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The image in my peephole was Mr. Zhukov, our building super, and someone behind him.
“It’s the building super. I gotta go—wait. Will there be photographers tonight?”
“No, and I’ll be by at five.”
As I unlocked the door, I seethed that I’d let my temper get the better of me, and Evan had rightly called me on it. I had to be better about that.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Zhukov asked when I opened the door.
“Fine. I was just arguing with my sister on the phone.”
“It happens. My brother and me, we sometimes argue too,” Zhukov said as I opened the door wider. “We’re here to fix that leak in your bathroom ceiling.”
I checked my watch. I was supposed to meet Mr. Perez at the office in a little less than an hour. “How long will this take? I have to leave for work pretty soon.”
The guy behind Zhukov scratched his gut. “No telling, missy, until I get a look at it.”
“Okay, take a look then.” I moved aside and waved them in.
“This here’s Frank,” Zhukov explained.
Frank went in the bathroom first, hitching up his pants, which had been riding low enough to show his butt crack. Zhukov looked in from the doorway. “What do you think, Frank?”
“You said this was simple,” Frank complained as he hitched up his pants again. Somebody needed to educate him about the proper use of a belt.
“It is simple,” Zhukov said, pointing up. “That’s the leak, and there ain’t no leak in the unit above.”
Frank wasn’t amused. “I can see that, but until I get inside this ceiling, I don’t know what the fuck were dealing with.”
“We better get started then,” Zhukov said.
I backed away. “I have work today. How long will it take?”
Frank hitched up his pants. “Missy, like I said, until I get in there I don’t know shit.”
Zhukov turned to me. “Do you want us to come back another day?”
I nodded. “Tomorrow would be better.”
The scowl on Frank’s face telegraphed the answer. “I don’t work weekends.”
No weekday would be much better than this one. They were all bad, and the leak had steadily gotten worse. I remembered Evan’s offer to send someone over to fix this. His guys probably worked weekends. It was tempting, but that wouldn’t be true to who I was. I couldn’t compromise my principles and accept charity from him. And I couldn’t afford to pay Evan back for whatever he spent on plumbers to fix the drip.
“Fine, I got better things to do. I’m telling the owner it was your call to put it off,” Zhukov said, reminding me that this was most likely only happening because I’d sent a complaint about the leak over his head to the owner.
The decision was easy. I controlled my destiny, and I didn’t need a McAllister’s help. The landlord was responsible, so Mr. Butt Crack it was.
“No. Today is fine.” I picked up my purse. I couldn’t reschedule Mr. Perez again.
“You hurry off to work,” Zhukov said. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll lock up when he’s done.”
I was halfway down the hall when I heard Zhukov say, “I hate fuckin’ complainers.”
“I hear ya,” Butt Crack replied.
* * *
Evan
