Bob the Cleaner

Have you ever killed someone? Killing someone is hard enough, particularly if that someone don’t want to die, but it’s the mess, now that’s hard work. I have. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not a maniac or anything. Like I don’t just go around murdering people for the fun of it, or because I don’t like the way they look at me. No, I’m not that kinda guy. I don’t like, stab people for their wallets or shoes or, or shoot them to jack their cars. No, no. Nothing like that. This was kinda in the heat of the moment stuff, self-defence really, when I think about it. Yes, there was some anger, jealousy and revenge involved I do admit, but it’s not who I am on any regular day. But this was not a regular day.

So anyway, my names Bob but my friends call me Bob. I like that line. The girls usually give me a laugh when I say it, even if they have heard it a hundred times. My real name is Eric. I fucking hate that name, so never call me Eric. I work for the Smith family, or more precisely Aaron Smith, or more precisely, I did. I’m a cleaner. I clean up messes. Not your dirty house or shitty toilet kinda messes, but people messes. You know, the mess that people create in your lives? Well, I clean that up for you. Well in my case, for the Smiths, or more particularly, Aaron Smith. He has a mess, he calls me up,” hey Bob” he says, “I gotta mess. Go clean it up for me” and I go and clean up his mess.

He’s a good boss, or rather, was, a good boss. He pays well and gives you stuff, you know, “gifts”. He gave me a gold Rolex once. Then I found out it was a cheap imitation one, you know, made in Thailand or somewhere. Boy was I pissed. Anyway, he said “loose it”, so I did, and he gave me $15,000 from insurance. He is good like that.... Or was. Oh, and I get a car. Or a van, depending on the size of the mess. They are not mine, but I use them when I want. They change a bit, depending on how messy the mess I’m cleaning up gets.

But I’m getting distracted, where was I? oh yeah, I killed someone. Someone who did not want to die. Well, I actually killed two people who didn’t want to die. I know you are thinking “well who really wants to die?” and I can tell you, plenty of people. I’ve sat with many people telling me stories of how shitty their lives are, how they just wish they were dead, but I agree, most people don’t really want to die when it comes crunch time. And if the truth be known I’ve killed lots of people that don’t want to die. And that brings me back to the point that I am not the kinda guy who just kills for the sake of it, no, no, that’s not me, it is just that they are all part of the mess my boss, well “ex”-boss now, gets me to clean up, and if truth be known, I suspect they deserved it.

You see, I’m a nice guy but I work around not so nice guys, if you get what I mean. Boy, some of these people are just plain mean and nasty. They show themselves off by how nasty they can be and push themselves into places they just should not push. They treat the girls badly and pick on the weak but sometimes, sometimes, they pick on the wrong guys and one thing I have learnt fair and square is, don’t pick on the Smith family. They hate that and then it gets messy and then they call me to clean up the mess. So, you see I don’t just go out and kill people for the sake of it, no, no. There is a good reason I do what I do.

Anyway, I got some cred, you know. “Bob the cleaner”. You got a mess? Bob’s your man. Not that I was a rough for hire. No, no, that’s not me. I’m a Smiths man. Work for the family, Join the family, but every now and then the boss would say “hey Bob. I got a favour. Blah Blah has this issue. Needs a professional. Can you help me out?”. Sure, I help out. A friend of the boss is a friend of mine, if you know what I mean. And that kind of favour comes at a price and I usually get a slice. So, my creds good, my banks good and my life is good on any regular day. But like I said, this ain’t no regular day.

Working for the Smiths is like working for a cooperation. They got a lot of clout. They know important people. More important, they know powerful people. They got a lot of cash but more important, they got a lot of assets. This is the part that makes me happy. Cleaning is much easier when you got the right products. So, they got a few car yards, and a few recycling centres’, and they got a few factories and they gotta lota land and houses. Some in the middle of nowhere. This makes my job a little easier when I need to hide of some of the “rubbish”. Sometimes, I want to make a point and hang out the dirty laundry for everyone to see but other times I want things to just go away. Disappear. Them the times a car crusher, or meat processor come in handy.

Anyways, about today. You see, I got me a special lady, or had, to be precise. Pretty darn thing. She was not all about fancy clothes and expensive toys, though she got her fair share. No, no, she liked to curl up on the coach and watch TV and give my big sore feet a bit of a rub. Or cook me some of her mammas famous Cantonese fried rice. Or take long walks in the park. She was kinda special in that way. She said her name was Nancy, but her friends called her Sing. I’m not sure why, maybe because she had a beautiful voice, maybe that was her real name. To me, she was Rosie, my Rosie. I think because to me, a rose is the most beautiful flower in the world. She was the most beautiful flower to me. I loved her and she I think, I thought, loved me.

So today, I got a job. A big one. Aaron talks to me direct. “Hey Bob. I got a job. A big one”. When he talks like this, I know it’s a no fuck up option. Not that I fuck up. Some power broker from the South is digging trenches in our turf. Not an amateur mob but another established family. Aaron calls them the Jones. They been sniffing around and causing some grief here and there. Generally making themselves felt in the zone. This is not good. One off self-proclaimed Kingpins are one thing, but an established family is another kinda game all together. A family means they got resources. And connections. And a plan. They are not going to shirt front us with just a pistol in their pockets. This could get very messy. Actions bring repercussions and then more repercussions and if this don’t stop, we got us a war. I seen a war. A dangerous time for people in my business. I lived through it but not without scars and some very bad dreams. I don’t think any of us wanted that again. “I want a message Bob. A big message” Aaron continued. “I want the prince alive, but I want him hurting. He’s got two good men on his arm. They are Vets Bob, they know their game and they are known, if you know what I mean!” I did know what he means. “Known” means they are survivors, they have cred. They are dangerous. “I’m known too boss” I grin back, my mind is working already. Expressions of thoughts cross my face, and I am brought back by his laugh. “Don’t worry Bob” Aaron slaps my back. “I got it worked out. You just got to follow, and” he looks straight at me, “if things go rough, I got your back. I got your Rose looked after”. I smile. I like this guy. He talks straight, he looks after his own. I’ve seen it. He knows and I know, all I gotta worry about now, is the job. All the rest is sorted.

So, the plan. I gotta spend the day and night with my team. The details are laid out. We are not paid to think. I want to call My Rosie, tell her I’m ok and I’ll be home tomorrow, but we are on no contact orders. We are not to think of anything else but what we are paid to do. The plans pretty straight forward from a cleaner’s point of view. The Jones top man is to be saved. He is our messenger boy. Top guns one and two are our targets. These boys are the force behind the presence. Remove the force, you remove the presence. They don’t fall easy. Harder still, Aaron prefers them “hurt” to dead. Them his words. “remove their legs or arms but leave them alive if you can”. Fuck, better off dead than no legs, but I guess that’s what he wants. “Kill any others if you want” Aaron says. So, you see, pretty straight forward. We got the advantage. This is our town. Our fingers in every pie. Oh, and we have Bob the cleaner.

We were just sitting around when I got the call. I didn’t know the number. Charlie was checking over the hardware, Tom was checking the cars, Chump was looking over street maps and CCTV locations. All hazard suited up, top to bottom. “No air, no hair, no print on anything”, that’s my motto.. I move from the room and remove my mask. I answer but say nothing. A woman’s’ voice, not one I know, starts. “Hey Bob. I think you better check on Sing”. I can’t help myself, “who’s this?”. “She’s in the panic room. Don’t call they might hear her”. My brain was muddled, my pulse doubled. ” Who’s this?” I say more urgently. “I think you should get there quick” the voice said. Then the phone went click.

Now I’m a calm man, everyone will tell you. I have faced and cheated death and I have inflicted death. But at that moment my belly went to water. I stared at the phone. Sing, Nancy, Rose, my Rosie. Panic room? The words sank in and swirled around my head. Panic room? I had that installed 5 years ago. A tiny fortress room the size or a wardrobe to hide if shit ever hit the fan at home. Someone’s at my home? Rosie’s at my home, our home. I start punching numbers into the phone “Don’t call they might hear her” the voice echoes. Shit someone is in our home. Now I’m a man of action, everyone will tell you. I look at my watch, the job is hours away. I am 20 minutes from home. Traffic should not be an issue at this time. I have enough weapon to kill a herd of buffalo. My Rosie is in danger. My instinct takes control. I turn back to the room. The others look up as I entre. “Change of plan I say. I’ll be back in an hour or two.” They stare at me. This is irregular but they know better than to question me. “No contact with nobody” I say, “is that clear.” They nod, look at each other then back at me. “Not a fucking word to nobody” I repeat, and I’m gone.

I speed but not too much. I don’t want some juvenile cop to try and bag their quota on me. Not that it would stop me, but It would complicate things. If they hurt Rosie, I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them anyway, for desecrating my sanctuary, for making me feel like this. Panic room? Who knows about the panic room? Only the people closest to me. Sing? Who calls Rosie, Sing? Only the people closest to her. Who was the woman behind the voice? How did she know what she knew? How did she know my number? Why did Rosie not call me? “Don’t call they might hear her”. My foot pushes down on the accelerator. fuck it, my baby needs me. I’ll kill them. My mind keeps talking. What if you are too late? How scared is my Rosie right now? Will she remember the gun in the panel on the wall? Will she use the gun if she has to? Shut up I scream to myself, shut up. My fists hold the wheel. I realise I’m still garbed up in the hazard suit. It makes me laugh. I’m ready for blood.

The street is dark when I pull in. I look to our window; level eight and a light is on. Bedroom? I scan the cars and see nothing unusual. Then I see a black Mercedes further down. That’s unusual. I drive past. The street’s empty, not so unusual. No cronies in the car. Very unusual. I park. The night is quiet. No screaming, no yelling, no crying. I glow under the streetlight in my bio suit. I see myself as an alien, creeping through the suburban landscape in search of safety. But I am the safety in this case. I am going to save my Rosie. I decide against the lift and start running the stairs. Around a corner I bump into some kid junkie sprawled on a landing. He looks at me, I look at him. He grins. “Are you god?” he asks. “No”, I say, “I am wrath.” His smile disappears and he hides his head in the crook of his arm. Level seven, I am out of breath. I breath deep and feel sweat trickle down my back. My head calculates the plan. Keys in one hand, gun in the other. This will be stealth and surprise. For the first time I contemplated a trap. In any case, I will be ready, and I start to walk the last flight.

No one is at our door. No sign of force or struggle. I listen. No sound. I creep forward and press my ear to the door. Murmurs? Voices? I can’t tell but no sounds of violence. The key slides easily into the lock. Every sound is amplified in my brain. My finger wraps gentle around the trigger in my other hand. Stealth and surprise, stealth and surprise. Lock two, lock three. Each clicking back like a gun shot in my ears. Breath, breath. The door handle turns smoothly in my hand. Open, open, stealth and surprise, stealth and surprise. Chink! Shit. The door chain catches. The fucking door chain. This changes everything. Breath, breath. Think, think. This blows the element of stealth and surprise but Bob the cleaner is used to improvising. I stand up and stand back. I’m a big fella, the solution is quite simple really.

As my shoulder connects with the door there is a god almighty crack. The door fly’s in and so do I. A scream. Rosie! A “what the fuck” a man’s voice. I have heard that voice before. No time to think, no time to waste. I barge like a steamroller, gun raised. Hall, check. Lounge, check. Kitchen, check. Where the fuck is everyone, or anyone for that matter. Another scream and a stream of obscenities. The bedroom. Oh god if they are hurting my Rosie, or worse, they are going to suffer. They are going to suffer regardless but I will make it slow. I move fast for a big man. I dance well too. People seem surprised, like all big men should be clumsy and slow. This has proven a fatal assumption on more than one occasion. The bedroom is in front of me. Rosie, I call. “I’m coming baby.” Another scream. The bastards. And there it was, the scene in front of me that will change my life.

What greeted me took its time to sink in. They say that if you harpoon a whale in its’ tail it takes a moment for the pain to reach the brain. This was me. A whale. A big, stupid, stunned, hurt whale. Rosie was sprawled on the bed, naked, wide eyed, shocked. Standing beside her, also naked, was the pasty white, hairy body of Aaron. His penis already shrivelled to semi erect. A scene so grotesque I am momentarily thrust into confusion. “Oh, baby” I say moving forward. A flicker of her eyes, just a second, draws me to a movement to my left. A blur before a brutal crunch. My momentum forces my bulk to the right, and I stumble over the edge of the end of the bed. I fall heavy and I feel hot blood. Aaron stands with a side lamp in his hand. A grimace of effort on his face. I lift my gun. “No Bob” Her voice catches me and in that second Aaron is on me. I fire the gun. It pops, he screams, she screams. I see blood. This time his blood. The bullet has caught him in the upper leg and by the looks of it, an artery. Its messy. “What the fuck” Aaron yells. “what you doing Bob?” The question makes me laugh, just for a second, then a second table lamp smashes across my face. Rosie? She is crouched forward a bloody lamp shade swinging from its stem. The shade had softened the blow, but the hurt was far deeper than that. I felt razors through my heart. “Rosie” I said softly. Her eyes were wild with fear. Her pert breasts wobbled beneath her as she crawled forward and lifted the weapon for a second blow. My hand snapped forward and she flew across the bed in a cry of pain. I saw blood. Her blood. Her nose was broken by the looks of it. No time to feel. Aaron was back.

I don’t want to fill you with the horror of the next ten minutes. It will haunt me, and I don’t want to haunt you but just to say, as we all finally lay there, still, I was the only one breathing. Oh, I had hurt Aaron. As the story unfolded my mind was consumed with a hate and blood lust I had never experienced before. Any girl in the god dam city and he had to have my Rosie. Rosie was no longer the most beautiful flower in the world. Yes, she had the colour of the deepest red rose, but the flower was crushed. Both of them, crushed and red. The bedroom was a slaughterhouse of released revenge and hurt. I lay in the pools of blood, breathing deep. So, this is how the great Bob the cleaner ends, caught in the one mess he can’t clean up. Aaron and Rosie. I had killed the two people I had loved and respected the most. I don’t think there was any coming back from this.

My phone rang. My muddled brain took time to register the vibration in my pocket and the buzz in my ear. I fumbled through the blood-stained hazard suit and gripped the phone. I answered. “well, if you are picking this up you must have survived.” The soft female voice on the other end seemed surprisingly calming. “who the fuck is this?” I ask. “and if you survived” the voice continued, “you are probably in a right mess”. I looked around me. Bodies. Blood. She was sure right about that. “This is probably one mess that even Bob the cleaner can’t fix”. My boss, my girlfriend, my apartment. There are three cardinal rules in this game. Never kill someone close to you, never kill at home and NEVER kill a Smith. I had broken all three. She was dam right again.” Sooo...... here’s the deal”. I was sitting, or rather lying on the floor. My head wound had stopped bleeding, but blood was everywhere. Whos’ blood kinda didn’t matter. It was a cocktail. “Go on” I say. “It would appear that your tenure with the Smith family is terminated, and it just so happens my employer is looking for a man with your particular skills. More than that, someone with your.....reputation” My mind is jumping all over the place. “We kind of see you have two options. One. You go to jail and we can’t see you surving too long with a Smith kill over your head.” She pauses and I hear her breath.....”Two. You pick yourself up and walk down those stairs and get in the car that is waiting for you, and we take care of the rest. We will clean up Bob the cleaners mess for him.”

So, you see I’m in this dilemma. My life is at a crossroads. Sure, I killed my boss and my cheating girlfriend. I can cope with that. I look at their gagged bloody heads, the blood- soaked bed, the stained walls and carpets. There aint no way I can clean my way out of this. No team, no van, no meat mincer, no car crusher available for me on this one. You see actions have repercussions and the Smiths are not going to let this one go, and I have no doubt the repercussions will be swift and harsh. I can resign myself to die......or I can sell my soul to the highest bidder. To do that I will go down as one of the most notorious traitors of this town. I sigh and the voice continues “you don’t have much time Bob. We would love to have you on the team, and we will look after you very, very well, starting with right now” I sigh again. I feel tired and lost. I stand up and start to unzip my hazard suit. My clothes are spotless underneath. “so, what’s it going to be Bob?” I hear her talking, “you want to live?” I step out of the disposable boots and tread to a clean unmarked section of carpet. I remove my gloves one by one and cast my eyes one more time around the room. This is the sum of my life to date. This is where it has all led. Do I feel sad? I shake my head to myself. No. Am I afraid? No.

On my way out there is no need to touch anything. This life is all dead to me now. No neighbour heard or perhaps cared of the chaos through their walls. The muffled pain of some domestic disagreement pushed to the bin of avoidance. Who wants to get involved in other peoples’ mess anyway. I laugh. I do. I walk the stairs rather than catch the lift. The young junkie is asleep, or dead as I pass his landing. Whichever, I don’t care. As I walk out, I see the black Mercedes is parked to my right. A door opens and as I swing into the seat, I see a white van pull up behind. If they are going to kill me, it doesn’t really matter. I’m dead anyway. A beautiful Asian woman with bright red lips smiles from the seat beside me. I look at her, she is beautiful. “Why, Mr Bob” she says “Welcome to the Jones family. My name is Nancy, but you can call me anything you want”. Her hand comes to rest on my knee as the car pulls away and I don’t look back.