| Based on the Television Series Combat!
Fan Fiction Episode: The Meter: An Improbable Tale of Parking Copyright 2008 by Rebecca Stajer Do Not Reprint or Distribute Without the Author's Permission All Rights Reserved. No profit is made from this work. "Sherman, set the WABAC for Culver City, California. We're going to visit the intrepid cast of the popular 60's television show, Combat,” said Mr. Peabody. The Meter An Improbable Tale of Parking By Rebecca Stajer a.k.a. Corbeau It was approximately 1:30 in the afternoon. Peabody studied his watch intently as Lowell sauntered up to him sipping a soda. "What are you waiting for?" asked Lowell in between sips. Peabody flashed a big grin and pointed his thumb in the general direction of the French village set. "Just wait. You'll see,” he laughed. A moment or two passed, and then a commotion could be heard coming from the far end of the French village set. Chickens scattered in a panic, and extras jumped out of the way. Running at top speed in full gear, with M1 in hand, came Jalbert racing like a madman. Without a second thought, Peabody pulled Lowell out of the way just in time to avoid being run over. "What the heck is up with him?" asked Lowell as he nearly dropped his soda. Peabody laughed and looked in the direction that Jalbert was headed. "Oh, he does that almost every day at about this time. Haven't you ever noticed?" "No," said Lowell perplexed. "Why does he do that? I mean, what could be so important?" "Well, it's like this. You see, he's been an editor here at the studio for quite sometime, and during that time he had to park in the staff parking lot or someplace off the studio because they’ve never changed his parking status. So when you see him running like that, it’s usually a day when he's had to park someplace on a meter," chuckled Peabody. "So you mean he's running to pay a parking meter? That's ridiculous! Why doesn't someone just get him a parking pass for the studio?" "Oh, that's simple, they’ve been betting on him." "What?" "Yeah, it’s been kind of a pastime around here. Folks place bets on him as to whether he'll make it back in time for his scenes, if he's gotten a parking ticket, or if he'll make it back at all. I've heard tell that he's been taking some pretty interesting shortcuts, and the locals are not too happy with him,” grinned Peabody. "What do you mean?" asked Lowell, sipping his soda and looking off in the direction that Jalbert had taken. "Well, if you notice, he just left here in full costume. Now, what exactly do you think the police are going to think when they see a guy in full military gear running around and toting an M1?" said Peabody as he absently adjusted his own M1 on his shoulder. "You don't mean that they've been shooting at him?" said Lowell, who was now visibly upset. "No, no. Nothing that dramatic. But I've heard tell that they're on the lookout for him. I guess there have been a few people who have called in and reported him, but the police haven't really taken it seriously. I guess the people call in, and by the time the police arrive to check it out, he's already long gone,” said Peabody, as he walked towards the set. Lowell paused a moment in thought and then walked after him, "So you mean he doesn't know that people have been calling the police about him?" "Nope," replied Peabody over his shoulder, "That's part of the wagering around here. I think I heard tell that there are a couple of directors that each have fifty dollars riding on whether he can make it to the end of the season without getting nabbed." "Doesn't this all seem a bit heartless?" Peabody shook his head and laughed, "Remember the jeep races?" "Yeah," said Lowell thoughtfully, with a vision of the jeep races replaying in his head. "Besides, the studio will take care of it if he does get in trouble. In the meantime, it does make for some interesting action around here," said Peabody, as he pulled out the shooting script, "Now see here, in this scene, he's supposed to enter and run through the firefight in the village. Well, I've got five bucks that says he won't make his cue on time." "Wait a minute… you want to bet with me on this?" asked Lowell, now realizing that he was becoming part of the charade. "Sure, why not? I've even found out how many blocks he had to park from the studio today during lunch break," lured Peabody, "It’s easy money for your first time kid." Lowell thought about it for a moment as he kicked at the earth with his boot, and then he came to a decision, "How far away is he parked today?" * * * Cars honked their horns as Jalbert raced across the traffic. His M1 kept shifting and whacking him in the back as he ran, but he knew that he couldn't leave it behind. He had to have it for the next scene, and there was no way he could make it back to the studio and retrieve it before he had to be on camera. The sun was ungodly hot as it beat down on him, and the sweat poured off his brow. The helmet that he was wearing felt like he was cooking in it. He checked his watch and cursed silently to himself. He was really going to have to make some time. As he came to an alley, he looked at it, dreading what he was going to have to do. He ran about a third of the way down the alley until he came to two large garbage cans that were next to a high wooden fence. Carefully he positioned them next to the fence and made sure that the lids were on tight. He backed up, took a running start, and easily leapt on the top of them. Then with the momentum he achieved, vaulted himself over the fence and landed in a large juniper bush. The sharp twigs caught his fatigues and added a bit more of the battle-worn look than he would have cared for. As he disengaged himself from the prickly bush, he kept a wary eye out for the backyard terror that lurked. He didn't have to wait too long. Pumpkin, the terrier, had spotted him and was racing at top-speed towards him. Knowing only too well the tiny terror, Jalbert bolted across the well-manicured lawn and took refuge on top of the table, next to the pool, and nearly knocked the umbrella off in the process. The vicious little dog leapt at him with its teeth gnashing. Thankfully, Jalbert had remembered to save half his sandwich from lunch. He hated not being able to enjoy the tasty morsel himself that Millie, the caterer, had prepared, but it sure would come in handy now. Quickly he removed it from his pocket and tore it into several pieces, which he proceeded to fling as far away as possible. He hoped that this would distract the dog. Luckily Pumpkin took the bait and joyfully ran after each bit, snarfing it up with great gusto. Jalbert, seizing the opportunity, leapt from the table and sprinted towards the fence on the opposite side of the yard. There he dove to the ground and crawled on his belly under the fence where Pumpkin had been digging. He had just made it under the fence and into the next yard when he felt Pumpkin latch onto his boot. The sharp little teeth bit into the leather, and he could feel them threatening to go right through. Furiously the dog worried at his boot, which caused Jalbert to hop across the lawn to try to shake him off. Unfortunately, the residents of that particular property had just hung out their wash, and he managed to get himself tangled in the wet garments and clothesline. Just when things looked hopeless, Jalbert heard a high-pitched whistle coming from Pumpkin's yard. Pumpkin's ears perked up, and he let lose of his hold on Jalbert's boot and ran back under the fence into his own yard. With disgust, Jalbert picked the sopping wet laundry from himself. He removed a t-shirt, a housedress, and two pairs of pants that had gotten wound around him. Unfortunately, he did not notice the daintier items that had latched on to the back of his belt and his bayonet. Once he had freed himself from the clothesline and most of its contents, he quickly went over to the fence by the next house. Luckily this fence had several boards that were loose and could be slid back easily so he could pass. With a sigh of relief, he slipped into the beautiful garden in the next yard. Rose bushes, circled by large flowerbeds, led on to several orange trees heavy with fruit. Quickly he walked past the flowerbeds and approached the orange trees. He checked to make sure that no one was around before he tried to scale one of the trees to get over the fence. With the coast apparently clear, he grabbed a low branch and prepared to hoist himself up. Whack! He was hit! He let go of the branch and rolled behind the tree. He couldn't see which direction the fire was coming from. Incoming! Whack! Whack! Two more hits! This looked bad. He checked his watch. This looked really bad. He wondered if he could chance a run for it, but didn't know if he could take any more hits. Carefully he spied around the trunk of the tree, trying to spot his assailant. Just as his helmet cleared the trunk he was hit dead-square. His helmet flew back and bounced on the ground, and he was laid out in the petunias. Dazed, he looked up to see a very angry lady in a faded housedress standing over him holding several oranges. "Try to steal my oranges, will you!" she snarled, as she pelted him with her remaining ammo. He shielded his face with his arms, but the oranges hit his chest and stomach with a force that belied the lady's appearance. Once he was sure that she had exhausted her supply of citrus grenades, he rolled over and tried to retrieve his helmet. "Now you're rolling in my flower bed! That does it. I'm calling the police!" she huffed, as she stormed back to her house. Bits of flowers clung to his uniform along with the rich black soil of the flowerbed. Wincing, he picked himself up and tried to brush off the pink and white blossoms. He shook his head at his unbelievable bad luck, and then slung his M1 across his back. He then scaled the orange tree and flung himself over the fence. From there it was a short run to his car. As he reached his car, he could see the meter patrol coming down the street towards him. Quickly he searched his pockets and at the last moment came up with the correct coinage, and plunked it into the meter just as the meter patrol came by. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the dirty back of his hand as she eyed him curiously. "Bonjour Madam!" he said, with his usual jubilance. She looked at him with a funny gaze for a moment, and then shaking her head as she walked away, he could hear her mumble, "There must be a costume party around here." He looked puzzled at her for a moment. Costume party? Je ne sais pas... Then he remembered his mission! Quickly he checked his watch. Oh no! There was no way that he could make to the studio in time now! Disheartened, he started to slowly walk back. He knew that he'd be in for it with the director and his fellow castmates. No one likes to be kept waiting. Just then he heard a car horn honk at him. Thinking that it was just someone having fun with him, he didn't bother to turn around. Then the horn sounded again closer. He pushed his helmet back on his head and turned around to see who was honking at him. "What the heck are you doing way out here?" called a friendly voice. As the car pulled up alongside of the curb, Jalbert looked inside, and was stunned to see Jason. Jason was wearing sunglasses as usual and pulled them down to get a better look at his castmate. "You look like you've just come from the set." Jason observed, and then he noticed the dainty items that had tagged a ride on the back of Jalbert's belt, "Or perhaps not…" Jalbert didn't even notice his observation. His mind was set on his mission to get back in time. He removed his helmet and bent down to talk to Jason. "Could you give me a ride to the studio? I'm in a hurry and need to get back as soon as possible." asked Jalbert, as he wiped his brow with his dirty sleeve. Jason hesitated a moment and then nodded. He wasn't going to turn down a friend, but those dirty fatigues could really mess up the upholstery of his Jaguar Mark X. Jason bit his tongue as Jalbert swung around the side of his car and hopped in. "Let's go!" said Jalbert as he rested his M1 on the seat. Jason looked at him for a second, and then pushed his sunglasses back up and put the car in gear. They roared off towards the studio, and Jalbert sat tensed waiting to jump out as soon as they arrived. The traffic was unbelievably light for that time of day, and Jason maneuvered the car towards the studio as though he was practicing for a rematch of the jeep races. Jalbert clung to the door for support as they rounded the corner on what seemed like only two wheels. Soon the studio was in sight, and Jalbert grasped his M1 and prepared to make a run for it when the car stopped. As Jason hit the brakes, Jalbert threw open the door and bolted for the studio gate. "Merci!" he yelled over his shoulder to Jason as he ran through the gate. Jason sat looking in wonder at him as he disappeared around the corner, and then noticed that the hitchhiking dainty items had dropped off of Jalbert and were now resting on his front seat. "Wait! You forgot..." yelled Jason in vain as he held up the items. It was too late, Jalbert was already long gone. Jason shrugged his shoulders and then waived over Ken, the guard at the gate. Ken walked over to the car, and Jason handed him the items. "See that he gets these," said Jason with a smirk as he drove away. * * * Jalbert wasted no time in sprinting across the studio. As he rounded a corner by one of the soundstages, an unfortunate script supervisor was coming around from the opposite direction, and the two collided with a tremendous thump. Script pages flew into the air and sailed down like confetti on to the two prone figures. Jalbert came to his senses first and shook his head to clear the cobwebs, as he stood up. He then noticed the man lying on the ground next to his feet. "Excuse moi!" he exclaimed as he tried to help the man to his feet. The man's glasses hung at an odd angle from his face and seemed still stunned as Jalbert tried to lean him against the soundstage. Jalbert apologized again and sprinted away. As soon as Jalbert had turned away, the man slumped to the ground again. "Did anyone get the license number?" mumbled the man, looking like a bird that had just hit a window. Time was really against Jalbert, as he headed towards the French village set. This called for drastic measures. He had promised himself that he would never do anything like this, but the situation called for a daring move. With a lump in his throat he opened the door to the next sound stage and slipped inside. He figured that he could save several minutes if he cut through the soundstage to the backlots. The soundstage was black as night as he picked his way through the tangle of cables and equipment that covered the floor. As he tripped over a cable in the darkness, he silently cursed to himself, and then decided that since no one was using the soundstage, he could cut directly through the set and save some time and bruises. A dim worklight gave an eerie glow to the back of the set as though he was entering a haunted house. As he passed along the back of the flats and on to the doorway of the set, he had a feeling that he was not alone, but shook it off. Slowly he opened the door that led to the set and peered in. It was as dark as the rest of the soundstage. He never really had a fear of the dark, but for some reason, he felt a slight chill go down his spine as he walked on to the set. He could barely see where he was going as he felt his way along the wall of the set. His hand encountered a table, and he tried to edge along it, but his M1 pulled a vase that was resting on it to the floor. It shattered with a hideous crack and pieces scattered like shrapnel. Jalbert gasped and felt his heart race at the unexpected sound. He tried to calm himself, but he could feel a cold sweat running down his back. Like a criminal on the run, every breath he took, every fiber of his body was tense and alert. He was exactly where he shouldn't be, and he knew it. If anyone saw him...if anyone found out that he had broken the rules... No! He had to put it out of his mind. No one saw him enter the soundstage. No one saw him destroy the vase. He had to take it easy. No one would ever know. Wham! Just then a blinding spotlight targeted him with its accusing glow. He shielded his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to see what was going on. The glare dazed and disoriented him, and he stumbled back against the wall cornered. He felt as though he was being grilled by the police, even though no one had said a word. His own guilt was enough. At first, he could only see the white glaring light of the spotlight, but then he began to sense there was someone behind it. He wasn't sure at first, but he felt as though someone was moving towards him. He tensed up and grabbed his M1 and held it ready in front of him, even though he knew it would do no good. His heart raced, and his mouth felt dry as the figure moved towards him. At first it was impossible to see who was approaching, but slowly the outline of the figure grew more distinct. A silhouette began to form on the wall that chilled Jalbert to his core. As the silhouette drew nearer, he knew that he had made a monumental mistake. The outline grew clearer, and the familiar form of the head, chin, nose, and mouth appeared over the rotund body. All that was missing was the familiar strains of the “Funeral March of the Marionettes" to complete it. "My dear boy," began the shadowy figure, "We would greatly appreciate it if you would remove yourself from the scene we are attempting to shoot." Jalbert paled at the shadow's request and nodded silently. The lights came up on the set and revealed an irritated crew standing behind the camera. He took one look at them and bolted off the set towards the soundstage door. Once he was outside the soundstage, he breathed a sigh of relief. That was a narrow escape! He knew that it could have gone much worse for him. With disaster narrowly averted and the backlots in sight, he swore to himself that he would never make that mistake again. Quickly he checked to make sure that no one had followed and then headed towards the familiar outline of outdoor sets. The Western set seemed quiet enough as he hurried past the saloon and onto the main street. Dust clouds rolled along the empty set, and Jalbert quickly moved past two horses that were hitched outside of the general store. There was no one in sight, so he relaxed slightly, but kept up his steady pace towards the French village set. As he walked past the marshal's office, he caught a brief movement out of the corner of his eye. Fearing that he had wandered into trouble again, he took off in a run down the dusty street. He was running full tilt when a noise made him halt in his tracks. It sounded almost like the rumble of thunder, but it was growing stronger and seemed to be heading towards him. Stampede! Cattle with mouths frothing and eyes glaring were headed right towards him. He stood frozen for a moment, not sure what the heck he should do. He had never run into anything like this on the Combat set. But the sharp horns and pounding hooves made up his mind for him. He spun around and ran as fast as he could back the way he had come. The enraged cattle were almost upon him when he made a daring leap and landed behind a water trough. The cattle roared past him, kicking up a thick blanket of dust. He choked and coughed as he waited for the onslaught to cease. As the sound of hoof beats slowed, he peeked over the edge of the trough. Behind the cattle came a cadre of rustlers whooping and shooting as they drove the terrified beasts on. Jalbert was just about to try and make a run for it to get away from the melee' when the sound of shots being fired came from somewhere not too far behind him. Slowly he peeked over his shoulder and saw an imposing lawman opening up on the rustlers. Several rustlers dropped from their horses and ran for cover behind a wagon that was parked on the opposite side of the street. What then ensued was no less than a knockdown firefight between the rustlers and the lawman. Charges were going off left and right simulating bullet hits in woodwork. Jalbert decided that he’d had enough. He was just about to try to crawl past on his belly, when the charges set in the trough he was next to went off. Puffs of smoke went up and water started to spray from holes in the trough. That was enough for him. Jalbert picked up his M1 and ran as hard as he could to get away from the western madness. As he raced off the Western set he could hear someone yelling, "Cut! What the hell is that guy doing in the scene? Some one get that guy out of here!" He could hear the sound of someone pursuing him. Thinking on his feet, he made a quick cut onto the New York street set, and ducked behind the stairway of one of the brownstones. A moment or two passed, and two burly security guards trotted past. They went down to the far end of the street and then walked slowly back looking for him. They stopped almost in front of his hiding spot, and looked up and down the street. Jalbert held his breath trying not to give himself away. "He must have gotten away," said one of the guards as he rubbed his neck. "Yeah," said the other guard, "I thought we had him for sure. Let's take another look. I have a feeling he's here somewhere." The first guard nodded, and then they began to search the set more carefully. Building by building they searched, and banged open the doors and peered inside. Jalbert crouched low, fearing the worst. He could hear them getting nearer. Just as they crashed open the door in the next building, he heard someone yelling at them to get off the set. Then he heard people and equipment being moved in. This was his chance to slip past them while the film crew was setting up. Carefully, he maneuvered out of his hiding place in the brownstone and watched as the crew set up for a scene they were going to shoot. It looked as though they would be using the building that he was hiding in as well as several others from the way they were setting up. He knew he had to get out now. Time was almost up. Two gaffers who were standing next to the brownstone were talking when he emerged, and he caught part of their conversation. It was something about how ticked off the director was that every time he planned to use the French village set, it was always shot to hell and blown up. Jalbert shrugged his shoulders, and silently walked past them hoping that no one would notice him. There was a group of people gathered around the camera discussing the upcoming scene, and off to the side were two actors, who seemed to be running their lines. "Open channel D. Open channel D," said one distinguished actor into what looked like a pack of cigarettes. The other actor was a blond young man, wearing a black turtleneck sweater, who was practicing putting together some sort of odd-looking weapon that was a handgun, but was attaching an extension to the barrel and a stock. Jalbert wondered what on earth they were doing as he passed the two actors, but his mind was more on getting to the set on time. As Jalbert passed by them, one of the actors looked up for a second and then returned to his script. Jalbert didn't give it another thought and continued through the New York street set towards the French village set. Then he could hear one of the actors shout something. "Hey! It’s one of those guys from “Combat” who keep wrecking the set!" yelled the actor, who had previously been talking to a package of cigarettes. A collective cry went up from the crew and actors, and Jalbert knew he was in for it. Without even looking back, he broke into a run towards the French village set. He could hear the roar of the posse of upset crewmembers and actors chasing after him. * * * Peabody lounged by the bridge waiting for the scene to start, while Lowell walked up to him. A big grin encompassed Peabody's face like a Cheshire cat. "So it looks like you owe me five bucks," said Peabody to Lowell, as he leaned against the bridge. Lowell looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and then checked his watch. "Not for another three minutes," said Lowell, with a bit of an edge to his voice. "Awww, c'mon," chuckled Peabody, "You don't honestly think he's going to make it? The director has already called places, and A.D. has the charges set to go." "Just wait, big man. He'll make it," said Lowell, with more intensity than he had intended. "Is everyone in position?" called the director. "Yeah," went up the call from several crewmembers. "Pay up," said Peabody, now in a full-throated laugh. "Action!" yelled the director. Explosions went up on each side of the bridge, and dirt flew through the air. Peabody and Lowell ran over the bridge and took up their positions next to one of the buildings. They then fired at the extras dressed as German troops. One, two, three of the troops dropped in mock death agony at the appropriate moments. Just then a cloud of smoke from the explosions drifted across the street by the bridge, and a figure appeared as if out of nowhere. It was Jalbert! Running at top speed in a zigzag pattern down the street, he leapt through the air like a cat and landed behind a wagon. He even managed a few well-placed shots at Earl, who was playing a German tank driver. Earl immediately obliged by dropping over on cue in his usual stylish death roll. Peabody stood looking at the scene with his mouth agape, and Lowell smiled at him smugly. "Cut!" yelled the director, "That was brilliant!" Lowell nudged Peabody in the ribs with his elbow and laughed. Peabody, with a disgusted look, reached for his wallet. Just then a roar came from the opposite side of the bridge. Jalbert looked towards the bridge with a grimace, and then made a beeline for the far end of the set. Lowell and Peabody stared at the bridge in wonder as to what could be going on. They didn't have long to wait. A crowd of actors and crewmembers led by both the man with the cigarette pack and the young man in the black turtleneck roared over the bridge. Peabody looked at the mob and then at Lowell, "I don't know about you, but I'm getting out of here!" They both hightailed it out of there as the angry crowd closed in on them. An hour later, the dust had finally settled. The Combat director had calmed down the angry posse, and they had retreated back to their own set. Peabody and Lowell had hidden out in Morrow's trailer. In the meantime Jalbert had pulled a disappearing act worthy of Houdini. Peabody had grumbled all the time he was hidden, and most of it could not be repeated in mixed company. Lowell had pocketed his winnings, but had chosen to remain silent instead of rubbing it in. Both had departed from the trailer at about the same time, but not a word was said between the two. Peabody sauntered off shaking his head at how he was cheated by fate, while Lowell leaned against Morrow's trailer and smiled. A few moments later, a tall figure approached Lowell and leaned against the trailer next to him, and handed him a cold soda. "So how did we do this week, kid?" asked Jason, as he lowered his sunglasses. "Not bad," replied Lowell as he presented Jason with a roll of fives, tens, and twenties, "It was better than last week, but not as good as when we're filming at Franklin Canyon." "Don't worry," smiled Jason, "That will be next week." Feedback |