Even without a golden statue of me in the backyard, the house was beautiful. The landlord, however, was not so easy on the eyes. We’d called the number on the sign saying we were interested in the property, and he showed up about fifteen minutes later in a gleaming, new, top-of-the-line Ferrari. Right off the bat, he was grouchy and impatient with us.
“Can we have a look around?” Dad asked.
“Let’s not beat around the bush here.” He’d spotted our dilapidated minivan and peered at us through his amber sunglasses. His shifty eyes darted around, sizing us up like we were so many head of cattle and he was a rancher. Or a butcher.
Chapter 10
SO, AS YOU can see, I have trust issues.
But it wouldn’t have taken a ninth sense-let alone a sixth sense-to know the guy definitely wasn’t cool. The next thing you know, his eyes fixed on Mom’s modest engagement ring.
“Three thousand,” he said, and spat some tobacco juice into the lawn.
“Dollars? A month?!” my mom asked.
“Plus a month’s rent in advance. Security deposit. And heat and electricity are not included,” he said, already turning back toward his luxury sports car.
“We’ll take it,” said Dad.
The man spun around. “Now, don’t waste my time here, buddy. I have twenty properties to manage and can’t waste time on deadbeats.”
“Are you calling us deadbeats?” asked Mom.
Pork Chop blew a bubble and stared at him menacingly.
“All right then-a cashier’s check. Six thousand dollars made payable to Ernesto Gout. And I need it today. I have a lot of other people looking at this place.”
The guy tensed up a little as Dad stepped toward him, but Dad was all smiles.
“It’s a deal, sir,” he said, putting out his hand.
The landlord grudgingly accepted the handshake, whereupon I quickly stepped up behind him and put my hand on the back of his head, causing him to go rigid like somebody had dropped an ice cube down his shirt.