Disclaimer: All characters and names belong to the wonderful creators of this series, and the actors who gave them all life on screen.
Note: This story takes place sometime in the mid to late nineties. And much apologies to the one reaper we see for a few seconds in the first episode whose name I don't know.
Dedicated to Dagas for her birthday.
Just in Case
Blankly, Rube stared at the strange small thing sitting in front of him. It almost looked like something he was familiar with, but a few things were missing from the equation. And he didn't like it when things were missing.
"What in the fresh hell is this?" he said flatly, his eyes narrowing at it.
"It's called a cellular phone," sighed the brown-haired woman sitting across the table. She grinned bemusedly, her impeccable optimism just oozing out of her pores.
"Cellular?" he repeated. "So it's made from cells?"
"No, no, no," Betty said, shaking her head. Her finely manicured hands picked it up and cracked it in half, exposing a number pad he'd seen on modern telephones. "See? It runs off batteries so you can have a telephone on you where ever you go."
The wise and technologically ignorant reaper stared skeptically at her. "What's the point of it?" he said, stabbing his eggs over easy. "There are public telephones all around here. Why would anyone carry around one of those things?"
"So people can reach you in case of an emergency."
"Seems like a stupid reason. The chance of an emergency arising during the course of a day is less likely than dying in a plane crash. Waste of time, if you ask me."
The woman sighed exasperatedly. "Oh, you think anything beyond your comprehension is a waste of time."
"I get telephones fine. I just think it's stupid to carry one around all the time," he sighed, sitting back against the leather cushion. "Where's the intimacy you get with a phone call at home? Or the peace one gets when away from noisy ringing telephones?"
Behind the booth, he could hear the soft padding of worn sneakers stop in their tracks, the sloshing of a liquid—most likely coffee—near his head. "Is that one of those new cellular phones?" gasped their waitress, interrupting their conversation. "My sister got one of those things a couple years ago, but they were much larger then."
"Did she now?" asked Betty with a kind smile on her face.
"Mm-hmm," she said, propping a hand on her hip. "Refill?" Betty nodded her head. "Yours is much smaller and a lot less bulky," the waitress continued, pouring steaming coffee into the empty cup in front of Betty. "Actually, I was thinking of getting one with my next paycheck. You know, just for emergencies."
Rube snorted and began eating his eggs again.
"See Rube? Someone shares my views about cellular phones."
"Cell phones?" piped in a new voice. "They're a stupid waste of time and money." Rube looked up and saw the meter maid reaper strutting over, the little blue hat secure on her head. He couldn't help smirking.
"Oh, see?" he said to Betty in an almost mocking tone. "Someone shares mine, too." The woman just shook her head.
"Miss, would you like anything?" the waitress asked, ignoring the slight insult she'd just received.
"Just coffee, please," said Roxie, plopping down in the booth next to Rube. The waitress nodded and headed back towards the counter to get another cup.
"Okay Roxie, let me ask you this," said Betty, leaning forward.
"Oh, here we go…" muttered the meter maid.
"What're your problems with cellular phones?"
"I just—thank you," she said to the waitress when her coffee arrived. "I just think they're dumb, that's all," she replied, removing the starched hat from her head. "Why carry somethin' dumb around with me all the time? I'd sooner lose it than get a call from someone who could've tried reaching me at home, but was too damned impatient to wait."
"But the whole point of it is to get reached when you're not home."
"So? What if I don't wanna get reached? They can leave a damn message on my answering machine if they want to get me so damn badly."
"My point exactly," Rube said firmly.
"But Rube, you don't even own one of those. In fact, do you even have a phone in your place?"
"What does it matter if I do or not? The only people I talk to are you, and why bother with a phone when I get to see your lovely faces every day?"
"Aw, that's sweet of you, Rube," said Mason as he got within earshot. "Didn't know you thought of us like that."
"That was before you came along, Mason," Roxie grumbled, grabbing her coffee cup.
"You're late," Rube said matter-of-factly. He grabbed his worn leather organizer, opening it to remove four yellow Post-its. He'd already done one assignment that day. His second one wasn't for another hour.
"Sorry 'bout that. The cops raided my place last night, so I had to hide out for a while."
"Didn't you just get that place?" Betty asked, looking at the information on the Post-it she was given.
The Brit snatched Betty's coffee cup and took a sip from it before he answered. "Yeah, but I guess the bastard was wanted for something or other. Kidnapping, maybe. You know, it was a bit noisy the first night I was there. Sounded like screams or something coming from the basement, but I thought it was just some stupid fucking animal locked down there."
"You idiot, you didn't even check it out?"
"Sorry I don't have the balls you do when it comes to cops, Roxie. Going twenty years and strong here since my last encounter with one."
"Nice to see you can give somethin' up for that long…"
"Discounting that little incident from last month, are we?" Rube interjected.
"The charges were dropped, so I don't include that one," Mason said proudly, his hand reaching out to take another drink of Betty's coffee before she smacked it. "Ow! What was that for?"
"Get your own, Mason."
"But I left all my cash behind when I ran away."
"Like a little girl…" Roxie mumbled under her breath. Rube chuckled at the Brit's expense.
"Okay, fine. You can have it. I have to get going anyway," Betty said, snatching up her cellular phone and stuffing it and the Post-it into her jacket pocket. Mason moved so she could get out, then slid back in, eagerly taking her cup in both hands. "Oh," she said, taking out a pen from her purse. "Let me give you my number before I go."
"Doubt we'll need it," Rube said, watching her scribble something down on a napkin.
"You never know," she grinned, placing the napkin down on the table. "See you all later!"
Picking up the napkin, Rube noted the seven numbers, and then flicked it back onto the table with a roll of his eyes.
"On that note," Rube said as Betty clicked away in her noisy high heels, "I need to be heading out as well." He pulled on his coat, and grabbed his organizer and cap before sliding out of the booth. "I'll be gone for a couple hours, then I'll be right back here, in case anyone needs me. Give this to the other one when he gets in, will you, Rox?"
"Yeah, sure…"
He began to walk away when Mason said, "Hey Rube, don't you want the number?"
Rube stopped, turned, and just stared. "No," he said firmly. "I have no need for it."
"Suit yourself, mate," the Brit said with a shrug.
"You better get going, Mason. Death doesn't excuse tardiness, especially not for fuck-ups."
Sometime later, Rube found himself back at Der Wafflehaus, one hand holding a roast beef sandwich and the other a pen. He was partway through the daily crossword, and enjoying the quiet din that fell upon the restaurant after the midday rush. As well as the peace he had when his fellow reapers were out and about and doing their jobs.
"Hey Kiffany," Rube said the moment his waitress came by.
"Yes?" she said. "Would you like some more coffee?"
"No thanks. Got a question for you, though. What's a twelve letter word for 'lucky chance event'?"
She frowned and thought for a second. "'Lucky chance event'?" she repeated to herself, her face a mask of concentration. "Oh! A 'coincidence'," she said with a grin.
He scribbled in the word, and sure enough, it fit. "Thanks," he said smiling at the waitress. "Come to think of it, I think I would like that coffee."
"Comin' right up," she said, pouring some of the fresh liquid into his cup.
"Oh, and what kind of pie do you got today?"
"At the moment, lemon meringue. Would you like a piece?"
"Sure," he said.
"I'll have that out to you in just a minute."
"Thanks, Kiff," he said, going back to his crossword.
After his pie had been brought out to him, one of the pay phones began to ring, and ring, and ring. The person kept calling, and the restaurant staff was ignoring it. Nobody answered public payphones these days, but Rube was on his way to the bathroom anyway, so he picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" he said upon placing the receiver next to his ear. All of a sudden, a chill ran down his spine, and he hung up without another word. The strange sensation never hit him unless there was a important change made. And whenever a change was made, he felt it deep in his undead bones.
He immediately lost any urge he had to go to the bathroom.
Walking briskly back to his seat, he pulled out his organizer from beneath his coat and checked the list of assignments for the day. His eyes scanned down the list, most of the assignments past their E.T.D.'s until he came to one, now highlighted in a pink color instead of the normal yellow. The E.T.D. was also missing from the name. The name below it, however, hadn't been highlighted or, in fact, even been on the sheet to begin with, but it now bore the pink color and an E.T.D.
For a second, Rube just looked at it, and began to laugh. "It would be Betty's, wouldn't it?" Shaking his head incredulously, he took his organizer back over to the payphones. He rummaged around his pockets for a quarter, and then he placed his call when he found one. He'd never admit how glad he was that he wrote the numbers down not a second after leaving the restaurant earlier.
"Hello?" said a staticky version of the chipper reaper's voice.
"Betty, I need you to—"
"Oh Rube! How nice of you to call! I thought you didn't like cellular phones."
"Look I—No, I don't like them, but there's been a change."
"So. It's an emergency then, hm?"
Rube sighed. "…Yes, it is. Your reap's been changed. Clerical error."
"Good thing I had this phone then. For emergencies," she said, emphasizing the word.
"Yes, yes, you're fucking brilliant. Now get out that pen of yours so you can write down your new assignment."
"I don't have to go anywhere else, do I?"
"No," he said, looking at the new information. "Same place, new stiff."
"Fun."
After he was done giving her the order, she said, "Maybe we should invest in cellular phones for the others. In case this happens again."
"…I'll give it some thought," he said reluctantly. It would fall back on him if he didn't get the correct assignment out to the other reapers, especially if one of them popped the soul from the wrong person.
"All right, Rube, gotta go. I have something fun to show you when I get back!"
"Oh, I am overjoyed and filled with anticipation," he muttered.
"Bye!"
Betty and Roxie were the first two to join him an hour later. The two women appeared to be in some debate, or at least that's what he thought until the two of them burst out laughing the moment they got near his booth.
"What's so funny?" he asked, pushing his nearly finished crossword puzzle aside.
"Just listening to a little story," Roxie smirked as she sat down next to him. "I thought you didn't care to have that number."
"What number?"
"Her number, Mr. I Don't Care For Cell Phones," the meter maid said, jerking her head towards Betty.
"It was an emergency, Rox, and if I didn't call her on that stupid thing—"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm just busting on you, Rube."
His lips twitched into a momentary smile. "So," he said, turning his attention to the other reaper at the table. "What's this 'fun' thing you have to show me?"
Betty grinned mischievously and pulled something black out of her purse, placing it in front of him. It was rectangular and boxy, with a clip on the top of it.
"Now what the hell is this?" he groaned.
"It's called a pager."
He blinked at her and waited for her explanation.
"I think these would be even better than cellular phones if we're going to get those for everyone," she said after a long moment of silence.
"I haven't said yes to that yet. And how the hell would I get a hold of any of you with this thing? Throw it and hope it hits your head?"
Betty frowned and removed the pager from the table. "Perhaps cellular phones would just be easier."
"Yeah, leave the pagers for the doctors," Roxie said in agreement. "Let's stick with something old Rube here is familiar with."