Destined for Comeuppance

As he picked up the government check, he felt a glow in his mind.

“A pleasure, Miss Margaret,” Willis Tombs acknowledged.

Tombs rolled to the next trailer. Palina Austin opened her door…and her mouth.

“The wheelchair ramp is busted, the water is squirting brown stuff, the cable’s out, the lights keep flickering….”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down,” Tombs said motioning with his hands. The bleeding cold of February chilled both of them as Palina had stepped out in a jogging suit. Tombs wore carpenter pants and a Carhart jacket.

“What are you going to do about all this? It gets cold as the heater doesn’t work.”

Screams from her three toddlers could be heard from inside the trailer.

“I can’t accept rings or other jewelry. I’m going to have to see some currency in a hurry.”

She looked back at her kids and shooed them into an adjacent room.

“Did you want to come inside, Mr. Tombs?”

“No, I don’t. I want you to obtain gainful employment again.”

“I’m getting unemployment….”

“Did you not hear what I said? You’ve got babies to feed. Why don't you work on getting a government job?”

“My disability rating is still being reviewed,” Palina attested.

“You let me know when those checks get flowing,” Tombs responded.

He walked away as Palina slammed the door. Tombs ventured over to the next trailer.

He knocked on the door. “Mr Kibbs! Mr Kibbs!” He noticed that his mailbox was bursting like a pregnant woman and his newspapers stacked up next to his door. Tombs walked to a mobile phone. Soon, a meatwagon came to pick up the man who had expired two weeks ago. Neither the sight nor the smell was pretty. Tombs had been saddened as Kibbs had been one of his most consistent tenants.

Tombs thanked the police and other professionals who handled the Kibbs situation. He sealed the trailer and kept moving to collect from more tenants.

“Mr. Kibbs? He was a veteran. He put in work during World War I. Damn shame.”

“Yes,” Tombs said. “He’ll be missed. Now, where is your government check? I missed it last week.”

“It’s crazy,” Derondo Messing noted. “I was denied my disability.”

“Like no check?”

Messing nodded in agreement.

“I’ll give you a week to get a check from somewhere, or you’ll be out on these streets, Messing.”

“Yes, Mr. Tombs. I know I can go to the VA. Damn, Mr. Kibbs is no longer here. His war was different from mine. I was in Korea.”

“As you’ve said,” Tombs replied.

“Yeah, he’ll be missed, definitely.”

“Make sure you find a means of payment by next Monday. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Messing said quietly.

Then, Tombs ventured to another trailer.

He knocked. Once the door opened, he found that he had a tenant who was three weeks past rent.

“Mr. Tombs.”

“Miss Gertrude.”

“We fought over this last time and this is going to be the last time, I swear. My Social Security check has been held up.” She covered herself from winter’s bite with a robe.

“That sounds cute but we’re talking business here. I’m going to have to evict you,” Tombs said evenly.

“No, no. I can only be evicted if I have not posted a regular check. I’m telling you it’s held up.”

“And I’m telling you that you’re going to have to produce some change, or you will have a change of address.”

“Now, listen to me,” she produced a knife.

“I want you to understand that I’ve got nowhere to go in this world. My parents are dead. I have no siblings. And none of my children speak to me. So, unless you want to be sliced up, I suggest you back out of my face.”

Tombs exhaled. He produced a sawed off shotgun.

“You know how this goes.”