The Poacher
It was a few minutes after eight in the morning when he held out his first month’s rent and damage deposit to a man who didn’t believe in written leases, issuing receipts, or, from the smell of him, deodorant. Phew. The Poacher accepted a single key in return. It was on a key chain that said “World’s Best Grandmother.” Should I be concerned about that? For all he knew, the guy had killed some elderly woman and was now renting out her properties. He hadn’t offered his name.
The Poacher gestured to the graffiti. “How would you feel about painting the place?”
“I would feel that the lease is as is,” the man said. “You want the building painted, you can do it yourself.” With that, the man returned to his car, leaving a stench in his wake. He gunned his engine and drove away.
Cheap son of a bitch. The Poacher climbed into his truck. As he looked over his shoulder to back up, he spotted Harper’s pink cell phone tucked into the map pocket on the inside of the passenger door. Maybe Vicki was right. Maybe Harper was too young for a cell phone.
He leaned over and retrieved the phone. The movement caused the screen to come to life. Any irritation he’d felt at his landlord for being so tightfisted or at Harper for forgetting her cell phone was immediately forgotten when he saw she’d chosen a photo of the two of them at the zoo for her screen saver. Damn, I love that little squirt. He slid the phone into the glove box for safekeeping. He’d have a talk with her later, let her know she needed to do a better job of keeping up with it or he’d have to take it away.
He headed off down Vickery. After paying additional deposits at the electric and water companies to have service turned on at the building, he made a stop at a hardware store for supplies. He returned to the garage with three gallons of their cheapest white paint, painter’s tape, and a set of rollers and brushes. After sweeping up the trash around the building, he set to work, painting over the graffiti. It took two coats and most of the day to repaint the outside of the building.
He’d nearly soiled himself when a police cruiser rolled slowly by, a dark-haired female cop at the wheel and a huge furry dog in the back. She’d glanced his way but had only raised a hand off the wheel in greeting. He’d returned the gesture, momentarily forgetting he had the roller in his hand and inadvertently splattering himself with white paint.
He spent the rest of the day doing the best he could to smooth out the dents in the bay door and the hail damage on the trailer. He didn’t need one of his torches for that task. A simple butane lighter provided enough heat to enable him to work the metal, force it back into place. The hail damage was a surprisingly easy fix. A little heat and the metal practically popped itself back into place.
Now that he’d done what he could outside, he turned his attention to the inside of the garage. He hosed down the floor and walls, dusted off the bare fluorescent bulbs overhead, and wiped the grime off the small panel of glass in the heavy steel door on the side of the building. Burglar bars were affixed over the window, the afternoon sun shining through them and casting a hashtag-shaped shadow on the stained concrete floor. If Harper were here, she’d whip out her sidewalk chalk and challenge him to a game of tic-tac-toe.
By then it was dark and time to get home for dinner. He hadn’t stopped for lunch and his stomach was growling like a lion. Stowing the leftover paint and supplies inside, he locked up and took a final look at the place. It was still a basic cinder-block building, nothing fancy. But it looked less shabby than it had this morning. Tomorrow, he’d pick up some sheet metal and put himself to work.
When he arrived home, Harper met him at the door. “Hi, Daddy!”
“Hey, squirt.” He bent down and gave her a hug, whispering in her ear. “Did somebody forget something in my truck?” He pulled her cell phone from his pocket and held it up.
Her eyes went wide and bright with the fear that he’d take her phone away. “I’m sorry, Daddy!”
He held it out to her, but yanked it back as she went to take it from him. “You promise to be a good girl from now on and remember your phone?”
She nodded her head so hard it was a wonder it didn’t pop off her neck. “I won’t forget it again. I promise!”
He reached out and ruffled her copper hair, handing her the phone at the same time. “All right, squirt. Let’s get some dinner.”
He walked into the kitchen, where Vicki stood at the stove stirring a pot of spaghetti. She still wore her pajamas. She hadn’t even bothered to dress today. No point in asking her whether she’d gone out to apply for any waitressing jobs. Meanwhile, he’d been busting his ass trying to find work, to think of some way to bring in some money. But he knew better than to bring it up. She’d tell him she deserved some time off after taking care of everything on her own while he was in jail, that it was his turn to work and pay the bills. She’d be right about that, too. Still, it chapped his ass.
She turned and gave him a smile and his ass felt a little less chapped. “Where’s my kiss?”
He stepped over and planted a peck on her cheek.
She leaned into it before pulling her head back. “Why is there paint in your hair? And on your clothes?”
Uh-oh. He thought up a quick lie. “The boss asked me to help paint some signs at a drilling site.”
She seemed to accept his response and asked nothing further. Unfortunately, she dropped a financial bombshell on him. “Refrigerator went out today. An appliance repair guy came out and looked it over, said it’s shot.” She held up the spoon she’d been using to stir the spaghetti to point at the cooler on the floor. “I put all the food in the ice chest so we wouldn’t lose it. I thought I’d go pick out a new fridge tomorrow, maybe get one of them shiny stainless steel ones with the automatic ice thing in the door. That’ll make our lives easier.”
Like hell it would. A new fridge could cost a thousand dollars or more. He’d already spent a big chunk of money today on rent and deposits. “Maybe we should look at used refrigerators.”
She scoffed and cut him a look, her lip quirked in disgust. “You’ll buy your daughter an expensive new phone, but someone else’s icky old fridge is good enough for me?”
“I didn’t say that.” He let out a loud breath. “We spent a lot on Christmas and need to watch our money right now. The fridge is coming at a bad time is all.”
She cocked her head. “We could finance it. That way we’d only have to pay a little each month rather than a bunch up front.”
He supposed he couldn’t argue with her logic. Well, he could, but he knew it would probably land him back on the floor in the boys’ bedroom. He forced a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
She perked up as she turned back to the stove. “Maybe I’ll replace this old oven, too, while I’m at it.”
His gut clenched. Ironically, all this talk about refrigerators and ovens had killed his appetite.