by John Mackie
Right. As if that was ever going to happen.
I took a playful swipe at him, but he danced out of my reach and threw his backpack over his shoulder.
“See you tomorrow.”
So I was the only one in the office when the walking flagpole showed up.
“Hey, thanks for sticking around. I want to get these filings completed, so we don’t end up with any late filing penalties or interest.”
“No problem.” I stepped aside, and John maneuvered past me with a barrister’s briefcase and two expanding files in his arms. “Better you than me, big guy.”
As John worked his way to the back, I glanced around the lot. Signs and More closed at six, like we did. A rusted Accord that the building janitor drove sat out front of their unit. We had him in twice a week, but I was pretty sure the other tenants had him in more often.
The Sofa Gallery was open until nine, but I had never seen any vehicle parked in front of that shop other than the Lexus that sat there every day. In front of the Urban Jungle sat ten or twelve cars – every one of them a minivan. Must be a birthday party or something. I locked up, and headed back.
John was seated and hard at work in one of the offices. He looked like one of those dipping birds, his head and shoulders at a precarious angle over the desk as though he was about to tip forward. Same white shirt, solid charcoal grey suit and black tie he was wearing the last time I saw him. His initials were stitched on the cuff of his shirt, which made sense since there was no way he was buying suits off the rack.
“John.” He glanced up. “Feel free to go casual whenever you’re in the office. We’re a pretty relaxed place.”
“Thanks.” He stretched back in the chair. “I prefer the suit. Helps me stay focused.”
“Really? I got fed up with ties.”
“I tend to forget I’m even wearing one.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll be puttering about. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks. I’ll try to finish by ten at the latest.”
I wandered out into the middle of the staging area and stood for a moment, hands on my hips. I had a sudden impulse to throw my hands in the air and proclaim “Mine! All this is mine!” At least it might be if I didn’t keep screwing up.
I dealt with the vans first. Jim kept the car at his place, so I would take a glance at it over lunch hour the following day.
Both vehicles were in good running condition, but I had managed to make a mess of the interior of Arcane 1 in the past few weeks (Clay had swung for vanity plates a few years earlier – Arcane 1, Arcane 2 and Arcane 3). Crumpled food wrappers, empty pop bottles, the Sports section from nearly a weeks’ worth of Toronto Star issues. I dragged the recycling bins over and worked my way through the mess.
I was vacuuming when John called out, damn near causing me to soil myself.
“Didn’t hear you there.”
“Sorry about that. You want some pizza? I was going to order in.”
“Sure.”
“Pepperoni and cheese? Anything else?”
“Nah, that’s fine.”
He strode off, leaving me to finish with the van.
After dinner I finished with the sorting area, hit the lights and moved to Clay’s office (now mine too, I suppose). Maggie had put aside a tottering stack of paperwork for me to go through, and I did just that, my feet kicked up and chair leaning at an angle which threatened its structural integrity. I grabbed the top few items off the stack and started reading.
A couple of credit notes for customers who had overpaid accounts, bless their souls. One reminder letter about a past due account. Bindings bookshop, owned by a Dr. Bernie Galt. I’d met Galt on my first day, but only briefly. Clay had since warned me about him, and he was right, the guy was proving to be a pain in the butt.
Two checks to be signed – one to DeVenny Devos (John’s firm), the other to our landlord. Clay had signed those checks in the past, but he seemed delighted to pass the responsibility to me. He had online access to the accounts anyways, and seemed confident that we would let him know if anything unusual came up.
I went through the weekly cash flow statement along with the balance sheet and income statement for the prior month, which I knew were e-mailed to Clay and Harper.
There was also a commentary on the April financials, summarizing results versus prior year and prior quarter and reviewing a few key metrics. The biggies were on time delivery, customer queries and complaints, committed schedules for the remainder of the year. I’m embarrassed to admit that the analysis was more detailed and reflected more knowledge of the business than anything I had ever seen at my previous employer, which had twenty times the revenue, fifty times more employees and zero profit.
There was a letter from John confirming that payroll deductions for the month had been remitted. Also an old memo reminding Clay that March and April were tight months for DeVenny Devos due to tax time. Not an issue for us, since Arcane’s year end was October 31, like the big banks. I suppose all major organizations think alike.
We had received a recommendation from the insurance brokers regarding the upcoming renewals. Looked like a small increase, but expanded coverage. Sounded good to me, and I made a note to that effect for Maggie.
A few other odds and ends, including a note from Kara suggesting a few purchases to stock up the office. I was getting to the end of the stack when John’s voice rang out.
“Mr. Elder, do you hear that?”
Every time he called me that I aged five years.
“What was that?”
I heard him rise from his seat, then he appeared at the door. His face was flushed, and it took me a moment to realize that he was blushing. Embarassed?
“Sounded like scratching. Through the wall. And I thought I saw a light go on in there.”
I glanced into the staging bay. Dark, and as far as I could tell, very empty.
“Haven’t heard anything myself.”
“Huh.” He seemed hesitant. “Sorry about that, must be my imagination.”
The big man disappeared from sight. Ten seconds later, he was back.
“OK, you must have heard that.”
“Nooooo...” Hadn’t heard a thing. Was young Mr. Vranic a little loopy? They said dentists often went over the edge. Was accounting not an equally soul draining profession?
John stepped out into the kitchen area and stood stock-still. A man may not be able to perk up his ears like a hunting dog, but he gave a close approximation. It was enough to cause me to stop chewing my gum and listen.
“Huh.” There was a scratching sound. Coming from the staging bay, I thought.
“You hear that, eh? Not just my imagination.”
“Nope. Not unless we’re both on the same drugs.” I eased my chair back, figuring I was better not to scare off whatever had made its way into the building.
“What do you think it is?”
“No idea. Raccoon, maybe? Little bastards can get in anywhere. Maybe a squirrel? Rat?”
“Rats... brrrrr. I hate rats.” He actually cringed when he said it. Mind you, I’m not a big fan of rats, either.
“Well, let’s check it out.” I stepped out into the staging bay and glanced around, but it was real dark in there. The only sources of light were the kitchen and an emergency exit light over the back door.
After peering into the dark without success, I flicked the three light switches for the overheads. The fluorescents sputtered, then lit up the room. John and I edged our way further into the staging bay. I have no doubt we looked like a pair of idiots.
“Where do you think it was coming from?” I glanced around, but there was no sign of any animals or any damage. I scanned the package racks to make sure nothing had been torn open. That would have made my day.
“It sounded like it was inside the wall, or just on the other side.”
I turned to scan the wall adjacent to the office John had been working in, and felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
L
ost and Found Room.
“Shit.”
It took me a few moments, but I got my nerve up and unlocked the door to the Lost and Found Room. At the same time I stabbed my hand out and flicked on the light switch.
I eased the door open and we both stood surveying the room.
“See anything?” John’s whisper came from just behind my left shoulder.
Same as usual. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. I shrugged and stepped back to scan the rest of the docking area. John moved into the room, leaning back as though ready to defend himself against attack. I couldn’t see anything under the vans.
As I turned back to the room John was in, I could see that the only places where something might be hiding were in the stack of carpets or the clothes rack at the back...
“There!”
I saw it. Something, anyways. The hem of a dark raincoat had moved, and the belt was swinging. John moved forward, and parted the clothes along the wall.
Sitting on its haunches, staring at him with whiskers twitching and obsidian eyes, was the biggest darned rodent I have ever seen. A good ten or eleven inches, with a tail again as long.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit—!” As he darted past me into the staging bay, John’s voice rose in pitch, the exact opposite of the Doppler effect an ambulance siren makes as it passes you. He sounded like an eight year old girl.
I snorted, but when I turned back the rat was gone from sight so I followed in his footsteps.
“Did he get out of the room?”
“No. No way. I would have seen it. Jesus, did you see the size of that thing!”
“Big bugger. OK, let’s see if we can corner him.” I moved into the room this time, figuring John’s pride would force him to follow me. A few seconds later he shuffled in. I began peering behind the carpets and a few pieces of furniture, while John moved to the clothing racks.
“He must still be behind the clothes. I’m going to have to move the rack out from the wall.”
“There.”
Yup. John was right in front of the rack, and that jacket moved again. This time I could see eyes shining in the dark of the shadows. It occurred to me at that moment that our little visitor might bite, or worse yet have rabies or some damned rat flu. So when I began to move, I did so with extreme caution. Grasping the metal rack, I began to pull it out from the wall. A dark body darted out from under the rack and dove into a gap in the stack of carpets.
This time John flinched as though he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket. He didn’t move, but the blood ran from his face, and his eyes were as wide as one of those Japanese cartoon characters on Teletoon.
“You okay?”
He was breathing, but it was shallow and quick. I had a bad feeling that I was going to see a six foot seven man faint at my feet if I wasn’t careful. Glancing back to make sure the rat hadn’t shown itself again, I turned and led John out of the room, closing the door behind me.
We were back in the kitchen before he seemed to regain his wits.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
“No problem. That is one big rat. He could take on any mouser we set on him.”
“I’m scared shitless of those things. My brother tucked one into my bed sheets when I was in grade two, and every time I see one I remember the damned thing scratching and clawing to get out.”
Great. Somehow I had managed to terrify my accountant. I suppose others can say the same, but those cases tend to involve an SEC investigation or a shareholder lawsuit.
“Listen, why don’t we call it a night? I’ll take a few minutes to see if I can sweep the little bugger out the back door. If I have no luck, I’ll get an exterminator in tomorrow.”
Relief crossed his face. It was like I had given him a three month extension on this year’s tax returns. He was that happy.
“You sure?”
He tried to put up a brave face, and I appreciated that. But five minutes later he was out the door and on his way home. Ten o’clock on the button. Leaving me to face Mr. Rat on my own.
“Here, Ratty Ratty.” I had taken to brute force measures, and was carrying a hockey stick I had plucked from the trunk of my car.
To avoid an exhausting chase around the entire office, I entered the Lost and Found Room and closed the door behind me.
I started with the stack of carpets, rugs and similar furnishings. As I lifted each with one hand, I held the hockey stick out. I felt like some cheesy lion tamer, carpet and stick instead of chair and whip. Each time I lifted a carpet I leaned it against the wall to make sure Mr. Rat couldn’t dart into a new hiding spot.
No luck.
I turned back to the coat rack. No swaying hems. I pulled it out further from the wall. Nothing.
Time to get creative.
I started behind the door, scanning every inch of the wall and floor for holes or hiding spots. They’re not a sneaky as mice, but rats can get through much smaller spaces than you might think.
I glanced inside the centre of one of the carpet rolls and lifted it, thumping it down on the floor. Nothing fell out. Same for each of the other rolls. Checked the back of the dressers to make sure there were no holes he might have used to climb into one. Rifled through the clothes on the rack, even searching pockets.
Nothing.
Shit. It must have gotten out into the bay.
I opened the door and stared around the open room. This was going to take a while.
I stumbled in the door of my apartment at a quarter to two in the morning. Not exactly working the nine to five.
I ended up checking the staging bay, the package racks, the vans, the two offices, the kitchen (including the fridge and all of the cabinets), the washroom, reception and the front conference room. No luck. Little bastard had gone into hiding. Ninja rat.
I made a mental note to have Kara get an exterminator in as soon as possible the next day. Last thing we needed was for the damned thing to poke its head out while she was talking to a customer. Or worse yet, have it chew through a couple of delivery packages.
The apartment was dark and quiet, leading me to assume Ted was sleeping at his place. I would have heard his snoring otherwise. And the walls tended to vibrate.
I grabbed the home phone on my way into the kitchen, pulled a caffeine free pop and a hunk of cheddar from the fridge, and worked my way over to the sofa.
The phone was sounding a fast busy tone – must have a message. I dialed in, and punched out my password.
“You have seven voice-mail messages.”
I glared down at my cellphone, and kicked it off the coffee table with a bare foot. What the hell was the point in even carrying the thing?
“To listen to your voice-mail, press—.” I punched one, and listened to the first message.
“Hey, it’s me. Just settling in, thought I’d give you an update. Pretty quiet so far, maybe forty guys, mostly lonely old men. See what you mean about the ladies, though. Whooo. Some nice racks in this place. And the girls are friendly. Thanks for the referral.”
Ted. I had forgotten all about it. This was Ted’s night on the door at Hidden Pleasures. I was glad to hear it was going well. Maybe he could help clean up my mess with the love potion.
I punched seven to delete, then one to go to the next message.
“Hey, it’s me again. Well, it’s picked up big-time. Must be a hundred and fifty guys in there. Ivan, he’s the other guy on door – nice guy – we’ve been taking turns on door and in the club. A little rowdy, but so far no major issues. Did have to drag one guy into the can. Lucky thing, too. He launched just as we made it in. Still, so far so good. Talk to you later. Where are ya?”
For some reason he felt it was necessary to provide me with a running commentary. I hoped he wasn’t spending the whole night on his damned cellphone, but I appreciated the update.
Seven. One.
“It’s your Mother. Call me.”
Great. Typical friendly message from Mom. I would have to call her in the morning.
“Uh, yeah. Me. Little crazy over here. Buncha idiots from the sales convention started grabbing at April. She’s one of the girls, unbelievable. Uh, well, they were grabbing at her, and Ivan tried to step in but one of the guys took a swing at him. They called me in, and I dragged three of these idiots out into the lot. Nothing major, lot of shoving, couple of punches thrown, but no major blood or anything. One of the other tables was starting to act up too, but, uh, hang on... let me call you...”
Huh. I punched one. Time of the call was eleven forty-eight. Nearly three hours ago. Great.
Seven. One. Time of next call – twelve seventeen.
“Christ, place has gone nuts, man.” I lay down on the sofa and closed my eyes. “If you’re not up to anything, we could use some help here. Some guy took a swing at me with a bottle. Didn’t break the skin, but I’m going to have a nasty bump in the morning. He’s a bit messed up, I took him out back, never mind that. We had to call the cops. Nice guys. They took three of the sales idiots in. Can you believe it? Morons are in from Des Moines, see a couple chicks take their thongs off and they completely lose their goddamned... Hey. Hey! Get your hand off her ass! Yeah, you! Don’t you f—!”
Seven. One. Time of next call – twelve fifty-three.
“Good news. Everything’s under control. Total fluke, man. Pete and the boys showed up. You remember the Riverview Ramblers? I mentioned at the game the other night that I would be working door, and they decided to check the place out. Things started running out of control, Melodi was about to call the cops again, and here come the boys. It was like the arrival of the goddamned cavalry. We cleared house, must have thrown out nearly twenty guys. Couple big fights in the parking lot, until Pudge – you remember Pudge, man – he pulls a crowbar out of his trunk, and they suddenly decide it’s time to hightail it out of there. Man, this place is wild. Most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
I sighed and punched seven. One. Time of last call – one thirty eight. I just missed him.
“Hey, where are you, man? You out with some girl or something? Just calling to say we’re closed for the night. Melodi seems happy. Sounds like they had a good night at the bar. Couple of broken chairs, but one of the guys says he can get them replaced. There’s a wholesale place off the Danforth that handles restaurant furniture – anyways, never mind. Listen, I’m going to crash at my place tonight. Or sometime tomorrow, anyway. Heh. I’m heading over to an afterhours place with Pete, a couple of guys from the team, and four of the girls. Man, these chicks are... Yeah? Sure, I’m coming. Just letting my brother know what’s up. Okay, man. See ya.”
