The Traveler

36

Hollis drove past Michael Corrigan’s apartment complex at nine o’clock in the morning, two o’clock in the afternoon, and seven o’clock in the evening. He looked for Tabula mercenaries sitting in parked cars and on park benches, men pretending to be power company employees or city workers. After each drive-by, he would park in front of a beauty salon and write down everything he had seen. Old lady pushing a shopping cart. Man with a beard loading a child’s car seat. When he came back five hours later, he compared his notes and saw no similarities. That only meant that the Tabula weren’t waiting outside the building. Perhaps they were sitting in the apartment across the hall from Michael’s apartment.

He thought up a plan after teaching his evening capoeira class. The next day, he put on a blue cotton jumpsuit and picked up the mop and the bucket on wheels that he used when he was washing the floor of his school. Michael’s apartment complex occupied an entire city block on Wilshire Boulevard near Barrington. There were three skyscrapers, an attached four-level parking structure, and a large inner courtyard with a pool and tennis courts.

Be deliberate, Hollis thought. You don’t want to fight the Tabula, just play with their minds. He parked his car two blocks away from the entrance, filled the bucket on wheels with soapy water from two plastic jugs, set the mop into the water, and began to push everything up the sidewalk. As he approached the entrance, he tried to think like a janitor-play that role.

Two old ladies were leaving the building when he arrived. “Just cleaned the sidewalk,” he told them. “Now somebody messed up one of the hallways.”

“People need to learn some manners,” one of the women said. Her friend held the door open so that Hollis could push the bucket inside the foyer.

Hollis nodded and smiled as the old ladies walked away. He waited for a few seconds, then went over to the elevators. When the next elevator arrived, he rode alone up to the eighth floor. Michael Corrigan’s apartment was at the end of the hallway.

If the Tabula were hiding in the opposite apartment, watching him through the security peephole, then he would have to start lying right away. Mr. Corrigan pays me to clean up his place. Yes, sir. I do it once a week. Is Mr. Corrigan gone? I didn’t know he was gone, sir. He hasn’t paid me for a month.

Using the key that Gabriel had given him, Hollis unlocked the door and went inside. He was alert, ready to defend himself against an attack, but no one appeared. The apartment had a hot, dusty smell. A two-week-old copy of the Wall Street Journal was still on the coffee table. Hollis left the bucket and mop near the door and hurried into Michael’s bedroom. He found the telephone, pulled out a small tape recorder, and dialed Maggie Resnick’s home number. She wasn’t home, but Hollis didn’t want to talk to her anyway. He was sure that the Tabula were monitoring the phone lines. After Maggie’s answering machine came on, Hollis switched on the tape recorder and held it up to the telephone handset.

“Hey, Maggie. This is Gabe. I’m going to get out of Los Angeles and find someplace to hide. Thanks for everything. Bye.”

Hollis hung up the phone, switched off the tape recorder, and quickly left the apartment. He felt tense pushing the bucket down the hallway, but then the elevator arrived and he stepped inside. Okay, he thought. That was easy enough. Don’t forget, you’re still the janitor.

When the elevator reached the lobby, Hollis pushed the bucket out and nodded to a young couple with a cocker spaniel. The entrance door clicked open and three Tabula mercs hurried into the lobby. They looked like police officers who were doing this for money. One man wore a denim jacket and his two pals were dressed as painters. The painters carried towels and drop cloths that concealed their hands.

Hollis ignored the Tabula as they pushed past him. He was five feet away from the door when an older Latino man pushed open the door that led to the swimming pool area. “Hey, what’s going on?” the man asked Hollis.

“Somebody dropped a bottle of cranberry juice on the fifth floor. I just cleaned it up.”

“I didn’t see that in the morning report.”

“It just happened.” Hollis was at the door now, almost touching the knob.

“Besides, isn’t that Freddy’s job? Who are you working for?”

“I was just hired by-”

But before Hollis could finish the sentence he sensed movement behind him. And then the hard point of a gun muzzle was pushed against the small of his back.

“He’s working for us,” said one of the men.

“That’s right,” said another man. “And he’s not done.”

The two men dressed as painters stood beside Hollis. They made him turn around and guided him back to the elevator. The man with the denim jacket was talking to the maintenance man, showing him a letter that described some kind of official permission.

“What’s going on?” Hollis tried to look surprised and frightened.

“Don’t talk,” whispered the larger man. “Don’t say one damn thing at all.”

Hollis and the two painters stepped into the elevator. Just before the door closed, Denim Jacket slipped in and punched the button for the eighth floor.

“Who are you?” Denim asked.

“Tom Jackson. I’m the janitor here.”

“Don’t bullshit us,” said the smaller painter. He was the one with the weapon. “That guy out there didn’t know who you were.”

“I just got hired here two days ago.”

“What’s the name of the company that hired you?” Denim asked.

“It was Mr. Regal.”

“I asked you the name of the company.”

Hollis shifted slightly so that he was away from the barrel of the gun. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m real sorry. But all I know is that Mr. Regal hired me and I was told to-”

He made a half turn, grabbed the gunman’s wrist, and thrust it outward. With his right hand he punched the man in the Adam’s apple. The gun went off with a loud cracking sound in the small space and the other painter was shot. He screamed as Hollis whipped around, smashing his elbow into Denim’s mouth. Hollis twisted the gunman’s arm downward and the Tabula merc dropped the weapon.

Turn. Attack. Spin around and punch again. Within a few seconds, all three men were lying on the floor. The door opened. Hollis flipped the red switch to stop the elevator and stepped out. He ran down the hallway, found the fire exit, and ran down the stairs two at a time.