Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own any of the  characters except Lorraine and Janet.

Rating: G/ PG

Summary:  Gary openly talks about the Paper in the bar.  What if someone just happened to hear him?

~~~~~~~~~~~
The Observer
by Paper Caper

It was a rainy, dark, and dreary evening, parallel to my  mood. If I never had to show my face at work again it would be too soon. Thank God it was Friday.

The street widened and McGinty's neared, appealing to me as a heaven. I could really use a drink right now. After  parking the car, I grabbed my purse and hurried to the  door. McGinty's was abnormally crowded and I worried about  whether or not my usual seat was still available. Despite  the clamor of voices around the bar counter, my seat  remained untaken. I smiled, sitting down with a satisfied  feeling. But something was still wrong. Something was  missing. I had expected Patrick's ever-so-friendly grin to  appear. "Hi Lorraine," he'd point to me merrily. "The  usual?" This place seemed empty without him.

I peered my head past the counter, searching for someone  who could tell me where he was. There was nothing back  there but a few blenders and countless boxes and bottles of alcohol.

"Just a snake bite at the pet store at eight o'clock and  that should be it for the day," a voice to my left sounded.

Turning my head toward the voice, I saw *him.* That guy who was always here. Maybe he'd know what happened to Patrick.  "Excuse me," I tapped him on the shoulder.

The man terminated his previous conversation and turned  around inquisitively. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Um," I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. "Would you by  any chance know what happened to the bartender Patrick?"

"He doesn't work here anymore," another voice answered, belonging to the woman he was talking to. "I'll get someone else to help you out. Vadim!" she called to the tables.

"Yes, Marissa?" Another man walked over from the table he  was scrubbing.

"Help this lady with what she wants," the woman, apparently named Marissa, instructed him.

"At your service," the bartender nodded to me. "What would  you like?"

"Huh?" I could barely understand what he was saying through his thick Russian accent. "Oh, uh, just give me a beer,"  I said, figuring that he wouldn't know how to make 'the usual.' "Please," I later added for politeness.

"Comm-eeng rite oop," Vadim answered as he passed me a  beer.

"Thanks." Well, it wasn't the usual, but it would have to  do. I miserably took a swig and placed the bottle back onto the table. There it would stay, for the bitter essence of  beer upset me. My fingers twirled the bottle around as the stressful thoughts of my job haunted me again.

"You sure that's it?" I heard Marissa say to the man in  front of her. "Fridays are usually busy nights for you with that thing."

"Yes I'm sure!" the man answered irritatedly. "I'd prove it to you if I could. What do you want me to do, cause a few  more accidents and prevent them?" he shook his newspaper around.

Marissa frowned, unhurt by the comment.  "You know, Gary,  you've been a lot grumpier ever since Patrick left."

The man named Gary grumbled.

Silence. Their conversation had ended. Sighing, I took  another swig of my beer just because it was in front of me. I wanted to spit it out but I managed to swallow the  venomous fluid. While waves of conversation traveled around the bar, the silence around me was starting to get to me.  Were the man and woman, Gary and Marissa, talking again?  No, they were drinking coffee, sitting silently. Even the  man's newspaper seemed dead, lying on the counter,  immobile. I glanced at the headlines, feeling I needed to  read something to occupy my manic mind. Besides, I hadn't  read a newspaper in ages. "Snake kills child at pet shop,"  the front-page headline read. Wait, it couldn't be. Wasn't  that man just talking about something like that possible  of happening tonight? Thinking I'd really been exhausted  from work or I drank too much beer, - or both - I headed  home to lie
down as quickly as I could.

The next day at work, one of my coworkers was anxious to  talk to me. "Did you hear what happened on Elm Street last  night??" she asked, typing away like mad.

"Ugh," I stopped typing and buried my head into my arms.  "Who cares."

Regardless of my grousing, she continued to chatter. "Some  guy stopped a huge snake from biting this little kid in a  pet store. It turns out that the snake was still venomous,  too."

Her comments sent a rush of fear and realization through my body. "What did you say?" I lifted my head anxiously.

"Oh, a poisonous snake almost bit some kid and some guy  stopped it," she repeated, not half as excited as she  previously was.

So it was true. Or was I dreaming before? Either way,  someone - either the man or me -  knew that the snake was  going to kill before it happened. There was only one way  to find out: setting up a sticky situation to see if  someone would come to prevent it. I began to shuffle madly, struggling to think of a situation quickly.

Hearing my noisy shuffling, my coworker turned around.  "What do you think you're doing?" she asked inquiringly.  "You know that the Devil's Advocate is gonna get you bad if you're not working."

I secretly smirked, amused at the nickname she'd chosen for my boss. "It'll just be a minute," I said, doodling to  motivate my imagination.

"Well, well, what have we here?" a voice crept up from  behind my chair.  Nervously turning around, I looked to  find the Devil's Advocate Himself speaking to me.

"The daycare is on the first floor," he said mockingly.  "You can doodle there all you want."

I stared at him silently, unknowing of what to say.

"You blew it," he said, filling out something on a  clipboard and dropping me a pink slip from the clipboard as he walked away casually.

Great. Fired. Well I guess I could have done anything now.  I didn't have to worry about losing my job anymore,  anyway.

Let's see. I could . . . I could . . . I could begin a fire and put it out if someone didn't come to put it out before  the fire department could? Either that or try to kill the  Devil's Advocate, and I didn't have the heart or madness to kill anyone in the first place.

"Hey Janet, you got a light?" I asked my coworker.

She looked at me like I had two heads. "You don't smoke!"

True, I'd never had a cigarette in my life, but I needed an excuse to get a lighter.

"Besides," she added. "you'd have to go outside to smoke  and we're not on lunch break yet."

"Yeah, well, uh . . . I took up smoking and now I'm really  hooked and need a cigarette *now*!" I babbled mindlessly.

Janet just looked at me. Then again, I didn't blame her. I  made myself sound like an idiot the way I worded that.

"Here . . ." she reluctantly handed me a cigarette from her stash. "You need a lighter, too?"

"Please."

She handed me her lighter, still staring oddly at me.

"Thanks," I embarrassedly grabbed her lighter and ran away  from my desk. The hum of workers deceasing as I ran away  signaled to me that where I was standing was a good place  to start a fire without getting caught. Impulsively, I took a deep breath to clear out my mind. My knees began to bend  down reluctantly as my fingers instinctively enflamed the  lighter. Then I just couldn't take it anymore. I was ready  to stand back up and forget the whole damn thing.

"Where's the fire?!" a voice from behind me boomed as the  possessor of the voice knocked me down, the flaming lighter meeting the floor as a result.

In shock, I studied the face of the man. It was *him.*  After gaping at my discovery, I comprehended his question.  "Oh, um, there!" I pointed to the carpet, which was now very much ablaze.

"Stand back!" he yelled, spraying a white sea of foam from  a fire extinguisher over the carpet.

"Just what the hell is going on here?!" The Devil's  Advocate approached us, enraged, after the fire had been  put out.

"I just put out a fire, Pritchard," the man with the fire  extinguisher eyed my boss angrily.

"Hobson!" Pritchard's face turned red in fury. "Get out  *now*!"

"Oh, believe me, I wouldn't wanna stay if you asked me,"  the man with the fire extinguisher, whose name as I could  remember as Gary, said dryly. "By the way, you're welcome!" he added sarcastically.

Pritchard moved back, cornering me. "I'm calling security!"  he yelled as he moved back even farther, trapping me and  pushing me out the window.

Screaming, I was pushed out the window by Pritchard's body. Luckily I managed to grab hold of the windowsill.

"Look what you just did!" Gary screamed at Pritchard.

My heart beat faster and faster as I waited for help. The  city below me seemed to get farther and farther away yet  closer and closer. After what seemed like an eternity, I realized that I wasn't going to get help. I was ready to let go and get it over with.

"Here, grab this!" Gary's voice echoed as a metal pole was  dropped in front of my face.

It was either the pole - back to face the Devil's Advocate and the rest of my stressful life, or the city - death.  Without thinking it over, I immediately grabbed the pole.

"Where did you get that?" Pritchard snapped at Gary  regarding the pole after he had pulled me up. Then he  looked at me. "You're still fired!" he pointed.

"You know that's just like you, Pritchard -" Gary began a  spiel but was interrupted by Pritchard's hand, yielding him to stop.

"Save it, Hobson," Disgustedly, Pritchard rolled his eyes.  "You have one more chance, and that's *it*!" he glared at  me. "You," his finger was directed at me, "back to work.  You," he pointed his finger at Gary, "get out *now* or I'm  calling security!" Pritchard mumbled to himself as he  walked away.

After Pritchard was long gone, I looked at Gary and said,  "So, what's with you and that newspaper of yours?"

"Wha?" Gary's face turned red in nervousness. "I don't know what you're -" he stopped, realizing I wasn't buying it.  "Just don't mess with the paper."

"Sorry," Now my face was turning scarlet as I looked at the charred carpet. When I looked up, Gary was already walking  away. "Thank you!" I yelled to him while I still had the chance.

Gary stopped walking and turned around to face me. "You're welcome," he said, this time not sarcastic at all.
 

Email the author:  CharCareBear@aol.com
 

Back Home to McGinty's

Stories by Title

Stories by Author