It’s Working As Intended

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“I’ve always wanted to go to Malibu,” Joel said.

The sun, sand, scantily clad people trotting about as they sipped drinks from strangely shaped glasses with little umbrellas. People saying “dude” and surfing and skateboarding and breakdancing on the boardwalk and just generally being super cool.

At least, if the archival MTV footage they pirated when they were in high school was still an accurate reflection of the culture.

Not that it would have mattered.

Reggie looked around. Uptight faces that looked to have put effort into never smiling. Cold eyes that only lit up when they found something on which to cast judgment. This place was totally uncool.

“This is not that Malibu,” he said.

A woman walked by the gang, stopped, looked them up and down, and scoffed before walking off.

“No s**t,” Joel said.

This was Malibu Station. A vacation spot for the elite. High-end shops, hotels, and restaurants. A resort station for those with money they didn’t know what to do with – doctors and executives and trust fund babies who’d never had to work a day for anything. A real collection of assholes.

Sam watched the rude woman walk away. An unseen force seemed to tug her along behind the woman, a force that practically begged Sam to murder her.

Reggie tapped her on the shoulder to break her free of the intoxicating pull. “I’m thinking there are going to be a lot of people like that here. Better prepare yourself.”

Sam grumbled.

Cody chuckled to himself, savoring her discomfort as he pulled up the map of the station. “It’s just up ahead. Past that storefront that sells handbags made out of old shoes.”

“Why would anyone want a bag made of shoes?” Sam studied the store as they walked past, eying its patrons as though they were fools.

“Rich people love to buy garbage like that,” Joel said. Peppy loped up beside him and pressed his head against Joel’s leg. “Reclaimed crap turned into other crap is a huge market. There’s probably a store here that sells shoes made of old bags.”

“Second level,” Cody said.

“Foolish,” Sam said. “If they have so much money, why not buy a bag that was originally intended to be a bag? Better yet, why not buy a sword?”

Cody laughed. Sam didn’t understand what was funny.

“Here it is.” Cody pointed to a café. “We’re meeting the contact here.”

Joel nudged Sam with his elbow. “If you really want to get pissed at obnoxious people, this is the place to do it. You won’t find a higher concentration of impatient, self-important people than the line at the yuppie café. Observe.” He pointed to a man wearing a vest and a bowler hat. “Take Clockwork Orange, here. That guy has no right whatsoever to believe anyone gives a damn about him. He’s wearing a vest. Casually. But see how he scowls at the lady in front of him as though it’s her fault that he doesn’t have his skim latte with extra foam?”

Sam observed. The man grunted every five seconds the line did not move. The woman in front of him inched forward a little each time.

“She should stab him,” she assessed. “I would stab him.”

“That’s why you’re great,” Joel said.

“Excuse me.” A woman with hair that defied physics and shoulders that defied genetics approached them from a table near the left side of the counter. “Are you the bug people?”

“Bug killers,” Joel corrected.

“I’ve met bug people,” Sam added. “They are unpleasant and would be most unwelcome in a place like this.”

The woman’s blindingly white smile didn’t move at all, but her eyes darkened with disgust.

Reggie pushed through the others to position himself between them and the woman. He extended his hand in greeting. She returned the gesture but turned her hand so her palm faced down and her fingers dangled like the legs of a dead spider. He shook it as best he could.

“I’m Reggie of Intergalactic Pest Control. You must be Miss Millicent Musgraves?”

“That I am, sugar.” Her voice was silky, like cream poured in coffee and left to swirl on the surface. “Right this way.” She showed them to her table, which was dressed for a Sunday brunch. She’d laid out lace doilies and her own silverware—only for herself, however, to accompany her sweet tea and toasted English muffin with marmalade.

She must have noticed the quizzical looks. “I don’t use public cutlery.”

Uncomfortable and unsure how to respond, Reggie shrugged and said, “Sure.”

She gestured for them to sit. “I would have ordered you something, as I consider hospitality a cornerstone of civilized culture, but I’m afraid I don’t know what people of your…caliber eat.”

“Food, mostly,” Joel said. “Sometimes other people, when times get tough. You know, between jobs. Or blueberry muffins. I’d love a muffin.”

Miss Musgrave’s plaster smile returned, this time accompanied by a pleasant little chuckle, the polite laugh that Millicents and Rebeccas and Felicias use to fill uncomfortable silences. “Yes, well, I’m sure.”

She spoke with a drawl Reggie hadn’t heard since leaving Earth. He had a neighbor from Georgia who was always talking about the weather and how much she hated snow and missed fresh peaches. Miss Musgraves had the same airy quality in her voice, a congeniality that immediately put him at ease even though it barely masked the biting tone.

Reggie suggested Joel and Sam go buy them all some coffee and muffins, to which Joel reluctantly agreed. Joel’s inability to tolerate snobbery was well documented, as was Sam’s willingness to stab people who bothered her.

“Your message was a little vague, Miss Musgraves,” Reggie said once Joel and Sam were gone.

“Oh, please, call me Millie. Miss Musgraves was my grandmother. A strict woman. She carried a leather strap in her purse specifically for ‘correcting’ people, as she referred to it.” She looked at Joel, standing in line. “She would have corrected that boy upside his mouth already.”

She seemed to imagine it. A genuine smile snuck onto her face.

She shook away the thought. “Anyway, back to business. Malibu has a rodent problem. Now, do you do rodents, or are you strictly bug catchers? I don’t know how this works. I typically have my assistant handle these sorts of things. She went to college on a scholarship, so she’s more familiar with you working-class types.”

Cody swallowed hard then pretended to scroll through his wristcom.

Reggie smiled and said a silent prayer of gratitude that Joel wasn’t within earshot. “We handle rodents as well. Any kind of pest, really.”

“Great,” Millie said. “And you’re fast? And discreet?”

Reggie tried to answer, but the words he knew he needed to say wouldn’t come out.

“Yes,” Cody said. “Very fast and discreet.”

Neither of them mentioned the space station that was swallowed by the giant bug or the amusement park that exploded or the flying volcano monster.

“Wonderful.” Millie sipped her sweet tea. Her big hair, held aloft by several cans of hairspray and possibly some black magic, swayed as she tipped back her cup.

Joel and Sam returned, setting down coffee and muffins in front of Reggie and Cody. Peppy laid down next to Joel, his tail brushing against the bare skin of Millie’s leg. She jerked it away from him.

“He doesn’t bite,” Joel said. “Unless I tell him to.”

Millie looked like she was just told her reservation was lost and she’d have to wait for a table. “As I was saying, speed and discretion are of the utmost importance. I’m hosting a gala here tonight. The biggest names in everything from fashion and entertainment to politics will be in attendance. They cannot know about the infestation.”

Joel planted his elbows on the table. “Finally, something interesting. What are we talking about? ShimVens? Rapoo? Butt weasels? Hemorrhagic brain beetles?”

Millie leaned forward, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin as a way of hiding her face, trying to keep the other customers from hearing. “Rats.”

Joel’s excitement level plummeted. “Rats? That’s it? Not even mutant rats who know karate? Just regular rats?”

Millie winced each time he mentioned the rodent. “Keep your voice down, please. No one can know. The embarrassment would be more than Malibu can handle.”

Sam eyed Cody’s muffin. She’d finished hers in two bites, and he’d yet to touch his. He caught onto her and slid the pastry closer to himself.

“Why call us now, on the night of the gala? Wouldn’t you want to get rid of the rats before the fancy-pants guests come to dinner?” Cody asked.

“I didn’t think it would be an issue.” Millie buried her face in her hands to hide her shame. “My maintenance crew found it last week. They assured me it was a small infestation. And with everything else that I needed to do to plan for the gala, I let it get away from me. But, this morning, I heard the rats make a godawful racket in the rafters above the ballroom.” She clutched her pearls. “Can you imagine if that happened during the gala?”

“Heavens, no,” Joel said with exaggerated breathlessness.

Millie didn’t seem to notice that he was insulting her. “I must have the infestation dealt with immediately. But with the gala beginning in just a few hours, I know that it won’t be removed in time. I just ask that you do as much as you can before the guests arrive, and then continue on subtly once they’re here.”

Her eyes fell on Sam, on the mask that hid her face from the world. Then they drifted down to Peppy, who had fallen asleep and begun to dream that he was chasing something. “If my guests were to see you, the gala would certainly be ruined.”

Sam leaned forward, inching closer to Millie’s face, tension building between them like they were opposing magnetic poles. “We wouldn’t want that.” Sam took half of Millie’s English muffin, lifted her mask and took a huge bite out of it before dropping it back on her plate.

Millie gasped.

“Not to worry,” Reggie said, looking to diffuse the situation and wrap up the meeting before it spiraled completely out of control. “We’ll get started immediately. You and your guests won’t even know we’re here.”

Cody brought up the display on his wristcom. A holographic projection of the Malibu schematics hovered between them. He pointed to a service tunnel hub on the second level.

“We’ll set up here.”

Millie thanked them in advance for the expediency and subtlety while simultaneously insulting them for everything else. Joel and Sam ground their teeth as Reggie smiled and shook her dead spider hand and assured her everything would work out.

Once Millie left, the team collectively unclenched.

Sam stabbed the uneaten portion of Millie’s English muffin. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to murder anyone as much as I’ve wanted to murder her.”

“I’m usually opposed to blowing up the space station and not getting paid,” Joel said. “But just this once, I’m okay with it.”

“Right?” Cody said. “Millicent? More like millipede. Am I right?” He raised his hand in expectation of a high five.

Sam glowered at him. “You’ve skyrocketed to number two on my must murder list.”

Reggie pumped his hands, trying to signal everyone to slow down. “All right, let’s just settle down. So she’s a little obnoxious. We can deal with obnoxious. We’ve fought off swarms of mutant bugs and hordes of vicious raccoon monsters. One obnoxious rich lady shouldn’t be a problem.”

Joel nodded, though reluctantly. “I guess. If Millie is the most we have to stomach with this job, then whatever. Just rats? No mutants or monsters or threats of death?”

“Exactly.” Reggie smiled. “Should be a cakewalk.”

Joel sighed. “You never learn. Every time you utter that phrase, a harmless rodent transforms into a face-eating monster.”

Reggie shoved the rest of his muffin in his mouth and spit crumbs as he spoke. “Come on, we’ve got a job to do.”