When the unknown “X” lost her job and any way to make a living, she only wanted her life back.
But she settled for revenge.
In a way she wouldn’t expect – cleaning up the elitist government messes.
Because having dead bodies around did no one any good. And someone was on a purge in those self-named “royal” houses that ran the moon colony cities.
Her particular mindset and training as a medical clinician allowed her to view death with a singular frame of mind. While all the people she’d helped in that medical clinic gave her loyal, fast friends among the “down-belows” who did the mining and kept everything running.
The opportunity to now work for an ambitious executive who had a nasty habit of eliminating her bosses was just too good to pass up – and maybe find out who had wrecked her life.
The Moon Cleaner – Fiction Writing by C. C. Brower, S. H. Marpel
Being a Cleaner can be a good-paying job. As long as you can clean up like it never happened. That’s a trick, sometimes.
Everyone likes a good cleaner. But when you’re the best – they never even know you were there. And you then get the best pay. All under the table, or through some quiet channels.
Cops even liked cleaners. Because then they are only investigating a “missing person” report, rather than having to canvass for witnesses and carve bullets out of walls or furniture, run ballistics tests, and so on. Usually the same result. The case goes cold with no explanation.
So having a body disappear before its even reported helps everyone.
All that background led me to my best job ever.
Until I got the last thing I thought I’d ever have – a conscience.
– – – –
My boss finally turned over all the late-night cleaning to me. He stuck to the evening shift and left me to do the graveyard shift.
I knew where the shortest route to the fusion drive incinerator was. Just had to make sure all the metals were off that body and also got melted down.
And all those people I’d helped would tell me about job “opportunities” that were about to happen.
Setting out feelers found the people who wanted their accidents cleaned. And if the jobs were too high-profile, I’d turn them down. If they were smart, they’d re-organize the accident so it could happen someplace easier to clean. When they came to me more than once for the same “accident”, the price went up.
Of course, I got referrals. And tips.
That’s when I found a “royal” who needed some help. (what those toady execs started calling themselves – one meme that got going after the city lifted and took everyone else with it.)
It was one of those tips. With her direct line.
I’ll do someone’s cleaning for a freebie just to get some future business. Once.
This royal gal had left about three accidents around. And when I got a tip about who did the third one, I cleaned it for free – and contacted her on an untraceable text message.
She liked having unexplainable disappearances rather than unexplainable accidents. Cops investigating were like mis-loaded shotguns. Sometimes they hit their target, sometimes just winged it, sometimes went off in your face. You never knew the result.
So I did a few jobs for her. More than a few.
Until she left them still alive for me to deal with…
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