Chapter 12: Good Morning, Mr. Wexler

On Tuesday morning, Glenn put on the charcoal suit and said, "Come to work with me."

I was still in bed with the covers up to my chin.

He stood by the window with his tie in his hand.

"I thought I was banned from the building," I said.

"Not with me."

"You're a janitor."

"I need to tell you something," he said.

"I want to tell you in the elevator, so you can't walk away from me without a floor to walk to."

I looked at him.

That was a strange sentence, and I knew he had practiced it.

"Okay," I said, and got dressed.

It was seven-forty when we reached the Wexler Freight lobby.

The place was just waking up, with the first coats and paper cups drifting in.

The desk guard was gone from his post.

Glenn walked straight to the private elevator at the end of the hall, and took a small black card from his inside pocket.

He swiped it.

The doors opened at once.

I walked in beside him, and they closed.

For a moment there was only the soft hum of the car going up.

Glenn stood with his hands at his sides.

His jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on the numbers over the door.

"Jean," he said. "I haven't been honest with you."

"I know."

"No, listen. Please. My name isn't..."

"Sam Doyle," I said.

He stopped.

"Your mother's maiden name," I said. "Doyle. Glenn Samuel Wexler."

The elevator passed three.

He turned and looked at me, and the color left his face one inch at a time.

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