Intense

“No, not really.”

“Good.” I began to walk toward the guy’s house.

Laney fell into step beside me. We had gone over what was going to happen, more or less, but she didn’t really know what she was in for, not really. And frankly, neither did I. Every person reacted differently to a shakedown, and I’d seen it all, from begging to violence. I was hoping I got something in between.

We walked up the drive of his house. It was a quiet, normal-looking rancher with blue shutters and wide windows. The curtains were pulled shut, and there weren’t any obvious lights on. It was daytime, though, so it was hard to tell if anyone else was home.

I stopped at the door and glanced at Laney, “You can leave if you’re not up for this.”

“Just knock,” she said.

I stared at her for another second. She looked resolutely ahead, face serious and impassive, and I was impressed. Most normal people would be freaking out about banging on some guy’s door and shoving threatening pictures in his face, but Laney didn’t seem upset.

If anything, she seemed focused and intent. Maybe Susan was right after all. Maybe Laney wasn’t just some spoiled college girl.

I knocked and then rang the bell. After a few seconds, the inner door pulled open, and there he was.

“Yes?” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Sir,” I said quickly, “my name is Adam Greenspan and I’m from the Federal Bureau of Rental Properties and Temporary Housing. This is my assistant, Mrs. Arnsdot. May we have a moment of your time?”

He instantly looked suspicious, but he didn’t slam the door. “Never heard of you,” he said.

“Sir, we’re a small bureau. But I understand that you rent out multiple properties in the area. Am I correct?”

He nodded. “Yes. That’s right.”

“I’m following up on some complaints we’ve received lately. I was hoping we could resolve these issues here and now and avoid any, uh, lengthy discussions.”

He stared at us. “Do you have any identification?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my old FBI badge. I had doctored it a bit with some stick-on paper to make it look less like a bureau badge. I flashed it to him and put it away.

He frowned at us and looked at Laney. She looked back at him and smiled slightly.

“Okay,” he said. “Come on in.”

He opened the outer door and we walked inside. Laney followed close behind.

Inside, the place smelled like smoke. The walls were yellowed and the ceilings were low. There wasn’t much light and the carpets looked old as hell. We followed him into a living room. There was a single couch dominating the space in front of an entertainment system with a large flat screen TV. Football highlights were playing on mute.

He cleared off a spot for us on two chairs and sat down on the couch, pulling out a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked.

“It’s your house.” I pulled out my folder. “Okay, Mister Gibson.” We shook hands.

“What’s this all about?” he asked, lighting his cigarette.

“Like I said, we had some complaints.” I pulled out the photographs we had done earlier that day.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Well, this looks like a mountain of garbage on your roof.”

I held up the image, smiling serenely.

His eyes bugged out of his skull, and he nearly dropped his cigarette.

“That’s not mine,” he said quickly.

“We both know it is,” I said a little quieter. I pulled out another image of the rat and held it up. He was practically quaking. I pulled out a few more images, of the broken laundry machines and such. Finally, I held the images out for him to take, and he actually took them.

“Well, Mister Gibson, as you can see, these complaints are serious. This is your property, is it not?”

He nodded, dumbstruck.

I leaned forward. “Listen, Chuck. I can call you Chuck, right?”

He nodded again.

“Chuck, between me and you, this stuff is routine. I mean, these people could fix this stuff themselves if they wanted to, right?”

He nodded a third time and took a drag of his cigarette.

“But you know, it’s my job to follow up on this sort of thing. The boss would have my ass otherwise.” I paused and made a show of smiling kindly. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to fix all this, uh, unfortunate side effect of running a high-residence building. You’re going to fix it tomorrow.” I paused and raised an eyebrow. “Then I’m going to follow up. Everything will look fine, lovely, no problems. I’ll write a positive report, and this all goes away.”