W is for Wasted
Page 65“Too late. He pulled up stakes a week ago. At least from what the neighbors say.”
“How long did he live here?”
“I don’t know. Eighteen months? Might have been less.”
“I take it he left without giving notice.”
“He also left owing two months’ rent. Are you a bill collector?”
I shook my head. “I’m here on a personal matter. His father died. I figured someone should let him know.”
“Why you?”
“We’re distantly related.”
“How distant?”
“Second cousins, once or twice removed. That’s a guess on my part. I’ve never understood the distinctions.”
“I’ve never had the occasion.”
“You’re in for a disappointment. I’m not saying the guy’s a bum, but he’s a lousy tenant. He was a slow pay and sometimes he couldn’t bring himself to pay at all, which I was supposed to tolerate on account of he’s such a talented guy. If I came knocking on his door to collect, he’d pony up, but it always seemed to take him by surprise. I was about to evict him anyway, so he saved me the paperwork. Get a deadbeat in a rental and it’s damn near impossible to get ’em out.”
“You know where he went?”
“Most likely back to his wife. This is the third or fourth time she’s kicked him out. Bugged her no end that he wouldn’t get a job. Able-bodied white male and all he does is sit around and play his guitar. Time to time, he collects unemployment, but that doesn’t go on forever. Problem is, with him gone, she’s stuck shelling out a bundle for child care. She’s got one in school and two were enrolled in what they call ‘pre-kindergarten’ to the tune of two hundred bucks a week. Per kid. She’s better off with him on the premises. What the hell else is he doing with his days?”
“Why’d you rent to him if you knew he didn’t have a job?”
“I felt sorry for the guy.”
“What line of work is he in?”
“Musician, which I don’t think of as a ‘line of work.’ It’s more like goofing off, accompanied by a musical instrument. He has this band, Perforated Bowel—or something equally profound. He’s lead singer and doubles on guitar. The other two play keyboard and drums, respectively. They have gigs in town couple of weekends a month. That’s the claim at any rate, for what it’s worth.”
“Is he any good?”
“You know his wife’s name?”
“It’s on his application. Heitzerman, Heidelman. Heidie-something. I can’t remember how it’s spelled and I might have got it wrong. First name’s Mamie. Like in Eisenhower. House is in her name. I called her, hoping she’d be kind enough to pay his back rent. No such luck. Chick’s smarter than I thought.”
“Wonder why she didn’t take his name when they married.”
“She probably didn’t like the family association. I guess you heard what happened to his dad.”
“The business in 1974?”
“Was it that long ago?”
“That’s the year he went to prison.”
“I’d have said, five, six years. You’re talking fourteen.”
“Time flies,” I remarked. I gestured toward the empty house. “Was Ethan the one who stole the doorknobs?”
“Some of them. Did he strip the carpeting?”
“I did that. He kept his dogs locked up while he was out and they tore the place apart. Only two of ’em, but they must have egged each other on. Get rid of the smell of dog pee, I’d have to burn the place down. You smell that or is it just me?”
“Place stinks.”
“Appreciate the confirmation. He talked me out of a pet deposit. I must’ve been smokin’ crack that day. You’re not a local?”
“I’m not. I drove up from Santa Teresa this morning.”
“What’d he die of, the old guy?”
I didn’t see any reason to tell this guy the whole of it so I shrugged. “I don’t know the details. Just the broad strokes.”
“The broad strokes being what?”
“Probably a heart attack,” I said. “I’d like to talk to Ethan’s sisters as long as I’m in town. Ellen and Anna. Are they still around?”