The Drip, a novel by Michael Gullo
“Mornin’. You got out early today.”
“We started that shed today.”
“Did the new guy show up?”
“I’m so glad you asked.”
“That bad?”
“I beat Tanner here again, so that was a plus, but this new guy is unimaginable.”
“Good start. This’ll be awesome. You always understate when you’re about to lay it on thick, unimaginable.”
“Only thing thick in this one is the black on his twenty-two teeth – I mean twenty-two year old teeth… He’s just a kid, and his teeth will be in a cup on the bedside table before he’s thirty.”
“Gross!”
“I’m up here sorting things in the back of the truck, panicking cuz I can’t find the speed square, and I know I bought it with me, and I hear voices down at Tanner’s truck, and I look up, and they’re walking toward me, and too close to fall over shocked.”
“Promising.”
“Oh yeah, promising, indeed. So here comes this cartoon character’s dirty Einstein hair, but draw in a stringer of bunnies and a duck thow’d over his shoulder and a bottle ’a moonshine sticking out of his back pocket.”
“What the…”
“Wait, there’s more. All that and then imagine a skid-row hologram aura in full detail floating around him like Pig Pen’s cloud of dust. His joints are all meth loose and fragile looking. I’m scared to hand him a ladder for fear he’ll melt right off it.”
“You got Tanner the workman’s comp right?”
“Yeah, he got it. Disability insurance ain’t got shit on this guy though.”
“So back to the Facebook ad?”
“No. I hired him.”
“What the hell?”
“You gotta see him, honey. It’s like Einstein yes, but with Manson eyes. I’m talking to him, and he’s off in some distant land for a second, then he’s back, and he’s gone again. And I’m doing that thing I do, like insulting the shit out of him.”
“Yeah, everybody loves that.”
“So, I’m doing the gag, you know it.”
“Yeah, I know it.”
“So, I’m like, tell the truth, you got a meth pipe in your pocket, and this guy is way gone, I mean full fantasy dialogue with himself, and then, finger snap, back again. It was bizarre.”
“Does he know you’re armed?”
“With what? Ain’t no gun’s got the fix for this guy. He’s a hustler like the rest of them. Ten steps ahead but on step two he’s already off track.”
“You’re not bringing this one home, right?”
“That’s just the intro, babe, it gets better.”
“Problem is you hire these people, and I don’t have time to be interviewed when they find your body in a shallow grave.”
“Shallow, this guy says he knows that 35p over there.”
“Oh Christ! So when he puts you six feet under, he’s stealing the equipment, and I’ll have to hire Blalock’s to finish the dirt work.”
“Sure, but there’s a scared as fuck human in there too under all that disguise. I shit you not, this guy walks up the driveway, and he’s got on his wife’s winter coat.”
“That’s sad.”
“It’s the county, babe, and this is the Dupont community. Meth capital of a geography’s a lot bigger than the state. We bought it, now we gotta break it. Can’t run from this shit. Gotta face it head on.”
“And here’s you, half way through the script of the next new episode of a thousand ways to die, and he don’t even know it.”
“Oh, I know it.”
“You dug a little hole with a garden tractor once, and now you think you can turn thirty-eight acres of never been touched hillside into Shangri-La.”
“That was twelve hundred cubic feet of spoils, Stefanie, and I had to move it one bucket at a time sprinkling it across the whole property so it wouldn’t be a pile as big as the whole house and just as high too. That’s ninety-five dump trucks sprinkled one little green tractor bucket at a time, and invisible to the naked eye once we got the grass growing – because I had enough sense to store the topsoil in one pile while I spread the anaerobic stuff first.”
“Don’t forget the Dansko mud prints all over the house for five months while you did it.”
“Stef, you’re not giving me enough credit. Yes, it’s a little hole with a green tractor, but you’re forgetting that I dug next to the live foundation wall of our lived-in home, through the Winter, excavated 150 feet of a 500 foot run of two-aught three-ply, 240-volt, 100-amp service line to the dock, a 1” water line and direct bury fiber optic – all of that left hanging in the air for three months while I did it and without one minute turning off the boat lift.”
“And that’s another thing, who the hell imagines that there needs to be a shower out in the open air on a dock in the middle of Winter?”
“You’re missing the miraculous looking at the practical. I did all of that with a garden tractor. It’s like removing the screw on a golden puzzle box using a butter knife, and still getting the prize inside.”
“Prize, a shower on the dock.”
“You’re impossible.”
“So, you dug a little hole once, and now you’re up there in a forest geologic time forgot about ever since the mudslide that created that pond, and never a shovel graced the land, and here comes you, going to buy a fleet of heavy equipment and tame the meth head down the street.”
“And look at that hole today. It’s a fully functional concrete encased bunker with a concrete roof, all the solar gear and its own three piece bathroom with running hot water…”
“Don’t forget the mini-fridge, Pat Robertson.”
“Point is…”
“Point is you got enough troubles up there and a tool bag ain’t fit for the job – in more ways than one, and you can’t just bag up a guy’s got real problems, and almost certainly a real past… Give me his name. I’ll run him.”
“Um, I didn’t get his name. Cody, but…”
“Are you fricking kidding me?”
“It almost doesn’t matter, but you’re right. I’ll get that.”
“I’ll get that. God help us.”
“It’s not all my fault Stef. This is the job. We bought it. Now we gotta break it. We have the money to build it ourselves…”
“No way…”
“Patience. I meant build the road and the dam and the drainage and the solar and the infrastructure. I already agreed to the GC. Let’s not go through all that again. But just know - I have the, told-you-so cued up and ready to fire out from under the bed later when you think you got me on the ropes.”
“Buddy, I don’t need ropes. I just need the butterfly net. You’re out of your mind.”
“Me? You should see these two trying to flip this base frame for the shed. I gotta go. They’re gonna crush someone.”
“Hey kids. Looks like a little trouble there.”
Tanner spoke first, “Little bit.”
“Cody, watch that frame edge. It’s gonna scar the tree.”
Ignoring the obvious gouge in the bark, “It’s up there soft. Just leanin’.”
Michael leaned in, “The frame looks good. Heavy son of a bitch though. Let me pin this corner so you can pivot and flop it over. Good. Good. Look out!”
The twelve by sixteen foot deck crashed to the red clay ground, and Cody said, “I ain’t no carpenter.”
Michael raised a brow, “That thing says you are.”
“Well, I ain’t.”
“Look at this. That plywood under there is four hundred pounds alone, the double band of two by eight lumber and the floor joists; gotta weigh six hundred pounds, and you guys just built that, and you flipped it over, and it crashed to the ground in one tight piece.”
“It’s the plywood,” Cody noted. “That pressure treated shit’s strong.”
“Yep, that’s it. You put the screws in strong, and you put them in the right places, and you staggered the joints…”
“I just ran the drill. I ain’t no carpenter.”
“Yeah, you said that, but you built the thing, and there it sits.”
Tanner interrupted the pep talk, “With, um, the top deck, are we still sticking with the three inch screws?”
“Yes, but you have to chalk-line the joists and sketch the mark to the side. Can’t count on the band screws to point out the joists under the plywood once it’s up cuz those are outer band screws, and they’re not…”
Cody jumped in, “I see it. Yeah. If we put on the plywood, those side band screws don’t line up, and we’ll miss…”
“Exactly, man. Good eye. So, why don’t you guys go heat up in Tanner’s truck while you drive down to get lunch? Take my card. Go sit someplace and get something hot.”
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“The boys went to the grill for lunch about an hour ago. We’re freezing our little asses off up here.”
“Did you get the shed done?”
“Well, it might be a little while. They did get the base deck framed though.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah, it’s about right. We needed to haul up all the tools from that muddy patch we made down there to park. Uphill both ways in the wind and snow and tornadoes and stuff.”
“Sounds harrowing.”
“We got through it.”
“You taking it easy?”
“Easy as I can. I’m wearing an ass shaped dent in the heated seat for sure.”
“So they know what they’re doing?”
“Yeah, sort of. They definitely worked with dad and grandpa, and they cashed a couple checks off a construction site since graduation, but they definitely have more wheelbarrow time than Pythagorean Theorem.”
“Math! I’m out.”
“You’re literally a tax cop.”
“Yup, but a-squared plus b-squared is a hard C-ya later.”
“Exit stage left, Stefanie the smartass. They’re walking up the hill now.”
“You make them walk?”
“Make them? Getting this thing up here was hard enough. Tanner’s got an old beat down Reading, and Cody drives them Shoe-baroos. He’s probably got the best traction of all.”
“Call me when you leave.”
“Love you.”
“Love!”
Tanner got to the window first, “Man, that hill don’t look like much til you walk it ten times.”
“Six times.”
“What?”
“You guys walked it six times.”
“Of course you counted.”
“Felt like ten.”
“He speaks. And another complaint too. We can build a suggestion box next.”
Tanner laughed, “Ouch.”
Cody shifted his weight, “Seat warm enough in there?”
“Ouch, ouch.”
“Getting a baked on crust watching you take so long with that shed.”
“Meh.”
Simultaneously, “Shut up, Tanner.”
“Dicks.”
“So, we got a tight frame, we decked it, and we flipped it over. Anybody wanna guess why?”
Cody pinched a brow, “You already said, so’s it skids when you gotta move it.”
“I said that?”
“Did you hit yer head with the wrong side of the hammer?”
“Ouch.”
“Ouch is right. Stef’s buddy Phil, he gets to coach Little League, and I coach a foil and feed team, ouch and Oucher.”
Cody looked to Tanner.
Tanner shrugged, “I told you he was different.”
“So we got a frame, and we decked one side, and now get the chalk line – three inch screws – You ain’t gonna like squaring that thing, so let’s get the ropes out of the truck. Tanner come here.”
“So, um, do you want me to get the plywood?”
“No, just come up here. What you’re gonna do is put down a piece of plywood at this corner, but you’re only going to screw down this short side.”
“So, I put down the plywood. What side this way?”
“Okay, fair question. This is the short side of the frame. It will have the least amount of flex, so the long side of the frame will twist easiest.”
“Ropes.”
“Good, fold one in half, then wrap it around the tree with the gouge in it.”
“Ouch.”
“Ouch for real. But I think we’ll need to take that one anyway, I only left it there in hopes. But even if it didn’t have a big cut in the bark, we’d probably need to take it out just to move the shed later.”
“Do you see it, or do I gotta explain it to you like an obtuse ai?”
“What’s obtuse?”
“Sometimes the question answers itself.”
“Ouch.”
Cody turned, “And now you actin’ like you knew it whole time.”
“And now you both know it. Obtuse, an adjective that primarily means slow to understand, lacking sharpness or sensibility. Geometry, an angle that measures greater than ninety degrees.”
At the same time, “Different.”
“Please make that box square. I’ll be right there, high in my seat, feet warm, nerves jagged.” He looked back over his shoulder, “Ninety degrees.”
Cody wrapped the rope around the tree, “Not obtuse, got it, bossman.”
“Bro, we gotta talk about somethin’.”
“Pull harder, that’s it. What do we gotta talk about?”
“The paycheck. It’s the eighteenth. Do you like hold back a week?”
“So, it’s back a week, yeah, but he already told me about this when I told him you were coming. Gave me cash so I can pay you day money for the first week.”
“Like, day money?”
“Yeah, he gave me cash.”
“What’d you say make him do that?”
“I didn’t say nothing. He just knew.”
“That’s not differnt.”
“It’s different. He put us up to twenty too.”
“Twenty two?”
“Twenty also. He put the pay up to twenty an hour. Says that’s all for a while, but if we catch on there’s a little more.”
“This guy’s weird.”
“Different.”
“Nope, weird. Why’s he keep putting all them butts in his pocket?”
“Butts?”
“Yeah, he smokes enough’a smog the valley, and got a pocket full of cigarette butts. Does he smoke them later or something?”
“Um, so. I think he just doesn’t want to throw them on the ground.”
“Weird.”
“Different.”
“It’s camo.”
“So, I hear you, but I’m not looking for trouble up here, bro. He’s a good guy.”
“Sompin’ ain’t right about him. An’ I thought you said he’s mulchin’ them logs.”
“Not the logs, the branches, the brush.”
“I could get a fortune for all that Poplar up there. Been sellin’ Pine to the tourists, but that Poplar let me sell here in the valley.”
“So, that’s not my business. If you want the Poplar, you gotta ask for yourself. He’ll give it to you. Prolly load it into the trailer with the mini-ex even.”
“I ain’t no charity case.”
Michael’s voice broke into the scene from inside the truck, “I’m out of here guys. I need to get back to Hardin Valley by four today.”