by Brian Bakos
2. Rooftop Follies
Up on the roof, under the glorious sunshine, two men blasted away with nail guns amid a large area of newly installed shingles. The older man, ‘Gus the Roofer,’ was the owner of the company, and the younger one was a new hire learning the ropes from a top pro.
The trainee spotted Frank Armstrong exiting the back door and striding aggressively their direction.
“Uh oh,” he said. “Looks like we going to have company, Boss.”
Gus looked up from his work and felt his acid reflux kicking in. The bright sun on the rooftop seemed to chill a bit.
“Not again,” he groaned.
Frank approached the ladder leaned against the house and glowered up at the men on the roof. Another workman standing on the ground by the ladder backed off timorously.
“Are you guys going to take all day up there?” Frank yelled. “It sounds like a war going on inside the house.”
He didn’t know just how accurate that bit of imagery was.
Gus moved toward the edge of the roof and peered at the angry man standing on the ground below him.
“Sorry, Mr. Armstrong,” he said. “A lot of wood was rotted around the leak. We had to replace all of it.”
“You didn’t say anything about that before,” Frank shot back.
“We didn’t know how bad it was then,” Gus said. “We had to tear the shingles off before we could see the full extent of the damage.”
“Is that so?” Frank huffed. “Let me have a look.”
He roughly pushed past the workman and began mounting the ladder. Recovering from the rebuff, the workman seized the ladder and steadied it.
Jerk! he though.
Unnoticed by everyone, Laila exited the house. She began to say something, but thought better of it. Anything she tried to say would be ignored, she knew from long experience. So, she just stood on the patio, arms folded, and observed the course of events.
Frank climbed to the upper rungs of the ladder and glowered out at the repair work.
“You mean that little area?” he said scornfully. “How long would it take you guys to do a really big job?”
He turned his gaze to the trainee.
“You don’t look old enough to be up here,” he said. “Are you one of those illegal immigrants?”
The trainee wilted under Frank’s ire and looked to the boss for direction, but the boss seemed equally cowed.
“I’ve got some important projects coming up,” Frank said, “and I just might be calling somebody else. You guys aren’t the only contractors around, you know!”
Gus swallowed hard. He badly needed the work on the estate and on other properties owned by Frank Armstrong, but he detested the abuse he’d had to endure from the man. Sure, Armstrong paid top dollar, but he seemed to think he owned the company himself, and everybody in it.
You need a comeuppance, pal, Gus thought.
Acting on pique, without thinking through what he was doing, he gave a surreptitious hand signal to his workman on the ground. The workman stepped away from the ladder, releasing his hold on it.
“Really, Mr. Armstrong,” Gus said, “it was a lot worse than you think.”
“Yeah?” Frank said. “Show me.”
He took another step up. The unsupported ladder wobbled dangerously under him, and Frank struggled to recover.
“What the hell!” he cried.
Gus feigned alarm, but inside he was grinning triumphantly.
“Careful, Mr. Armstrong!” he said.
Then things spun rapidly out of control.
The workman on the ground reached for the ladder, but he was too late to stabilize it. Frank tumbled off the penultimate rung, cursing violently. For a horrid instant, he seemed suspended in midair like a grotesque bird, his silk tie fluttering.
During this moment of terror, Frank Armstrong vacated his body. He was hovering above it now, observing the disaster from the heavens like some powerless guardian angel. Then his body hit the lawn with a resounding Thump! An agonizing reunion, sharp pain in his wrist.
The onlookers gaped with shock. Then the trainee broke out in a grin.
“That was some trick, Boss,” he said in a low voice.
“I was only trying to scare him a little,” Gus said, “get him off our backs.”
“Uh huh.” The trainee did not sound fully convinced.
They both leaned over the edge and watched Frank writhing on the ground, cursing violently.
“I didn’t think he’d take a nosedive like that,” Gus said.
“Ah, he’ll live ... unfortunately,” the trainee said.
“Well, at least we’ve been chewed out for the last time, I suppose,” Gus said.
He experienced a sinking feeling at the thought of all the lost revenue from the Armstrong contracts. Upgrades to his equipment would have to be put on hold – not to mention the fishing trip he’d been planning for Canada, the same place he’d seen on the Wandering Willie Fishing Adventures TV program. But he also felt a sense of justice attained, even if the price was high.
Serves the bastard right, he thought vindictively
Laila stood rooted to the patio, trying to recover from her astonishment. Finally, she overcame the paralysis and rushed to Frank’s side.
“Are you all right, Frank?”
“My wrist ... I think it’s broken,” Frank groaned.
Laila raised her eyes from her stricken husband to the older man gaping down at her from the roof. They exchanged a meaningful look.
Laila’s glance said: “I know what you did, and you know that I know. So don’t play innocent!”
Gus shrank back. To his coming financial hit he added the threat of prosecution and jail – and who knew what else these rich people were capable of doing to him? The world turned suddenly dark and ominous; he almost felt like taking a dive off the roof himself.
Laila stood up.
“What are you looking at?” she yelled. “Finish up and get out of here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gus replied.
He pulled back from the edge, not certain if he should be terrified or relieved.
“You heard the lady,” he said. “Back to work!”
“Yes sir,” the trainee replied.
The sound of blasting nail guns filled the morning air again.
Bert Nagy, the grounds keeper, trotted up, winded from the exertion on his large, overweight frame.
“What happened?” he asked.
“What’s it look like, dumbbell?” Frank cried. “I busted my ass falling off that ladder.”
Nagy pushed back his Bert’s Landscaping Service cap and glanced at Laila. She looked back sympathetically. She’d heard Frank abuse the landscaper often enough before.
“I’ll call 911,” Bert said decisively.
He produced his cell phone and stabbed in the numbers. His manner was cool and calm, despite his being so disheveled. He seemed like a veteran football player collecting himself after a hard game.
Bert spoke into his phone: “We’ve had a man fall off the roof ... Yes, he’s conscious and able to move ...”
“Hurry up, dammit,” Frank said. “This hurts like hell!”
Bert ignored the abuse.
“We’re in the back of the house,” he said. “The address is ...”
Laila observed Bert with calculating interest, admiring his efficiency and grace under pressure. He seemed a tower of strength in all the chaos. She looked down coolly at her husband. Wheels began turning in her head, leading down shadowy corridors.
“Don’t worry, Frank,” she said. “Everything will be just fine.”