Blom was busy when Will got there, ringing up a few customers and yelping instructions at his knife packing, damaged stock boy. Will paced around just inside the entrance, pretending to be nonchalant. He wasn’t sure of how their reacquaintance had sat with the old man, and now he was here to ask him a favor. He’d had more than one relationship in his life end with the suggestion that he go fuck himself.
When the activity at the counter settled down, he approached the register at a pace he’d hoped would give him enough time to gauge Blom’s reaction to seeing him again. The smile Bertie offered him took the place of the ice bath as his best moment so far today.
“Welcome back!” It sounded genuine . . . “I was getting worried you’d realized what you’d gotten yourself into and hightailed it back to the big city.”
Will shrugged and held his hands out. “Still here, and no wiser now than I was then.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad to hear it. What can I do for Mister Holliday this morning?”
Will was suddenly stuck. He knew what he wanted from the man, but didn’t know how to go about it. He settled for asking, “You know people around here, right?”
Blom’s brow furrowed. “I would hope so.”
Will sighed, “I mean tradesmen– contractors, plumbers, electricians and such.”
“It helps that you’re able to narrow things down a bit,” Blom answered. He pretended to ponder a moment, then said, “Yes, I believe I do.”
Will nodded like his head was on a spring. “Good. Marvelous. I need somebody or somebodies that can do any or all of it. The sooner the better.”
“Well,” Blom said, “I can give you some numbers…”
Will went from head nodding to head shaking. This idea was hot in his head, and he couldn’t allow Blom to nudge him in a realistic and reasonable direction. “Uh-uh. Nope. At this point ‘numbers’ are not what I need. I cannot use ‘numbers.’” He stepped back from the counter and said. “Look at me, and be honest about it.” As good as it had been for his spirits, Will knew his nature bath hadn’t done much in the way of making him presentable.
Blom slid a pair of glasses from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose. “Well . . . If I knew you a little better, I’d say you look like hell.”
“Thank you,” Will said. “Should’ve seen me half an hour ago.”
“That’s too bad.”
“No shit. And that’s why I am incapable of finding any comfort in ‘numbers’. That’s why I stand before you now, begging for your support and intervention.”
Blom shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”
“Simple,” Will said. He stepped back up to the counter, doing his best to appear helpless, which he essentially was. “I implore you to open your heart in the spirit of human kindness and act as my broker.”
“Broker?”
“Exactly. Since you last saw me, I’ve spent every waking moment and every ounce of strength I’ve got getting that ruin on the road to restoration. In the process, I realize the only skill I have—and that comes as a total surprise—is knocking stuff down.” He paused, hoping Blom would catch on and assure Will he understood exactly what he needed, and he’d come to the right place. He did not. “You probably know every guy who can swing a hammer or electrify a pig sty within a hundred-mile radius,” Will went on. “I, on the other hand, have made no local acquaintance but one.” He pointed at Blom. “What I’m asking—no begging—you to do is put those numbers to use on my behalf, find the right guy or guys who can get done want I need to have done with that wretched place, and in the shortest time possible.”
Blom pursed his lips and thought a moment. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not a good idea.”
“It’s not as big a deal as you might think,” Will said. “It’s really just boils down to a kitchen and a bathroom. All I need is running water, and it doesn’t even have to be hot.” He paused a moment, then said, “Some electricity would be really nice, too.”
Blom’s expression did not exude positivity.
“Please,” Will added. “I’ve accomplished all I can with what capability I’ve got, and it’s been an utter misery. I can’t do a thing more until I can at least take a crap without fear of snakebite.”
Blom sighed. “Willem, didn’t you think of any of that before you came out here?”
Will allowed himself a show of indignance. “Yes, I did. It’s a long, dull story and there is no point in a recap. It didn’t work out.” He softened. “I can’t do any more to that place on my own at this point. I can knock walls down, I can rip out old wiring—you should see the place now– but, when it comes to making anything work I’m in way over my head.”
Blom sighed again. “You’ll need a whole new well and septic system.”
“I figured…”
“I could have a guy out there for you in a day or two for that…”
“Splendid!”
“But beyond that, Will, I don’t have the faintest idea of what you want—or any idea of what that might cost.”
Will shrugged. “That’s not your problem.” Blom gave him a puzzled look. “I’m not asking you to play bean counter,” Will told him. “All I need is that you be my liaison.” That did little to clear the look on the old man’s face. “Okay,” Will continued, putting both hands on the edge of counter and leaning in, “I’ll be as clear as I can with what little functioning brain I’ve got left. I can’t go back to that place until I’m assured of a comfortable bowel movement– enjoyed indoors. If I return to that property in the next twenty-four hours I can only make the trip if I have five gallons of kerosene and a book of matches. I’m no quitter, but I also embrace the philosophy ‘if whipped, go down.’ Right now, I’m whipped.
“What I’m asking, is if you would be so kind as to engage local talent and put them at my disposal. The primary qualification is that this talent has an open schedule and can get a lot of shit done in as little time possible. Rehab-refurbish or at least rough in and make functional the kitchen and the main floor bathroom; wired, plumbed, sinks, shower and shitter. Simple.” He straightened and folded his arms across his chest. “Do you know anybody who fits those simple requirements?”
Blom removed his glasses and wiped a hand over his face. “I’m sure I can find one or two people who fit the category.”
“Then you’re already ninety per cent there.”
The quizzical look was back. “Then what more do you want?”
“Oversight.”
“Oversight?”
“Precisely. Any niggling, little problem he, she or they should encounter, I want you to handle it. And—here’s where it’s a sweet deal for you—any material they may require is to be purchased at this establishment. Plus, I’m throwing a fair and equitable commission your way on completion of all work. I can’t expect you to take this on without proper incentive.”
Blom replaced his glasses and shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re setting yourself up to be gouged and I will not play a part in it.”
“I’m not setting myself up to be gouged,” Will countered. “I’m fucking ready to be gouged. Gouged, pillaged, raped and ripped off.” His hands were back on the counter. “Besides, humble shopkeeper, compare the chances of my being ‘gouged’ by hiring someone I don’t know from Adam to you, employing them on behalf of the offspring of a dear old childhood friend. What effect do you suppose that would have on the ‘gouge’ factor?”
If Blom had an answer to that he didn’t offer one. After a moment he put a bemused face on and asked, “Before I get involved in this lunacy, could you do me a favor and be a little more specific about what a ‘niggling little problem’ might be?”
Will shrugged. “Say they’re tearing up the bathroom and discover the sub-floor is shot. Give ‘em the go ahead. ‘Replace it,’ you tell ‘em, ‘and from now on don’t bother me unless you’ve got a real problem.’ I won’t have a common laborer waste your time. Same with the kitchen. If they recommend treated dry wall over the conventional? Treated it is. Countertops? Butcherblock? Composite? Marble? ‘Jesus Christ, man, just pick what works…’ Simple.” Blom offered no response. “I’m leaving my phone number with you. If they have a problem that proves overwhelming, they can call me. And, like I said, if there are any materials they need that you can provide, they must buy it here.”
Blom sagged. With a slow shake of his head he said, “Make a list… Give me an outline, or a summary, or whatever the hell else. I need to visit the bathroom.”
Will grinned at him. “Gotta a pen?”
Blom left him, still shaking his head and muttering, with a pen and a notebook. Will watched him as he moved to the back of the building. Before he started writing, he caught sight of ‘Uncle Loren’, standing a few aisles away from the counter and just barely in view. That odd smile was on his face. He turned back to the pad. Before he could start, he threw another glance in Loren’s direction, deciding to ask if he’d overheard and had any suggestions. He was gone.