The Christmas Rat by Avi Page B

demanded.
    â€œOver here,” I said, and led the way.
    When we got there the exterminator peered around with those sharp eyes of his. “What you got, dude? Roaches? Mice? Rats?”
    â€œI think we’re pretty clean,” I said, wondering if he’d be disappointed.
    â€œNothing to do with cleanliness, kid,” he snapped. “If the Queen of England lived around here, trust me, she’d have roaches.” He pulled open his metal boxes, laying out canisters marked:
    POISON! HARMFUL IF SWALLOWED! CAUTION! CAUSTIC!
    â€œThis is the city,” he went on, all riled up. “Vermin live here. Fact is, there are more vermin than people. Did you know that, kid?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œRight. If it weren’t for guys like me, the vermin would take over. Have any idea what would happen then?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œThey would exterminate people .”
    â€œThey would?”
    â€œEnd of life as you know it. Hey, how come you’re not in school?” he suddenly asked, fixing me with a hard stare.
    â€œIt’s Christmas vacation.”
    â€œWish I had a vacation. For me, it’s war all the time. Otherwise the vermin would take over.”
    While he talked, he’d been busy sprinkling white powder along the base of the kitchen cabinets and inside closets and drawers. His bony, pale fingers opened everything. It was as if he had the right to go into all our hidden places.
    I watched him for a while. Then I said, “Do you like your work?”
    â€œLove it.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œPeople always ask me that,” the exterminator said, without stopping his work with a box labeled TOXIC ! “See, kid, I was in the military. Special Services. Trained to kill. Guns. Hand-to-hand. Locks. Not a lock in the world I can’t open. Booby traps. Mines. Hand bombs. Chemicals. Even bugle blowing—you know, Taps. The works. You name it. That’s all I knew. I was good at it, too.
    â€œAnyway, I put in my time and then some. I’m not even allowed to tell you what I did. Trust me. I was everywhere.
    â€œBut, hey, nothing good lasts forever. Right? It was back to this world for me.
    â€œDidn’t take me long to figure out that unless I found a job which would let me kill—legal-like—I’d be in trouble. So I got me a job as an exterminator. It solved everything.”
    Though all his talk of killing made me feel uncomfortable, I had to admit, he was interesting.
    â€œHey, I like killing things,” he went on as if reading my mind. “And you know what?” He poked a long finger in my direction. “The world likes what I’m doing. And another thing. I get money and respect for what I do.”
    All I could say was, “Oh.”
    He had finished the kitchen. “Show me the other rooms,” he commanded.
    I led the way.
    â€œThe hardest thing of all is rats,” the exterminator continued. “ The worst. I can tell you more about rats than you want to know. Filthy creatures. They spread diseases worse than any poison. You wouldn’t believe what they steal. Not just small stuff, either.”
    I must have looked doubtful, because he said, “Hey, in the army, I once saw a rat roll a hand grenade away. They grab things that glitter. Or glow.
    â€œYeah, people don’t know it, but rats have really influenced the world. Sure, sometimes for good, you know, in medical labs. But mostly for the worst. Trust me. Public Enemy Number One. Got any around here?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œPeople think if you live in a nice neighborhood, no rats. Forget it. I used to work in Beverly Hills. You know, fancy Los Angeles? Huge shopping mall out there for rich folks? Well, it was mostly a resort for rats. Don’t worry. I got ’em. Hey, if anyone brings on the end of the world it’s going to be me, not them.”
    He opened one of his boxes and pulled out what I thought was