"A few months," Samuel said. "Back in February they found his predecessor floating in the pool, carved to hell and back." He shrugged, a disturbingly light-hearted gesture in the face of such an admission. "I guess he's got heavier things on his mind than overseeing maintenance crews." The smile he flashed at Richard was sharp and dark, a look born of long years of foxhole humor. It did not hurt, of course, that Samuel took pleasure in unsettling new friends and fellow tenants, using it as an unsubtle means to size them up. So far, Richard seemed to be doing quite well.
But as their halting, introductory conversation crept on, the elevator did not. It staggered to a halt, creaking and groaning above them with renewed vigor. Samuel looked to the illuminated floor numbers, noting with marked annoyance that they had now stopped changing altogether. "Well," he said, "I hope you're ready for Twenty Questions, or you've got games on your phone, cos we're gonna be here a minute."