The Property

The Property

A Novel by

Johnnie McDonald

Frankie and Johnnie Productions

2 Grove Isle Drive, #1403

Coconut Grove, Florida 33133

Copyright © Johnnie McDonald November 2015

All Rights Reserved

DISCLAIMER

The Property is a work of fiction. The author has not attempted to portray people, places, businesses, or organizations as representative of any existing or past entity.

No part of this novel may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

DEDICATION

While doing a one hour commute into Houston where I worked as a human resources executive years ago, I had time to think while fighting traffic. During those long, boring trips, I made up stories in my head to relieve the tedium. They say to write what you know, and my experience in the property management industry gave me the idea for The Property, the first novel I actually put on paper. I have my experience in Houston to thank for the inspiration, and the fun people I worked with there. I won’t mention specific names, but I’ll never forget how I auditioned for the job or my starring role in the company film fest as the demented human resources director. It was a hoot. Thanks, ya’ll.

OTHER WORKS BY JOHNNIE MCDONALD

The Deweyville Church Secretary series: Humor

Devil’s Basement

Loose LIPS

Boilerman

The Final Test: Romantic Suspense

Haunted Hearts: Family Saga

RESOURCES:

www.frankieandjohnnie.biz

http://johnniemcdonald.wix.com/author

Facebook Fan page: Facebook.com/Deweyville Church Secretary

PROLOGUE

Loitering in a littered alleyway Sunday evening, a jittery teenager paced back and forth for twenty minutes, puffing a reefer while examining his white Nikes for signs of dirt. A newly inked snake tattoo on his arm itched, but he didn’t scratch it. With multiple tats and several piercings, he learned from experience how not to get an infection. He blew across the inflamed viper and twisted his arm to watch it slither before pulling down the sleeve of his plaid flannel shirt. Habitual hitching of sagging training shorts kept them from falling to his ankles, and turning his ball cap sideways indicated he was a player. When his friend approached, he nagged, Man, I been waitin’ a minute. This is so jank.

Don’t get up in my grill, Rico. The fam was raggin’ about me skippin’ Friday. Hada crawl out the window to get outta there. But I heisted some bank from my old lady’s purse. The boy pulled two twenties out of his jeans pocket before tugging his pants lower to expose his baby blue underwear.

Yeah, awright. I’m thirsty for action is all, ready to fleek. If you’re gonna be my ace, ya gotta be on time. I see ya got flannel Friday. You up for game, wanksta?

The younger teen, pimply faced with greasy hair, smiled a lopsided grin exposing crooked teeth. Fifteen year-old Daniel Webber answered, Yeah, I’m turned up, let’s bounce. What we gonna do, Rico? Eager to impress, he experimented with his newfound vernacular.

First, we gonna give you a new slang. Danny Boy is so lame. I’m thinkin’ Web. Yeah, Rico and Web is butter, dude.

It’s swerve, Rico. Danny would have agreed to anything his seventeen year-old mentor suggested. Dropping out of school, filching money from his mother’s purse, five finger discounts at local convenience stores, or drinking booze until he puked and passed out were starters to prove his devotion. The eyebrow piercing wasn’t his idea, but he had done it to please Richard Anderson aka Rico. Getting a tattoo, with its associated physical pain as well as the raft dished out by his badgering parents, well, he didn’t want a piece of that.

Rico chewed on a dirty thumbnail. So, Big D chirped my ass out last night. Said I ain’t no gansta ‘cause I ain’t lifted no real bling. Said he was gonna have his posse stole my ass. I was hot mad, but they was three of ‘em eyeballin’ me, so I says I’m goin’ balls deep. You with me, Web?

Web scratched the fuzz above his lip and responded, Uh, yeah, Rico. How deep ya thinkin’?

Follow me. Rico tossed his cig, and the two boys walked straddled legged for a mile to a less run down area of their Dallas hood near Ross/Bennett. Rico talked trash all the way, bragging about how they should start their own area code, form their own posse, do some big time bad.

I brought spray paint. We can tag our territory, spray our names on the side of that garage over there. I been practicin’ blockbuster and bubble, Web boasted.

Yeah, maybe later. I got my eye on some wheels for now. See that ‘Stang over there? He pointed to a red, late model Mustang convertible sitting at the curb.

Man, that’s a hella hot whip. We gonna mess it up, take the rims, or what?

Shit no, Web, we gonna sneak the whole job, Rico snickered.

Sweat saturated Web’s flannel. Rico, I don’t wanna spend no time in a juvie pen.

Don’t be a hater, lil man. We gotta crew for Big D. And later we’ll bag us a hoochie mama, he promised before squeaking across the street on his heavy Nikes. Upon reaching the rear of the Mustang, he crouched low and turned to find Web hesitating on the other side of the street. He gave his friend the finger and motioned for him to get over there.

Web was not sure stealing a car was in his best interests. With no friends at school, no sports activities, and failing grades, his prospects for an enjoyable teenage life were few. Spray painting a few buildings and repeating slang he picked up on the Internet was the extent of his aspirations to criminality. His dry mouth prevented him from swallowing anything but dread. He waddled across the street and crouched behind Rico.

Rico pulled a Bigeasy lock pick out from beneath his shirt. Get my back, Web, he ordered before shuffling to the driver’s side door and inserting the tool. The locks released and Rico eased open the door.

Before Web had a chance to serve as lookout, the shrill alarm on the Mustang shocked him senseless. He fell back onto his rear. The car alarm wasn’t the only protection in the neighborhood prepared for illicit activity. Numerous dogs started wailing just as Rico fired up the Mustang. Web sprang to his feet and debated for a split second which way to run: home or Rico. Street code forced him to make the wrong choice.

Web had his hand on the handle of the passenger side of the car when the front door to the house where the Mustang was parked flew open. A man exited hollering, Who the hell’s out there…?

Web floundered, immobilized.

Jump in, man, Rico yelled.

With tears in his eyes, Web pulled open the door and hopped in the passenger seat. What we gonna do, Rico?

Rico gunned the engine, the tires squealed and spewed black exhaust into the dusky sky. He downshifted and the car shimmied before it bailed down the street. We gonna make like Fast and Furious, bro. We be Vin Diesel and Paul Walker….

CHAPTER ONE

"Despiertate, Francisco. Despiertate!"

"Mi Dios, que paso? Frankie moaned in his recliner when an intrusion shook him from his beer induced stupor. Why are you screaming at me, woman?"

Wake up. Your damn beeper is going off. You need to call in, Isabel shouted, obviously annoyed by the meddling beeper.

A glance at his watch told him it was 10:45 p.m. After rubbing at blurry eyes, he reached for his cell phone.

Franklin Properties, the female dispatcher answered.

Hey, this is Frankie Cantu with Kendall Oaks. I was beeped.

A Mr. Rodriguez in English Oak-Sapling-four-twenty-two says he’s having trouble with his air conditioning.

Okay, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, Frankie promised, already buttoning a work shirt and grabbing the keys to his Chevy truck.

Francisco’s wife of fifteen years swore at him as he headed toward the door. Her voice was high and accusatory when she reverted to her native Spanish. It’s a Sunday night, why can't someone else go? Must you always go to Kendall in the middle of the night and work such long hours?

"I'll be back as fast as I can, cara. Go to bed." Frankie gave his wife a perfunctory kiss before rushing out of the house. Dealing with an irate resident was preferable to dealing with his irritated wife.

* * *

Good morning, Kendall Oaks Apartments, this is Kristy. How may I help you? Kristy Nichols's telephone answering voice was young and syrupy, and she was bent on getting in the entire consumer first response phrase taught by the company. She listened to the request. Yes, she's here, but she's out on property at the moment. May I say who's calling? Kristy began filling out the message form for her manager as the caller talked.

DATE: June 26

TIME: 8:43 a.m.

CALLER: Police Officer Mike Waller

MESSAGE: Arriving at property 9:30 a.m. Plz be available.

I'll make sure she's in the office at that time, sir. May I tell her the purpose of the visit?

No, ma’am, sorry. I’ll discuss the purpose when I arrive, the male officer responded.

Although newbie Kristy was curious, it was not unusual for the property to be contacted by police. The overall resident profile of Kendall is professional, but anything and everything could happen at the best of properties: domestic disturbances, noisy neighbors, car thefts, and occasional break-ins. Kristy paged her boss using the *911 code to indicate response needed.

Melissa Byers immediately answered the page. Hey, what's up?

Kristy relayed the brief message as if it was of vital significance. Mel, a policeman, Officer Mike Waller, will be here at nine-thirty. He wants you to meet him in the office.

Did he say why?

No, he wouldn’t say.

Melissa finger-combed a strand of auburn hair away from her face and squeezed her brown eyes shut to relieve the momentary annoyance. Well, I guess it's going to be Monday all day long. I'm in the shop trying to figure out the repair orders for the day. Frankie hasn’t shown up this morning, so I've got a crew standing around doing nothing. Has he called the office yet? She knew maintenance almost as well as her foreman and directing the work crew was no problem, but doing so could put her behind on end-of-the-month reports. It wasn't like Frankie to be late or fail to call in. And there was no answer at his apartment or on his cell when Miguel Rogelio called earlier.

We haven’t heard from him, replied Kristy.

I'll be there in ten minutes. Melissa hung up and began advising Miguel, the assistant maintenance man, to handle the job orders. Repair refrigerator in Red Oak-Twig-two-ten, oven in Spanish Oak-Acorn-three-thirty-one, and ceiling fan in English Oak-Twig-four-twenty-four. Tell Jose the algae is bad in number two pool and the trash around the dumpsters wasn't picked up yesterday afternoon. Be sure Lupita gets all the move-outs cleaned, and, oh yeah, check on the roof repairs on Bur Oaks. Wellman Brothers Roofing doesn't seem to be making the progress they promised. Give me a report around noon and let me know the minute you hear from Frankie.

Melissa Byers, the property manager for Kendall Oaks Apartments, hopped in a golf cart and before switching it on, pulled her long, dark curls into a scrunchie at the nape of her neck. The heat was beating down early, causing her to perspire in the green polo with Kendall Oaks logo. She hiked up the khaki skirt an inch to give herself some air and sun on her long, firm legs. The uniform wasn’t necessarily becoming, but it didn’t detract from Melissa’s curves or stunning face. Being out on property daily, the Texas sun kept her olive skin tanned to perfection.

She powered up the cart, floored the petal, and directed herself toward the leasing office while mentally reviewing the completeness of her orders and the day ahead of her. Despite minor obstacles thrown her way, she was always calm, alert, and organized. Even when interrupted from the daily routine, she managed to send her reports in ahead of the deadline. Being in control, managing a crises, big or small, gave her a keen sense of satisfaction. At age twenty-eight, she was the youngest property manager for the company, and she had been told she was the best. Other property management companies had tried to steal her away during her four years with Franklin Properties to no avail. Franklin had been good to her, and she was content for the time being. Transferring to another company was not her target, but moving up the food chain was definitely on her list of To Do’s.

At 9:36 a.m. a beefcake with molded sculpted features wearing a heavily starched uniform was greeted by the young, blonde, and perky Kristy Nichols. Sexual attraction was instantaneously mutual. Kristy stood up, smoothed her khaki mini skirt over her shapely hips and performed the ritualistic hair flip on her mane of blonde curls while the blushing cop tried not to stare overtly. Mel noticed the obvious flirtation through the glass partition of her office and stepped out to get matters rolling. After introductions and coffee orders, she ushered Officer Mike Waller behind closed doors and politely asked him to state the purpose of his visit. Periodically, Kristy peeked over her shoulder through the glass.

The officer cleared his throat, pulled a notebook from a large pocket located on his thigh, and studied it before beginning. Ms., Mrs. Byers?

It’s Miss.

Yes, Miss Byers, uh, I understand you have an employee by the name of Francisco Cantu working at this location.

Why yes, Frankie Cantu is my maintenance foreman. In fact, he's not here today. Melissa was already drawing conclusions as she viewed the grimace on the officer’s face. A lot of the maintenance workers head for the bars as soon as they get off work, but Frankie has never presented a problem, she thought. Is Frankie in some kind of trouble?

Miss. Byers, Mr. Cantu is dead. Mike stated his facts slowly and paused, waiting for the upsetting revelation to sink in. He assumed Mr. Cantu's employer would take the news somewhat better than the wife, whom he had to inform at 5:30 a.m., but Byers was visibly going through the various stages of reaction.

Mel gasped, slumped into her swivel chair in a disbelieving silence, plucked a Kleenex from a nearby box when the tears began to leak, and finally asked in a shaky voice, How?

An automobile accident. It happened around two this morning. The police don't usually get this involved in auto accidents, but his wife asked us to notify you. And I have some questions for you. May we do this now or do you need more time to, uh, absorb the news?

Melissa had known Frankie for seven years. He could barely speak English when they first met at the Bristol House. She was a leasing agent working part-time and attending college full-time. He was hired to clean pools and keep the grounds maintained, yet even then she knew he was capable of more. As a friend, she had encouraged his English classes and later, his courses in heating, vacuum, and air conditioning maintenance. She had managed to take him with her through most of her promotions and transfers and he was the first one she thought of when she was hired by Franklin. They had both come a long way. No, I…I can handle it, she sniffed.

Well, as I said, it was about two this morning. He was traveling east on Singleton Boulevard and passing through the intersection at North Hampton Road. He was hit broadside by a car going south on Hampton. The other car must have been traveling at a fairly high speed. Unsure he was authorized to give her the entire story, Mike hesitated for a moment. We think he was killed instantly.

Melissa was usually a quick study, but her emotions were momentarily slowing down her thought process. Isn't there a light or a stop sign at that intersection?

Eh, yes, there is. The person driving the other vehicle appears to have run the light. Mike was still holding back.

What, were they drunk or something? Melissa had grown more alert and a bit confrontational.

Um, I guess you'll hear it on the news anyway. Miss Byers, the other driver was a kid. He and a passenger were being chased down Hampton by a police cruiser for suspected auto theft. They ran the light at about sixty-five miles-per-hour. Mr. Cantu's truck was hit on the driver’s side, carried about twenty yards, and slammed into a concrete building. The gas tank ignited, and the body was badly burned. Mike took a breath. He had learned it was best to give gory news fast and straight-forward.

Melissa's stomach flopped. Oh, God! Following a prolonged silence, she asked Mike, I suppose you've already informed his wife?

Yes. This is the second time I've told this story today. Mike shifted in his seat and looked down at his highly polished shoes. His discomfort with this part of his job was apparent.

Officer Waller, you said you had some questions. Melissa was trying to compose herself by getting back to the business at hand.

Oh, yes, ma'am. The Dallas police department has an excellent record when it comes to citizen safety, but we like to cover all the bases when something like this happens. Mrs. Cantu told us that Mr. Cantu was out on a maintenance call last night. Is that right?

Melissa reached for a clip board on the corner of her desk. She ran her finger down the log until she found the answer. The answering service indicates he was called at ten forty-five regarding an air conditioning problem in English Oaks-Sapling-four-twenty-two. He advised he would respond twenty minutes.

And did he actually make it? inquired Mike.

I'll have to go over to the shop and check the job orders, perhaps verify with the resident that the work was done. Maintenance employees who respond to a call while off duty prepare a job order, note the time in and out, and submit it to me the following day. After I clear it, you know, ensure the employee isn’t fudging hours, I allow them to add the time to their weekly payroll log. I keep the payroll log in the office so they don't have access to it at night. Melissa hesitated before stating, I've worked with Frankie, I mean Mr. Cantu, for several years, and I've never had a reason to distrust him.

Miss Byers, I don't think this is an important matter, but if you would verify he worked last night and give me a call, I'd appreciate it. Here's my number. Mike jotted his number down on a business card and handed it to Melissa. He extended his hand and added, Again, I'm sorry to bring you bad news.

Oh, by the way Officer Waller, what happened to the kids in the stolen car?

The passenger, Daniel Webber, died in the emergency room. Kid was only fifteen, but already had a truancy problem. And, as fate would have it, the driver is gonna make it. Richard Anderson is all of seventeen with a long list of priors. Some mother's pride and joy, huh? Cynicism had already crept into the young Officer Waller's temperament. And because the police were involved in the accident, the department will take all kinds of heat because of Cantu’s death. We're just trying to protect and to serve! Goodbye, ma'am. He stood up to leave.

Good-bye, Officer Waller. I'll call you. Still absorbing the shock, still wanting to give in and cry for her friend, Melissa slouched in her chair when Mike left. When she took a deep breath, reality startled her, and she muttered out loud, I've got to tell the other employees. What if it's already on the news? Miguel…Miguel was his best friend; he’ll be devastated. And life insurance. I must inform Human Resources about an employee’s death. Got to get control of myself, take care of the employees, handle the situation.

CHAPTER TWO

Marilyn O'Donnell was genuinely upset to hear about Frankie Cantu. He was a model employee, a company success story. In fact, Frankie was selected Maintenance Employee of the Year two years previous. As Director of Human Resources for Franklin Properties, the veteran O'Donnell thought how much she enjoyed her job when she could help employees get ahead. Events such as firings, layoffs, and death were unpleasant parts of her job she occasionally took home with her.

Contemplating Cantu’s unexpected and tragic death caused her to pause. With two daughters in college, she worried about car accidents, as well as frat parties and perverts lurking in shadows, and a host of unimagined calamities. She decided to call them as soon as she finished her THINGS TO DO checklist:

_ Advise Hal Franklin

_ Advise Gene Blackwell

_ Send flowers to family

_ Announce funeral time/date to employees

_ Obtain death certificate and notify life insurance carrier

_ Send letter to Mrs. Cantu re: other benefits continuation

_ Deactivate file.

Let's see, what else? She asked herself. Two times salary at forty-five thousand dollars per year is ninety thousand and double indemnity for accidental death makes it one hundred eighty thousand. That's a pretty good payment for Mrs. Cantu and their two children. Uh oh! This is probably workers' compensation. What did Melissa say? Yeah, he was returning home from a maintenance call-in. We've never had an on-the-job death before. This could affect our insurance rates. She added to her list:

_ Notify Westcott Agency and add job related death to OSHA log

and dialed the president's office.

"Hal Franklin's office, this is Lehla speaking.

Lehla, this is Marilyn. Let me speak to Mr. Franklin, please. It's rather urgent.

Lehla Stokes announced Marilyn O'Donnell's call to Harold Franklin. O'Donnell efficiently described the details of Francisco Cantu's death to her boss. I thought you might want to send a personal sympathy card to his wife, Hal. I can prepare one for you to sign.

Certainly, Marilyn, that’s a good idea. He had a couple of kids, didn't he? I believe I remember them from the last company picnic. What was his wife's name? Hal Franklin was dismayed by the news. Despite his shrewd business acumen, he made it a point to know his employees. He never had to worry when he inspected one of Cantu's properties because it was always immaculate and with great curb appeal. Touring visiting shareholders and prospective investors at properties maintained by Cantu and managed by Melissa Byers was a safe bet. They were a great team.

Franklin continued his thoughts aloud. Cantu's death is certainly a loss to Franklin Properties, isn't it? Marilyn, I'd like to attend the funeral. And I want Gene to go, too. Would you handle the details as well as send flowers on behalf of the company?

Frankie's wife is Isabel, sir, and yes, I'll take care of all the details.

Hal Franklin, the president and CEO of the company he built, hung up the phone and looked distractedly at the legal documents on his desk. Wonder who will replace Cantu? Oh well, Marilyn and Melissa will make a good decision. If this annual report doesn't get to the printer by three, the financial staff will be up all night. Damn, this paper work never stops! Franklin was used to covering his bases with auditors, lawyers and the IRS, but the privilege of being on the New York Stock Exchange brought a whole new dimension of work as well as regulations and regulators. Filing the initial 10-K with the Securities and Exchange Commission was his first major hurdle to forming a Real Estate Investment Trust. His staff worked miracles to beat the pack of management companies attempting to enter the REIT market with an initial public