The Flip by Michael Phillip Cash Page A

overdrive. He loved this part of the night. It was quiet, and it allowed him to lose himself in any job he chose to do. He could work for hours uninterrupted. Taking another lantern, he went into the primitive bathroom at the top of the stairs to scrub away the grime of neglect from the white tiles. Dawn poked through the filthy windows, painting boxes of sunlight on the floor. Brad emerged from the bathroom newly showered, his hair curlingdamply around his face. He had set up a homey spot for each of them on the sink with mouthwash, toothpaste, toothbrushes, a hairbrush—all the things that said normal—but all he was hearing were the screams in his head that something was not.
    Barefoot, he tripped down the curved staircase and checked on Julie, who was still in the same position as last night. He saw a big brown van pull up, and a smile broke over his face. The cavalry had arrived.
    Willy Watson, six-foot-three, a mighty wall of muscle with a head full of long dreadlocks, bounded up the long gravel drive holding a bag from McDonald’s and a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee. He tossed away his cigarette beforeclimbing up the porch steps. Julie didn’t hold with smoking in her flips. He loved Brad like a brother, even though they had nothing in common except serving together in Afghanistan. His mother’s family came from the Deep South, but he’d been brought up with his father’s family in Harlem, enlisting rather than joining a gang on the streets. The only Maine he’d ever heard of was Main Street in Flushing, until he met Brad and heard about his folksy, country background. He was a good man who recognized another good man. While they served, Brad lost both his parents, and Willy urged him to relocate to New York. Then he met Julie, his firecracker of a wife, and they formed an informal partnership. Brad and Julie were his ticket out of Harlem. One more flip, and he’d have enough to buy a small house inSt. Albans and marry Rita, his baby’s mama. He had negotiated with Sal for a small ring from the antique shop. With the proceeds from this house, Willy would be able to pay off the balance. He had gone down to Charlotte to break the news to his own mama. There was going to be a wedding this summer.
    Brad opened the door before he had a chance to knock. He held his finger over his mouth, indicating that Willy should be quiet.
    Willy held up the greasy bag, saying, “Mickey Dee’s.”
    Brad nodded with a smile, slipped on his hoodie, bummed a cigarette, and sat down heavily on the porch.
    “I didn’t expect you to be here yet,” Willy said as he sat down next to him.
    “Me neither.”
    Willy unwrapped an Egg McMuffin. “You want this one or the sausage?”
    Brad shrugged. “I don’t care. I’ll take anything. You were supposed to be back Monday.” Brad accepted the breakfast sandwich and placed the coffee on the other side of him.
    “Took care of business.” He shrugged. “I missed Rita and LaMarr too much.”
    Brad nodded. “Yeah. A lot’s been going on. Our house burned down.”
    “No shit!” The expletive rolled off Willy’stongue. “Patricia Lane? Completely?”
    “Like it was bombed.”
    “Julie OK?”
    “She burned her hands.”
    “What? She was in the house?”
    “Yep. She barely made it out.”
    “Sheeeet. She at her sister’s?”
    “Nah.” Brad shook his head. “She’s sleeping inside. Some crazy shit, man.”
    “What you gonna do?”
    “We’re camping out here for now. It’s as good a place as any. I have to get working on the insurance claim. Once we get the replacementmoney, we can look for a place to rent.” Brad looked in the bag. “How many of these did you buy?” He held up another sandwich. “You want this?” Willy shook his head no. “I’m going to see if she’s up yet.”
    Willy balled the wax paper in his fist. “Where do you want me to start first?”
    “Take your pick. The foundation people are going to be here in an hour. Do you mind working