The Vessel - Jenika Snow Page 0,16

There were brown patches scattered throughout the grass, as if a dog had just gone around peeing on places and he hadn’t cared one way or another.

He had faux shutters on the windows, one of them hanging off the hinges. The living room window was cracked in the corner, duct tape securing it. It was a little bit funny in a non-humorous way how he was giving my aunt and mother a hard time about the raised bed when his house looked like something out of a horror movie.

I took the rickety wooden porch steps one at a time and stopped in front of his door, bringing my knuckles down on the door three times. The sound echoed, and I took a step back. I actually had no idea what I planned on telling him. But I didn’t want to wait, and so I’d just gotten a taxi to bring me over here as soon as I left Aunt Frannie’s place. Might as will get this done and over with.

Another part of me told me this was a bad idea, that I would make things worse. That wasn’t my intention, and I was hoping he could see on a more empathetic note what that little garden did for my mom and aunt, how it helped them. Surely, he could take some pity and sympathize with an older woman and a paraplegic.

I brought my knuckles down on the door again. I heard him shout on the other side to, “give him a fucking minute.”

Perfect. This was already starting off well.

A moment later, I heard a lock disengage on the other side, and then the wooden door swung inward before he pushed open the metal screen door. The first thing that assaulted me was his smell. Given the stench, I wondered when the last time he bathed was. The landlord was a dirty asshole, wearing a pair of faded, stained jeans with holes in the knees, a white tank top that was frayed around the edges and where his massive pot belly hung out from the bottom.

He had yellow pit stains, and something wet was splashed on the front of his chest, as if he’d been drinking his beer and poured it all over himself. A cigarette hung out of his mouth, and his days-old beard looked scraggly and unkempt.

I refrained from covering my nose with a hand or showing on my expression how nasty he looked.

“Yeah?”

I cleared my throat, not sure what to say all of the sudden, when he pulled his cigarette out from between his lips and blew a waft of smoke toward me. I clenched my jaw, already knowing he wasn’t going to budge with whatever I asked. But I’d still try.

“Hi. I’m the niece of Frannie Willock and the daughter of Charlene.” He looked at me with a blank expression as if he had no idea who I was talking about. “They live at your rental on 38 Dexter Corner.” He rested a shoulder against the doorframe and still kept his expression neutral. He put the cigarette back in his mouth and took another long drag from it. “I wanted to talk to you about the raised garden they have in the backyard.” I curled my hands into fists at my sides as my nerves tried to take over. “I wanted to see if we could come to some kind of compromise so they could keep it.”

He inhaled from the cigarette again and narrowed his eyes before blowing the smoke in my face. I coughed, taking another step back. This guy was a huge asshole.

“I’m not quite sure what you think we’re gonna compromise.” He snubbed his cigarette out on his doorframe then flicked it in my direction, the butt flying over my shoulder.

“Well, that garden might not seem like much to you, but it means a lot to my mother, who I’m sure you know is a paraplegic.” I was trying to go for his humane side—if he even had one—but his blank expression told me he couldn’t care less.

But still, I tried harder.

“She can’t do much because of her disability, so I was hoping you and I could come to some kind of agreement to where you would allow the raised garden to stay.”

He didn’t answer for long moments, and I was starting to get annoyed, wanted to just push aside the pleasantries and demand he quit being a dick. But I didn’t. I could fake it.

He pushed away from the doorframe and crossed his