Izzy had just put his pens and post-it notes away in his new desk when he heard a heavy footfall in the corridor outside the office he was to share with his counseling supervisor, Craig Creek. He spun around in his chair to have a look at the man when he entered. The stranger didn’t see the intern set up behind the door. He went straight for the other desk, a motorcycle helmet, like a disembodied head, tucked under his arm. He placed the helmet on his desk and, with it, a saddlebag containing his appointment book and a brown lunch sack. A long, thin, graying ponytail hung between the Harley and the Davidson of his black leather jacket. In case the stranger was an escaped convict, and not his supervisor, Izzy resolved not to say a word, least he startle him. He was eager to see his face, but the man kept it averted while he took off the jacket, revealing he wore an incongruous business shirt and tie. He had a long, spiked beard and his hands bore crude, prison tattoos that had blurred beyond recognition. Izzy began to think that flight might be his best option, but the stranger was standing near the doorway, over six feet tall, and filled out his shirt better than most. The intern regretted spending so many days of his academic career in the library instead of the gym. He was terrified of the big man and could not find it in him to address him, nor did he know what he could say.
The stranger took his plastic employee badge out of the saddlebag and carefully affixed it to his shirt. So this is my supervisor, thought Izzy.
But then the giant did something so peculiar that it captured the intern’s attention and confirmed to him that the Iroquois Regional Medical Center had hired no man of science here. The supervisor sat in his chair and fumbled in the saddlebag for a well-worn devotional booklet. His thick fingers found the page and he took some time to read, his lips moving like a davening rabbi. At last, he put the booklet down and dug a large coin out of his pants pocket. He examined it for a minute, less like a coin collector and more like a priest holding the host in front of him at the altar. Then he kissed it and put it back in his pocket.
His worship completed, the giant then picked up his helmet and, to put it away, unconsciously reached for the drawer of his filing cabinet, except that the intern had moved it. He paused and began to scan the room, looking for the cabinet. The intern spent this interval deliberating on what to say, but he didn’t have enough time to work out an explanation to a pissed off biker, observed in an intimate moment. The man’s eyes passed right over the intern while looking for the cabinet, then, giving out a grunt of astonishment; the eyes returned right back to him.
The biker shouted, “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my office? Who put that desk here?”
Stammering out something about a college, the intern rose and stepped towards the door, but the man blocked his way and drew back the helmet as if to hit him with it.
The intern shrieked for the office manager, “Melvina, security, anyone, help,”
“Who are you and why are you sitting there watching me?”
At that moment, the door opened and Melvina stood there grinning. Behind her, the whole clinic: Lawrence, Pellegrino, the rappers, everyone, vied for a view of the intern’s mortification. “Tell him to put down that weapon,” he said to Melvina. She laughed and Craig, red faced, located the missing file cabinet, and stashed the helmet away.
The biker slammed the drawer shut and snarled, “What is this, a college kid? I didn’t say I’d work with a college kid. Who the hell are you? And what’re you doing in my office?”
© Keith R Wilson – 2010
This will be the last chapter posted for free.There are, of course, many more chapters to go in the story. It’s really just getting started. The entire novel is available now in print from Amazon.com and from Kindle. It is also available on line from Bookmato.com
Fate's Janitors 