Steven told me the staff elevator was on the first floor, behind the snack machines. He warned me that I needed to find a pass. He explained that I needed to get off on the twelfth floor and take a different elevator up to the lab on nineteen. He told me everything I needed to know.
Well, almost everything. He forgot to tell me what to do if the elevator was broken and the stairwell was locked.
I stared at the “Out of Order” sign far longer than I should have. I had been on a lot of screwy missions, but stealing a live parasitic killer was a new one to me. My hand curled around the vial I was going to slip in the safe to replace the Bug I was taking.
“Steven,” I hissed into my watch. “Steven!”
His voice flowed through the tiny microphone in my ear. “Are you done yet?”
“The elevator is out of order and the stairwells are locked. I can’t get through this way.”
“Sounds like the reason we pay you the big bucks, Hank.”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone seeing me?”
“And I thought you wanted a real gig. You’re the professional now. I don’t care how you do it, the CDC wants that critter back. Yesterday.”
“I can’t take the stairwell. It’s going to make too much noise to break the door. It’s safer to wait. If I get caught, OSR will know that we know where it is. They’ll move it again.”
“Hank, we don’t care what the almighty Operational god damned Service of Russia knows. They want this back tonight. Make it happen.” His laugh was short and cynical. “Happy first mission.” Steven was just a bit salty that I had gotten the field job while he was chained to his desk, and I guess he wasn't afraid to show it at inappropriate times. Welcome to my new life.
I had a few ideas for Steven, three of which weren’t physically possible, and then a noise at the end of the hallway stopped me.
Tick tick tick tick ticka tick tick tick. I heard her before I saw her, and the sound of her shoes set my teeth on edge.
The receptionist I had dodged at the front desk strode up to me like she was on a mission of her own. She was wearing a perky “Hi, my name is Ross” name tag and clacking her heels across the empty tile foyer. Her features fell short of classic beauty, but she was still stunning. Her fake smile plastered her face like a badge of honor.
I tugged my janitor’s uniform across my hips and returned her smile with one I hoped didn’t look as phony as hers.
“Ross, is it?” I nudged my stolen janitor bucket with the toe of my “borrowed” work boot. In a storage closet by the cafeteria, a janitor would soon be waking up barefoot, cold, and craving an aspirin. “I need to get upstairs or I’ll get in a lot of trouble with my boss.”
She strode past me, four clicks and a tappity tap, to press the elevator button. ”Ross from reception. I haven’t seen you around here before.” My light-hearted conversation attempt was given the attention it deserved, as she ignored me and punched the button a few more times. The force of her pushes rustled the “out of order” sign hanging above the buttons.
“Thanks. I don’t know why I didn’t think of pushing the button myself.” This time I felt the smile I gave her.
She turned quickly, looking me up and down for signs of irony before laughing herself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.” She leaned in, looking down at my chest. “Clarence?”
“Clarence?” I broke my mental stride for a fraction of a second before I remembered I was wearing the janitor’s jumpsuit. I fought the urge to look down at the embroidered tag. “Yes. Yes, hey. I’m new. Nice to meet you.” I was surprised to realize that, looking at her deep brown eyes, I meant it. I let my gaze drink in her deep chestnut hair, and the stray wisps falling from the stern bun at the back of her neck.
“Why don’t you have swipe keys to the stairwell?” Ross led a rapid pace back towards her desk, her heels tapping a deafening staccato as she walked. “You know I’ll have to call Martin and report you.”
I choked. “Report me? For not having my keys?” I wasn’t sure who Martin was, but I was sure I didn’t want to know.
Ross flung a look over her shoulder as she rounded her desk and reached for her phone. “Yes, he’s been acting strange the past few days. Especially about nineteen.” She shrugged. “Who knows?”
I hesitated at her desk, even more reluctant to trade Ross from reception for a parasitic bug. “Ross is a bit unusual for a girl’s name,” I told her. Like she’s never heard that before, I groaned in my head.
“Yes. It’s actually Rose, but someone misspelled my name in school and it fit. I like Ross.”
I was pretty sure I liked Ross, too. “Well, Ross from reception, I wonder if I could get a lift on that public elevator behind you.” I shook my janitor’s bucket. “Emergency on twelve.”
“No one’s on twelve. Or anywhere else for that matter, it’s nine at night. What emergency?”
Damn, she was good. “One of the guards clogged a toilet.”
Ross grimaced dramatically. “Have at it. Go. I won’t tell if you won’t.” She gestured to the elevators behind her. “Go forth, and mop messes.”
I slapped the desk as I walked away, wishing I had a few more minutes to spend with Ross from reception. I gave her a wave and pushed my bucket through the open doors.
I pushed twelve and leaned back against the wall, whistling for the camera in the corner and drumming my fingers against the rail. Nothing to see here, just Clarence the janitor heading to twelve to clean up a clogged toilet.
When the doors whisked open on twelve, I stepped out into the hallway, trusty bucket at my side. I headed for the stairwell in the corner, pulling the identification card I had stolen from the receptionist desk out of my pocket. I swiped it smartly and watched with satisfaction as the buttons lit up like a Christmas tree in a kid’s dream.
The click I heard wasn’t the lock. It was from somewhere behind me.
“Step away, sir.” A voice echoed down the hallway. I sighed, raising my hands, and turned around with a goofy “aw shucks” look on my face. The gun’s muzzle was only an inch from my nose.
“I’m glad you’re here. I need to get up to eighteen for a leaking sink in the executive bathroom. You know how they are up there. My ID isn’t working for some reason.” I held the card up and waved it.
“Who sent you?” The guard’s face was stony and unreadable, but his beady eyes glared up at me from the level of my chest. At first glance, he seemed better suited to a life of playing video games in his mother’s basement than challenging intruders.
“Um, the executives up on eighteen.” In a moment of clarity, I added, “Martin?”
The guard lowered the gun, looking a little unsure. “Who is Martin?” He holstered his weapon. “Let me see your ID.” He brushed a greasy strand of black hair out of his eyes. Kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen. He repeated, “ID. Now.”
Well, hell.
I handed him the ID with my right hand, landing a left hook to his jaw as he took it. I waited for him to fall backwards. To my surprise, he tossed the ID over his shoulder and rubbed the side of his face. He was surprisingly upright after my sucker-punch. The psychotic look he gave me threw me long enough for him to sneak a punch to my gut. It hurt more than I thought it would, like getting hit by a sixth grader holding a brick in his fist. His next punch threw me across a coffee table and into the wall, breaking the heavy table into puzzle pieces of splintered wood. The shock in my eyes seemed to piss him off even more. He gave a strange grunting scream, launching himself across the broken table. He was on top of me before I could even catch my breath.
He was light as a feather, but he was punching for all he was worth. I rolled out from under him and punched him in the ear. It didn’t even slow him down. He kicked out with his steel toe boots twice. The first one glanced off my shoulder, but the second one was a kidney shot that flattened me. He dropped back on me and started punching like a kid who finally cornered the neighborhood bully on the playground.
I grabbed for a leg of the coffee table and swung it at him, but I couldn’t get enough leverage to land a blow. My vision was starting to dim, and all I could think was that I had lost to a guy half my size.
I felt him reaching for his gun. Game, match and set, random guard.
Out of nowhere, a chestnut-haired dynamo appeared, brandishing a heel in her hand. Our eyes locked over the shoulder of the guard for a heartbeat before Ross clobbered him with her shoe. The guard slid off me without a sound, blood seeping from the side of his head.
Ross looked at her shoe briefly before throwing it aside and taking her other one off as well. “Well? Come on.” She grabbed her ID off the floor and swiped open the stairwell door. “Hope you like exercise. It’s a long way up to nineteen.”
I stood up shakily, assessing the damage. “What’s going on? Who the hell are you?”
“Dominika Yanovich. OSR. And you’re not very good at this game, Hank.”
I didn’t even try to deny it. “How did you know?”
“The name on that tag isn’t Clarence. It’s Peter.”
I looked down, biting my lip in embarrassment. “I…”
“You’re in our database, Hank. You all are. Steven, too. It took me thirty seconds to find you on my phone. Oh, and Hank? This guy is one of them. He watched you on camera talking to your watch downstairs.” She nudged the guard with her stockinged foot. “Pretty amateurish work, Hank.”
“One of who? What are you talking about?” I pointed at her name tag. Feelings of betrayal were punching me in the gut harder than the guard had a few minutes earlier. “Who’s Ross?”
“Oh, I bet Ross from reception is a very nice guy, but he shouldn’t leave his name tag at the desk.” She was still at the door, holding it open, and began to tap her foot. “Let’s go, Hank.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I’d go anywhere with you.
“Hank, I can’t explain this right now. We are on the same side here. We need to get this parasite out of here before they get it back and turn it loose on the city.”
“They? Who are they?” I sprinted up the stairs behind her.
She stopped and turned to look down at me from the landing. Her answer stopped my heart. “Them. The Visitors. It’s their bug, Hank.”
The sound of the lobby stairwell door blowing off its hinges echoed up the stairwell.
“And I think we’d better move a little faster.”
........to be continued.
← Back to portfolio