The Boy Who Came in From the Cold (23 page)

dressed, his scowl vanished and was replaced by an insincere smile. “Oh. Hello, Sir. Howz can I help you?”

Gabe fought to keep from shuddering. “Are you the manager of the Dove?”
“The what?” the man asked, piggy eyes blinking.

“This apartment building. Are you the manager?”

 

“Yessir, I am. Whatcha want?” He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.

“And there is a Todd Burton living here?’
The man’s eyes turned guarded. “Who wants to know?” For some reason the man was pissing Gabe off already. Of

course, he had been prejudiced before now. The man had kicked a near child out in a blizzard.

 

“I’m with Wagner Enterprises. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Owned by Peter Wagner.”

 

The man’s eyes narrowed even more. “Nah. Who’s he?” “He owns, among other things, Baily, Cranston and Watch, one of the biggest legal firms in Kansas City,” Gabe said.

 

The man stepped back, wiped his hand across his sweatshirt this time. “So?”

“So Mr. Wagner’s firm has decided to represent Mr. Burton in his eviction.” The lie came abruptly and completely out of Gabe’s lips before he had a chance to think it through.

The man took another step back. “That little fucker hadn’t paid his rent in two months. I did what I had to do. There are lots of people want to live here.”

Gabe raised his brows at the words that proved the manager could lie just as easily as he could. “Oh, really? Then that apartment is already occupied?”

The man’s eyes flickered back and forth.
He was deciding whether to lie again.

 

“Be careful what you say,” Gabe said. “I’m listening to every word and what you say can be used in court.”

 

“Whafuck?” the man said, and ran that nasty hand through the little hair he owned.

 

“May we sit down?” Gabe asked.

The man looked back and forth several times, then gave a quick nod. He backed up and waved Gabe in.
As if it were a palace instead of the “roach-infested firetrap” it is
, Gabe thought.

The place was worse than Gabe had imagined. He actually saw a cockroach run away as he walked into the squalid room. There was trash, empty pizza boxes, and crushed beer cans on every surface as well as the floor. Dirty clothes lay in heaps and over furniture. The air reeked of cat urine so foul it made Gabe’s eyes water. It was all he could do not to gag. Sit down? He’d asked to sit down? Was there any place to even sit down beside a recliner that was obviously the “manager’s” favorite? The dent was so deep, Gabe was disinclined to even think of sitting there. But it seemed to be the only place.

The fat man leapt forward, surprisingly quickly considering his bulk, and shoved a pizza box, a huge pair of underwear, and a sock off the couch. He indicated the free spot with a wave and Gabe stood there staring at it. He spotted some relatively clean newspapers, picked them up, and placed them in the “empty” spot before sitting.

“Sorry the place is a little messy,” the man said, an almost sneer on his lips. “If I’da known you was a comin’, I’da baked a cake.”

Ala cockroach?
Gabe wondered.
No thanks
. He opened his briefcase and pretended to ruffle through it, then pulled out a file— opened it. “According to Mr. Burton’s testimony”—was that the right word?—“you never gave him notice of his impending eviction.”

“That’s a fuc…. That’s not true! I warned him bunches of times!”

“But did he get a written notice?” Gabe asked.
As if you could write
, he wanted to say.
“Sure he did.”

“Be careful, Mr.… I will remember what you said if called upon to testify.”

 

“Now waits just a damned… darned minute. Testify? As in court?”

 

“Yes,” Gabe said. He turned pages in his file, pages concerning the small but growing company called AbledRides. “According to this copy of the legal agreement with Mr. Burton, he should have had one more month to pay his rent before you seized his assets.” It was a lie. A complete and total fabrication, but just as he had surmised, he saw total confusion on the man’s face. Did the manager not even know what the lease said? “What did you say your name was?”

“Bill Racine. Ah…
William
. Racine.”

 

William. An attempt to make himself seem more important. Gabe read it on the man’s face as clearly as a Dick and Jane children’s book.

“Yes…. That’s just what I have here,” Gabe said, poker-faced. Racine wiped sweat off his forehead.

Nerves. Interesting.
“Please, Mr. Racine, tell me the fate of Mr. Burton’s belongings.”
“Huh?” Racine scratched his balls.

“The boy you kicked out on the street in a
blizzard
—which is against the law, and of course, you know that—”

 

“He ain’t had paid his rent!”

 

“I am asking what you did to his belongings. Furniture? Clothes?”

 

“They’re still all up there,” Racine practically shouted, pointing at the ceiling. “I ain’t done nothin’ with any of it yet.”

“Excellent!” Gabe smiled graciously, even though it took control. Control was what he was good at, part of why he got paid the big bucks. “I knew that. My associates were worried you might have done something stupid—”

“Stupid?” Racine said, sitting up straight.

“—but I told them you wouldn’t be an apartment manager if you were stupid.”
“Yeah! Right. I ain’t stupid. You tell ’em that too!”

“They thought you might cause trouble. But I told them to let me talk to you first. We’re reasonable adults here, right?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Reasonable.” Racine’s eyes darted back and forth. “Adults.”

Something was up, and Gabe’s instinctive distaste for the obese man intensified. He hadn’t planned on lying like this, but then he often flew by the seat of his pants. Went with the intuition that Peter had encouraged and nurtured in him since they met that dreary, yet ultimately comedic, night.

Gabe smiled even wider, letting good will positively pour from his eyes. “I am here to say that the legal firm—Baily, Cranston and Watch—is willing to forget any legal action as long as Mr. Burton’s belongings are released to him.”

“Released? Wha’ da fuck? He owes me rent!”

Gabe studied him. Could Racine be any trouble? Who knew how the legalities stood on this? He wasn’t sure just how the law worked on renters and weather. Gabe wasn’t a lawyer, and he was misrepresenting himself—letting this man think he was part of a law firm. Racine very well might have quite a legal leg to stand on. Who knew what Todd had signed? Why take a chance? And just what the hell was he doing here in the first place? “How much do you show Mr. Burton owes you?” he asked, plunging ahead.

“Twelve thou—.”
Gabe fixed Racine with a steely gaze.

“Nine hun’ert. That should cover it.” Racine gave him a look, daring Gabe to object.
Gabe didn’t. He wanted this over and done with. He wanted to get away from this gross and unpleasant man. He wanted away before the troglodyte got it into his feeble mind that there was something rotten in the state of Denmark. Or in this case, Missouri.

“May I write a check?” Gabe asked.
Surely you’re not writing a company check?
Of course not. I’m paying this myself.
“Ah… sure. A check’ll do.” Racine wiped at his upper lip.

Gabe pulled a checkbook out of his briefcase, made a great show opening it, turning to the right place, raising a pen, then…. “Naturally, I will need to actually
see
Mr. Burton’s belongings,” Gabe said.

Racine’s eyes went wide. “Why da fuck do ya need to do that? You got my guar-un-tee all his stuff is there.”

“Ah, Mr. Racine. This isn’t personal. It’s nothing but a formality,” Gabe said, voice calm. “I trust you implicitly.” He didn’t, obviously. What he really wanted to do was punch the man. But that would be a bad move, wouldn’t it? Totally unproductive. So far things really couldn’t be moving along any better. “Why don’t you take me up now?”

Racine looked away, biting his lip again, refusing to meet Gabe’s eyes. “I’ll have to find the key.”

 

“Of course. I’ll wait.”

 

Racine gave Gabe a look in which hate simmered just below the surface. Gabe saw it. That was his gift.

Racine nodded and left the room.
What are you doing?
Helping out my fellow man.

You sure you’re not just trying to get your wick dipped? Or get Todd’s wick dipped in you?