"What the fuck are you doing?!" Someone shouted at me and I froze, turning slowly on the creeky porch, to face the man as he made his way through the maze of overgrown brush.
"Who the hell are you?!" I snapped at the man running up to the porch.
"I own the shop next door." He climbed up the porch steps and I felt the wood buckle.
"Stop!" I shouted holding my hands out in front of me, "I don't think it can support us both!"
"It's structurally sound, just weathered is all." He shrugged and leaned against the pillar, crossing his arms in attempt to look cool.
I decided that he looked like a Viking. A tall, muscular Viking, in his mid, maybe late, thirties. That would be fun to tell the cops, Yessir, the man that assaulted me on my property was a really cute, muscular Viking, with tattoos."
I assumed the bikes in the driveway belonged to him, since he was wearing dark jeans with biker boots and black tee that read Church on the breast pocket.
"Why are you over here?" I asked him, "Have you been squatting in this house?"
"Have I been-?" He looked at me in confusion, but when he caught on to what I meant it was like a light bulb went off, "My shop looks after the place is all, and you're trespassing."
"Technically, you are." I gaped at him and turned back toward the door to unlock it.
That was when a tatted hand landed on the door frame next to my head.
"This isn't your rental house, Princess." He whispered coldly, as if I didn't belong here.
"No shit, Shirlock," I looked into the man's brown eyes, "If it was my rental, I'd have a pool, an open bar, and it would be on the beach somewhere."
I jingled the keys in front of his face and he snorted.
"Where'd you get the keys, Princess?"
"Apparently I own the place now, with it's contents." I put the key in the lock and swung the door open as I spoke. When I looked back at him, he was giving me a once over.
"I'm sure you do." He said dryly as he looked around.
He obviously thought he owned everything. Well, I was lawyer who fought with morons like him on a daily basis, I knew how they worked and I was going to put him in his place.
"I'm assuming that the bikes parked in the driveway are your's?" I glared at the man, not wanting to turn and enter the house, but not having an option, "I'll give you 48 hours to find a new parking spot, but if I need you to move them beforehand, you will have to."
"And if I say no?" He held his chin high and defiant. He had no idea who he was messing with.
"Then you can kiss your cruisers goodbye, because if they are on my property, they belong to me."
"You can't move them without the keys." He snorted, "Even then, they'd be too heavy for you to move."
I gave him a once over, like he had done to me. He wanted to appear intimidating, but he really wasn't. I'd dealt with worse from my cousins, who thought they knew bikes better than me, they didn't know my Grams like I did.
"Be thankful I'm giving you forty-eight hours to find a new spot to park your Road King and Iron 883, ZZ." I gave a nod toward the bikes and watched as his jaw dropped, "I only asked you to move them so I can pull the car out of the garage and I may need to rent a dumpster for what I can't salvage in this house. This is not your property and you are parked illegally."
"We had a deal with the original owner." His brow furrowed.
"Well, because of your attitude, the deal is now void," I told him, "I need my driveway and I do know how to hotwire a bike, Sparky."
"You know bikes?" He eyed me.
"Probably more than you." I huffed a laugh.
"The name's Church, not ZZ and definitely not Sparky."
"Could have fooled me." I snorted, looking at his beard, before turning and stepping into the house.
"When you want us to pull the bikes out, just let us know. No need to hotwire anything round here, Princess." He grinned as I slammed the door in his face.
Mom had people come and clean last Sunday morning, but the floors were still dirty, from years of neglect, and there was a horribly stale smell in the air.
I cursed myself for agreeing to this, especially when I saw the kitchen and it was a huge step into the 1980's.
"It all has to be replaced." I whined, "Where am I gonna eat?"
Yes, food was my biggest concern. I mean, if I couldn't eat, how was I supposed to live long enough to gut a house?
The tiles on the shower walls were atrocious, the tubs were, although clean, the old metal kind, and one was blue. BLUE!
The tile on the floors were nice, just filthy and filmy, but oh lord, what had died in here?
"Okay, cleaning supplies and food," I thought of my gameplay as I pulled out my phone to find the best place to get everything, "I'll tackle the master bed and bathroom today, then the front yard. When that was done I would see where I stood.
The furniture had to go. There was no way I was sitting on or sleeping on any of this crap.
Then I whined again. Lysol. I needed Lysol.
That little girl had the balls to slam the door in my face?
How'd she buy that house? Was she Jake's kid? I didn't think he had a kid. He certainly didn't act like it, but brighter did I back then. She only looked to be eighteen, maybe nineteen if she pushed it. It could be possible, Ali was nineteen now.
Maybe they were fuck buddies, but why would she be here without him? Why was she alone anyway? Regardless of her relationship with Jake, why would she have traveled here alone?
"You find out what's going on?" Smokey asked when I entered the shop.
"She's the new owner," I scoffed, "Got a key and everything."
"Great," He sighed as I plopped down in front of my client, "Just what we need. That bitch seems really uptight."
"Oh, you haven't heard the best part," I sighed and dipped my gun back in my ink well, "Princess gave us 48 hours to find a new parking spot or she's hotwiring our bikes and moving them herself."
"Why don't we get the whole gang to park there tonight?" Ali chuckled, "She did give us 48 hours."
"I like how you think." Smokey grinned at her.