Andrew Vachss - The Weight

I was just ahead of the outbound traffic by the time all the paperwork was done. I knew it would be smooth sailing to just past the outer edge of Queens, which is where I wanted to go.

First, I stopped at a cemetery. The thing was huge. Almost empty that time of day. I paid my respects to some guy who cashed in thirty years ago. Then I scooped up enough sod to slip Solly’s phone under it, with the ringer turned off.

Soon as I saw the place, I knew it had been what I thought it was when I read the ad: “One bedroom, furnished, immaculate. No smoking, no pets. Quiet neighborhood. Must pass credit check. Rent includes all utilities.”

The woman who answered the door took a little step back when she saw me. I was neat and clean, but I couldn’t do anything about my size and that scar.

“You’re so… big,” the woman said, like she was answering just what I’d been thinking.

“Yes, ma’am. I guess it comes with the territory.”

“Are you some kind of… bouncer or something?”

“Oh no, ma’am. I’m a personal trainer. I also sell fitness equipment. So I’m always in one gym or another, it seems.”

“Well… come in,” she said. Still a little flustered, but calming down quick. I wondered if her husband had a problem with bookies.

After I told her that I never smoked-“How would that look, in my business?”-and I didn’t have a pet, she got right down to it. Eleven hundred a month, plus one month’s rent and one month’s security. “You couldn’t come close to a place for that much in the city.”

The apartment was over the garage. Looked fresh-painted. Press-on fake-wood paneling. The furniture was all cheap stuff, but it looked new. The only reason I bothered to look around is, if you don’t do that, it makes landlords suspicious.

“It looks perfect to me,” I said. “Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” she said, hands on her hips like I’d just said she was putting on weight.

“Where would I be able to park my car? The last thing I need is another damn ticket.”

“Oh! That’s easy. Come on downstairs and I’ll show you.”

I thought she’d head for the side door. That was the one we came in by-the front was just a couple of windows. But there was a back door, too, right off the downstairs kitchen. “See?” she said, pointing at a blacktop slab laid down in their backyard. “It’s not indoor parking, I know. But you never have to worry about getting a ticket.”

“I’m sold,” I told her.

“You don’t have…?”

“Loud parties?”

She smiled.

“Ma’am, by the time I’m done working, all I want is a hot shower and plenty of sleep. A lot of my work is at night. Some of it, it’s even out of town. If that carpet you put down is as good as it looks, you’ll probably never even know when I’m here and when I’m not.”

“Well, that seems fine.”

“I hope so. Could I leave you a deposit while you’re waiting for the credit check to come back?”

“Why, certainly, Mr…”

“Wilson, ma’am. Stanley Wilson. My friends call me Stan,” I said, taking out my driver’s license while I was talking. I took something else out, too: thirty-three hundred-dollar bills. “If this is okay, I’ll just leave it with you. If you’re not satisfied with the credit check, just give me a call and I’ll come back to pick it up.”

She fingered the money. The tip of her tongue shot out of her lips for just a split second.

“This is… unusual, isn’t it?”

“Ma’am?”

“To pay in cash, I mean?”

“It’s what I prefer, actually. I mean, I’ll be happy to write a check instead if you-”

“No. No, that’s all right. I guess I…”

“Most of my clients pay me in cash,” I said, like we were sharing a secret.

“You mean, you’d always be paying your rent that way?”

“Yes, ma’am. You did say utilities were included, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I mean… Oh, I see. You wouldn’t have to write checks to Con Edison, either. But the phone would be your-”

I held up my cell phone, smiled at her again. “The bank automatically deducts every month’s bill out of my account. If you wanted, I could have them do the same thing with-”

“Oh no. No, that’s all right. Why go to all that trouble?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have very good manners.”

“My mother thanks you,” I said, remembering how Solly had handled that back in his fancy building.

She gave me a full smile at that, but she didn’t say anything.

“Would you be able to tell me when you expect the credit check to be completed?” I asked her. “I don’t want to be stuck-”

“Oh, you won’t be,” she said. “This is Monday. Thursday’s the fifteenth. If you moved in on Saturday, the rent would have to run from the fifteenth to the fifteenth instead of from the first every month. Would that be all right?”

“Sure. But would you mind calling me as soon as you’re sure, either way, so I can make my plans?”

“I’m sure you’ll pass the credit check, Mr. Wilson. My name is McGrew, by the way. Mary Margaret McGrew, if you can believe that . My friends call me Margo.”

“I hope we can be friends, then.”

I wasn’t exactly knocked off my pins when she called my new cell early Wednesday morning and told me I had passed the credit check. I knew I’d done that the second she saw all that cash. She said I could move in Thursday if I wanted-the rent was going to start on the fifteenth, anyway.

There’s no way that apartment was legit; the city makes you get a Certificate of Occupancy for any rental unit, but a lot of folks convert a basement or put something up over their garage. They’re not going to report the income, so the last thing they need is a paper trail. If they get caught, it’s heavy fines. The tell is “utilities included”-they can’t have two different names on bills going to the same address.

The fines aren’t even the worst part of renting an illegal apartment. There’s no way to evict tenants, even if they don’t pay rent. You take a deadbeat to court, you’d just be pulling the covers off yourself.

I’d spent Tuesday buying things. Enough to fill two good-sized suitcases and the shoulder duffel.

I was the tenant from Heaven, she’d tell her husband. Paid cash, and I hadn’t even asked for a receipt, never mind a lease.

She was the only one around when I came Thursday morning. Told me about ten times that I must be very strong to carry all that stuff upstairs in one trip.

After she handed over the key, she gave me a little speech about not “changing” anything. Meaning the lock, I think she was saying.

I was patient while she gave me another little speech: how the microwave worked, how it was better to leave the air-conditioning off when I wasn’t actually there, all this fussy stuff. She saved what I guess she thought was the big finish for last: the apartment not only had a flat-screen TV, it came with free cable.

The only way to get her out of the place was to check my watch, grab my cell phone, and punch in some numbers.

“I’ll let myself out,” she said.

Probably let yourself back in soon as you’re sure I’ll be gone for a while, too , I thought, but I just gave her a little salute and went back to the conversation I was having with myself.

You’d think a man with as much prison behind him as me would be an ace at killing time. And I guess I am, in some ways.