped. He looked around a little in all directions. Rather sheepishly, he turned to me and asked,
'Uh, you wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: I'll try to get the next chapter posted really soon, maybe tomorrow.
But that still leaves plenty of time for you all to review!
A few times in this chapter, I mention that Rick's getting paid eventually. I don't think that was mentioned in the movie and I doubt he would have been paid, but he does in my story, for no reason in particular. Not that it really matters. I just thought I should explain.
Thanks again to all those who have reviewed so far!
And thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or anything at all related to The Mummy, except the DVD.
Author's Note: Thank you SOOO much everyone who has reviewed!!! Its so nice of you!
I'm sorry, anyone who has been following this story, that there's been such a delay and all. I was busy, and then I wrote the end of the chapter wrong- I don't know how, but it got all serious and deep and meaningful, completely different in style from the first bit. When I read it through I even shocked myself! So I had to go back had to change everything, which took FOREVER.
Thankfully, it's finally finished.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I often flattered myself that I was a rather composed, sensible person, just as unlikely to be much affected by an uncomfortable situation as I was to be the cause of one. Of course, when I uttered or thought anything to this effect I was usually referring to waiting patiently in a long queue, or dealing with incompetent salespeople. (Fancy working in Harrods and not knowing where the book department was!) Usually, I was not referring to potentially life-threatening situations like the ones I had recently found myself in.
Like the one I was in now.
I don't believe it is necessary to convey just what was going through my mind at the time of the unknown hand clamping down upon my shoulder, and the low, uneven voice bidding me to stop.
Anyone might correctly conclude that I was rather unpleasantly surprised.
I was not exactly scared out of my wits, however. Just as little unnerved- like one might be after receiving an invitation to tea at nine o'clock at night, or witnessing a nearby bus blow up.
That sort of thing.
The night's occurrences had hardened me considerably. After one lives through being threatened by a dark, surly Egyptian man with a claw who hadn't even read Peter Pan and more dark, surly Egyptian men appearing out of nowhere and shooting at one and one's guide, one tends to be forever altered.
Especially considering all that had happened afterwards.
By that time, I was quite ready to roll my eyes and inform no-one in particular that after the surprisingly many horrid things that had happened to me lately, I just didn't see a HAND as much of a threat.
Even one with dirty fingernails.
Which, I couldn't help but notice, were in desperate need of a trim.
I would have acted so, had I not involuntarily begun contemplating what the hand was connected to.
This train of thought was less than comforting, to say the least.
Luckily, Mr O'Connell, with his ready wit and equally ready handgun, was all too ready to come to my rescue.
'Who the hell are you?' he shouted, his gun aimed at whoever now had a firm hold on me from behind.
Utterly brilliant, Mr O'Connell, I couldn't help but think with scorn. If that declaration wouldn't free me from the degrading experience of being held by a man who had fleas, nothing would.
There was no answer from my captor- one could hardly blame him, really- other than a grunt. Then I felt something cold under my chin that made me more sick to the stomach than a bad oyster.
I stood very still and hoped it was just a wet face towel.
'You're one of the guys off the barge, aren't you? Let her go or I'll send you to meet your friends.' O'Connell continued, with a degree of bravado that was most certainly feigned. Only O'Connell could still try to preserve his reputation as a Big Hero at a time like this! Didn't he know my life was at stake?
SOMEONE wasn't going to get a tip at the end of the expedition. In fact, he'd be lucky to be paid at all at this rate.
'Where is the key?' my captor demanded in broken English.
The key?
What key?
Did he mean the key to Cairo museum, I wondered? Or the key to the old Carnahan mansion back in England?
I supposed he could have those, if he asked nicely. The Magic Word wouldn't have gone astray at that point, either.
Maybe the key to Jonathan's liquor cabinet? Jonathan would never talk to me again if I gave it away, but what choice did I have?
The only other key in my possession was the key to my diary, and the rude man with the unclean fingernails certainly must have had a high opinion of himself if he thought I was going to part with that!
'What key?' O'Connell demanded. 'Do you know what he's talking about, Evie?'
I shook my head, causing the man's grip on my arm to tighten so much I could practically feel my blood clotting. No doubt I would have an ugly purple bruise there in the morning- just what I needed! NOT!
I had always considered purple to be a rather vulgar colour, probably because Jonathan frequently bought me fashionable evening dresses in that shade, insisting they matched my eyes. Just what colour he considered my eyes to be I was never brave enough to ask.
'Tell me where it is, or else. . .' the man said softly, grating his knife against my throat. Suddenly it occurred to me that if I was not careful I wouldn't be alive in the morning to worry about my bruise.
My eyes swung to meet O'Connell's, and our gazes locked for what seemed to be an eternity. I saw something in his eyes that made me want to live to see my bruise, just to find out if he thought purple matched my eyes... ... ...
He swallowed hard, blinking, and for the first time since I'd known him, he looked afraid. Like he cared about what happened to me . . .
Then again, he'd probably just got a grain of sand in his eye.
'We don't know were the key is! We don't even know WHAT it is!' I blabbered, trying not to look at Mr O'Connell too much, lest I grow weak in the knees and jeopardise our chances of a hasty escape, should we attempt one.
'You lie!' the man barked. I could hear from his impatient tone that I was running out of time. I desperately tried to think of a way out of the situation and the uncomfortable grasp on my upper arm.
Wait a minute- why didn't O'Connell just shoot the man? He'd be getting a nice dose of violence to keep him happy and rescuing me at the same time, thus securing his eventual payment forever!
What was WRONG with him? Just my luck that the one time I actually wanted Mr O'Connell to be violent, he simply stood there helplessly.
Why didn't he shoot?
Oh, right. I was standing directly between O'Connell's gun and my attacker. He'd have to shoot me first, and that would certainly put his money in jeopardy. Not to mention Jonathan's pa-
Wait a minute-
Jonathan.
Jonathan's coat! Jonathan's borrowed gun, in the pocket of Jonathan's coat!
Which I happened to be wearing, thanks to Mr O'Connell's excellent nursing skills after I had knocked myself out earlier! Really, there might have been some hope for that man after all. . . a career in doctoring would present him with an opportunity to give something back to society and greatly benefit mankind, while simultaneously provide plenty of opportunities for him to hack away at people and get covered in their blood!
That would be right up his ally!
I knew I had to act fast if I was to ensure I would live to tell Mr O'Connell my wonderful plan, and see him act on it. If we made it back to Cairo, I could even show him the medical section of the library.
I didn't mean to boast, but the Cairo library - even if I said so myself as a former employee- had an excellent medical section.
'Umm, you're right.' I said, thinking quickly. O'Connell looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. I glared warningly at him. 'We ARE lying. I'll take you to the key, but only if you promise to spare our lives.'
My attacker grunted in a way I took to be a reluctant agreement. Honestly! He was just as irritatingly inarticulate as Mr O'Connell!
Perhaps even more so, though it was difficult to tell at this early stage.
Mr O'Connell looked to me expectantly. 'It's at our campsite,' I said, giving him a meaningful look in which I hoped to convey that I had things under control- all he had to do was follow my lead, and although I had never been a particularly good dancer, I felt confident I could do this type of leading with profound competence.
After all, leading an escape attempt was probably easier than leading a girl across a dance floor, if Jonathan's failure was anything to go by. He invariably stepped on my toes more than the polished wooden floor, and a worse dancing partner I have yet to find, although I upon reflection I imagined I would probably find one in O'Connell, if I looked hard enough.
'Uh, yeah. Follow me.' the American said, still looking unsure. He gestured in the direction we'd come from and began walking back, frequently looking over his shoulder to see if we were following in a way that reminded me of the guilty murderers in the cheap thriller plays Jonathan had been fond of seeing back in England. Of course, Rick hadn't murdered anyone-lately- and certainly wouldn't have been feeling guilty if he had.
Of this I was quite certain.
My attacker shoved me forward and walked after O'Connell, still holding his knife to my throat and tightly grasping one of my arms. I resisted the urge to request that he refrain from cutting off my circulation.
Instead, I focused on my free arm.
I groped around in the coat pocket until my hand connected with cold metal. I grasped the weapon, trying to remember all my father had taught me long ago about firing hunting rifles, before he discovered I had no more interest in shooting at innocent creatures than I had aptitude for the wretched sport. Of course, shooting at such close range was much easier.
Wasn't it?
Hoping fervently that it was loaded, I flicked the safety catch off with my thumb as I made as much noise as possible to cover the action by loudly asking O'Connell if we were nearly there.
'Almost.' I heard him reply. He still didn't know what was going on, but one had to give credit where credit was due- he was doing an excellent job of shutting up and cooperating. I knew few men intimately, but those I did know would not have been at all willing to let a women take over what they considered to be 'a man's job', let alone in a situation like this.
Especially in a situation such as this.
Maybe if a career in medicine didn't work out O'Connell could try his hand at giving a few lectures on feminism. Write a book, perhaps- Why Women Should Be Allowed To Lead Intricate Escape Attempts And Ballroom Dancing.
Turning my concentration once more to the task at hand, I poised my finger on the trigger and gripped the gun determinedly. Then I whisked the gun out of my pocket and quickly twisted my arm over my shoulder to shoot the man in the shoulder.
Everything that happened afterwards is somewhat blurred, like when I try to read the newspaper, only to find that my glasses are on my head, as I sometimes do.
Or when Jonathan takes the lenses out for a joke, as he sometimes does.
After O'Connell had shot the poor man a few more times and asked me if I was all right a few more times than a few times, we set off to the campsite in companionable silence. I felt strangely elated, not least because of the furtive admiring glances O'Connell was throwing in my direction.
'I didn't know you knew how to use a gun,' he remarked, and I knew what he meant was, 'I didn't know women knew how to use guns, especially conservative women.'
Not to imply that O'Connell knew the meaning of the word 'conservative', of course, because I am quite sure he did not.
Positive, in fact.
'There are many things you don't know about me, Mr O'Connell.' I replied airily, accentuating 'mr.'
He had the nerve to look amused- he actually chuckled!
Twice!
'I know that the more I know about you, the less of what I thought I did know is true.'
He looked at me sideways with a slight smile. I smiled back. I imagined fireworks exploding above his head. Momentarily, there was an unexplainable bond between us. If I didn't think it was rude and uncouth to swear, I'd have sworn the very air separating our faces shuddered.
I didn't answer him at first. I was busy being glad I hadn't been stabbed, as then I never would have had the Momentary Unexplainable Bond.
And I never would have seen the air shudder.
(Whoever would have guessed air could shudder?)
Finally, still reliving the violent scene I had started -who would have thought that I, Evelyn Carnahan, was capable of starting a violent scene?- and wishing I'd known how to prevent being taken hostage in the first place, I said, 'I don't know much about this sort of thing at all, really. I wish I did.'
Mr O'Connell looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows, but couldn't keep the smile from his lips. (His oh-so-appealing lips, with their- oh for heaven's sake! When would I learn to control myself?)
'Do you?' he asked in a low voice. My goodness, he was even more attractive than usual when he spoke in a low voice! If this kept up my knees would certainly give and he'd have to carry me the rest of the way in his arms, against his -muscly, though no doubt hairy (oh god)- chest.
A prospect that was increasingly appealing, despite my intense hatred of chest hairs.
'Of course. I believe everyone should know how to defend themselves.' I replied truthfully.
To my surprise, O'Connell suddenly looked disappointed! His face fell two inches and he said 'huh', as if. . . well. . .as if he'd wanted to say he would protect me, but now couldn't because I'd said I wanted to protect myself!
Could that be it? It seemed a viably possibility.
The only other viable possibility was that he'd swallowed a fly.
Oh, how horrid! What had I done? What could I do to fix it?
'Of course,' I added hurriedly, 'sometimes one finds oneself powerless to protected oneself.'
'Yeah. But listen, if you, uh, really want to know how to, uh, fight, I could teach you a little. If you wanted.' O'Connell rambled, looking unsure of himself for once.
Well. Not quite what I had been expecting, but acceptable, nonetheless. Very acceptable. Not that I'd go around recommending that O'Connell started a career in public speaking, or anything.
Not with his vocabulary.
'That would be lovely.' I replied. And to my surprise I realised that I meant it.
It WOULD be lovely!
O'Connell smiled, relieved. We walked on.
Then, after a minute or two, he suddenly stopped. He looked around a little in all directions. Rather sheepishly, he turned to me and asked,
'Uh, you wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: I'll try to get the next chapter posted really soon, maybe tomorrow.
But that still leaves plenty of time for you all to review!
A few times in this chapter, I mention that Rick's getting paid eventually. I don't think that was mentioned in the movie and I doubt he would have been paid, but he does in my story, for no reason in particular. Not that it really matters. I just thought I should explain.
Thanks again to all those who have reviewed so far!
And thanks for reading!