The Easy Way Out

10

Blake sat at the office desk, on hold, phone in his hand, squinting out at the lot where sunlight had hardened and calcified on the row of windshields facing him.

"Your name again?" a young guy on the phone asked.

"Blake Gannon."

Dead air.

"I met with Talia Burgess a couple weeks ago," Blake said, hoping to jog his memory. "About the Assistant Art Director position. I thought she was gonna call last week, so--"

"They're not gonna fill that position. Talia's no longer with the agency. Maybe you saw it in The Business Times. Big layoffs."

Blake lowered his head, resting his forehead in the palm of his hand.

"Probably more to come. Good luck." The young guy ended the call.

Blake turned when he heard Damon's lumbering footsteps.

"Is that driveway getting steeper or what? I'm gonna have a fuckin' heart attack." Damon dropped heavily into a chair, perspiration darkening the neck of his T-shirt. "It's almost seventy degrees in November? What the hell?"

Blake shrugged. "I think they said snow maybe next week."

"About time." Damon scrolled through his phone, catching his breath.

"I gotta get out of here," said Blake. "This place is crushing my soul. Some dude rolled in here in a totally trashed-out old Subaru. Had two different color fenders, a cracked windshield, duct-taped tail light. That car was worse than mine. He wanted a quote on a trade-in then he says, 'Is this gonna take long? I got stuff to do."

"So, what'd you say?"

"I said this won't take long at all. Get out. So he called me a whore and left."

"Nice." Damon continued his phone search. "Here it is. I was gonna send this to you but I can't even text you from down in that pit. It's like workin' in a coal mine down there." He showed his phone to Blake. "I found a rebuilt engine for under seven hundred."

"Wait. The whole engine?"

Damon deflated. "I mean by the time I replace the gaskets, the valves, and manifold--"

"Seven hundred dollars?"

"Dude. Rebuilt engines are like three grand. I'm savin' you stacks."

"What about if I just leave it?"

"You can't leave it down in the garage. Mateo's already up my ass."

"No, I mean just leave it as is."

Damon raised his eyebrows. "That car might not make it up the driveway, let alone up ninety percent of the streets in this city."

########

When Rachel pushed open the door onto the second floor, she encountered Mrs. Caputo waiting for her in the hallway smelling of bleach. In addition to her perpetual scowl, she wore yellow rubber gloves and gripped a bulging plastic garbage bag.

Rachel flashed a phony smile on her way past.

"That's two." The landlady called out at an unnecessarily high volume, weaponizing her shrill voice.

Rachel turned.

"Twice he's been late with the check," Mrs. Caputo squawked. "That's strike two."

"Won't happen again." Rachel found the apartment keys in her shoulder bag.

"You tell him," the landlady hollered.

"You have a wonderful night," Rachel replied as she unlocked the door.