The Ant Man (2013) - the complete book

One

"Never heard of it," said Digman. "More of a comedy man myself. Norman Wisdom, that kind of stuff. Now stop dawdling and let's get this job done."

"Are you coming?" Mrs Wright had reappeared at her door, having noticed that no one followed her inside.

"Coming Mrs Wright," called Digman, forcing a smile. "Just getting my colleague started. Takes a while first thing."

They followed her into a narrow hallway, stepping round untidy stacks of free local newspapers, through to a small kitchen with cream wall units, yellowed with age, and a stainless steel sink overflowing with uncleaned plates and pots. The house smelled of stale air, unwashed clothes and grime. It took some effort for Digman not to gag.

"My husband died a year ago," said Mrs Wright. "Selfish bugger. Leaving me on my own."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Digman.

Mrs Wright stopped, slipped on an old pair of scratched glasses and peered at him with a sudden intensity.

"You look familiar," she said. "You always worked for the exterminators?"

"No," said Digman, feeling uncomfortable under her stare for no reason he could identify. "I actually used to work at Tigges Chemical Factory up on the hill."

"Knew it!" she cried with a smile so broad it bordered on crazy. He half expected her to break into a jig she seemed so pleased. "See, I'm not senile. No problem with my memory, whatever the doctors' say. I worked in the offices until they retired me in 2000. Knew the faces of everyone on the factory floor back then."

Digman nodded. He presumed she was right. She wasn't in any way familiar to him, but then he had seldom strayed to the upstairs offices in the factory.

She turned, folding her glasses back into her faded pink cardigan pocket, happy with her feat of memory. They followed as she pushed open the back door, red paint peeling from the warped woodwork, and stepped into a small, paved back yard. Tall brick walls, in need of some maintenance but sturdy enough, stood on three sides. The fourth was provided by the rear of the house. A wooden gate hung loose on its hinges ahead of them, leading into the alleyway that ran behind the old terraced houses, and alongside the gate stood a brick outhouse, an old toilet of the kind Digman hadn't seen since he used to visit his Nan, before her house was condemned and torn down. He doubted Eric had ever seen such a thing, being as unappreciatively offhand about the wonders of indoor plumbing as the rest of his generation. The door to the toilet looked even more unsafe than the gate to the alleyway, and through a gap at the bottom he could hear the buzzing of flies. The occasional breath of a slight breeze wafted smells of sewers and memories of the worst public toilets he'd ever visited.

"Here they are, little buggers," said Mrs Wright, pulling Digman back to the job at hand.

Digman and Eric looked to where she pointed, at the back corner of the outhouse where the ground under the paving slab had, at some time, subsided and the slab had cracked. Ten, maybe twelve, ants scurried around, in and out of the crack, over the slab. Hardly an infestation as she had claimed on the phone, but company policy was clear: Even if there was only one ant, spray the thing and charge the hourly rate.

"We'll have them cleared up in no time Mrs Wright," said Digman, forcing a cheery smile onto his face. "They won't bother you after today."

***

The spraying was quick and easy, not requiring the full HAZMAT suits they sometimes wore, although Digman did insist they both wore masks and that Mrs Wright stayed indoors. The poison, exclusive to Antman Exterminators, was a variation on a chemical created by Tigges Chemical Factory some years back and, despite assurances from Mr Banks, his boss, that everything toxic to humans had been removed, Digman could still remember the precautions taken on the factory floor. He saw no reason to take risks now.