Retribution by Regina Smeltzer

College. When his receptionist quit six months ago, Latoya had applied. Devoted to the end, she would protect his back.
    The willowy secretary’s long nails were painted red today. Not bright cherry red, but a deep red, like blood. How did she react to the sight of blood? Was she a screamer, or a fainter, or did she grab a rag and start cleaning it up? He had a feeling she was well acquainted with grittier things.
    “Sir?”
    He pulled his attention from her nails to the folder dangling from her hand. Desmond Brown held the title of most detested client. “Tell him to come in.”
    Within seconds, the man, built like a bull and just as mean, barreled into the office. Steam almost billowed from the man’s nose. Desmond thrust a paper across the desk, ignoring his extended hand.
    A verbal fight was building and, as in the past, he regretted the paper-thin walls. Very little money had been spent modifying the historic house from an elegant home to an office complex. Each substantial wall torn down had been replaced by three flimsy ones. Even though fortunate to have his own suite, he shared one of the new walls with the City Planning Department. Of course, he had overheard several heated debates from their side of the wall, too.
    “Have a seat, Desmond.” Not removing his gaze from the man, he settled into his chair.
    With large palms flat on the desk, Desmond leaned toward him. The man’s breath reeked of stale beer and cigarettes. His black eyes became slits. Bulging arms flexed. The bull was preparing to charge. “How can you do this to me?” Desmond yelled. “You gonna put three kids out on the street, just like that?”
    Although Desmond intended to intimidate, Roger also knew the underside of life: he had spent most of his years there. Leaning forward and placing his hands on the desk, he mirrored the man across from him. “Desmond, I sent you that certified letter because you are three months behind in your rent.”
    Desmond stood upright, his hands at his sides.
    Roger did likewise.
    “I told you I’m gettin’ a new job soon. I’ll be able to make it up.”
    “That’s what you said last month.”
    “Well, that job fell through. He promised it to me, and then backed down. I can’t control that. I’ve been lookin’ for better work.”
    Still standing, Roger fingered the file Latoya had handed him. He knew what was inside.
    So did the man on the other side of the desk.
    Roger opened the folder and pretended to read. “You still have your job with Takis, right?”
    “Yah, but I go home smellin’ like stale food. The kids don’t like it. They run to the back of the house.”
    “Cleaning tables is honest work.”
    “But I can do better. They have me workin’ split shifts now.”
    “That’s because you asked for more hours.”
    “Because you made me!” The man’s glare drilled into his face. “So what you gonna do about this letter?”
    Roger’s open door provided a modicum of safety. Latoya could hear every word. So could the City Planning Department next door, most likely.
    “Look, sit down and let’s talk this through.”
    Desmond dropped into the chair opposite the desk, his dark scowl deepening.
    “You make enough money at Takis to pay your rent.” Roger spread out the budget sheet they had developed together. “You only have to pay 40% of the actual rent. The government pays the other 60%. Where’s the money going?” He frowned at the big man.
    “The government can pay it all.” Desmond’s shoulders slumped. “They’re the reason a man can’t get a decent job.”
    “But you have a job, Desmond.”
    “So you gonna put my old lady and my kids out on the street like all the others you shoved outta their houses?”
    “You’re doing it to yourself.” Roger hissed through clenched teeth. Freeloaders. Bums. All standing with their hands out instead of doing an honest day’s work. He knew how to take care of users unwilling to meet their obligations, but in Darlington, his