Fear Thy Neighbor (28)
Hal came out of the back room. He was over six feet tall with muscles that Arnold Schwarzenegger would envy. He sported a shaved head, military style, and a patchy beard. He had dark brown eyes and smiled when he saw her. Ali guessed him to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties.
“Morning, ma’am,” Hal said in a friendly voice. “I can lift heavy stuff. One time I lifted Mr. Gib over my head. I don’t think he liked it very much. I can drive too, right, Mr. Gib?”
Gib winked at her. “As I said, he’s a strappin’ fella. Lifts just about anything you could imagine.”
“Thank you, Hal. I appreciate your help.” She realized he had the mentality of a young child, maybe ten or twelve.
“It’s my job, ma’am. But I would carry anything Mr. Gib asked me to. I carry lots of stuff for Mr. Gib all the time.”
“I’m sure you would. You look like a strong man,” she said.
He grinned at her, then flexed his right bicep. “See my muscle?”
Childlike, but kind. She guessed her first impression of him was accurate. She had more respect for developmentally disabled folks than most.
“I do believe that’s the biggest muscle I’ve ever seen,” said Ali, and it was true.
“Really?” Hal asked, his eyes opening wide when she told him.
“Yes, really.”
“Hal, Miss Ali has work to do. You take this box to her car, then you come right back, you hear?”
“I will,” Hal said.
Ali said, “My Jeep is in the parking lot.” She took the keys from her purse. “Follow me. Gib, I can’t thank you enough for your help, and the best deal I’ve had in a very long time.”
“It’s all right, Miss Ali,” he said. “Now go on—you got lots a work to do.”
As instructed, Hal brought her box of new old tools to her Jeep. She unlocked the back, showing him where to put the box.
“Okay, Miss Ali.”
Unsure whether she should tip him, she reached in her purse took out a ten-dollar bill, giving it to him.
“What is this for? Mr. Gib pays me,” he said, a perplexed expression on his face.
“That is a tip. It’s for good work.”
“Oh. Then I will tell Mr. Gib to make all of his customers do this too,” he said. “ ’Cause they don’t.”
“Okay, Hal. That’s between you and Mr. Gib. I’ll see you soon.” They spoke for a couple minutes more before she left.
Once inside the Jeep, after several assurances that Hal would do an excellent job if she needed to hire him for anything, she drove to the beach’s public parking lot. No way would she park here when she moved into her new home. Whatever she needed to do to clear out all the growth, she was determined to have a private drive like the grander homes. Instead of dragging the box with all the heavy tools, she took just the ones she’d need to get started. They weren’t heavy, just awkward.
Her purse and weapon strapped across her chest, she held her big shovel in one hand, the shears in the other. If Renée showed and still wanted to spend her day ripping the roots out of the ground from the more manageable shrubbery, they’d go get the rest of the tools. At least that’s what Ali called all this green overgrowth. Later, she would learn to identity the plant names; for now, it didn’t matter.
She clipped the overgrowth that reached her shoulders down to a more practical level, just below her knees. Gib had been right about the tools—they were old, not shiny, but they were extremely sharp. Rather than wait for her little helper to show up, she wanted to go deeper into her mini jungle to check for snakes or anything that might frighten Renée—or herself if she were being truthful. She realized the brush grubber would work better than her shears. She’d need heavier equipment to complete the removal of the overgrowth, including all the bamboo shoots. She didn’t know how late the hardware store was open, though Gib had given her his card. Fumbling through her purse, she located the business card. Six o’clock in the morning to six o’clock in the evening. She’d make another trip to the hardware store, as there would be plenty of time later this afternoon.
For the next hour, Ali clipped away the wild growth, then used the shovel to get to the roots of some of the smaller plant life. She took the shovel and began to dig beneath the trunks of small trees she couldn’t identify, figuring it didn’t matter, because they were history. Laughing at her thoughts, she directed her shovel’s tip deeper into the soil, which was surprisingly hard. With both feet, she stood on either side of the shovel, using her weight to wedge the shovel deeper into the soil. She did this for a few minutes, then decided she might have to rent a backhoe, or some kind of heavy machinery. Not ready to give up on old-fashioned labor just yet, with the tip of the shovel she managed to loosen the soil.
She inspected her work. So far, she’d only dug about a foot deep. She definitely needed more tools, just as Gib had predicted. The old guy knew what he was talking about. Ali was stubborn, so she repositioned the shovel, practically jumping on either side, then felt it dig deeper into the packed soil. It took her several more times doing this until she was roughly two feet down. Surely this was enough to enable her to yank all the wild roots she saw. She repeated the process a few more times, then stopped when she hit something hard. A rock or an old piece of coral; she wasn’t sure. On her knees, she bent over, using the blades on the shears as a spade. Like a dog digging for a bone, she reached into the deep hole in the earth. Grabbing hold of the obstruction, she yanked hard, stunned when she realized what she held in her hand.