Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.
ICYMI: A happy and tearful reunion between Miriam and Olga. A look at how Miriam keeps Helga's memories alive. Insight into the lengths Scheck is willing to go to have his revenge on Arnold.
Next chapter incoming!
22. The Best You Can Is Good Enough
This kiss was as lengthy and loving as it was particularly melancholy and uncertain.
They were standing on Brainy's stoop, Arnold and Phoebe, the former gently cupping the latter's cheeks for this act. A parting gesture expressing their optimism that they would emerge from the forthcoming ordeal alive, and the dread that they wouldn't.
It was going on to one o'clock on Thursday morning, and they were all on a timetable. In front of the brownstone, two vehicles were parked. From inside his blue Chrysler, Arnie called out to the kissing couple: "Hey, you two! You can get a room later! We've got work to do!" Arnold's Golf was parked in front of him, awaiting its owner.
They'd concluded that Arnie's vehicle was safe to use again now that the investigation into the death of Detective Mark Vasquez was officially closed with no mention made of any vehicles reported leaving the scene. Good thing too, as they needed two sets of wheels for this endeavor.
And they needed to get going now, Arnold and Arnie would be in the field, while Phoebe and Brainy would support them from the brownstone. It took all of Arnold's willpower to let go of Phoebe and announce that he had to leave.
"Do be careful, Arnold," whispered Phoebe imploringly. "I'll consider any success in this mission moot if you don't return."
"I promise, Phoebe," he inspirited. And soon he too was in his vehicle and he and Arnie set off for their destinations and whatever awaited them.
Some hours ago, Arnold and Phoebe had left the Pataki household and were seated in the Golf.
Theirs was a shared expression of distress. Scheck wanted Arnold within a few hours and had conveyed his seriousness by having a group of innocent people around the harbor executed then taunting his quarry with pictures of the deceased. He'd raised the stakes even further by implying that harm – or worse – would come to Phoebe's parents if Arnold was not to appear at the designated area.
And unfortunately, the couple had no choice but to dance to Scheck's tune, despite any advantages they thought they had over him. The pictures of the dead were just those: pictures, showing an aftermath with no hint of who had committed the act. As for the threat against Phoebe's parents: what threats? Unfortunately, the justice system is never about what is implied or what lurks between the lines, but what can be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. And with what Scheck had told them, they could prove nothing. All that Scheck had told them was that some of his associates would be going on a trip, to a location where Phoebe's parents just happened to reside. No more, no less.
"So what now, Arnold?" asked Phoebe, trying to maintain a cold, detached demeanor when in reality she was worried out of her mind about her parents' welfare. Kyo and Reba meant the world to her, and for Scheck to introduce them as pawns in this sick game – in which they had no role – was cruel and sick and…and—
"We take him down, of course. Tonight."
That statement irked Phoebe. "Arnold, listen to yourself! You're talking about facing impossible odds yet again. And now that he knows that you bested his men at the cemetery, you just know that he'll redouble his efforts for victory." Phoebe was back to her pessimism-disguised-as-pragmatism ways. "How many enemies will he throw at you this time? He tried fifteen the last time. This time…thirty? Plus he'll be in full control of the setting!"
"I say again, Phoebe, we'll win this one too. And before you ask, I don't know how yet. But I think I can start by visiting Big Gino's guy and at least find out what he can offer us."
"You mean the person Big Gino recommended we consult for help against Scheck?"
"Exactly," Arnold returned. "And before you ask, Big Gino has a lot to gain from our involvement. So no, he won't try to fuck us over."
Phoebe was quietly astounded at how well Arnold was beginning to familiarize himself with her little quirks and her thought processes. "I wasn't going to suggest that," she offered in her defence. "At least not in such crude terms," she concluded, under her breath. Not that it helped her, for Arnold caught on to her sotto voce and couldn't help but reach for her left hand with his right. A motion that was readily accepted.
"We seem to be picking up on each other's habits, don't we?" he asked.
"Possibly," Phoebe replied. "And I'm hoping we'll be alive long enough to pick up on even more."
Having heard that, Arnold released her hand and started the car.
"I'm telling you, Sheriff, it's on. Tonight!"
Brainy had Arnie on the phone and was explaining what he had witnessed on the satellite feed. The number of hostiles ("Forty!"). The fact that they were serious ("A dozen or so innocents killed just for being there!").
"Plus, they've set up three snipers to pick him off! He walks in there, he's dead before he even enters the front gate!"
"Snipers you say?" replied Arnie in a tone that didn't suggest he was taking the matter seriously.
Just as Brainy was about to reprimand the sheriff for his lack of concern, Arnie continued. "Tell me, Four-Eyes, what is the layout of the harbor? Where within are the snipers located. What can you tell me about the surrounding location and terrain? Any high-lying areas around the harbor where a counter-sniper could establish a nest?"
"What?" Arnie's questions left Brainy stumped.
"Dammit, Four-Eyes, our boy's about to march into an ambush and you're saying 'what'! Is there any high-lying ground around the harbor where I can counter-snipe any son of a bitch who wishes to do my cousin any harm? Yes or fucking no!"
Brainy was still stumped, so he conceded: "Look, I've got the satellite feed still running. Why don't you come over here, look it over yourself and make your own decision?"
"Not while my car's still hot! No way!"
"Not anymore! Didn't you hear? They're done with the Vasquez investigation. They're calling it death by Russian. Revenge for Santalov. No mention of any blue muscle car at the scene. You shouldn't have any problems with law enforcement."
"And you're willing to bet on it?"
"Sure, given that it isn't my car. Look, are you or aren't you willing to stick your neck out for your Coz, your Boy?"
"He's your Boy too, you know?" Arnie still wanted to argue.
"Damn right he is!" responded Brainy. "Why do you think I've been watching Hillwood Harbour's activity all this time? Now get your ass over here and sort yourself out!" He then hung up.
Arnie needed no further reminder as after the call, he retrieved a very large and heavy rifle bag before making his way to his car.
The location was in a junkyard. It was a cluster of shipping containers, stacked and arranged: repurposed as a makeshift building. Arnold and Phoebe noted how one of the ground units had had a door and windows fitted. Through the windows, they saw burning lights, a sign of occupation.
It made sense: they'd been expected for some time. It certainly explained how they were able to drive in unimpeded, with the night-watchman giving them and the vehicle only the most cursory of glances before safetying his meant-to-be-concealed Uzi. No questions from the man, just a point in a general direction: "That way."
They made their way into the structure, into how a pawn shop situated in the middle of a warzone might have looked. There was a heavy metal counter at the end farthest from the entrance, with Lexan panels offering further protection to the proprietors. Furthermore, several cameras were recording from different angles to discourage even the notion of perfidy.
"Well, you can't say they're not security conscious," remarked Phoebe in hopes that the levity would ease her nerves.
"What say we find out who's in?" replied Arnold as he headed for the counter. He was almost there when a stubby balding man emerged from behind a curtain to take his place at the counter. From what Arnold saw, the man had intended to be the model of how not to conduct customer service, but as soon as he focused on his client, his eyes widened in disbelief of sort as if he was told that someone looking like Arnold would be there but not believing a word of it.
The man spoke first.
An instruction: "All phones switched off and on the counter, please." Which they obeyed.
Another instruction: "Magazines ejected from weapons, please. Weapons on safety and on the counter." Which Arnold obeyed.
Then: "By any chance, are you the referral from Big Gino?"
"Uh, yes?" answered Arnold. "How'd you know?"
"Never mind that," shorty returned curtly. I was supposed to help you, but now…change in arrangements." Then: "Hey Bridget! Your appointment is here!" he turned to shout at someone behind the curtain.
Bridget? Could it be…that Bridget? No way…was what he wanted to think but given what he had faced since Phoebe came knocking at his door – shit, that was four days ago! – what more was there to surprise him?
"Well? Send him in already!" an angry voice shouted back from behind. A familiar husky voice. Coarsened with age maybe, but nonetheless familiar.
The man moved to open a section of the counter to let Arnold in and was about to close it on Phoebe when he felt a hand from Arnold on his shoulder and saw a look on his face that said Phoebe would go wherever he went, period. As hardened a man that the proprietor was, he quickly saw the futility of further argument and relented. The couple walked through the curtain and into a storage area that comprised two containers being joined together. If the word 'resplendent' could also be applied to weaponry, then this area was an ideal candidate for that adjective. Every available flat surface was occupied with either firearms, ammunition or other combat paraphernalia. And at the opposite end of the room, an auburn-haired sylph in her late thirties, maybe early forties.
"Bridget!"
Wearing the same dark blue catsuit showing off how kind the years had been to her.
"Hello there, you footballheaded cutie!" Bridget announced in the same flirty yet serious voice that Arnold had never forgotten. "Wow, look how rugged you've become!"
She walked over to Arnold, circling him as she assessed his twenty-eight-year-old build from top to bottom with utmost approval. "Oh yes," she commended. "You look like you know how to handle your weapons."
Suddenly, in one sleek motion, Bridget grabbed his right wrist with her left hand and before he could react, she had his palm upturned and was running her right hand across it.
Phoebe was about to exclaim some or other variation of 'What the hell!' before Bridget coolly commented, "And you know how to shoot them, too! What rough calluses!" Oh god, was she being aroused by what she was seeing and feeling?
"So Arnold," her tone now had a strictly business vibe. "Who'd you piss off this time and why is Big Gino so interested in you that he referred you to me specifically? Regular referrals get sent to Anwar, the midget you met earlier."
"I HEARD THAT!" Anwar shouted from the adjacent container as if hoping it would imply dire consequences.
Bridget made a display of dismissively waving him off while not diverting her attention away from Arnold. "Anyway," she resumed her questioning, "I'm listening."
By now, Arnold had become so used to explaining the story so far that he was able to tell the whole tale in less than two minutes without sacrificing too many details. Phoebe provided color commentary in between.
Bridget let out a loud whistle at what she'd been told, while from the reception area, Anwar let loose with an astounded "Damn!"
"Who asked you, Anwar?" scolded Bridget. Then back to Arnold: "Sounds like you need some serious hardware. No wonder Gino sent you my way! If I may ask, what are you packing right now?"
"You'll have to ask Anwar over there," replied Arnold. "He's holding on to my phone and weapon."
The frustration was clear on Bridget's expression as she shouted: "Anwar, bring me this man's weapon!" Which the diminutive man promptly delivered. Arnold's former quartermaster took the Glock, inspected it then let out a second whistle. "A .45, huh? I see you're still not one to do anything by half. So, any idea of what you'll be needing?"
The surgical specificity with which Arnold outlined the possible battlefield parameters and how they might tie in with his choice in weaponry, impressed Phoebe greatly while scaring her ever so slightly as she feared he was regressing back into the ghost-faced killer from the cemetery, a sort of Dark Arnold persona.
Bridget merely looked on as if he had provided the bare minimum with which she could work. "One moment please," she said before disappearing with Arnold's pistol into another section of the structure.
"Arnold, kindly enlighten me," demanded Phoebe now that she had the chance. "What, if any, shared history do you two have?"
"She helped me and Gerald save the neighborhood from Scheck," Arnold explained matter-of-factly. "Didn't Gerald mention anything about her?"
"No, not at all," recalled Phoebe. "He was too shell-shocked after the bus crash. I feared raising the matter at the inappropriate time might trigger some form of PTSD. Gradually, I became less aware of the matter and forgot to bring it up."
"Well anyway, she hooked us up with some really nifty spy gear. Real James Bond Junior stuff. Helped us get into FTI headquarters, allowed us to put Scheck away."
"Oh? But how come I never saw any mention of a 'Bridget' on any of the court documents pertaining to that matter? Nothing on any depositions or on any discovery documents? Nobody named Bridget was mentioned on any list of witnesses and— "
"Let's just say I've always valued my privacy." It was Bridget again, this time wheeling a cart into the area. "Here, these should serve your needs just perfectly."
She then went about explaining her selection. "Heckler and Koch G3A4, sliding stock cuts down on the overall length. Plus I swapped out the barrel for a heavier version. Shoots cooler, less recoil. Two drum mags, fifty rounds each instead of twenty."
Nice, thought Arnold in silent approval.
"Your sidearm," as she handed his Glock back to him. "I installed a compensator on it. Less recoil when shooting. And here. Two +2 mags, fifteen rounds instead of thirteen, plus your standard one, reloaded. That ought to be enough firepower. Now, this!" She focussed on the body armor on the trolley. Doesn't look like much," she pointed out, not without merit as the vest looked light and flimsy, barely capable of stopping a pellet shot. "But rated Level 4, able to stop a .50 BMG round. No bullshit; I tested it myself. Ain't adaptive nanotechnology a thing of wonder? You'll still feel the energy dump, so don't make catching big bullets a habit, OK? You'll be fine with 9mm, and rifle rounds. Again, don't make it a habit."
Arnold was deeply, profoundly impressed at how exactly Bridget had picked out his combat load and nodded to express as much. Just one thing, "Got any flashbangs I can use, maybe some two-way radios?"
Bridget's answer was to lift the body armor to reveal a trio of stun grenades, together with a similar number of radios units complete with earpieces. "Anything else?" she asked with a smirk.
"Actually, yes," Arnold said. "Not that I'm complaining right now, but how'd you go from back then to…this?"
Without sounding defensive, Bridget replied: "How's this any different from back then? I was always an arms dealer of sorts. I just upskilled and got with the times."
At this point, Phoebe had also become interested in Bridget's history and so joined in: "If I may ask, what prompted you to adapt your skill set?"
To which Bridget suddenly took on a mournful look. "Carelessness," she spoke as a reluctant admission. "Carelessness, and stupidity. About the same time The Sunset Arms went down, our base at the harbor was attacked. The whole thing was carried out by Santalov and his goons. The thing about that day…that's when I found out how kids' toys and trick accessories don't do shit against guns and bullets. They killed everyone that day. Except me."
Phoebe and Arnold recoiled at the recollection, bracing for worse to come.
"You know what you told me about Scheck teaming up with Santalov in prison? Turns out we never kept tabs on the penitentiaries. How naïve we all were, thinking prison would be the end of the matter. Scheck must have remembered me from when I slid down with the VCR, then sicced his Russian buddies on my organization. Anyway, once they rounded up and killed all my girls – a headshot for each of them with me watching helplessly – they had something special planned for me. Something that involved that bastard Santalov himself emptying seven 9mm rounds into my legs. Then they torched the base and the bodies and dumped me at the clinic with a note stapled to the one leg. 'Good luck saving these! #Smileyface.'
"Oh god, Bridget!" Phoebe winced at the description of the horror scene. "So they kept you alive only as a sign of contempt! But at least the doctors were able to save you, right?"
Bridget's mournful look did not go away as she recounted: "Most of me, anyway." For added effect, she held the metal cart steady before swinging her right leg hard against the metal. Instead of flesh hitting metal, her customers heard a clanging sound: hardened, toughened polycarbonate hitting the metal instead. "They saved the left, but the right…muscle damage, nerve damage…too severe, so they had to amputate."
Phoebe's reaction was one of distilled emotional contrition: "Bridget, please forgive me for prying the way I did. I didn't mean to—"
Bridget raised a hand to silence her. "Don't be! At least it's another way of knowing what you're up against as if you didn't already. Anyway, it didn't stop me. As soon as I was back on my foot – a little amputee humor there – I was back to keeping tabs on the slime of Hillwood. Even branched out into arms dealing. Eventually got the attention of Big Gino. He took me aboard, even settled my medical bills as a sign of good faith, basically he let me be me. And here we are."
"Bridget," began a solemn Arnold. "I don't think I'll ever be able to apologize enough for getting you involved with Scheck, but thank you so much for all you did, then and now."
"Aww, look!" commented a playful Bridget. "Soldier Boy still has a sentimental side! Look, none of this," she continued as she rapped against the prosthetic leg, "is on you. I'm the one who got careless, so only I get to feel sorry for myself!"
She noticed how Arnold's mood hadn't lightened. "But…if you insist on some token to show your remorse, then c'mere!" Again she moved before Arnold could react, so he couldn't stop Bridget from advancing up to him and kissing him long and sensually on the mouth, her provocative lips overloading his sensory faculties. "I knew I should have kissed you instead of your friend back then!" said Bridget once she was done.
She then turned to Phoebe, who she found mouth agape at this unexpected spectacle. "What's the matter? Feeling left out?"
With that said, she moved in on Phoebe to pinch her chin gently and administer a kiss of equal ardor to the one she just gave Arnold. When all was done, Bridget faced her flabbergasted clientele.
"And that concludes the transaction, Ladies and Gentlemen. Off you go!"
"I see you've met Bridget. She's something else, right?" he chuckled.
The armed guard at the exit smiled as he waved them on their way. They'd retrieved their phones and the Golf was now laden with Arnold's purchases. But what seemed to tickle the guard the most was the dazed expressions worn by the vehicle's occupants. Outward and onward they drove, in silence until Phoebe initiated the conversation.
"Well, that sure takes me back."
"What do you mean?" Arnold's curiosity quickly overcame him.
"Arnold, in the interest of full disclosure, I wish to revisit one particular aspect of my sexual history to which I previously alluded."
Oh, this might be interesting, thought Arnold.
"Go on," said Arnold.
"I mentioned a dalliance with one of my college lecturers. What I omitted was that the lecturer was a woman thirty years my senior. Oh, the techniques I learned from her during those two months…"
"So why'd you break up?" Arnold's curiosity hadn't abated.
"You mean, age difference and issues involving collegiate ethics notwithstanding? Truth is, I was going through something of an experimental phase. I won't say the relationship wasn't without its benefits, but ultimately I decided it wasn't for me. We parted ways amicably enough, and still correspond occasionally."
"That's…interesting," commented Arnold, somehow grateful that he had something other than the pending confrontation to ponder. "But really, I can't say I'm surprised."
"Excuse me?" Phoebe was thrown for the proverbial loop.
"I mean why anyone, man or woman, could fall for you. You probably don't realize how cute and sexy you sound when you use your advanced vocabulary. At least, that's how I see it. And besides, any relationship needs some mystery to keep things interesting."
"So, we're in a relationship, are we?" interposed Phoebe.
"Maybe not in the most conventional sense, but I'd like to think so," Arnold shot back.
"So would I, Arnold," a wishful Phoebe echoed his sentiments. "Very, very much."
"Tell you what. Once we're done with this nasty business, would you be interested in how long we can make us last and how interesting we can make it?"
The discussion may have maintained its current trajectory had both participants' phones not come to sudden beeping life to announce several texts, IM's and missed calls from Brainy. Suddenly, the reality struck them that the Scheck matter was yet to be finalized.
The common thread within Brainy's messages was that he and Arnie were assembled at his place and that they needed Arnold and Phoebe there as well, as soon as humanly possible. A feat Arnold accomplished easily enough despite a brief stopover at Phoebe's house.
For Phoebe, there was no sense of occasion upon realizing that Hillwood's finest CI was living so nondescriptly in a uniformly anonymous part of town. If not for the presence of a blue 300C parked outside the residence, she'd have lost it among several surrounding structures of similar design. Still, she concluded, the living arrangements would suit the needs of someone trading in secrets and sensitive information and thus required – indeed, couldn't function without – the ability to blend in almost anywhere.
Brainy let them in. He hardly noticed the satchel that Arnold had slung over his shoulder. He was more interested in where the fuck they'd been. Arnold's explanation detailed how they had reunited Olga with her mother, and also their visit to Bridget. Minus one or two aspects regarding the latter. Brainy seemed upset by their tardiness as he led them inside, where they found Arnie studying a real-time satellite feed.
"I still think you're fucking deluded," Brainy called to Arnie, which Arnold and Phoebe read as the resumption of an ongoing argument.
"OK, you two, what is it this time?" asked a weary Arnold as he gave a look to Phoebe telling her that the bickering between Brainy and Arnie was a regular event and that she'd do well to get used to it.
"It's Scheck, Arnold!" answered Brainy as he directed the visitors' to the screen. "He's at the harbor and he's having your kill zone set up. Know what he did to show he's serious this time?"
"He killed a group of civilians who just happened to be there?" Arnold responded, struggling to inhibit his bile and anger. "He sent me pictures after the fact."
"I knew he would. I saw the whole thing via satellite. He ordered the killing, stood there like they were nothing," mourned Brainy. "The shitty thing is, I've been hearing talk of Big Gino eating into the people Scheck owns, turning them over to his side. But still, Scheck has more than enough people left over on his side to make what he's done go away."
"It's worse than that," added Arnold as he turned to Phoebe, gesturing for her to explain further.
"That monster obtained my parents' address…" she paused and choked as the weight of the matter returned to her, threatening to overcome her. "And he's threatened to have them killed if Arnold fails to appear at the venue. By my estimate, we have about ninety minutes before he loses patience."
"OK, guys," Arnold was focussed back on Brainy and Arnie. "So why were you two at each other this time?"
Brainy began the explanation by pointing back at the satellite feed, He pointed out to Arnold and Phoebe the general layout of Scheck's designated meeting area. The four roving patrols, all in two-by-two cover formation, the stationary sentries guarding arterial walkways and other major foot traffic intersections and the unit designated to guard Scheck.
"…but most disturbing are these three." Brainy then zoomed out the picture and pointed out the three snipers, nested where they were, on a roughly two-hundred-yard radius from Scheck's location.
"And Bob Lee Swagger over here reckons he's got you covered…" he paused as he zoomed out even further and further still. "…from here!"
'Here' was a tall abandoned warehouse, situated six-hundred yards away, on the opposite bank of the Skookumchuck River, into whose mouth Hillwood Harbour was built.
"I can make those shots," Arnie answered, softly and confidently, not looking at those in his vicinity.
"Arnie, I tend to agree with Brainy's assessment," Phoebe weighed in. "The distance may be a little overwhelming and—"
"I have a full, uninterrupted line of sight. The target area is sufficiently lit for me. I can make…those…shots." Arnie repeated, no less calm but now his tone suggested an end to the argument.
"Guys, If Arnie says he can make the shot, then he can make it," Arnold vouched for his cousin, in whom he'd now have to trust his life. The seriousness of his endorsement was enough to ensure no further argument from Phoebe or Brainy. "Besides, I have enough faith in all of you to entrust you with my life."
And so re-emerged the tactician in Arnold. Arnie would provide sniper support. Phoebe was to be his spotter again, using the satellite feed.
"And Brainy…you monitor the police frequencies," because…of course he always did. "Plus, you need to work on another of your care packages."
"O-K?" queried Brainy. "Anything particular you had in mind?"
Arnold took this as his cue to open up the satchel to reveal a laptop, which he presented to Brainy. "Drone footage from the cemetery shootout, clearly showing yours truly as the intended victim."
"Also," quipped Phoebe, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, "recorded audio. Confessions from multiple parties that this was indeed an attempt on Arnold's life. Including an admission from none other than Scheck himself!"
"Then there's this," Arnold added as he held out Vasquez's phone. "Pictures he took of the people killed at the harbor."
Brainy smiled wickedly at this revelation. "I'll have a package in the Commissioner's inbox within the hour!"
"Actually, no! Can you send it to Big Gino instead?"
Brainy's smile disappeared. "And why him, Arnold?"
Phoebe answered on Arnold's behalf: "Think it through, Brainy. If the evidence comes from you, do you think they'll really act upon it? From what you told us about Gino, he seems to have more leverage and so anything he sends will carry more weight and urgency."
As usual, Phoebe's logic was infallible, and Brainy relented.
"OK, the clock is ticking. If you'll allow me, please?" announced Arnold before disappearing from the room. He soon re-emerged, wearing the body armor from Bridget and the overcoat from the cemetery encounter.
As Arnold and Arnie headed for the door, with Phoebe to see them off, Brainy remained behind to place another call.
"Brainy?" despite knowing his name, Sheena still addressed him by his nickname.
"Hello, Sheena," and Brainy always made a point to be polite with her whenever he could.
"Is this business or pleasure tonight?"
"Still business, sorry. Someday soon I hope for it to be the other option."
"OK, I'm in. But I'm holding you to that other option!"
"Listen, are you still on duty? Because I got wind you may have a patient within the next two hours. Hillwood Harbour. I'll let you know if and when it's a go."
"High risk?" Sheena asked, sounding wary.
"Not for you," Brainy reassured. "Never for you. For as long as I draw breath."
"You are such a footballhead!" said the blonde girl in the pink dress, from the passenger seat. "Always have been, always will be! A footballhead to the very end!"
Despite her harsh words, her tone was more down-hearted.
"I told you, getting revenge won't bring me back! And as much as I still love you and will continue to love you for all eternity, you need to put me in your past now!"
"It's no longer just about you," Arnold answered from the driving seat. "My birth country is now at risk. Phoebe's parents are now at risk. It's no longer about me wanting to do this. It's something I have to do."
"Do you always have to be the martyr in your own story?" the eleven-year-old Helga accused him. "Do you thrive on taking on too much, and failing?"
Arnold remained silent while concentrating on the road ahead.
"Oh, you're good at starting things but terrible at finishing! Mister Hyunh's daughter? Stumbled at the final hurdle. FTI? Failed in your original plan to retrieve the original document! San Lorenzo? Lost the Corazón and couldn't even insert a freaking locket in its place!"
"Luckily I always had you watching my back," Arnold didn't hesitate, answering as if Helga's words bounced right off him, which they did.
"Woah! You knew I helped find Mai?" Helga's apparition was taken aback. "How?"
"I didn't, and thanks for confirming that," replied Arnold as he smiled slyly at Helga. "And in any case, I'm not alone in this. I've got Phoebe, Brainy and Arnie helping me. Without any of them—"
"Yeah, I know!" pouted Helga. "You might as well shoot yourself now!"
"Still hanging on to my every word, even from the beyond."
"What can I say, my beloved?" she teased. Oh, how good she was at teasing. "Mine is love unbounded by such insignificant matters as life or death, time or space."
After that brief bit of cheerfulness, Helga returned to her original dour setting. "But seriously, my beloved, you gain nothing if you get yourself killed tonight. Two girls will be shattered beyond repair at your passing."
"I told you, I'm not dying tonight." His words reflected his resolve.
"I know, I've seen you come back from all sorts of impossible situations. It doesn't stop me from worrying about you. My only wish is for you to find someone who gives you the same love, kindness, acceptance, the same unbridled giddiness, that you gave me. Only for longer. Much longer, because you more than anyone needs to know again how it feels to love and be loved."
And on that note, Arnold had reached his destination: an isolated alley some distance away from Scheck and his army. He'd still have to leg it over the remaining distance, but at least his chances of detection would be greatly reduced, if not entirely eliminated.
He could only hope.
He exited the vehicle to retrieve the carbine from the trunk.
"Hey, can I ask you for a favor?" It was Helga, now stood behind him. He turned weapon in hand, to face her.
"Yes?"
"Well, I first need you to kneel down," she explained with trace amounts of shyness.
He was slightly confused. "Excuse me?"
"Well, I'm still not quite down yet with all the angelic techniques. I haven't quite mastered floating and hovering. You'd think living here would come with a manual or something. But what the hey, what's seventeen years against all eternity? Now kneel! Please?"
He obeyed and dropped to one knee, which brought him down to Helga's height. Helga then walked up to him, where she tentatively and slowly lifted a hand to his cheek. Amazingly, he felt her touch: her hand had taken on a corporeal form. He watched her hesitate, before slowly bringing her face closer to his, her lips closer. She closed her eyes as her lips made contact with his. Kissing an angel: it was happening, and his nerves were feeling every tingle from top to bottom. He closed his eyes to take in the moment, to savor it. He felt the smack of her lips pulling away. He opened his eyes to find her not there anymore.
"Please don't forget me, even when you find your closure and happiness."
Her words, spoken after her disappearance. Lingering in his mind. He picked himself up and locked the vehicle. There was work to do.
That's it, dearest readers: the end of another chapter! Finally, preparations are complete for the action climax to play out in the following chapter! As ever if you feel sufficiently moved, touched or otherwise compelled, please review. On a side note, I'm still trying to formulate a way of soliciting reviews that doesn't make me come across as entitled, arrogant, or in desperate need of external validation. But I can agree with another author whose story I'm following (Shoutout to KamG: thanks for your review, and 'Angry Love' rocks!) that reviews are 'written gold to a writer'.
Author's Note: By no means do I consider myself a gun nut, but I do believe in researching a topic to the best of my ability. My choice for the carbine was based primarily on the question: 'What rifle would Arnold the soldier use?' After reading through my entire run of 'Punisher Armory' issues and watching several Youtube videos, I settled on something simple, nondescript, effective and reliable.
Author's Note #2: The word 'cemetery' is quite painful for me. Just under three years ago, I entered a general knowledge quiz hosted by a local radio station. I won it, but during the final round I was asked to spell the word 'Cemetery', which I spelled 'C-E-M-E-T-A-R-Y'. Despite that blunder, I held on for the win and have been kicking myself ever since for that misspelling.
Author's Note #3: I was inspired by the final scene with Arnold and Helga by two anime titles. The first one is 'Sola' - which I highly and thoroughly recommend. In it are two characters: a young girl about Helga's age who is unable to age, and her 30-something companion who was her childhood friend. Not nearly as questionable as it sounds! The second inspiration was 'Armitage III' - an oldie but a goodie - which featured a couple with a similar dilemma in their age difference. Again, not at all as inappropriate as it sounds!
Author's Note #4: I hope the payoff with Big Gino's 'guy' from Chapter 11 ( to be replaced by 'her' in Chapter 19) was worth the wait.
And finally, the Spotify list for this chapter:
Optimistic - Radiohead
Are You Man Enough? - The Four Tops
Man - Level 42
Riders On The Storm - The Doors
Hurt - Johnny Cash
HelGa. - Phony Ppl
Football Head - Flamingosis
Hold on My Heart - Genesis
Carousel - Dave Weckl & Jay Oliver
And that's it for now. Do join me next time!