There’s a Hidden Floor in My Apartment Building—And I Wish I’d Never Found It | Part 2
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16 years from today, Greg Gerstner will finally land the perfect cannonball. Epic Splash. Unsuspecting friends. A work of art only possible because Greg is already meeting all these same people at AARP volunteer and community events that keep him active and involved and help make sure his happiness lives as long as he does. That's why the younger you are, the more you need AARP. Learn more at aarp.org slash local.

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Thank you all so much for your continued support. The restaurant is a little more than a block away, more like six, but it's not a bad walk. And when we get inside and the smells hit me, I realize I'd walk a hundred blocks to eat whatever they are serving. Told you. Hayden says and takes off his overcoat. He hands it to the hostess, and without a word we are shown to a table in the back corner. Thank you.

The hostess nods and winds her way through the tables and back to her place up front. "Peyton," the waitress says when she comes to our table. "The usual?" "You know it, Joanie," Peyton says. "And make it a double portion. Plus a plate of barbecue pork, some chicken in black bean sauce, two orders of spring rolls, some crab rangoon, and how's the duck look this evening?"

Dead. Perfect. Just the way I like it, Peyton says, and claps his hands together then looks at me. What do you want, kid? I thought that was for both of us, I say, stunned. He's fucking with you, Joanie says. I'll put the order in right now. Drinks? Whiskey neat, Peyton says. Kid, it's Tony, I say. Tony Pritchard. What do you want to drink, Tony Pritchard? Joanie asks. Can I just get a beer? A golden lager or something like that?

Whiskey meat and a golden lager coming right up, Joanie says, then turns and walks off. The food is amazing, like I said, Hayden says, but it ain't cheap. I'd tell you to try the lunch specials, but you'll be working during lunch and they don't deliver. They don't even use delivery wraiths. Okay, I say then blink. Wait, how do you know I'll be working during the day? You're the new elevator operator, right? He responds, which means you're working every day from now until, well...

He trails off and shrugs. "I was just hired today," I say. "I haven't even started yet. How did you find out so fast?" "First, it wasn't that fast," he says. "Second, I'm a private investigator. Knowing shit is what I do for a living."

"You're a PI?" "You sound surprised," he says and laughs. "You probably think all PIs in the city are down-on-their-luck losers wearing ten-year-old suits and scuffed shoes." He shrugs. "Well, you ain't wrong. Most of everyone in my profession are a bunch of sad sacks who chase down leads while debt collectors are right on their heels. Things in the city tend to go wrong quickly, so getting paid in my line of work doesn't always happen in a timely manner.

"You look like you're doing alright," I say and glance at his very nice suit. "And you're living in the Third Arms, which I'd never be able to afford in my wildest dreams if I hadn't gotten the operator job. I came into some good luck a bit back," Peyton replies, and smooths out his suit coat. "It was hard-fought luck, but good in the end. Must be nice." "Kid, nothing in this city is nice." He leans across the table and looks me square in the face.

Especially at the Third Arms. What does that mean? It means, while you may not have signed away your soul to the Devil himself, you definitely shook hands with someone who doesn't have your best interests at heart. So what? Miss Moscato is a demon? I thought only humans can live and work at the Third Arms. Well, you're being naive to take anything that woman says at face value. But she didn't lie. Only humans can work and live at the Third Arms.

He sighs, then pauses, as Joanie arrives with our drinks. She says. "Anything else?" "You need anything, kid?" Gaten asks me.

"I need you to stop calling me kid." I say, which makes Joanie snort. "I'll leave you two alone," she says with a smirk. "Food will be out shortly." "Thanks, Joanie," Katen says and watches her walk away. "Where was I? I have no idea," I say and sip my beer. He snaps his fingers. "Loopholes! That's where I was!" "You didn't say anything about loopholes." "I was getting to it," he says and leans forward again. "Has anyone mentioned a forbidden button to you?"

"I don't know if I should be talking about work with you," I say and sip my beer again. "What are you worried about? Getting fired?" "Yeah, I just got fired from my old job, and my apartment building burned down, so I kinda need to stay employed and housed right now." "Kid, they aren't gonna fire you," he says, then sees me bristle at being called a kid again. "Sorry, Tony, they aren't gonna fire you, Tony. That handshake works both ways. It's why they test you first."

"That was a test to be human," I say. "Amongst other things, yeah." The spring rolls arrive. "Thanks, Joanie," Peyton says. "Fuck off, Peyton," Joanie replies, walking away the second she sets the plates of rolls down. "What'd you do to her?" I ask. "I have a way with people," he says, and takes a bite of spring roll, then winces. "Hot, hot, hot!" I hear Joanie laugh from somewhere in the restaurant.

"Damn," Peyton says and grabs my beer. He swigs half of it, then sighs and smacks his lips. "That cools things down." He breathes through his mouth and takes another bite. He gestures at the spring rolls. "Eat, eat," he says. "Sure," I respond and pick up a spring roll. I take a small bite and let the steam clear before taking another bite. Peyton nods then says, "So, the loophole. They have told you about the button, right?"

I think back to Mr. Ansel's warning, and the words on the back of my door. I nod. "Good," he says and finishes off his spring roll. "Well, this brings us to the favor. You haven't explained the loophole." "I'm getting to it. It's part of the favor." He picks up another spring roll then sets it down. "Okay, all cards on the table. When that button shows up, I need you to press it."

That's the opposite of what I've been told. I know it is. But you see, Tony, the loophole of the Third Arms Charter is that the button you're gonna push will take us to a floor in the building that doesn't exist. And if it doesn't exist, then the whole "only humans" thing doesn't apply. Us? Hm? You said take us to a floor that doesn't exist. Yeah, well, you're the operator, so you have to push the button. I'll be there because I need to get onto that floor.

"That's the favor? You need me to push the forbidden button when it shows up? I need you to ring me when it shows up. I'll meet you in the elevator, and that's when you push the button." He must see the worry on my face, because he waves a hand at me. "You don't even have to leave the elevator when we reach the floor. All I need is for you to keep that door open, so I can do what I need to do and get back onto the elevator all safe and sound." "What? Why do you need to do what you need to do?"

"Cause I'm paying off a debt I incurred a long ways back." "You don't have the money to pay it?" "This ain't a pay with money type of debt, if you get what I mean." I don't really, but I nod like I do. Yeah, the city is weird, and things aren't exactly normal like they should be. A reverse werewolf in the grove is a perfect example. But most people like me just keep our heads down when we see strange or terrifying things. We just try to live our lives and make the best of what we can in the city.

Our food arrives and Joanie sets the platters in the center of the table, then stands back and puts her hands on her hips. "Another beer?" she asks me. "Um, sure." I say and down what's left and hand her the glass. "Thank you. No problem." She says and looks at Peyton. "Another whiskey?" "Make it a double and we'll need some to-go containers too." "I figured." She responds then leaves.

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I watch him as he picks up a pair of chopsticks and starts dishing himself up from each platter until the plate in front of him is piled high with food. I do the same, although I don't pile quite so high.

Another few bites, I look at Peyton and lift my eyebrows. "I know, right?" He says around a mouthful of barbecue pork. "Good stuff." He isn't wrong. I eat and eat and eat. Until I think I'm going to throw up or explode or both. I barely touch my beer, except to take sips to cool my mouth down from the Szechuan beef. Joanie comes by and hands Peyton the check and me the to-go containers.

"The rest is yours," Peyton says as he pulls a wad of cash from his pocket and slaps down way more than the bill. Joanie is getting a very nice tip. "Thanks," I say and fill the containers with the leftovers. Peyton doesn't say anything about the elevator button as he gets up and nods for me to follow. He grabs his overcoat on the way out and we leave the restaurant. More like I waddle out of the restaurant, I'm so full.

We're halfway back to the Third Arms when Peyton asks, "So, did I get you food drunk enough to say yes to my favor?" "You keep saying it's a favor," I reply. "What do I get out of it?" "A favor in return," he says and laughs. "That's how favors work." "Any favor?" "Normally, I'd say within reason, but considering what I'm asking of you…" "Yeah, any favor. As long as it's something I can do. Don't ask me to turn lead into gold or any crap like that."

You can find your own alchemist for that. There's a couple of them down on Broker's Row, but I wouldn't advise getting involved with that lot. Alchemists are the lowest of the low, like junkies and bankers in the same body." Again, I nod like I understand when I really don't. "Okay," I say. "Okay?" he says and stops walking. "You'll do it?" "I'll do it," I say and hold up a finger. "On one condition." "Yeah? What's that?"

"If things go wrong and I lose my job and apartment over this, you set me up with a new job and new apartment." I shake my head. "No, with a better job and better apartment." "Is that the favor you're cashing in?" "No, not even close. That's a condition to me doing a favor. You'll still owe me a favor after it's all done." He starts walking again and I join him. We're at the third arm's entrance when he nods.

"Deal, kid," he says then winces. "Sorry, Tony." "It's a deal, Tony." He holds out his hand. I stare at it, then I shake it. I hear a low creaking and look up. A gargoyle on the north corner of the building is staring right at me. Peyton follows my gaze and frowns. "Grotesques are such nosy bitches," he says and flips the gargoyle off. "Grotesque?" I ask as the gargoyle sneers, then turns its head and looks in the opposite direction.

"Gargoyles are rain spouts," Peyton replies. "That up there? The statue? That's a grotesque. You really don't know much about the city, do you?" I shrug. "Well, that's okay. Everyone gets gargoyles and grotesques mixed up. And I suppose you don't need to know much about the city unless you're in my line of work, or being asked to do favors for people in your line of work." "Good point," he says and looks at the entrance. "Well, I'll let you head on up.

"You aren't coming in? I thought you said you lived here?" I say, suddenly suspicious. "Ha ha, I do live here," he says and laughs. "But I have to go see a minotaur about some blood first. Plus a few other random errands need tending to. It'll be a late night for me." "Okay. So I just ring you when I see the button?" I say and cock my head. "How do I do that?" "The elevator has a phone," he says. "Pick it up, ask for 1015 and they'll connect you to my room." "Who is they?"

"Those who run the phones in this damned city. You know how the phone service is around here. It's more magic than anything." A howl erupts from the edge of the grove. "Shut up, Lewis!" Peyton shouts, then once more claps me on the shoulder. "See you around, Tony. Hopefully sooner than later." Then he's gone, walking down the street at a brisk pace before he turns into an alley and is lost from sight.

Standing there, taking in the evening's events, I look across the street at the edge of the grove and see two huge yellow eyes staring back at me from a large holly bush. I wave and the eyes blink, then disappear. When I go inside, Miss Grace isn't working the front desk. Instead, a slightly older gentleman is behind it, talking to a plump woman.

He looks up, frowns, then nods, smiles, and beckons me over. "And the smell coming out of my kitchen drain must be dealt with immediately as well," the plump woman is saying when I get to the front desk. "I will have maintenance come and take a look first thing in the morning," the gentleman says. Then his eyes shift to me. "Mr. Pritchard, I am glad we got to meet before you start tomorrow. I am Mr. Sandelin, the night clerk.

"I also work the days as the concierge, so if you need anything, please let me know." "You work days and nights? Sleep is for those who have nothing better to do," he says and chuckles. It sounds like small rocks clattering against each other in the ocean surf, which is a strange thought to have, since I've never seen the ocean in person. "You are the new elevator operator," the plump woman states. "I expect prompt service, young man." "Yes, ma'am," I say and smile.

She returns the smile, but it looks more like a pained grimace. "Good night, Mr. Sandelin," she says, then turns and walks out of the lobby, moving much faster than her plumpness would have led me to believe she could. "Good night, Widow Sherman," Mr. Sandelin calls after her. Then he fixes me with a serious gaze. "Never accept a dinner reservation from that woman. Her last six husbands met their end with some bad fish." "Six?" I ask, shocked. "That we know of, yes."

He says then reaches under the desk and pulls out a large manila envelope. "Copies of your contract. Miss Moscato told me to give them to you so that everything is official." He leans across the desk as I take the envelope. "Personally, I wouldn't read any of it. You're already employed, so why worry yourself with unsettling details?" He leans back then looks at the entrance. "Oh, Mr. Habib! Welcome home! How was the beach?"

I don't bother to wait around to be introduced to whoever Mr. Habib is. I hurry to the elevator and step on board, the envelope clutched in my hands. The elevator is moving before I realize I'm riding with Mr. Ansel. "Didn't your shift end earlier?" "And my new shift started immediately," he says. "I'm nice now, remember?" "Right," I say, and then wait out the impossibly long ride to my floor.

I wave goodnight to Mr. Ansel, then hurry to my apartment, ready to get some sleep. That's when I realize I forgot my leftovers at the restaurant. Damn! I was looking forward to those in the morning. A morning that comes way too early, especially since I mostly tossed and turned all night, as the Szechuan beef reminded me why I don't usually eat spicy foods. Maybe it was a good thing I forgot my leftovers. I think as I shower and get dressed.

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The uniform is snug, a little more snug than I'm comfortable with. But I deal with it, check myself several times in the mirror, then head to the elevator. Before I press the call button, the door slides open, and Mr. Ansel is standing there, a big smile on his face. But it doesn't reach his eyes. He looks like he's happy to see me, but he also looks like he's trying to hide some sort of deep pain. "Good morning," I say and step into the car.

"Good morning," Mr. Ansel replies, his voice hoarse and dry. "Are you all right this morning, Mr. Ansel?" "Of course," he replies and then slides the door closed. "To the lobby." When we reach the lobby, Mr. Sandlin is gathering his things as Miss Grace steps behind the front desk and looks up at me as I approach. "Good morning, Mr. Pritchard," she says. "Ready for your first day?" "As ready as I will ever be," I say and laugh. No one laughs with me.

"Well, so you understand the procedure," she says and bends low behind the desk so that I lose sight of her. Then she appears with a black box in her hands. "I will walk you through it." I stare at the black box. "Um, is that the same thing that checked to see if I was human?" she states. Mr. Sandiland snorts, then leaves without saying goodbye. I watch him go. "Mr. Pritchard," Ms. Grace says, her voice sharp. "Your hand, please."

I turn back to her and see she has placed the box on top of the desk and there's an opening in front. "That is the same box. No," she states. "Your hand, Mr. Pritchard." I hesitate. A prickling at the back of my neck makes me look over my shoulder and I see Mr. Ansell standing in the way of the elevator doors, preventing them from closing. His eyes are locked onto mine. "I, uh, don't know," I say, returning my attention to the box.

"Can't I just use a punch card to clock in?" "No," Miss Grace replies. "When I don't offer my hand," she adds, "if you prefer not to be employed by the Third Arms, Mr. Pritchard, then we can sever your contract and place your possessions out on the curb for you to do with as you wish. Maybe you will find a better job with better accommodations than the Third Arms. If that is your desire, then management wishes you good luck."

The thought of hunting for another job, let alone another place to live, makes me sick to my stomach. The city isn't kind right now to those in transition. It's surly and mean, and shows no mercy to people like me. People on the fringes of it all. The insignificant losers who... "Mr. Pritchard," Miss Grace says, pulling me from my thoughts. "A choice must be made, and it must be made now." I make the choice.

When I remove my hand, the box doesn't sprout legs or arms or any appendages. It simply beeps and the little door in front closes. Miss Grace nods, smiles at me, then places the box under the desk. "Good," she says. "Your shift begins immediately. Please go relieve Mr. Ansel if you would be so kind." Yesterday I thought there was a connection between me and Miss Grace. Yes, she's a lot older than me, but she is a very handsome woman.

I don't know what I thought would happen, but I didn't have cold, corporate attitude on my bingo card for her. I make my way to the elevator and step into the car. Mr. Ansel sighs and steps back so the doors can close. "It's not like the old days," he says as he presses the fifth floor button. "Back then, they had to manually control the car and stop it at just the right moment." He frowns at the bank of floor buttons.

Now we get to just press a button and stand here and smile at the residents, making sure they know that we know how important they are to the Third Arms. I look at the bank of buttons. 20 of them. Well, technically 19. The buttons go from 1 to 20, except they skip 13. "No 13th floor," I say. A lot of buildings skip that number even though there is a 13th floor. They just call it 14. Looks like the Third Arms does the same.

Mr. Ansel doesn't respond. "So what do I do about breaks or lunch or if I have to pee? You don't," he says, and the elevator slows as it goes from the fourth to the fifth floor. "You remain in this elevator until your shift ends and your relief arrives." "Oh, good thing I peed before I clocked in," I say in a laugh. There's silence for Mr. Ansel. The car stops and Mr. Ansel waits and waits and waits.

"You are supposed to open the door for me," he says. "Residents and employees do not open the elevator car door for themselves. Ah, crap, sorry," I say and rush forward to slide the door open. "There you go. Sorry about that, Mr. Ansel. I hope you have a good day. Good luck with your first shift," he says, then leaves without looking back. I slide the door closed and return the car to the lobby level.

Just as it arrives, a bell dings and I see the button for the 9th floor light up. But before I press it, I slide the door open to check to see if any residents are waiting in the lobby. None are, so I slide the door closed and press the button for the 9th floor. Then the buttons for the 12th, 6th, 3rd, and 17th floors all light up at once.

I press all of those, and the car stops at each floor, which makes me happy until I realize that every one of the residents who step on board want to go down, not up. They don't care about picking up other residents. They just want to get to the lobby so they can start their days. "There's a little more organization to it than I thought," I say to a man dressed impeccably.

"Then get organized," he snaps as I open the door to the lobby. "Yes, sir, thank you," I say, and then lean back into the car and look at the bank of buttons. None are lit up, and I let out a slow breath. "The morning rush can be hard at first," Miss Grace says from the front desk, without looking up from what she is working on. "You will get used to it." Then she does look up and fixes me with a harsh gaze. "And you will learn each resident's name."

That is the level of service expected, and that is the level of service we provide. Right. Got it. Thanks. Then I settle in until the elevator is called. It goes like that all day. Bursts of activity, especially around lunchtime. Then slow periods where nothing is happening, followed by more bursts of activity.

By the time my shift is done, I'm moving on autopilot, my body exhausted from standing all day. My arms are nearly jelly from sliding the elevator door back and forth over a hundred times. "Your first shift is complete," Mr. Ansell says after I pick him up on the fifth floor and take him down to the lobby so he can stick his hand in the black box and clock in. "Do I need to clock out?" I ask when he returns to the car.

"No," he says, taking my place by the buttons. "The third arm knows when your shift ends. Great." He presses the seventh floor button. "Gonna change and then go grab a bite," I say and yawn. "Then crash out and get some rest. I didn't know I'd be this tired. This job really takes it out of you." "It does." We reach my floor, and three residents step onto the car before I can leave. "Excuse me," I say and squeeze past. "Thank you."

The car door slides shut before I can say goodbye to Mr. Ansel. Doesn't matter. I'll catch him on the way back down. When I open my apartment door, I smell something off. Aftershave. "Hello?" I call and switch on the hall light. "Is someone in here?" "Just me," Peyton says from a chair in the corner. "How was your first day?" "Exhausting. And what the hell are you doing in my apartment?" "Waiting for you." "Why?" "I'm off shift."

"If you need me to press some mysterious button, you'll have to wait until tomorrow." "I know. I just wanted to double check that you are still willing to do me that favor. But it sounds like you are." He stands up, rubs his hands together, then moves by me to the front door. "Oh, I realized last night that you forgot your leftovers," he says as he opens the door. "So I told Joanie that you can order whatever whenever and just put it on my tab." "You didn't need to do that." He looks past me at the kitchen.

"Have you put in any groceries yet?" "Um, no," I admit. "Then go get some takeout," he says, then leaves before I can respond. In the bedroom, I strip out of my uniform, then strip out of my undershirt and boxers before hopping in the shower. The hot water is so relaxing that I almost think about calling it a night and crawling into bed, but my stomach growls, and I know if I don't eat something then tomorrow will be rough.

Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, I leave my apartment, go to the elevator, and wait. "Ah, to be young again," a man says as he steps up next to me. "You're the new elevator operator, right?" The man is in his sixties and is dressed in casual but expensive slacks with a polo shirt on. He holds out his hand. "Mr. Howell."

"Um, Tony," I say and shake his hand. "Tony Pritchard. Just last names at the Third Arms," Mr. Howell says and laughs. "But you're new. You'll learn." The elevator arrives and Mr. Ansel greets us both. Then he's all business and takes us to the lobby. "Nice meeting you," Mr. Howell says as he turns to the right and heads toward a different part of the building. I go to the lobby doors but stop as Mr. Sandlin calls out. "Mr. Pritchard, a word please," he says.

I cross to the front desk and he sets a wrapped bundle on top. "A fine job today, Mr. Pritchard," he says and pats the bundle. "Fine enough that management wants you to have an extra uniform. When you return to your room, please hang your worn uniform outside your door. Housekeeping will wash and press it for you. Do the same each night, alternating between uniforms, so that you are fresh and clean for each shift." "Oh, thanks," I say and nod at the package.

"Can I pick it up on my way back?" "No," he states. Having been through the no routine with Miss Grace, I take the bundle, thank him again, and leave. When I get to the corner market, it's closed, so I decide to take Peyton up on his offer and head to the Chinese restaurant. "You forgot your leftovers," Joanie says when I walk in. "I saved them for you. You want them? Or do you want some fresh food since it's on Peyton?"

"I'd be an idiot to pass up fresh food." "Yeah, you would be," she says. "So, what do you want?" I place the same order as last night, but skip the Szechuan beef. "Making up for lost leftovers," Joanie says after taking my order. "I'll put this in and be right back." She nods at a small bar off to the side. "Have a seat, and I'll get you a beer when I return." I do as instructed and settle onto a bar stool. Spinning around, I take in the restaurant.

There are only a few customers, a couple by the front window with their heads close together, whispering to each other, an old hag in the far corner who keeps cackling to herself after each bite, and a party of leprechauns in the opposite corner, sitting silently as they slurp up lo mein noodles. "I thought leprechauns were boisterous," I say to Joanie when she comes back and pours me a beer. "Funeral," she says. "They lost one of their clan to a harpy attack yesterday."

"Wow," I say and sip my beer. "I've never seen a Harpy before. "You never want to," she says. Then the front door chime rings and she walks out from behind the bar. "Excuse me." I drink my beer and turn around, putting my back to the dining room. A long mirror is on the wall, giving me a view of the restaurant. That's when I see her, the little girl. She's standing by the front counter, her eyes locked onto mine. I spin in my stool, but she's not there.

So I spin back around and look into the mirror. There she is. "Fuck me," I whisper. "You have to buy me dinner first," Joanie says as she comes up behind me. "And not here, and not on Peyton's tab." I do a spit take and beer spews all across the bar. "Nice," she says. As she wipes down the bar, I glance in the mirror again. The little girl is gone. "You saw her," Joanie says when she's done cleaning my mess. "Most people don't. Peyton was right about you.

"What does that mean?" "It means he's been waiting for someone like you to run the elevator for about a year now," she says. "It's all he's talked about for months. Won't shut up about it." "I don't understand," I reply. She sets a fresh beer in front of me. "Thanks. You think you're the first elevator operator he's approached?" She shakes her head. "Okay, well, yeah, you are. But that's because the others just didn't have what you appear to have, which is… Mojo." "Mojo?"

Mojo. There's a shout from the kitchen and Joanie pats the bar. Be right back with your order. She returns with a huge bag of food and I take it, having to stuff my uniform bundle under my arm. How do you know all about Peyton? I ask as Joanie walks me to the front door. I'm a waitress, she says. It's my job to know my customers. Then she ushers me out the door and it's closing behind me.

Mr. Sandiland barely acknowledges me as I cross the lobby to the elevator, where Mr. Ansel waits for me. His eyes are dull and half-lidded. He's quiet the entire ride up, but just as I step into the hall, he says, "I was young once." Then the door slides closed, and I'm left standing there alone in the hallway as I try to figure out what the hell he was talking about. When I get to my apartment, I hang up my fresh uniform and set my other one out on the hook in the hall by my door.

A hook I could have sworn wasn't there when I first moved in. After a heaping bowl of food, I yawn over and over and decide to call it a night. I'm in bed and slipping into a deep sleep in no time.

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