“Ugh,” I mutter involuntarily with a wince, holding my hand over my mouth. It doesn’t help much. I still feel like the stench is a physical blanket that’s assaulting my mouth, nose, and eyes to the point I’ve got tears running down my cheeks. I’ve got a pretty strong stomach. I’ve choked down plenty of disgusting stuff in my time, and I have no problem going elbows deep in a clogged toilet if I have to . . . but this is pushing the limits.

The house is a mess—trash in the corners, holes in the walls, a decided slope to the floor from the front of the house to the back, and a wretched putrid smell that seems to be soaked into every square inch of the walls. When the listing said the house was a ‘fixer-upper’, I think they were being generous. No wonder Oliver got it so cheap.

I pull out my phone, dialing Oliver. He wanted me to give him a call as soon as I could give him a work estimate. While I wait for him to pick up, I try the window next to me, but it’s jammed. Gagging, I head to the back door, but the metal screen door is stuck until I put my boot on the lock and break it off. Fuck it, that’s the least of the concerns for this place.

“Hey, Caleb, how’s it going?” Oliver greets me. In the background, I can hear the lively conversation in the coffee shop & deli that is Mindy’s Place. It’s a weird thing about Oliver. He has a perfectly good office upstairs that he could use, but he spends most of his creative time either in the basement taking up a corner of the metal table the pizza chefs use for rolling dough, or a seat in the shop if things aren’t too busy. “You’re quick on the call. You have an estimate for me already?”

“Hey, Oli, and yeah. How’s the restaurant today?”

“Good,” he says. “Mindy had the idea of running a panini lunch buffet, and she’s got a line out the door. So the grill guys are going nuts. How’s the house?”

“Man, how big is your bank account?” I ask, gulping down the sweet clean air of the backyard. It’s a total mess too, but at least the smell isn’t so bad. “Actually, check that. I know you could afford it. But if you want my best advice, get a couple of Molotov cocktails because this house needs to be burned down and rebuilt. It’d be faster and cheaper than trying to fix it.”

“That bad, huh?”

A squeaking noise behind me reminds me of another thing, and I’m glad that I always wear some old military surplus combat boots when I go into places like this. “I’m not even joking about how bad this place is structurally. And it’s got rats, not mice, fucking Lower East Side sewer-size rats in the kitchen. You owe me for this one. I’m gonna need two showers to wash the stench off. And I’m thinking of burning this shirt.”

I can hear the wheels whirring in his mind. It’s what I respect about Oliver. Some people, they’d be pissed off that the house is so much worse than advertised. He isn’t. He knows how to make a profit on this deal no matter what. “You up for lunch? If I smell another panini being grilled right now, I’m gonna lose it. Meet me at the taco stand over by the hotel in ten so we can stay outside. And I’ll stay upwind of you.”

I laugh. “Hey, at least you can see what a real man smells like instead of that fancy cologne shit Mindy has you wearing. But I’ll take the tacos. See ya in ten.”

Oliver laughs, and we hang up. Walking around the house to avoid upsetting the local rodents, I peel off my shirt and toss it into my tool carrier. I was serious about ditching the damn thing. I grab the bottle of antiseptic gel I keep in my glove box for emergencies and squirt my entire chest and arms. It’ll dry out my skin some, but it’ll at least cut the smell and make sure I don’t get some funky ass fungal growth. I get my upper body as best I can before discreetly getting my balls and deciding that’s enough. Pulling on my spare t-shirt, an old high school football shirt that’s seen better days but still keeps a sentimental place in my rotation, I drive over to the taco truck that’s a mainstay in the downtown area near the Grand Waterways Hotel and Park. Oli’s there a few minutes later, pulling up in his new car, a Lexus GX in silver gray.

“I see you’re driving the soccer mom-mobile,” I greet him, slapping hands with him. “What, Mindy’s got the Ferrari?”

He’s never had a Ferrari. He wouldn’t blow his money on something like that, but he laughs. “Yeah, well, it’s still stylin’. Come on, the tacos are on me.”

The taco truck’s famous around town for their fried shrimp tacos, and we get two each. Finding a spot on a nearby planter to sit down, I take a moment to inhale the aroma and to just enjoy the warm day. Now it’s time to eat.

“So tell me about the place,” Oliver says after we’ve both stuffed our faces. “I mean, I get your point. Firebombing the place would be easiest, but that’s not exactly what I can put in an email without having the police knock on the door.”

I fill Oliver in, and he winces. “Trust me, man, best thing to do would be to raze the place and start over. I’d bet even the foundation’s screwed up.”

“Okay,” Oliver says casually. When I don’t reply, he laughs. “Caleb, I know it’s not because you’re bullshitting me or being lazy. If you say it can’t be renovated as is without being massively expensive, then that’s what the deal is. Okay, it’s settled. When I go back, I’ll call the heavy equipment guys. You got another job lined up this afternoon?” Oliver asks, and I smirk. “Figured you were getting busy.”

“It’s not bad once you get past your mom’s friends trying to get a little extra sugar to go with their repair work,” I reply before telling him about Mrs. Barnes trying to seduce me with lemonade and cookies. “But other than that . . . business is booming.”

Oliver chuckles. “Good, good, but what else you got going on, man? Every time we talk, you’re about work. Rewiring this, tiling that, painting the other. What else is going on? You too busy working to get out?”

If there’s anything about Oli that’s a pain in the ass, it’s his insistence on being a big brother to me. I get it. With Tony gone and Oli being a father now, he’s got that instinct going strong in him, but damn, he can get a little nosy sometimes. “I literally just told you I’m getting propositions left and right, even with snacks! What about you and Mindy? Are the kids keeping y’all up all night still?”

Oli drops it. He can see I’m not in the mood, and besides, he can’t pass up the chance to gush about the kids. “They’re doing great, man. You gotta see them with their Grandma when she visits. It’s pure comedy. It seems weird to think that we’ve got one starting preschool soon, though. Man, I’m telling you, you need to get one of your own. They’re a hoot!”

Oliver stops, seeing the expression on my face, and I know he’s seeing the warning flash in my eyes before he covers his faux pas with a smile. I let it go and give him a grin back. “Kids aren’t in my future, or at least, no time soon. That’s why I love to spoil yours rotten . . . and then send them back. I’m fun Uncle Caleb who lets them eat cake for breakfast, stay up all night, and jump on the couch!”

Oliver’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead, and he half chokes on his limonada that we’re having with our tacos. “You . . . let my kids eat cake for breakfast? Now I know why they came back last time begging to go spend the night at your place. Best keep that between us and not let Mindy know.”

“What can I say? Your daughter gives me those big puppy dog eyes of hers and I can’t do anything except turn on the cartoons and go get some cake.”

Oliver laughs, nodding. “Yeah, she’s good at that. Okay, we’ll keep it between us because if Mindy finds out, you won’t get a chance to babysit again, and I happen to like being able to take my wife out on the town every once in awhile. If you ever find a woman you want to marry, don’t forget to do date nights. Keeps things solid, sane, and spicy.”

“Sounds like a recipe for a good taco too,” I wisecrack, and Oliver shakes his head. He knows I’m not listening, and he knows why.

“Okay, well thanks for checking on the house this morning. I’ll have Martha get in touch with the heavy equipment contractors, see what we can get out there. As soon as I know, I’ll get in touch with you on another property. Sure you won’t do more scouting for me?”

I shake my head, offering him my hand. “No dice, Oliver. Besides, I heard Cassie’s been doing well for you guys on that. She even skipped our run last weekend because she was, and I quote, ‘gonna impress that man if it’s the last thing I do.’ Apparently, you’re that man. Lucky bastard.” I laugh.

Oliver nods. “Yeah, well, you should find the time for more than sharing a coffee downstairs. Seriously, both of you have momentum now. You can let off the gas a little bit and hang out for a change.”

“You trying to play matchmaker with me?” I ask, and Oliver laughs. “What?”

“Caleb, I would be a horrible matchmaker. No, that’s just general advice, and I know you two are friendly, that’s all. Find the time when you can and hang out a bit. Be good for both of your mental health.”

I think about it and nod. “If I find the time, sounds good. She’s fun to joke with—you know how she is. Thousand and one laughs, and then I want to kill her.”

“Yeah, I know someone just like that,” Oliver says, meaning his wife, and I roll my eyes. “Anyway, take care, and don’t eat too many of those cookies. You never know if one of my mom’s friends has slipped something into the mix. You might find yourself tied up in someone’s basement.”

I laugh. “Sounds more like something Mindy or Roxy would do. Should I check your basement sometime for ropes, whips, and handcuffs?”

Oliver growls mockingly, shaking his head. “Think I gotta get back to work. See you later, Caleb.”