Pushing forward, little steps. Probably be putting something up about this size every couple days
+ + +
When Will came through the door at Blom’s, he had no clue as to where he should start. Blom solved the problem for him. He raised his head at the jangling of the bell, slid his glasses from his forehead to the bridge of his nose, and upon recognizing Will said, “Welcome back Mister Holliday! Do you have any further instructions for me?”
“The next person who calls me ‘Mister Holliday’ this morning gets a kick in the balls,” Will answered. He strode up to the counter and placed the check he’d filled out in the truck in front of Blom. “I don’t want any arguments about this,” he ordered.
Not without some hesitation, Blom picked the check from the countertop. He shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”
“Think of it as severance,” Will told him. “And if you give me any crap about it, I’ll go to the bank and hand them cash and demand they put it your account. By the way,” he added, “you did an incredible job. I hate to see you go.”
Blom was looking at the check. “Maybe you meant this for Ken,” He tried to hand it back. “If that’s the case, you’re a little short.”
“You read the memo line,” Will told him. “It’s you’re consultant-slash-supervisory fee.”
“I can’t take this.”
“You’re going to,” Will said. “If it’s not cashed within forty-eight hours I’ll carry through with my previous threats.” He stared at Blom until the old man met his eyes. “I do not lie.” He held the stare until Blom sighed, folded the check and tucked into his shirt pocket.
“I’m sure,” Blom said, “that’ll feed several orphans through Christmas, or a few dozen stray cats.”
“It’s yours to spend,” Will told him, adding, “Dog’s have more personality.” He wanted to get on with whatever business regarding Maartens needed attention, and he wanted to corner Lorern as well, but what was really pressing him was how to gather some intelligence about was going on in the west forty. He was about to bring Ken Maartens up as a stall tactic, when Blom slid a folder onto the counter.
“These are just copies,” Blom said, flipping it open, “materials purchased here. Anything Ken picked up that I didn’t carry is all with him. There’s no labor included, either. That’s for you two to sort out.” Will slid the pages around on the countertop, not reading anything. While he randomly scattered the pages, Blom said, “I tried to get someone out there for the electricity, but the power company has this strange policy about not working through a third party.”
Will found the last page, an itemized summary of everything purchased from Blom. He didn’t read that, either. He just looked at the total at the bottom of the page. “For a guy who was so concerned about gouging me, you’re pretty bad at it.”
“Contractor’s price,” Blom explained. “Ken would never pay retail.” Will had his checkbook out. Blom motioned for him to put it back in his pocket. “That’s also between you and Ken. He’s covered it already. Did you hear what I said about the utilities?”
Stuffing his new checkbook back into his rear pocket, Will made a noise that indicated the affirmative, and then asked to speak to Loren.
“Won’t be in until ten,” Blom answered.
Will nodded, said “okay” and, with that diversion lost, jumped right in and asked, “What do you know about my neighbor?”
Blom turned his eyes down, looking at the countertop. “Which one?”
“The only neighbor I can see from the house.”
“Hmm…” The shopkeeper started putting the papers Will had scattered back in the folder.
“Straight west of me,” Will added. “White house.” The old man didn’t react. “Two outbuildings and a good sized corn-crib….”
Paydirt, Will thought when the old man didn’t respond. He leaned in until Blom had no choice but look him eye-to-eye. Blom still didn’t speak. Several seconds into the stare-down Will finally asked. “Are you having a stroke? Want me to call 911?”
Blom looked away and grunted, “Arn Mikkelson.”
“’Arn Mikkelson,’” Will repeated. “Coulda got that from his mailbox.” He tapped the counter. “I’m certain you can tell me more about the man besides his name.”
“Born and raised here and grew up in the same house. He took over it after his parents retired and moved to Texas. He’s got two great kids and his wife’s a wonderful woman.” Blom added, “And he’s known to mind his own business.”
“Would keeping to his own backyard fit with minding his own business?”
Blom didn’t answer.
“Are his ancestors from down South? Great granddaddy a sharecropper? Maybe an uncle in Californy in ‘forty-nine, strung up for claim jumpin’?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous was that you knew what I was getting at right from the start,” Will said. “You knew, the second I asked, what it was about.”
Blom raised his hands. “Now, Willem…
“Don’t ‘Willem’ me,” Will snapped.
Blom removed his eyewear and fixed a look on him that reminded Will of Nan. That didn’t mean he was letting the man off the hook. “So, before we go on, I’m going to make sure we’re on the same page. My neighbor, Mister Arn Mikkelson, is growing corn on property formerly owned by my Gran and Nan which, by cruel trick-of-fate, is now owned by me?”
Blom pursed his lips and answered with a slow nod.
Will put his hands on his hips and nodded in return. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Feels a bit awkward to me, maybe somewhat rushed. Leaving it at as for now, in the name of progress. Comments? Opinions?