Keeping it Clean
by Charlie Kirby

My dad told me that if you love your job, you never work a day in your life. He died at the age of ninety-one with a smile on his lips, so I'm guessing he had the philosophy down pretty good there. It took me a long time to figure out what I wanted to do in life. I was garbage in school, could never think long enough to care about the subjects. My dad also told me there's no shame in honest hard work and that some folks just weren't meant to be brainy. That would be me then.

Still, it's kinda funny. I'd like to go back to my high school class reunion, look those jerks who voted me least likely to be breathing by the age of 30 in the eye and tell them that I was working for UNCLE. It would be funny to watch their expression, but of course I can't. That's the problem with workin' for a sort of secret organization. Ya can't just go spreadin' it around.

Granted I only work in the cafeteria, it's still UNCLE. Not just anyone works here, not just anyone can work here. We all have tests we have to pass. Sometimes, it's for smarts, like the fellas in Section Two and Three, other times, they just wanna know if we can keep our mouths shut.

And believe you me, working in the cafeteria, you need to know how to keep your mouth shut, 'cause no one else is. You would not believe what folks talk about in the cafeteria...the canteen, my Dad woulda called it. They yap and yap and yap. If THRUSH ever got a hold of me, I could tell them things that would make their butts clench. Well, not that I'd ever tell them, of course; I'm just sayin'

Those lab fellas with their tippy-top secret thingies, for example, them guys can't keep their mouths shut for nothin'. They get around a table and it's like chickens circlin' a mess of corn. Cluck, cluck, cluck, we can do this and that and the next thing you know, they're spillin' their guts.

No matter what you want to say, guys are much worse gossips than the ladies. Oh sure, the ladies talk, but lots of what they're doing is just nonsense stuff. Talking about Mr. Solo's latest female friend or Mr. Kuryakin's... there's an unhealthy bit of speculation about his nether regions and we'll leave it at that. Why these ladies, and some of the fellers too, are so interested I just don't know. Heck, if I told what I'd seen in the shower, we'd be carting to lot of them to Medical for heart conditions. Let's just say, he's a healthy fella.

Now those two guys know how to keep their mouths shut. When Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin talk, it's always about nothing. They're always polite to me, thanking me when I take their trays away or clean a table special for them. I keep an eye out 'cause they're always jake with me. They never avoid talkin' to me just 'cause I'm not book smart like them, not like some of those other folks.

It's strange though, those two are as different as salt and pepper and yet they go together just the same way. One needs the other. Mr. Solo, oh, that fella likes the ladies, I tell you, whoo, he likes them and they like him right back—the things I hear them ladies say. Well, my dad might not think they were so much ladies after how they talk. Most fellas like Mr. Solo too. He's what you call a man's man. He's always laughing or smiling or carrying on about something. He's easy to like, but I have a feeling not too many folks who know him really know him, if you get my drift.

Mr. Kuryakin, most folk think he's a little stuck up or something, he's quiet and tends to his business. That's just window dressing. That boy knows some of the funniest jokes in the building and he can tell 'em so's they're funny in about a dozen different languages. All them foreign agents who come through, they like Mr. Kuryakin 'cause they can talk to him natural like. Lots of people here are just a little afraid of him too. I think he likes it that way. I've seen what he can do in the gym or with those explosive things. I wouldn't want to be on his bad side; I'm just sayin'.

But there's something else there too. Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin, sure they mess with each other. Sometimes they go at it so hard down in the gym, it's a little scary. Neither of them likes to lose and I'm ashamed to admit that Mr. Kuryakin ain't always above cheatin' to turn odds in his favor. He's a scrapper. Mr. Solo, he fights strictly by the book. In a fair fight, he wins, but the fight ain't always fair. And those two poke at each other and tease, Lord, how they get going sometimes. But you can tell, it's always good natured. There ain't many other agents that get on so good with one another as those two do. They got somethin' special.

I'm cleaning tables just after the lunch time rush and trying to decide whether I should sweep or mop when I see Mr. Kuryakin come in all by himself. He seems sort of quiet and though he gets a mess of food, he doesn't eat any of it. That's pretty strange for him. He eats everythin' always. He's just picking at it, pushing it around on the plate for the most part. It's like he's going through the moves.

I know the signs. You don't watch these folks day in and day out without pickin' up a bit or two about human nature. I don't have a college degree, but I can read folks and I'm not likin' what Mr. Kuryakin isn't saying. And you don't need to be a rocket scientist to know somethin's really wrong.

Not everybody in Section Two or Three has partners, just the lucky ones, to my way of thinkin'. Not that Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin started out as partners, they were more just friends at first, but they worked well together and Mr. Waverly liked the results. And I think it makes the fellas a bit more human too, knowing they got someone there to be with. That's what makes this hard—seeing Mr. Kuryakin so by hisself alone.

Don't get me wrong, it ain't like these two are joined at their hips or nothin'. They go off alone all the time, sometimes in opposite directions for weeks at a time. Sometimes even when they're here, they ain't always together. Mr. Solo, the Section One folks got their eye on him and Mr. Kuryakin, he's brainy and spends a lot of time downstairs with them lab folks.

This is different though, I can tell there's trouble. The worryin' just comes off him in waves, so I do something I don't usually do. I go over to his table and just stand there. At first he looks at me like he don't know who I am, then it sorta clicks.

"Mr. Frommer, what can I do for you?" He's one of the few folks here who even know my last name. To most of the folks here I'm just Frankie or Junior, 'cause I was named after my dad.

"Looks like you could use a friend, Mr. Kuryakin." He smiles and nods real slow like he's weighing each word I'm saying, like they're really important.

"You're right, I could. However, at the moment, I don't know where he is." I know what he means and I ain't slighted. He's lost his partner somewhere in this great big world and he's stuck here, for one reason or another.

"He'll be all right, you know."

"Pardon?"

"It's Mr. Solo you're worried 'bout, ain't it?"

"How did you know?"

"Any fool with eyes can see it. You're here, he ain't. Don't take a college educated man to connect those dots. You know he don't die easy. Otherwise it would have been game over a long time ago."

Again, that sort of sad 'I just lost my best toy' smile. "You're right."

"'Sides, what does your gut say?"

"My gut?"

I tap my chest—you don't touch them Section Two boys without an invite. I've seen what they can do. "Inside, what do your insides tell you? Sometimes you got to listen to your heart instead of your head."

He frowns and thinks, I mean really thinks, and then sighs. "That he's fine and he'll turn up when he's ready."

Just then the speaker above our head cracks on—I hate it when it does that, it always hurts my ears—"Mr. Kuryakin, report to Medical."

"There you go then. You just gotta trust that things will work out, son." He starts to rush off, not a word of thanks, but I didn't expect any. The he stops and offers his hand to me. For a little fella, he's got a big hand and a firm grip.

"Thank you."

"Ain't nothing." He takes off and I think back to almost the exact same conversation I'd had with Mr. Solo a couple of months earlier. Just 'cause Mr. Kuryakin hadn't been heard from in nearly a week, everyone was fast to write him off, heck, even Mr. Waverly informed Personnel that Mr. Kuryakin wasn't comin' back. Then he comes walking back in here, like nobody's business. I'd never seen Mr. Solo more happy or relieved.

After you been here awhile, you know what you can count on and what you can't. And what you should or shouldn't be listening to. You know come Monday morning, them girls will be going on about how good Mr. Solo kisses or talking about Mr. Kuryakin's...well, you know. The lab boys will be comparing notes and talking trash to each other. And I'll be clearing tables, ignoring the garbage talk and the too personal details about things that shouldn't be anybody else's concern.

But mostly you can bet that sitting in a quiet corner of the cafeteria, Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will be talking and laughing and being each other's friend. And the world will be just fine for them for another day.