would work fine now. As long as no one tried to
dispose of any more licenses.
Quickly, Punchy cleaned his
tools and stuck them back into the belt. Billy came to the kitchen and grabbed
a juice box from the fridge, not giving the handyman a second glance. Punchy
turned to the other men in the living area. Weston raised his eyebrows in
anticipation and Punchy gave him the thumbs up.
The garbage disposal was good
to go.
Weston waved him over. Slowly
Punchy made his way into the living room as Weston stood. The older man was
reaching into his inside jacket pocket. Punchy felt himself stiffen but forced
himself to remain calm. Weston reached out and shook hands with Punchy.
“Thank you so much, good sir.
The Liberty is everything we were told it would be.” The old man was staring
into Punchy’s eyes, studying him. Punchy forced a grin and nodded his thanks.
Then he turned and left the suite.
Russell stared at him in the
hallway. Punchy watched from the corner of his eye as the guard mouthed the
word retard but he pretended not to see. He walked around the corner to
the elevator. Only then did he look at what Weston had palmed him during the
handshake.
He looked down at a crisply
folded $100 bill.
*****
When Punchy returned to the
basement, he took off the heavy tool belt and slammed it on the workbench. He
leaned against the table, his brow furrowed in thought. He knew the girl was in
some kind of trouble and that Weston and his crew were bad news. He just didn’t
know what to do.
Do I call the cops? But
what if I am totally off here? What if I’m wrong? I could lose my job. And I
was lucky to find this one. Somehow getting the cops involved seemed like a
bad idea. It would be him against them, five against one and his one was
serving with half a brain. No, they would be able to win out against him with
the cops involved. He was sure of that.
I can’t help her, he
thought to himself. I’m no good. Can’t do anything. I’m just a handyman.
He sighed deeply and his body
suddenly seemed to grow very small in the dark basement. I can’t help her. I
am a retard. He had never felt so helpless in all his life. He knew
something was not right, but couldn’t figure out how to help. He shook his
head.
The elevator doors opened and
one of the maids hurried in. Punchy watched her as she marched up and handed him
a slip of paper. The maid looked with distaste at the handyman and his
surroundings. It was another service request. This one was an emergency in room
301. A pipe had burst in the bathroom. Another faulty O-ring. Punchy nodded at
the maid and she hurried back onto the elevator.
When she was gone, he grabbed
a small book of matches from one of the shelves and lit the $100 note. He threw
it on the workbench and watch it burn down to ash, leaving a small black scorch
mark on the rough wood.
He grabbed his tool kit and
headed back upstairs.
The least he could do is turn
down their money. No matter how much he needed it.
*****
It took three hours to
complete the last job. The O-rings had gone out but the pipe was also old and
rusted and he ended up replacing the whole works. It was a job he could usually
finish in half the time but his mind kept slipping back to the suite upstairs
and the crying girl.
Now he got off the elevator,
wet and tired, and slowly getting pissed off to boot. He slammed the tool belt
back onto the table and went to the small fridge sitting in the corner. He
grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it, then went into the small apartment.
The girl was sitting on his
bed.
Punchy felt his jaw drop and
froze. The girl’s eyes were red and swollen from crying and her bottom lip was
fat and busted from where someone had slapped her. He closed the door behind
him and knelt on the floor of the room before the cot.
She was talking now, too fast
for him to make out what she was saying. He motioned for her to
dispose of any more licenses.
Quickly, Punchy cleaned his
tools and stuck them back into the belt. Billy came to the kitchen and grabbed
a juice box from the fridge, not giving the handyman a second glance. Punchy
turned to the other men in the living area. Weston raised his eyebrows in
anticipation and Punchy gave him the thumbs up.
The garbage disposal was good
to go.
Weston waved him over. Slowly
Punchy made his way into the living room as Weston stood. The older man was
reaching into his inside jacket pocket. Punchy felt himself stiffen but forced
himself to remain calm. Weston reached out and shook hands with Punchy.
“Thank you so much, good sir.
The Liberty is everything we were told it would be.” The old man was staring
into Punchy’s eyes, studying him. Punchy forced a grin and nodded his thanks.
Then he turned and left the suite.
Russell stared at him in the
hallway. Punchy watched from the corner of his eye as the guard mouthed the
word retard but he pretended not to see. He walked around the corner to
the elevator. Only then did he look at what Weston had palmed him during the
handshake.
He looked down at a crisply
folded $100 bill.
*****
When Punchy returned to the
basement, he took off the heavy tool belt and slammed it on the workbench. He
leaned against the table, his brow furrowed in thought. He knew the girl was in
some kind of trouble and that Weston and his crew were bad news. He just didn’t
know what to do.
Do I call the cops? But
what if I am totally off here? What if I’m wrong? I could lose my job. And I
was lucky to find this one. Somehow getting the cops involved seemed like a
bad idea. It would be him against them, five against one and his one was
serving with half a brain. No, they would be able to win out against him with
the cops involved. He was sure of that.
I can’t help her, he
thought to himself. I’m no good. Can’t do anything. I’m just a handyman.
He sighed deeply and his body
suddenly seemed to grow very small in the dark basement. I can’t help her. I
am a retard. He had never felt so helpless in all his life. He knew
something was not right, but couldn’t figure out how to help. He shook his
head.
The elevator doors opened and
one of the maids hurried in. Punchy watched her as she marched up and handed him
a slip of paper. The maid looked with distaste at the handyman and his
surroundings. It was another service request. This one was an emergency in room
301. A pipe had burst in the bathroom. Another faulty O-ring. Punchy nodded at
the maid and she hurried back onto the elevator.
When she was gone, he grabbed
a small book of matches from one of the shelves and lit the $100 note. He threw
it on the workbench and watch it burn down to ash, leaving a small black scorch
mark on the rough wood.
He grabbed his tool kit and
headed back upstairs.
The least he could do is turn
down their money. No matter how much he needed it.
*****
It took three hours to
complete the last job. The O-rings had gone out but the pipe was also old and
rusted and he ended up replacing the whole works. It was a job he could usually
finish in half the time but his mind kept slipping back to the suite upstairs
and the crying girl.
Now he got off the elevator,
wet and tired, and slowly getting pissed off to boot. He slammed the tool belt
back onto the table and went to the small fridge sitting in the corner. He
grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it, then went into the small apartment.
The girl was sitting on his
bed.
Punchy felt his jaw drop and
froze. The girl’s eyes were red and swollen from crying and her bottom lip was
fat and busted from where someone had slapped her. He closed the door behind
him and knelt on the floor of the room before the cot.
She was talking now, too fast
for him to make out what she was saying. He motioned for her to
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