Page 6 of Anger Banger

“I’m here to get the place fixed up as the court ordered. My father couldn’t make it, on account of dying.”

“Sorry for your loss,” she says absently, then thrusts the next items into my hands. “A plunger, and plastic bags to shit in when the plunger doesn’t work. It often won’t. All the pipes are a mess.”

I reach down to pick up a bottle of pale brown liquid before she can hand it to me. “Iced tea?”

A smile darts across her face. “Good guess. But no. That’s water fresh out of Rita’s kitchen sink.”

Fucking hell.

“Let’s see, what else,” she mumbles, rifling through the basket. “Earplugs because roaches can be an issue and they love to burrow into your ears if you weren’t aware of that. A snake bite kit. Susan had a copperhead get through a hole in her floor—don’t get me wrong, that bitch deserves all the snakes—but better safe than sorry. Oh, and Lila baked you some cookies. They’re a little crunchy since her oven only has two settings. Lukewarm and nuclear.”

Dylan is fighting back laughter as this lady beats me over the head with sarcasm and an impressive display of passive aggression.

When she’s finished, I nod at her, looking her in the eye. “Thank you for the stuff. I’m sure it’ll come in handy while I get to work.”

“Better late than never, I reckon,” she says, then looks at her friend who hasn’t said a word. “Maren?”

So that’s delivery girl’s name.

Maren thrusts a couple of sheets of paper at me. “This is a list of complaints from the residents. In case your lawyer didn’t supply it.” There’s not an ounce of friendliness in her voice.

“Great. Thank you.”

Her arms fold across her chest. “Is this going to be a landlord special where you half ass everything by doing it yourself? Paint over the mold and make it look acceptable to the inspectors?”

The awkward smiling woman who called me sport earlier is long gone. She’s furious. It’s not an unfair question. I’ve seen some house flippers recently that do exactly what she’s describing.

“I’m capable of some repairs but I’ll be relying on professionals to do what I can’t while I oversee things. You can rest assured everything will be up to code. I plan to hold a tenant meeting tomorrow evening to meet everyone and discuss the upcoming changes.” I take the folder of flyers from Dylan and hold a stack out to her. “Would you share these with your neighbors to let them know we will have a meeting tomorrow in the community building to discuss their needs?”

She makes no move to take them. The look she gives me is dripping with disdain. “I don’t work for you.”

Freda chuckles and takes them from my hand. “I’ll give them out. It should be an interesting meeting.”

As they turn to leave, Maren pauses by the front door and surveys the disaster of a living room with a smirk. “You should get some curtains and end tables. It’d really pull the place together.”

“I’ll do that. Right after I wash my bellybutton.” A slight blush warms her cheeks and the way her mouth purses in anger is sexy as hell. She’s going to be a problem.

Dylan cracks up once they leave. “Well, that woman hates you. What was the bellybutton thing about? Is that another one of those southern things that I don’t understand? Like how bless your heart can be a heartfelt endearment and an insult.”

“No.” He catches the baggie of blackened, rock hard cookies I toss at his head. “Come on. Let’s go check out the office and community building, then I need to hit the store for some supplies.”

The office is a converted trailer right next door with some of the walls removed, leaving a large room with a desk and filing cabinets that have served as the actual office. I’m happy to find the power and water both work. Through a door behind the desk, a tiny kitchen juts off from a short hallway which ends in an unfurnished bedroom and a full bath. It doesn’t look like anyone has been here in forever. Inches of dust cover everything, but it isn’t in nearly as bad a shape as the other trailers, probably because it isn’t lived in, only used for administration.

Dylan must be thinking the same thing I am because he asks, “If there was no one on staff, who was collecting rent?”

“Dad had a shady property management company that came to collect from the drop box inside the door monthly, then passed it on to him.”

“Did they keep records?”

“Not very good ones. One of the first things I need to do is get an updated tenant list. There are other vacant trailers too.”

Dylan lets out a sudden violent sneeze, followed by two more. “All right. Let’s go check out the community building. A dust bunny just violated my nostril.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it being any better.”

The one level brick building sits just around the corner. It’s a bit worn out and in need of repairs as well, but it’s not the disaster that the homes appear to be. I’m surprised at the size of it. A cramped laundry room is the only section that’s open to the tenants. Three washers that look like they’ve survived a war sit along one wall and the dryers aren’t any better. All three have signs on them. The first one reads simply out of order. Frustration is clear on the sheet of paper taped to the second one. Don’t fucking bother.

Dylan gestures toward the cardboard that’s duct taped to the lid of the third dryer where Spoiler alert, this bitch doesn’t work either is scrawled. “These are ancient.”

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