[ WP ] The New York sanitation workers have always secretly had the job of ridding the streets of cryptid monsters . Time to take out the trash !

I see the lady from the corner of my eye. 
 
 `` God Christ, move!'' I shout. Nickle's taking the long way around with a 40 gallon bag wobbling in his arms like a half-set Jello mold. 
 
 `` What?'' he coughs. `` This thing's like a giant goddamn bag of goldfish.'' 
 
 I saw the lady in the window on the third floor. She made the face. The `` Fuck, it's garbage day?'' face. Then she disappeared. 
 
 `` C'mon, c'mon.'' I toss my two bags and help Nickle slip his bag into the truck. I slap the rusted hull three times and hop on the back. `` Let's go!'' 
 
 `` Wait! Wait!'' 
 
 And there she is. Old lady net on her head. Nightgown like a burlap sack. Hospital slippers. 
 
 `` One more. One more.'' 
 
 The bag's not even closed. She's standing at the top of the stoop holding out this open bag of trash. 
 
 `` One more. Just one more.'' 
 
 Race stopped the truck. I could have ignored her if he'd just kept driving. 
 
 I step off the back and hold out my arms. She just stands there at the top of the stoop like a statue, open bag swaying in her hands. It's a stalemate, but it's a brief one. You do n't get moral victories in this line of work. 
 
 Gritting my teeth, I start up the steps. And just like that she lets the bag fall from her hands. It lands sideways. Every last bit of trash - every crumpled tissue, clipped up newspaper, half-eaten TV dinner, empty pill bottle - all of it spills out across the stoop. 
 
 By the time I look up the door's closed and the lady's gone. 
 
 Nickle helps me stuff it back into the bag. It takes less than 30 seconds, but I'm still cursing under my breath as we hop back on the truck and take off. 
 
 We've barely gone ten feet when the truck stopped again. The rest of the block is empty or condemned. The next house is n't for at least a hundred yards. 
 
 `` What's up?'' I shout to Race. `` You making us walk the rest of the way?'' 
 
 Race sticks his arm out the window and waves me over. 
 
 `` What?'' I ask, when I get to the window. 
 
 Race points ahead. `` Manhole's loose.'' 
 
 I look where he's pointing. There's a manhole in the road, the tip of which is sticking up just slightly. 
 
 `` Seriously?'' 
 
 Race already has the CB in his hand. `` I'm gon na call it in.'' 
 
 `` Seriously?'' 
 
 `` Protocol, man.'' 
 
 `` You should marry protocol.'' 
 
 `` I would. I would marry protocol. Our babies be the best behaved babies. Now back up and let me talk.'' 
 
 I walk ahead to examine the manhole. It is n't ajar. It's bent. 
 
 `` Goddamnit,'' I sigh. 
 
 `` Bent, not loose,'' I say as I pass Race's window on the way to the back of the truck. 
 
 `` What's going on?'' asks Nickle. 
 
 `` Bent manhole,'' I say. `` We're probably gon na have to go down.'' 
 
 Nickle shrugs. He never seems to mind one way or the other. Personally, I prefer staying above ground, but I suppose I picked the wrong career for that. 
 
 A car passes by with the windows rolled down. `` Working real hard there, ya lazy motherfuckers.'' 
 
 `` Thank you, sir,'' says Nickle. `` Christ be with you, too.'' 
 
 Race honks the horn. 
 
 `` You're going down,'' he says. 
 
 `` No shit,'' I mutter. 
 
 Nickle laughs. `` So MUCH shit.'' 
 
 Race hands two flashlights through the window. 
 
 `` Gun please?'' I say. 
 
 Race shakes his head. `` Tunnel's too shallow here. Gun's too loud.'' 
 
 Nickle waves his flashlight through the air. `` Just kill it with this, then?'' 
 
 `` Use the sonic on your utility tool if you have to. May not be down there. You're only authorized to sweep a five by five block grid, with this as the center.'' 
 
 `` Only?'' I say. `` Is it my birthday?'' 
 
 `` Jesus, take a crowbar if you're gon na be such a baby about it.'' 
 
 Nickle yanks the crowbar off the mount on the side of the truck. `` Dibs.'' 
 
 I glare at Race. 
 
 `` It's a really heavy flashlight, buddy,'' says Nickle. `` You'll be fine. Let's go.'' 
 
 `` I'm gon na circle,'' says Race. `` Meet you at the southwest corner of the grid.'' 
 
 Nickle already has the manhole up and out. I drop to the road and climb down after him. Race closes the hole over our heads. 

