SUMMATION (6 page)

           Frankie woke up at the usual time, in the usual
place. He put on the usual clothes, and as usual, skipped shaving – his beard
didn't seem all that bad - and as usual, he thought about calling in, but as
usual, did not dare. He was disgusted with himself over all that had happened,
and even more disgusted that he wasn't able to stand up for himself. Even
Frankie knew that his own attitude contributed to his problems. Not that he was
about to change, but he knew.

           Sure enough, when he arrived, there was no
surprise. In a self-fulfilling prophecy, his immediate supervisor sent him back
to the same pit he left yesterday.

           "Now that it's drained, ya need to clean it
up. If that place smells anything like you did yesterday, well, just get it
cleaned up. Oh, and NoWienee, get that locker room cleaned up. No one's goin'
near that place, the way it reeks. Think you're smart, don'cha. Well, all your
stuff's still waitin' on ya. And maybe a little bit more."

           Frankie didn't respond as his boss turned and
walked away. He stood there for a moment, trying to keep his temper in check. He
was smart enough to not give them a reason to fire him. So he stood there and
took it. Like he always had. Like he always would. He stayed standing for
several more minutes, afraid that if he moved, he'd do something stupid.

           Finally, back in control, Frankie grabbed his
tools and went back down to the junction room he'd been working in yesterday. At
least it was dry today. The room reeked like nothing he'd ever been in before.
He didn't think it could have been worse than the day before, but it sure
seemed that way. As far as being dry, it's true that the garbage had been
pumped out, and the drain was open, but the room was far from clean. Or dry.

           The room, some three or four levels down, on
closer inspection, had been damp far longer than yesterday's pipe break. He saw
the mark on the wall where the level had peaked the day before. The wall was
covered not only with several layers, and colors, of algae, but an impressive
mix of slugs, millipedes, and creatures he had no way of recognizing. Not that
he had any desire to learn. It wasn't a pretty sight.

           He put his mask on, a different one from
yesterday, and one that was supposed to remove all the contaminants, and took a
quick, deep breath through his nose to test it -

- and began to gag. He wasn't even sure how much of the
putrid stench was from the leak and how much from the musty room. He wouldn't
make that mistake again. He continued breathing through his mouth, hoping he'd
get used to the smell. If not, well, it was going to be a long day.

           He uncoiled the hose he'd brought with him,
stretching it back up the stairway to the first sublevel, where he knew there
was a water spigot. The plumbing had been an add-on many years later, and
though nowhere near modern, at least it was running water. He hoped. Fastening
the hose to the spigot itself turned into the next problem, as the oxidation
and scale and other buildup over the years had filled the threads. At least he
had anticipated this, and he pulled out the wire brush and pliers he'd brought
with him. A few minutes of brushing, and the hose went on. Not easily, and not
far, but it was on. Now it was the plier's turn, and the coupling, squeaking in
protest, finally went on. At least most of the way.

           He turned the handle, or tried anyway. He felt
the handle start to give way, and realized it was the handle, not the
mechanism, that was starting to give way. Afraid the handle might snap, he
grabbed the base with the pliers, and slowly turned it counter clockwise. He
felt the hose jump as it began filling with water. A small amount began
shooting out in a fine spray at the connection point, but that wasn't much of a
surprise.

           Although this level, also unused these days, was
nearly as damp and decrepit as the one he was cleaning, at least this one had a
drain nearby. Any water spraying out and running down into the drain would
actually be doing the room a favor. Satisfied nothing catastrophic was about to
occur, he followed the hose back down the steps and down the hall.

           He had joined two seventy-five foot hoses,
hoping it'd be long enough, and it looked like he was right. Just barely. A
shop vac would pick up the garbage that he would hose off the walls. It would
mean a number of trips up the old stairway lugging tubs of water, but he didn't
have many choices.

           The hose reached just inside the room. He had
enough pressure that spraying from there would hit the entire room. He twisted
the valve, and the water exiting started as a wide fine spray, tightening up as
he continued turning the nozzle until it was a narrow, forceful stream. Sure
enough, as he started, the spray began washing many years of algae and fungus
from the walls, along with generations of occupying creatures.

           After a couple of minutes he stopped, and used
the shop vac to clean up the muddy garbage on the floor, hauling his first load
of dirty water up the stairway. This was going to be a long, nasty job.

           He finished his second trip, and when he got
back, he took a break, lighting up a cigarette. He was finally getting used to
the smell, and the cigarette helped. He started counting the additional trips
he was going to have to make in his head.
Maybe I shouldn't use quite as
much water. No point in going crazy cleaning up this place.

           Just as he was about to start again with the
hose, he heard another brick fall from the wall in the back, right next to the
one that had fallen the day before. He knew he'd have to try to avoid that
spot, and continued spraying the other walls.

           He wondered how long it'd been since anyone had
been down there. Certainly the pipe was at least within the past century, but
the walls? Who knew. The stacked blocks had been there a long time, and the age
was starting to show. Not so much in the blocks themselves, but with the
settling of the ground, they had begun to shift, and the water had hastened the
process. With some of the crud washed from the walls, he could see where the
bricks had fallen from. He was glad he'd stayed back - a large section of the
wall had begun to bulge, at risk of completely collapsing.

           Not my problem if it does - I didn't build it. At
least that's one thing they can't pin on me - though somebody will probably
try.

           He had just about finished, vacuuming up his
fourth bucket of water and garbage.  He was vacuuming the water by the two
bricks that caved in when more of the blocks gave way. Some water that had been
pent up behind the wall then gushed, leaving an opening in the wall nearly
three feet wide, running from the ceiling almost to the ground.

           He could see straight through the wall from
where he stood, the light illuminating not just the opening, but well inside
it. To his surprise, he could see another wall just about two feet behind this
one. Puzzled, he set the hose down, and walked in to take a closer look.

           Sure enough, there was a second wall. Leaning
inside, he could see the wall went the full width of the room, making a
complete hollow area at the end of the room, one that no one would ever notice.
Certainly he wouldn't have.

           Pulling the little penlight from his belt, he
looked inside. Water had filled the bottom, where it was still probably six
inches deep or so, slowly draining through the opening where he stood. Apparently
this area had been better sealed, as there was very little of the mold and
attending creatures on this side of the wall. Empty. No wiring, obviously. No
plumbing. Just a wall.

           Seemed a little odd.

           He looked again, the other direction. More of
the water had drained, and then he saw it. A box.

           What the hell?

           He tried to reach it, to pull it out, but couldn't
quite grab it. Because he'd had to carry both the hoses and the shop vac, he
hadn't brought any other tools, nor his regular cart. All he had were the
pliers and the wire brush. Big help they were. He stretched a little further,
but just couldn't quite reach it.

           He shined the light on it again, trying to
figure out what it was. He could see some kind of decorations hanging on the
sides, and tried to figure out what he was looking at, as the water continued
receding. Finally, it was clear.

           An old metal lockbox, with some kind of old fashioned
padlocks, nothing like he'd ever seen, fastening the hasps on the two sides that
he could see. Multiple locks. Definitely unusual. Looked like a couple in the
front, and one at this end, perhaps one at the other. Guess they didn't want
anyone getting in that one. He couldn't see a hinge from where he was, but it
looked as if the lid was separate, with locks probably on all four sides. Some
kind of ribbon was wrapped around it, kind of glued on at spots, but most of it
had rotted away, leaving one only able to guess at its original color. Maybe
yellow, or orange. White? With all the mildew, anything was possible. There was
a reddish spot where the ribbon was touching the box. No, not a spot, it was
raised. Almost like it was hot glued, though he knew that wasn't the case.

           He changed position, leaning further inside,
trying to get a better look. The light was weak, and getting worse, but he was
able to see at least a little clearer. He could see where some of the spots had
cracked and fallen off, but a few were still intact. What was in it? Still
trying to figure it out, he tried getting a clue from the box itself, but
knowing nothing about history or archeology, he had no clue.

           He was just able to make out a symbol on the
side of the box - looked like a capital "E", almost. Not quite, but
almost. More angular. Kind of like, what, Egyptian writing, or Latin, or
something like that.

           That was about it.

           One thing he did know. You didn't take out the
day's garbage in a box like that.

           Something valuable was inside, and no one, but
no one, knew he knew. No one knew he'd found it. In fact, no one knew it was
here. No one knew it even
existed
.  He climbed out, turning off his
penlight.

           He sat down to consider his options. Whatever
was in that box had to be valuable. No one would know. How could they? This was
his chance, finally. Nobody would miss it. Nobody even knew it was there. It
was no different than if he had come across it at the bottom of a lake, or in
the ocean, right?

           He couldn't do anything more today, but that
didn't matter. No one had been down here in who knew how many years, and after
the way he smelled yesterday, no one was going to be rushing down. Tomorrow, he'd
be back. Tomorrow, he'd bring the right tools, and the box, and the treasure
within it, would be his.

           But tonight? Tonight he would try to find out
what was in that box. Plus, a little celebration would certainly be justified.
More
than justified. He went upstairs to shut off the water. Time to get out of
here. It had been quite a while since he'd called in sick - at least a month or
so. And this time it wasn't even for a hangover - they'd know that. He had
showed up, right? Anybody else would have gotten sick on a job like this. No,
this might be a good day to head on out. Besides, he'd cleaned the room, right?

           Now that he had justified his decision to go
home early, he could think about more important things, like what he would do
with all the money he'd soon be getting. He would have to lay a little low, of
course, to avoid suspicion.

           He'd given this type of situation a lot of
thought in the past.

           Finally, after all this time. Oh, he would have
the last laugh alright.

           He wondered what was inside. Probably a cache of
gold coins. Maybe some jewelry. He'd find a fence and carefully dump it,
perhaps a little at a time, or maybe in multiple places, and then, oh then...

           A life of leisure. A life with the ladies. The
good
ones.

           He'd stay just long enough to pack up his - no,
he wouldn't pack - he had nothing worth keeping. He'd start over.

           He was still living the fantasy when he arrived
back at his starting point. Seeing no one around, he packed up and checked out.
Thinking better about it, he went back to the shower room.

           Man, his boss hadn't been kidding. Or
exaggerating. That place reeked. He closed up the garbage and ran the
disgusting bag out to the dumpster. Coming back, he propped the door open,
making sure the fan was on. Good enough. Then he wrote a quick note - sure beat
talking to the guy face to face.

            Finished the room, put away hoses. Emptied
stuff in shower. Went home sick.

 Frank
.

           Looking at the note, he thought a moment. He
didn't want anybody checking on things down below, and perhaps finding what he
had found. He thought a moment, then re-wrote the note. He was so proud of
himself for thinking like this. Thinking ahead.

                      
Finished down below, but it still
reeks. I'll give it a final rinse, and set up fans          tomorrow. I cleaned
up the shower. Went home sick, probably from down below.

                                                                                               Frank.

           What were they going to do, fire him? He slipped
out, unseen, making sure no one saw him on the way out. He felt like a kid
again, skipping school, and just like then, he was going for a beer. He felt
good, almost giddy. Almost enough to skip down the street.

           Almost, but not quite.

           He was in great spirits, a place he hadn't been
in for a long, long while. Walking, almost bouncing into the club, the
bartender was a little taken aback. Especially after his abrupt exit last
night.

           Frankie seemed a little
too
happy. Odd,
Frankie didn't seem the type to be doing drugs.

           "Frankie? Everything okay pal?"

           "Okay? Hey, it couldn't be better. Set me
up, will ya?" Frankie sat down, same stool he always sat in, same grin he'd
been wearing while walking down the street plastered across his face. The
bartender waited for the foam to settle, then topped off the glass. He set it
carefully on a napkin in front of Frank.

           Frankie tossed some bills on the counter. "Here
you go, Marco. Keep the change."