by Brian Bakos
12. Backyard Man
Bert Nagy worked the flower garden soil with his hoe, being careful not to harm any of the precious blooms. This was the type of job he enjoyed, especially in the early morning, like now. It gave him a chance to indulge his green thumb and get a feel for nature that he could not experience while piloting a roaring lawn mower or wielding a string cutter.
Bert loved nature; it was a big motivation for him in establishing his landscape company. He felt liberated in its embrace. It had offered him refuge from the dreary monotony of an assembly line job, and that had been a good thing back then.
He wasn’t so sure about now.
This particular garden had associations that curdled the ‘back to nature’ experience, however. It had been the site of a demeaning confrontation with Frank Armstrong the previous summer. Bert had inadvertently ruined a few plants during an earlier visit and had brought some extras to repair the damage. But before he could replace the plants, Frank had stormed up and confronted him with a barrage of insults.
How the hell could Bert be such a clumsy oaf? Did he know how much those exotic plants were worth? And the new ones he’d brought had damn well better be up to snuff! Frank threatened to cancel Bert’s contract, report him to the regulatory authorities, etc., etc.
Bert would have loved to deck the bastard on the spot, but two things restrained him: 1) the contract to maintain the 7-acre grounds was very lucrative, well above the going rate, and 2) Frank had kept his hand in his jacket pocket throughout the harangue, as if he was gripping a concealed weapon.
So, Bert had swallowed the humiliation, but he’d never forgotten it. He’d since come to realize that Frank Armstrong liked to pay top dollar for work because it gave him added leverage to bully his contractors. A conversation with Gus the Roofer had verified this suspicion – Gus, too, received generous payment and a strong dose of harassment.
Bert looked up from the flower bed to see Laila Armstrong approaching from the house. He set the hoe aside and straightened his clothes. She’d said on the phone that she wanted to talk with him about something. What could that be?
He hoped that she wasn’t carrying a hatchet from her husband, but that seemed unlikely. She had always been very nice to him; too bad she was stuck with a jerk like Frank Armstrong.
As she crossed the final yards, Bert was struck by her haggard appearance, as if she hadn’t slept in quite a while. She had dark circles under her eyes and carried a tall mixed drink with a straw in it. Bert took off his cap.
“Good morning, Mrs. Armstrong,” he said.
“Good morning, Bert.”
An awkward pause ensued. Bert looked off toward the little copse on the far reaches of the property. He’d have to cut the underbrush in there before long.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he finally said.
“Quite.”
Bert had no idea how to handle this situation with the client’s obviously distraught wife. The accident yesterday must have really hit her hard – though she’s seemed perfectly calm at the time. She stirred her drink coolly with the straw and fixed her eyes on him. Bert felt an eerie chill.
“Uh ... you wanted to speak with me about something, Mrs. Armstrong?” he said.
Laila looked back toward the house, then she glanced around the property, then back at Bert.
“How long have you done our landscaping, Bert?” she asked.
“Oh, the better part of three years, I’d say.”
“That’s a long time to put up with Frank,” she said. “He doesn’t show you much respect, does he?”
Bert shrugged, extremely ill at ease with the direction of the conversation.
“He didn’t even thank you for getting the ambulance out here so quickly yesterday,” Laila said. “That was very ungrateful, don’t you think?”
“Well ... this is one of my major contracts,” Bert said lamely.
“Uh huh.”
Laila took a sip from the drink.
“It must be difficult running a business like yours,” she said, “all the overhead, working in hot weather, trying to find good help.”
“That’s not the half of it, Mrs. Armstrong,” Bert said. “If I knew then what I know now, I would have thought twice about setting up my own company.”
“Of course, hindsight is 20/20,” Mrs. Armstrong said. “We’ve all learned that the hard way, haven’t we?”
“Right,” Bert agreed. “I mean ...”
He felt acute embarrassment, having just included Mrs. Armstrong among the ranks of the chastised.
“And you must have all sorts of problems with finances and ... taxes,” she said.
Bert flinched; she’d struck a raw nerve. Mrs. Armstrong gazed at him knowingly, seeming to take a mental note. To cover his agitation, Bert grabbed the hoe and started working the soil again.
“You do such a marvelous job,” Mrs. Armstrong said. “Too bad Frank doesn’t appreciate it. He doesn’t appreciate anybody, you know.”
Bert smiled awkwardly, trying to squirm out of the topic.
“Well,” he said, “that’s the way of the world, isn’t it?”
She wasn’t allowing him off so easily, though.
“I think the world is largely the way we make it, don’t you?” she said.
Bert shrugged, he could feel cold sweat starting to flow under his shirt.
“I wonder sometimes if we all might be a lot happier if Frank wasn’t around,” Mrs. Armstrong said.
Bert paused, then he began hoeing faster.
“Haven’t you ever wondered about that?” she asked.
Bert stopped hoeing. He looked up – baffled, and a bit alarmed.
“Well, uh, yeah,” he said, “the thought has crossed my mind, I suppose. But really – ”
“Let’s say he should have another accident, like the one yesterday, only worse,” Mrs. Armstrong said.
She smiled, sipping coyly through the straw. Bert felt like a tiny pooch having its chain yanked. He could scarcely recognize the person standing before him. She was no longer the gracious lady he’d come to know, but someone hard and cold as ice.
“I mean, a lot worse,” Mrs. Armstrong said.
She pointed to the large dead tree near the flower garden.
“That tree’s got to come down soon, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“R-right,” Bert replied. “I was going to do it last week ... like I said ... but it was too rainy.”
“When you do get to it, you’ll be using power saws, won’t you?” Mrs. Armstrong asked. “And ladders – and one of those machines that grind up branches.”
“Yes ...”
“Then there should be lots of opportunities for another ‘accident’ to happen, right?”
Bert was too stunned to reply. Mrs. Armstrong took in the property with a sweeping gesture of her arm.
“This is such a large, isolated place,” she said, “no witnesses. And nobody ever comes over unannounced. There are security cameras at the house, of course, but none out here.”
Full realization dawned on Bert.
“Mrs. Armstrong ... I-I couldn’t – ”
“Would half a million dollars change your mind?”
Bert’s eyes widened. His voice shot up an octave.
“H-half a million!”
“Yes – say, fifty thousand up front, the balance in a secret Cayman Islands account.”
“The Cayman Islands?”
Bert gulped. Despite the moderate weather, sweat was pouring from his armpits. His eyes felt huge. Mrs. Armstrong looked at him quizzically, a little smile playing about her lips.
“Well?” she said.
“Uh ... thanks for the offer, Mrs. Armstrong. But I’m really not up for it. I-I mean – ”
“I know this must have taken you by surprise, Bert. It’s not every day that such a wonderful opportunity comes up.”
She handed him the mixed drink.
“If things go especially well, there’d be a bonus for you, too,” she said. �
��Let’s say, an extra twenty five percent.”
Bert could only stare at her dumbly. His ability to calculate had deserted him.
“That’s another $125,000,” Mrs. Armstrong said.
Bert wiped his brow and took a hefty swig from the drink. It was a powerful one; the alcohol hit him hard.
“Think it over a while, Bert. You can do that much, can’t you?”
“S-sure, Mrs. Armstrong ... I can do that.”
She gave him a long, probing look, then nodded.
“All right, then,” she said. “I’ll be in touch, count on it.”
She walked toward the house, giving Bert a single rearward glance. He watched her progress until she entered the back door. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. He took another gulp from the mixed drink.
Mrs. Armstrong had aroused his deepest longings. In his mind, he grasped for them.
“The Cayman Islands ...”