NOONE

“That old woman Ms Miller, who lived in apartment 314, died last night. The coroner just left with her body, headed to the Morgue.  You need to get up there and clean out that apartment, so I can get it rented.”  The voice on the in-house phone had no sympathy in it.  Richard Marchant was the building manager and owner, but some would call him a slum lord.

“Won’t the police want everything left untouched until they investigate the apartment?” Noone asked

“The coroner said it looked like a heart attack from natural causes. She had no relatives listed in her lease records. So get rid of everything and make it ready to show.” Marchant said flatly.

“I’ll be right up there and get started.”  Noone answered. He knew it would do no good to ask more questions of his boss.

“Don’t take too long in there either; I want to be showing that place by tomorrow morning.  I don’t want that place sitting empty one minute longer than it has too.”

“I understand.”  Noone placed the phone’s receiver in its cradle, stood up from his worn chair, grabbed his master key on the old scratched end table and started across the worn wood floor to his small apartment’s door.  He was the maintenance man, general repair worker, trash man and anything else Marchant wanted him to do here.  For that he got his small apartment with the utilities rent free, plus just enough cash for food and the bare essentials of living in this city.

As Noone climbed the stairs to the third floor he thought about the day he first met Richard Marchant,  a little over two years ago.  It was a blistering day and he was answering an ad he had seen in the paper for a maintenance man.  Marchant had taken him into a vacant apartment, pointed out some things to be repaired with the tools and materials sitting on the floor.  Then told him to show him if he was any good, if he was, then they could talk.  Three hours, a bruised knuckle and bucket of sweat later, Marchant came back and made him the offer of an efficiency apartment, rent free, and a very small flat salary. The hours were to be whenever he was needed and for anything that came up.  Noone needed both a place to live out of the weather and money for sustenance; he had been there ever since.

When he reached 314 the door was still unlocked, so he opened it and stepped inside.  Not too bad he thought to himself. A one bedroom with single bath, the furniture looked to be in better shape than in some he had been in several times, in fact better than what was in his place. There were old landscapes and prints of birds and flowers hanging on the walls, but he could see no pictures of family or friends, odd he thought for an elderly woman at least in her eighties. Of course, if his life kept following the path it had been on for quite a while, he could be looking at what someone would find wherever he might live when he died.

His first priority was to figure out where and how to get all this out of here in short order.  The personal items would be easy, a few large trash bags and trips down to the dumpster in the alley behind the building.  The furniture was another matter; there was that young woman on the second floor with the small baby girl.  Most of this was in better shape than what she had, the last time he was called to fix a leak in her unit.  Then there was the option of exchanging some of it for what he had in his place on the first floor near the back stairway, either one was closer than outside to the dumpster.

When Noone was coming back from his last trash bag load to the dumpster and started into the apartment he found two men in suits standing in the middle of the living room. To Noone they had the look of cops; off the rack suits and ties they were probably given by their kids on a past Father’s day or birthday.

“Who are you and what are you doing in here?” the taller of the two asked quite obviously eyeing Noone from head to toe with a cocked eyebrow.

“I am the maintenance man here. But the real question is who are you and why are you here, I don’t know either of you and I know everyone in this building?” Noone replied.

“We’re from the precinct and a woman died here last night, smart guy.  We have a right to be here asking questions. What is your name Mr. Maintenance man?”  He said in return.

“My name is Noone.  Have you talked with Mr. Marchant, the owner?” Noone answered and then asked.

“Not yet, what’s your full name.”  There was just a hint of irritation this time.

“Everyone just calls me Noone; my full name is I. M. Noone.”  He answered.

“What’s the I. M. stand for? Why won’t you just give me a straight answer? You got something to hide?”  This taller one was now fully facing him and had taken a step closer.  His partner had moved more to Noone’s left side and closer to the apartment door.

“No, I have nothing to hide, and that is my full name.  My parents must have had a sense of humor; they only gave me initials, not a full first or middle name.” Noone answered.

“Bullshit, do you have any identification?” he asked.

“Yes, do you?  You’re asking all these questions and say you are the police, but I haven’t seen a badge or I D yet.  I’m not trying to be a smart ass, but I have a right to be in here and as yet you haven’t shown me anything to prove you do.”  Noone answered back quickly.

After both men looked at one another they pulled their ID’s out and showed them to him, Noone reciprocated in kind.

“Damn, I’ve never known anyone with just initials.  I apologize for the misunderstanding, we got off on the wrong foot, I guess.  But aren’t you being a little hasty in cleaning out this apartment. The woman only died last night.”  The detective asked.

“You don’t know Mr. Marchant. This was definitely not my idea. I am just following his orders.  Ms Miller had no known relatives, and he said she died naturally.  So he wants the apartment cleared out, cleaned up and ready for him to show by tomorrow morning.”  Noone told him.

“Crap, that’s cold.  He is right though as far as we know now.  We just check out any death in the precinct, it’s a paperwork protocol thing, so I do understand.”  He answered

“Well if there is nothing else, I better get back to work.” Noone said.

“Nope that’s fine. We’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”  Both men walked around Noone and out the door.

Typical, Noone thought that was too easy.  He decided to go down and knock on Mandy Johnson’s door before he started moving furniture. Mandy lived on the second floor near the stairway.  She had lived here for almost as long as he had.  She was a young single mother with a small daughter, living in another single bedroom apartment.  She seemed to have few visitors that Noone was aware of and he thought she must be working two part time jobs to support herself and daughter because of her irregular hours. What he had seen in her apartment, when he had been in there to do some repairs, looked very used even though cleaner than some he had been in.

“Hello, who is there?”  She asked at hearing the knock.

“It’s me Ms. Johnson, Noone the maintenance man.” He answered. Then he heard the click of the lock as she opened her door as far as the inner chain allowed.

“Oh Hi Mr. Noone is anything wrong. I didn’t call for any repairs.” Mandy asked with a puzzled look on her face.

Noone explained about Ms. Miller and that he was clearing out her apartment.  He then told her that Millers furniture was pretty nice, but since she had no relatives he would just be throwing it out to the dumpster, unless she might be able to use some of it.

“Are you sure that would be okay?  I would appreciate it, I don’t have much.”  She said.

“I’m sure, do you want to come and look. Is your daughter asleep?”  he asked. “I have to get it done today. We could swap some of it out or add it to yours without it taking much longer than me just taking it downstairs.”  Noone told her.

“Oh good, thank you, I’ll be right there.” She said and closed her door as Noone started to walk back to 314.

A few minutes later Mandy Johnson came into apartment 314 and said hello to Noone again.  After looking around she agreed that Ms. Miller’s furniture was nicer than her own.  For the next hour and half, she and Noone moved most of Ms Miller’s furniture to Mandy’s apartment and then some of hers to the dumpster downstairs.  She even took some of Millers dishes and kitchen utensils.

When they were done Mandy thanked Noone most appreciatively with a tear at the corner of her eye.  Noone told her to think nothing of it and returned to 314 to finish his job.  When he was done he called Marchant to let him know the apartment was ready.

“Good, I get calls every day from people looking for an apartment.  I’m sure it won’t be vacant long.  I’ll let you know when someone is coming to move in.”  With that the phone went dead on Marchant’s end.

                                                                                ****

Mandy Johnson sat in her new rocker with her baby girl held to her breast, tears streaming down both sides of her face.  She was humming a lullaby to calm little Danna into sleep, but her heart ached for someone to hold her this way.  It seemed like forever since anyone had been nice to her or cared how she was, Noone wasn’t that old; maybe forty, not ugly or fat.  Why had he done this and yet not wanted anything in return, not anything?

                                                                             ****

Richard Marchant sat staring at one of his computer screens on the wall. He also wondered why that fool Noone hadn’t taken advantage of the evident possibility.  Noone was a fool; he worked for nothing and kept to himself when he wasn’t.  It was why he had kept him here as long as he had.  They were all fools as far as he was concerned, blind and without imagination.

                                                                            ****

Two weeks later Noone was treating himself his one weekly outing, he was sitting at a table in the small neighborhood restaurant a block away from his apartment having a simple breakfast and coffee. There was a counter with stools and eight tables along the windows bordering the street sidewalk. The kitchen was behind the wall in back of the counter with a pass -through opening to the counter area over a set of cabinets below the pass -through. As he sat there, the taller detective from two weeks earlier in Ms. Miller’s apartment walked up to his table wearing the same kind of suit and tie.

“Mr. Noone if I remember right.  May I join you?”  He asked.

“Of course detective, I would enjoy the company.”  Noone was not being wholly honest, but his demeanor would not belie his words.

“Thank you, by the way my name in Forbes, Detective Sergeant Bill Forbes.  To be quite honest I had been hoping to see you again, so when I saw you here I couldn’t help but come in.”  Sergeant Forbes said.

“Oh why, and does that mean you were following me?”  Noone asked.

“No, nothing like that, but I saw you coming in as I was driving down the street headed for the precinct.  So I found a place to park and came in.”  Forbes sounded completely sincere.

During their conversation the waitress came over and asked Forbes if he needed a menu, he told her no thanks but ordered a coffee, which she poured from the pot she was carrying with her.

“Then what did you want to talk about?”  Noone asked him.

“I am sure you remember when we met. It was two weeks ago, when my partner and I were following up on Ms. Miller’s heart attack.”  He said.

“Yes I remember that quite well, why?”  He answered.

“Well it was a heart attack, by what the coroner found.  But the odd thing is, he couldn’t make out why she had the attack, her heart appeared to be healthy.”  He said. “He said that these things do happen and that he could find no other cause, no evidence of foul play. But I just wondered if maybe you might have known her well enough to shed some light on how her health seemed or her activities recently before she died?”  Forbes asked as his coffee cup was refilled by the waitress.

“Not really, I hadn’t seen her in several weeks before that.  She hadn’t called for any repairs and I don’t recall seeing her out in the halls or anything recently.”  Noone answered.

“Well it was worth asking.  I had called your Mr. Marchant and he didn’t seem to know anything either.  He didn’t seem to be all that eager to help when I called though.”  Forbes said.

“He’s not all that friendly, I know.  He stays to himself mostly, but he pays on time and his money is always good.”  Noone replied.  “I haven’t actually seen him in almost a year. We usually just talk on the phone.”  Noone told him.

“Do you mind if I ask where he lives?”  The detective queried.

“In the building actually, the entire fifth floor is his apartments.”  Noone answered.

“Wow that must be some apartment then.  I don’t remember the elevator going to a fifth floor.”  Forbes said.

“The one you were in doesn’t.  He has a private one that does though.  Most people don’t even know it exists.”  Noone said. “When you come into the foyer at the entry, the apartment mailboxes are on your left and then there is a door with a sign saying “private” and a mail slot some below it. That door is locked and leads to a hall where the private elevator to the fifth floor is. It’s just before you go through the second set of entry doors to the main hallway and stairways to apartments.”  Noone didn’t mention that on the other side of that private hall was another door that led to Marchant’s private garage that opened into the alley at the side of the building.

“Oh, I see. No wonder I didn’t think about that.  Oh well, thank you Mr. Noone, you have been most helpful.  If you think of anything else please let me know.  There’s no real case, I am just the kind who gets curious.  Goodbye and have a good day.”  Forbes said as he got up and headed for the door.

“Goodbye.”  was all Noone said in reply.

As Noone walked back to the building later he couldn’t get his mind off the unusual conversation with Detective Forbes, nor did he believe it was as simple a coincidence as the detective said.  No policeman with what appeared to be Forbes experience was that nonchalant about a death left with questions in his mind.

Noone liked it here, for now and the last thing he needed was some cop coming around with questions. Eventually he would start asking the ones he did not want to answer. Not that he thought they could find anything out, other than what he wanted them to, but it would be a lot better if no one was asking at all. Oh well, nothing to be concerned about yet. He would just go on with his routine and deal with whatever comes up, if and when it comes up.