A/N: Here are some things I don't own: an iPhone, any music by Nickelback, the Chicago White Sox, and the rights to Chuck.

Chapter 2

Contrary to what you may have heard, there are a lot of great places to while away an afternoon in the Burbank area. In my younger days, I used to enjoy spending time at one arcade or another. Of course, for me my younger days went on until age 27, so I'd have to say that I am experienced enough to say that the Burbank Hall of Records is not one of those great places.

And yet here I am.

If Chuck were helping me with this, he'd have probably figured out a way to find the information I wanted just by using a laptop, and he'd have been able to do it on his couch watching old X-Files reruns. But Chuck can't help me on this, which is why I'm flipping through old books covered in more dust than the exercise equipment in my bedroom.

The good news is that my efforts seem to have paid off. The shopping centre where my former place of employment stands was actually owned by a holding company named Hammaker Properties. I'd remembered Big Mike ranting about them on occasion, so I was able to remember the name and find the appropriate records fairly quickly. Sure enough, Hammaker Properties owned the land covering the entire shopping center, with the exception of one 800-square foot block.

The 800 square feet, to be exact, that the now vacant Orange Orange stands.

According to the records, the site had been owned by Hammaker until two years ago. The land had been leased by several companies through the years, including an automated photo developer, a Mexican restaurant, and a novelty t-shirt store. Unfortunately, while I could find a record of the property being sold, I couldn't find a thing about who it was sold to.

I looked up at the front desk, and decided I wouldn't find any help there. The woman manning the desk (and from her appearance, I do mean "manning") had no interest in helping me with my endeavor. She had already given me the evil eye earlier when I had cracked open my grape soda, and I got the sense the visitors were only tolerated for a very short while. Clearly, the Hall of Records was meant to be taken for granted, and not actually visited.

I flipped through a few other books, and found a few other references to Hammaker Properties, but nothing about the sale. I managed to find a book of licensed business in the area, and wasn't exactly shocked to find that there were a large number of yogurt shops in the greater Burbank area. But none named Yogurt Yogurt. I didn't see any references to Weinerlicious either, but I didn't look too hard for one, fearing the type of establishments I might find.

I decided to try a different tactic.

Once I ducked out of the main records room, I opened the first unlocked door I could find, and entered. It was a supply closet, not exactly cozy, but it would serve for my purpose.

I dug out my cell phone and entered in the number I had jotted down in the other room. After a couple a rings, a woman's voice answered, "Hammaker Properties, this is Sheila."

"G'day Sheila, I'd like to talk to you about some of property that you blokes own."

I admit, I'd panicked, and an Australian accent was the first thing that came to me.

To my surprise, she didn't hang up. "Of course, Mr…"

I racked my brain for a minute. "A Mr. Dundee…Gibb." I really need to work on my improvisation skills.

"Of course, Mr. Gibb. Could you tell me which of our holdings you would like to know more about?"

"Why, I believe you own the property around that Buy More in Burbank?"

"That is correct." From the tone of her voice, she still didn't seem to suspect anything.

"Well, I just happened to notice there is a storefront that is currently vacant. I believe it used to house some sort of yogurt shop. I'd like to know if I can purchase it."

"I see." I thought I detected a slight shift in her tone. After a moment, she said, "Hammaker Properties does not own that property any more."

"No worries, Sheila. Perhaps you could tell me who the current owner is. It is such a shame to leave such a prime area vacant."

"I'm afraid I can't give you that information."

The woman sounded reluctant, so I decided to press on.

"Oh Sheila, Sheila. You're making me sad. You don't even have a number I could call?"

There was silence for a minute. "You sound so nice. Has anybody ever told you that you sound like Hugh Jackman?"

I had actually been going for Russell Crowe. Still, close enough. Maybe taking drama in high school was a good idea after all.

"You're sweet, Sheila. So can you help a poor Aussie out?"

"I think I have an address here. It's been crossed out, but I can kind of read it. It looks like…129 Blackmoor Avenue, Glendale, CA."

I couldn't believe this had worked. "You're amazing, Sheila, you know that. If you're ever in my home country…"

"So what part of Australia are you from, Mr. Gibb?"

"Um, Sydney."

"Really, I was just in Sydney last year. Which part?"

I realized things were going downhill. "Well you know, Sheila, that's a funny story. I'll tell you…Wait is that a kangaroo coming at me? Gotta go!" I hung up quickly.

It was too late in the day to check out the Glendale address, so I decided I needed to share my moment of triumph with somebody that would appreciate it. Unfortunately, that person didn't answer the door when I knocked.

"Hello Morgan."

"Hey Devon," I said, nodding at Captain Awesome. I still think of him as Captain Awesome, even though the last few months had aged him as much as it had any of us. He still looked like a "Men's Fitness" model compared to most of us, but he had clearly lost something. Still, it hardly seemed fair of me to refer to him as "Captain Above Average."

"Is Ellie here?"

"No she's not. She's at work."

"That's too bad. I've got some good news for her. I've got a lead on, you know."

Devon stepped out of the house, and shut the door behind him. "I don't think it's such a good idea for you to talk to her, man. She's had such a tough time these past few months. Now that she's finally made some progress, starting to work at the Children's Center, I just don't want her being dragged down again."

Normally, I'd resent being insulted by him, given our rivalry over the same woman. But, I suppose I could understand the concern in the eyes that were staring back at me. Ellie had been in bad shape after the accident. They'd taken Chuck to her hospital, but there had been no chance to save him at that point. She'd hadn't been on duty at the time, but that hadn't stopped her from torturing herself with guilt. She'd left the hospital shortly after the funeral. A couple of months ago she'd started working at a clinic for underprivileged children in downtown LA. Perhaps she was putting the past behind her. I still wanted to talk to her, but I could see that Awesome wasn't going to help me. I couldn't blame him.

"Alright Devon, I understand. Give her my best." I turned around and headed back to the parking lot. I heard the door shut behind me.

As I reached my car, I found two uniforms waiting for me. I recognized both of them.

"Well, if it isn't Morgan Grimes. Long time no see," the male officer said.

I looked them over. I could tell this wouldn't be a fun conversation. "Officer Wallace," I nodded at the female officer. "Officer Gromit," I said to the male.

"That's Grimmeault."

"Right. Sorry, Grimmeault. Is there something I can help you with?"

"We were just hoping we could have a nice conversation," Wallace replied.

I shrugged. "Why not?" I didn't exactly have evening plans.

"Not here. We were hoping we could head down to the station for a bit." Grimmeault gestured towards the squad car parked a few feet down.

This didn't sound good. "I suppose," I said warily. "Could I ask what this is about?"

Wallace studied me for a moment as we stepped to the car. Finally she said, "We'd like to talk to you about your buddy Emmett Milbarge."