dain

AN UNLIKELY DISCOVERY
By Dain

“You’re fired!” My pudgy, red-faced boss shouted.
“But I didn’t do anything!” I protested.
“You insulted the mayor, you idiot!” Mr. Gunther, my boss, screamed at me again.
Gunther was a fat, gray haired man who ran the local newspaper. He had a temper like a thousand sticks of dynamite with an inch long fuse, which made him get on your case a whole lot easier than other people and since I’m known to talk back he hated me extremely.
“I’m a reporter, I’m supposed to express the opinions of the readers and myself.” Gunther was starting to get on my nerves.
“No, you’re supposed to express the opinions of our sponsors, which happen to be Spencer and his party, or did you forget that?” Spencer, Allen Spencer, the high and mighty Mayor of Los Angeles.
Spencer is a young, money grubbing politician who’s father was once the president of the USA, which adds to his cockiness. Although I admit he can handle himself when he gets in trouble with the press and in a strange sense I used to admire him for that quality. But I’m sure I could make him slip in an interview and I think Gunther knew this as well ,which is why he never assigned me a Spencer interview.
Gunther released a snide smile which sickened me. To add to my anger he reached into his desk and pulled out a cigar. He lit it and puffed away until he saw my anger brewing inside me and then he spoke, “What? What do you want? You’re fired remember? That means... GET OUT!”
I shook my head as he blew a large cloud of smoke into my face, “You know something? I’m glad I’m leaving because I’m sick of working for a fat, almost dead, annoying--”
Knock, knock.
I was interrupted by a loud knock on Gunther’s frosted glass door. Without being invited a young man poked his head in. It was Eric Williams, a co-worker and close friend of mine. He had an urgent look on his freckled face, “Uh, hey, Jarod (that’s me) there’s a phone call for you, they say it’s important.”
I let out a small smirk, “Right, I’ll be there in a sec.”
I walked out the door Eric was holding open and as I left I turned and gave a sarcastic little wave just to see Gunther’s face turn a darker shade of red. As I walked through the rows of cubicles Eric turned his head and smiled, “You really know how to get to him, don’t you?”
I chuckled, “I sure do...uh, about that phone call--”
Eric continued to smile, “I made it up just to you outta there before you got yourself in bigger trouble than you’re already in.
“Well, thanks... it’s been great workin’ with you but I guess I’ve got to pack up my desk and move on to bigger and and-not-so better things.” I said, trying to use my humour to get over my anger.
“Oh, about your desk, Becca’s already started to take care of that.” Eric’s smile faded.
Rebecca or Becca was another close friend of mine who worked at a local television station. We were once engaged to get married but we decided to call off the wedding and just remain friends, although at times I wish we had gone through with the wedding. She was a very beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties with short blond hair.
When Eric and I reached my cubical half of my stuff was packed in a cardboard box. Rebecca continued to load the box up until I walked over and poked her ribs making her jump and yelp.
“God, Jarod you’re gonna give me a heart attack if you keep doing that. I heard your conversation so I started to pack your stuff.”
“You’re a doll.” Just seeing Becca allowed me to get over my anger towards Gunther’s butt-kissing attitude.
“I know,” She giggled, “You know, I read your article and I totally understand what your saying.”
“I do too, man.” Eric put his hand on my shoulder.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” I totally forgot my anger now.
“Any time.” Rebecca said pushing her blond hair to the side of her head.
It took about fifteen minutes to completely clean out my cubical and after we finished Rebecca offered me a ride home and I gladly accepted. But before I left I had to have a little more fun with Gunther so I left a note for him with every combination of swear words I could think of. After I left my ‘Happy Note’ Becca and I left as quickly as we possibly could.
We left the large building and entered the dirty, smoggy streets of Los Angeles (Ah, home, sweet, home). I followed Becca towards a hover car and got in. On the ride home to my apartment we said nothing to each other except good-bye when we arrived at my apartment. This strange silence ruined my odd good mood. A loud thunder clap echoed through the streets as a storm approached.
“Great,” I mumbled to myself, “Just what I need some nice gloomy rain to cheer me up.”
I entered the building and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. When the elevator dinged I got out and headed for my apartment. I juggled my box of items in one hand as I fished around in my pocket to get my key card. I finally got a hold of it and presented it to the scanner on the door, which buzzed, then opened. I walked in and threw the box on my couch, which landed on the converter for my newly upgraded t.v. My quiet apartment now buzzed with action as a report done by Becca played on the t.v. It was on the bank scandal between China and India.
“Just what we need more problems in the world.” I thought.
Becca continued to go on about how 1 million dollars from India’s federal bank had gone missing and evidence pointed towards China.
Later that night while I was on the internet I stumbled upon a website on Allen Spencer. It said he had got a donation of 500,000 dollars from a mysterious source and as I continued to go through the page it seemed Spencer was continuously receiving donations. This aroused my suspicions. All night I continued to do research on the money which was being donated and I traced it back to none other than India. Allen Spencer had stolen money from India and somehow ended up making it look like China stole it.