He didn't stop at the sidewalk. He rolled that cart right up onto the edge of Oliver's driveway. Engine still humming. Little American flag on the antenna flapping in the breeze. And sat there for a good 10 seconds before he even opened his mouth.
Just staring. Oliver felt the shadow before he heard the voice. He was wrist-deep in soil, patting down a row of marigolds along the walkway, when the sun disappeared from his back. He didn't look up right away. He already knew.
You know that feeling when you can sense someone standing over you, and you already know from the silence, from the energy, that whatever's about to come out of their mouth ain't going to be friendly. Oliver knew. The hell you doing on this property? Oliver kept planting. Pressed the soil with his thumbs.
Didn't rush. Gardening. Gerald climbed off the cart, hitched up his khaki shorts, walked three steps onto the driveway, onto Oliver's driveway, and planted his feet wide like a man guarding his own front door. I didn't ask what. I asked what you're doing here on this property.
Now Oliver looked up. He peeled off one gardening glove, then the other, stood to his full height, 6 ft 1, a solid 4 in taller than Gerald, and extended his hand. I'm Oliver. I own this house. Just moved into the renovation phase.
Nice to meet you. Gerald's eyes dropped to the hand. Dirt under the fingernails, calluses on the palm. He looked at it like Oliver had just offered him a dead fish. He did not shake it.
You own this house? Gerald repeated it flat. Not a question, a verdict. Like the words tasted wrong in his mouth. Uh-huh.
Gerald's eyes did a slow scan. The F-150 with paint cans in the bed, Oliver's stained sneakers, the hole in his T-shirt collar, and then back to Oliver's face. That scan said everything Gerald would never say out loud in a courtroom. But on a Saturday afternoon, on a street where he felt untouchable, he said plenty. Look, buddy, I've been on this block 22 years.
I know every single person who lives here. I know every car. I know every lawn crew, every delivery truck, every plumber that comes through. And I ain't never seen your face. Not once.
Oliver nodded. That's because I just started the renovation about 3 months ago. I bought the property through my company. Your company? Gerald almost choked on the word.
The corner of his mouth twitched. Right. What company is that? Underwood Property Group. Gerald blinked.
Then a grin crawled across his face. The kind of grin that doesn't come from amusement. It comes from contempt. Never heard of it. Sounds made up.
You're welcome to look it up. Oh, I don't need to look up nothing. Gerald stepped closer. Close enough that Oliver could smell the coffee on his breath. I know what's going on here.