“Like Maddox?” Malcolm asked.
Gunner shook his head quickly, frowning. “No,” he said. “Not like Maddox, like me. Like, I’m the welder.”
“That sounds great,” Malcolm said. “You could probably be a bartender and a welder, if you really wanted to.”
“What about you, Malcolm?” I asked. “What do you do for work?”
“I’m a children’s librarian,” he said. “It’s one of the reasons I need to make sure I’m back for work Monday morning. There are some kids counting on seeing me, bright and early.”
I was surprised to hear his answer. Not because I doubted he was great at the job, but just because I was struck by how different his life must be from Gunner’s. Still, I didn’t care so much what someone did for money, just so long as it was honest work, and he wasn’t taking advantage of anyone else. I’d had my fill of predators and scam artists for one life.
“I’m sure you’re great at your job,” I said, taking a drink from my wine.
Gunner twirled some of the pasta into his mouth with the fork, chewing as he looked up at me. “Are you really going to make us sleep on the porch again?” he asked, changing the subject.
“You didn’t seem to mind it so much last night,” I answered, remembering how they looked curled up together in the morning.
“Yeah,” Gunner answered, “but now we’re having dinner together. Wouldn’t you rather have us somewhere else? Couch, maybe? Or your bed?”
Malcolm choked on his water, then took another gulp to recover.
I leaned forward on the table. “I don’t think you could handle a night in my bed,” I said, dropping my voice so it came out like a growl.
Gunner licked his lips, meeting my eyes.
Maybe he’s not as easy to rattle as he seems.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine anywhere,” Malcolm said, breaking through the loaded silence with his anxious voice. “It should be warmer tonight, too.”
“Yeah, Maddox,” Gunner said. “Let’s make it a hot one.”
I pointed my fork at Malcolm, changing the subject and leaving Gunner hanging. “Can you tell me more about your housing situation?” I asked. “I’m curious. I’ve had to deal with a few shitty landlords myself.”
I didn’t mean to put Malcolm in an awkward spot by asking him for information and withholding what I knew. I just knew it was safer to keep things quiet. I was curious to hear more about my uncle’s business and might even have been able to offer Malcolm some good advice. If he knew I was related to the Richter family, though, he would probably clam up, scared to offend me or say something wrong.
Malcolm nodded. “There’s not much to say, really. I moved into the building when it was managed by a different company, but then they had a string of bad luck and had to sell the building. Richter Properties purchased it, and about a year later, they started trying to drive the tenants out. I never see the actual people who own the place, though. They just send random guys in cheap suits over to deliver letters and stress us all out.”
I nodded, imagining that some of those guys in cheap suits were my distant cousins. It sounded like just the kind of project my uncle went for. There was no ambition to it, no grand design or bigger purpose. He’d just found a building he could exploit to make some cash and used all his muscle and dirty tricks to do it.
People like my uncle felt big and powerful, but I knew they weren’t. They were small and petty, and as long as he was taking advantage of guys like Malcolm, that was all he would ever be.
“You tried complaining to your city council person?” I asked. “And to the different organizations that oversee real estate?”
“I did,” Malcolm said. “And trust me, I was thorough about it. But I got nowhere. Why? Do you have any ideas of what I should do?”
I shook my head. Ten years ago, I might have come up with some risky idea, but I wasn’t about to put myself back in harm’s way, and I had no intention of leading Malcolm and Gunner toward danger. “I’m sorry, I don’t,” I said.
Gunner finished off his plate, and I did the same with mine, twirling up the last of the pasta on my fork. Immediately, Malcolm jumped to his feet and began to gather the dishes to clean up.
I glanced at Gunner, but he stayed sitting on his stool.
I coughed. “You cleaned up the last meal,” I said to Malcolm. “Why don’t you leave that?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Oh, I don’t mind!” he said brightly. “I kind of like cleaning.”
I looked over at Gunner again. When he looked back my way, I held his stare. “Rest,” I said, making my voice slow and clear. “Someone else can get the dishes.”
Gunner blinked, and my message finally sunk in. Standing up, he grabbed the pasta bowl and headed to the sink. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh, thanks!” Malcolm said, dropping the dishes to the counter.
Good job, Gunner,I thought. It might have taken him a second to do the right thing, but if he was going to be acting all tough to impress Malcolm, he needed to start taking care of him, too.
Malcolm returned to the counter, leaning against it awkwardly. Without Gunner by his side, he looked a little more intimidated by me, almost like he was shrinking into himself. I gave him a smile, knowing he must have felt at least a little trapped in the house, and he seemed to relax slightly.
“I’ll go throw the clothes in the washer,” I said. “Once dinner is cleaned up, why don’t you two join me on the porch? I might even give you a taste of my wine.”
Malcolm bit down on his bottom lip and averted his eyes toward the ground. When he looked back up, he blinked. “Sure,” he said. “That sounds nice.”
I winked, and his eyes got wide in response. “It sure does,” I said.
