Framing the second story of a new house, Gabriel felt strong and confident as he cut another 2×10 for the roof he was building. Twenty-three years old and ruggedly handsome, he sported broad shoulders and thick arms from framing buildings since graduating high school. Though his white T-shirt was wet below his armpits and between his pecs, he felt exalted on this moderate October day; the hot summer days were now behind him. Sawdust covered his jeans. He was applying his well-learned trade and making decent money, unlike some friends who had borrowed a ton of cash for college and were now working low-paying retail jobs. He looked down on the street, feeling happy, until he saw the newish red Camaro park behind his pickup.
Roscoe, no last name, stepped out of the car and looked up at Gabriel. “We’ve got some business to take care of.” Gabriel ignored him and cut another stud with the circular saw, cocooning himself in the noise and the confidence in his grip. The saw stopped mid-cut. Gabriel looked down to see that Roscoe had unplugged his extension cord from the power pole.
“What the hell do you want?” Gabriel cried. “I already paid you for my brother’s loan a month ago.”
“He borrowed another two hundred bucks last week. Payment was due yesterday.”
This dandy, dressed in an expensive suit and glossy hair, looked out of place among the half-built houses and scattered work crews. Gabriel’s first instinct was to go down and punch him in the face. His hand opened and closed twice. With eyes narrowing and teeth gritting, the image of hitting the bastard with his heavy framing hammer passed. Jail time countered his rational brain. He had to do something. “I’m coming down.”
Pausing for a moment before slowly climbing down the ladder on the side of the house gave him time to think. This was the second time his kid brother bought drugs on credit from this well-polished creep. As Gabriel’s worn work boots crunched onto the gravel and stepped, Roscoe moved in.
With icy cold eyes, the man in the suit explained how ‘accidents’ happen to those who don’t pay. “Did your brother tell you about his friend who got laid off? It seems you can’t do warehouse work with two broken arms.”
Seething, Gabriel clamped his mouth tight, aware of the blood thundering through his veins and the cool breeze hitting his damp shirt.
Looking up at the partially installed roof joists, Roscoe continued. “You got a dangerous job, amigo. I hear falling off a roof is an occupational hazard.”
“Are you threatening me, now?”
“Just saying…. You gotta be careful. Gotta do what’s expected of you.” The false smile disappeared as he stepped forward with the meanest expression Gabriel had ever seen on a human face. Gabriel waited for it to pass.
“How much does he owe this time for drugs?”
“I knew you would listen to reason, bruh.” Without looking away, he paused, then said, “With interest, three hundred and fifty.”
“My checkbook’s in my truck,” Gabriel said, turning toward his vehicle.
“Is that a fucking joke?”
Gabriel stopped and turned around. “Then I’ll need to go to the bank at lunch and get the cash. I’ll meet you here again at one.”
“That’s more like it, dude,” Roscoe said, eyes gleaming in triumph. Gabriel envisioned Roscoe slapping him like a TV gangster and wondered how he’d refrain from punching his teeth out. No violence occurred, but once again, the vision of Gabriel’s hammer busting a hole through his opponent’s skull flashed in his mind’s eye. He could even bury him below where the patio would be poured on Thursday.
Not being a legitimate transaction, no handshake was offered. Rosco walked away with a smug look on his face, entered his car and drove off the block. Gabriel thought about what he was going to say to his brother and pulled his phone from his front pocket. He hit stop, then play, and heard his own voice. “What the hell do you want?”
Crawling up the ladder, Gabriel pondered how he could get his brother to give up drugs. And testify against this lowlife.
