Dub
After a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast, Dub brushed his teeth and got dressed. His phone rang as he was tying his basketball shoes. An older couple who lived only a few blocks from the tornado’s path needed someone to clean up the broken tree limbs in their yard and replace a few fence boards that had blown away.
“Attic needs a little cleaning out, too,” the old man said. “Shouldn’t take you more than an hour or so. We’d be willing to pay you twenty dollars.”
Twenty dollars wouldn’t get him far, but at least the work would get him out of the apartment for a while.
As he walked out to his van, he came across Long Dong and Gato putting bottles of liquor into the trunk of Gato’s Sentra.
Long Dong waved Dub over. “We’re going to the high school later to see if we can sell some of this shit. Grab your cigarettes and come with us.”
“Thanks, man,” Dub said. “But I got some things I gotta do today.”
“Like what?” Gato asked.
Like it’s none of your damn business, Dub thought. But he said, “Got a girl to go see.” If only. He didn’t want these jerks to try to horn in on his odd job business.
Gato cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “You’ll be missin’ out. Sellin’ this stuff to those kids will be like shooting fish in a tank.”
“Where’s Marquise?” Dub asked. If this was such a great opportunity, why wasn’t their leader involved?
“He’s already unloaded his take,” Long Dong said. “He’s got some friend who works at a restaurant. Bought all his liquor and cigarettes.”
Looked like Marquise had cut the others out of the deal. Dub didn’t point that out, though. It could come back to bite him in the ass. So could giving Gato and Long Dong the brush-off. Guys like this, you were either with them or you were against them. “I’ll try to meet up with you if I can,” Dub said. “What time you going over there?”
“When school lets out at three,” Gato said. “We’ll be in the lot.”
“Okay,” Dub said. “But if I don’t get by there today, count me in next time?”
Gato cut him a sharp look. “We’ll see.”
* * *
You people be crazy, Dub thought. An hour’s work, my ass.
The attic was packed with box after box of kids’ toys, old clothing, and kitchen stuff. Their stepladder shook each time he carried a load down. He wouldn’t be surprised if the thing folded up under him. The couple watched him closely, like they thought he might pocket some of their precious possessions. What the hell would he want with a dozen sets of animal-shaped salt and pepper shakers?
It took him two and a half hours to empty the attic, and another fifteen minutes to sweep it out to the old lady’s satisfaction. The fence—whoa—that was a whole ’nother story. It was no wonder the dang thing blew over. Most of the boards were so weathered they’d split, and the support posts were rotted around the bottom. He drove to the closest Home Depot and spent sixty dollars of his own money on fence boards and nails. The old man wouldn’t give him cash up front. He probably thought Dub would take the cash and never come back. Hell, if anyone was getting robbed here it was Dub.
He returned with the boards and gave the receipt to the old man, who hung over him in the backyard while he worked.
“Make sure that nail’s straight,” the man said. “Get that board flush up against the one next to it.”
When Dub finally left five hours later with the twenty-dollar profit, he felt cheated again. He’d made only four bucks an hour, far less than minimum wage.
Why did life keep kicking him in the balls?