“Hold on a second.” She called back into the house. “Honey, it’s for you.”
“Who is it?” He turned a page to agate scores.
“Eyewitness Five again.”
“Let the dogs loose.”
“Okay.”
She smiled back through the crack. “Just be a moment.”
“Thank you,” said the reporter. She closed the door.
She walked through the living room and out the back door and opened a gate. She returned and sat down with her magazine.
The man grabbed the business section. The yelling on the front lawn eventually subsided. It went with the territory. He was Troy Bradenton, owner of Troy’s Roofing Plus. The Plus was the extra money you paid. Troy was one of the most respected, looked-up-to men in the local contracting industry, because he was rich.
Troy’s trucks made the rounds of the day-labor offices each morning, collecting winos to canvass suburban shopping centers with windshield flyers that shouted in big red letters: “Why throw away hundreds on needless roofing repairs? That little leak could be a modest shingle replacement. Don’t get ripped off! For honest, dependable work, call Troy today!” There was a cartoon of a happy homeowner counting a big wad of money.
Troy’s office was manned with phone answerers and salesmen whom Troy had personally trained with a slide show and a motto: “Every call is five thousand dollars!”
The Roofing Plus salesman went up on the prospective roofs and smoked or ate a Snickers, then came down and called out to the owner, “I need to show you something. Afraid it isn’t good.”
“What is it?”
The salesman scampered up the ladder in a hurry. “Take a look at this.”
“Do I have to climb up there?”
“Yes.”
The customer was now on the salesman’s turf, clinging to the rungs. Bolts were deliberately loosened so the ladders wobbled. The older the customer, the better.
“See these rusty nails? The whole thing’s shot. And the trusses are probably eaten.” He made notes on a pad. “I’m sorry, but the law requires me to inform the building department.”
No, it didn’t.
The salesman climbed down. “Luckily, we had a cancellation. A truck can be here this afternoon.”
Troy’s fortune swelled, and he became more respected. Even Eyewitness 5 couldn’t ruin it with their exposé footage. The next Friday was the last of the month. Sales bonus day. Tennis rackets, video cameras, water beds. The top three salesmen got the grand prize. Sailing trip to the Keys. Troy didn’t have a sailboat, so they all got sailing jackets and spent the weekend in the bars.
After announcing the winners, Troy packed up his black Jaguar, slipped into his blue and white sailing jacket with red piping and kissed his wife goodbye.
“Another great month,” said Troy.
“You earned it,” said Mrs. Bradenton. “Have fun.”
The Jag drove off.
17
A TV REPORTER stood on the edge of U.S. 1. He looked at the cameraman. “We ready?”
The cameraman pressed an eye to the rubber viewfinder. The reporter raised a microphone.
The camera panned across the sea of runners gathering at the eastern end of the bridge, which had been closed to traffic. A sheriff’s helicopter skimmed overhead. The camera swung back to the reporter. A ’71 Buick Riviera pulled up in the background. Serge and Coleman got out in shorts and T-shirts.
“I still don’t understand what we’re doing here,” said Coleman.
“I told you. Women respond to fitness. This is the first day of my big new working-out phase. I’ve decided to totally dedicate the rest of my life to running excellence.”
Coleman filled a sportster water bottle with two beers and began sipping through a Flex-Straw. “I heard you’re supposed to gradually ease into these new workout programs.”
“That’s for the sheep. The only correct way to do everything is dive right in the deep end.” Serge sat down and untied his sneakers, then retied them as tightly as he could.
Coleman put on knee and elbow pads. “You ever play sports before? I mean for real?”
“Was on the high school football team for part of a season, before I got kicked off.”
“What happened?”
“We were playing our big cross-city rival, and as the final seconds ticked off the clock, I dumped a cooler of Gatorade on our coach.”
“So what? I see that done all the time on TV.”
“We were losing by four touchdowns.”
A silver Infiniti pulled up next to them. A tall, handsome man got out wearing a gold silk warm-up suit. The man looked at Serge and Coleman and smirked. He took off the warm-ups to reveal matching silk shorts and an ultra-lightweight, breathable tank top. He leaned against the Infiniti and began a long menu of stretching exercises. Hamstrings, groin, calves, pulling his feet up behind him, twisting torso and neck.
