Call me Joe. My real name is unimportant.
I can’t talk about what I’ve done. If you’ve read books or watched movies about dark ops you’ve seen the tip of the iceberg. I can tell you it really messes with you. If you haven’t been there, you can’t understand just how it can mess with you. It impacts everyone differently. For me, I just needed something peaceful to keep my mind from thinking about manipulating events and blood. I really needed to stay away from blood.
When I saw the job opening for a building janitor I jumped at the chance. There’s not much in the way of muck or mire that bothers me. A typical NYC apartment building, at least one not in the Heights, sounded like just the ticket. And, not to denigrate experts, how hard could it be?
The building supervisor was walking me around, showing me the typical jobs I would have. There was removing the sausage bags from the compactor and placing new ones. There was walking around to the recyclable pick-up places to put the recyclables into the correct bags. There was pulling the bags to the curb for Sanitation pick-up, verifying that the right kinds of trash were in the correct piles. And there was cleaning up the laundry room.
That was interesting. The super pointed to a pile of wet clothing in the corner and swore. “I asked the last two janitors to pick that up,” he said, “and neither got it done. But they never came back to work and I never asked either one why. But both had at least thought about it, because each of them left the trash barrel by the pile.”
That got my attention. If I’d learned nothing else in the field, it’s that you don’t trust coincidences. I had no idea what could have been involved, but something was wrong and it was in the corner where that pile of wet clothes was.
So, as soon as the super left me to start working, I grabbed a broom and poked the pile with the handle. Nothing much happened, except nothing on the pile seemed to give when I poked it. There was a towel on the top, so I tried to put the broom handle under the towel to lift it up and take it to the trash barrel.
The next thing I knew, the broom was swung at me full force. I couldn’t tell how, but I took a pretty good hit in my left shoulder before my reflexes kicked in and I rolled. The broom was tossed after me. I got up and I started looking for what might have grabbed that broom handle.
... to be continued ...
This is getting exciting!
Ohboy! A “Whodunnit” Plan 9 from Outer Space!
:zither music:
This pile of wet clothing - it wouldn’t be related to Dark’s grumbling rug thing would it?
As I was reaching for the broom, I heard a woman’s voice behind me. “Are you OK?” she asked.
I got up, rubbing my left shoulder, and said, “My ego may never recover.”
“What happened?” She was about 5 foot 8, straight brown hair, and a no-nonsense look to her. Of course, she was in no-nonsense clothes since she was down here to do her laundry, but she looked pretty good in them.
“I’m not really sure,” I said. “I’m the new janitor and I was going to pick up that pile of clothing.”
“Just stay away from that,” she interrupted.
“Why?” I asked her.
“Six months ago, there was just a rug there. We lost our first janitor when he was going to get rid of the rug. Over time the pile added a blouse from the ‘60s, two pairs of worn-out jeans, more socks than I can remember, and that towel. WE’ve been through 4 janitors, but that pile is just growing. In fact, I think that work shirt might have belonged to Mike.”
“Mike?” I asked again.
“That was two janitors ago. Jose was here for maybe a day, and now you’re here. If you want to stay here, stay away from that pile.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I told her. “The Super asked me to get rid of it. Besides, I don’t usually walk away from trouble.”
“Whatever is going on with that pile, I think the Super is a part of it,” she said. “But, suit yourself. Don’t mind me. I just need to get my stuff out of the dryer.”