Clean-Up for Customer 082

"It becomes problematic to serve dinner once your guests are emotionally invested in the meal, so to speak."

"So, you just have to go clean up after some guy's dinner party?"

"Yup."

"How is that abnormal? You said you work for a place that cleans up after abnormalities."

"Caleb, my team lead is going to clean up a whale that washed up on the shore of a lake today. I dunno how it all works. I just clean, man."

"Alright. Alright."

"…"

"Hey, Beau, what's for dinner?"

Beau wasn't sure what the "Colonial Revival" Dee told him to look for was, but as he looked at the latest job location for Customer 082 — Mr. Fernand — from the bottom of the driveway, he supposed it had something to do with being rich. High, whitewashed walls lined with pillars and neat blue shutters for the windows smiled at him as he inched the clanking van emblazoned with the words SAFE CLEANUP PROFESSIONALS down the driveway in the early morning sun.

Apparently, Mr. Fernand was a gourmand who hosted parties around town that often left quite a mess — a mess that only the Foundation was willing to clean up. His mentor, Dee, had told him all the new guys had to do it at least once. Beau didn't mind. If Mr. Fernand hung out in fancy houses like this, he'd clean with a smile on his face. Here, in the wealthy suburbs of Pierre, the stillness of some isolation blocked out the noise from the world outside. It was truly peaceful and as Beau approached the front door, he found himself smiling.

As Beau ascended the stairs to the door on the chilly morning, he noticed it stood slightly ajar. He froze, staring for a second, wondering why anyone would be so silly. It was freezing and all this cold air wasn't going to be good for a person. At least, that's what his gran had told him. Getting closer, he couldn't help but notice the red fingerprints smeared on the door. He peered at them closely, wondering what it was going to take to get that off.

After a second of considering the problem in front of him, he realised he was being watched from deeper in the house. A looming shadow from the top of the stairs peered down at him and Beau took it as his cue.

"Hello?" Beau said uncertainly. "This is Beau from the cleaning agency. SCP - Cleanliness Guaranteed!"

Thundering footsteps approached the door hurriedly and Beau's stomach knotted, waiting for him to be told he had the wrong house and that he was going to get melted by an old god if he didn't leave immediately. As the door swung open, though, Mr. Fernand beamed down at him from his towering full height. His wide, lopsided mouth approximated a smile, a smile Beau couldn't help but return. Happy clients were always a joy, especially if they were smiling before he even started.

"My good friend!" Mr. Fernand spoke in reedy, heavily-accented English and stood back to let him into the entrance hall. It was a little cramped, but the light from the window above the door bathed the room in a welcoming warmth. The smudges on the floor were going to be a nightmare to deal with, but he was getting the idea it was the least of his worries. "It is so good of you to come out on such short notice. Usually I schedule things more comfortably, but last night's affair was so short notice, I didn't have a chance to set anything up with the agency. Thank you so much for your time."

"Not at all!" Beau chuckled. "This is way better than the what the rest of the team have to go scrape up this morning. A dinner party, I can deal with."

"It's more the prep for the dinner party that needs to get cleaned up," Mr. Fernand explained, indicating for Beau to follow as he disappeared into the adjoining living room. "We had venison and I was preparing the elk and let's just say it got messy. The garage and dining room are going to need some proper work. Don't mind the smudges. There was quite a sticky basting sauce."

"That's not a problem. It's what I'm here for. You'll just need to show me the area of biggest concern for you right now."

"Sure, sure!" said Mr. Fernand. "I'll be happy to."

"Also, may I say, nice cravat?" Beau said, his eye catching another broad smear along a wall.

"Oh! You like it? It was a gift from the Prince of Venezuela! We met last week for his birthday and he just handed it to me. What was I to do, say no?" Mr. Fernand tutted. "Of course, not."

"Yeah, that you're totally right. You can't look a gift like that in the mouth. The Prince would have been angry."

Mr. Fernand didn't stop nattering about the Prince as he led the way through the elegant home. Beau was there to work though, so as much as he was getting lost in the tales Fernand was telling, he made sure to keep scanning the space for marks. There were a lot of them. Fernand's guests, whoever they were, had thoroughly enjoyed their dinner, it seemed.

A loud thud from upstairs stopped them in their tracks. Mr. Fernand's eyes shot towards the staircase, his ear cocked, listening closely.

"Is everything okay?" Beau asked.

"Yes. The dog is just being naughty again." Fernand said, his expression relaxing before he slowly nodded and carried on leading the way, satisfied the dog had gone quiet.

"What breed are they?"

"Chihuahua," said Fernand and signaled for Beau to follow. "Come. I'll show you where the party starts."

Beau dutifully followed, but he was pretty sure he was getting the idea of what waited for him in the garage from last night's debris scattered about. The kitchen was a mess of blood and viscera — looked like lungs, to be specific — marring the sink, stove and counter space. Fernand, to his credit, seemed at least a little embarrassed at the state of the place and Beau wondered if he'd need to call in Dee to help with this one. It was still early, he reminded himself; there would be enough time.

"So as part of my show for the guests, I start in here," Fernand said, leading the way into the wide garage down a path lined with flowerbeds waiting for spring. "This is where I gut and clean the animal for the guests. Of course, I keep the killing of the animal for before. It becomes problematic to serve dinner once your guests are emotionally invested in the meal, so to speak."

"Whoa!" said Beau as he stepped in to find yet more viscera and blood centered around a stainless steel hook hanging in the center of the room. Unlike the kitchen, there was no control to this mess. Somehow, Fernand had got bits of his pre-cooked dinner on the roof, on the walls and on the floor. "This is so interactive!"

"You understand!" Fernand clapped his hands together, delighted. "I honestly just like putting on a show for my guests and having them choose the parts they'll be eating draws them so much closer to the experience, don't you think?"

"Yeah, that sounds pretty immersive, alright!" Beau smiled, turning to regard the garage. "I'm going to need to get started, though. It wasn't just your guests that were immersed last night."

"Of course! Of course! Let me get out of your way! If you need anything, anything at all, I'm just upstairs."

"Thanks a lot! And it's just in here, the kitchen and dining room, right?"

"Oh yes, the housekeeper comes on Monday, but there's just no way I was going to call her in for this," he said and a grin spread across his face. "She doesn't quite have the stomach for my parties."

A long silence hung between them as Fernand's eyes traced lines across Beau's face. But Beau quickly began to feel the weight of his backpack and dumped it on the ground and brightly said, "Well, I better get to work!"

In the words of Mister Fritz Diedrich Williams, Administrator of the Safe Cleanup Professionals Foundation, "An SCProfessional's best friend is soap, water and elbow grease! Get scrubbing."

So that's what Beau did. He took a quick sweep of the mess of the house and gathered what he could. Fortunately, Mr. Fernand had put most of the leftovers away already, and Beau had to admit, the crackling looked pretty good. Here and there, the streaks of a cloth made from a shirt that now sat crusted and dried on the edge of the sink told Beau that Mr. Fernand had probably tried to clean up himself before giving up. He couldn't help but chuckle. Some people just needed that extra bit of help, and from how hard Fernand was clenching his jaw, this was all probably pretty overwhelming for him.

"Eat shit, Dee," he said, dropping the last of some bones, marrow sucked clean, into the trash and heading for the oozing lungs in the sink. "This is way better than werewolf clean-up."

He clapped his hands free of dust and sticky sinew over the trashcan and took a deep breath before heading back to the van. The pressure hose was his favourite part and the set-up would take a minute. Of course, part of that set-up meant disappearing behind the garage to smoke a joint. There was no way he was going to be away from management's eyes and not have some fun. Besides, the garage was an abattoir after Fernand's performance art and getting stoned would only help him appreciate it more.

Dee's weed harshed his throat more than he liked, but it was weed in South Dakota, so he really didn't have high expectations. He knew better than to have expectations at all. He'd learned the hard way.

With a smile on his face and Paper Planes blaring in his ears, Beau set to work. SCP didn't do much fancy in the way of chemicals, from what he could tell. It really was just elbow grease and soap, he was pretty sure. He did get to meet interesting people like Mr. Fernand and knowing that werewolves actually did exist was pretty cool. Then again, he'd kind of always known it, but it was like a war on the other side of the world — out of sight, out of mind.

The rhythmic scrape of the broom's hard bristles slowly scrubbed away Fernand's theatrics from the night before as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Beau had worked up a firm sweat despite the winter cold and was taking a break round back with more of his joint when a shadow from the house caught his attention.

"Shit!" He hissed, stubbing the roach dead on the bottom of his shoe, trying to exhale what he could. He was confident Fernand wouldn't smell anything as he clambered out from behind the garage. "Mr. Fernand, I'm so sorry! I was just taking a look out back to see if that may need attention. You know we have wonderful gardening services, too?"

"I'll keep that in mind for the spring!" Fernand said cheerily, casting his eyes towards the gaping maw of the garage and nodding. "You're making very good progress. Fritz sure knows how to hire."

"Thank you, but I just think the mess was pretty controlled, honestly." He wasn't a good liar, but what else was there to say? He didn't take compliments well. "Just needs some elbow grease. I hope you don't mind, I moved the freezer. There was blood behind it that I wanted to get out."

"You moved the freezer?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at moving things."

"I see." Fernand's eyes moved between the freezer and Beau for a few seconds before he smiled widely again. "That's wonderful news! You're very thorough and that is honestly so appreciated. Not enough people take pride in their work these days and it's that kind of dedication that will carry you far young man!"

"You're too kind."

"Would you like some lemonade? All this work won't be good for you without a refreshment!"

"That'd be —" A crash came from the nearby second floor window followed immediately by a loud yelp.

"That darn dog!" Fernand snarled and then he set off with urgent steps towards the house before chiming over his shoulder. "I'll be right back with your lemonade!"

"Thank you!"

Beau chuckled as he watched the behemoth of a man disappear into the house. He was busy putting his earphones back in, when suddenly a piercing shriek cut through the air from the house. Beau's head swiveled in the direction of the noise and he saw through the open window as Fernand stared down at a flailing mass of hair jittering from just below the window sill. Obviously his dog was quite excitable. Cold fury crossed Fernand's face and just as he looked like he was about to erupt, he saw Beau watching.

"Oh, Beau! I'm so sorry," he cried from through the window, stepping around the agitated animal. "My dog seems to have gone potty on my rug. I'll have to handle this before I bring you that lemonade, but if you're really quite thirsty you can help yourself to some in the refrigerator."

"Sure thing, Mr. Fernand! Do you need help with that mess? It's kind of what I'm here for."

"No, no!" Fernand said, hastily. "You just listen to your music and keep busy there or you'll never get finished. It's just a small mess. I can handle this."

Without another word, Fernand stepped back and drew the curtains closed with a flourish, which, Beau thought as he put his earphones back in, wasn't going to help with the smell. Especially considering how big that chihuahua was.

The dining room wasn't as bad as it could have been, Beau reckoned. If the prep areas were abattoirs, he had half expected the dining room to have food in places he didn't know were places. One thing he was worried about though was the piece of something that had somehow hit the roof and stayed there. He'd need to get that down, but that was a worry for later and so he turned his attention to the kitchen floors. With Single Ladies on repeat, he set to work.

Mr. Fernand never did come back with that lemonade, but Beau just laughed it off. He was probably having a fit over some dog shit on some too-expensive rug. Thank God the downstairs had wooden floors. He could stomach some of the gross things that the SCProfessionals had to deal with, but fighting to get blood out of a carpet was just a nightmare no matter how you approached it. And Mr. Fernand's obviously expensive taste told Beau that in this house, he was more likely to destroy a rug by cleaning it than anything else.

He'd been surprised to find wealth like this in Pierre. To be honest he'd been surprised to find anything in Pierre, South Dakota, at all. After his mom forged a path here with a boyfriend who left her a few weeks later and with his own dreams of living in L.A. just refusing to materialize, there hadn't been much choice but to pack up and head north.

Now here he was, more steadily employed than most of his friends back in Philadelphia but with far less prospects. Proven, he realized, by the fact that he was currently wrestling a large bone out from behind a cabinet in the dining room. Like much of what he'd seen, how it got there was a mystery and from the size of Mr. Fernand, he could only assume his aggressive eating was a persistent threat to the surrounding environment. Somehow this bone (was that a femur?) was lodged between the leg of the heavy wooden cabinet and the wall. It wasn't coming loose.

"How the fuck…" Beau mumbled and he squatted next to the cabinet, gripping the bottom rim with his fingers barely an inch from the floor. Then with well-practiced patience and the fear of throwing his back out sitting on his shoulder, he lifted.

It took a second of nothing happening before finally he felt that shift that told him he'd won. Just a few centimeters was all he needed. He slowly brought himself to his full height, edging upward bit-by-bit, till he heard the clatter of the bone coming loose. He aimed a few frantic kicks in the direction of the clatter and sent it spinning out from under the cabinet and under the table. He watched it ricochet for a bit, amused, then he slowly set the cabinet down again so he could go retrieve his find.

The bone was quite large, which was probably why he thought it was a femur, but then he had to ask if elks had femurs? They probably did, but were they this big? How big was an elk? He inspected the bone more closely, seeing the meat had been cleanly stripped from it and it had been gnawed on. He froze.

Why were these bite marks so blunt? These didn't look like they were made by dog's teeth. Unless…

"Hello, Beau!" Mr. Fernand's voice chimed, announcing his entry. He carried a silver tray, tiny in his massive hand, laden with two glasses and a jug of lemonade. "I see you didn't have any lemonade! You should have helped yourself. I'm so sorry I took so long, but my little baby just went poopy all over and I had to clean it up."

"Yeah, it's no problem!" Beau said, turning around to find Mr. Fernand standing so close he could smell the sweat mixing with his too-sweet cologne.

"What do you have there?" Mr. Fernand asked through his perpetually gritted teeth. His beady eyes inspected the bone and Beau in turn.

"Oh, yeah, I found this behind the cabinet."

"You moved the cabinet?"

"Oh! Yeah, I'm great at moving stuff."

"I'm glad to hear that, but tell me, you seem confused." Mr. Fernand peered closer, almost vivisecting him with his gaze. "Why's that?"

Beau looked from Mr. Fernand to the bone, to the tray of lemonade that looked really welcoming and back to Mr. Fernand and said, "Well, I just think this isn't an appropriate chew toy for your dog. I don't know if that's rude of me, but I just don't."

"I-" Mr. Fernand leaned back to look at Beau from his full height once more, clearly perplexed. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, look," Beau pointed to the bite marks. "Your dog's old, isn't it? It's going poopy on the carpet and it's teeth are super blunt. I think these kinds of chew toys are bad for its gums. It may need a softer chewie."

Mr. Fernand stood silently watching him for a bit, clearly processing what he'd heard. Beau didn't like giving unsolicited advice, but he just didn't like the idea of a dog hurting itself by accident. Mr. Fernand probably didn't even know it was bad for the dog, which was the only reason Beau had said anything. It'd be very inappropriate for him to speak to customers like that normally, but this was for a dog and he wasn't going to apologize for it.

"It had never occurred to me," Mr. Fernand said meekly, his expression shifting suddenly. "I'm so sorry. I'll make sure to get that on the list immediately. I'll go get fresh toys when you're done here today."

"Oh, you don't need to apologize. You probably didn't even know."

"You're right, but still, the thought that I've caused my beloved any harm is just too much right now," Mr. Fernand held out his hand (more a paw really) and looked suddenly misty-eyed. "Hand it over. Let me dispose of the foul thing!"

Mr. Fernand was taking this very seriously, but if this dramatic Frenchman wanted to atone, who was Beau to stop him? He held the bone out and Fernand snatched it away and disappeared back into the house.

"Thank you for the lemonade!" Beau called after him.

The lemonade really was very good and he kept a glass with him as he worked, making sure the old wood was properly polished and the room properly aired after the smell of barbecue sauce (there was definitely smokey-chipotle sauce at play, too) had pervaded the air so thickly Beau felt he could dip a buffalo wing in it. He still hadn't managed to find a way to get whatever was on the roof off and Mr. Fernand had disappeared so while a ladder was out of the question, he moved on.

The kitchen was his final task and fortunately, the earlier clean-up had helped a lot. Mr. Fernand had also been very conscientious and not added any major mess to the kitchen at all. So with Secondhand Serenade screaming about falling for someone to keep him company, he began to mop the marble.

Oddly, while being a cleaning service had never been where he saw himself, this was not unlike what he would have ended up doing at a studio in L.A. so, he liked to see something cosmic in that. Each stroke of the mop was pretty therapeutic too. In the garage, he'd worked in short, quick strokes, scrubbing the blood out of the concrete with frenetic vigour.

Here, his strokes were long and firm, almost languidly heavy, drawing blood and worse off the tiles and making them sparkle more and more as he went. The dishes had already run in the dishwasher, so making this place shine was the last order of business for the day. As his reflection became more clear in the floor beneath him, Beau couldn't help but smile.

It was during his return to Single Ladies that he nearly twisted an ankle as he did a double-take watching the mystery-whatever that had been stuck to the adjoining dining room's roof suddenly come loose and plop down onto the floor.

"Oh, cool." He said and walked over, pulling his earphones out of his ears. Apparently, all he needed was patience, he thought as he bent down to pick up what he could now see looked like skin with long black hair connected to it. "Weird."

But another word didn't have a chance to cross his lips as the roof above him suddenly shuddered viciously. He stumbled backwards out of the dining room and leaned on the kitchen counter, staring wide-eyed at the roof, now basically rattling the chandelier loose with each pounding shake. Soon, a loud yell from upstairs snatched Beau's attention and without thinking he set off. Something wasn't right!

He stormed up the stairs, following the sound of a struggle. The upstairs was uncannily dark, but the passage was clear, so Beau followed the noise swiftly. His feet carried him quickly across the soft carpets and he strained his ears to listen for more details before he arrived. Had someone snuck in while Beau hadn't been paying attention? Mr. Fernand was speaking, babbling in French it seemed, but he couldn't hear him clearly over the sound of crashing furniture and the cries of probably the largest dog in the world.

Beau approached the room at the end of a long hall where the commotion was coming from. Once again, he found the door ajar and he inched closer as he heard the thrashing from inside, mingled with strings of guttural French. "Mr. Fernand?"

"Don't come in!" Mr. Fernand shrieked and Beau froze as the door slammed shut. "It's not safe!"

"Mr. Fernand, what's that noise? Do you need help?" Beau leaned closer, trying to hear what was happening. Mr. Fernand was alive, but none of this made sense. If it wasn't safe, why was he still in there then?

"No, no! Stay out there. My baby is having a fit. She's just struggling to take her medicine," Mr. Fernand's voice strained against the stress of holding back the noisily struggling dog and Beau debated going in. "It'll be okay. This is normal. Everything is normal!"

Beau heard more thudding and then the sudden approach of footsteps. Another crash followed shortly and the door in front of Beau juddered as something was thrown and held against it. It rattled violently for a second and then a single, sudden and sickening crack echoed through the door and all was quiet once again.

"Mr. Fernand! Are you okay?" Beau's voice was loud and clear, just like he'd been taught in drama club, but he never thought he'd be using it for this. "What was that sound?"

"Massage for my dog," Mr. Fernand said and Beau could hear the giant moving toward the door. It swung open and Mr. Fernand towered there with a smile on his reddened face, panting a bit. "It always calms her down when I click her neck. I'm sorry if I scared you."

Beau looked up at Mr. Fernand's smile and quickly smiled back. "Nah, it's okay," he said with a shrug. "I was just worried. If you're okay and your dog's okay then that's cool. I can just give you an update on how things are going. I'm almost done, actually."

"Yes, yes! Absolutely, please do!" Mr. Fernand said, gesturing back down the hall so Beau could lead the way.

"Sure thing!" said Beau, but his eyes trailed off for a second before focusing again. "I'm sorry, I feel so rude. I never got your dog's name."

"Oh!" Mr. Fernand snickered. "Tiffany."

Beau processed that for a second then smiled once again. "That's a real cool name for a dog."

"Isn't it just?" Mr. Fernand laughed some more as he stepped into the hall, indicating it was time for them to head downstairs. "And Beau, would you mind if I arrange short notice for you to come in tomorrow morning, as well?"

"I mean, I don't think the job's gonna take that long."

"No, no," Mr. Fernand smiled his toothy smile. "I've decided to host another impromptu soiree."

Beau blinked for a second, and then remembered that werewolf hunts could take days and said, "Sure, thing! I'll call the boss myself! Now, you'll see I've actually made some good progress and I've got some products to recommend to keep your silver looking right."

"You can tell me all about it over sandwiches. I have some lovely cold-cuts we can have!"

"That's very kind, but I'm actually watching what I eat," Beau said, looking over his shoulder. "I'm trying to get ripped so I only eat at certain times."

Mr. Fernand sighed and smiled gently back at him, "Your loss, but I really should have you for dinner sometime."

"Caleb, don't be mad —"

"Beau, you said you were gonna bring pizza. Where is the pizza?"

"I have beer! Hear me out!"

"We can't eat beer, Beau!"

"We have the ingredients to make pizza — yeast, flour, water, salt, olive oil. Cheese for the top. We can have a beer, make a pizza. Make a memory."

"…"

"That's acceptable. Thank you. Beer me."