“Ain’t nothing wrong with my biscuits! And this is theWaffle House. People ought to be eatingwafflesanyway,” said the wiry man standing by the griddle.
Betty hobbled in his direction, and the two got into an argument that I would’ve enjoyed a lot more if I hadn’t been wondering what in the heck Havisham and Salcedo had gotten me into.
“What does she want me to do for these three thousand dollars?”
Havisham shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Want your car repossessed?”
“No.”
“Okay then. You’re petty Perry Mason, I’m your Della Street, and Salcedo is your petty Paul Drake—”
“Who?” asked Salcedo.
“It’sPerry Mason, look up the classics,” Havisham said before turning back to me. “I’ll keep up with your appointments. If none of this works, then we’ve lost nothing but time, but if it works ...”
Unable to argue with Havisham’s logic or the opportunity for almost half of what I needed from one job, I turned my attention back to the flyer. “This is really impressive, Salcedo.”
“Thanks.” She sat up a little straighter and beamed. I wanted to be mad at her for posting the video, but I didn’t have it in me. Best I could tell, TikToks and memes were Gen Z’s love language.
I sighed. “Okay. So I’m going to try this Little Miss Petty thing, I guess.”
Havisham paused before taking a sip of coffee. “You can do or do not—”
“But Yoda says there’s no try!’” said Salcedo in a respectable Yoda voice. “I getthatreference.”
When I got back to my apartment, I noticed the lights were still on in my hot neighbor’s apartment. Through the vertical blinds, I saw that he was working out. Forty push-ups so far, and I’d started counting while he was in the middle of that particular activity. It was also possible I’d lost count while studying the musculature of his back and arms. You know, for science.
Next up were squats, which he blessedly did facing his door rather than the glass patio door.
Then burpees?
Wow. Who knew my neighbor was a masochist.
Stella, you’re skulking out here like a Peeping Thomasina.
Reluctantly, I gave up my vantage point. My bed was calling, and I needed a good night’s rest if I intended to add a side hustle to my usual schedule.
Chapter 7
What have you got to lose?
The next night, Havisham’s question echoed through my head as I slid into the last booth at Finnegan’s. I longed for my usual seat at the bar, complete with an unfettered view of the haunted doll. The booth seemed better for conducting my new petty business, but I liked to know where that doll was at all times. Just in case.
Most of the patrons around me were taking advantage of Winedown Wednesday. They sat in pairs, threesomes, quartets, leaning in to share work gossip or get to know each other a little better. I sat alone. It was just me and the larger-than-life Liverpool FC flag that hung above me.
I am not alone. I am flying solo. Intentionally.
“Can I at least have a glass of wine?” I asked when Havisham came around to check on the patrons in the booths.
“You can have your wine after you meet with your clients,” Havisham said. “I’ll bring you a lime and soda for now.”
“Clients? With ans?”
“Clients. But first up is the big spender, so you’d best have your A game.”
