Troubleshooter

by Austin Camacho

  “You’re not anxious or anything are you?” he asked.

  “Hannibal, please,” Cindy said. “Just tell me.”

  “Okay. We’re in. Nobody hurt. Got a few cops here helping out. Are you ready to handle your end?”

  “Think so,” she answered. “Soon as you hang up I’m calling a cab and heading in to the office.”

  “A cab?” Hannibal asked. “Don’t you have a car?”

  “You mean you didn’t even notice?” Cindy asked, sounding hurt. “I always take a taxi, unless I’m riding with someone. Well, I’ll see you later.”

  “See you,” Hannibal replied. As she hung up, Cindy blew him a kiss through the phone. Hannibal did not return it, but he regretted that oversight as soon as he cradled the receiver. He started to lift it again, but Sarge stepped up behind him.

  “Cops just left, man, so the junkies might figure it’s time to come home. I think you, me and Ray, we ought to do security while the other guys get to work.”

  “Getting ahead of ourselves,” Hannibal said. “We’re not quite secured. Where’s the shotgun?”

  “Behind the fridge.”

  “Grab it and check the basement. Thoroughly. Take one of the guys with you. Send Ray up here with me and put the other two dudes on rear security. I think we need to stay in pairs until we’re sure the house is secure and there are no surprises in here waiting for us.”

  “Makes sense,” Sarge said. As he left, Hannibal picked up the telephone again. As he reached for the buttons a roach skittered along the baseboard near his foot. He called information and asked for the listing of an exterminator’s number. First things first.

  “Que Pasa, Paco?” Ray asked from behind as Hannibal hung up.

  “What do you think, Ray?”

  “I think everything is everything for a while.” Ray swished his billy club through the air. “If we want it to stay that way, I think we ought to get our stuff and get settled in. Su casa, mi casa, at least for a while.”

  “Yeah, guess so. Want to check the kitchen first, then we’ll go.” Hannibal led the way down the long tunnel to his kitchen. He found Timothy perched on the sink’s sideboard. The door to the hall stood open, so Timothy could see Virgil in the apartment across the hall.

  “Hey, pretty smart,” Hannibal said. “Your idea?”

  “Uh-huh,” Timothy responded. “You checking up?”

  “Actually, I came back to see if the junkies left my coffeepot. Since it’s still in one piece, I want to get it going.”

  “I’m with that,” Timothy grinned. “You bring some coffee?”

  “We just going to get it now,” Ray said, pulling Hannibal’s sleeve. They returned to the front of the house, but opened the door slowly. Hannibal glanced up and down the street before they went out.

  Heat was already rising off the sidewalk, making Hannibal aware of their flak jackets’ weight. Those same starlings were cursing him out about something. Squinting against the glare of bright sun off his white car, Hannibal opened the trunk. Between them, he and Ray pulled out six small suitcases.

  “Oh wow, man, check it out. You dudes a SWAT team or something?” Monty skidded to a stop and flipped his skateboard up into his hands.

  “Morning, Monty,” Hannibal said. “Ray and me and a couple friends just moved in. Seen anything of the previous tenants?”

  “Hey, they all, like, split, you know?” Monty looked down, then over at the house. “The man, he’ll be back, you know.”

  “Good,” Ray spat. “We got something for his ass when he does.”

  “Got lots to do today, little guy,” Hannibal said. “Check with you later.”

  The men started inside. When they were halfway up the steps the door opened and Sarge leaned out, shotgun first.

  “Get in here,” he said. “You nuts going out like that with nobody covering you?”

  Ray opened his mouth to snap back, but Hannibal preempted him, saying simply “Didn’t think, Sarge.” Once they hustled the bags into Hannibal’s living room, he told Sarge to get everybody together. Sarge nodded and walked away. Within two minutes, they were assembled, each man picking up his suitcase.

  “Okay, here’s how I see it,” Hannibal said. “Everybody ought to pick a spot to crash. Once we’re settled in, we’ll start fixing this joint up. I’m flopping right here. “

  “Three outside doors,” Sarge observed. “Three can watch, three can work.”

  “My nose telling me the plumbing situation is critical,” Timothy said in his Jamaican lilt. “I need to get to work on it.”

  “So what’s stopping you?” Virgil asked.

  “Hey, man, I’m a genius with the pipes, but I can’t do nothing without the tools.” In answer to Hannibal’s unspoken question, he added “Had to hock my own for food.”

  “Right.” Hannibal made a quick decision, and pulled out his wallet. “Ray, take Timothy and get whatever tools and stuff he needs to do the job. While you’re out, get new locks for all three of the doors.”

  “Defense,” Sarge said quietly.

  “I know,” Hannibal replied. “In fact, Sarge, I think you just became the front door guard. Take the shotgun. Virgil and I’ll take the back doors for now. When the delivery arrives we’ll refigure it all, okay? Right now I got more important stuff on my mind. Like coffee.”

  -26-

  In the following hours Hannibal brewed and drank a lot of coffee, watching his new, overgrown backyard. He had planned precisely for taking the house, but now realized how vague his thoughts were on keeping it. He thought forty-eight hours would be enough to keep the squatters from returning, and one failed attempt at reclaiming it would be enough for young Sal the pusher. He had not really thought about the prospect of several hours staring out a window, literally looking for trouble. It could be a long, lonely couple of days.

  At twenty after twelve, a truck horn sounded four harsh notes in front of number twenty-three thirteen. He had seen no sign of trouble since his team cleared the house out, so he did not worry much about deserting his post. He found Sarge at the front door, checking the perimeter. Outside, Cindy hopped down from a furniture delivery truck’s cab, cradling two cardboard buckets of chicken. She had found a black tee shirt and jeans, the unofficial team uniform, but somehow she did more for them than any of Hannibal’s fellow house sitters.

  “Told you I’d handle it,” Cindy said, sprinting up the outside steps. “When I gave Dan the report, he authorized me to talk to his manager Denton. Through him I arranged to have the big ticket items delivered. The icebox, the desk, beds, chairs and so on.”

  “Didn’t you think they could find the place?” Hannibal asked, stepping back into the hall and welcoming the girl’s warm form into his arms.

  “Just wanted to see you, so I took the day off, and…”

  “Come here a minute.” Hannibal led Cindy through his flat until they were two rooms away from the others. “Now, tell me, just what the hell were you thinking coming here?”

  “I was excited,” Cindy said, all but bouncing free of his grip on her upper arms. “I just think what you’re doing here is so special, and it’s so very cool kicking the bad guys’ ass and you know, I could just.. just…” Her eyes were flashing as she covered his mouth with her own. The frantic kiss quickly became warmer and tenderer. Paradoxically, Hannibal felt himself calming down while at the same time he was becoming excited. He was swimming in his own emotions for only a moment, before he gently separated himself from her.

  “Look,” he said with some effort, “you can hang here for a little while, but you shouldn’t stay her long. I’m expecting some nasty people to come by today and I don’t want you here when they arrive.”

  “Aw, how nasty can they be with all the help you got?” Cindy joked, fingers playing in his short hair.

  “This nasty,” Hannibal said seriously, pointing at his own face. “The guys that did this don’t care I got friends.”

  From two rooms away Sarge called, “Hey Hannibal. You
need to be talking to these people out here.” Hannibal dropped his hands, returned her smile for just a second, then took her hand and led her to the front of the building. He found a very large, very black uniformed delivery man staring down at Sarge. Hannibal couldn’t decide if he thought the man looked like Biff or Sully, but he was certainly reminiscent of one of the Sesame Street construction workers.

  “Is there a problem?” Hannibal asked.

  “You Jones? Suppose I could see some ID? I’ve delivered to lots of buildings that have a doorman, but they usually ain’t sitting on the inside steps cradling a pump scatter-gun. Makes me nervous.”

  “We’ve had a little trouble with local gangs,” Hannibal said, presenting his driver’s license. “I think you can put that away now, Sarge. I don’t anticipate much trouble while we have delivery guys running in and out of here.”

  “Maybe, but I still want somebody watching those back doors,” Sarge said, dourly moving to toward the back of the building.

  While Sarge focused on security, Hannibal inventoried the incoming equipment on a clipboard pad Cindy had brought with her. He stayed by the front door while Cindy flitted around like an interior decorator on acid, pointing out where each item should land. The delivery men made no comment as they wheeled in the refrigerator, six beds, electric fans, and folding chairs. They only grimaced slightly when Cindy pointed out where the twenty cheap light fixtures and fifteen lamps were to be used.

  But then came the odd stuff. When two men entered with the narrow desk, Hannibal had them position it in front of the stairway, making passage difficult. Then the team leader set bags full of supplies on the desk and raised an eyebrow.

  “Brother, either you people are seriously paranoid, or you’re expecting some serious problems,” he said.

  “We’re just safety minded,” Hannibal said. “Just read it off will you, and I’ll check them off the list.”

  “Okay, here we go,” the deliveryman said, emptying the bags one at a time. “Six each flashlights, fire extinguishers, smoke alarms, and walkie-talkies. One bag of cement. Sixteen sets of window bars, including two short enough for the narrow basement windows. This stuff ought to keep you safe enough so you don’t need to walk around the house with a shotgun.”

  Five hours later, Hannibal sat against a wall in his kitchen listening to a cricket chorus. He was looking out a broken window at a sharp enough angle to see anyone approaching either back door. He carried his gun in a side draw holster over his tee shirt, waiting for the assault he knew must come. His back hurt a little. The light purple twilight sky stole his attention for a moment, reminding him that he was pushing the limits of his focus. He sipped hot black coffee and stirred his mind into activity.

  The afternoon and evening had been a blur of activity that he had sat out. While he guarded the back and Sarge watched the front door, the other men moved feverishly to reverse the ravages of neglect the building had endured. Cindy helped when she could, cleaning or just being an extra pair of hands. Ray made three trips out in the Volvo for needed equipment. Cindy joined him on the last trip out. Hannibal was just wondering if they had run into trouble when he heard Sarge welcome them back in. Seconds later they staggered into the kitchen, overloaded with plastic bags of various sizes.

  “What’s all this stuff?” Hannibal asked as Cindy shoved two bags onto the counter beside the sink.

  “Just what you and the macho men forgot,” she said with a mischievous smile. “That’s enough groceries to fill your new refrigerator. Over there, six sets of sheets, blankets, pillows and pillowcases. And here, a takeout Chinese dinner. I pretty much know what room everybody’s working in. Want me to distribute the food?”

  Hannibal watched her putting away food and realized how worn out he was from sitting still, and from the odd loneliness that comes from guard duty. Too much solitary work could create the same feeling.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think the gain from eating together exceeds any risk from leaving the doors unmanned. Nobody’s come anywhere near the building all day. Of course, that’s at least partially because of those deliverymen running in and out. But still, it’s a good sign.”

  Ten minutes later, a fan meant for a table hummed contentedly on the floor, blowing the aroma of stir-fry out a front window. Seven paper plates shouldered each other around the edge of Hannibal’s card table. Cindy and the six men sat on chairs placed at various distances from that table. Each in turn stood up long enough to gather food from the assorted white cartons. As they took their plates, Cindy handed each a cold lemonade. Without saying so, Sarge positioned himself so he could see out the back window at the far end of the flat. Seeing that, Hannibal made sure he had a clear view through his front window.

  “You guys look like you been working in a sewer all day,” Cindy said, through a mouthful of egg fu yung.

  “You not far wrong for some of us, girl,” Timothy said between bites from an egg roll.

  “Making any progress?”

  “Well, I got two more of the johns working now, so we won’t be having to stand in line. I got two more of the bathtubs in order, and I managed to rig up showerheads, for those who don’t feel like soaking themselves. Got another sink going upstairs, too. God, you wouldn’t believe the shit people been putting down those sinks, child.”

  “That’s great, man.” Hannibal could feel the fan drying perspiration on his back. “How about you, Virgil?”

  “Got about half the lights up,” Virgil answered, frowning into his plate. It crossed Hannibal’s mind he might not like Chinese food, but he decided Virgil just did not smile much. “Tried to light up where Timothy needed to work, so there’s three bathrooms and three kitchens done, and two in the basement. And two up in the first floor hall. And know what? There was lights outside the front door, and the back doors. Just needed bulbs, so I put them in.”

  “Solid,” Hannibal told him. “How about you, Quaker? You’re doing security, right?”

  “Roger that.” The gangly white man leaned back against the wall, his chair balanced on two legs. “We been busting, ain’t we Ray? Me and Ray, we got the bars up to all the first floor windows. Fire alarms are hung in all the flats. And I got good dead bolt locks on both back doors, so we don’t need to be nailed in no more, do we? Got enough locks for every door in this frigging place, at least the ones that ain’t nailed and painted shut.”

  “Poor old Dan,” Cindy said. “He’s going to have a cow when he sees the money you spent.”

  “If he was going to rent this firetrap he would’ve had to do it anyway, sooner or later,” Sarge said. “And he was going to pay us to be here doing security work, so actually we saved him a pile of cash.” Then to Hannibal he said, “While I been sitting out there at the desk, I worked us up a duty roster.”

  “Duty roster?” Ray said. “Now there’s some bad memories.”

  “You mean for tonight, right?” Hannibal asked.

  “Three shifts, three hours each.” Sarge replied. “Always have two guys up.”

  “You really think it’s that dangerous?” Cindy put her now empty plate on the table.

  “No doubt,” Hannibal said, standing, “which is why I’m fixing to call you a cab. Sun be down soon, and that’s when all the slimy things crawl out from under their rocks.”

  Minutes before the sun finally hid below the horizon, Sal Ronzini walked with his two bodyguards through newborn shadows up number twenty-three thirteen’s front steps. A storm was brewing on his face and his heels clicked indignantly on the sandstone steps.

  “Boy missed a second appointment,” he muttered to Ox. “Wasted my time, and time is money. If something was wrong, idiot should have shown up to tell me so.”

  Sal stopped just short of the door, letting Ox turn the knob and push it open. He had advanced one foot before he really saw the big black man with the Marine tattoo, seated behind a desk at the base of the staircase. Deep shadows, cast by an overhead light, pooled on the desk below the man’s hea
d like spilled ink. His expression was stern, his eyes narrowed to slits. But it was the shotgun pointing out across the desktop that really caught Sal’s attention.

  “What the fuck is this?” Sal snapped. “And who the fuck are you?”

  “You better dig yourself, talking to folks like that,” Sarge snarled, “unless you want to see my magic trick of sawing a man in half.” Then his left hand keyed the walkie-talkie beside him. “Three down front.”

  “You don’t know who you’re screwing around with here, boy.” Sal’s face reddened.

  “I know,” Hannibal said, stalking up the hallway.

  “No.” Sal shook his head, as if that might make it all go away. “Not you again. You about a slow learner, shithead.”

  “I think it’s you ain’t getting the message.” Hannibal stood beside Sarge with arms folded. “Your buyers are all long gone down the road. There ain’t nothing for you here, no reason to mess with us. Go set them up wherever they split to. Why fight over this rat trap?”

  “Cause it’s my rat trap,” Sal shouted. “I don’t care about the dope, I can sell dope anywhere. But nobody takes nothing from me.” As if to punctuate those words, something hit a back door hard enough to make the vibrations reach those standing in the front. Sal showed his teeth in something halfway between a snarl and a smile.

  -27-

  Frustrated by the back door’s new lock, the fullback type reached up to climb in the open window beside it. His hand hit the new bars as if he had not noticed they were there. Just as he got a firm grip on them, Quaker swung his nightstick. The crack sound was not just wood on metal.

  “Christ! You broke it!” the thug screamed, yanking his hand back outside.

  “Yeah. Sucks, don’t it.”

  One room to Quaker’s right, a face pressed against another set of window bars in surprise. Confusion became shock when Ray shoved his billy club between those bars, point first into the invader’s mouth. His outcry was muffled. However, the gun barrel he thrust toward Ray seconds later spoke quite clearly.