"Okay, it's all set," Kuttner said, brushing concrete dust off the knees of his denim work pants.

"You have completed your task?" a voice asked. It was a different voice. Buzz Kuttner whirled. In the weak light, he saw no one.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"I asked you a question," the voice said. Buzz Kuttner felt his heart jump high in his throat. The voice was now directly behind him. And he hadn't seen or heard anyone move,

"Who... is... there?"

"I am but a servant who cleans up untidiness," said the voice.

His heart pounding now, Kuttner declined to turn around. The voice sounded vaguely squeaky.

"You mean you're the janitor?" asked Kuttner.

"I have told you what my duties are."

"Then you're the janitor,"

"In which case," the squeaky voice countered, "you may consider yourself trash."

Kuttner turned then. He turned completely around. "Where are you?"

"Behind you."

Buzz turned again. "I don't see you."

"That is because I am behind you," insisted the squeaky voice.

It was crazy. Buzz Kuttner was turning in place, repeatedly making 360-degree turns, and the voice was continually behind him. Therefore, it could not be behind him. It was coming from somewhere else. A hidden speaker or intercom. Kuttner stopped turning in search of the source.

"What did you mean, I'm trash?" he asked the disembodied voice.

"You are a thief."

"I'm an out-of-work media consultant and technical installer just trying to make payments on a house that's worth less than the mortgage. What do you expect me to do, walk the floor in a department store?"

"Your wife would not like that," the squeaky voice suggested.

"What wife? She walked when the severance pay ran out."