Stealth insurgence, p.12
Stealth Insurgence, page 12
Hmm. “Adequate?” Not their usual obsessive and perfectionistic “optimal?”
I was reminded of a Bible verse that often spoke to my heart: Godliness with contentment is great gain. The Flores’ house, even after we built out the master bedroom and added a bathroom, wouldn’t be pretty by today’s standards—other than “pretty old.” It would never possess any “wow” factor.
It would never be more than adequate for our needs.
And ‘adequate’ is enough, Lord God, because we can be happy there, content in your grace and provision: Zander, me, Baby Cruz, Emilio, and Abe.
And, if we followed the nanomites’ advice, our home would be a safe haven, but one we could escape should it become necessary.
I exhaled. Slowly.
Yes. Happy and safe. Raising our kids for you, Lord. Growing our faith at DCC. Helping the President identify governmental fraud and waste, which could, in turn, help this good man get reelected.
What more could we ask for?
WE SHOWERED, DRESSED, ate a hearty breakfast, had our Bible time together, and twiddled our thumbs until eight o’clock arrived and we felt comfortable calling Ms. Donovan. Zander placed the call and put it on speaker.
“Good morning, Ms. Donovan; Zander and Jayda Cruz calling. We noticed on the MLS site that the price of the Flores’ house has gone down. We’d like to make an offer on it today.”
“That is wonderful news, Mr. Cruz! What kind of financing are you looking at?”
Zander grinned at me. “Actually, it will be a cash offer.”
“Why, that’s even better. Can you come to my office this morning to draw up the offer?”
We met with her at eleven, signed the offer, then headed to Abe’s to share our good news.
“We’re taking the two of you out to lunch to celebrate,” Zander told them. “According to Ms. Donovan, we can close as soon as the title search is complete and Mr. and Mrs. Flores sign their part of the paperwork. She’s set our tentative closing date for a Friday, two weeks from yesterday.”
Emilio could scarcely contain himself. “Then you’ll move in? In two weeks?” he asked. “And I can sleep over?”
“Yup—as soon as we move all of our stuff from the apartment. We’ll plan the move for the day after the closing, a Saturday. Hopefully, we can call on some of the young adults for help. However, we’re thinking that we’ll need to put our bed in what will become your bedroom while we remodel our room and add on a second bathroom.”
His face started to crumble.
“You can still stay over, Emilio. We’ll have you sleep on the sofa,” I said. “We’re thinking Friday or Saturday evenings to start, but when and how often is subject to Abe’s approval.”
“An’ your behavior, young man,” Abe added. “S’long as you keep your grades and chores up and mind your manners, we can start with one night a week.”
“I’ll be good—honest I will, Abe!”
Abe chuckled. “I ’spect you will.”
Chapter 10
Zander and I didn’t have much to do other than wait for the house to close. But when it did close, Zander would have more on his plate than he could manage. He wouldn’t be job hunting, though. We agreed that his biggest contribution to our family at this time would be to make the house ready for our family rather than work a job and do the repairs on the side.
Our plans hinged on my taking the job with Malware. It was practically a no-brainer, but we waited a couple of days. When we felt nothing but peace about me accepting the offer, I signed it, and the nanomites uploaded a copy then shot it off to Malware’s email account.
Once I was, on paper at least, gainfully employed with Malware, Inc., the nanomites officially began doing the work I was getting paid for. I limited myself to peering once or twice a day into what the nanomites had unearthed in the government’s finances.
Also, while Zander and I were both looking forward to closing on the house and getting moved, we really needed to hit “our” dojo. We’d slacked off long enough.
We made our way to Sandia Martial Arts Academy late Sunday evening when we knew the place would be unoccupied. After we finished our workout, we would be careful to put away any equipment we used, leaving no trace of our having been there. The owner, Doug, would know I was back and using his dojo by the stack of twenty-dollar bills we left in an envelope on his desk. That’s how we wanted to keep our relationship with Doug: clean and uncomplicated.
Although it had been weeks since we exercised with our escrima sticks, I expected we would resume our previous workout mode: sparring with Gus-Gus and Ninja-Noid, our two virtual instructors.
Ah, yes. Our lovely mentors.
Their instructional style was simple, even predictable. It was composed of Pain, Loads of Pain, Son-of-a-Sea-Cook Pain, and Welcome to the Hurt Locker. Each lesson’s pain menu consisted of such memorable gems as Stupid Pain, Ignorant Pain, Did-Not-See-That-Coming Pain, Not-Paying-Attention Pain, and That’s-The-Last-Time-I’ll-Make-That-Mistake Pain.
I smiled and breathed the familiar smells of Doug’s studio, eager to use my stiff muscles. On the other hand, I was not looking forward to new lessons in “pain management.”
I whispered to Zander. “Think they’ll go easy on us since we haven’t sparred lately?”
I wasn’t sure he heard me. He stared at the sticks in his hands and frowned. Big time.
“Uh, Jayda? Sweetie? I don’t think sparring is a good idea. For you. You know. For Baby Cruz.”
I’ll admit it. Right then and there, I pitched a bit of a fit. Dropped my sticks on the floor and—fine! I flung them down—but I was sick and tired of being treated like I was sick and tired.
And I might have raised my voice—okay, I shouted when I replied, “I love you, Zander, but I’m pregnant, not terminally ill and not fragile! I NEED TO WORK OUT!”
Zander Cruz, we can attest to Jayda Cruz’s fitness. She is not fragile; we can assure you that she is strong enough to—
“Shut it, Nano!”
Zander and I blinked at each other until we figured out we’d shouted the same words in sync.
I recovered first. “Hear that, Zander? I’m not fragile.” I bent and retrieved my sticks and unconsciously twirled them, the usual precursor to a strike.
Zander edged away. “Okaaay, Jay.”
“Don’t you dare ‘okaaay, Jay’ me! Don’t you dare patronize me, Zander Cruz!”
“Uh . . .”
I dropped my escrima sticks and stomped off, intent on freezing him out.
Jayda Cruz.
The voice shot a chill down my spine. I spun to face the threat . . . and found Gus-Gus looming over me. His dark, hulking presence dwarfed me.
Are you prepared to spar, Jayda Cruz?
I swallowed. Scrambled for a scrap of bravado. “You better believe I am—and I’d like to start with him.” I jabbed a finger in Zander’s general direction.
As Zander Cruz cannot guarantee that he will not unintentionally strike your abdomen, sparring with him would be unwise. However, we can offer you a genuine sparring session and ensure that no harm comes to your unborn child.
I sniffed. “You don’t say.” Walked back to where I’d dropped my sticks.
Okay, thrown them.
I picked them up. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Gus-Gus didn’t answer. He bowed once—and commenced his attack.
ZANDER AND I LEFT THE dojo ninety minutes later. We were hot, sweaty, and aching where bruises were certain to show themselves by morning. Our muscles had been well used.
Both of us were smiling.
“Sorry I, er, yelled at you. Shouldn’t . . . have.”
Zander flicked his eyes toward me, then back on the road. “Do you honestly think I patronize you, Jayda?”
I sighed. “Some, maybe. Because I’m pregnant. But you’ve read all the books I’ve read. I’m supposed to be able to do pretty much whatever I was accustomed to doing before I got pregnant. And you know I need to use my body, expend the overabundance of energy it generates. I practically jump out of my skin when I can’t exercise hard enough and often enough. We haven’t exercised lately, so . . . I suppose my tongue jumped out of my mouth instead, which is no excuse, and I know that.”
I sighed a little. “But . . . but I need to say something. I don’t appreciate you deciding for me what I can and cannot do. I’m not a child. You aren’t my parent.”
And this was the first big fight we’d had since we got married.
Zander was quiet for a while, then said, “You’re right that I was treating you like a child. I’m sorry. I do get . . . concerned for Baby Cruz. He or she is the only child we’ll have together, Jayda.”
“I know that, Zander. Don’t you think I know how precious Baby Cruz is? But don’t you trust me to take care of our baby? Don’t you trust Baby Cruz to the Lord?”
His brow wrinkled some. “I suppose that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? Trusting our child to the Lord?”
“Yes. Doing our best but, ultimately, trusting our child to the Lord, whether Baby Cruz is in me or out of me . . . ’cause the possibility of accidents or unforeseen circumstances will always exist, right? Whether he’s learning to walk or learning to drive a car . . .”
“Gah! Please don’t talk about little Baby Cruz driving a car! I don’t want to be old and gray by thirty!”
I laughed. Zander laughed.
We were good.
DESPITE FREQUENT WORKOUTS at the dojo, time hung heavy on our hands. Our life back in DC had been full. Busy. Often dangerous. Occasionally terrifying. We weren’t accustomed to sitting around idle. Neither of us liked it.
But our idleness was nearly at an end. The nanomites, it seemed, had been busy with things other than the government’s financial records.
Zander Cruz, we filed your guardian ad litem application last week. You, Abe, and Emilio are scheduled to appear in court next week. Since all parties will be amenable to the appointment, we do not foresee any obstacles that would impede the court’s decision.
“Thank you, Nano,” I replied. To Zander I said, “We should let Abe know so that he can withdraw Emilio from classes that day.”
“Right. In the meantime, let’s take a look inside Emilio’s house and make a list of what needs to be fixed up before we can rent the place.”
The nanomites let us into the house and hacked PNM to turn on the lights for us so we could make a proper assessment. However, we spent a scant twenty minutes inside, me pulling the neck of my shirt up and over my mouth and nose, Zander shaking his head the entire time.
You see, unlike the worn but pristine condition of the Flores’ house, Emilio’s house—under his uncle’s former management—was a first-class cockroach asylum.
No one had gone in or out of the house for months. As we opened the front door, stale air followed by the reek of decomposed trash reached out from the kitchen to say, ‘Hello there!’ and ‘Hang on to your lunch.’ For a horrifying instant I thought Arnaldo Soto had lied about disposing of Mateo’s body in a sandy grave somewhere on the west mesa.
Zander cleared a path through the dining and living room, kicking cans, bottles, and fast food containers out of the way. “Well,” was all he said.
Then we, rather tentatively, explored each room, leaving the kitchen for last. The larger bedroom wasn’t too bad. I wouldn’t have touched the sheets and blankets with a ten-foot pole, but we found no dead bodies in the bed.
Thank you, Lord, for that.
Next, we poked our heads into the bathroom. The vanity sink and cabinet had pulled away from the wall. Zander opened the vanity’s lower door and discovered why: The cheap pressboard wood was rotted and moldy from a leaking pipe. The pressboard had disintegrated where the screws held it to the wall, and the weight of the cabinet and sink had tipped it forward.
I gingerly opened the door to the smaller of the two bedrooms and encountered an odor that nearly overpowered me. My stomach lurched, and I backed away, coughing.
Zander reached around the door jamb and flipped on the lights, revealing the source of the smell. The ceiling must have leaked, because several of the old acoustical tiles were hanging from their frames, and a large section of carpet and the floor beneath it had rotted.
Speaking of the floor—as soon as the lights came on, it came to life. A platoon of freaked-out roaches jumped and skittered over each other, then disappeared through the rotted holes in the carpet. I squeaked and backed away, but not before I noted the filthy twin bed pushed up against the wall.
This was Emilio’s room. And the rotted carpet was not a recent occurrence.
No wonder he chose to sleep in the bushes.
I seethed with anger toward Mateo, clenching and unclenching my fists as I retreated to the living room. It took some long, raging minutes for my reason to reassert itself. I had to keep reminding myself that Mateo was dead and that his death had set Emilio free from his uncle’s ‘loving care’ and opened the door for Abe to take him in. For him to eventually be ours.
Regardless . . . No, Lord, I vowed. I will never allow Emilio to suffer further neglect and abuse.
A minute later, we stood in the dining room—on this side (the safe side) of the kitchen doorway. Neither of us fancied taking a step across the threshold, toward the overflowing garbage can, but we didn’t need to go into the kitchen. We could see it just fine from where we were. Right?
“I feel . . . I feel like we need to see what’s in the fridge,” Zander whispered.
“Yeah, well I feel like we need to napalm the house, burn it to the ground. Doesn’t mean I’m going to do it.”
“Right, but . . .”
“I won’t be responsible if you open that fridge and a slimy green hand reaches out and pulls you inside. Do it, and you’re on your own.”
“Whatever happened to ‘for better and for worse’?”
“Nothing in our vows about stupidity and alien abductions.”
I was all for paying someone to haul off the fridge, unopened, and either bury it or bomb the Taliban with it, but Zander seemed determined to save the appliance if it could be saved.
He shrugged. “I’ll do it. I can handle it.”
I moved to the living room while he cracked open the fridge door—and immediately slammed it shut. He was pale and gagging when he joined me.
“That bad?”
“Worse. Toxic. This entire house is a science project run amuck. Look, Jay, I won’t allow you to help with cleaning up any of this mess. No telling what kinds of bacterial brew you might come into contact with.”
I lifted my brows in baffled amusement. Had he forgotten our fight and my “I don’t appreciate you deciding for me what I can and cannot do. I’m not a child. You aren’t my parent” speech?
“You won’t allow me?”
He didn’t budge. “That’s right. I’m serious. Not while you’re carrying our baby. This place is a health risk—for you and Baby Cruz.”
I blinked. “Oh. Well. I suppose it is.”
Jayda and Zander Cruz, we recommend that you hire a professional cleaning service. That said, we also recommend removing the refrigerator entirely, tearing out the bathroom vanity and the flooring in the second bedroom, then hiring pest control.
“Yeah, I get you, Nano.” And Zander shook his head. (He was doing that fairly frequently.)
We came away with the broad strokes of what was needed—each broad stroke inclusive of a hefty price tag and a heap of work.
Demo and haul off debris.
Fumigate inside and outside.
Repair leaks in roof.
Rebuild floor and repair ceiling in second bedroom.
Clean throughout.
Patch and paint throughout.
Carpet and tile throughout.
Replace window screens throughout.
Install new window blinds throughout.
Hire furnace inspector.
Change out locks, front and back.
“Whew. It’s gonna take fifteen grand at a minimum plus elbow grease before we can rent out the place,” said Zander, perfecting his head wag.
He’d shaken his head so many times, I figured he qualified for his own bobblehead dashboard doll.
“Beats the alternative of letting the place sit empty and degrade further. Suppose we don’t recoup the investment for a few years? So what? Fixing up the place keeps our neighborhood from sliding down the tubes. And by the time Emilio graduates high school, the house should have turned a decent profit for him.”
Jayda and Zander Cruz, we recommend that you open a checking account for the benefit of Emilio Martinez and deposit in it an initial amount—to be paid back over time—said amount immediately available to draw upon for these repairs.
“Yeah. Let’s do that,” Zander answered. “We can write up our assessment of the repairs and show the court how we are prepared to manage Emilio’s affairs.”
Jayda and Zander Cruz, we have recorded your walkthrough and will download it to a flash drive. The video and your willingness to tackle this unpalatable task may persuade the judge to appoint you Emilio’s guardian ad litem.
I snarked. “Can you add odors to that video, Nano? Because one whiff of this cesspool should cinch the deal.”
REGARDLESS OF WHAT the judge ruled, Emilio’s house demanded an intervention. We decided to go ahead and tackle the most immediate steps, the things that couldn’t be put off. We had the time and energy and were willing to invest our own money in the project in order to protect Emilio’s inheritance—not that anyone was suicidal enough to break into his house.
We ran over to the closest Home Depot and bought two sets of doorknob and deadbolt combo packs keyed alike, then Zander installed them on Emilio’s front and side doors. He handed Abe a set of keys, and we kept the others.
Next, the nanomites sent us their recommendation of a company that did fire and other dirty cleanups and demolitions. We hired them to handle the fridge removal (we provided ample warnings), the bathroom vanity, and the carpet and flooring in the smaller bedroom.
