4 Sale by Owner – Pandora

4 Sale by Owner

 

The door opened, the hookers walked in, and I froze holding the urn.

I was about to have an open house at my deceased stepbrother Dave’s place when they strolled in reeking of cheap perfume and cigarettes. One of them wore a ratty fur coat with short shorts over black lacy tights, and thigh high black boots. She looked sleazy and not in a Pretty Woman kind of way. The other one was wearing some kind of pleather body suit leaving little to the imagination. We were minutes away from the first showing and it would not do to have these broads clomping around when the potential buyers arrived. I set the urn down on the fireplace mantle.

“What the hell are they doing here?” the Sam whispered nervously. He had a low tolerance for things that felt unsafe. He’d even insisted on parking his BMW behind the house out of fear that it would be vandalized parked on the street in this neighborhood. I’d convinced Sam to help me with the sale of this god-forsaken hovel (i.e. fixer upper) after Dave had passed. We had to sell his place to pay for his cremation and back taxes. And anything extra I got to keep and had promised Sam his share if he helped me.

“Ladies!” I greeted them warmly. Years in sales had honed my people skills. The 2 of them were now in the living room with varying degrees of cleavage showing. “Can we help you with something?” I asked as I tried to block them from entering further into the room. I could imagine their dagger heels scratching the wooden floors I’d just paid an arm and a leg to get refinished.

“We were just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by to see our old pal Dave,” the one in the fur coat purred in a smoky voice. She walked towards the fireplace and looked at the urn. I stepped forward thinking I’d move it but the door opened again behind me.

Then the 3rd prostitute walked in holding the For Sale By Owner sign I’d just pounded into the lawn. The end of the wooden stake still had fresh dirt on it.

“Jesus!” Sam whimpered as he stood behind me peering over my shoulder at the most recent arrival.

She was impressive, in a terrifying way. She was tall and imposing and had on a long black leather coat and yet I felt she was barely wearing anything else under it. A black wide brimmed hat covered her long dark curly hair. I cringed as she clicked around the living room in her spiky heels. I imagined the tiny divots she was making in the honey blonde floors and suddenly thought of what it would feel like to have her walk on my back.

“Another friend of Dave’s I assume?” I asked the leather coat clad ringleader. For some stupid reason I reached out my hand as if to shake hers. She didn’t even acknowledge it.

“We have some unfinished business with Dave,” She said as she tapped the sign on the floor in front of her. Clumps of soil fell off onto the floor.

“Dave doesn’t live here anymore!” Sam squeaked from behind me.

“Yeah, so I guessed.” The sign-wielding hooker sneered.

“Did Dave leave anything for us?” the girl in the fur asked. Her cat suit clad cohort had slipped through to the kitchen and I could hear her opening cabinets and drawers.

“He never mentioned anything to me…”

They spent the next 10 minutes going through every room and closet of the small house. But I’d cleaned it out completely. There wasn’t a speck of Dave’s old junk left in the place. Just empty rooms and newly refinished floors throughout.

“There’s nothing here! He probably hid it somewhere before he died.” They spoke to each other quietly for a minute then turned to Sam and myself who stood anxiously by the fireplace. “Those two wouldn’t know what to do with it if they found it anyway,” the tall one said. Walking up to me, she took my hand and turned it over and wrote her number on the inside of my wrist. “If you find anything you call me, ok?”

I nodded numbly.

After they left Sam and I quickly swept up the dirt from the floors and I ran out to put the sign back up in the yard.

Back inside Sam and I nervously laughed about our encounter with the prostitutes.

“That was close man!”

What we were going to do with the huge bag of cocaine we’d found in the urn was something we didn’t even discuss. There would be time for that after the house was sold.

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About bbcstudiowrites

This blog is me archiving the BBC Studio Writers Workshop.

Posted on April 2, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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