Page 13 of Givin' Me Fitz!
Chapter Five
Sawyer
“Hey, don’t you have an appointment in an hour to show the little house on Windmill?” I glanced up from my phone to see Ders standing outside my office. I’d been reading the newspaper—well, my eyes were on the words, but my mind was seeing Fitz’s sexy ass in those Wrangler jeans he wore. He was a tasty mofo for sure.
“Shit. Yeah. What time is it?” I glanced down at my phone to see it was just before ten on Saturday morning.
“You want me to go with you?” As the road captain, it was Ders’ job to ride out with me because we didn’t go out alone if we were on business.
I slid off my cut and hung it on the back of my chair. “I’m taking my truck and not wearing my cut. I don’t wanna scare the guy off. What’s his name again?” I reached into the desk and grabbed my wallet and my keys, along with my Beretta Px4 and a mag before I stood from the chair.
“Fuck if I know. Don’t you write shit down?” Ders stuck his head out the door. “Mouse! What’s the guy’s name Bones is meeting at the East Windmill house?”
Mouse hurried into the office with a printout. “Here’s his info. John Morgan. Checks out and has a great credit score.” He handed me the paper—which I didn’t give two shits about—so I folded it and stuffed it into the front pocket of my jeans.
“Thanks, kid. Can you make a reservation for two at The Bootlegger. Uh, eight o’clock, please.” Mouse nodded and took off, so I did the same.
After I met with the guy about leasing the East Windmill house in Vegas, I planned to go to the East Adkisson house in Pahrump to get TJ to explain what the fuck he was doing on Fremont Street on Thursday night.
The guy TJ beat down had been released from the hospital and was home, according to Mouse. I’d go by his place on Boulder Highway to see if I could pay him off to avoid charges against TJ. First, though, I had to know why TJ had beat his ass.
I turned onto East Windmill Lane and drove down the street of small, nicely manicured homes in the neighborhood not far from The Strip where my dad’s sister had lived until she died. I was in the Army at the time and was her only nephew because Aunt Janice had never married, so I inherited the house when she died.
When I was back home on leave, I stayed there because my parents lived behind the clubhouse in Pahrump, and I didn’t want to be badgered about when I was going to join the Cowboys. I needed my space back then… still did.
Repairs had been made at the house before the previous tenant moved in, and I’d had it freshly painted after Mrs. Steele moved out. The house sat empty for the last three months, and I was anxious to rent the place. I hoped this John Morgan guy worked out.
After parking at the curb, I went up to the porch to see that the neighborhood kid had swept it off like I’d asked. I paid him a hundred bucks a month to look after the place, and he was a diligent employee. He was also thirteen.
I unlocked the door and went inside, gasping at the heat that had built up inside. It was a fucking miracle the place hadn’t exploded. I hurried over to the thermostat and flipped it to get the air conditioner going. When the painter came to refresh the place, he’d turned off the AC because he was going in and out of the house. I hadn’t gone back to the place since I did the walkthrough and completely forgot to turn the unit back on. At least the electric bill wouldn’t be sky-high.
The kitchen had been repainted and a new backsplash had been installed after Mrs. Steele moved out. The little bungalow looked better than the house I lived in, but I had a lot of memories growing up in the other house. Maybe someday, like after I retired from being the president of the Steel Cowboys, I’d move closer to Vegas and give the house to the next prez.
The doorbell rang, so I hurried to the front door and opened it, preparing to assure the guy the air conditioner worked, but I’d forgotten to turn it on. When I met two bright blue eyes, I was tongue-tied.
“Fitz? What are you doing here?”
He looked confused for a moment before he chuckled. “I’m here to see the house. I got a text message from someone named Miles that I was to be here at ten thirty to meet the owner.”
“And I guess your first name is John?”
“John Fitzgerald Morgan. My parents, like most baby boomers, were fans of the young president, and now I gotta go through life with that name.”
We both laughed. “Come on in. I just got here, and I forgot that the painters turned the air conditioner off when they painted the place. The HVAC unit is about five years old, I swear, but it might take a few hours to cool it off in here.”
Fitz came inside and closed the door, scanning the front room with a smile. “This is really nice. How’d you end up with it? Investment?”
“Inherited it from my aunt. She passed away while I was still in the Army, and she left it to me. I had some updates done and rented it out to an older woman. She moved about three months ago, and I had it repainted and a few minor improvements made to freshen it up. Go ahead and look around.”
I went into the kitchen to check the refrigerator; grateful it was still working. The stove was electric and had been my aunt’s, but I wondered if I should get a new one. I turned on the burners and the oven to check them out, and I tested the disposal and the dishwasher. Thankfully, everything worked.
The back door was locked, thankfully, so I walked outside to the patio I’d installed when I was home on leave one time. I had a table and chairs out there that needed to be replaced, but the rest of the place was empty.
I took a seat at the table and pulled up a shopping app to look at a table with an umbrella and four chairs. A grill would be nice out there too. I’d have to check those things out.
Fifteen minutes later, Fitz came outside. “Wow, a fence. That’s nice. Could I have a dog here?”
“If you want. It gets damn hot here in the summer, so you’d need to get some kind of a shelter with access to water if you were going to be out here with the dog for a while. Some people put those boots or sock things on their dogs when they walk them because the sidewalk can heat to over a hundred degrees.” Or so I’d heard. I wasn’t really an animal person so I had no idea if it was true or not.
