Page 27 of Misadventures of a Biker

Frank’s eyes thinned. “Price needs to be higher than five fifty. There’s installation labor, and the tile cost four twenty-five. I tell you what, though. It looks as good as forty-five-dollar tile. Can’t tell the difference.”

Devin shrugged. “Five fifty sounds about right, then.”

“I’m six fifty. You’re five fifty,” Frank said. “I’ll talk to Shane and see if he’s willing to meet somewhere in the middle.”

Devin looked him up and down. “Didn’t realize you needed permission to make a deal.”

Clearly taking exception to the remark, Frank folded his arms over his massive chest. “I don’t.”

“I’ll offer you six dollars a foot for the installed square footage,” Devin said. “Loose-fit, not glued. If we put a floating floor in, the new owner can change it later if they want to. Accept it, or I’ll get someone local to do it.”

“Got to drive from Miami every day,” Frank complained. “Two hours each way, with traffic.”

“You going to wear a skirt when you do this job?” Devin asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You’re whining like a bitch.”

“God damn, Bone. At six dollars, I’m barely breaking even.”

“No, you’re not,” Devin argued. “You’re taking the first step at building a long-lasting relationship. You can’t put a price on that.”

“With who?” Frank asked. “Your girl, here? Miss Teddi? She gonna call me to do work when you’re long gone?”

“I’ll be here until my supervised release is over,” Devin replied. “That’s eighteen months, at least. Maybe two years. Do it for six bucks a foot or kick rocks.”

Frank looked up and down the hallway and then met Devin’s gaze. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it for six bucks.”

Devin looked at me. “I’m guessing we’re at about eight thousand square feet after we eliminate closets, bathrooms, and the guesthouse. That’s just an educated guess. If it’s right, we’re talking forty-eight thousand. Is that a problem?”

Forty-eight thousand dollars was pocket change compared to the two-point-four million I was going to make in commission if the home sold.

“I’d like to see the product,” I said.

“Shane!” Frank bellowed. “Hustle your ass out to the truck and grab some of that travertine-looking shit, would ya?”

Shane emerged from behind us. He silently sauntered past and then reappeared with a box of tile. Apparently there was a hierarchy in the motorcycle club. Devin must have been above Frank, who was clearly above Shane.

He handed the box to Frank. Frank knelt, spread eight pieces of tile on the floor, and fitted them together. He stood and stepped away.

“What’s that look like?” he asked.

I studied it. It looked like stone. “It looks like travertine.”

He tapped it with the toe of his boot. “Step on it.”

I did as he asked. It looked—and felt—like a much more expensive travertine tile. In fact, I couldn’t tell it apart. The best part was that they were going to be able to lay it over the existing flooring.

I’d spoken to Margaret about the changes I was considering. She promptly advised me to do whatever was necessary to sell the home. I didn’t know if this was the right thing or not, but I needed to do something to make the home more marketable.

“Let’s do it,” I said. “I’ll let you and Devin decide the actual square footage and final price.”

“I’ll have Shane grab a tape measure out of the truck,” Frank said. “We can measure it up really—”

“We don’t have time tonight,” I said. “We’re just about late for that meeting.”

Frank glanced at Devin and then at me. He looked me over good. I felt like he, too, could see right through me. It must have been a biker thing.

“Shane and I need to beat feet, too,” Frank said. “Shane’s got a tryout with the Miami Dolphins in a few minutes. Hell, I damned near forgot.”

“The Dolphins?” I asked. “Really?”