INDEX

 

Roll of the Dice

By Jerry Harwood

First off, just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I don’t see nothing. In fact, might mean I see more. Like on this deck for instance. Man wants the old one torn out. A new one the same dimensions put back. He doesn’t want to restore it none. Probably same with his wives. One in his living room is wearing a big diamond ring, too much lipstick for lounging around the house, and a skirt so short it is hard to tell where the middle is. As for the man, well, anyone would notice pretty quick he was likely out of high school when his wife was born. Odds are, there once was another wife, one his age. Like this deck, he decided it was time to replace it.

As for me, I’m in recovery. I want to rebuild, not replace.

My crew were up and running. Good crew is like that. Once you get them situated, they don’t really need you. Good thing too. Allows me to go set up their next paycheck. There’s always the missing board or the extra pack of fasteners. They’ll call me and let me know. I’ll get it to them. “Boss man has to look busy,” they’ll say. But they all know I put them first. Everyone in recovery has a “I got clean because…” I ain’t married no more. No kids. Parents gone. My “what for” is these guys. They hitched their wagon as the saying goes to me and I’m their ticket to a better life. One deck, one sheetrock wall, one roof truss at a time.

But my crew, they are top notch. All three of them. Family men. They are even learning some English. Which is good. Usually, it’s the kids who learn it fastest. Then the moms and the dads last. I push mine to use English whenever they can. Best way to go home and not feel like you worked all day just to see your kid jabbering on about something you know nothing about. Living like that I figure is like when I wa on drugs. See what’s going on around you but you are lost in it all. I don’t want that for them. I want better. Someone who works as hard as they do in the game of life deserves to feel like they are winning.

That includes my fourth guy, Juan. I can’t give guys insurance. No way. My buddy wants to make it all political, but I say it doesn’t matter who made the situation. Just have to deal the cards dealt. And when Juan fell off the roof a few weeks ago and shattered his leg, he was dealt a bum one. I’ve been giving him his pay still. It is tough since we are a man down, but my other guys stepped up. Good crew.

They don’t call me Gringo, though I look it. My Spanish came honest from my mom’s side. Dad went to Mexico for a vacation one year. One of them all-inclusives. Apparently, he thought all-inclusive meant wives also because he came back with one. She got citizenship, and later my granma and uncles.

It was a full house. My dad put money in the bank and Momma put a hot meal on the table every day, clean clothes, and gave him me and my brother. They were as close as I ever seen to soul mates. It didn’t just happen. People think that’s the way it is. It isn’t. They made it work, day in and day out. Little by little. When I came along a few years later they had their first house. My dad taught me and my brother construction remodeling it. Suppose I fell in love with swinging a hammer like my dad. But it was Momma who taught me how to run a business. Momma taught me how to see the little things. Like how a little jalapeno can change a dish, or how an honest price brought you more customers and an unfair price brought you a bad reputation, or how a man holds his shoulders can tell you whether he’s honest. She always said my dad had good shoulders. He’d joke that her salsa was too hot and she didn’t charge enough when she cooked for neighbors. It was all in fun, though. She’d rub his shoulders and laugh. Then tell him to take some extra food to his crew.

I pulled into the road after my Maps told me to take a right “and your destination will be on your left.” Crazy thing, how it knows not only where I am but where I’m going. Most people don’t know both. Maybe one, but not both. Like this man I’m meeting, for instance.

“Eric?” he asked. His left shoulder leaned lower than his right. Momma would say watch out for such men. Their money is crooked. But in the remodel business sometimes you gotta take crooked money in a straight line to the bank.

“Yes sir.” It is really Enrique, But that just confuses people, when they see I look white. I stuck out my hand. He gave a pillowy hand shake. It was soft. Professional, yes. But soft. Not the handshake I expected on this street. Not the kind of handshake for a run-down, dead-end road lined with old, dilapidated double wides. I looked around. You could see five houses from the porch of this one. The one next door looked the newest. That said, it still was built some three or four presidents ago. On the other side of this place there were two lots visible. One a single wide trailer set back off the road and the other an RV that probably hadn’t seen a road since the day it mistakenly pulled into its driveway. Ironically, it looked the nicest with the warm glow of cheap Christmas lights dangling from its still intact awning. The two across the street looked every bit of forty years. In the first apparently lived a man who worked on small engines. Mowers, golf carts, a few chainsaws and weed eaters populated his front yard under three of those metal frame carports. The other seemed to have a lawn gnome in the yard for each year the occupants had lived there. They all looked tattered and worn. Not just old, but neglected. Their roof confirmed the story with three tarps layered on top of each other over one side. An elderly couple sat on the porch smoking. A fallen gutter downspout still in the yard, a crushed chain link fence with a portion of a rotting tree laying on each side, and a barking chihuahua completed the image.

I took a moment to examine the home that Maps brought me too. This house had a modified porch built around a chimney. The chimney had three or four different color bricks. Whoever built this add-on to an old double wide, probably called a “manufactured home” when it was produced, really wanted a traditional fireplace. My guess was inside there was a hearth and everything. A place to hang stockings at Christmas and set easter baskets in the spring. It looked like after cutting the wall and putting in the insert, they just acquired bricks from wherever they could. A patchwork lot of discards ran up the side of the home. Life can be like that. Sometimes we have no plan. Some people have a meticulous plan. Some of us just have ten or fifteen different plans, like different color bricks, that patch together to make a life. I immediately liked this old chimney and the man who once built it. I knew it wasn’t the pillowy handshake of a man in front of me.

The chimney stopped two feet short of where it should’ve. Whoever took on this project never finished. The cheap plywood wheelchair ramp set over a nice cedar deck confirmed that the home’s builder was gone and the newest owner did not take the same care. Indeed, he probably had a pillowy hand-shake and a crooked shoulder. In the yard was a ”For sale by owner” sign.

“I’m Levi. This is my folk’s place,” the man said. “George died fifteen or so years ago. Lilly wouldn’t leave it.”

I admit I was a bit confused. When I’m confused my jaw drops a bit. My mom always said it was my tell. While I thought the man had a slumped left shoulder and all, I didn’t think him the type to marginalize his mom and dad by only using their first names. That’s disrespect on a whole other level.

He apparently didn’t notice my jaw drop or didn’t care. He continued. “I Told her I had enough money to put her somewhere nice. She just wouldn’t do it, you know.” He waited for me to nod, agreeing that this place wasn’t nice and that he had the money. I gave him the nod. Not because those two things were true, but because this house had more love and care than this thirty-something would ever understand. I nodded for George and Lilly.

“This is nice cedar,’ I said to let him know the pause was long enough. “Don’t see cedar decks anymore.”

“Yeah, George built it. He loved this old piece of crap. Came home most days and worked the yard or something.”

“Was it his job? Working with wood? It is a fine deck.”

“No, he worked a factory or something. But built most of the things around here.” The man’s arm swung wide to point to two sheds out behind the home and a still useful privacy fence, though a few of the individual boards had given way to age and gravity. “I had to add this ramp on it three years ago. Lilly got to where she couldn’t do stairs anymore. And like I said, she just wouldn’t let me take care of her.”

Another pause to reflect on the only care he could offer was to pay for someone else to do it. I nodded. It was probably true. Certainly, if he built this ramp it was. The ramp looked like the kind of thing my crew would laugh at before tearing it out.

He motioned me inside. I was expecting the cheap, vintage cabinets of a late seventies home, maybe a dark green countertop and some sort of wallpaper with cowboy boots or sunflowers. What I saw were exquisite cabinets. Lower doors were removed and showed signs of wheelchair marks. There was an aging parquet flooring, and the ceiling told the story that whoever sat in the left recliner was a heavy smoker. Along the hallway was an inset bookcase filled with National Geographics and Time Magazines.

“I know, the place looks horrible. Lilly was a bit of a hoarder. Never would let those figurines go in the curio cabinet. Didn’t care that the cabinet there blocked part of both bedroom doorways. But we will get that out. Got someone coming to take it all to auction.”

“You raised here?” I knew it wasn’t wise to get too personal with a client. This questions skirted the line. He could answer superficially or dive deep into his memories of the place.

“Yeah… well, sort of. I grew up over there.” He pointed in the direction of the house filled with lawn mowers. “My real dad went to prison and my mom couldn’t stay off the needle. So they brought me in. It was good of them, I guess. But I got in to college and into banking.”

Another pause. This one for me to fill in the “…and out of here.”

“This way,” he motioned. As we went to the side of the home away from the curio cabinet blocking doorways he casually pointed to the walls and ceiling. “Want you to quote me on painting all this. Fresh coat of paint probably do it good for retail value. Though I can’t imagine getting much for it no matter what in this neighborhood. But if its cheap enough…” He paused in the doorway to the master bedroom, pointing a finger at me. “And that’s key. I want to do the least amount possible to get this up to market. Nothing more.”

I nodded and we entered the master bedroom. The room was larger than I would’ve expected. There was several old dressers. My guess is they were bought when the house was. They were certainly made of real wood, not that glued pressboard stuff sold today. The bed was a Queen. It was clear that one side sagged more than the other. The side with medicine bottles and a can of Aquanet. The other side had a clean nightstand with nothing on it but a small clock and a hat. The hat read, “Alston. We make the games you play.”

He must’ve seen my gaze. “George’s old hat. Alston. That’s the name of it. He worked at Alston. You know, that factory downtown that makes board games. Life, Monopoly, Candyland… what’s the other… oh yeah, Hi Ho Cherry-o”

“I loved those games,” I offered.

“Paid my college I guess.” Then he pointed at the floor. “Right there, under the rug. There’s a metal plate or something. Where Lilly’s wheelchair turned and spun.”

I stepped gingerly on the identified area. If she had been wheel chair bound for three years, it didn’t make sense there would be a hole in the floor. Took a lot more wear and tear than that, especially a house like this. Manufactured home or not, it had pretty good bones. I pulled up the rug. When I did, a large stop sign appeared.

“Well, I’ll be. Old man put a stop sign over the floor. Crazy.”

The sign heavy, but I found a gap to get my fingers under and pried it up. There was a hole in the floor where the middle of the stop sign stood. I thought George must’ve been a clever man to repurpose an old sign. That or there were a lot of accidents on some nearby street. I looked up. It seemed to me the man who refused to call these two his parents had no idea about the stop sign till just now. He probably never thought to look. Then I remembered that his left shoulder slumped just a bit more than the right. It wasn’t he didn’t think to look, he just didn’t care too. That kind of work was for lesser people. Perhaps people like George and Lilly. People like me.

My cell phone buzzed twice. I answered and my crew was stopping for lunch. They needed some Thompson water seal after. I hung up. The man seemed annoyed I had taken a call. “That was my crew. Finishing a job.”

“How much.” We were all business now.

I pondered the job. $35 for the plywood. A couple bucks for a 2x4. Plus the labor. “I can fix the hole – assuming there are no surprises – for $150. Can paint the living room for another $200.”

“Just the hole. I’ll get back to you on the living room. Might come down and do it myself Saturday.”

He wouldn’t. He would call me and tell me rather than ask just as we finished the job. But that’s okay. My momma taught me to read people and situations. I would pay my guys for each job separately, even though I wouldn’t see a dime till we finished painting.

“When can you get it done.”

“It’s Thursday. I can get started on Monday.” I actually had a siding job in front of this one, but the weather was coming in. Nothing but rain next week. This would be a good filler till the next project dried up. He agreed after a short protest that he wished I could do it tomorrow. Then we shook on the deal. He warned me again not to do more. And if I got into that hole and it was more than $150, just leave it and he’d sell the place as is.

We shook, though I’m not sure his handshake meant too much. So I went ahead and wrote out a fast contract. He signed and I did too. Gave him a copy and headed to the hardware store for sealer.

Next Monday my crew and I pulled up into the driveway. Note on the door said, “Neighbors have the key. House with gnomes in the yard.”

They were on the porch and I came over. “Good morning,” I offered.

“You must be the company here to fix George and Lilly’s place?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The lady set down a half smoked cigarette. With difficulty, she stood and reached for her walking stick. Getting her feet under her, she stepped inside her sliding glass door. A moment later she emerged dangling a key.

“Good people, George and Lilly.” She paused waiting for me to agree. Perhaps if I didn’t she was going to withhold the key. I nodded, though. Her shoulders were hunched over with age, but you could see they once sat straight. These were good people.

“You knew them well,” I offered as I reached for the keys.

“Moved in a few weeks after they did. This whole area was owned by a farmer. Sold off the property in pieces and we all snatched it up. Good people on this street.”

“Well, except for the next door neighbor,” her husband offered. “I mean, guy there now is fine. But before….”

He trailed off his sentence as if I should know what “before” meant. I think my jaw must’ve dropped. His wife added, “He mean’s the family there years ago. Was the farmer’s son. He moved to the city. Got hooked on some awful things. Came back here with a pregnant girlfriend, an expensive habit, and-”

“And a series of dumb decisions his dad eventually couldn’t cover up.”

I looked back at George and Lilly’s place and then to the home next door with lawn equipment strewn everywhere. “Their kid, that’s who hired me, I think. Believe George and Lilly adopted him?”

I left the pause in the air. It was the woman who took it up. “They did. Couldn’t find nicer people. Boy’s dad robbed Richard’s Quick Mart a few blocks away. Richard pulled a shotgun out and the two had a shootout. Richard took the worst of it with a shot to the chest, but the boy’s dad took a life sentence for robbery and murder. His mom was just barely functional even then. But a few weeks later, she had some new guy over. Two of them caught the house on fire while high. It was George that went in and drug them out. The boy too. After that, George brought the boy to their home.”

“I knew he was a good man,” I offered. “See it in the craftsmanship of his chimney and deck.” I paused before adding, “And can see it in you too.” I pointed to the deck we were standing on.

“This thing? It is falling apart.”

It was, but even old things falling apart can tell you they were once grand. Probably should’ve told them that, but didn’t. I hope they already knew it. I think they did, at least based on his wife’s next comment.

His wife lit a cigarette with the stub of the previous one. “It is now. We are too old and no kids of our own. But you are right. In our day, we kept this place looking nice.”

“When I’m done with George and Lilly’s place, let me come over and price you out some work. Wouldn’t take much.”

“We ain’t got much, I’m afraid,” She said. “Last guy we had quote it was way more than we could do.”

“I’m honest and will quote you fair. You seem like good people.” With that I turned. My crew were waiting on the porch. Hosea was jumping up and down on the wheelchair ramp, laughing at how flimsy it was.

A few moments later we had the rug and stop sign up. We cut the hole into a straight square and began prepping some braces to hold a new sheet of plywood. It was then that Mario found the box.

He pulled it out from under the house, using the rope attached to it anchor bolted to the plywood we just cut up. We opened it. Inside was a small cash box and two smaller wooden boxes. One held one of those label printer labels saying, “Magic Marbles” and the other had hand-painted on the front “Lighthouses and Seahorses.”

“What is this jefe?” Mario asked.

“Not sure, but it is for the owner to decide.” With that, I set it on the bed and we finished the patch job. Sure enough, as we were packing up the man called. He was unable to get out there that past Saturday and needed us to go ahead and paint. He asked me if I’d take less money. I said, “No,” and he harrumphed before telling me to get started.

That afternoon he arrived. He asked me how much to tear out the wheelchair ramp and finish up the chimney. I told him I’d have to give him the quote after looking it over, but first needed to show him the box.

He opened it with a banker’s curiosity more so than a child whose life was saved by a kind couple. He jiggled the cash box, finally prying it open with a kitchen knife. He gave a hoot of joy as he pulled out three stacks of hundreds. I didn’t count with him. Such things are not how my Momma and dad taught me, but it had to be ten thousand in total.

“Silly folks,” he muttered. Never trusted banks.” Then looking at me, “You aren’t going to cheat me on that price now, are you? Now that you know I got this?”

“No sir,” I said and meant it. I figured prices based on cost of labor and materials, not mystery boxes under a house. A few minutes later I tallied up the project and gave him the total.

“Sounds good. Just do it,” he said. Then with a smirk, “And I’ll pay in cash.”

As he walked away, I gathered my moxy. That’s what my momma used to call it anyway. “Sir, the game. If you don’t want it, can I have it? Me and my kids we love a good-”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted.

“Both of them?”

“Any you find in the house.” Then he turned and pointed a finger at me. “But if you find any more money, that comes to me.”

There were three more found in the chimney. Each with a stack of hundreds. Five board games in total. My crew and I finished the work. I paid them out of my account. Then I waited for Levi to swing back by. When he did, it was clear he was already several beers in.

I presented the contract for work completed. He started to sign and then realized he didn’t have a pen on him.I went back to my truck and grabbed one. As I reached over the console and saw the stack of games, I paused. I looked up over my dash and took a quick inventory of the man, He stood there, shoulders slumped. He had his stack of hundreds out, thumbing through them like they were treasured pictures on his phone. And he had new sunglasses. Might as well had the tag still dangling. I smiled and he smiled back. New shirt, a bright purple Polo. And white shoes. I didn’t know the brand, but I figured it thinned his pile of bills a good bit.

I remembered momma. A jalapeno can change everything. I took the contract back and before handing it to him wrote in the addendum notes: “Owner agreed to give me full possession to board games gathered in the home as part of payment.”

“Hey, Why did you write that?”

“I just always write down any terms of agreement.”

“Whatever, I got a date here I got to get to. Beer-thirty if you know what I mean.” He chuckled and scribbled his name. Then counted out the cash.

He did have time to wait for me to make eight dollars change. Apparently it was just ten till beer-thirty.

I went home and poured over the games. I want bore you with the details, but before it was over I got to meet some execs at Hasbro. Juan and my guys got insurance. I still run a crew, continue to hire guys like me trying to get their feet under them in some way or another. Guys with good shoulders, strong handshakes, and eyes that say they want to be the right of this world. And yes, we went back and polished up that whole neighborhood.

As for Levi, he protested, of course. Went nowhere since I had my bill of sale and multiple witnesses. He got a little something from his parents not realizing how much more they had to give him, even in their death. I figure it was like that when they were alive too. I’m quiet, but I see. A man like that who just takes and takes matched up in a house with a couple who love and give is a peculiar thing. You see, love not only has to be given, it has to be received for it to work.

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