Up on the Roof, Out on a Limb
Part Three
(Up on the Roof, Out on a Limb, part one)
(Up on the Roof, Out on a Limb, part two)
Despite our long history of sharing information and my unbroken streak of keeping him out of the picture — even at the expense of a couple broken ribs, loose teeth and the bridge of my nose — Harvey was uncomfortable talking to me. His usual casual demeanor had chilled colder than his chicken noodle soup.
“Phile, you know my place ain’t never gonna earn no Michelin Stars. Heck, I’ll never get a visit from Guy Fieri, but I’m proud of what I’ve got and I don’t need any trouble,” he whispered to me while his eyes darted back and forth and his head swiveled to and fro.
“I’m a vault, Harv. You know that.”
He swallowed hard and clutched my arm with a grip that cut off the flow of blood to my fingers.
“A couple months ago, after the winter thaw, I noticed a water stain in the ceiling above my stove. I didn’t think anything of it until a few weeks later we got that big three-day rain. A slow drip started over the burner where I keep my stew pot simmering,” he started in, nerves tightening.
I did a quick calculation and realized Harvey’s leak coincided with a debilitating case of the trots that had afflicted me earlier in the year.
“Later that week I got a fax in the unit I keep under the counter near the register, right next to the hogleg I keep tucked away for late-night visitors who mistake my place for a cash machine. Reliable Roof Repair it read. I couldn’t believe my luck. During the mid-morning lull I called the number to have someone come out and take a look,” he continued.
Harvey’s morning lull lasts from 5am to noon.
“When I heard you talking about ‘friends in high places,’ I figured maybe you were on to something that might have to do with Reliable Roof Repair,” he added, gathering his confidence.
“You figured right, Harv. I’ve got a stain in my kitchen, too, and I’m on a trail. I was going to see if this R-cubed outfit might be the solution, but I figure you’re not digging your talons in my forearm because you’re eager to give them your endorsement.”
My fingers were tingling.
“You figured right, Phile. If you’re going after these guys you’d better be on the alert. You may ask for an estimate, but you’re going to get more than you bargained for. I figure you could use some insight rather than go in blind,” he offered.
Now my ears were ringing.
“You figured right, Harv. I was going to track these people down to ask about a good tarring. It sounds to me like I might be in for a good shellacking.”
“Finish your burger, Phile. You don’t want to go down this road on an empty stomach,” he said, finally letting go of my arm and returning to his spatula.
I picked up my fork to make a stab at the pile of French fries on my plate, but my hand was numb and I succeeded only in fumbling the utensil, which slid off the back of the counter and onto the floor with a metallic clanging that got Daphne’s attention. She bent over to retrieve it with a caboose that got mine.
“I didn’t know these fries came with a shake,” I said.
“Careful, sugar. You know the first fork is on the house. I charge for the second.”
“I’ve never paid for a fork in my life, toots. And I’m too broke to start now.”
“If you play your cards right, you might not have to.”
“I’m game to try. May I have a new fork? Pretty please, with sugar on top?”
“Sugar on top, sugar on the bottom. However you want it, sugar.”
Apparently I’d played my cards right; Daphne handed me a fork. The same fork.
At least I didn’t have to pay.
To be continued…
