BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(22)

TEN - Andy





The door swung open. Even though I heard Mort coming up the stairs, I acted like I had no idea he’d opened the door.

After pecking at the keyboard for a few seconds, I looked up. “Oh, crap. You scared me. I’m so used to that door being kicked open that I didn’t even hear you come in.”

He pushed against the door, and then gave a slight nod as it went closed. “New door’s quieter’n a mouse pissin’ on a cotton ball.”

I smiled. “That’s pretty quiet.”

“What’d that set us back?”

“The door? I got a guy from Chula Vista to do it. He had a bunch of used doors advertised on Craigslist. I got the door for a hundred. Installation cost two.”

“Shit. The other fucker cost me nine. We’ll keep this quiet, or Kale might end up firing me for being spendy. He’s as Jewish as Challah bread.”

I laughed until I started coughing. When I caught my breath, I shook my head. “What?”

“Kale. He’s tight-fisted with his money. Makes sense, him being Jewish and all.”

I didn’t know he was Jewish. It didn’t matter, but I nodded, nonetheless. “I’ll keep it hush-hush.”

“Sorry I’m late. Been a bitch of a day.” He sat down and then let out an exaggerated sigh. “So. How goes it?”

“Pretty uneventful, really. The guy in 2-A heard some noises coming from 3-A, but I didn’t see anything when I looked the apartment over.”

“The skinny little fag?”

“Oh wow,” I gasped. “You don’t like him?”

“He’s polite as hell. Always pays his rent on time.” He said cheerily. “I like him just fine, why?”

It disappointed me greatly that he’d called Stephen a fag. As with anything that I took exception to, leaving it alone would be impossible. I consciously lowered my tone to keep from being too abrasive.

“Why did you…Well, why did you call him a fag?”

“He’s as queer as a football bat, that’s why. Hell, he doesn’t even try and hide it. See’s that kid that lives upstairs from him. Why, did you think he was cute or something? Gonna try and get him to switch teams?”

I glared at him just enough that he knew I meant business. “Calling someone a queer or a fag is like using the n-word to describe an African American. It’s derogatory, or whatever. It’s insulting. And, to be honest, it’s beyond rude.”

He scratched the sides of his head and gave me a confused stare. “Since when?”

“I don’t know. Since fifty years ago.”

“What am I supposed to call him?”

“You’re not supposed to call him anything. You should accept him as being just another person on this earth.”

“I ain’t one of them weirdos, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t think he’s going to try and grab my pickle or anything.”

Mort didn’t mean any harm, but he was far from harmless. I felt the need to educate him further on the subject. “I didn’t think you were. I’m just…I wanted to let you know that calling someone that might be grounds for a lawsuit.”

He looked at me like I’d taken the last slice of pizza without asking if he wanted it. “Calling him a fag’s against the law?”

“It’s discriminatory.”

“Well.” His gaze fell to his lap. After a moment, he looked up. “I’ll just start calling him by his name, then.”

I grinned. “Okay.”

“What’s that little homos name, anyway?” He asked flatly. “Do you know?”

I shot him an evil glare.

He slapped his hand against his knee and laughed. “I’m pulling your leg. I’ll call him Stephen, how’s that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Better.”

“Other’n that, how’s it going?”

“Good. A guy’s considering renting 3-A. He looked at it last week.”

“I was going to talk to you about that,” he said. “I completely forgot to mention it, but Kale offers that to the manager for cost. So, if you want it, you can get it for a song.”

It rented for five grand a month. I had no idea what cost was, but I knew I couldn’t afford it. “Just out of curiosity, how much is cost?”

“He divides the yearly taxes by the amount of units, divides that by twelve, and that’s the monthly cost. Taxes are seventy-two grand a year, so the manager gets it for five hundred a month.”

I could hardly contain myself. “Five hundred dollars?”

He nodded. “American money.”

I rested my arms on the edge of the desk and looked him in the eyes. “Five hundred dollars?”

“Due on the third of every month.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Damn, that was quick.” He chuckled. “What about that fella that was looking at it?”

“He was just looking for a place to stay for a while he does some remodeling. I’ve been living with my cousin and her evil twins. He lives next door. I need it worse than he does.”

He leaned against the back of his chair and scrunched his nose. “You talking about the biker that drives the Porsche?”