Chapter 16
"Got the paper, Gar?" Chuck grinned, practically bouncing towards Gary's hospital bed.
Gary eyed him dubiously and withdrew the paper from under his pillow. "Yeah. Hold on. I've got it right here." He held it out, but then pulled it back slightly. The last few days, Chuck hadn't returned the paper in the evening, though he swore he had done everything that he was supposed to-and nothing that he wasn't supposed to. Gary could only take his word for it.
"You're not gonna do anything with it that I wouldn't do, are ya?"
Chuck withdrew his outstretched hand, and slumped comically, "Hey, I'm hurt, buddy." He rubbed his chest as though it pained him. "I'll be a regular Boy Scout with the information. I swear." He reached for the paper, his fingers moving in a 'give me' motion.
Looking from the paper to Chuck and back again to the paper, Gary finally, reluctantly, handed it over. He hoped he wouldn't be sorry. He knew that he should have made a list of things to be done. Why did it feel like he was handing the keys to the hen house to the fox for safekeeping? "I've...I've read most of it, so I'll know what's going on, Chuck."
"You're worrying too much." Chuck looked ready to salivate-like a dog with a juicy bone-as he leafed through the paper. "You're not gonna be sorry, Gar. You'll see. I can do this." He glanced up long enough to shoot Gary a wide grin
"Hmmm" Gary grunted. Chuck was being entirely too helpful. Something was up. "What's the deal, Chuck? Why all this..." Gary gestured towards the paper, "...interest in helping people all of a sudden?"
"I promised you, remember? I said that I would help out with whatever you needed."
Chuck's expression seemed sincere, and remembering how Chuck had sat by his bedside until he'd been out of the woods, Gary felt guilty for ever doubting him. Gary acknowledged Chuck with a short nod of his head. "Right. Well, I guess you better get going, then. There's going to be a bank robbery at nine- thirty on the north side."
Chuck gave a playful salute. "Yes, sir. I'm off."
Smiling in spite of himself as Chuck's strode jauntily out of the room, Gary ignored his misgivings. Chuck would do a great job. Just dandy.
Chuck glanced up at the sign on the building. Okay, he had the correct bank, now to figure out how to prevent the robbery. What would Gary do in this situation? Maybe he should have asked.
Pursing his mouth to the side, Chuck thought hard. The paper said that the robber implied that he had a gun, but that the teller had never actually seen it. It was probably a bluff. Chuck nodded. Yeah, just a bluff, he concluded before strolling into the bank.
He scoped the lobby looking for someone acting suspiciously. There! A man in line kept checking his watch and putting his hand in his jacket pocket! Probably nerves, Chuck thought gleefully as he crossed the lobby to stand behind the man. He tried to hide a grin. The man had better be nervous, 'cause Charles Fishman had the drop on him.
Just before it was the man's turn to go to a teller, Chuck tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"
The man turned, "Yes?"
Chuck cleared his throat, and in his deepest, most authoritative voice said, "Don't even think about it, Jack!"
The man pulled back, startled, "What the hell are you talking about?"
Pointing with his chin, Chuck whispered loudly, "I know what you're doing here. I know all about it."
The man shook his head with disgust and took his turn in front of the teller.
Just as Chuck was about to shout a warning, there was a commotion three booths away from where Chuck stood. A different man was raising his voice, "Give me the money, and no one will get hurt!"
"Shit!" Chuck said under his breath. He'd had the wrong guy pegged.
The robber had his hand in his right pocket, the outline of something long and cylindrical evident through the material.
Chuck took a step forward, yelling, "It's a bluff!"
The robber whirled, his expression incredulous. "Who the fuck are you!" He pulled a gun from his pocket and aimed it at Chuck, then holding the gun steady, he grabbed the bag of cash that the teller handed over and dashed towards the exit.
Chuck stood frozen, eyes wide, sure that at any moment he would be shot. Fortunately for him, the gunman was more concerned with escape than shooting him.
As the robber fled the bank, Chuck's knees buckled, and he found himself tangled in a red velvet rope that formed the barrier for the teller line. Someone reached down and pulled him to his feet. Chuck looked up to thank the man, and was speechless as he met the slightly amused eyes of the guy he'd accused first.
"Are you okay?"
Chuck nodded mutely.
The man pulled a cell phone from his pocket, and used it to call his office. Chuck cringed, feeling like an idiot as the heard the man's end of the conversation.
"Yes, Brenda, tell the mayor that I'll be a few minutes late to our meeting. Give him my apologies please, and explain to him that I was caught in a bank robbery."
As soon as the police were done questioning everyone, Chuck slunk away. He pulled the paper out. The bank robbery story hadn't changed one iota. He sighed. Gary was not going to be happy.
"Oh no!" Chuck shook his head and held his hands up. "I am not going to stop a port-a-potty from being blown up. I have to draw the line somewhere, Gar."
Gary sat forward on the couch. It was his first day home, and all he wanted to do was crawl in his own bed and sleep. But, first, there was the little matter of the port-a-potty. "Chuck, there's an old man in there when it explodes. You gotta stop it." Gary held the paper up to show Chuck the picture. The commode was blackened near the top, with its whole roof blown off. "Look, Chuck. That...that old man suffers damage to his hearing and--"
"Okay, fine. I'll do it. Just give me the paper," Chuck sighed with exasperation.
"Sorry, but why don't I keep the paper this time? I made a list for you, instead."
"A list? You made a list? What? You don't trust me?"
Gary cleared his throat and looked away, "Well, not exactly, but the last few days you haven't given the paper back in the evening, and well-"
"You don't believe I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing? Is that it?" Chuck crossed his arms, daring Gary to contradict him.
"Umm," Gary finally nodded reluctantly, "that's about it, in a nutshell, Chuck."
"Hey, I goofed up one lousy save and you're gonna hold it over my head forever aren't you?" Chuck shook his head, his expression bitter. "And I suppose you've never screwed up a rescue?"
Guiltily, Gary conceded that Chuck was right to be angry. It had only been one minor bank robbery that Chuck had blown. No one was hurt, just a little money was taken. Gary handed over the paper. "You're right, Chuck. Here. But you've got to promise that you'll do the port-a-potty save."
Chuck rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I'll do it."
Gary roused to the most noxious odor he could imagine. What the hell was that? Had the plumbing backed up? His nose twitched, then he felt something cold and slimy drip onto his hand. His eyes flew open to meet Chuck's angry glare. He was standing beside the bed, little globs of goo splattered all over him. Gary wasn't sure, but he thought that there was a piece of soggy toilet paper hanging from Chuck's ear. Gary bolted up in bed, "Wh-what happened to you?"
Chuck stood silently for several long seconds, eyes shooting daggers, then finally spoke in a clipped tone. "I rescued the old geezer in the john."
Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Gary scrambled out of bed, careful not to come in contact with any part of Chuck's anatomy. "But...but how-" Gary began, wrinkling his nose and gesturing to Chuck's appearance. Was that steam rising from some of the mucky ooze? Gary's shoulders heaved as he strove to contain his mirth.
"I was running a little late," Chuck started, eyes narrowing, "and I didn't get there in time to stop the old man from entering the john."
"You were late?"
"Well, yeah. There was a festival in Grant Park, and do you know how many port-a-potties were set up? Dozens, Gary. I had to search toilets for fifteen minutes until I was sure I had the right one. And I only found that because at the last second, I saw the old timer enter it."
Gary gulped, trying unsuccessfully to swallow a grin.
"Quit your smirking."
Gary cleared his throat, making a weak attempt to erase the impending grin. "Uh, sorry."
The stench was becoming overpowering, and Gary hurried to open a window. Eyes watering, he leaned out, gratefully gulping in the fresh air. He pulled his head back in, and turning, found Chuck standing so close that Gary could make out individual shades of brown gunk that decorated Chuck's face and clothing. He jumped back, bumping his head on the window in his haste to put as much distance between him and Chuck. "Umm, could you back off a little bit?" Gary waved his hand in front of his face, coughing slightly.
Chuck ignored the request. "So, I'm standing there. I see the man hobble into the commode, and I head towards the toilet hoping that I'll spot anyone who seems to be hanging around with explosives in their hands."
"And?" Gary encouraged.
"And I notice a couple of teens goofing around and looking really sneaky. I guess he didn't fasten the lock properly because before I had a chance to say anything, they open the old man's door a crack, and toss in an M-250. I ran up as fast as I could, and yanked the door wide open. I grabbed the guy's arm and flung him out of the port-a-potty."
Chuck paused, the corners of his mouth turning up into a slight smile. "I'll never forget the startled expression on his face as he came tumbling out with his pants around his ankles." Chuck shook his head, attempting to regain his former indignant anger, "Then, just after the old man was safely on the ground, the firecracker exploded."
Chuck paused, leveling a thoroughly revolted glare at Gary, "Gar, I never saw so much shit fly."
