You've Been Warned

“DID YOU KNOW that some female cockroaches mate once and are pregnant for the rest of their lives?”

“Wow,” I say, nodding my head and feigning amazement rather than repulsion.

The guy wipes his nose on his sleeve while making some weird clicking noise in his throat that I’ve never heard any other human make. “No wonder there are so many of the little suckers, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “No wonder.”

Of course, things could be a lot worse. This guy could be my blind date for the evening. Instead, he’s my nooner. The exterminator. On my lunch break, I meet him at my apartment. Actually, outside my apartment. There was no way I was going back in there by myself.

Anyway, he’s a fittingly creepy-looking man with thick black-rimmed glasses that magnify his eyes. He sort of reminds me of Stephen King, the pictures I’ve seen of him, anyway. Of course, pictures lie.

“Thing is, cockroaches are basically built to survive almost anything,” he says. “Did you know they can hold their breath for up to forty minutes?”

“Interesting. You are full of information, aren’t you?”

He adjusts his spray nozzle. “So, you saw them in the closet here, huh?”

I nod. Yeah, just a couple thousand of them.

“Then that’s where we’ll start.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As he reaches for the closet door I stand back. I don’t want to look. I don’t even want to be here.

“Hmm,” he mutters, looking around. “Mmm-hmm, hmm, hmm.”

“What?”

“There’s not a single dropping on the floor.” As if correcting himself, he raises a palm. “Not that I don’t believe you, of course.”

I watch as he flicks on his flashlight, shining it against the closet walls.

“What about your neighbors?” he asks.

“What about them?”

“You all get along?” He wipes his nose on his sleeve again. “I’ve had situations where one neighbor sabotages another with cockroaches—you know, letting them loose in vents or through holes they drill. Happens more than you’d think.”

I immediately try to picture Mrs. Rosencrantz, or her Herbert, doing something so wicked. I suppose I wouldn’t put it past them.

We walk the rest of the apartment. Every nook and cranny gets sprayed and resprayed. A few times I even try to tell him that he missed a spot.

“What’s in here?” he asks at the last door down the hallway.

“That’s just my darkroom.” I open the door for him, flipping on the light.

He walks in and looks around, intrigued. “Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm.”

After a few quick squirts of his spray nozzle, he notices the pictures pinned to the walls. He stops at one of my father.

“You know this man, don’t you?” he asks.

“Why do you say that?”

“His expression—the way he’s looking at you and not the camera. In fact, I’d say you know him quite well.”

“You’re right. He’s my father.”

He leans in, really examining the picture. “Was he a good man?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, was he—”

“No, I heard you okay. That’s kind of an odd question, don’t you think?”

“Actually, I think it’s the only question... for all of us, that is. In the end, we’re only the sum of the choices we make, right?”

Oh, great, the existential exterminator.

I’m beginning to get the heebie-jeebies from this guy. It’s bad enough that he looks creepy; does he have to talk creepy as well? I can feel an attack of the hives coming on.

“And how did you know my father is dead? You said, Was he a good man?”

He shrugs. “I guess I just assumed.”

From looking at a recently developed picture of him?

We’re talking serious heebie-jeebies now. This guy can’t leave my apartment fast enough. It’s possible that he’s as scary as thousands of cockroaches all by himself.

“So are we all done here?” I ask hastily.

“I’m sorry. I’ve offended you, haven’t I?”

“No, it’s okay. I think I’m a little on edge thanks to the roaches.” Among other things.

He pats his trusty spray canister. “Hopefully we’ve taken care of that for a while.”

“About how long does the poison last?”

“A month or so.”

“That’s all? You’d think there’d be something better in this day and age.”

“You mean something that lasts forever?”

“Exactly.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m afraid there’s only one thing in this world that lasts forever.”

“Let me guess. Love?”

“No,” he says, leaning in close. “That’d be your soul.”

Chapter 49

AT HALF PAST EIGHT, I walk into the bustling Elio’s on Second Avenue near 84th Street and scan the bar area, keeping in mind the description I’ve been given. Tall, dark, very handsome, answers to Stephen.

If you say so, Penley.

You’re the boss. And believe you me, if you weren’t, there’s no way I’d be going through with this blind date! Not right now especially.

“Excuse me, are you Kristin?”

I turn around and look up at a pair of amazingly high cheekbones. As for the rest of him, I take a quick glance.

Tall, dark, very handsome. Check, check, check.

“You must be Stephen,” I say, and can’t keep a slight smile off my face.