Moonlighting

Janson finished his finished his breakfast, two slices of toast, a three-minute egg and a cup of decaf. He paid his bill and left his usual dollar tip, before walking the last city block to his job. People on the block could set their clocks by the regularity of Janson's passing. That is they might set their clocks if they ever noticed him.

He was a most unremarkable person. His hair was a mousy brown, and his eyes an undeterminable color beneath his perpetual squint. He was of average height and weight. No one ever spoke to Janson on his daily walk to and from the office. His apartment was had a small kitchen, bath and a couch that unfolded to make a bed. There were no pictures of friends or family, no books that might give a clue as to his personal tastes. His one luxury item was a large digital television. Janson was a compulsively neat man who never let a dish go unwashed, or a surface undusted.

Janson had been a clerk for H&P Dimmerhaus for eighteen years, and had never received a promotion or any recognition of any kind. He processed the paperwork necessary for running the business efficiently and without fuss. Mona, the secretary/receptionist, had been having an affair with Mr. Dimmerhaus for the past eight years, and in that entire time had never exchanged a word with Janson that wasn't work related. Mr. Dimmerhaus himself scarcely noticed Janson, except during those infrequent times when J was missing from the office.

Several times each year Janson would respectfully ask permission to take a short trip; "to recharge my batteries", he always said. Sometimes Janson would be gone only a day, or two. Occasionally he might be on vacation for as long as three weeks. Mr. Dimmerhaus might have been less willing to indulge an employee's habit of taking unscheduled time off, but where would he ever find a replacement whose performance was so predictable --- and inexpensive.

Janson unlocked the office door, turned on the lights, and hung his coat neatly on the rack. In the lunchroom, Janson washed the lipstick from one of the two coffee cups that mysteriously appeared once or twice each month. He could smell the faint odor of cheap whisky in the cups, but it didn't matter to him at all. He started a new pot of coffee for Mona, who thought that she was in charge of the office. Janson returned to his desk and prepared to begin his day. He lined up each of his pencils and sharpened them until they were all ready and of equal length. He sorted and prioritized the paperwork and sat down at the battered old desk he had been using for a decade.

Mona came in late, only fifteen minutes before Mr. Dimmerhaus arrived and parked his two-year-old Cadillac in his special parking spot. Mr. Dimmerhaus went straight to his office where he would probably stay most of the day. Mona did say "good morning" as she carried her first cup of coffee to her new Danish Modern desk flanked with large silk plants. Mona had tried keeping real flowers on her desk, but they all died from lack of care. Mr. Dimmerhaus and Mona took a long lunch together. Janson ate half a sandwich at his desk. He had made the sandwich himself. It consisted of two slices of white bread with a bit of mayonnaise and mustard, and two slices of liverwurst. Janson washed down his meal with a glass of tap water. He washed the glass carefully and put it back into its proper place.

Late in the afternoon Janson received a telephone call. That was very unusual, and if anyone had noticed they would have been puzzled at the uncharacteristic in the way that Janson handled the call.

"Who is this?"

"You know who, don't you?"

"Yes. I told you never to call me here. This must be very important to you."

"It is. The usual fee will be tripled for this one, alright?"

"I don't know. First, you'll have to tell me about it."

"Alright. He lives in a little up-state town called Shoreham and thinks no one knows who he really is. He has a house in the Ridge Crest section of the town, lives alone. He works for the GM automobile dealership; it's the only one in town. One of our men will meet you with his photograph, and whatever you need to complete the contract. There probably are some Marshals round, but we haven't identified them yet. The problem is that we need the contract completed before next Friday. Other than that, you do it like you want -- as usual. I know you can do it. Whadaya say?"

"Three times the usual fee sounds alright. Don't call here again."

Janson hung up the phone and went to respectfully ask for three days unpaid leave.