Page 12 of Toxic B!tch
Before I can dwell on it, my phone buzzes again.
Indigo: It’s only 9AM and I have bad news. I can’t think of a good zombie joke. If you promise not to be uptight, I have a dark humor one for you.
I smirk, already feeling lighter.
Me: I can’t wait to hear this.
Indigo: What’s Jesus’ favorite band?
Me: I’m scared.
Indigo: Nine Inch Nails.
I laugh, despite myself. Damn. That’s dark.
Me: Damn. It’s funny bit dark. I feel bad for laughing.
Indigo: I’ll share my room with you in hell. LMFAO
Me: Deal. Can I bring my ferret?
Indigo: Only if my raccoon can join us.
Me: Fuck it. It’s hell…why not?
I shove my phone into my pocket, still grinning, and try to refocus on the day ahead. It’s hard to shake the thoughts of Indigo, though. I can practically hear her laughter in my head as I head to my first appointment.
The property I’m looking at today is another new build, this time for a bank looking for a quote. Apparently, the last contractor didn’t secure the place properly, and someone broke in, stripped the copper wiring, trashed the place, and then decided to light it on fire for good measure. The fire department saved half the house, but the other half? A total loss.
When I park in the makeshift driveway, the charred smell hits me before I even get out of the truck. I grab my laptop and head to the front door, but before I can knock, a middle-aged man swings it open.
“Malik, I presume?” he asks, holding out his hand. His smile is firm, but there’s a tightness in his expression, like he’s bracing for bad news.
I shake his hand, my grip equally firm. “Correct, and you must be Arnold.”
“Sharp as a whip, you are.” He chuckles. “Come in and take a look at what we’re working with.”
I follow him inside, the remnants of smoke and scorched wood clinging to the air. The south end of the house is where the fire really hit. The walls there are blackened, the structure barely holding together. I run my hand along one of the walls, feeling the rough, burned surface beneath my fingertips. The damage is bad, but it’s contained. The rest of the house is salvageable, though I’d still replace a few boards just to be safe.
“Do we know what happened?” I ask, taking in the destruction's extent. “Obviously a fire, but what started it?”
“Arson. That’s why we need the quote—to figure out the loss. Insurance won’t cover it since it was deliberate, and we can’t prove who started it. The police think some vagrant was using the place for shelter and it got out of hand.”
I nod, pacing the room and taking measurements. “Just a rough estimate, but you’re probably looking at somewhere between one fifty and one seventy-five, depending on how fancy you go with fixtures and design.”
“You’re sure?” Arnold asks.
I glance at him, giving him a reassuring nod. “I’ve been doing this for fourteen years. I know my numbers.”
Arnold exhales, relief flooding his features. “Get me that on paper, and we’re good to go. I’ll sign the design agreement now and cut you a check for the fee. How long until I get the final number?”
“A week, maybe ten days.”
“Amazing.” He heads out to his car, parked on the side of the road, and I take the moment to shoot a quick text to Indigo.
Me: Just signed an almost 200k job.
Her response is almost instant.
