Disclaimers:  All the standard disclaimers apply.  No copyright infringement is intended.  Early Edition and its characters belong to Sony/Tristar, CBS, and anyone else who claims to own them.  No profit is being made from this story; it is for entertainment purposes only, yada, yada, yada.  I do, however own Zachary Dimmers, Joseph Gallihan, Betsy Gallihan, David Wilson, Nancy Johnston, and Ryan Philman.
 
Rating: PG

Spoilers: Up Chuck, and Fatal Edition

Summary:  What does Gary do when his secret will be exposed in tomorrow's newspaper?  How does he keep his name out of the paper?  What does he do when the article changes and says the reporter responsible for the article will be murdered and Gary will get the blame?  This story takes place in what would have been Early Edition's fifth season.

This story is dedicated to the memory of Sparky, Chuck's goldfish, who Gary tragically flushed down his toilet in the episode Frostbit.

And now, with out further adieu, A City’s Heart and Soul.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A City's Heart and Soul
by Teresa LaBlynn

“Meow”

Flop

“Good morning Chicago!  It’s going to be a sunny, fall day today!  Highs in the mid sixt-” flip.  Gary Hobson rolled over and hit the “off” button on his clock-radio, and threw his pillow over his head, preparing to catch an extra five minutes of sleep when the cat started meowing like crazy at the top of his lungs.  Gary sat bolt upright and was out of bed in a flash.  It only took him a second longer to reach the door to his loft and throw it open.  The cat was, as usual, perched atop tomorrow’s edition of the Chicago Sun-Times, but he was glaring up at Gary.  There was an evil growl deep in his throat.

“What’s wrong with you,” Gary asked the creature, looking down at him.  “Cough up a fur-ball or something?”

The cat merely continued to glare at him, so Gary reached down to pick up the paper.  At this, the cat swatted his paws at him as if trying to attack him.

“What’s the matter with you?”  Gary asked the cat, totally confused by his behavior.  The cat often acted like that if Chuck tried to get his hands on the paper, but he never acted that way to him, except for the time two years ago when Gay nearly became tomorrow’s headline for his good deeds, but in the end everything worked out all right, and Gary got out of the paper.  Gary carefully grabbed the paper from under the cat, avoiding his paws.  The cat then just stalked away down the stairs.  Gary stared down at the cat walking away for a second, perplexed, then he glanced down at the front page of the paper, suddenly realizing what the cat was so angry about.  To his horror, for the second time in his life, Gary read the headline “Chicago’s Secret Samaritan,” and saw a picture of himself catching a two year old child that had fallen out a four story apartment building.

------------------------------

Gary quickly flipped to the page of the article and read it aloud to himself.  “Oh no!” he said when he was finished and looked up from the paper.  Gary saw the cat sitting on the floor in front of him no longer with that venomous glare in his eyes but with a look that quite plainly asked, “So, what are you going to do about it?”  Gary suddenly jumped from his spot in the doorway and ran downstairs.  When he reached the office he found Marissa there working on McGinty’s records.

“Marissa,” Gary said as he came in.

“Gary,” Marissa said, worried at Gary’s voice.  “Are you all right?”

"I’m not going to be if I can’t do something about it,” Gary said.

“Gary, what’s wrong?” Marissa asked, the worry in her voice increasing.

“Listen to this,” Gary said and he began reading the article.
 

Many Chicagoans owe their lives to the mystery man of Chicago.  This is a man who would risk his own life for a complete stranger.  This is a man who would then just disappear off into the sunset.  But Chicago’s hero is no Superman, or Lone Ranger.  He is a Regular Joe named Gary Hobson.  Hobson, owner of McGinty’s Bar and Grill, is a regular Chicagoan, but a Chicagoan with a deep secret.  It always seems to happen that whenever a disaster is going to happen, here comes Hobson.  Though Hobson says he is just in the right place at the right time, it seems more than a coincidence that he is able to be in the right place at the right time for so many disasters.  Even the Chicago P.D. hasn’t been able to figure Hobson out.  Many witnesses, however, have noted that Hobson is never seen without his copy of the Chicago Sun-Times, and is often seen reading it at odd moments, such as right before, or after a near accident.  This is because Hobson’s newspaper is not all it seems.  Hobson does not have the ability to see the future, as many speculate, he has the ability to read the future.  It is not yet explained how, but somehow, everyday, Gary Hobson is delivered a copy of the Chicago Sun-Times a day early, and he spends his day running around Chicago saving complete strangers form terrible fates.  Another amazing characteristic about Hobson is that he could be the richest man in the world, having all the stocks tips, sports scores, and even having the winning lottery numbers before they are even picked, right at his fingertips, but Hobson doesn’t use his early edition to make a penny.  He only uses it to help complete strangers.  You may think I’m crazy, writing a story about a man getting something as impossible as tomorrow’s newspaper today, but I’ve seen Hobson’s amazing newspaper, and seen him saving to many lives to count.  Don’t dismiss my claims immediately.  Just watching these facts is enough to make you believe the impossible is possible.

Gary looked up from the paper and saw Marissa’s eyes wide with shock and horror.

“My God, Gary.  You have to do something about it,” she managed to get out.

“Yes, but what?” he asked.  “This Zachary Dimmers already knows about the paper.”

“Who?” Marissa asked.

“Zachary Dimmers,” Gary repeated.  “He’s the man that wrote the article.  I mean this isn’t something you suddenly think of.  A story like this could cost a man his carrier.”

“But what can you do?” Marissa asked.

“I guess I start with Zachary Dimmers.” Gary said, and headed back up towards his loft to finish getting dressed, leaving Marissa to imagine what will happen to her friend if he can’t stay out of the paper.

------------------------------

An hour later Gary was searching the Sun-Times building for Zachary Dimmers when he ran into Morris, the Archivist.

“Mr. Hobson?” Morris asked.  “Been a long time.  Might I ask what brings you here?”

“I was, uh, looking for a reporter named Zachary Dimmers.”

“His office is on the third floor.  When you get off the elevator, turn right and go down that hall, it’s the last door on the left.  And do I want to know what you want with Dimmers?”

“Probably not,” Gary said.

“Figured not,” Morris said.  “Is there anything else I can help you with Mr. Hobson?”

“No, that’s all,” Gary said, then added, “Thanks Morris.”

“Any time,” Morris said, walking away.  “Any time.”

Gary went over to the elevator and pushed the up button.  A minute later the elevator dinged and the doors opened.  He pushed the button for the third floor.  When the doors opened Gary got out and turned right down the hall.  He stopped at the last door on the left and knocked.

“Come in.” a voice called behind the door.  Gary saw a man that appeared to be in his late 40s, early 50s.  His once dark brown hair was now almost white.  “Hello, I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said while typing away on his computer, working on a story.  Gary, however, started talking before Zachary Dimmers had looked up at him.

“Zachary Dimmers, I don’t know you, but you seem to know me.  I’m Gary Hobson.”

This, however, got Dimmer’s attention, and he looked up at Gary, eyes wide with shock.  “Mr. Hobson,” was all Dimmers managed to say.  Gary just glared down at Dimmers, then abruptly turned and shut the office door that had been left open behind him.  Gary turned back to Dimmers and walked over to the edge of his desk.

“Mr. Dimmers,” Gary said, his voice barley above a whisper.  “It seems you have been writing a story about me.  Care to explain?”

“No, as a matter of fact I don’t,” Dimmers retorted, seeming to have put up a good defense once he got over the shock of seeing the man he was just finishing up his story about standing in front of him.

“Well I do,” Gary shot back, his voice rising.  “I want to know why you think you have the right to ruin my life.”

“Well, it’s obvious,” Dimmers said simply.  “You’re an excellent subject for a story, and I’m a reporter.  It all falls together from there.”

Gary, determined not to let his temper get the better of him, lowered his voice back to barely above a whisper, and asked, “How did you find out?”

“About what?” Dimmers asked innocently.

“About the paper!” Gary yelled, making Dimmers jump while pulling the paper out of his back pocket and slamming it down on Dimmers’ desk, allowing the paper to flop open to the front page where Dimmers read his headline, “Chicago’s Secret Samaritan,” and saw the picture of Gary saving the two year old that had fallen from the four story building.

“Ah, yes, the paper,” Dimmers said in a venomous whisper.  With that Dimmers picked up the paper, attempting to get a closer look at it.

“I don’t think so!” Gary said sharply and yanked the paper out of Dimmers hand.

“Take it easy,” Dimmers said.  “I’m not going to steal your precious paper.”  There was a few moments silence then Dimmers abruptly started talking again.  “You see, Mr. Hobson.”

“It’s Gary,” Gary said automatically.

“Gary,” Dimmers repeated.  “It all starts about twenty years ago with a man named Lucius Snow.”

“Snow,” Gary mumbled, which stopped Dimmers from his story.

“So, you knew Lucius Snow?”

“I know who he was,” Gary said simply, inviting Dimmers to continue his story.

“About twenty years ago I was at the peek of my carrier.  I was first to just about any story in the paper, except for one man.  No matter how fast I got there, Lucius Snow always beat me.  It was like he knew something was going to happen, so he could get there before anyone else.  At first I didn’t know who he was, but after doing some investigating I learned he was a typesetter for the very same newspaper I worked for.  I learned some odd things about this man.  I learned that he seemed to be able to set the type a whole day in advance, and even though he was always able to get to stories before me, he never wrote one story for the paper.  I never did find out how Lucius Snow knew what he knew.  But then, two years ago, I first saw you at work.  You seemed to work the same way Snow did.  Always the first to arrive, but the first to leave, and you never take any credit for anything.  After about two years of investigating, it seems I finally got you and Snow figured out, doesn’t it?”

Gary stared at Dimmers in stunned disbelief.  How had he been able to figure out about the paper, when nobody else had?  How? How? How would he be able to get himself out of this?  Gary’s thoughts were interrupted when Dimmers spoke again.

“Now that you’re here, Hobson, I have a few questions for you.  First of all, why do you only use your paper to help complete strangers, most of which, don’t even say ‘thank you’?”

Gary stared at Dimmers for a moment in total disbelief that he was actually asking him such a question about the paper and expected him to answer.  “No comment,” Gary said simply, but with anger in his voice.  Abruptly Gary turned and headed towards the door.

“Where are you going, Mr. Hobson?” Dimmers said to Gary’s retreating back.  “You have another fire to put out?  Or is it just a kid stepping in front of a speeding car?

“Hah hah,” Gary said in a sarcastic laugh.  “No, actually I’m going to be spending my day trying to keep this headline out of the paper,” he said tapping the front page of the Sun-Times with his index finger.  “As you might have noticed, I’m not getting anywhere with you.”

“You’ll be wasting your time then,” Dimmers said in a mock, sad voice.  “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.  You should just accept your fate.”

Gary suddenly looked strait and hard into Dimmers’ eyes, and spoke even harder, “I’ve never just accepted fate, and I’m not going to start now.”  Gary stared into Dimmers’ cold, gray eyes for just a moment longer before continuing, but this time, talking in barely more that a whisper.  “Don’t you understand?  If you print this article, I won’t be able to help the people I do.”

“Not my problem,” Dimmers said simply, but not quite meeting Gary’s eyes as he did so.

Gary stared at Dimmers for a moment or two then said in a the same quiet voice, “Someday you’re going to wake up from this dream of yours, and realize the world doesn’t revolve around you and your stories, and when you do, you’ll be lost, because you never took the time to realize what life is really about.”  With that, Gary turned and left the room, leaving Dimmers to understand what Gary just told him.

------------------------------

“Oh, what am I going to do,” Gary sighed to himself, sitting down on the steps outside the Sun-Times building, head resting on his arms, the paper dangling from his right hand.  Gary nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a loud meow beside his head, attracting some odd looks from passers-by.  “What are you doing here, Cat?” Gary said looking down at the orange tabby, annoyed.  The cat just meowed again and rubbed against the paper still dangling from Gary’s right hand.  “Yeah, I suppose I should check the rest of the paper.”  Gary had been so worried about the story about him that he didn’t even think about the rest of the paper.  A few minutes later Gary had been through the paper twice, and all he found was one article that needed his attention and it didn’t happen for several hours yet.  It said ten year-old Daniel Wilson would be hit by a drunk driver outside his home when he ran into the street.  The article said the drunk driver was arrested, but his name has been withheld by police.  “Well,” Gary said looking at the cat, “at least you gave me time to try to figure out how to get myself out of the paper.”  The cat responded by rubbing against Gary’s legs.

“Hobson, was I imagining it, or were you just talking to the cat?”

“Molly,” Gary said looking up into the familiar face of Molly Green.  “What are you doing here?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I work here.  On the other hand, what are you doing here, besides talking to cats?

“Huh?  Oh, I was, uh, here to see a reporter.”

“Who is this reporter that has you so worried you are talking to cats?”

“Enough with the cats already!”

“All right, take it easy,” Molly said defensively.  “So, who is this reporter?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Maybe.”  There was a moment’s pause; Gary didn’t comment, so Molly continued.  “Anyway, I’ve got to get to work, so see you later Hobson.”

“Yeah, bye,” Gary said, still distracted by the front-page headline on the paper he held in his hand.  Then, he suddenly had a thought.  “Hey, Molly!” Gary called, jumping up and running to catch up with her.  “Molly,” Gary said again, catching up with her at the top of the stairs where she stopped and waited when she heard her name called.  “Can I ask you something?”

“Can I stop you?”

“No,” Gary said easily.  Molly began walking towards her desk and Gary started to talk.  “Um, how would, uh, how would I go, go about trying to, to stop a reporter from, uh, from printing a story?”  Gary nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he talked.

Molly turned and stared at Gary.  “Hobson, what are you saying?” but she was interrupted by Morris.

Ms. Green, here are those files you asked for.”

“Thanks Morris,” Molly said, taking the files Morris offered her.

Morris turned towards Gary and said, “Mr. Hobson, how did your meeting with Mr. Dimmers go?”

“Not all that great Morris.”

“I’m sorry to here that, but I must be going.  Goodbye Mr. Hobson, Ms. Green,” Morris turned to acknowledge Molly, then turned and left.

“Yeah, see you Morris,” Gary called to Morris’ retreating back.

Gary turned back to Molly as she began talking.  “So, let me get this strait.  You want me to tell you how to stop Zachary Dimmers from running an article in the paper, presumably about you?”

“That about sums it up.”

“Sorry, can’t help you there,” Molly said turning towards her desk.

“Please, Molly, I need your help,” Gary pleaded, following Molly to her desk.

“Look Hobson, I may be able to charm a lot of people in this building, but Zachary Dimmers is not one of them.  Once he decides to print a story, there is no talking him out of it.  I like you.  Except for that weirdness about you, you’re a great guy, so let me give you some advice, don’t tick Dimmers off, if you do, he can dig up more dirt on you faster than you can fry on top the Sears Tower on the 4th of July.”

“Thanks for the tip Molly, but I think you’re a little late.”

“Your up the creek without a paddle,” Molly commented.

“Oh, thanks Molly,” Gary said sarcastically.

“Hobson,” Molly suddenly said, sounding suspicious.  “How do you know Dimmers is writing a story about you anyway?”

“Never mind that, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Oh, I think it does,” said a far less welcoming voice.  “But, nevertheless, she’ll know tomorrow."

“Not if I can help it, Dimmers,” Gary replied dryly.

“So that’s what this is all about,” Molly said in acknowledgement, crossing her arms.  “Dimmers found out how Hobson some how knows the things he knows and he wants to print this story in tomorrow’s paper?”  Molly looked at Dimmers, who simply nodded.  “And Hobson doesn’t want this story in the paper.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Gary said, glaring at Dimmers, who turned and started to leave.

“By the way, Hobson, it would be wise to follow Molly’s advice,” Dimmers said over his shoulder, as he headed towards his office.

As soon as Dimmers was out of earshot Molly let out a sigh and said, “That guy drives me crazy!”

“Yeah,” Gary agreed, “me too.  Is there anyway you can help me?”

“Look Hobson, I don’t know what exactly Dimmers wrote about you, and at this point, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Trust me, you don’t,” Gary interrupted.

“But,” Molly said, picking up where she was cut off, “there is nothing I can do.”

“There is nothing you can do?  Nothing at all?”  Gary asked desperately.

“There is nothing I can do, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, sometimes, if certain stories make it to the paper, the police have been known to influence the press not to print.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it.  The police?  Don’t even go that way.  They already think I’m crazy.  I’m not about to go there."

“Hey, your choice Hobson, but it’s not me that’s going to be tomorrow’s headline, and that’s the only thing I know to do.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.  I guess it’s my only hope at staying out of the paper.  I know a couple of cops that don’t think I’m totally insane; maybe I’ll have some luck with them.  Bye.”

Gary turned to leave but stopped when he heard Molly call after him.  “Hey Hobson, good luck.”

Gary smiled a weak smile.  “Thanks,” he said then headed out of the building to the only place he knew to go, the Chicago Police Department.

------------------------------

Gary stepped out of his cab in front of District four of the Chicago P.D. muttering to himself, “What am I doing here?”  Gary tossed his fair through the open passenger window, telling the cabbie to keep the change.  Gary then headed up the stairs feeling he was going to regret this decision.  Gary walked up to the officer at the desk, and without even looking up from the paper work he was doing, asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Um, I would like to see Detective Brigatti.”

“Out,” the officer replied simply.

“Okay, how about Detective Armstrong?”

“Out,” the officer said again.

“Do you know when they will be back?”

“Knowing Brigatti and Armstrong,” the officer said, finally looking up from his paper work, “there is no telling.  What does it matter, anyway?  There are plenty of other detectives in their jurisdiction, why not go to one of them?”

“I sort of know them,” Gary said.

The officer started to replay, but he was interrupted by a gust of wind from the front doors opening, and muffled voices.  As the door shut, he heard a familiar voice saying, “…and get me those files.”  Gary turned around and found himself face to face with Toni Brigatti.  “Hobson,” she said, startled by his sudden appearance.

“Brigatti,” Gary said back.

“What are you doing here, Hobson?” Brigatti asked suspiciously.

“As a matter of fact, I came because I need your hel-,” but Brigatti cut him off.

“Not today Hobson, I have a major case to work on, and I already have a headache, and I don’t need you turning it into a migraine.”

Gary heard a stifled laugh from the officer behind him.  He just ignored it; he had more important issues to discuss.  Brigatti, however, did not.  She looked past Gary at the officer and said, “Hey, McClellan, you mind keeping your nose out of other people’s business and getting back to your work?”

“Oh, uh, yes ma’am, I mean no ma’am,” Officer McClellan said as Brigatti passed him and headed for her office, Gary in tow.

“Please, Brigatti, I need your help,” Gary begged as they reached her office.

Brigatti turned abruptly to Gary, “Five minutes, Hobson, I’m not guaranteeing anything, but you’ve got five minutes."  Gary followed her into her office where she shut the door behind her. “So, what is it Hobson?” Brigatti said, crossing her arms, looking up at Gary.

“Okay,” Gary said to himself.  “This is it.”  He took a breath and said, “Molly said if I wanted to get a story out of the paper I should come to see you, that you could stop the story from printing.”  Gary took another breath, not realizing he had said all that in one breath.

“Whoa, Hobson, slow down.  First of all, who’s this Molly?”

“Molly Green, a reporter for the Sun-Times.”

“A reporter?” Brigatti said.  Gary nodded mutely.  “Figures,” Brigatti muttered.

“What?” Gary said.

“Nothing,” Brigatti replied back.  “She sent you to me?”

“No, she just sent me to the police and since I know you I figured…”

“I'm touched.”

“Brigatti, please.”

“Okay, you want me to stop a reporter from printing a story, right?”

“Right.”

“And this story is about you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry Hobson, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“But Molly said you…”

“Look Hobson, Molly is wrong.  The only time the police can stop a story from coming out is if it compromises a case, and often enough, the story comes out anyway.  I’m sorry Hobson.”

Gary sighed a heavy sigh.  He knew she was right.  “Thanks Brigatti,” he said and turned to leave.

“Hey Hobson,” Brigatti called, “It’s important huh?”

“Yeah,” Gary said turning around again to face Brigatti.

“Well, I’ve seen you get out of worse situations than this.  You’ll find a way.”

“I hope so,” Gary said turning and leaving Brigatti’s office, shutting the door behind him.

“Good luck,” Brigatti whispered several moments later.

------------------------------

Gary sat down on the steps outside the police station, and heaved the lowest, most depressed sigh imaginable.  “Hey, Cat,” Gary said to the orange tabby that suddenly appeared at his feet.  “Meow,” the cat said softly and started rubbing his head agent Gary’s left hand.  The cat suddenly bit him on the wrist and Gary let out a painful yelp.  “What was that for?” he asked the cat angrily.  Gary looked at his wrist and saw he wasn’t bleeding.  “You should have aimed a little higher, then you would have just gotten my watch.  Watch!”  Gary suddenly realized something.  Time.  Daniel Wilson.  Gary reached into his back pocket and grabbed the paper and flipped to the page where it said Daniel Wilson would be killed by a drunk driver.  Gary jumped up and hailed a taxi when he realized he had less than an hour to get across town to save Daniel.  “Thanks Cat,” Gary called over his shoulder as a cab pulled up to the curb.

------------------------------

“Could we go a little faster?” Gary said to the cab driver, looking at his watch, then at the paper, checking the time of the hit.  “Come on,” Gary said desperately, “I’ve only got five minutes.”

“Just sit tight, we’re almost there,” the cabbie said with a heavy accent Gary didn’t recognize.

A few minutes later the cab pulled up next to the curb in front of Daniel’s house.  Gary jumped out of the cab only to hear the cabbie yell, “Hey, you owe me $17.86!”  Gary skidded to a halt, yanked out his wallet, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and threw it through the window. Then he ran toward the boy running towards the street, not worrying or caring about the change.

“Daniel!” Gary called, “Daniel Wilson! Don’t go into the street!  Daniel!”

Daniel stopped on the sidewalk and looked up when he heard his name and saw a man running towards him.  Gary reached Daniel just as a swerving car whizzed past.  “Are you all right, Daniel?” Gary gasped

Daniel looked at Gary for a moment, then with a mischievous look on his face said, “I’m not suppose to talk to psychotic maniacs,” then he ran off back towards his house.

“Weird kid,” Gary mumbled while checking to make sure the article had disappeared.  He was relieved it had.  Gary folded
the paper and stuffed it in his back pocket; not realizing the story about Daniel wasn’t the only story that had changed.

------------------------------

Not knowing what else to do about the paper, Gary went back to McGinty’s, and was glad he did so, as he was starving.  It was almost three o’clock already and he hadn’t had anything to eat at all today, in his rush out of McGinty’s to see Dimmers.  When he got to McGinty’s Marissa was frantic, “Are you sure he hasn’t been in yet?” she was asking the bartender.

“Positive,” he said, serving up a drink.

“Marissa,” Gary called.

“Gary, where have you been?  I was so worried about you.  The way you took off this morning and you didn’t call or anything.”

“You’re right,” Gary said, “I should have called, but, as you know, my mind has been a little preoccupied today.”  Gary led Marissa into the kitchen so he could get something to eat, then they went into the office for some privacy.

“So what happened, Gary?” Marissa asked.

“Well, firsh I wen to shee Demmurs.  Zat was a mesh.  Ten I…”

“Gary,” Marissa interrupted him, “Don’t talk while your mouth is full.  Eat your sandwich and tell me what happened, but not at the same time!”

“Sorry,” Gary said, swallowing his last bite of sandwich, “After I saw Dimmers I ran into Molly Green, you know, the Sun-Times reporter?”  Gary continued with Marissa’s nod.  “Well, she suggested I might try the police.  With no other alternative, I went to see Brigatti, but she couldn’t help either.  After that I barely made it across town in time to save a ten year old kid from being flattened by a drunk driver.”

“Gary!” Marissa said shocked at the way Gary was talking about the kid.

“What?” Gary asked confused.

“Never mind.  Did you check the paper again?”

“What?”

“Well, there could be a clue you missed before.”

“I didn’t miss anything before,” Gary said, pulling out the paper and turning to the front page.  Gary started talking again, but immediately stopped when he caught sight of the headline.

“What is it?” Marissa asked.

“The headline.  It changed.”

“That’s great Gary,”

“No, no it’s not.”

“What do you mean?”  What’s wrong?”  Marissa’s voice was full of concern.

“The headline,” Gary said, “Reporter Found Slain in Sun-Times Building.”

“My God, Gary,” Marissa gasped.  “You have to do something about it.”

“Yeah, I have to do something about it, because if I don’t, I’ll be arrested for murdering Dimmers.”

“What!”  Marissa was struck with shock and horror.

Gary answered her question by reading the article.
 

Yesterday evening at 5:35 Zachary Dimmers was found dead in his office at the Chicago Sun-Times building.  Dimmers took a gunshot wound to the chest and apparently died immediately.  Although there was a lack of evidence at the crime scene, the police already have a suspect in custody.  Thirty-six year old Gary Hobson was arrested yesterday outside the Sun-Times building shortly after Dimmer’s body was found.  Details are still sketchy, but it is believed that Hobson, a local bar owner, killed Dimmers over an article he was writing about him.  At this point we don’t know if Hobson killed Dimmers, or if we will be repeating last winter’s events when Hobson was wanted for the murder of Frank Scanlon, and, while on the run, uncovered a murder for higher operation, exposing a dirty cop and clearing his name.

“God, Gary, you have to stop this.  Gary?” Marissa asked again when he didn’t answer.  There still wasn’t an answer.  “Gary!”

“I know who did it.” Gary said in a low voice.  “Or who’s going to do it.”

“Who?” Marissa asked surprised.

“I don’t know who he is exactly, but he is the drunk driver that was going to kill that boy, Daniel Wilson.”

“Are you sure Gary?”

“Who else could it be?  A drunk driver was going to kill a ten-year-old boy and be arrested; I save the boy, stopping the driver from hitting him.  Stopping the driver from being arrested.  His intention when he was going to hit that boy could have been to kill Dimmers all along.  Now I gave him the chance to do it.”

“Gary, don’t talk like that.  You saved that boy’s life, that’s nothing to regret.”

“I know, just, what can I do?”

“You could try going and talking to Dimmers.  He knows about the paper, he’ll believe you.”

“I hope so,” Gary said, opening the office door.

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“What?  Oh, nothing.  Listen, I’m going to try to talk to Dimmers.  I’ll try to call you.”

“Please, Gary,” Marissa called, “be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” Gary said taking her hands in his.  “I will.”

With that, Gary left, leaving the office door open.  Marissa could hear his footsteps fading away, leaving worry in their wake.

------------------------------

A half hour later Gary arrived at the Sun-Times building.  He headed strait for Dimmers’ office.  Gary was desperate for time.  He had only two hours before Dimmers would be found dead, and no telling how long he would be dead before he would be found.  Gary got to Dimmers’ office and knocked loudly on his door.  Dimmer’s response to come in was a breath of life to Gary, just knowing he wasn’t too late, and Dimmers was still alive.  Gary opened the door and went in, closing it as soon as he stepped inside.  When Gary looked up at Dimmers he saw he seemed surprised to see him.

Dimmers got over his surprise quickly and said, “So, what are you doing back here, Hobson?”

“I’m saving your butt,” Gary said, then added, “and mine.”

“What?” Dimmers asked.

“You’ve got to get out of here,” Gary said.

“I’m not going anywhere.  I have a story to submit, if you’ve forgotten”

“Well, it’s not going to make it.”

“What?  I saw that paper of yours.  My story was on the front page.”

“Exactly, was.”  You’re going to be shot.”

“What?!” Dimmers said in a high-pitched voice, his eyes going wide.

“The papers says that…Oh, just read this,” Gary said pulling the paper out of his back picket and placing it in front of Dimmers.  Dimmers slowly picked up the paper and read the front-page article.  When Dimmers finished reading and looked up at Gary, his eyes so big Gary swore to himself that if they got any bigger, they would pop out of his head, he told him, “I think I know who’s going to kill you.  And no, it’s not me,” he added when he saw Dimmers backing in his chair away from him, with a terrified look on his face.

“But this paper says…”

“And it’s not the first time the paper has been wrong.  Listen Dimmers; if I were going to kill you, would I be here trying to save your life?  Look,” Gary said, getting frustrated, “I don’t trust you, but I’m going to have to, because your butt’s not the only one on the line here.  We can change this headline, and save your life, but we’re going to have to trust each other.”

There were several minutes of silent tension before Dimmers spoke again.  “So, who is it then?”

“What?”

“You said you knew who was going too…”

“Oh,” Gary said, realizing what he meant.  “Well, I don’t exactly know who it is, it’s more like I know why the headline changed from your story, to this,” Gary reached over Dimmers desk and tapped the headline on the front page of the paper Dimmers still held limply in his hands.  “What happened,” Gary explained, “was this morning there was a story in the paper that said a ten year old boy would be killed by a drunk driver, and the driver would be arrested.  I stopped the boy from getting hit by the car, so the drunk wasn’t arrested.  So I figure the drunk must be the guy that is going to kill you because he’s not in jail now, when he was before, and a story never changes in the paper unless I do something to change it.”

“Ok,” Dimmers said slowly, slightly confused about what Gary just said.  “So what’s this drunk’s name?”

“That’s the thing, before the article changed, the paper said the police withheld his name.”

There was a long pause before Dimmers heaved a sigh and asked, “So, Kemo Sabi, what do we do now?”

“What we do now is we get out of here.”

“Okay, but give me a minute.  I’ve got to shut down my computer.”

“Fine, just hurry,” Gary said while reaching over Dimmers desk and picking up his paper.  Gary’s heart suddenly froze as he read the headline.  “Dimmers,” Gary stammered urgently.

“Just give me a sec,” Dimmers said.

“No, now!”  Gary grabbed Dimmers arm and pulled him up out of his chair.

“Hey!” Dimmers called, reaching over and flipping the power off in his computer.  “Okay, I’m coming.  What’s the sudden hurry?”

“What’s the sudden hurry?  If we don’t hurry, we’ll both be dead!  That’s the hurry.”

“What?” Dimmers said stopping abruptly.

“That’s your favorite word, isn’t it?” Gary grumbled as he held up the paper for Dimmers to read the headline that just appeared.
 

REPORTER AND BAR OWNER FOUND SLAIN IN SUN-TIMES BUILDING

“In about five minutes our bodies are going to be found.  So lets get moving.”

Gary opened the door and heard a voice down the hall asking the location of Dimmer’s office.  Gary quickly shut the door.

“I know who that is,” Dimmers said, having recognized the voice.  “Joseph Gallihan,” he continued.  “I wrote a short article on him a few days ago.”

“Really,” Gary said in mock surprise.  “And now he wants to kill you?  Imagine that.”

“I’m just doing my job,” Dimmers retorted defensively.

“Never mind.  You got a back way out of here?”

“There’s a fire escape out the window but…”

“Come on,” Gary called from where he had already walked over to the window.”

“But wouldn’t it just be easier to wait by the door and when Gallihan opens it, hit him over the head with something?”

Gary quickly pulled out the paper and opened it up.  “No,” he answered, putting the paper back in his pocket, seeing the headline hadn’t changed.  “Now come on,” Gary said pushing up the window, and climbing out onto the fire escape.

Gary was down several stairs before he realized Dimmers wasn’t behind him.  Gary flew back up the stairs and back through the window.  His heart nearly stopped when he saw Joseph Gallihan pointing a gun in his face.

“Where’s Dimmers?” he demanded.

Gary didn’t have time to respond before he heard the office door snap shut.  Gary knew at once Dimmers had escaped while he had a gun pointed at his head.

------------------------------

Joseph Gallihan held the gun pointed steadily at Gary’s head.  “Where is he?!”  Gallihan demanded.

“Why don’t you just take it easy,” Gary tried to say calmly, but his voice wavered nonetheless.

“No, you tell me where Dimmers is right now or I will blow your brains out!”

“I don’t know,” Gary said desperately.  “He was in here a second ago.  He must have left when I came in.”

“It’s just like that little weasel to run and hide,” Gallihan said with disgust.  “What were you doing outside the window anyway?”

“Bird watching,” Gary said innocently.

“Bird watching,” Gallihan repeated suspiciously.  Gary was about to ‘explain’ that he was an old friend of Dimmers, so he let him bird watch from the fire escape outside his window when the phone ringing interrupted his thoughts.

Gallihan just stood there looking at the phone, but making no move to answer it.  Gallihan suddenly looked back at Gary and said, “Answer it,” and motioned with his gun towards the phone.

“Hello,” Gary said, picking up the phone.

“Hobson, I hear you’re in trouble again,” came an all too familiar voice from the phone.

“Detective Armstrong," Gary acknowledged, “I would say so.”

“A reporter named Zachary Dimmers called a minute ago and said you were being held at gun-point, again.”

“That’s about it,” Gary said.

“What’s going on in there,” Armstrong asked.

“Well, I have a gun pointed at my head.”

At that point Gallihan grabbed the phone from Gary and hung it up.  “Sit, over there,” Gallihan said pointing towards Dimmers’ desk.  Gary sat in front of it.  Gallihan paced nervously back and forth.  “This isn’t how it’s suppose to be!” Gallihan suddenly burst out.  “It was supposed to be quick and clean.  I come in here, pop Dimmers, and leave.  Nobody would know what happened.  But you had to show up and screw everything up!”  Gallihan stopped his pacing and looked at Gary, his gun again pointing at him.

“Why, why do you want to kill Dimmers?” Gary asked nervously.

“Why?” Gallihan said staring Gary directly in the eye.  “I’ll tell you why.  That asshole ruined my life!  My wife left me.  She took my four-year-old twin daughters with her.  And I can’t even blame her after the lies he wrote about me.”

“What did he say?”  Gary asked him

Gallihan looked at Gary for a moment, and then figured he may as well tell him why he’s going to die.

"I'm the boss of my own company.  Gallihan Tektonics.  Well, I guess it actually starts not long after I got out of college.  This promising company, R&R Harris Inc., hired me.  In a nutshell, I was supposed to make a chip that could make computers run up to four times faster.  I knew I could do it.  I know I would have done it, if it hadn't been for Nancy.  Nancy Johnston despised me.  She thought my work was nothing but a waste of time and company dollars.  I guess she was willing to do anything to prove herself right and get me fired, and I realized this far too late.  I couldn't figure out why my chip wouldn't work.  Eventually my chip ended up crashing the main computer.  There was no way to repair it.  I got the blame, and I got fired.  It was only about a week later while examining my chip, trying to figure out what went wrong that I realized it had been tampered with.  I knew it could only be Nancy.  When I confronted Nancy, she just smiled smugly.  I tried to go to my old boss and get my job back, but he flat out refused to believe that 'Miss Nancy would ever do anything like that.'  I had a hard time getting a job after that.  I spent years bouncing from company to company trying to make ends meet.  I was about to give up on life when I met Betsy, my wife.  She taught me why life was worth living.  Three months later, we got married.  Things went quick, we but knew it was right.  We were meant to be together.  With Betsy's encouragement, I quit my job and started my own company, Gallihan Tektonics.  Taking out my old computer chip, which had been packed for years, I realized that the chip was too outdated.  Computers had advanced too much from when I first designed it for it to be of any use.  But I realized with some modification and help, I could use that chip to crate a video game system, the Tektron.  I knew the Tektron could easily rival Sony and Nintendo.  So I hired some people to help me out with my company, including Ryan Philman, a shy young man that seemed to have great potential.  I was right.  He had great potential, great potential at being a double agent.  I didn't know it at the time, but Nancy Johnston had moved up in the world.  She is now the vice president of R&R Harris Inc.  She had also been following my carrier ever since I was fired.  She was very interested when she heard I'd started my own company, so she hired herself a spy, Ryan.  I was wrong when I thought Ryan was shy.  He wasn't shy, he was just showing his true talent: acting.  Ryan worked his way to becoming my right-hand man, so he was always there when I was working on my chip, and always helping.  I know now he wasn't helping me, he was helping Nancy get close to my chip.   Ryan got her all the information he had access to.  It wasn't everything, but it was enough.  She claimed I stole her chip.  She used the information about my chip that Ryan gave her, and what I told my old boss against me.  She brought up how I accused her of sabotaging my chip when I worked for R&R Harris Inc.  She said that I stole her chip in revenge because I still believed that she got me fired.  She said the information she had and the actual chip information weren't consistent because I had reprogrammed the chip to try to hide the fact that I had stolen it.  Everything was being worked out with the chip mess, and things were starting to look my way, when Dimmers got a hold the story.  He took Nancy's side.  He said I had stolen the chip from Nancy.  I didn't like the fact that I was being called a thief in the newspaper, but I could live with it.  It was my wife that couldn't.  Betsy's the best woman ever created, except for one thing.  She has always been gullible.  Always believing what others tell her.  And it just made things worse that I was stupid and didn't tell her about my trouble with Nancy.  I didn't want her to worry.  But she took my silence as guilt.  She wouldn't listen to a thing I said.  She took my daughters and left.  And the mess with Nancy is still going on.  God, I miss her so much; I want Dimmers to pay."

Gary looked at Gallihan sympathetically.  He knew what Gallihan was going through.  Or more accurately, he would know what Gallihan is going through.  “Listen, Gallihan,” Gary started, “I don’t blame you for wanting to kill him, but you can’t.

“Oh yeah, what do you know about having your life ruined by a reporter?”

“More than you would think.”  Gallihan looked at Gary in doubt, so he continued.  “Today, I find out Zachary Dimmers, a man who I had never even heard of until this morning, is going to write an article about me.  This article is going to be on the front page of the Sun-Times.  This article is not only going to ruin my life, but, over time, ruin the lives of thousands of Chicagoans.”  Gary and the impossible story he was telling stunned Gallihan.  Gary continued, however, before Gallihan could comment.  “Then I found out that article won’t be in the paper.  But that’s because Dimmers is going to be killed, and I would be blamed for it.  So I try to save him, even though I know my life will be ruined if I do.  But if I don’t save him I will be arrested for his murder, so my life will be over anyways.”

“How do you know all this?” Gallihan asked, eyes wide with shock.

“Does it really…” Gary started to say, but he was cut short by the phone screaming to life.

Gallihan looked over at the phone, than back towards Gary, then back towards the phone, and walked over and picked it up.  “Hello,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice.

“Joseph Gallihan, this is Detective Armstrong.  How are things going in there?  We got worried when I was disconnected while talking to Hobson.”

“Everything’s fine.  What do you want?”

“I want you and Hobson to come out of there safely.”  Pause.  “Is there anything you want?”

“Yeah, I want Zachary Dimmers dead!”  Gallihan slammed down the phone.

While Gallihan was talking to Armstrong, it gave Gary a chance to check the paper.  The headline had change, but it still said he would die.

Gary next did something that he later swore he must have lost his mind for doing.  He stood up and stepped square in front of Gallihan and said, “This has to end, now.  We both know the police aren’t going to let you anywhere near Dimmers.”

“What are you doing?” Gallihan demanded angrily.  “Go sit down right now and shut up.”

“No,” Gary said flatly. “You listen to me.”  Gary heard his voice waver as Gallihan brought his gun up and pointed it right in Gary’s face, but he gathered his courage and continued.  “Right now, you feel like your life is over because a reporter wrote lies about you, which, for all I know, could be the truth, and you lost your wife and kids.  Right now, I can guarantee you that your daughters don’t care what Dimmers wrote about you, they probably don’t even understand what it means.  All they know is you’re their dad.  A dad they want to be around, whether their mom has left him or not.  But what do you think your daughters will think of their father if he kills me, or Dimmers, or anyone else for that matter?”  Gary’s words seemed to have struck a nerve.  “You still have a choice,” Gary whispered.  “Give me the gun, please, for your daughter’s sake, give me the gun.”  Slowly, the gun that was pointing at Gary’s head lowered, and went limp in Gallihan’s hand.  Cautiously, Gary reached out and took the gun from Gallihan.  Gary looked up and saw Gallihan had tears in his eyes.  “Come on, Gary said quietly to him, “we have to go.”  Just then the phone rang again.  With half a glance at Gallihan, Gary went over to answer it.

“Hobson, is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I’ve got the gun.  We’re coming out.”

“How…” Armstrong started to say.  “Never mind.  We’re sending some guys in.”

“Thanks Armstrong,” Gary said and hung up the phone, just as the door opened and officers swarmed in.  One arrested Gallihan, and another came over to Gary.  Gary handed over the gun to him, with a relieved smile on his face.  Gary looked up in time to see Gallihan being taken away, but he caught his eyes, and they seemed to say “Thank you.”

Gary was relieved the hostage situation was over, but he wasn’t looking forward to all the questions the police had in store for him.

------------------------------

Over three hours later, after many repeated questions, and many repeated answers that didn’t get the police anywhere nearer to finding out what Gary had to do with Gallihan or Dimmers, and how, again, Gary was able to get involved with something that wasn’t any of his business, Gary walked into McGinty’s.  Gary walked over to the bar where Marissa was listening intently to the news telling the latest update about the hostage situation.  Marissa heard Gary approach and turned her head.  “Gary,” she said in a breathless voice, “I was so worried about you.”  Marissa reached out for Gary’s hand, and then pulled him into a hug.

“I’m all right Marissa,” Gary said.  Looking around and noticing all the attention they were getting, Gary added, “Lets go into the office.”

When Gary closed the office door Marissa again said, “I was so worried about you Gary.  I tried going down the Sun-Times building, but I couldn’t get anywhere near it.  Then I tried the police station, but they wouldn’t let me near you, or even tell me where you were.  So I came back here.”

“I’m okay now,” Gary reassured her.  “I don’t know why the paper likes to worry you so much.”

“Speaking of the paper,” Marissa said, recovering herself, “have you checked it since all that happened?”

“No, I’m almost afraid to.”

“Afraid, why?”

“I’m afraid I’ll see Dimmers’ story about me in there.”

“Gary, you have to check, and if it’s still there, you have to try to do something about it.”

Gary gave Marissa a weak smile.  All this from the woman who was so worried about him just a moment ago.  Reluctantly, Gary pulled the paper out of his back pocket and opened it up.  He didn’t see his picture on the front page, or that dreadful headline.  What he did see was an advertisement for Dimmers’ column on page 14.  Gary quickly turned to that page and read:
 

“A CITY’S HEART AND SOUL”
Today I met a man, a man who is not just a Chicago citizen, but an entire city’s heart and soul.  This is a man who would give you his last dollar, even if, just a moment ago, you had punched him in the jaw.  This is a man who would help a complete stranger, for no other reason that it is the right thing to do.  This is a man who would give you a second chance, when nobody else would think of such a thing.  This is a man who would save your life, if, just yesterday, you held a gun to his head.  This is also a man who many think of as a crackpot, a guy with a hero complex.  But still, this is a man who will help you, if you are in need.  So, if you meet a man who acts like a quack, don’t judge him immediately.  He may be just a quack.  Or, he may be a real life hero.

Gary knew his secret was now safe with Zachary Dimmers.  He couldn’t help but smile.
 

Email the author: sparky484@hotmail.com
 

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