R Is for Ricochet

no. Beck hired a design firm to handle everything, except the plants. We have another company for those."
    "Pretty highfalutin," she remarked.
    We watched as Marty pushed the elevator button, calling the car from down below. While we waited, Reba pointed to a third elevator on the far side of the reception desk. "What's that one for?"
    "Service elevator. It's mostly for hauling cartons up and down, file cabinets, furniture, stuff like that. We have fifteen, twenty firms on these three upper floors. That's a lot of office supplies and copy machines. Plus, the cleaning crew uses it when they come in."
    "Bart and his brother still work weekends?"
    "Fridays, same as ever. They'll be coming in at midnight," he said.
    "Nice to know some things don't change. The rest is a major upgrade. Might know Beck would do that as soon as I'm out the door."
    The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. Marty reached around and pressed the Door Open button while he entered the alarm system code on the keypad to the right. Reba displayed only cursory interest. Once the three of us got on, Marty released the button and pressed 1 for the first floor. We descended without saying much, all three of us watching the digital floor numbers flash from 4 to 3 to 2 to 1.
    As we emerged, the doors to one of the two elevators in the alcove opened and a two-man cleaning crew emerged with their cart and loaded a vacuum cleaner, assorted brooms and mops, industrial-size bottles of cleaning solutions, and packets of paper toweling to resupply the restrooms. Both wore coveralls with a company logo stitched across the back. One gave Willard a nod and he returned a one-finger salute. Reba watched the two men cross the alcove and enter the service elevator.
    "What are they up to?"
    Marty shrugged. "Beats me. I think they work on two."
    The doors closed behind them and the three of us continued to the entrance while Willard made a note of our departure time with the same blank stare he'd given us before. Marty didn't bother to nod his good-byes, but Reba gave Willard a merry finger wave. "Thanks, Willie. Nighty-night."
    He hesitated and then lifted a hand.
    "Did you see that? True love," she said.
    We went down to the lower-level parking garage. At the foot of the stairs, Marty said, "I'm parked over here. Where're you guys?"
    "That way," I said, pointing in the opposite direction.
    Reba shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and watched him walk toward his car. "Hey, Marty?"
    He paused and looked back.
    "Think about what I said. You don't act soon, Beck's gonna have your nuts in a vise."
    Marty nearly spoke, and then seemed to change his mind. He shook his head, his expression withdrawn, and turned on his heel.
    She watched until he was out of sight and then the two of us walked the length of the garage.
    "I didn't like the look of those cleaning guys," she said.
    "Would you give it a rest?"
    "I'm going on record. There's something bogus about them."
    "Thanks for telling me. I'll put a note in the file."
    When we reached the VW, I unlocked the door on my side, slid behind the wheel, and then leaned over and unlocked the passenger-side door for her. She got in and pulled the door shut, but when I went to insert the key in the ignition, she put her hand out. "Hang on a minute."
    "Why?"
    "Because we're not done yet. Soon as Marty pulls out, we can have another go."
    "You can't go back up there. How're you going to pull that off?"
    "We can tell Willie you left your shoulder bag upstairs and you have to have it back."
    "Reba! You gotta quit this. You're going to screw up the government's case."
    "It's the government that screws up. Look at the state we're in. The country's a mess."
    "That's not the point. You can't violate the law."
    "Listen to you, Miss Prissy Ass. What law?"
    "Shall we start with breaking and entering?"
    "That wasn't breaking and entering. We went up with Marty. He let us in of his own free will."
    "And then you stole the keys."
    "I didn't
steal
them. I borrowed them. I intend to put 'em back."
    "It doesn't matter. I'm telling you, I'm through with this," I said. I turned the key in the ignition, shifted gears, and backed out of the space.
    "Don't you want your bag?"
    "Not now. I'm taking you home."
    "Tomorrow morning, then, and I swear that'll be the end of it, okay? I'll pick you up at eight."
    "Why so early? It's Saturday. The mall doesn't open until ten."
    "We'll be long gone by then."
    "Having done what?"
    "You'll see."
    "Uhn-uhn. No way.