MTR was a family business at the time, a dozen of us across four noncontiguous states. The Big Man trained each of us personally, took us to hardware stores to purchase the tools of our trade, stayed for a month’s worth of assignments to demonstrate how revenge work was properly done, accompanied us to twelve-step meetings, and then let us loose to do the job we’d been charged with. He allowed me to throw myself into the work, to mask my grief by burying it in the misfortune of others.
Not long after the incident with Jimmy Motts, Frank called me into his office. He was crouched at his desk with a hand half covering his face, the worn tie dangling between his knees.
“I hate to say it, Dandrow, but you might not be cut out for this kind of work.”
I sat across from him and tried to see what was written in the file he read from.
“There are troubling reports,” he explained. “There are complaints.”
“Was I rude to someone?”
“No, it wasn’t rudeness. They all think you’re a peach of a person. Not sure how you did that, but whatever. If they like you, I can like you too. I appreciate what you’re trying to do.”
I didn’t understand what he was saying and feared it had to do with my past, with MTR or something surrounding the estate of the old man, a lawsuit. It was almost winter then. His office was dark in the weak morning light.
“This isn’t easy to say. You’re bad at charity work.”
He seemed like he wanted to laugh at the absurdity but was resolved not to. His face red from the strain. Frank may not have liked me, but that’s a funny thing to have to tell someone.
“Your heart is there, I believe, but the particulars don’t happen for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mrs. Keen’s gutters, for example. When you cleaned them, you kicked loose some shingles. She then had a leaky roof.”
“Is that true? I can fix it next—”
Frank held up a meaty finger. “The lift chair you found for Mr. Hanson, it had a short circuit, almost started a fire. When you cleared those boxes out of the Sedlak basement, did you notice black mold? That stuff is toxic. Had it been sucked into the ventilation they’d of been goners.”
My chest felt heavy. All I could manage to say was, “Jeez.”
“There’s more.” Frank held up a stack of bound pages. “But I’ll spare you the details. We both know why you’re here.”
“Jimmy Motts.”
“That’s right. Jimmy Motts.”
“Did he tell you that he rammed my chest with his forehead?”
“He told me that you provoked him, that—”
“C’mon, Frank. You don’t believe that bullshit, do you?”
“I don’t have to. Your record speaks for itself.”
“But there’s the woman whose garden I fixed. She’ll vouch for me.”
“Jill’s dead,” Frank replied. “She passed last week.”
I recalled the visage of that now-dead woman, and I questioned myself again.
“Was Motts the auditor on these jobs?”
“Now, don’t start that woe-is-me shit. You knew the rules when you started. With your background, the one thing you absolutely couldn’t do was confront a client.” Frank leaned forward, set his jaw in his hands. “Not everyone we help is a kind-hearted old lady. Sometimes they’re crazy. Sometimes they’re maniacs who probably deserve to get hit. I know that. But it’s our job to help them all. Each and every one of them. We don’t get to pick, okay? How we come to meet these people, how they come to my office, it’s beyond me. But that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s not up to us.”
Frank stood and walked to the door. As he opened it I could hear the receptionist arguing with someone on the phone.
“We love your effort,” Frank said, holding out his hand. “But I can’t give you any more jobs. Not after all this.” He whispered this last part, pointing toward the folder. “It would be a PR disaster. You’ve worked in corporate. You can understand that.”
No one likes to be fired, particularly from a volunteer position, but as I left Frank’s office that day a sense of relief flickered within me. Honestly, it was a little disarming to work in the daylight, to be welcomed into someone’s home. People let me play catch with their children. I was handed a baby girl once, despite my protestations, embarrassed that I didn’t know how to hold her. It seemed like a mistake when a woman wanted to hug me after I raked her leaves, when her children smiled shyly to reveal lost teeth, saying, “Thanky, Mister James.”
This wasn’t part of the world I knew. Even if these people accepted me, it didn’t mean I belonged there, defrosting their refrigerators.
They said I was a model citizen, some of them. Don’t get me wrong, I knew how full of shit they were. I was still working with Make Things Right at night, of course. I had to get paid somehow. The people I helped with CAP didn’t know how I’d shattered over a hundred windshields, slashed sixty sets of tires, scarred the bark of hundred-year-old family oak trees, stuck cockle burrs in people’s tube socks, set free beloved family pets, and planted child pornography on an elementary school teacher’s home computer — or that this chicanery had paid my bills and taxes. I wondered what they would think of me if they found out.
In many ways the incident that led to my being let go by Citizens Against Poverty was a fortuitous one. It seemed that there were many revolutions to the ups and downs a man must face. No matter what kind of life he’s living, not everything will turn up roses — especially not for a guy who tempts fate like Jimmy Motts.
The fact that we’re at his house now is a case in point. Some people won’t believe this is a coincidence. Maybe you’re one of those people. For you, this is just a simple training exercise, but it means a lot more to me. The universe offers second chances to those open to receiving them. I know this.
Believe me, I don’t hold a grudge against Motts. I’m a professional — there’s no need to recuse myself. He flipped off an old woman in traffic, defamed God in front of her grandkids. That’s why we’re here. We’ll wait as long as it takes, even if Motts is up most of the night, lingering in one room or another, snacking in the kitchen, brushing his teeth. When the lights are doused we’ll be ready.
Maybe it’s true what Frank said about the Furies being a self-reflexive phenomenon — that to invoke their powers is to curse yourself — but I don’t care anymore. It’s who I am.
We may not be able to meddle in fate, of this I’m fairly certain — but it’s also true that we can’t pick our talents. This is the difference between a job and a vocation. Some people just go to work and wait it out till payday. But some of us, people like me, we’d do this stuff for free.
(Carrie Rehbein)
He introduced himself to Carrie Rehbein at a karaoke bar by the freeway. She was from Ashland and had come to Omaha that day to go shopping with her sisters. She had green eyes and red hair, wore a tight yellow tee shirt under her coat and two small gold necklaces around her neck. Her engagement had been broken off the month before, just after Thanksgiving, her sisters said.
It was obvious her sisters were the ones who really wanted Carrie to go home with Aaron. All of them drank tumblers of white wine.
The sisters sang raunchy lyrics they’d improvised over karaoke versions of Mariah Carey and Shania Twain, until the DJ refused to let them go on again. They got Carrie too drunk to drive home and made Aaron promise he’d take care of her.
Carrie was nervous to be alone with him, once they were in her car. She turned and looked out the window, watching for her sisters as he drove her away.
Attend the Way