[Janitors 01] Janitors

by Tyler Whitesides

  “Sometimes I see bats in the garbage can . . . and rodents scurrying down the halls.”

  Mr. Hadley shook his head. “But they’re not quite bats, are they? And they’re not really rodents.” He stooped to look directly into Spencer’s eyes. “It’s important that you tell me everything.”

  With this encouragement, Spencer spilled all. He started at the beginning, with the soap he’d found in the bathroom. Then he explained each creature in detail and told how Marv could see them too. He told about his conversation with Daisy Gates and his confrontation with Dez and the sour milk. He ended with his confession to the class and the resulting bitter laughter.

  Telling the whole story made it sound even more unbelievable, but the grave look on Garth Hadley’s face assured Spencer that he was right about everything.

  “Your story confirms our suspicions,” Mr. Hadley said. “Walk with me.”

  They crossed the sweltering parking lot to a white van. On the driver’s door was a circular seal with the United States eagle, e pluribus unum written on a banner in its beak. In one talon it held a broom; the other clutched a dustpan. “Bureau of Educational Maintenance” was scribed in fancy letters above the eagle’s head. Other than the seal, the van was blocky and plain, with no other windows and no additional doors except at the rear.

  Garth Hadley pulled Spencer around to the back of the van, the vehicle’s shadow cooling their legs. Hadley dug in the back pocket of his black pants and withdrew a wallet. Spencer saw his driver’s license and legal BEM certification card. After rifling through the contents for a moment, Hadley produced a photograph.

  “Have you seen this man in or around Welcher Elementary School?” Hadley asked, passing Spencer the photo.

  The person in the picture was old—at least mid-sixties. The man’s hair was wavy and white. His face was lean and wrinkled, with a full mustache and goatee. It looked like a professional photo with a blue cloth background. The paper it was printed on was dull, the borders showing jagged scissor marks. Clipped out of a school yearbook, perhaps.

  “Never seen him,” Spencer said, handing the photo back. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Walter Jamison, but we have reason to believe that he’s going under the alias of John Campbell.”

  “John Campbell?” Spencer asked. “The secretary says he’s the head janitor here. But I’ve never seen him, just Marv. What does he have to do with the creatures in the school?”

  “The little monsters you’ve been seeing are very dangerous, especially to children. They inhale brain waves of young people and exhale certain toxins that affect children’s ability to learn. Walter Jamison has been gathering them with the intent to extract, shall we say, magical properties from the creatures.”

  Spencer stared, dumbfounded. An adult had just dropped the “m” word in all seriousness. This was awesome. Spencer was finally getting some answers.

  “So Marv is helping him?” Spencer clarified.

  Hadley nodded. “You told me that Marv was trying to capture that dust gopher in the hallway after school. They are wild little beasts. Very difficult to contain. The few you’ve seen around the school must have slipped through Walter’s fingers.”

  “So why don’t you just fire Marv and Walter?” Spencer asked. “Isn’t the BEM in charge of hiring and firing janitors all over the U.S.?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fired soon. But it would be unwise to fire Walter now that he is finally within our grasp.” Mr. Hadley tapped his square chin in thought. “Walter Jamison has grown very powerful. Should we fire him now, he would vanish for a time, then pop up again somewhere else. Like a bad weed. But we have a chance to cripple him here and now—to put an end to his experiments before it’s too late.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to finish my routine inspection of the school and leave. While representatives of the BEM are around, the janitors will be overly cautious. It will be impossible to do what it takes to break Jamison.”

  “If you guys aren’t going to do it, then who is?” Spencer asked.

  “I was hoping you might help us.” Garth Hadley opened the back doors of the van. Spencer was too stunned for words. Maybe he would end up with a career in the BEM after all. And sooner than he thought. Spencer’s thread of courage was growing, bolstered by these newfound answers.

  “What do you say?” Hadley asked, crawling into the back of the van. Instead of seats, the van was full of custodial equipment. There were two different kinds of vacuums, several brooms, some dustpans, and a couple of boxes full of miscellaneous items.

  “Sure,” Spencer managed at last. “What can I do?”

  Chapter 11

  “Sweet.”

  It’s pretty complex,” Garth Hadley explained. “Walter Jamison can only perform his warlock experiments within the walls of this school. He has fortified Welcher Elementary, using an ancient hammer to drive a bronze nail somewhere into the structure. The hammer gives him power, and the nail sets up a link with the building.”

  “What do I have to do?” Spencer asked.

  “I need you to pull out the nail,” Hadley explained, “with the same hammer that put it in.”

  “Whoa,” muttered Spencer. “I don’t know. I’m not really great with tools.”

  “You can do it,” Hadley said. “It will be difficult. We have every reason to believe that Jamison keeps the bronze hammer on him at all times.”

  “That’s why you want me to get it? Because he won’t suspect me until it’s too late?”

  “Right,” said Hadley. The man was on his knees, digging into a box in the back of the van. Spencer stood awkwardly by the bumper.

  “Once I get the hammer, where will I find the nail?”

  “We don’t know. That is part of the reason we’ve scheduled these inspections.” Hadley seemed to have found what he was looking for and began a backward crawl out of the van. “Once we get more details, I’ll contact you and instruct you how to proceed.”

  Garth Hadley stood up and held out the two objects he had gathered from the box. His curiosity piqued, Spencer accepted the offerings. One was a small plastic flashlight with a red switch, the other, a used latex glove.

  “Thought you might need these,” Hadley said, shutting the back door of the van.

  “Thanks,” Spencer said, raising an eyebrow.

  “There’s more here than meets the eye,” Hadley explained. “The flashlight bulb is charged with the same power that fuels Walter Jamison’s projects. When you turn it on in the dark, you might not think it’s doing much. However, other magical items will draw out a strong beam of light. That should help you find the nail and hammer.

  “The glove is a dangerous item that we recovered from a raid of Walter Jamison’s last experiment station. Jamison, it seems, somehow knew we were coming and was gone by the time we got there. Much like today, in fact.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Marv said he was out of state at his brother’s funeral. An unlikely story. But the glove,” Hadley explained, “will be vital to your success.”

  “What does it do?” Spencer asked, dangling the limp, yellowish glove between two fingers.

  “Put it on,” Hadley encouraged.

  Spencer looked at the used glove with apprehension. Who knew where this had been? What kind of germy hands had slipped into this glove before him?

  “Nothing to fear,” Hadley said, sensing his hesitation. “The glove won’t harm you.”

  Spencer peered into the opening where his hand was supposed to go. Maybe it didn’t look so bad inside. He pulled a face. Anyway, Garth Hadley was waiting for him. Taking a deep breath, Spencer plunged his hand into the glove, finding plenty of extra space at the end of each finger.

  Hadley suddenly reached out with a sharp motion and grabbed Spencer’s
arm above the elbow.

  “Ow!” Spencer winced at the iron grip and jerked away. To Spencer’s surprise, his arm stretched and slipped easily through Hadley’s grasp—as though the man were gripping a blob of Jell-O.

  “Sweet,” whispered Spencer.

  Garth Hadley smiled. “As long as you’re wearing that glove, no one will be able to hold you down.” Spencer pulled it off, feeling the latex stretch and watching the glove turn inside out, a bit of sweat moistening the rubber.

  “One exception,” Hadley said, “although it’s very unlikely it will occur. If your opponent wears a similar glove, both become able to catch the other. Understand?”

  Spencer nodded, still trying to believe that this was actually happening.

  “Even with this gear, you’ll need to be extremely clever and fast,” Mr. Hadley continued. “You’ll need some pretty potent distractions to occupy the janitors while you go snooping around. Be thinking—I’ll be thinking too.”

  “What about Daisy?”

  “Who?”

  “Remember,” Spencer said, “the girl whose face I drew on? I’d really like to show her the creatures. I think she could help me too.”

  “I thought she didn’t believe you,” Hadley said.

  “She didn’t,” said Spencer. “But with your help, and some soap, she will.”

  “You want me to give her soap?”

  Spencer nodded.

  Hadley exhaled slowly. “Intentionally expose a child?” he whispered to himself, obviously caught in some moral dilemma.

  “Out of everyone I’ve told, she’s the most likely to believe,” Spencer coaxed. “She wants to believe, but she gets tricked a lot.” In his mind, Spencer saw the future playing out more hopefully. He would prove to Daisy that he wasn’t a prankster, and at the same time he’d gain a friend to help him with Mr. Hadley’s assignment.

  Garth Hadley began to nod almost imperceptibly, his lips pursed. He led Spencer around to the driver’s door and reached between the seats. He handed a clear plastic bottle to Spencer, half full of the strong pink soap. “Swear one thing,” he said.

  “What?” said Spencer, noting the intensity in Hadley’s eyes.

  “That soap is shared with Daisy alone. Once her eyes are opened, you’ll give the bottle back to me with the bronze hammer and nail.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing. As you’ve probably gathered by now, all this stuff is top secret. That means you’d probably better let things drop with your classmates. For your own good as well as theirs.”

  Spencer nodded. “They’re going to tease me about what I’ve already said.”

  “Ignore it. This is dangerous business. We don’t want to get anyone else involved. If they tease you, be silent and strong. Focus all your energy on your secret mission and bring Jamison down.”

  Hadley snatched a paper from the dashboard. He clicked a pen from his pocket. “You have a cell phone, Spencer?”

  “Nope.”

  “How about e-mail?”

  “SpenceZ@wahoo.com,” replied Spencer. Hadley scribbled it down.

  “If you run into trouble, just contact me,” Hadley explained. He replaced his pen in his pocket and withdrew a business card with his name, phone number, and e-mail address printed on it. “The BEM doesn’t want anyone getting hurt. If you think this is too much, don’t hesitate to call. We can find some other way. But personally, I think you’ll hit Walter Jamison so hard that he won’t know what happened.” Mr. Hadley patted Spencer’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

  “Wait,” cried Spencer as the man walked back toward the school.

  “Go home, kid,” Hadley shouted back.

  Spencer leaned against the white van, wondering if the president of the United States knew that one of the government agencies had just enlisted a twelve-year-old.

  Chapter 12

  “Them’s the worst kind of folks.”

  The Gates home was small and rundown, the polar opposite of Aunt Avril’s mansion on the hill. The single-story structure had been painted blue several times over the five decades that it spanned. The cement walkway sported cracks so large that the path looked tiered. A maple tree had been planted too close to the driveway. Now taller than the house, the tree roots reached far and limbs overhung the front porch.

  Spencer found the house easily. After leaving Hadley’s white van in the school parking lot, he had biked four blocks to a Chevron gas station. There, shuffling through the pages of an outdated directory at a dilapidated pay phone, he’d found the Gates’s address. A two-block ride through the afternoon sun had brought him to the edge of Daisy’s property.

  The grass was mostly dry and crispy brown—at least Aunt Avril’s house shared that feature after three months of Zumbro housekeeping. There was a large garage apart from the house. The garage door was open and a Buick was jacked up inside. There were two other cars parked on the broken driveway and a truck on the street.

  Spencer stepped off his bike and put down the kickstand on the sidewalk. He reached into his pocket and felt the little bottle of soap. Would Daisy believe him now that he had told the truth in class? She wouldn’t want to get tricked again, but Spencer had a plan to help her believe. The first step was knocking on the front door.

  Spencer stepped onto the first tier of the walkway. As though he had tripped some unseen sensor, a black dog came tearing around the corner, barking, teeth bared. Spencer jumped backward off the walkway, but the dog seemed to have dinner on its mind. The boy stumbled into the street, tipping over his bicycle.

  There was a sharp jangle of chains and the barking snapped short. Spencer glanced over his shoulder to see the dog, chain pulled tight around its neck, halfway across the yard.

  Movement in the garage caught Spencer’s eye. A pair of legs was sliding out from under the Buick! The legs gave way to torso, arms, and finally a head as a man stood up, staring into the street and wiping his grease-smeared hands on his blue coveralls.

  Spencer stared. The man stared back. In his left pocket, Spencer was fingering the latex glove and wondering if he could slip through dog teeth if the chain snapped.

  “What’s up?” the man called, walking down the driveway. His face was round and he was balding. Spencer guessed he was in his late thirties.

  “Looking for Daisy Gates,” Spencer said. “Does she live here?”

  “Most certainly does,” answered the man. His voice had a casual drawl. “But she ain’t home right now. She’s on a business trip to California.”

  “Dad!” Daisy exclaimed, appearing beside the Buick in the garage. Mr. Gates began to laugh as his daughter strolled down the driveway toward them.

  “Aw, shoot,” the man said, slapping his leg. “You heard me?”

  “Hi, Daisy.” Spencer waved awkwardly. It had been two days since he’d drawn blue flames on her cheek. He knew she’d been intrigued, frustrated, embarrassed, and disappointed in the past few days—all because of him. Suddenly, standing in front of her house seemed really uncomfortable.

  Daisy gave him an unreadable stare before saying, “Hello, Spencer.”

  “This a friend of yours, Daisy?” Mr. Gates asked, gesturing at Spencer with a shiny, oiled finger.

  “He’s in my class,” Daisy answered. Spencer painfully noted how he hadn’t gained friend status yet. “What are you doing here?” she asked Spencer.

  “I missed the bus,” Spencer admitted.

  “So you came to my house?”

  “I looked you up in the phone book at the gas station.”

  Mr. Gates whistled through his teeth. “Darn resourceful, this kid.”

  “I was really hoping that you might give me a lift home. I live kind of far.” Spencer gave Daisy a pleading look.

  “You’ve got your bike.” She pointed to the sidew
alk where the back wheel of the toppled bicycle spun slowly.

  “It’s uphill.” There was a moment of silence. “Please?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Daisy finally answered. “I can’t drive.” Spencer shifted his plea to Mr. Gates.

  “You bet,” he said. “It might do me some good to get away from that Buick for a bit.” He slapped the empty pockets of his coveralls, then said, “Daisy, run grab the truck keys, will you?”

  Spencer quickly spoke up. “I was wondering if I could come inside for a minute. To use the bathroom,” he explained, somewhat self-consciously.

  “Take him in, Daisy,” the mechanic said. “Just look out for the dog. She only bites a few times before she decides if she likes you or not.”

  Spencer followed Daisy through the garage, across a patch of hard, dry dirt, up some side steps and through a screen door, narrowly missing the dog. They entered through the kitchen. Gratefully, Spencer saw plenty of clutter on the countertop and dining table. Daisy didn’t notice as he swiped a small paper and pen from the mess and tucked it into his pocket.

  “The bathroom is yours,” she said after leading him down a narrow hallway with old, creaking floorboards. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Thanks,” he said, stepping into the small bathroom and shutting the door. Immediately, Spencer removed the paper and spread it on the counter next to the sink. There was a grocery list hastily scribbled on one side, so Spencer flipped it over and started to write.

  Daisy,

  This is the soap—the real stuff. Wash your face with this tonight. If I’m lying, you have nothing to lose. I’ll never know that you used the soap and you never have to talk to me again. If I’m telling the truth, then tomorrow you’ll see what I see.

  I need your help. Please try it.

  Spencer

  He read over the note once more, adding a comma that he’d missed the first time. Spencer pulled out the top drawer, revealing a tube of toothpaste, some fingernail clippers, and a single toothbrush. Removing the little bottle from his pocket, Spencer placed the note and the soap in the drawer next to the toothbrush.