Blitzed (26 page)

F
or the first
two weeks on the job, I was too busy trying to learn about my duties to worry about anything else. Scottie eventually came up with her half of the rent due more to her parents calling the house when I happened to pick up than anything else, and I had enough money to at least drive to JANM instead of taking mass transit until my first paycheck came due. Los Angeles was a lot safer than it had been in the gang wars of the late eighties and early nineties, but I still wouldn't want to ride the bus or trains at night without carrying some serious weaponry.

With over a hundred thousand square feet of displays, there was a lot to learn about the exhibits at the JANM. Harry paired me up with some of the more experienced tour guides who showed me the ropes, including the little tricks they used to remember their spiel. It wasn't all that hard actually, since each of the tour guides carried a little flip book of notes that we could refer to if we lost our place. Since a lot of the exhibits were housed in their own rooms, I could give a general introduction to the room's theme, and then only have to point out one or two signature pieces inside before stepping back and letting the visitors look around for themselves.

More difficult than the tour guide portion was the janitorial work. When I'd agreed to Harry's offer of night work, I had anticipated a pretty easy job. I mean, JANM is a museum, not a restaurant. Run a dust mop up and down the floors, make sure the garbage is taken out, and you're good to go, right? I should have been able to get two to three hours of sleep a night on the clock if I did things quickly.

Wrong. It was some of the hardest work of my life. A single room could take two hours or more to do, on top of all the other daily cleaning. It was a full six-hour shift of hard work that sometimes went late. I got used to stumbling into the house near dawn, my eyes red and blurred from the odors of the chemicals I had to use to clean the tile floors.

Still, it was a paycheck, and Harry was happy with my work. Of all the odd jobs I'd done in my time since graduating high school and trying to make it as a musician, it was in the upper half of them. I hadn't been sexually harassed and I wasn't working like a slave for minimum wage. I was even able to have time to practice my guitar playing.

I had just finished my training for being a guide when a new exhibit came in. Harry, who up until then had been a very laid back, hands-off type of boss, suddenly made himself much more noticeable around the museum. I didn't know why until he called everyone into the main exhibit room on a Monday morning. I had done an audition the day before, but had finished up in time to get some decent sleep, so I wasn't quite wiping the last of the night crusties out of my eyes when he got up on top of a box to look over the group.

He cleared his voice and quieted down the group. "Hi everyone, I'm glad you could make it in, even those of you on the night shift. A few questions have been cropping up, namely why I've been running around the museum so much instead of just sitting behind my desk. Sorry about that, I didn't want to irritate anyone or to freak you all out, but we've had some amazing news come in the last week, and I had to make sure things were ready.

"As most of you know, our new seasonal exhibit is on the samurai. While the JANM has its own collection of weapons, armor, documents and other artifacts, we always try to borrow more exclusive items from some of our partner museums whenever we can. A week ago last Friday, I got a call from the Japanese consulate in Los Angeles. They've agreed, as part of the Prime Minister's program of encouraging interest in Japan's cultural heritage, to lend us two dozen of the Kokuho."

The museum curators, who were all fluent in Japanese, gasped, one of them covering her mouth in total shock. A lot of the rest of the staff looked surprised as well, so I felt like a total idiot raising my hand. Harry caught sight of my hand and pointed towards me. "Yes, Jordan? Question in the back?"

"Uh, Harry, sorry I don't know, but what's a Kokuho?"

There were a few smirks from some of the staff, but Harry's smile was more genuine. "Thanks for asking Jordan, since I know there are a few others out there who didn't know but didn't have the guts to ask. The Kokuho are national treasures of Japan, considered priceless by the government. They are by Japanese law not allowed to be sold or exported from Japan in any way, shape, or form. There are thousands in total, ranging from actual castles to scrolls and pieces of ancient literature, but for this exhibition, the most noted will be seven katana, along with three full sets of authentic samurai armor. It’s the largest collection of these artifacts to be allowed into the United States in three decades. The last time was at the Smithsonian in Washington, just to let you get a grasp on what we're talking about."

Harry continued on, describing some of the security features and procedures being put in place for the arrival of the artifacts. Most of it didn't involve me, except I noted there was a special cleaning procedure the janitorial staff would have to use if we were to clean the exhibit room. Security had the biggest role, with two armed officers to be on duty at all times while the exhibit was in place. Thankfully, the Japanese government was paying some of the cost for the security.

After the speech, I got on a JANM computer, checking on the total impact of what Harry had told me. The numbers I got shocked me. The Kokuho
were
literally priceless, a class of artifacts so rare and expensive that no insurance company in the world, even Lloyd's of London, were willing to put out a policy on them.

Especially valuable were the katana, the Japanese swords that had gained such a reputation that they'd transcended into the realm of almost the religious, even among non-Japanese.

The centerpiece of the Kokuho exhibit was the twin so-called "spirit blades," one by the legendary swordsmith Masamune, the other by what some considered his spiritual opposite, Muramasa. Both, in addition to being Kokuho, were registered as Juyobunkazai, or important relics to Japan's cultural heritage.

I shut down the computer and left the office, finding Harry overseeing the installation of the display cases in the special exhibit room. "Quite an accomplishment," I said, watching as the first case was carefully jockeyed into place. The case looked heavier than most of the ones the museum used, and I assumed that it was specially made to stronger standards. "You happy about this?"

"Yes and no," he said, grinning sheepishly. "Remember when I interviewed you and told you about the otaku?"

"Yeah, I'd looked the word up on the Internet when I got home that day," I said. "Some of the things that were seen cannot be unseen."

Harry grinned and nodded. "That's true. But I guess I've always been a bit of a katana otaku. It's what got me into doing what I'm doing, considering my great grandfather had a katana that he passed down through the generations, eventually to me when my grandfather died. He brought it over from Japan when he immigrated, and I even had it dated after he died. It's nowhere near as valuable as these of course, but it has a special place in my heart."

"I understand. Is there anything I can do to help you guys set up?"

Harry shook his head. "No, everything is being taken care of. The consulate will send some people over to check the security measures soon. Take off, I'll see you Thursday."

I had the next two days off, so when I came into work on Thursday evening, the exhibit was already fully in place, along with two very stern-looking guards dressed like the Men In Black standing outside the exhibit hall. I couldn't see them, but I was pretty sure both of them were carrying pistols in their jackets, a thing that I honestly didn't want to find out or not. I've always had a thing about guns, preferring that arguments be settled in the old-fashioned way, either verbally or through a good sound set of fisticuffs.

Going into the back to change my clothes and get ready for my cleaning shift out on the floor, I was surprised to find Harry Takahashi still at his desk. It was nearly seven o'clock, and he normally was out of the office by six at the latest. "Hey Harry, burning the midnight oil?"

He raised his head up and grinned, shaking his head. "No. But one of the things that I’m quite happy to not have inherited from my great grandfather's homeland is the penchant for working long hours doing busy work. Unfortunately for me, the Japanese consulate isn't quite as enamored with the idea of family time as I am, so they see nothing wrong with sending me another report to complete and present to them at nine tomorrow morning that they just happened to deliver via courier of all things at five this afternoon. I'll be here at least another two hours."

"Sounds like fun," I quipped. "Anything you want help with?"

"You don't want down this rabbit hole," Harry said with a laugh. "Oh, by the way, there's a box in the janitor's room for you. Someone noticed you've been having problems with the floor chemicals, so they got you a face mask with a filter for when you're running the buffer. It should help with the eyes and nose."

I was touched. I hadn't said anything, but he’d noticed, and I was sure that the mask was from him, most likely paid for out of his own pocket. He really was a good boss to work for. "Thanks. I'll get to that later, I think I'll tackle the Kokuho room first tonight. Hey, those MIB you have outside, they ever go home, or do you just recharge their batteries at the socket twice a day?" I asked, causing him to laugh again.

"No, they go home, but you'll still have one standing outside the room from eleven o'clock on. By the way, you want to make sure the room's all done by midnight, the guard has strict orders to lock the gate on it then and not open it up to anyone short of God himself until seven tomorrow morning. So unless you want to get possibly locked in there, I suggest getting done quickly."

Nodding, I left Harry alone and went to the locker room to change. I actually had two lockers, one for my tour guide clothes and another for my janitorial clothes, which were nothing more than an oversized set of faded blue coveralls with a JANM patch stitched over the left breast pocket. They were torn in two places and a bit smelly from the constant exposure to chemicals and cleaning solvents, but at least I could wear regular clothes underneath. Pulling the coveralls on over my jeans and sweatshirt, I shivered still. To save money, the JANM shut off the heat at closing time, except in certain exhibit rooms. Sure it was Los Angeles, but it still got chilly in winter once the sun went down.

I found the box on top of my locker, chuckling at the look of the device. It seriously looked like a gas mask, with a clear face shield that gave me pretty good vision while the mouth and nose were covered by a sealed section that had a filter at the front. I tried it on and found it not too uncomfortable, so I figured I'd give it a try. It couldn't be worse than breathing the chemicals. Besides, it was obviously not a cheap gadget, and it had to have at least some sort of positive effect on my sinuses.

I got to work, first taking my cart full of supplies over to the Kokuho exhibit. Things were delayed temporarily as one of the guards gave my cart a once-over, making sure my broom was actually a broom, I guess. It didn't take too long, and I soon was able to get to work.

After using my giant puff ball feather duster on the cases, it was eventually time to get the floor. I pushed the large dust mop around, working in first clockwise then counterclockwise laps to get every bit of dust from the floor. As I pushed, my eyes were drawn to the two famous katana, nestled in the same glass case on stands draped in contrasting silk. Masamune was nestled on the purest white silk to denote the nobility of the sword and its maker, while the supposedly demon-possessed Muramasa blade sat on blood red silk. They didn't have handles or blade guards, but were just the pure steel of their original designs. They were both beautiful, even to someone like me. The way the lights glimmered off the steel, which was marked with the wave-like design the Japanese called a hamon, the true sign of a great katana, left both absolutely breathtaking. I knew I'd get plenty of time to look at the blades over the following three months, but wanted to take this first opportunity before the exhibit opened to the public the next day to appreciate it before I was leading groups of junior high school kids and such through later on.

Getting back to my work, I left the Kokuho room and went back to the supply room, getting the floor buffer and chemicals that I hated. At the last minute, I remembered my mask and turned back, grabbing that before starting my work.

It's an unappreciated art, learning how to use an industrial floor buffer. If you don't know what you’re doing, even a strong man will end up exhausting himself as he tries to fight the inertia of the giant spinning disc underneath the machine. A woman my size could be whipped around in circles until she's flung off if she wasn't careful. I'd first learned doing a stint as a fast food worker two years prior on a different machine, but the principles were the same. I had gotten the hang of the JANM monster and could make progress, but still wasn't as much an expert as some of the others, I was sure.

With the face mask on, I also decided to put in some headphones, listening to a mix of music on an old iPod I’d bought when my finances were better. I'd have preferred to listen to Pantera live, but it was better than the monotonous burr of the buffer.

Every hundred feet or so, I had to stop the buffer to unplug it and change outlets, so I missed the initial attack on the Kokuho room. The guards had changed over perhaps fifteen minutes earlier when I saw mist coming from around the corner of the next corridor. Stopping my buffer, I approached the corner, more curious than anything else.

The mist was thicker around the corridor, nearly smoke, and I walked through it towards the Kokuho room, trying to figure out what was going on. I passed by a fire alarm and pulled it, sure that somehow a fire had started, maybe due to a short in the wiring or a light overheating. I kept going because I wanted to make sure the guard wasn't injured, and I didn't feel any heat yet.