Page 86 of Crow
A car door slammed behind her. Angie glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes.Sonny Copeland.
“There’s Caden,” Pedro said, pointing to a boy with a mop of curly blond hair. “I gotta go.” He ran toward the side of the building.
“Hey, you,” a man’s voice called.
Gripping her purse strap, she turned around.
“What?”
“I want to talk to you.”
Copeland was in his late thirties, stocky and muscular with wavy sandy-brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He was deeply tanned even though it was only springtime.
Taking a few steps back, she smoothed down the front of her dress.
“I hope you’re going to tell me you’ve corrected all the violations,” she said as the landlord approached her.
“I’m working on it.” He leaned against her car. “I need some more time.”
“I can’t give you any more. You’ve taken several extensions each time you received a violation letter, and you’ve run out of continuances. Sorry.”
A frown deepened the lines on his forehead and around his mouth.
“No, you’re not sorry. You’re a frustrated bitch who gets off trying to bust a man’s balls.”
“Think whatever you want, but the fact is that you had a deadline to correct the problems at this property, and I believe you’re telling me that you haven’t. Is that right?”
“You’re really getting off on this.” He took two steps closer to Angie, and she moved back. “What’s the matter? Think I’m going to mess with you?”
Damn, he’s loathsome. I don’t get paid enough to put up with assholes like him.
“I’m inundated at work and don’t have time tochatwith you. You have until the middle of next week to comply with the demand letter I’d sent to you a while back. Either you fix the problems enumerated in the document or you don’t.”
Copeland scrubbed a hand over his face. “You don’t fucking get it, do you? Low-income housing is a symptom of poverty. So poverty is the real problem, and a landlord can’t be held responsible for that. I can’t help it if these tenants fucked up their lives and ended up here.”
Shaking her head, Angie clenched her teeth. “It doesn’t matter if someone is poor, drugged-out, screwed up, or has a multitude of problems. Each of these tenants”—she waved her hand toward the building—“has the right to live in a clean and safe environment. It’s everyone’s basic right.”Asshole!
“Get real, honey bun—that’s not the way it works. You give these people nice things, and they destroy them. They’re all out to get as much as they can from me”—he paused and pointed his finger at her—“andyou. Talk to any social worker or landlord who deals with them, and they’ll tell you the score. I can’t help it if people can’t afford anything better, but the way I see it, I’m providing a necessary service, given the tenants' poverty. So get off your fucking high horse.”
“Let me get this straight—you think you’re doing everyone at Madera afavorjust by providing a roof over their heads even if that roof is leaking, the building is infested by roaches, the elevator is usually not working, the lights in the hallways are burned out, the security doors are broken nine times out of ten, the—”
“I’m not in the business of losing money. Again, the problem is poverty, and if I were the cause of that, then you could legitimately blame me for the evils of low-income housing. People don’t blame junkyard owners for the poor condition of their wares or the dire straits of their customers.”
“That’s a ridiculous analogy. We’re talking—”
“Or what about day-old-bakeries?” he said, interrupting her again. “There’s no fucking way customers can complain about stale bread because they realize if it weren’t for these bakeries, people who couldn’t afford fresh bread would be in worse condition than they are now. It’s the same damn thing with subsidized housing,honey bun.” The landlord leaned toward her, his nostrils flaring. “I’m the only fucking person who’s giving these people a chance. I’m the guy whose hand they’re grasping to stay out of hell. I’m their goddamn savior!”
Angie took several steps backward and rolled her eyes. “As much as I’d love to stand here and listen to your accolades, I have work to do. Just make sure the repairs are made by the time indicated in the letter.” She turned around and marched up the sidewalk to the apartment house.
“You fucking, self-righteous bitch! You better watch your back when you’re over here—accidentscan happen.”
Ignoring the inquiring looks from a couple of residents sitting on the front steps, Angie opened the glass doors and headed toward the elevator. Anger streaked through her as she stood in front of the scratched-up brass doors.What a narcissistic SOB! The nerve of him threatening me. If Copeland doesn’t comply, he’s off the fucking program. I’m done with him.She seethed as she waited for the car to reach the ground floor.
“It’s not working,” a voice behind her said.
Angie looked over her shoulder and smiled at Missy, an eighteen-year-old resident on the third floor. “How are you?”
“Not good. The elevator’s outagain, and I have to carry all these groceries.”
