The Flip (An Angel Hill novel)

by C. Dennis Moore

  “Getting ready to call some contractors,” Keith said. “Get some people to come out here and give us some bids. The sooner we find someone to do the work, the sooner we’re selling this place and can collect our money.”

  “And move on to the next flip,” Mike added.

  “The bid shouldn’t be too much,” Brian said. “We’ve figured we can do the demo ourselves, for starters. I mean, who can’t tear shit up, right? The painting and stuff, we’ve got that covered. The only thing we really need them for is the actual construction, moving the bathroom, rebuilding the walls in the basement and stuff like that.”

  “Cool,” Steven said. “Okay, well, I gotta take off, I have to work tonight and I still gotta get something to eat and take a shower. When are we getting together next?”

  “I wanna nail down this contractor first,” Mike said. “Once we know how much we’re paying for the work, we’ll know how much we’ve got left to work with and we can also establish a timeline and figure out how long we want all this to take.”

  “It’ll take as long as it takes, won’t it?” Steven asked.

  “It’ll take as long as we tell them they’ve got to finish it,” Mike said. “They work for us.”

  Steven nodded his understanding then stood up and said, “Okay, just let me know when and I’ll be there. I’ll see you guys later.”

  The guys said goodbye and Steven was gone.

  “Alright, I’m gonna make the calls and set up the appointments,” Mike said, and he took his phone and his notepad into the kitchen. Keith and Brian got up and both went to the bay windows to look out at the park.

  “Really not a bad view,” Brian said.

  “Yeah, chicks love a good view.”

  “I’ve always wanted to ask, have you met a chick you wouldn’t fuck? You said something a few weeks ago about that bartender or whatever who wanted you, and you kept turning her down, but then you finally did it. How many girls have you passed on?”

  Keith shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t really count the ones I have fucked, so I don’t count the ones I haven’t, either. There’ve been a few.”

  “Who was the last one?”

  “This gnarly old broad used to work the reception desk at Fett,” Keith said. “Man, she was scary looking. Nice big tits, though. But that was all she had going for her. She had this maw on her,” and he shivered, “then I saw pictures of her kids on her desk. Poor bastards.”

  Brian broke out laughing, which made Keith laugh, too, at the memory.

  “Buddy of mine over in White Cloud was throwing a party one night and she happened to be there, so we got to talking, and she’s trying to hang all over me, and she got nice tits, but I don’t know if they’re nice enough to let her have it Angel Hill style or not, you know, so we have a few more drinks and she’s pretty drunked up by then, so I tell her ‘Why don’t you let me see those tits,’ so now she’s thinking she’s gonna get the peter, so she lifts up her shirt and pulls down her bra and this big old tube sock spills out.”

  Brian was cracking up.

  “That’s not even the bad part,” Keith said. “She lifts it up for me, and this nipple is all big and dark brown, looking like the butt end of a salami or something. I was drunk but I wasn’t that drunk. She pulled out the other one and I was like damn girl, put those back where they were, I’m getting sick!”

  Brian fought to catch his breath and finally was able to ask, “So you never ever banged her?”

  “Hell no,” Keith said. “My standards are low, but I’ve got them. I sent her home with another buddy of mine, and he went and fell in love with her. She texted me a few months later and said she got to live her dream of two dudes at once. I was like good thing I wasn’t one of em, that’s one brown-eye I don’t need looking back at me.”

  That finished Brian for the rest of the conversation and he doubled over with laugher. In the kitchen, Mike glanced in at them, then went back to his phone conversation.

  “Naw, she was a nasty old thing,” Keith said. “I haven’t seen her in a while, but I’m sure she ain’t no better than she was.”

  Mike came back in then, and said, “I’ve got appointments set up with a few contractors to come look at the place. First one’s day after tomorrow. I’m gonna call and find out about getting a dumpster in here, how much it’ll be and how long we can have it.”

  “Cool,” Keith said.

  “All right, I’m gonna get home,” Mike said.

  “Yeah, I need a shower,” Keith said.

  “I’m gonna stick around a bit,” Brian said.

  “How long you gonna be here?” Mike asked. Brian shrugged. “I almost forgot we need to change these locks. I think I’ll run out and grab one real--well, two, one for the front and one for the back--you think you can swap em out if you’re still here when I get back?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Brian said.

  Keith and Mike left and Brian went into the bedroom and laid out on the floor. He was asleep in seconds.

  Chapter Five

  It shouldn’t have been so hard to find a contractor, Mike thought. It was honest pay and, as far as he was concerned, the Angel Hill Improvement Company’s money spent just as well as anyone else’s. But two of the contractors he’d contacted never showed. One did show up and he gave him a walk-through, explaining the work to be done, ready to negotiate a price if the guy came in higher than their budget, but he said he’d call Mike next week with the quote, only Mike never heard from him. The fourth guy he called also showed up, but once he saw the workload he told Mike, “I think we might be booked up for a while, if you wanted to get this done soon.”

  “Yeah,” Mike said, “we’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

  “Well, I wish I could help, but we’re just backed up. I’ve got a guy, though, who used to work for me. He went out on his own a while back, but I can give him your info and see if he’s free.”

  “He does good work?”

  “Yeah, I was sorry to see him go.”

  “Okay, cool,” Mike said. “Yeah, just give him my number and hopefully he calls so we can get this thing started. Thanks.”

  They shook hands and Mike drove back home, blasting Harvey Danger’s, “(Theme from) Carjack Fever” and being pissed, knowing he was never going to find a contractor who actually wanted to work. He wasn’t even home before his phone rang.

  “Mike See?” the gravelly voice on the other end asked.

  “Yeah, this is Mike.”

  “My name’s Kevin, I heard you were looking for a contractor? You’re remodeling a house in town?”

  “Yes,” Mike said, interested. “I just talked to a guy, he gave you my number?”

  “Yeah. Are you available some time to go over what you need done?”

  “Sure,” Mike said. “When is good?”

  “I’m between calls right now, if you’re free now?”

  Mike was. They met back at the house and he told Kevin what their plans were. Kevin wrote everything down and said, “I can give you a call later tonight, maybe tomorrow with a quote?”

  “Ok, cool,” Mike said, thinking This guy’s gonna flake like all the others. We’re never going to get this started. God hates me.

  Much to Mike’s surprise, however, Kevin called him back at 8:30 that night with a figure and a timeline that fell within the Angel Hill Improvement Company’s budget and would be done within a reasonable time.

  “I’m gonna run this by my business partners,” Mike said, enjoying the feeling of using the phrase “business partners”, “and I’ll get back to you in a day or so, okay?”

  That was fine with Kevin and as soon as Mike hung up the phone, he called Keith who agreed the price was good, and it left them some breathing room for any unexpected surprises that came up, things an inspector may not have been able to see.

  Steven also agreed, and Mike dialed Brian’s number to give him the news. Brian, however, didn’t answer, which Mike thought was odd because it wasn’t yet 9:0
0 and Brian should definitely be awake and getting ready for work.

  Unless he called in sick or something, Mike thought. Brian had been distant the past couple times they’d seen each other. Distracted by something, he thought. Well, his parents died, Mike reasoned. Of course he’s not entirely himself.

  He got in his car, thinking he wanted to go by the house and take another look before the work started, in case anything else came to him he wanted to tackle before it was too late.

  He parked outside and found something he hadn’t expected. The lights were on in the living room.

  He looked around for cars, but the street was empty. He looked over at the park, but the bench was bare as well.

  “Motherfucker found a way in,” Mike said. “I’m not even calling the cops, I’m gonna beat the shit out of him first.”

  He ran up to the house, then stopped outside the bay windows and looked in, hoping to see the homeless guy in there. He readied the camera on his phone, hoping to get documented proof of the intrusion in case the old bastard wanted to press charges.

  Instead of the old man, however, he saw Brian, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, reading a stack of comics.

  “What the fuck?” Mike muttered. He looked at the street again but didn’t see Brian’s car anywhere. He sure as hell didn’t walk here, Mike thought, then he remembered Brian’s thing about covered parking and realized he’d probably pulled his Impala into the garage. He went inside, calling, “What’s up, homey? What are you doing here so late?”

  Brian looked up, shrugged, said, “Just reading comics. What you doing?”

  “Just taking another look before we get to work on it. So you’re just hanging out, reading comics? What, you guarding the fort or something?”

  “No,” Brian said, “just hanging out. My house . . . gets too quiet sometimes, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Mike said, “I guess it does. Sorry, man.”

  Brian shook his head, dismissing the condolences.

  “I’ll get used to it, I guess,” Brian said. “Everyone does at some point, right?”

  Mike shrugged.

  “Hey, you seen anyone poking around outside or anything?”

  Brian shook his head again.

  “Should I have?”

  Another shrug.

  “Just this old black dude eyeballing the place last week. I keep expecting to come over some day and find him passed out on the floor instead of you. You working tonight?”

  “Yeah,” Brian said. “Gotta leave pretty soon, in fact.”

  “I got the quote from the contractor. I was gonna run it by everyone tomorrow. If we agree, he can start next week.”

  Mike told him the bid and Brian asked, “Does it seem like a fair price to you? You know more about this than me.”

  “It’s in our budget, with some wiggle room, which is good, if we need it. That, plus what we paid for the place, we can still turn a hell of a profit if we price it right and sell it quick.”

  Brian shrugged.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Cool,” Mike said. “I can proxy your vote tomorrow, then, and you don’t have to get up early to meet us here.”

  Brian nodded and opened his comic again, getting back to Batman before he went to work. Mike did what he’d come for, making another trip through the house before walls started coming down and plumbing was moved, to make sure there was nothing else he hadn’t thought of. When he was finished, Brian was gone. “Huh,” Mike muttered. “He coulda said see ya. I didn’t even hear the garage open.”

  He decided to leave the living room light on to make the bum think there was someone still there, then he double checked the back door lock, locked the front door, double checked that, and drove home.

  Although the Angel Hill Improvement Company was a group effort, Mike was the obvious default lead on this first project. It was his idea, and, although his only experience with the process came from watching too much HGTV, it was more than the other three guys had, so they let him lead, offering their opinions where valid.

  It was Mike who went to City Hall and applied for the permits, it was Mike who got the dumpster delivered, and it was Mike who had set up the business accounts. They all had access, but Mike had ordered the materials.

  So when work started on the house early that next Monday, Mike was the first to meet and greet the crew. He had met Kevin, the contractor, first, the night they got together to talk about a bid, and found a man in his late forties/early fifties with short gray hair and a big smile. He wore faded jeans and an equally faded denim jacket over a black T-shirt showing an even more faded logo Mike wasn’t familiar with.

  Kevin brought his crew over and Mike greeted them and shook their hands.

  Ed Mason stood five feet if he was lucky, with a stocky build like a brick wall and Mike immediately thought, In a fight, I’d want this guy on my side, he’s solid as shit.

  Gary Koburn wore the thickest glasses Mike had ever seen, but Kevin said, “Don’t mind the glasses, he can’t see for shit without them, but he’s solid with them and he knows more about this stuff than I’ll ever know.”

  That didn’t put Mike at ease. If Gary was so knowledgeable, maybe he should be in charge.

  Andrew Dewey had a head of hair like a untrimmed bush, dark and curly, unruly, with a beard to match, and big black sunglasses adding to the vision. He took off the glasses and smiled wide, which brightened his face incredibly.

  Last was Paul Couch who, when Kevin introduced him, said in a tainted English accent, “It’s pronounced Cooch. You buggers never get it right.” His hair was dark, but cropped so close as to be bald. He carried his extra weight well and Mike thought, But if a fight did break out, this dude’s standing in front of me.”

  “Paul’s the straightest gay man you’ll ever meet,” Kevin said, and Mike immediately burst out laughing. Paul looked at the older man and said, “You always have to kick off with that, don’t you?”

  Kevin shrugged, said, “It’s true. I didn’t make you gay.”

  Paul shook his head and walked across the room, asking, “So where do we start?”

  “Well, my guys and I did some of the demo,” Mike said. “We ripped out the cabinets and countertop in the kitchen, but we’re moving this bathroom from over here,” he pointed through the dining room to the bathroom door, “over to here”, he pivoted his wrist to where it would be moved. “I don’t know where you want to start, but there’s still plenty of demo to do.”

  “Are we getting a new tub, toilet, all that for the new bathroom?” Kevin asked.

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “We’ve got stuff being delivered all week. The cabinets should be here Thursday, and the stuff for the bathroom--well, there’s two of everything there, because we’re--”

  “Second bathroom downstairs,” Kevin said.

  “Right.”

  “Okay, so we’ll start the demo, then when everything shows up we can put it in as we go. Paul’s our plumber--”

  “First one who makes a ‘laying pipe’ joke gets decked, right?” Paul said.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kevin said. “You can show him how you want to lay out the new bathrooms.”

  Mike nodded and led the way into the smaller bedroom.

  Steven had a dream the night before that led him to the house on Irving early in the morning, just after six. He parked and let himself in, then went to the front bedroom and turned on the light. He needed to act fast before the fragments of his dream dwindled to nothing. He opened the closet and got on his toes, his hands searching the shelf at the top. It was too tall for him, though, and he couldn’t reach further than the length of his hand from his wrist to his fingertips.

  He tried jumping up and looking, and he could see it there, at the back, but couldn’t reach it.

  He needed something to stand on, but the house was empty. He tried jumping again, now that he knew where it was, but just couldn’t reach it. With a mounting feeling of desperation, he decided to
try wedging himself in the doorframe. He turned sideways, then leapt straight up and grabbed the top of the doorframe, then put his left foot in front of him and his right foot behind, bracing himself up off the floor, then pulling himself up so he had to duck his head to the side, out of the way of the frame. He leaned up with his shoulder against the top of the doorframe, his legs feeling weak and he felt his right foot slip a little. He snatched the paper off the back of the shelf, then released his legs and landed on his feet.

  He wobbled with a brief head rush, then grabbed the doorframe again for stability.

  When he was ready to move he closed the closet door, turned out the light, and went out into the living room to look at his newest find.

  This was an extreme close-up of a face, but whose it was he didn’t know. Done in charcoal on white paper, the skin had a pale quality, with stark black hair hanging down, partially obscuring one eye. The nose was angular and the mouth was thin and set in a short, flat line. The chin followed the lines of the nose with black underneath, blocking out any hint of a neck.

  He didn’t see what else he was looking for. He wondered if she’d hidden it, so he turned on the light and stood under it with the paper, tilting it, trying to see against all that black when he spotted it.

  “Hey now, clever girl,” he said, reading the signature drawn in black on top of the black, a hidden signature. Amy Smith, clear as day this time. The number 2007 was written under her name, visible only by holding the paper at a certain angle under the light. He turned it over and saw the title, “Eater of Dreams”.

  “Found you,” he said. He looked out the window and wondered when people would start showing up. The work had already begun and the kitchen and bathroom looked like war zones had torn through them. He wanted to be gone before anyone saw him here.

  Not that he couldn’t be here, he reminded himself. As part owner, he had every right. But he didn’t want them seeing his picture. He was afraid someone else would want to see it, but he wasn’t willing to share them.