The Ignominy of the Devil
Fergus separated a portion of the venetian blinds and watched the man plod up the stairs to the second-story apartment. Now, Fergus didn’t consider himself a completely impatient person, but good God, it was going to be a struggle to not kill this guy as soon as he walked through the door. The dolt had shown up almost an hour earlier and just sat in his car. Fergus had debated withdrawing and coming back another day before the man finally exhibited signs of life.
It wasn’t as if Fergus didn’t have other things to do. His job may not be nine-to-five behind a desk, as much as he wished it was, but he still stuck to a schedule. Even after the bulk of the work, there was the time required to carefully pull open drawers and toss around furniture to make it appear as if it had not been done carefully. Then he had to go home, clean his tools, and try to scrub out any stains that may have missed his plastic bib and gotten on his clothes.
The whole idea was that by sunset, Fergus would be submerged in his easy chair with a bitter wheatgrass smoothie in one hand and a whodunnit in the other.
But before any of that, he had to actually do the work.
As his father used to say, he had to earn his keep.
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