Page 1 of Tamiko and the Two Janitors
ONE
Cat’s Paw
While Tami waited for their town’s lone stoplight to tickthrough its cycle, she bumped up the volume on her car radio.
“… encouraging people to check in with their county’s Officeof Ingress, where a team of Betweeners will be able to quickly set your mind atease.”
The talk show host cheerfully played devil’s advocate. “Isthis assessment an invasive procedure? Because I’m no fan of needles, let alonefangs.”
With a polite chuckle, his guest assured, “We may ask a fewquestions about family history, but identification takes mere moments. All weneed is cooperation.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the latest rumors.”
“Oh?”
“The feeds and forums are plastered with warnings againstthe very testing you’re promoting, saying that the government is rounding upunregistered reaversfor their own good.”
He made that last bit sound unnecessarily ominous. Tami foundthe hype distasteful.
The guest, who must be a reaver, patiently explained, “Many peopleare curious if they have ties to the In-between, and we are able to provideanswers.”
“For a hefty price?”
“No, there’s no charge.”
“Can’t argue with that. Maybe you should give us that list ofnames again.”
“Certainly. In America, the most common surnames that pointto a possible kinship to Betweener bloodlines are Reaver, Reaves, Reeve, Eaves,Eaver, Everson, and so on. Or surnames related to specific reaver classifications,like Ward, Warden, Barr, and Battle. A full multilingual, international list canbe referenced at any Office of Ingress.”
Tami smiled at that. She was freshly returned from aneducators conference, and more than once, people had mistaken her for a reaver,based entirely on her nametag.
After the commercial break, they spun off into a discussionof the reaver practice of allowing successive generations to choose their ownsurnames, often based on their specialization, ranking, or birthplace.
“That’s more like it,” she informed the radio. Interestingfacts would do far more to further the peace process than drumming upsuspicions and drowning in sensationalism.
Turning into the dinky back parking lot of LandmarkElementary, Tami claimed her usual spot. They didn’t have designated parking,but ever since starting in June, she’d been the first to arrive each morning …with one notable exception.
An old jeep sat in the far corner of the lot.
Again.
She’d always been the early bird—and a competitive one atthat. Tami had left an hour earlier than usual, just to be the first one intothe school, only to be edged out by an earlier bird. Clearly, she needed tosize up her rival.
Tami didn’t know the first thing about cars, but theoffending jeep had vintage appeal. Outdated but in good repair, with an openback and sides. Craning her neck, she spotted a couple of plaid blankets thatshowed signs of a shedding pet, a locked toolbox, a bale of straw, and afifty-pound bag of sunflower seeds. Which probably added up to a handyman witha dog and several birdfeeders.
“Elementary, my dear Landmark.” Aiming for the entrance, shesurmised, “The janitor did it.”
The side entrance was already unlocked, and the heavysecurity door swung smoothly despite its weight. This early, the lights wereoff, leaving a gray hush in hallways that had been welcoming students for generations.Gleaming terrazzo, glass trophy cases, metal lockers, and thick corkboard. Itwas like stepping back in time.
Tami’s girlhood had been spent in these very halls. Dad andGrandad had attended Landmark Elementary, too. Three generations. And accordingto her mother, high time for a fourth.
She wiped her feet on the mat, and not merely for thebenefit of the man coming along the hall toward her, pushing a wide dust mop. Hewas taller than average and a bit boxy in his shapeless gray-green coveralls,the kind of guy who’d probably played football in high school. His mostdistinguishing feature was definitely his hair—long and shaggy and vividly red,gathered into a ponytail at the back of his neck.
“Morning, ma’am!” he called amiably. “You’re here earlierthan usual.”
“So it’syourcar I’m always seeing.” She fished forhis name. “Wasn’t it … Mr. Kipling?”
He grimaced. “Yes, ma’am, but everyone calls me Kip.”
