Got no face now.
Got no name now.
— Boogie
The plan was in motion, and the first step was to buy a house.
So, I did.
I bought Steve's house.
In fact, bought Steve's house with Steve's money. Shhhhh.
I assume his parents were having trouble selling it due to the horrific homicide which took place in the foyer. The mess was there for quite a while before anybody found it.
His parents were particularly pleased when an out-of-town buyer was willing to skip inspections and not even tour the place. "It's so much easier this way," they said. And I agreed.
The house was west of Gary, near Purdue University's northwest campus. Technically, in Hammond. There's a technical school nearby too. Lots of tech-savvy young people meant lots of marks. Best of all, it was right by the Illinois border, putting me even closer to the city. It's all part of Chicagoland though.
The house itself was a typical suburban starter home. Two bed, one bath, a kitchen hadn't been updated since the seventies, blah blah. It was fine.
To make sure Amberclaire was extra-motivated, I told her she could move into the second bedroom. Giving her a free place to stay meant she'd need me. She'd be in my debt.
The house also had a garage and the basement.
The hot tub was going in the garage, and the basement had a back room that was perfect for a workshop. There was even a lockable door at the bottom of the stairs. Security matters, right? That's where I'd found Steve's safe back in 2019.
The sale went through on January 24th. Signed, sealed, and paid in full. Steve's house was officially mine.
The keys were in my hand, though not for the first time.
In an attempt to avoid dwelling on that, foolish enthusiasm got the better of me. I told Amberclaire to meet me at the house, but she got there first. When I pulled into the driveway and saw her standing there, I immediately remembered what we were walking into. This was where Steve got Steved.
Oh God.
"Hi Claire! I'm glad you're a whiskey drinker," I said. "The last owner of this house was into wine. Red wine stains, y'know?"
We were standing outside the front door while I pretended to be excitedly fumbling with the keys. I was worried about what we'd find on the other side of the door. Steve's Steveness had surely been cleaned up, but how well?
I felt like I needed to say something, so...
"I hear the last owner had an accident with some bottles of wine. Dropped 'em in the foyer. Heard it was a big mess. So much red. I already know I'm gonna need a rug until I can get the floor refinished, or replaced, or... whatever you do with floors."
"You stand on them, Shay."
Or seep into them.
"Gonna need a rug," I said.
Gonna need a rug.
Gonna need a biiiiig muhfuggin' rug ruggin' rug.
Claire said, "A rug? Yeah, sure. A rug will make the place feel personal."
And cover up the stain of a person.
"And cover up a what?" she asked.
Jesus, did I say that out loud?
"A pinot!" I said. "A pinot! I think a whole case of pinot noir got dropped."
In a desperate attempt to shutthefuckup, I put the key in the lock and turned the knob.
The door opened.
My jaw dropped.
"Uh oh."
"What's up, Shay?"
Oh, hell. Stains and a smell. "Oh, whoa. Oh, wow. Oh, it's bad. Gonna need a rug. ASAP, wow. Did I already say wow? More wow. But that's why the house was cheap."
"The house was cheap because they broke some bottles of wine?" Amberclaire asked.
Whoops.
"Oh. No. It was cheap because the previous owner was pretty much gone, like, instantly, but their stuff was around for a while before anybody found it. Kinda all over the place. Y'know, like how sometimes a mess gets left behind? I don't know. No, no."
Must. Stop. Talking.
When Boogie told me how Steve was dealt with, I played it cool, like it was no big thing. 'Nono took care of Steve? With a meat mower, you say? Right on. That's how it's done.' And, honestly, I was fine with it until Boogie said, "Ain't no mo' Steve. Got no face now. Got no name now."
No, indeed. Ain't no mo' Steve. This was Shay's house now.
"The previous owner was gone?" Amberclaire asked.
"They passed away. Not in the house."
Yes in the house. All over the house. Especially in the foyer.
I said, "The people who inherited the place just wanted it gone, so they accepted a low offer. I got a good deal."
"I don't know, girl. It doesn't smell like wine. The hell is that?"
I was glad she didn't know.
For the record, I started calling her Amberclaire because she was using both names intermittently, and combining them the other way was... not good.
Please don't make me say it.
Oh, come on.
OK, fine.
Clamber.