“How come the windows are bolted shut?”
Ziggy placed the gun magazine on the desk like it was a piece of fine china.
“This is how you say hello to me?”
Brad lowered his head slightly.
“Sorry Ziggy, hi, good morning. I wasn’t aware the windows in my apartment were bolted shut. I looked at 314 before I rented 416, same layout, but I swear the windows weren’t bolted shut.”
The building manager opened his center desk drawer. There were hundreds of paperclips and a half dozen pagers and Brad wondered about the last time someone used a pager. Seemed a strange collection for a building manager.
“Why you want open windows?” Ziggy asked.
Brad Locherby couldn’t exactly place Ziggy’s Eastern European accent, but it sounded like he was trying to affect a mob movie tough guy on top of it.
Ziggy rubbed absently at a stretch marked belly showing underneath his Zenith Residential Properties work shirt.
“I wanna feed the pigeons that congregate on my sill.”
As he watched Ziggy’s face melt into disgust, he knew that was the wrong answer, even though it had been an honest one.
“No feed pigeons, man. Make pigeon shit. No. Sorry. No pigeon shit.”
Brad straightened and decided to run with it.
“They shit whether I feed ‘em or not. I’d like to be able to open my windows.”
“Sorry, Mister Brad, windows bolted. No can do opening windows.Sorry.”
“I’ll do it myself, Ziggy, thanks.”
“No, that’s major alteration of property. Lease violation. Evict you.”
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