The Same End (The Lamb and the Lion Book 3)

by Gregory Ashe

  It had been different at the beginning. When he hadn’t known what he was doing, when he’d been figuring everything out. Everything had been painstakingly slow because it was still so hard for him to read. First, making a fake license. Then making fake business cards. Then making a fake website. Then making contact with other agents, pitching himself as a client broker, which he was incredibly proud of himself for having invented. Utah was in the midst of the biggest housing boom in its history. New houses were going up all over the state, but construction couldn’t keep up with demand. More importantly, the new houses were often an hour or two away from Salt Lake, which meant houses that were closer in were going for unimaginable sums. And Jem had figured out how to get a nice little cut of that business.

  When the knock came at the door, he sent Tean a GIF he had made of Scipio wagging his tail, and then he went and answered.

  “Hello,” he said, showtime grin, already shaking hands. “Jake Brimhall. Jake Brimhall. Nice to meet you both, you must be Sam and Diane.”

  The man was fifty, too tan, and the sunglasses lanyard was just the tip of the iceberg. Not golf, Jem decided after a moment. Boating. The woman was probably skating close to thirty, too tan, and the boobs were definitely fake. Dancer, Jem decided after a moment. Former cheerleader.

  “No,” the man said. “Dwayne and Leslie Rae.”

  Leslie Rae gave Jem a limp flutter of her fingertips and a dead-eyed smile.

  “God, of course. Sorry. I’ve got Sam and Diane a little later. Then Jerry and Elaine. And Ross and Rachel. It just doesn’t stop, you know? Come in, come in. God, look at you, you guys belong here. Have you seen the neighbors? You’re going to fit right in.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Dwayne said, hands on his hips. “This place has sure seen better days.”

  Leslie Rae looked like she was trying to pop her gum, only she didn’t have any gum at the moment.

  Jem walked them through the house.

  “A/C needs to be replaced,” Dwayne said, fanning the warm air.

  “Don’t worry, it’s only five years old,” Jem said with an easygoing smile. “I just turned it on when I got here, that’s all.”

  Upstairs, Dwayne pointed at a cracked window.

  “Two words,” Jem said, holding up two fingers to drive the point home. “Home warranty. You make sure the seller writes it into the contract, and then you get that taken care of first thing.”

  In the basement, Dwayne kicked the furnace, apparently under the impression that this was the homebuyer equivalent of kicking the tires on a car. The hollow boom echoed back from bare cement.

  “Doesn’t sound good,” Dwayne said, frowning.

  Jem nodded. “You know what? I’ve got an agent in mind. If you want me to put you in touch, you just say the word. He’ll make sure you get a few grand off the price to cover that furnace.”

  Back in the kitchen, Dwayne flipped the lights on and off. “Bulb’s burned out.”

  “I’ve got one in the car,” Jem said. “I’ll swap it out after you go.”

  Dwayne opened his mouth.

  “Dwayne, Leslie Rae, now’s the time to make a decision. I’ve got Homer and Marge coming in twenty minutes, and I need to know if you want me to make things happen for you.”

  That was the magic phrase, make things happen. It could mean anything. It meant whatever people like Dwayne and Leslie Rae wanted it to mean. They’d already paid two hundred dollars for pre-screened access to elite homes, a back network of agents managed by a client broker. At least, that’s what Jem had said they were paying for. He didn’t even know what it meant himself, but people like Dwayne and Leslie Rae ate it up.

  Dwayne and Leslie Rae glanced at each other. Leslie Rae made that gum popping movement with her mouth again. Dwayne started to nod.

  Then Leslie Rae said, “What do you even do?”

  Jem smiled and raised his eyebrows. “I’m a client broker.” It was the tone that sold it, sounding slightly embarrassed that he had to explain.

  “But what do you do? That’s what I was asking Dwayne the whole way over. What does he do? And Dwayne couldn’t tell me.”

  “I told you,” Dwayne said, coloring under his tan. “He’s a client broker. He pre-screens. He’s got a back network of agents.”

  Jem nodded, shrugged, spread his hands.

  “Isn’t that what a normal real estate agent does?” Leslie Rae said. Her mouth popped invisible gum again.

  He’d made a mistake, Jem realized. He’d miscalculated. He’d been so focused on Dwayne kicking the goddamn furnace that he might have overplayed his hand.

  He laughed. “In a normal world,” Jem said. “Five years ago, ten, maybe. But that’s just not the way things happen anymore. You want a house?” He snapped his fingers. “It’s gone before you even find it. If you’re using a normal agent, I mean. You’ve got to get one step ahead of the game. You’ve got to pre-buy. You’ve got to beat the market curve, anticipate, outfox. Dwayne knows what I mean.”

  “I told her about pre-buying,” Dwayne said, shooting a look at Leslie Rae. “I couldn’t think of the word, but that’s what I was telling you about.”

  For a moment, Leslie Rae looked like she might argue. Then she shrugged.

  Jem could have left it there. Another two hundred in cash. But his blood was pounding, and he felt awake and alive for the first time in months, having to think on his feet, having to riff. Riffing was what he did best. And now he was riffing again, the words spilling out of him.

  “I don’t want to overstep,” he said. “But I’ve got to warn you, this place is going to go fast. I think it might go today, if I’m being totally honest.”

  Dwayne shifted his weight. “We’d have to have that furnace looked at.”

  “Absolutely. And you should, you absolutely should.” Jem hesitated. He let the moment hang, and then he lowered his voice. “Look, I shouldn’t do this, but the owner is a friend of the family. Practically family; I call them my aunt and uncle. He and my dad were on the high council together for thirty years, and he was the stake patriarch when I got my patriarchal blessing. He and his wife were on their third mission to Georgia—that’s the country, not the state—when the cancer came back.” Jem shook his head. “We haven’t given up on a miracle, but that’s about what it’s going to take.”

  “Jeez,” Dwayne said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Leslie Rae said in the vocal equivalent of ordering at a drive-thru.

  “Normally, as a client broker, I’m supposed to hand you off to an agent at this point, but—Uncle Dan and Aunt Roseanne, they need money bad. They’d be willing to consider selling without an agent to save the commission.” Jem shook his head. “I can’t even believe I’m telling you this, but they’d be willing to take half what the house is worth, just to get the cash in their hands.”

  “I thought homes were selling too fast these days,” Leslie Rae said. “I thought that’s why we needed a client broker.”

  “Homes are going fast. Agents, banks, and wire transfers, they’re still taking their sweet time.”

  “What’s the catch?” Dwayne said, narrowing his eyes. It furrowed his too-tan face like an old baseball mitt.

  “If they don’t make a mortgage payment today, the bank repossesses the house. It’s got to be cash, and if I’m totally honest—it’s got to be cash because it’s a gray area, if you get what I mean.”

  “There it is,” Dwayne trumpeted. “There’s the other shoe. Did you hear it drop?”

  Jem shrugged. “It is what it is. I thought maybe—well, it could have worked out for everybody: you get a house that instantly doubles in value, Uncle Dan gets his chemo. But you’re right. I’m not really comfortable with it either. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  Dwayne was breathing a little faster. He was tapping the kitchen counter. “Now let’s just think about this for a minute.”

  “It seems pretty awful,” Leslie Rae said. �
�That’s what I think about it. Giving them half what they deserve just because they need it now.”

  “If they didn’t need it so badly,” Jem said, and then he stopped, as though unable to go on.

  “Well, you heard him, didn’t you?” Dwayne gestured at Jem. “You heard how bad they need it. We’re doing them a favor. How low do you think they’ll go?”

  “Dwayne Mapes, can you even hear yourself?”

  “I’m not made of cash, and this is a business transaction. I want to do these people a solid turn, but it’s business first. How low will they go?”

  “This house came in at four twenty-five,” Jem said. “They’ve got to have two hundred thousand by the end of the month. Goll’, I’m getting sick just talking about this. I don’t know, I don’t think—”

  “Young man, listen up. You’re feeling sick because you’re thinking about all the money they’d be leaving on the table. That’s a young man’s way of looking at things. That’s a healthy man’s way of looking at it. Where’s your Uncle Dave—”

  “Dan,” Leslie Rae said.

  “Where’s your Uncle Dan going to be if he holds out for the full value?”

  “Dwayne Mapes, you are sleeping on the couch tonight.”

  “Let the men talk, please. Well, sir?”

  “I know,” Jem said. “I know. And I get it. But it still makes me sick. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You’re thinking about it all wrong. You’re doing them a favor. You’re saving your uncle’s life. That’s how you ought to be seeing this.”

  Jem shook his head.

  “What are we talking with that outstanding mortgage payment? Sixteen hundred? Two thousand?”

  “Jeez, no,” Jem said with a laugh. “Five-oh-five. They bought this place twenty-five years ago. It wasn’t worth anything back then.”

  Dwayne practically licked his chops. “Well, that’s nothing. We can handle that.”

  “But it’s got to be cash. This is a real fine line, and if it makes you uncomfortable at all, knowing you’re walking it, I’d rather not put you through that.”

  “You ought to be thanking us, young man. And your uncle ought to be thanking you. This is a square deal all around, and I’d say the Lord put us in each other’s path. Now, I’m going to get that cash. What I need from you is for you to talk to Uncle Don—”

  “Dan,” Leslie Rae said, “Dan, it’s like you don’t even listen.”

  “Talk to that Uncle Dan and get things in order for me.”

  “Done,” Jem said. “Should I cancel my other showings? Frick, I feel like I’m making a huge mistake.”

  “Son, you tell those people this place is as good as sold.”

  He walked them to the door. Leslie Rae stopped to measure the opening into the living room and said, “It’s like they built this place for ants.”

  When they stepped outside, Jem moved to the window. He held his phone to his ear and waved. The closest ATM was five blocks away, and if he had to judge by the gleam in Dwayne’s eye, Jem thought the greedy old lech would sell a kidney to get that five hundred in cash. Once they were out of sight, Jem scrolled through GIFs until he found one of Scrooge McDuck swimming in gold coins. He sent it to Tinajas.

  She sent back a middle-finger emoji.

  3

  Tean stacked the boxes from The Pie. Then he set them side by side. Then he stacked them again. Scipio leaned into him, his muzzle poking up over the counter, drawn by the smell of tomato sauce, hot cheese, and a variety of cured meats. Tean kneed the Lab gently away from the pizzas and offered him, instead, a rawhide-substitute treat. Scipio took it gingerly and then dropped it on the floor, fixing Tean with a look of pure disgust.

  Tean didn’t have time to soothe the dog. He straightened the plates and forks and knives and napkins. Did anybody need forks and knives with pizza? He put out spoons too, just in case. He checked the Bristlecone, which was on ice, the glass beaded with condensation. He thought Jem liked brown ale. He thought Ammon liked brown ale. He had put a single bottle of cider for himself in the ice, but then he’d thought maybe that was too much, and he’d put the whole pack of cider in a bottom cabinet behind a roll of trash bags.

  Scipio had his muzzle on the counter again.

  “Right,” Tean said. “Xanax.”

  But he’d only taken two steps toward the bedroom—he now kept the bottle hidden, although he wasn’t convinced he could successfully hide anything if Jem really wanted to find it—when someone knocked at the door.

  Scipio lunged toward the noise, barking.

  Tean followed, and when he opened the door, he smiled and said, “Come in.”

  Ammon Young, childhood friend, former lover, and one of the immense complications in Tean’s life, stepped into the apartment. Scipio backed up a few steps, his whole body stiff, growling. Ammon gave an embarrassed grin, rubbed a hand through blond hair that was starting to thin, and said, “Hi. And hi, Scipio.”

  “Ignore him, he’s—oh. Hi.”

  Ammon’s hug lasted a moment too long for it to be a simple, friendly hug. When he released Tean, his smile looked more like the one Tean remembered from high school. “I didn’t even try to kiss you.”

  “I noticed.”

  “How’s that for progress?”

  “Well, you did have to point it out.”

  Ammon’s grin got bigger, but instead of answering, he squatted and said to Scipio, “Come on, I’m your buddy. Can I give him a treat?”

  “You can try. He looked at me like I was insulting his family honor when I gave him one earlier. Here, see if he wants one of these.”

  Taking a small, liver-flavored treat from the pouch that Tean held out, Ammon said, “Skip, Skip, let’s have a treat. I’m your friend.” He held out the treat, and Scipio forgot to growl as he leaned forward to sniff the offering. He accepted it grudgingly and then turned and dropped it on the linoleum.

  “Hey!”

  “I know, that’s what he did to me too.”

  Scipio slunk over to the couch and curled up on a cushion.

  “I thought he wasn’t allowed on the furniture.”

  Tean was saved from having to explain by the door opening. Jem stopped in the doorway. He’d gotten his hair cut again, and the hard side part was perfect as always. He had broad shoulders and a muscular build that the jacket and trousers couldn’t hide. Ammon was bigger; if Tean were being fair, Ammon was probably better looking all around, with more classically handsome features. Over the last few months, he’d regained the gym-toned body that had filled Tean’s fantasies as a teenager and his bed as a younger man. But Jem was Jem.

  Scipio charged across the room. The Lab didn’t notice how Jem flinched, and he crashed into Jem’s legs at full speed. By then, Jem had recovered, and he was crouching to rub Scipio’s ears. Scipio was whining with excitement, licking Jem’s face, crashing into him so many times that he finally managed to knock Jem on his butt. Tean was trying to get the dog to back up, and he didn’t notice until too late that Ammon had put an arm around him.

  “Fuh, fuh, he put his nose in my mouth. Tean, why are there treats on the floor?” Jem snatched up the liver one and held it out; Scipio took it and swallowed it. When Jem collected the rawhide substitute, Scipio took it out of his hand before Jem even had a chance to offer it. The Lab carried it over to the couch and curled up again, gnawing on his treat.

  “I’m sorry,” Tean said, and Ammon held on a little too tightly before Tean managed to get free. “I swear we’ve been working on staying.” He gave Jem his hand and helped him up. “Are you ok?”

  “I know what a dog’s nose tastes like. No, I’m not ok.”

  “I’ll put him in the bedroom.”

  “It’s too late. I can never un-know what a dog’s nose tastes like.” Then Jem’s gaze slid past Tean to Ammon. “And I think I misunderstood your message, so I’ll come back another day.”

  “You didn’t misunderstand. We�
�re going to have dinner. Together. You’re both my friends, and you need to be able to spend five minutes in a room together.”

  “Five minutes,” Ammon said. “Starting now.”

  “You said we were having pizza,” Jem said. “You didn’t say we were also having a torrential douche.”

  “I want to point out that he started it.”

  “You started it by being you and having your dumb face—”

  “Ok,” Tean said.

  “Calling me names,” Ammon said. “Really mature.”

  “I can be mature,” Jem said. “You haven’t even seen me try to be mature.”

  “Ok, that’s enough,” Tean said.

  “If it’s too much to have a civilized dinner with friends—”

  “You’re not my friend. Tean is my friend. My best friend.”

  “Just a normal friend,” Tean said. “And I really think—”

  “Best friend? I’ve known Tean for more than twenty years. You haven’t even known him for twenty months.”

  “Ok!” Tean slapped the counter. “That’s enough.”

  Scipio looked up from his treat long enough to woof once.

  Jem was staring back defiantly. Ammon was studying his sneakers.

  “I’m tired of the pissing matches. I don’t want to date you.” He pointed at Ammon. “I don’t want to date you.” He pointed at Jem. “I’ve had just about enough of all the men in my life. Eat your damn pizza, and if you can’t be decent human beings, go home.”

  “Nickel in the swear jar,” Jem whispered. Then, to Ammon, “It’s our Disney World fund.”

  “Sorry,” Ammon muttered.