Janitors

by Tyler Whitesides

Seeing Daisy anxiously chew her lip, leaning against the wall of a hotel full of dangerous enemies, it clicked. Daisy Gates was most gullible when she was nervous. That’s why Dez brought it out in her so often.

  Spencer’s pity for Daisy melted into understanding. Daisy couldn’t help being gullible any more than Spencer could help washing his hands before lunch. It was instinct.

  “What do we do now?” Daisy asked.

  “We wait for the police to finish their investigation,” Spencer said.

  Spencer glanced at the row of hotel windows. Room 211 would be on the second floor. If this one was like most hotels Spencer had visited, the even rooms would be on one side and odd rooms on the other.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Spencer said. “Count by odds for me.”

  Alice looked puzzled, but Daisy was used to doing what she was told, unquestioningly. She counted odds, and Spencer held up a finger for each number she said. When Daisy reached eleven, Spencer was showing six fingers.

  “So,” Spencer said, walking around the side of the building. He counted six windows from the end on the second story. The drapes were open wide and the flashing, bluish light of a television could be seen in the oncoming darkness.

  “I need a broom.”

  Daisy dug in the bush, accidentally handed him a mop, then traded it for the broom.

  “Spencer?” his mother said. But this was beyond her now.

  Spencer jogged to the wall, estimated the distance to the window, and tapped his broom on the ground. He floated up slowly, using one hand to guide himself along the wall. Staying clear of the window, he peeked sideways into the hotel room.

  An old man was lying on his back under the covers, his fat stomach rising and falling with the rhythm of his snores. The TV blared a rerun of Wheel of Fortune.

  Spencer descended to the ground next to Daisy, shaking his head. “Not it. Must be on the other side,” he said.

  Suddenly, Alice snatched the broom from Spencer’s hand. “What is . . .” She shook it, like she was strangling the broom handle. “Spencer! This is . . . dangerous, crazy—I don’t know! Where did you get this?”

  “This,” Spencer took the broom from his mother, “is just the beginning. We’re up against worse things than this, Mom. I told you it was real.”

  “You shouldn’t be . . . you can’t . . .”

  Just then the officers emerged from the hotel. Spencer, Daisy, and Alice ducked into the concealment of the bushes.

  “ . . . the lady’s son was probably confused,” said the woman officer.

  “Yeah,” chuckled the other. “Who’s going to abduct a school janitor?”

  “Probably a high ransom. Didn’t you know that janitors make millions?”

  They both burst into laughter, climbing into the police car. The automobile pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared down the highway.

  “Did you hear that?” Daisy whispered. “I had no idea Walter was a millionaire!”

  “Yep,” said Spencer. “And Marv’s a brain surgeon.” He tightened the straps on his pink backpack and dug into the bush for the other supplies.

  “So, what does that do?” Alice pointed to the mop. “Does it fly, too?”

  Spencer grinned. It was weird to know so much about something that his mom had never even imagined possible. “There’s no time to explain it all, Mom. The BEM knows we’re coming. I’m sure the police gave us away. The longer we wait, the better chance for them to get away.”

  “Hold on, son,” Alice said. “You are not going in there to take them by force. Do you remember that you’re only twelve years old?”

  Spencer didn’t want to argue with his mother. This was the risk of bringing her along. She had been supportive so far, but no mother would knowingly let her son go into a fight.

  “What should we do, then?” Spencer asked. “If the police won’t get involved, who will?”

  “Oh, the police are getting involved, so help me.” Alice slapped her pockets. “Shoot, I left my phone in the car.” She turned to Spencer. “You two—stay.”

  Spencer fidgeted as his mom jogged across the parking lot. “Daisy,” Spencer said without breaking his gaze toward his mom, “I need you to follow me.”

  “But we can’t. Your mom said stay.”

  Stay was a dog command, meant for animals. But dogs didn’t plot or plan. Dogs didn’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders, the future of education hanging over their heads. Stay was fine for a dog . . . but not for Spencer.

  Alice had just looked up from the station wagon, cell phone in hand, when Spencer and Daisy bolted into the hotel. The kids sprinted through the lobby, mops and brooms in hand, backpacks jangling. They saw the stairs, but that wasn’t the plan.

  Spencer and Daisy exited the hotel as quickly as they’d entered. But now they were on the other side of the building, the side that Spencer was sure had a window to room 211.

  “This has got to be it,” Spencer said, counting six windows again. “You still got the nail?” Daisy patted her pocket, face grim and nervous.

  “I need you to stay down here,” Spencer explained. “In about a minute, my mom is going to show up. Try to calm her down, convince her that I know what I’m doing.” As he talked, Spencer slipped the latex glove onto his right hand and hastily stocked both pockets with quick-access vac dust. “Okay. I’m going up.”

  It was almost fully dark outside and a narrow strip of light leaked out where the curtains didn’t seal together. That gap was all Spencer needed.

  He floated up to the window and pulled himself close until he was almost standing on the narrow brick ledge. All Spencer could see was a dim corner of the hotel room. But tied in that corner was big Marv Bills.

  Spencer strained around, trying to locate Walter and see how many BEM workers were in the room. He didn’t have much time to decide how to attack. His broom was already trying to descend. The window was wide open, so only the screen and the curtain kept him out.

  “Is that someone at the door? Again?” Garth Hadley’s voice drifted out the window.

  Someone at the door? But who? For a moment, Spencer wondered if the police had returned.

  “I’ll get it,” answered a woman. It was Leslie Sharmelle, or Sarah Bently, or whoever she was. “Put the Rebels in the bathroom again.”

  Spencer pressed his ear to the screen. He heard the door open. “My son!” shouted a frantic voice. “Where is he?”

  Spencer nearly toppled from the windowsill. It was his mother at the door! Alice must have thought he and Daisy had gone upstairs . . .

  There was no time to lose! His mother was in danger and the opportunity for a surprise attack was dwindling. He acted—impulsively, instinctively, but not without surprise. A twelve-year-old boy flying through a second-story window was always going to be a surprise.

  Chapter 36

  “Thanks, kid.”

  Spencer used the mop, flicking it at the screen as hard as he could. The Glopified strings ripped off the screen and entangled the curtains, stripping them from the curtain rod.

  Spencer didn’t have time to wait for the mop to retract, so he threw it down. At the same moment, he lunged through the open window, striking his broom against the sill to give him an extra boost.

  Spencer’s mother was standing in the doorway, fear and surprise flashing across her face. Only a few feet before her stood Leslie Sharmelle wearing a baggy sweatshirt and stretch pants. The pink streaks were gone from her spunky hair and now she was platinum blonde. Leslie barely had time to turn away from the doorway before Spencer hit her with a palm blast of vac dust, suctioning her to the floor.

  Garth Hadley was in a much more strategic position. As Spencer shot across the room, the strong BEM worker seized the boy’s foot . . . only to find that it slipped through his hands like Jell-O.<
br />
  Spencer noticed an adjoining door that linked rooms 211 and 209. In the corner, Marv was struggling to his feet, hands still bound. Walter was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the warlock was in the next room.

  “Gloves!” Garth shouted as he scrambled toward Marv. But Spencer was already there. The broom clattered against the wall as Spencer ducked behind the big janitor, checking the knots at his wrists. He tugged at them for a moment, but the ropes were too tight.

  Garth leapt forward and grabbed Marv by the front of his shirt, Spencer cowering behind. Garth would have punched the big janitor square in the nose, but Marv suddenly slipped through his grasp.

  “Ha ha!” Marv exclaimed, feeling Spencer shove the sweaty latex glove onto his bound hand. Marv flexed, but the ropes still held.

  “What the . . . ?” Hadley said. Marv threw his full weight forward and checked Garth Hadley to the floor.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw his mom lunge forward, tackling Leslie as she recovered from the vac dust. “Mom!” he shouted.

  Alice had Leslie’s arms pinned. She blew at an errant strand of hair in her face. “Don’t worry about me, Spence.” She drove an elbow into the middle of Leslie’s back. “Get out of here and find Daisy!”

  Spencer gave a half grin. If Alice was anything, she was independent. Spencer ducked behind Marv. “Go!” he shouted, using the big janitor as a shield to cross the room.

  With his hands tied behind his back, Marv lowered his head like a charging ram and burst into the adjoining room, Spencer close behind.

  Walter was strapped to a chair, a lamp illuminating his face as in a professional interrogation. Five angry BEM workers were scrambling around the room, gathering supplies to fight the intruders. Among them, Spencer recognized the skinny man with the pointy nose, the pimply recess aide, and the fat guy from the gym’s emergency exit. The other two were strangers.

  Marv and Spencer paused in the doorway, surveying the area. The room was set up like Walter’s Rebel Closet, minus the vat of gurgling gray Glop. Vacuums, mops, brooms, and a myriad of other Glopified tools were ready for use. But Spencer was only searching for something sharp to cut the janitors free.

  “Chaaaarge!” Spencer shouted when he spotted an open pocketknife on top of the little refrigerator. Like a faithful warhorse, Marv galloped forward. He head-butted the skinny dude and sent him sprawling on the floor. The pimply guy bounced from the bed and grasped a handful of Marv’s shaggy black hair, but it was impossible to hang on while Marv wore the glove.

  One of the strangers tossed a well-aimed fistful of vac dust, and Spencer’s shield finally went down. At the same time, the fat BEM worker donned his own latex glove and grabbed Marv by the throat.

  Spencer dove aside, springing from one queen bed to the next. On his way, he grabbed a pushbroom from the wall. If he remembered correctly from Walter’s training, the pushbroom should send his enemies flying. Spencer struck the nearest man once . . . twice.

  Yes! The pushbroom flung the BEM worker helplessly toward the ceiling. Another man was charging, but Spencer hurled the pushbroom like a javelin and the man floated backward over the bed.

  Marv was thrashing on the floor, his face turning beet red as the fat BEM worker continued to choke. Spencer reached the fridge, grabbed the pocketknife, and ran to Walter. With two cuts from the sharp blade, the warlock was free.

  Walter Jamison leapt to his feet, snatched a mop from the rack, and dealt a painful blow to the back of the fat man’s head. Marv gasped for breath, veins still bulging across his forehead.

  Walter grabbed a second mop, stepped over Marv’s body, and began casting an impenetrable network of elongated mop strings. Spencer rolled Marv onto his side and cut the ropes around his wrists.

  “Thanks, kid,” Marv huffed. “That was brave of you to come alone.”

  “I didn’t come alone,” Spencer said. Suddenly he remembered his mom, wrestling with Leslie in the other room, and Daisy waiting nervously outside.

  “My mom’s over there,” he said. “She was supposed to stay with Daisy outside. We’ve got to help her! She doesn’t know what she’s up against.” Spencer stepped forward, but Walter cut him off.

  “Marv,” Walter said, still spinning a defensive net with the mops, “take Spencer to help Daisy. I’ll hold off these three and get Mrs. Zumbro.”

  “Come on.” Marv grabbed Spencer’s shoulder and steered him toward the window. In the lighted parking lot below, Spencer saw Daisy sprinting away from the hotel. Close behind, and gaining fast, Garth Hadley and Leslie Sharmelle descended on brooms.

  “Oh, no!” Spencer cried. “Daisy has the nail. If they catch her . . .”

  “Get a broom.” Marv jerked open the window and pulled off the screen. With a broom in hand, the big man clambered onto the sill just as two BEM workers launched from the next window.

  “Hey!” Marv shouted, striking his bristles on the ground and jumping into a collision course. Spencer followed, leaving his mother tied in the next room and Walter to rescue her.

  Once in the air, the broom’s course was unalterable. Marv sped forward and smashed into the skinny guy. Marv’s bulk won out and the BEM worker’s broom was knocked askew.

  Spencer’s launch had set him higher than all the others. From his bird’s-eye view, he saw Garth Hadley and Leslie Sharmelle close the gap on Daisy.

  Spencer heard the faint suction of vac dust and saw Daisy topple to the blacktop. Her broom dropped and shot off on its own. The mop tumbled from her grasp.

  “No!” Spencer shouted, anger flooding through him. Garth picked up the mop and stood guard while Leslie pried open Daisy’s clenched hand. Spencer floated, trying uselessly to make his broom descend.

  “Got it!” he heard Leslie shout. Spencer felt his stomach sink. The Barbie woman stood up and tossed the tiny object to Garth Hadley. They had found the bronze nail!

  Too far away to do anything, Marv was fistfighting the two BEM workers in the parking lot. Spencer finally touched ground as Leslie and Garth reached a silver Lexus sports car.

  Spencer had a chance to reach them if he stayed low and kicked off with enough force. The boy sprinted a few steps, angled his body forward, and whacked the broom bristles on the blacktop. The broom streaked forward, Spencer swinging a leg over the handle and riding it like a stick horse.

  Leslie was in the driver’s seat and the motor revved as she turned on the car. Given his current angle and speed, Spencer guessed he would hit the car’s windshield in about a second and a half. Whether he had enough thrust to break through, Spencer never got to find out.

  In the split second before impact, Garth Hadley leaned out the passenger window and cast the mop he’d stolen from Daisy. The strings wrangled Spencer from the broom and the mop retracted as Leslie peeled out. Spencer was caught like a bug in a butterfly net as the car sped for the exit.

  Suddenly, big hands snatched him out of the mop strings, and Spencer felt totally disoriented. Marv held Spencer like he’d caught a touchdown pass. Momentum and gravity pulled the two of them over. They collapsed in the parking lot as the silver sports car took the corner too sharply and scraped the exhaust pipe on the curb.

  “Daisy?” Spencer whispered, sitting up painfully. The girl was walking toward them. Her face was tear-streaked and her hands and knees were scraped from her fall.

  “You all right?” Spencer asked, stumbling to his feet.

  “They got the nail,” she sobbed. “I tried to get away, but they came too fast.”

  “It’s okay,” Spencer tried to comfort. He clenched his fists in frustration. He never should have left her alone. She really could have been hurt.

  Marv stood up, dusting his big belly. The burly janitor was equally scraped and bleeding, and he already had a black eye and loose tooth from his fistfight with the BEM workers. Spencer glanced acr
oss the parking lot. The skinny guy and the pimply guy were collapsed on the grass nearby. Apparently, Marv had won.

  Suddenly, the side door of the Best Western burst open. The last three BEM workers charged forward, arms laden with Glopified weapons. Spencer felt a surge of fear. What had they done to Walter and his mom?

  Weaponless, Marv stepped forward, clenching his beefy fists. Marv was never truly weaponless as long as he had hands. But the BEM workers were coming fast, the first one almost within mop range.

  The screech of tires caused Spencer, Daisy, and Marv to whirl around. The Zumbro station wagon rounded the corner of the Best Western, single headlight shining on them. The BEM worker struck at Marv with his mop, but the car intercepted, brakes squealing to a halt in front of Spencer.

  Walter rolled down the passenger’s window.

  “Get in!”

  Chapter 37

  “The School Board.”

  Looks like we got to you just in time,” Walter Jamison said as the station wagon pulled onto the highway. “Those three BEM workers weren’t going to show you any mercy. Mrs. Zumbro and I barely got away.”

  Alice hadn’t said a word. She gripped the steering wheel, unblinking. Spencer noticed the ash-white color of her face. Welcome to my world, Mom.

  Spencer and Daisy were squeezed in by Max’s crumb-filled car seat while Marv sprawled out in the back. There weren’t many cars on the two-lane highway, and Spencer could see the Lexus’s taillights far ahead.

  “We’ll never catch them,” Spencer whispered. “They’re driving a sports car.”

  This seemed to snap Alice out of her trance. “Hey!” she said. “This baby’s never let us down.” She patted the dashboard. “And she’s been with us as long as you have, Spencer. Is your seat belt buckled, young man?”

  Peering over his mom’s shoulder, Spencer saw the speedometer’s needle rising past 70. The whole car was shaking like a jackhammer. He quickly sat back and snapped the seat belt securely across him.

  “Your mom gave an impressive show back there,” Walter said. “Knocked two of those guys over with a mop. And she didn’t even use the Glopified end.”