My first Fillmore fanfiction. be nice.
It's short and sweet, but the other chapters may be longer. I'm sorry if I have some grammer mistakes, I must have missed them. Next chapter should be up quick, it took me forever to form this idea in my head and i'm not letting this go off somewhere. (I had to find an interesting case. in the tv show, they have all these strange cases... chalk boosting, selling things that look like quarters, counterfiting baseball cards? yeah right. never heard of it.) anyway, it's really going somewhere, or so my dad says, so plz read and review! don't chicken out.
NOTE: i don't own fillmore! or any other disney shows. i hope. because if i did, really, it would totally freak me out and make me wonder if i hit my head or something. anyway...
When the going gets tough
"I really don't see the point of this…" Ingrid's voice came through the walkie-talkie. It had a sarcastic ring to it. "Who would want to steal a stuffed animal collection?"
"Listen Ingrid…" a voice came through the walkie-talkie.
"If we got a lead, we gotta lead." Said another.
"Plus, if you sold those in the city, they'd be worth a ton of money, so it's reasonable enough to follow up on. Don't flip out, Ingrid."
"Fine, Fillmore. Whatever." She replied to the last voice. "I just wish that something would happen already. It's been an hour and a half at this convention. Couldn't the person try to steal the collection of 'rare and valuable stamps' right across from the toy collection, the one that I'm staring at right now?" she stopped. "This is pointless."
An African-American boy peered at his partner across the room, nervous. Nothing had happened yet, true, but something might. The way they had gotten an anonymous call had been odd, and there had been a ton of jokes about someone stealing those stuffed toys, but if they had a call, they had to follow it. Maybe it was just a paranoid kid that wanted to make sure that all his things were alright, not going to be 'stolen' from him in some rash attempt from a fellow student. In Cornelius's eyes, though, something was wrong.
It had been that gut feeling that brought the safety patrol to guard the 'collection convention' that entire ninety minutes. Whenever he had a gut feeling, the rest always followed it… he had never been wrong. His gut feelings led to solve several cases, when some had decided to give up and move on. No one doubted him when he said something was wrong, except maybe Vallejo, and then sometimes he didn't even mean it, trying to please Folsom.
Looking around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, and after looking at it sadly, shoved it back into his pocket hastily. His senses were all alert, but he couldn't see anything wrong.
Another sweep around the gym found nothing. He glanced back to his partner. Sometimes he wondered where he'd be without her… wait. He glanced up to the ceiling to see a banner hung on a balcony. Behind it there was a figure standing in the shadows, looking down.
Looking at Ingrid.
"Hey Ingrid?" the boy spoke into the walkie-talkie.
"Yeah Fillmore?" she answered.
Hesitantly, he said "Come over here a second."
Confused, she stalled, then moved towards the doorway.
She had taken only a few steps when there was a loud crash as several crates fell through the tiled ceiling where she had been standing only a few seconds before. Another round came through, knocking Ingrid over as the figure in the shadows dropped down from above and snatched the case of toys out from the showcase. It made towards the door, only stopping to grab the stamps that Ingrid had mentioned earlier.
"GO!" yelled Fillmore, and the safety patrollers burst into action. Joseph Anza jumped out from his post by the CD collections, while Karen Tehama pulled out of her hideout behind the victim's stall. Vallejo and Danny O'Farrell guarded the doors.
The person (Wearing a hood) looked at the fix he was in and made a break for it. Jumping over O'Farrell, he made his getaway.
In the hallway there were several innocent bystanders that watched the hooded figure pull out of the gym, followed by several safety patrollers (Which was quite odd. Have you ever seen that?). The perpetrator made his way down the hallway at a run with the cases, one tucked under each arm, pushing people over, knocking things down, and generally throwing things in the way of his pursuers. The safety patrollers following had a tough time keeping up, having to dodge everything in their path. Turning the corner of a hallway, they found no one; the hooded child had made away with his prize.
When Fillmore saw this, he turned back to the gym, crouching over his fallen partner. "You ok?" he asked the black haired girl, worried.
"I'm tired, covered in boxes, annoyed, relieved that I didn't have my head pounded permanently into my chest, and irritated to know that someone actually stole toys for profit. Am I ok? Just usual I guess." She retorted, sitting up and massaging her back where a box had landed. "Didja catch him? I've got a word or two to say to him…" she frowned.
"No." Fillmore said, offering his partner a hand. "He got away."
"Aren't very happy about that, are you?" she asked him, taking the offered hand and standing up.
"Well, not really."
Ingrid and Fillmore both went back to headquarters. The safety patrol had searched everywhere, finding no clues. Fillmore had suggested they look on the balcony where the robber had come, but they still hadn't unearthed anything.
Ignoring the feeling in his stomach, he turned to Ingrid. "Do you want to go get something to eat? There's someone in the cafeteria that's selling ice cream, one of my friends told me that it's really good."
The green eyed girl nodded and headed off. They arrived at the cafeteria, and Ingrid ordered for both of them while Fillmore pulled out his wallet to pay for it. Sitting there, eating the ice cream, they watched the world go by.
"Hey Fillmore!"
The two turned at the voice.
A kid was standing by the ice cream stall, walking over. Waving, he said again, "Fillmore!"
Fillmore twisted in his chair to face the kid. He had short brown hair, spiked on top and green eyes. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"
The kid finally reached him and shook his head no. "No, you don't, not really. But I've seen you around enough, and just wanted to say hi. My name's Jason."
The two safety patrollers looked at each other. "And you picked today to say hello… why?" Fillmore asked his greeter.
"Oh, I just wanted to tell you that you'll be getting a surprise today. He told me to tell you to see if you'd figure it out, but he won't be here till later."
"Who's he?" Fillmore asked.
"That's the secret." Jason laughed. "Have a good day!" he took off towards the classrooms.
They watched him go.
"o… k… that was… interesting." Ingrid said to no one in particular.
"Yeah, but I could use a surprise. I mean, if it's a good surprise. The theft today made me kind of edgy." He admitted.
"Man this is weird," Ingrid commented. "We've had way more things stolen this past two weeks than ever… or since I've been here, anyway." Ingrid looked at her partner. "Has anything happened like this before? So many crimes in a row…"
"Only once, and I was working for the person behind it, so that's how I know." Fillmore replied, shaking his head. "Man, we've been busy! I need some coco or something…"
Ingrid shrugged her shoulders. "first several bikes and scooters, then electronics and printers from the computer lab, trays from the cafeteria, balls from the gym of all types, paint supplies from the art club's personal stash, a complete midnight raid of the school store, smoits, soda from the school's machines, textbooks from storage, janitor office robbery, and now the collections of toys and stamps at the convention? Folsom's gonna have our heads!" she joked.
"Well, just leave it in your desk when we get called over… that way she won't be able to bite it off!" he said.
"Yeah, well, the only one able to do that is O'Farrell. I wonder where he leaves his head sometimes…" she snickered, reaching her desk and sitting down.
"Don't be so hard on poor Danny. Did you see the way he got whacked? I doubt he will be able to defend himself very-" he looked at his desk and frowned. "soon…"
Ingrid missed the uncertainty in his voice, and pushed looked out the window. Standing up suddenly, she told him "I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back." Leaving him, she headed down the hallway.
The frowning child looked at his desk nervously. He reached out and started moving some books that were piled on his desk that had not been there before to the side. As he picked up the last book, he noticed a letter fall out of it onto his desk. It was blank.
Fillmore stared at it, unmoving.
He finally forced himself to take the letter and open it. He read it over one time and started shaking. Quickly he sat down and stuffed it into his drawer, so no one would notice. He sighed and hid his head in his hands, distressed. Folding his quivering hands in his lap, he sat back and looked out the window, caught up in a debate with himself. He recalled the events of earlier that day, weighing his options. He felt awful, twisting his hands around each other and pulling them apart, and putting them back together. He felt awful, he decided, as well as nervous, annoyed, angry, worried, helpless, and like he would burst into tears if he heard one more word of bad news, saw one more letter like that on his desk, been in one more situation where people were in trouble, had one more person pulling him across the school and back again on a wild goose chase when they had covered their tracks so well that not even a pro like him could pull out the smallest clue to where they were, even though they seemed to be handing them right to him. It hadn't always been like this, someone forcing him to sit on the edge of his seat for several weeks strait, worrying and contemplating his next move. Things had gotten worse, and worse, and worse.
Finally, he made a decision.
Standing up, he noticed Vallejo heading over. Perfect timing. He mused, waiting to hear what the head of the safety patrol had to say.
"Ok, Fillmore, here's the deal. We've got Folsom threatening to turn our headquarters into a storage facility, as usual, a theft crime spree, ten thousand suspects, and an unopened case. You got any good news?"
"How 'bout some bad news?" Fillmore replied.
Vallejo stared at him, confused. "What do you mean, Fillmore?" he asked.
"I'm quitting."