THE DUMAS JOB 3
Time blurred when Roy stayed busy. Days passed in an unremarkable haze of scrubbing floors, wiping down walls, and nodding along to whatever mundane complaints the tenants threw his way. The job wasn’t glamorous, but it paid in more than just credits. It gave him access, familiarity with the layout, and, most importantly, proximity to Alexander Dumas.
By the end of the week, Roy found himself outside the complex during his break, squatting on a cracked stone ledge with his fellow janitors. Miguel, Josh, and the indomitable Auntie Tina.
Miguel was a wiry man in his late thirties, his bald head usually gleaming in the light He had a perpetual smirk and a sharp tongue to match. Josh, on the other hand, was a younger guy. Probably in his twenties whose easy laugh and constant energy kept the group lively. But it was Auntie Tina who commanded the most respect and was the most chatty.
She was a tall and toned woman, her face has age lines but still striking, her hair pulled back into a severe bun covered in a hair net. Despite her no-nonsense demeanor, she had a sharp wit that kept everyone in line.
Roy still wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up on Mars, let alone working as a janitor at her very old age. She claimed to have been cleaning since she was twenty, though she’d graduated with a degree in nutrition.
“I had plans, you know,” Auntie Tina said, exhaling a puff of smoke from her cigarette as the group lounged outside. “Thought I’d be a hotshot nutritionist. But life has a way of derailing things.”
“How so?” Roy asked, genuinely curious.
Auntie Tina waved her cigarette for emphasis. “Got pregnant. Then it happened again. And again. After eight years of popping out babies, there was no time to chase careers.”
Roy’s jaw dropped slightly, and beside him, Miguel and Josh wore matching expressions of shock.
Josh leaned forward, eyes wide. “Wait, Auntie, how many kids do you have?”
Tina grinned, clearly enjoying their disbelief. “Thirteen. The last one’s a girl. That’s why I’m here — supporting her career.”
Miguel, somewhat eager, raised a brow. “Is she pretty?”
The response was swift. A discarded soda can hit him squarely on the head, courtesy of Auntie Tina’s impeccable aim.
“You keep your filthy paws and even filthier thoughts far away from my daughter,” Tina snapped, her tone only half-joking.
Josh laughed, his voice echoing in the quiet street. “Still, it’s crazy how you’re out here working. Thirteen kids! Shouldn’t they be funding your retirement?”
“You look really young, Auntie,” Roy observed. "I honestly you were still in your thirties."
“It’s not that weird,” Auntie Tina said, taking another drag from her cigarette. “Most of my organs are artificial now. Artificial replacements keep the costs down, and skin treatments make you look young. I turned 120 this year.”
Roy stared at her, trying to reconcile her words with her appearance. She didn’t look a day over thirty. “Wait — you’re telling me you’re over a century old and still scrubbing floors?”
Tina chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. “Keeps me active. Sure, I have a pension, and my kids could cover my retirement if I asked. But leeching off them? That’s not my style. I work to stay alive.”
“Doesn’t it get tiring?” Roy asked.
“It does if you’re all alone,” Auntie Tina admitted, her voice softening. “I still have my kinds so I need to keep living on so my grandchildren can see their Great Grandmother. My husband and I had a good run. If the idiot hadn’t gotten himself crushed by a truck, I’d probably have an battalion of children and grandkids to keep me busy.”
Miguel shook his head in disbelief. “Still weird how you look so young.”
Tina gave him a pointed glare. “It’s normal these days. What’s weird is how you chose to stay ugly.”
The group erupted in laughter, and Miguel scowled. “Watch it, Auntie Tina. I might have to call the HR bot for harassment!”
"Bah, speaking the truth's not a harassment. No wonder you only get pussy when you pay for it."
Josh, grinning, jumped in. “Don’t listen to her, Miguel. You’re only ugly because of your pachinko addiction. And the brothel cosplayers you really like, man.”
Miguel shot him a murderous look. “I’m going to kill you one of these days, Josh.”
Roy watched, smiling faintly. “So, Auntie Tina,” Roy said, “with your resume, how’d you end up here?”
“Daughter told me about the place,” Auntie Tina replied. “I met with Nakamura and he told me I’m the head cleaning lady and run this operation.”
Roy’s attention shifted. A pair of mercenaries stepped out of the building, their movements precise and purposeful as they habitually scanned their sectors and checked their corners. They were part of Dumas’s security detail, and it wasn’t hard to tell they were augmented to the teeth.
Auntie Tina followed his gaze, her expression thoughtful. “Hope Dumas stays safe,” she said after a moment.
“Why’s that?” Miguel asked, still nursing his wounded pride.
“He’s a good man,” Auntie Tina replied. “Cares about people. His policies might not be perfect, but he’s trying. And in this day and age, especially on this planet, that counts for something.”
Miguel scoffed, muttering something under his breath.
Auntie Tina’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been alive longer than you’ve had that bald head of yours, Miguel. Don’t talk down on things you don’t understand.”
Roy stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the mercenaries. They were taking a smoke break, chatting casually, but their eyes were always scanning, always watching.
He took a deep drag from his cigarette, the acrid smoke burning his lungs.
“Crazy world,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Tina glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “You’re telling me.”
Roy exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl into the air.
----------------------------------------
Roy crouched next to an opened power box on the dimly lit basement level of the Isle Front Apartment Building, his mood sour. He tugged at his gloves, glancing sideways at Josh, who was squatting nearby with a grin that only served to irritate him further.
“Why the hell am I doing this?” Roy muttered, his voice laced with exasperation. “I’m a janitor, not an electrician. Or a plumber, for that matter.”
Josh smirked, adjusting the AR visor on his forehead. “Normally, they don’t hire janitors unless they’ve got some basic maintenance skills. You know, multitasking and all that. Besides, isn’t that what the visor’s for? Augmented tutorials, step-by-step. Even a monkey could follow it.”
Roy gave him a flat look. “Do I look like I’m getting paid enough for this?”
Josh laughed, then squatted next to a nearby shelf stacked with cleaning supplies. He fiddled idly with a bottle of glass cleaner before glancing toward the corridor. “You think one of the mercs is outside?”
“Why don’t you find out?” Roy shot back.
Josh cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Hey! You out there, tough guy?”
A deep voice responded almost immediately, echoing faintly in the basement. “Yeah. Watching you.”
Josh turned back to Roy with a smirk. “What a bunch of overcautious hard-asses. Like we’re gonna sabotage this ancient box of crap.”
Roy didn’t answer immediately. His mind was elsewhere, running over plans and contingencies for eliminating Dumas. Out loud, he said, “Maybe they’re overcautious for a reason. Dumas might be in real danger. They’re not taking chances.”
Josh leaned back against the shelf, stretching his legs. “You think they’ve got all the apartments covered?”
“Probably,” Roy replied, feigning curiosity and a touch of unease. “What about the emergency exits? Elevators? Dumbwaiters?”
Josh nodded. “Covered. I heard they’ve even got someone monitoring the dumbwaiters. You try to climb up one of those, and you’ll get shot before you reach the next floor.”
“What about the perimeter?”
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Josh shrugged. “Guards everywhere. I heard there’s an armored truck parked in an alley nearby. This place is locked down tight.”
Roy already knew all this but kept his expression carefully neutral. “Snipers, too?” he asked, his tone edged with fake fear.
Josh snorted. “Snipers, drones, whatever they need. Not that it matters — Dumas doesn’t let his guard down. From what I heard, he’s always been like that. Guess it comes from fighting in the Africa-China War. The Chinese were using so many drones back then that the soldiers had to be constantly on guard. Always checking jammers, nets, and anti-drone missiles.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Roy asked, arching a brow.
“Next-door neighbor,” Josh said, pulling a rag from the shelf and twirling it in his hands. “Guy lived right beside Dumas before they asked him to move out. Needed the space for more mercs.”
Before Roy could respond, a heavy fist slammed against the metal doorframe, making Josh jump.
“Done yet?” the merc outside growled.
Roy bit back a curse and turned back to the power box, glancing at the AR overlay projected onto his visor. The step-by-step instructions glowed faintly, guiding him through the final adjustments.
“Almost,” he called out, his voice strained.
“Come on,” Josh hissed under his breath. “Fix the damn thing before the asshole bursts in here.”
“You could try doing this yourself, asswipe,” Roy sighed, his movements deliberate as he reconnected a loose wire and flipped the final switch. A satisfying hum filled the air as the power box came back to life. He reached for the radio clipped to his belt.
“Hey, Miguel,” he said to a receiver. “Lights should be working now. Check it on your end.”
After a brief pause, Miguel’s voice crackled through. “Yeah, lights are up. About time.”
“They should really hire actual staff for this,” Roy muttered, closing the power box with a sharp click. “This is negligence, plain and simple.”
Josh grinned. “Normally, they would. But lately? Nope.”
“Safety issue?” Roy asked, wiping his gloves on his overalls.
Josh shook his head. “Nope. It’s more like the management doesn’t want to pay for upgrades. Tenants would flip if rent went up. And with a politician like Dumas staying here? Management doesn’t want to be part of the problem.”
Roy crouched to inspect the box one last time, his eyes narrowing as he spotted an unusual module connected to the system. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing.
Josh leaned in for a closer look. “Lockdown system,” he said. “In case the atmosphere pops. Keeps the building running if there’s a breach.”
Roy raised a brow. “Makes sense. But isn’t Mars terraformed now? Why keep a system like this?”
Josh shrugged, brushing dust off his visor. “Beats me. Maybe for nostalgia? Anyway, it’s useless. If something really bad happened, they’d just move everyone to the shelters below. Every building in Alba City has bunkers underground.”
“Really?” Roy asked, feigning surprise. “Are the shelters connected? Like, a network or something?”
Josh nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. Guess you wouldn’t know, being new to Mars and all.”
Roy chuckled lightly. “So why keep it around if it’s useless?”
Josh grinned. “Beats me. Maybe some higher-up doesn’t want to spend the budget on ripping it out. The cost these days is so damn high that they’d rather keep things in there than actually pay up and remove it.”
Roy nodded, storing the information away for later. The module might be useless to most people, but for him, it could prove valuable.
“Anyway,” Josh said, stretching as he stood. “You done?”
“Yeah,” Roy replied, rising to his feet and brushing off his gloves. “Let’s get out of here before our friendly neighborhood merc decides to pick a fight.”
Josh rolled his eyes but followed Roy toward the exit. The mercenary was still standing by the door, his gaze sharp and unyielding.
“You’re clear,” the merc said curtly, stepping aside to let them pass.
Roy gave a mock salute, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Thanks for your patience.”
The merc narrowed his eyes but said nothing as the two janitors headed back toward the elevators.
“Asshole,” Josh muttered under his breath.
Roy chuckled quietly.
* * *
Two days later, Roy found himself on the sixth floor of the Isle Front Apartment Building — the floor where Alexander Dumas resided. The atmosphere here was nervously different, with mercenaries stationed at a checkpoint near Dumas’s suite. Their imposing figures and ever-watchful eyes made even the tenants tread carefully.
Roy followed Auntie Tina into one of the rooms, bucket and mop in hand. She worked with the steady efficiency of someone who’d been cleaning for a century, moving through the space like she owned it. Roy mimicked her, keeping his head down as they cleaned room after room.
As they worked, Roy began to notice something.
“Auntie,” he said quietly, “are all the rooms always the same?”
Auntie Tina paused, glancing around. “’Course they are,” she said. “Most of the rooms have the same layout. Makes things easier for the designers, doesn't it?”
“Does that go for furniture too?”
Tina snorted. “Nope. Obviously not. Not everyone’s got the same taste. You’d know that if you weren’t such a greenhorn.”
Roy nodded, returning to his work. As he cleaned, he made a mental map of each room. Noting the layout, where the bathroom was, the best spot for a bed, and the arrangement of the living room. While the furniture varied, the underlying structure of the apartments was eerily uniform.
His observations were interrupted by the sound of raised voices in the hallway.
“What’s that about?” he asked, peeking out the door.
The commotion turned out to be one of the tenants, A middle-aged man, drunk out of his mind, his breath reeking of booze and cheap perfume. His disheveled suit was stained, with lipstick marks on his collar and neck. He was waving a pistol around like a madman.
“Stay back!” the man slurred, pointing the gun wildly.
One of the mercenaries stationed nearby raised his single-shot pistol and fired. The dart struck the man square in the chest, and he collapsed to the ground, convulsing as electricity coursed through his body.
His companion, equally drunk and belligerent, lunged toward the mercenaries, yelling incoherently. He didn’t get far. The mercs tackled him to the ground with practiced ease, pinning him as they disarmed him, bone audibly breaking.
The scene escalated quickly. More mercenaries poured out of their rooms, weapons drawn, safeties off. They scanned the sector with cold efficiency, their augmented eyes and advanced sensors leaving nothing unchecked.
Roy and Auntie Tina watched from the doorway, their expressions neutral.
“Well, that’s something,” Auntie Tina said dryly, folding her arms as if she were judging a poorly directed play.
One of the mercenaries approached them, his rifle slung across his chest. “What did you see?” he demanded.
Tina stepped forward, unbothered by his imposing demeanor. “Drunk fool waving a gun around. He took him down. That’s it.”
The mercenary nodded, recording her statement. Moments later, Nakamura, the apartment manager, arrived, his posture stiff but calm. He nodded politely at the mercenaries, agreeing with everything they said while simultaneously calling the tenant’s owner to report the incident.
Roy sighed quietly, keeping his hands busy with the mop as the situation unfolded. The commotion eventually drew the attention of the Colonial Division of Public Order, whose officers arrived in full force.
At their head was Lt. Lee Jisoo.
The tall policewoman cut an imposing figure as she strode into the hallway. Her long, jet-black hair flowed dramatically behind her, and she wore a sharp blue bomber jacket with “CDPO” emblazoned boldly on the back. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt and red tie was tucked into sleek black leather pants, her combat boots clicking against the floor.
What truly caught Roy’s attention, however, was the heavy looking katana slung at her side. The ornate hilt gleamed faintly under the harsh fluorescent lights, and her emerald-green eye, visible above an eyepatch-like visor, as she scanned the hallway with cold precision.
Roy’s brow furrowed. “A katana?” he whispered to Auntie Tina. “Who the hell carries a sword in this day and age?”
Irya carries an axe for intimidation, but Roy couldn’t understand why the police needed to carry one.
Auntie Tina glanced at him, her expression unimpressed. “Not that unusual. When people augment themselves until they’re practically machines, melee weapons can be more effective. A blade like that’ll cut through defenses faster than armor-piercing rounds sometimes.”
“That seems… excessive,” Roy muttered.
“Not really,” Auntie Tina replied, shrugging. “People like her are fast — faster than most folks can react. By the time you pull the trigger, you’re already dead. My fifth son’s an officer, so I hear about this stuff all the time.”
Roy raised a brow. “You’ve got a cop in the family?”
“Sure do. And a doctor,” Tina added with a smirk. “My sixth daughter. She’s the one keeping me alive these days.”
Roy shook his head, marveling at her endless network of children and grandchildren. “Auntie, you’ve got one hell of a family.”
Auntie Tina chuckled, somewhat looking proud, before taking a long drag from her cigarette.
Lt. Lee Jisoo approached them, flashing her badge. “Lieutenant Lee, CDPO,” she said briskly. “I need your statements.”
Auntie Tina gestured toward the mercenaries. “Already gave mine to them. You can ask for the recording.”
Lee nodded, motioning for one of her officers to retrieve the data. She turned to Roy, her sharp eye locking onto him. “And you?”
“Uh, same as hers,” Roy said quickly, gesturing to Tina. “I was with her the whole time.”
Lee’s gaze didn’t waver. “ID?”
Roy swallowed hard and handed over his fake ID. The card read “Ron Lowly,” a persona carefully crafted for this job.
“Ron Lowly?” Lee repeated, her tone neutral as she scanned the card.
“Yes, Ron Lowly,” Roy nodded, his heart pounding in his chest.
Lee scrutinized him for a moment before the scanner beeped, verifying the ID. She handed it back without comment.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Lowly,” she said curtly before moving on.
Roy exhaled slowly, relief flooding through him. The last thing he needed was for his cover to be blown.
As the police wrapped up their investigation and the mercenaries resumed their patrols, Roy and Auntie Tina finished cleaning the floor and quietly slipped away.
As they rode the service elevator back to the lower levels, Roy’s mind churned with thoughts.
“I need to thank Irya for this ID,” he muttered under his breath.
Tina glanced at him. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Roy said quickly, offering her a faint smile.
Auntie Tina shrugged and lit another cigarette, her sharp eyes glinting in the flickering light of the elevator.
Roy leaned against the wall, staring at the rising numbers on the display, thinking that the stupid tenants might have just made their job harder.