Bathroom Monologue: Cleaning for the Mob

"Months later one of the gals in catering told me that the Black-Ties were only after the Jersey contingent. I'm from Jersey, and so I'm even more grateful to Mike for that day. It eleven in the morning when dozens of men in black ties flooded the compound. The two Jersey boys to my left were down before I recognized the gunshots, and I hit the floor, and Mike grabbed my wrist. He dragged me through halls that stank of gunsmoke and blood, and through two separate firefights. The hairy bastard beat one Black-Tie to death with a mop. A freaking mop.

"We ducked out the side alley and he led me to his compound. There were Black-Ties there, too, but they wouldn't screw with him. Not with any of the hosting contingent. He jammed the mop into my hands and ordered me to clean it off, to ditch my jacket and pretend to clean wherever I was. I think I produced more stains on the floor than I got rid of as all those Black-Ties swarmed through, and Mike and his men corralled them out of the compound. One paused just inches from my face. I think he knew.

"I knew he knew because he drove by the compound that night, while I was wiping down some windows. I couldn't quit the act with Black-Ties in the area – and Mike never pulled me aside to break character. For all I knew, his staff were bugged. I still have the mop from that day – it works wonders on the first floor of the main house, and the kitchens. Other people from the local contingent came through and acted like they didn't recognize me, and even now I don't have the nerve to put down my bucket of suds and say 'Hello.' I'm a maid man."