I glanced into the staging bay. Dark, and as far as I could tell, very empty.
“Haven’t heard anything myself.”
“Huh.” He seemed hesitant. “Sorry about that, must be my imagination.”
The big man disappeared from sight. Ten seconds later, he was back.
“OK, you must have heard that.”
“Nooooo…” Hadn’t heard a thing. Was young Mr. Vranic a little loopy? They said dentists often went over the edge. Was accounting not an equally soul draining profession?
John stepped out into the kitchen area and stood stock-still. A man may not be able to perk up his ears like a hunting dog, but he gave a close approximation. It was enough to cause me to stop chewing my gum and listen.
“Huh.” There was a scratching sound. Coming from the staging bay, I thought.
“You hear that, eh? Not just my imagination.”
“Nope. Not unless we’re both on the same drugs.” I eased my chair back, figuring I was better not to scare off whatever had made its way into the building.
“What do you think it is?”
“No idea. Raccoon, maybe? Little bastards can get in anywhere. Maybe a squirrel? Rat?”
“Rats… brrrrr. I hate rats.” He actually cringed when he said it. Mind you, I’m not a big fan of rats, either.
“Well, let’s check it out.” I stepped out into the staging bay and glanced around, but it was real dark in there. The only sources of light were the kitchen and an emergency exit light over the back door.
After peering into the dark without success, I flicked the three light switches for the overheads. The fluorescents sputtered, then lit up the room. John and I edged our way further into the staging bay. I have no doubt we looked like a pair of idiots.
“Where do you think it was coming from?” I glanced around, but there was no sign of any animals or any damage. I scanned the package racks to make sure nothing had been torn open. That would have made my day.
“It sounded like it was inside the wall, or just on the other side.”
I turned to scan the wall adjacent to the office John had been working in, and felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Lost and Found Room.
“Shit.”
It took me a few moments, but I got my nerve up and unlocked the door to the Lost and Found Room. At the same time I stabbed my hand out and flicked on the light switch.
I eased the door open and we both stood surveying the room.
“See anything?” John’s whisper came from just behind my left shoulder.
Same as usual. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. I shrugged and stepped back to scan the rest of the docking area. John moved into the room, leaning back as though ready to defend himself against attack. I couldn’t see anything under the vans.
As I turned back to the room John was in, I could see that the only places where something might be hiding were in the stack of carpets or the clothes rack at the back…
“There!”
I saw it. Something, anyways. The hem of a dark raincoat had moved, and the belt was swinging. John moved forward, and parted the clothes along the wall.
Sitting on its haunches, staring at him with whiskers twitching and obsidian eyes, was the biggest darned rodent I have ever seen. A good ten or eleven inches, with a tail again as long.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit-!” As he darted past me into the staging bay, John’s voice rose in pitch, the exact opposite of the Doppler effect an ambulance siren makes as it passes you. He sounded like an eight year old girl.
I snorted, but when I turned back the rat was gone from sight so I followed in his footsteps.
“Did he get out of the room?”
“No. No way. I would have seen it. Jesus, did you see the size of that thing!”
“Big bugger. OK, let’s see if we can corner him.” I moved into the room this time, figuring John’s pride would force him to follow me. A few seconds later he shuffled in. I began peering behind the carpets and a few pieces of furniture, while John moved to the clothing racks.
“He must still be behind the clothes. I’m going to have to move the rack out from the wall.”
“There.”
Yup. John was right in front of the rack, and that jacket moved again. This time I could see eyes shining in the dark of the shadows. It occurred to me at that moment that our little visitor might bite, or worse yet have rabies or some damned rat flu. So when I began to move, I did so with extreme caution. Grasping the metal rack, I began to pull it out from the wall. A dark body darted out from under the rack and dove into a gap in the stack of carpets.
This time John flinched as though he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket. He didn’t move, but the blood ran from his face, and his eyes were as wide as one of those Japanese cartoon characters on Teletoon.
“You okay?”
He was breathing, but it was shallow and quick. I had a bad feeling that I was going to see a six foot seven man faint at my feet if I wasn’t careful. Glancing back to make sure the rat hadn’t shown itself again, I turned and led John out of the room, closing the door behind me.
We were back in the kitchen before he seemed to regain his wits.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
“No problem. That is one big rat. He could take on any mouser we set on him.”
“I’m scared shitless of those things. My brother tucked one into my bed sheets when I was in grade two, and every time I see one I remember the damned thing scratching and clawing to get out.”
Great. Somehow I had managed to terrify my accountant. I suppose others can say the same, but those cases tend to involve an SEC investigation or a shareholder lawsuit.
“Listen, why don’t we call it a night? I’ll take a few minutes to see if I can sweep the little bugger out the back door. If I have no luck, I’ll get an exterminator in tomorrow.”
Relief crossed his face. It was like I had given him a three month extension on this year’s tax returns. He was that happy.
“You sure?”
He tried to put up a brave face, and I appreciated that. But five minutes later he was out the door and on his way home. Ten o’clock on the button. Leaving me to face Mr. Rat on my own.
“Here, Ratty Ratty.” I had taken to brute force measures, and was carrying a hockey stick I had plucked from the trunk of my car.
To avoid an exhausting chase around the entire office, I entered the Lost and Found Room and closed the door behind me.
I started with the stack of carpets, rugs and similar furnishings. As I lifted each with one hand, I held the hockey stick out. I felt like some cheesy lion tamer, carpet and stick instead of chair and whip. Each time I lifted a carpet I leaned it against the wall to make sure Mr. Rat couldn’t dart into a new hiding spot.
No luck.
I turned back to the coat rack. No swaying hems. I pulled it out further from the wall. Nothing.
Time to get creative.
I started behind the door, scanning every inch of the wall and floor for holes or hiding spots. They’re not a sneaky as mice, but rats can get through much smaller spaces than you might think.
I glanced inside the centre of one of the carpet rolls and lifted it, thumping it down on the floor. Nothing fell out. Same for each of the other rolls. Checked the back of the dressers to make sure there were no holes he might have used to climb into one. Rifled through the clothes on the rack, even searching pockets.
Nothing.
Shit. It must have gotten out into the bay.
I opened the door and stared around the open room. This was going to take a while.
I stumbled in the door of my apartment at a quarter to two in the morning. Not exactly working the nine to five.
I ended up checking the staging bay, the package racks, the vans, the two offices, the kitchen (including the fridge and all of the cabinets), the washroom, reception and the front conference room. No luck. Little bastard had gone into hiding. Ninja rat.