Quick Fixes: Tales of Repairman Jack (31 page)

He felt a cool breeze around his ankles. Where was that coming from?

His chest tightened. He kept all the windows closed. Had someone opened one?

He rose and walked to the stairs. No flow from the second floor. He moved through the dark dining room to the even darker kitchen –

And froze when he saw the back door standing open. He’d locked that, he was sure of it.

His heart pounded as he pushed it closed and scanned the backyard. It hadn’t opened itself. What had the intruder wanted? Had he taken anything? What if he was still out there?

Theodore’s heart rate doubled as a terrifying possibility struck: What if he was still in the house?

He flipped on the kitchen lights. Nothing out of place, nothing obvious missing.

He turned on all the lights on the first floor. No sign of anyone. But what about the second floor? Had he sneaked past while he’d been on sentry duty?

Was he after the ledger? It catalogued all his work. If it fell into the wrong hands –

He dashed upstairs, flipping every light switch within reach as he moved. He fairly leaped into his bedroom, turned on the lights, then dropped to his knees and jammed his hand between the mattress and box spring.

There. The ledger. He pulled it out. Safe.

But why–?

Diversion!

He ran back to the living room and peered at the Robinson car. It stood alone, just as he’d left it.

Relieved but still unsettled, he turned out all the lights and resumed his watch until dawn.

*

As the neighborhood came alive, Theodore wheeled his garbage can to the curb. There he made a show of stretching and yawning as he glanced down the block toward the McCuin place. He was pleased to see the lid still off their container. He couldn’t see the herbicide can but didn’t expect to at this distance.

Across the street he saw Mr. Fabrini scratching his head as he looked at one of his gardens. Theodore wandered over.

“
Beautiful morning, isn’t it,” he said in a most neighborly way.

Mr. Farbini turned but didn’t smile. “What? Oh, hi, Mister Gordon.”

“
Theodore, please.”

“
Right. Yeah, beautiful for us maybe.” He pointed to the bed of wilted, shriveling geraniums. “But not for these things. Yesterday they were perfect. Today . . .”

Theodore knelt and touched a browning leaf. He rubbed it between his fingers, then sniffed.

“
Hmm.”

“
What?”

Theodore tore off the leaf and handed it to Fabrini.

“
Smell.”

Mr. Fabrini did and made a face. “It smells . . . chemical.”

“
Right. Like Round Up or some other weed killer.”

Mr. Fabrini looked dumbfounded. “Weed killer? But who . . .?” He voice trailed off.

Theodore leaned closer. “I saw someone in your yard last night. At the time I thought it was you. Now I’m not so sure.”

“
It wasn’t me, I can tell you that. Did you see his face?”

“
No, but he looked young . . . like a teenager.” He let his gaze drift toward the McCuin house.

Mr. Fabrini followed and said, “You don’t think it was Colin, do you?”

Theodore backed away a step, as if the conversation had just entered taboo territory. “I’m not pointing any fingers. Like I said, I didn’t see a face.” He clapped Mr. Fabrini on the upper arm. “Don’t take it personally. Some kids have a lot of anger to work out of their systems.” With that he turned and waved. “Have a nice day.”

Mr. Fabrini’s drive to work would take him past the McCuin house. He’d be looking at it. He’d see the Speed Weed can – if it was still there. If someone had interfered and removed it, no matter. A seed had been planted.

As he crossed the street he glanced at the blacktop, searching for the trail of oil he’d left. Where–?

He stopped and stared at a discolored spot on the pavement. It might have been an oil splotch at one time, but now it was . . . something else. It looked like someone had sprayed it with a detergent solution, emulsifying the oil . . . erasing the trail.

When? When had this happened?

He jumped at the sound of a toot. When he looked around he saw Mr. Rashid smiling and waving from his car. Theodore realized he was standing in the middle of the street.

He managed a smile and stepped toward the curb. As he did he glanced at the Robinson car and almost tripped when he saw the puddle of oil spreading out from beneath it. Where had that come from?

Unless . . . while Theodore had been searching the house for an intruder, perhaps his nemesis had tried to replace the drained oil. But that wouldn’t have worked because of the missing drain plug. Whatever he added would have ended on the driveway.

Standing next to the vehicle was a very angry looking Mr. Robinson.

“
What the hell?” he was saying. “What the fucking hell?”

“
My goodness,” Theodore said, walking over to him. “It looks like you’ve sprung a leak.”

He was looking at the oil. It didn’t look fresh at all. In fact it looked well used, ready for a change.

“
Leak, hell. The plug’s missing. Somebody
did
this.”

Theodore put on a shocked expression. “Someone from around
here
?”

“
Who knows? But why me?” He looked past Theodore and waved to Mr. Rashid. “Be right there, Munaf.”

Theodore made a point of looking up and down the block. “Maybe it was simply opportunity. After all, you are the only one who leaves a car out overnight. Has anyone ever complained about that?”

Robinson made a face. “No. And as for–” He broke off and stepped around to the front of the car, pointing at the driveway. “I’ll be damned. Look at this – footprints.”

Theodore did look, and hid his shock as he saw clear imprints of treaded footprints – sneakers, most likely – leading from the oil slick, across the driveway, and into the grass between Theodore’s house and the Robinsons’.

“
They head toward your place.”

He started across the grass. Theodore, hiding his alarm, followed to his front walk where Robinson stopped, pointing. “They go right to your front door.”

He was right. They were fainter here, but no mistaking them.

He wheeled on Theodore. “What the hell’s going on, Gordon?”

Theodore didn’t have to feign shock. “You can’t think
I
had anything to do with this!”

Robinson pointed to the prints. “What else am I supposed to think?”

“
I barely know you. Why would I do this? And I don’t own any shoes with soles like that. And have a little respect for my intelligence. Would I be dumb enough to leave a trail right to my front door?”

“
Maybe you’re a dumbass, what do I know? But I do know there’s been some strange shit going on lately.”

“
Like . . . like what?”

“
Like someone hacking into Herb Woolbright’s computer system and signing him up for a gay website or classified or some such shit. Herb’s about as gay as I am. That convinced me to shut mine down. Yesterday Munaf found his socket wrench set gone, and now my car.” He fixed Theodore with a narrow-eyed glare. “Nothing like this ever happened around here before you moved in.”

Nothing like this had happened to Theodore so early. Later in a job, when a neighborhood was falling apart, suspicion naturally drifted to the newcomer, but by then he was packing up to leave. This was only day four.

But he held his ground.

“
I won’t stand here and be spoken to like this. And I warn you, if you slander me with these lies, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

He turned and stomped to his front door. But once inside, he slumped against the door, mind racing, thoughts whirling.

He went to the window and watched Mr. Fabrini pull out of his driveway and coast down the block. He slowed as he passed the McCuin house – within a few feet of their open garbage can – but he didn’t stop to inspect it, merely drove on.

Theodore ground his teeth. His nemesis had most likely removed the herbicide can. Blocked at every turn. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

An unfamiliar sensation began to burn in his gut: uncertainty.

What to do? Abort?

*

Theodore spent the rest of the day debating it, finally deciding on no – he’d never aborted a job and wasn’t about to blemish his record now.

He went to his front window and looked out. The commuters were all home by now, eating dinner or having a drink with their spouses. Well, not everyone. Look at this . . .

Across the street, at the far end of the block, he saw Mr. Rashid and Mr. Longwell in what looked like animated conversation – perhaps even an argument.

He decided a stroll might be in order.

As he neared, he saw Mr. Longwell’s usually placid black face contorted in anger.

“
So, you’re missing something from your garage, and what’s the first thing you do? You think of the neighborhood nigger? Is that it?”

Mr. Rashid looked offended. “I have never used the N-word in my life!”

The N-word . . . really, the world had become pathetic.

“
You came to me looking for stolen property. Why me? Why not your buddy, Robinson?”

“
Because he isn’t on parole for robbery!”

Mr. Rashid looked instantly regretful for saying that, while Mr. Longwell gaped in shock.

“What? What did you say? Me? On parole? Where’d you hear that bullshit?”

“
Your parole office called Jean Woolbright yesterday and–”

“
My
parole
officer?” He stared at the Woolbright house. “I know she never liked us living next door, but I never thought she’d stoop to this. Is she insane?” He glanced at Theodore. “What are you looking at?”

Theodore had hoped his bold stare would trigger just that remark.

“
Sorry. I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“
This doesn’t concern you.”

“
Well, I am a member of this community now. Perhaps, as a disinterested third party, I might help mediate this disagreement.” Before either could object he turned to Mr. Rashid. “You are apparently missing something, and you think Mister Longwell might have it.” He turned to Mr. Longwell. “Since I’m sure you don’t, why not let Mister Rashid check your grounds and, say, your garage and–?”

“
Nobody’s snooping through my property without a search warrant, so you both can go to hell!”

So saying, he turned and stomped back into his house.

“
My, my,” Theodore said. “You’d think if he had nothing to hide he’d want to clear this up.”

Mr. Rashid nodded. “Yes. You’d think he would.”

He shook his head and walked away toward his home.

Thinking that this job could yet be salvaged, Theodore continued his walk. Even if his nemesis had removed the wrench set from the Longwell yard, Mr. Longwell’s refusal to let Mr. Rashid look would be perceived as a sign of guilt.

He began to whistle.

*

Around 11:30 he began his nightly task or inciting Daisy. Finally, just shy of midnight, he heard Mr. McCuin shout, “I’m gonna kill that dog if you don’t shut it up!”

Just what Theodore had been waiting for.

He waited until Daisy calmed down, then whacked her dog house with another ice cube. As she renewed her frenzied barking, Theodore shut the window and went down to the kitchen refrigerator. He pulled out the nice piece of sirloin he’d been saving. He removed a box of mole poison from under the sink. The label said each tablet contained 1.0 mg. of strychnine. He estimated Daisy’s weight at thirty pounds. A dozen tablets would be plenty.

Just to be sure, he cut fifteen angled slits into the meat and pressed a pellet into each.

Thursday, April 29

At exactly 3 A.M. he tossed the meat over the fence so that it landed near Daisy’s house. She came out with a howl but stopped when she caught the scent of the meat. She was on it in an instant, wolfing it down in a single gulp.

Good dog.

Next he pulled out another can of Speed Weed and used it to write on Mr. Longwell’s lawn. He’d thought of using gasoline to burn the word into the grass, but decided this would be more discrete.

Under normal circumstances he would hide the box of poison in the McCuin garage and the empty herbicide can in the Rashids’ bushes, but his nemesis would undoubtedly remove them.

He returned home and stood on his front steps where he surveyed dark and slumbering Fannen Street. He sent out a challenge:

Let’s see you undo these.

*

He was up early the next morning, waiting. At 7:10 he heard Mr. Garcia’s distraught wail.

“
Daisy? Oh, my God, Daisy!”

Theodore immediately stepped out onto his rear deck and called over the fence.

“
Mister Garcia? Is anything wrong?”