Home Improvement

Jack pulled gingerly into the parking lot of Marson’s. The blacktop resembled a freshly cooled lava field and the crunching noises caused by the weight of his Buick drove that point home. The battered tin sign that swung in the breeze had once been white with red type. The elements had faded the text to a dull rose and the white looked like smoker’s teeth. It now read “son’s Home Imp”, the first and last third oxidized beyond all legibility.

Jack had a hard time believing that the owner of Marson’s did enough business to stay afloat and wasn’t at all sure that he could be of assistance with Jack’s problems. But he had come highly recommended by one of the guys at the accounting firm. The young accountant got out of his car, straightened his grey tie, and buttoned his sport coat. He scanned the area and pulled his grey fedora down, his collar up and hunched his shoulders. Evidently the corrugated tin building served as the home office. Two rusted out pickups and a station wagon on four flats were the only other cars in the lot. He hurried through the glass door which was fogged by grit, grease and God knew what else. A little bell chimed, somehow a lonesome sound.

A cheaply paneled counter ruled the front of the office. The floor groaned as its only resident answered the bell’s call. “Coming.” As the owner of Marson’s swung into view, Jack had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping. A ruddy complexion combined with a weight of at least three hundred pounds on a five-foot frame made this man look like a heart attack waiting to happen. A hooked nose dominated his face, which was complimented, or rather insulted, by thick rubbery lips, and blood shot eyes. A sweat-stained white Oxford cloth shirt strained at his middle and black suspenders worked hard to hold up black rayon slacks. “What can I do for you sir?” His voice bubbled up from the depths and the smell of his breath was accompanied by a great deal of barley and malt.

Jack adjusted his tie and began. “I was recommended to your establishment. I have a pest problem that I need some help with.”

The man’s smile revealed teeth that were too even to be real and that were hopelessly yellowed by nicotine.and neglect. “You’d be better served by Bug Busters. They’re just up the road.”

“Not that kind of pest sir.” He cleared his throat. “I have this neighbor problem…”

“I’m still not sure that I can help you sir. We’re in home improvement.”

“But I know I’m in the right place. Bob Singleton recommended you. He said he’d call ahead.”

“Ahhh, Mr. Singleton, he’s one of our finest clients. Come this way and sorry for the confusion. One must be discrete in these matters.” His arm gestured for Jack to come around the counter and fat rippled under his shirt’s surface.

The young man complied and they went back to a small rectangular office filled mostly by a metal desk covered in paperwork. An insurance company calendar from ten years ago showed a sun faded beach scene. Mr. Marson took a seat behind the desk and Jack perched on a metal folding chair. “My name is Jack B…”

“No last name is necessary sir. You will pay in cash, minimize the paper trail you understand. Tell me about your neighbor.”

Jack’s fingers tapped on his knees. “Well I live in a prosperous neighborhood you see…”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He blinked rapidly. “And well I’m not a racist, I need to get that out.”

“Of course, of course.”

“But this Negro family moved in next door a few months ago and I’m afraid that they are hurting the property values. I’ll want to sell when I get my promotion and I just want to get the value out of it that I deserve. I can’t help it that the market sees not being of a certain race as a negative thing.”

The immense blob of a man shook his head, neck rolls shaking. “Right. That’s not your fault at all. Just so you know it doesn’t really matter to me why you need our services so much. As long as you are able to pay. Did you bring the cash?”

Jack nodded. “Just like Bob said, ten-thousand in small bills. Look, that’s a lot of money. I need some sort of assurance that you can hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Your friend’s word not good enough?”

The young man paled a bit. “No of course not. It’s just that he wasn’t terribly… specific.”

“Oh that, part of the contract you see. He signed a non-disclosure. He can’t tell anyone exactly what we did for him or how we did it. Ever. If he did, well let’s just say that the consequences would be… unpleasant. You look like the trustworthy sort so maybe I can let you in on it a little. Maybe your neighbor’s basement floods or their car keeps breaking down. All of the food in their fridge goes bad at once.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Or perhaps your neighbor’s son breaks an ankle walking home from school. His wife spots someone following her home from the grocery store.” The man’s voice took on an edge. “Maybe when she gets home there’s somebody waiting for her? Bad luck is a terrible thing and we here at Marson’s engineer it. So, the money?”

“I left it in the trunk of my car. I’ll go get it.” He got up and left the office at a good clip. The sweet air outside filled his lungs and second thoughts began to bubble up. He had no idea what these people would do to his neighbors. And who was he to decide where someone could live. Jack opened the door to his car and tried to start it. A flat click issued from somewhere under the hood. He tried again and didn’t even get that much. Sweat broke out at the base of his neck. He couldn’t just walk home. It was getting dark and he was much too white to try going through these neighborhoods on foot.

“Wait. Why am I so nervous? I’ll just go back inside, tell him I’ve changed my mind and ask to use his phone.” He went back through the door and saw Mr. Marson waiting for him at the front desk.

“Car troubles Mr. Briggs?”

“Ye…wait. How do you know my last name?”

“Mr. Singleton of course. Something wrong with your car?”

Jack looked behind him and couldn’t see the parking lot through the murky door. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Oh I thought I heard you try to start it. I have sharp ears. So which is it, yes or no?”

“Look, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need your services after all.”

Marson reached under the counter and brought out a navy duffel. “But you brought the money.”

Confusion blew through Jack’s brain like a swamp breeze. “But I didn’t…”

The fat man smiled with those nasty teeth. “I had one of my people get it for you.” He produced a thick sheaf and put it on the coffee stained counter. “Ready to sign?”

“I told you I changed my mind.”

“Oh but you didn’t really. People like you never change really. You were scared but you still want ‘those people’ out.” He held out a pen.

Jack blinked and the pen was in his own hand. His head ached like a bad tooth. ”No. I…I don’t want…”

“Don’t fight it Jack. It’s OK.” The man’s voice had deepened and taken on the quality of gravel in a grinder. “They want to run you out. Don’t let them. Sign.”

The young man’s hand moved to the space by a large X and he signed. The pit of his stomach boiled with acid. “I didn’t want to.” The ink was brownish red. Jack’s finger screamed in pain.

“Off course you did. You just needed help.” Several loud clicks came from the crude man’s body. His head fell forward and smacked dully on the counter. A sound not unlike a dentist drill came from somewhere in the small of his back and a hatch popped open. The creature that came out was blue-green and no more than eighteen inches tall and did indeed have sharp ears. It stuck out a diminutive hand and said, “Thank you for doing business with Marson’s Home Imps. You won’t be disappointed.”