Key Service

(continued)

By Rik Hunik

Two weeks later, he reconsidered his action, when he had to take a bus home and have the manager let him in. He had his spare keys duplicated that evening. He wanted to get at least three sets made, but he didn't want the locksmith to think he was nuts, so he settled for one. He intended to go elsewhere to get two more sets made but never got around to it.

But he got to thinking. The keys he carried were copies of copies, and they were sticky in the locks. If he lost his spare set while taking them to be copied, he would have to copy the set he carried, and they might not work. It sounded a bit paranoid, even to him, but the idea worried him. Finally, he broke down and dug the second tag out of his desk drawer, placing it on his new set of keys, resolving to keep them with him at all times. Lots of people went years without losing keys. He could, too.

His habits changed, and he became good at keeping track of his keys, but he was done in by a drinking bout. After a disagreement with Marna, he ran into an old friend who poured beer into him until he felt better.

He woke in a strange bed, alone, with only a vague memory of how he got there. He found his clothes and washed up. His drinking buddy was gone, but there was a note on the table. "Wild night. Help yourself to breakfast. I'll be back for lunch." Jarvis's stomach refused the offer of food, but his head was clear enough that he could drive home.

When Jarvis stepped out the door, he saw the midget in coveralls leaning against the wall. He groaned.

The midget grinned and held out Jarvis's keys. "Dug these out of a storm drain. You must have had a good time last night."

"I wish I could remember more of it." He took the keys, dropped them in his pocket.

"That will be thirty-two dollars."

"Yeah, I know." He pulled out his wallet and discovered that he was broke. Last night, he had blown over two hundred dollars. He showed the empty billfold to the midget. "Do you take credit cards?"

"Cash only."

"I don't have any cash on me. I can't pay." Fear reached with bony fingers for his heart.

"In that case, you'll be hearing from the recruiting elf."

"Elf?" Jarvis wondered aloud.

"Yeah, elf. What did you think we were? Midgets?" He vanished right in front of
Jarvis's eyes.

Jarvis was disinclined to believe in magical creatures, but the evidence was right in front of him. And it did explain their diminutive stature and why they pulled their hats over the tops of their ears.

Before he could ponder the significance too long, a different elf popped into the same place the other elf had just left. He wore the familiar blue-gray, but his garment was a business suit. A spiffy derby clung to the top of his head, not hiding his pointy ears. He carried a clipboard. "Robert Jarvis, your account is delinquent."

"I can get the money. Just let me get to the nearest cash machine."

The elf looked up at him from under arched eyebrows. "You never did read the contract, did you?"

Jarvis shook his head, instantly regretting it. He leaned on the doorframe until it stopped moving. "So what's it going to cost me, an arm and a leg?"

The elf smiled thinly and shook his head. "We're not like that other company. You just have to work for us until your debt is paid."

"What if I refuse?"

The elf snapped his fingers. The air twinkled for an instant, and the elf was as tall as Jarvis. But the elf hadn't grown, Jarvis realized, when he saw the doorknob at his own eye level.

"Then you'll be stuck in an elf body until you deliver the set of keys assigned to you. With the assistance of the company magic, it only takes a few minutes of your time."

Jarvis pushed up his cap and felt his ears. There were long and pointed, with a tuft of hair at the tip. He groaned. In a voice oddly similar to his own he asked, "Why me?"

"You used the mundane key service for ten years without paying them a dime. In the last three years they returned your keys three times or more each year. Either offense would have been enough to get your file transferred to us."

"But I never lost my keys so many times before, and half the time I didn't even need help to get them."

"Okay, so there is some magic involved."

"Why?"

"To teach you a lesson."

Jarvis glared at him.

"And to generate revenue, of course. To be fair, we do ease off when the fee gets into double digits. We're greedy, not evil."

Jarvis was unwilling to dispute the distinction. He massaged his temples. "I'll sure be glad when my year is up, and I won't have to put up with this anymore. And you can bet I won't be signing up again."

The elf laughed. "Don't worry; you won't need to. Your contract is for three years."

Jarvis groaned again, but he became a "Key Service" elf. He still looked like himself, but his features were squashed and stretched so that no one he knew recognized him when he returned their keys.

About eight months later Jarvis received some free Christmas cards from an association of foot and mouth painters, just like he did every year. He sorted through them, found a few he liked. "This looks like a good one for my mother." He popped it in an envelope and put a stamp on it. He was about to get up when he remembered what that elf had insinuated about that "Other Company." How many of their cards had he sent to his mother over the years?

Jarvis imagined himself painting Christmas scenes with a paintbrush in his mouth. A fat elf with a white beard stood beside him, shaking his head. "That's not good enough. How can you pay for all the cards you used if nobody is buying your work?" He held up a gleaming knife.

Jarvis sat down and wrote a sizable check to the foot and mouth painters.