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seemed to be in need of a good conditioning. And he always wore sweatpants
     and T-shirts that had seen more abuse than narcotics. But he was a good landlord.
     When my heater stopped working in mid-December, it took him only two weeks to get
     it fixed. Of course, it took me knocking on his door in need of a warm place to sleep
     to get it that way, but one night on his sofa, where I’d suddenly developed night
     terrors and epilepsy, and that puppy was running like a Mercedes the next day. It
     was awesome.
    “Hey, Mr. Z.”
    He was carrying a small ladder, a drop cloth, and a gallon of paint. And he was headed
     to the apartment at the end of the hall. What the heck? When I’d first moved in, I
     wanted that apartment. I begged. I pleaded. But no. The owners weren’t willing to
     shell out the money it would take to renovate it. And now he was renovating it? Now
     they were willing?
    “What’s going on?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.
    He drew to a stop in front of me, key at the ready. While Cookie’s apartment and mine
     were right across the hall from each other, the end apartment spanned the length of
     both of ours with the door perpendicular to the main hall. It was like taking both
     of ours and putting them together. Since it’d suffered major water damage a few years
     ago and the owners lost the insurance money at the casinos before they could finish
     the renovations, it’d sat vacant for years. Which made no sense to me whatsoever.
    “Finally finishing up this apartment,” he said, pointing with a key. “Got some construction
     guys coming in this afternoon. Might get noisy.”
    Hope blossomed in my chest like a begonia in spring. My apartment was way too small
     now with all my new stuff. I could totally use bigger and better digs. “I want it,”
     I said, blurting it out before I could stop myself.
    He raised a brow. “Can’t let you have it. Already have a tenant.”
    “No way. Mr. Z, I’ve wanted that apartment since I first looked at this place. You
     promised to put me on the list of possible tenants.”
    “And you are on the list. Right below these people.”
    I gasped. “You mean, you cheated?”
    “No. I took a bribe. Not the same thing.”
    He started for the door again. I took a menacing step in front of him. “I bribed you,
     too, if you’ll remember.”
    With a snort, he said, “Was that a bribe? I thought it was a tip.”
    I was now officially appalled. “And I offered to pay you more than what I was paying
     for this cracker box.”
    “You dissing my building?”
    “No, your ethics.”
    “If I’m recalling this right, you offered to pay fifty dollars more a month for this
     apartment.”
    “That’s right.”
    “For an apartment that’s twice the size of yours.”
    “Yeah, so? It’s all I had at the time.”
    “From my understanding, the new tenant is paying three times what you pay for yours.
     And paying for all the repairs.”
    Crap. I probably couldn’t afford to do something like that. Maybe if I sent back the
     espresso machine. And the electric nail gun. “I cannot believe you went behind my
     back like this.”
    He picked up the ladder. “I don’t think renting out an apartment is going behind your
     back, Ms. Davidson. But if you feel that strongly about it, you can always kiss my
     ass.”
    “In your dreams.”
    After a soft chuckle, he disappeared into the apartment. I got a peek at the new drywall
     lining the walls, all fresh and unpainted. Clearly, I’d missed something.
    I strode through Cookie’s door, cursing my bad luck. And bad hearing.
    “Did you know Mr. Z rented 3B?”
    Cookie looked up from her computer. “No way. I wanted that apartment.”
    “I did, too. Who do you think our neighbor will be?”
    “Probably another elderly woman with poodles.”
    “Maybe. Or maybe a serial killer.”
    “One can dream. What do you have?” She nodded toward the paper in my hands.
    “Oh, right. We have a client.”
    “Really?” Her