Windows

The software developer let out a super-yawn and took another swig of coffee. He looked at the code, and his mind iterated again and again over his girlfriend, lunch, and the upcoming holiday weekend. He forced his eyes to look at the bug and then the requested changes. It seemed that simply adding an array would take care of the problem. He added it, ran some quick tests, marked it resolved and moved on to the next bug.

And for millions of renters stored in the database, the bug was resolved. Unanticipated by the coder, the fix created another obscure bug which mathematically should never happen. The odds were one in a hundred million.

The software he troubleshot that day, Rentit-Manager, managed rental properties. A certain Priscilla Pennington used the software to manage her units known as the Cowboy Lofts, in Favorton, Texas. And Priscilla would never know that she had hit the unlucky one-in-a-hundred-million lottery. Actually, it was two of her renters.

Favorton, originally an oil boom town, had, over time, added industries in almost every sector. The Cowboy Lofts, built almost 80 years prior, was the first skyscraper in Favorton. Remodeled three times in the last twenty years, the Cowboy Lofts were now highly sought after mainly because they were reasonably priced and located downtown.

Priscilla liked her Rentit-Manager software. Besides Microsoft Word, it was the only software she had ever used (other than the time her niece helped her modify an Excel spreadsheet). At 75, Priscilla proudly used Rentit-Manager rather than the old, cheap notebooks she had meticulously kept for almost 45 years of property management. She maintained the notebooks side by side with the software for three years . She knew a computer couldn't be as exact as she, but it never missed. In fact, it caught a mistake she made, and she never made mistakes.

Consequently, Priscilla had great faith in Rentit-Manager. The rents were due on the 5th of the month and a late fee assessed on the 10th. She always waited until the 15th to check Rentit-Manager, as her tenants had usually paid by then. On this particular 15th, she noticed that a rent check's address did not match the tenant's address at the Loft. This wasn't necessarily strange, as tenants constantly moved in and out and had addresses from previous habitations on their rent checks. What caught her eye was that the address on the check was for a different unit at the Lofts. And the address on the check was for the north side of the building, while the tenant's unit was on the south side.
The Cowboy Lofts were located on Denton Street, which ran from east to west right on the southern edge of downtown. The street signs all said "Denton St.," but no one called it Denton Street. Instead, everyone knew it as "The Line." On the northern side of The Line stood Downtown and the northern suburbs. On the southern side lived the industrial area and Old Favorton. The contrast was stark: the northern side affluent, modern and growing; the southern side outdated, stunted and depressed.

The north side of the Cowboy Lofts overlooked the Downtown area, with the units on the top floors even viewing the lake. Although the Lofts were priced very reasonably (about half of what normal downtown rents cost), they had one of the best views of Downtown anywhere. The south side of the Cowboy Lofts overlooked the industrial area. Directly across the street looking south, tenants saw a gutted industrial warehouse covered with graffiti where varied street dwellers made their abode.

This line of demarcation was what caused Priscilla to notice the address on the check. Downtown units were almost impossible to come by with a huge waiting list at the Cowboy Lofts. But only for the north-side units. These were considered downtown living whereas her south-side units were considered Old Favorton living. And the rents ran accordingly. Even though her north-side units were half of normal downtown housing costs, they were still five times what she charged for her south side-units. The waiting list on the south-side units was in the low single digits while the north-side units had a waiting list of fifty-seven.

On three previous occasions, a new tenant had rented a south-side unit and then negotiated a deal with a north-side tenant to take over the payments on both units when the north-side tenant left. In this way, they bypassed the waiting list. Although they paid rent on two units and one stood vacant (or the previous north-side tenant lived there rent-free), it was still far less than most people paid for Downtown living. The first two tenants to use this method went almost a year before she discovered it and promptly threw them out. The third, she caught the second month.

Now, Priscilla watched like a ravenous hawk. She despised people who tried to cheat her system. And from what Rentit-Manager said, Ronald Willis was the latest to try his hand at cheating. She dialed his cell number with great anticipation.

Ronald Willis and Sean Behm were two very different individuals in most ways, but they both lived at the Cowboy Lofts. They didn't know they had moved into the Lofts in the same month two years prior or that they had thrice ridden the main elevator down together.

Ronald made his living as a salesman. He had closed three accounts that day which put him five ahead of all the other sales reps for the month. With just four days until the end of February, he knew he should easily be top dog of the month and take home the $3,000 bonus, an important fact, as he had his eye on a new putter and it cost just about that.

He reclined in his Lazy Boy, resting his tired feet and wishing he could shut his eyes for fifteen minutes. But Priscilla at the rental office had left a message that he needed to stop by, so he quickly traversed the stairs down a few flights to the basement office. He remembered Priscilla only vaguely from signing the paperwork when he had moved in.

Sean Behm worked at the nearby Valera as a counter clerk, a position he had held for three years. He opened his Cowboy Loft apartment door, dropped a grocery bag on the counter, and immediately grabbed a throwing dart. Twelve feet away, in the small front room, hung a dartboard on the wall. There was a paper stuck to the dartboard with a roughly scribbled "Jimmy" written in ballpoint pen. He let the dart fly, and it landed satisfyingly in the "y."
Sean kept his work counter cleaner than a hospital operating table, but Jimmy, his boss, always found something to complain about. Sean had considered quitting many times, but then his anxieties would kick in, and he simply continued on with Valera, Jimmy, and $15.57 per hour. Still, he could dream occasionally that something would change. He threw open the blinds on the main window and looked at the street below. Taylor and Rocky were there in their normal spots.

Taylor was a younger street girl who begged during the day right in front of one of the warehouse windows. She reminded Sean of Taylor Swift, so he had named her Taylor. Because she was young and pretty, she seemed to do well in accumulating alms, especially with the men.

Rocky slept in the large covered garage door area. Sean called him Rocky because he looked a little bit like Sylvester Stallone. He was in his sleep spot every night and a good portion of the day, except when it was mealtime at the soup kitchen down the street. Walking to work, Sean had seen Rocky at that kitchen many times and even waved to him once, but of course, Rocky had stared at him blankly.

Sean's eyes darted to the graffiti on the warehouse. A new artist had done a piece last night. He or she had used two fairly adjacent broken windows as eyes and created a large face. Pretty impressive. Dealer was on the corner, hawking his goods. Sean just called him Dealer. Glancing at his phone, Sean remembered he had a message from Priscilla at the office. Something about him needing to come down at 5:30. He grabbed his keys and hurried to the apartment stairs as the elevator at this time would take too long.

Priscilla glared at the two men in front of her. Despicable. Trying to get around her system.

"Do you want to say something? Or do I need to spell it out?"

They sat there, feigning ignorance and innocence, which angered her all the more. She admitted they were good actors, and if she didn't know better, would think they weren't trying to con her.

"Let me clearly map things out for you, gentlemen. You both need to switch back to your normal apartments within two days. Mr. Willis, that means your belongings need to be back in 417A, and Mr. Behm, your belongings need to be in 317B by Wednesday. If that doesn't occur, I will instruct the building crew to remove your possessions, and we will change the locks and rent to someone new who has gone through the proper procedures and is not trying to cheat my system. I've checked both your rooms. I know your belongings. They need to be switched, or you will be out by Wednesday."

They protested more. Mr. Willis claimed she couldn't do that according to eviction law in Texas. Priscilla smiled at him. "My nephew is a deputy sheriff and my cousin is the judge. I guarantee you will be gone by Wednesday, if those changes don't happen."

Mr. Behm gave her a frightened look. "But I can't afford B side rates. They are much higher than what I normally pay."

The man was good. Priscilla thought she might nominate him for an Academy Award.

"Mr. Behm! You and I both know your apartment is paid upfront for the next five months."

And of course, Mr. Willis, being an incredibly sly one, pretended that he'd paid that apartment ahead for five months.
"Gentlemen, this conversation is over. You will meet my conditions or suffer the consequences."

Sean Behm looked over his "new" apartment again. It was a week now and he still couldn't fathom it. His old, worn-out furniture looked out of place in the newer, remodeled rooms. But it felt great. And no rent for another five months. That easily made up for the money to the building crew for moving his stuff. He felt bad for the other man. They both knew Priscilla had made a mistake. Apparently, he was going to take legal action.

But in the meantime, Sean liked his new home. He slid his blinds open and felt his adrenaline surge. Downtown. New, clean, and… powerful. So many things going on. From hot dog vendors to shoe shiners to huge corporate buildings to fancy, nice cars. And at night! The lights dazzled him. He sat in front of his window for hours breathing it in.

Of course, he had been downtown before–walked through it a number of times. But there was something about this view, his view, which inspired him. His mind drifted to work. There had been a little contention today. He stood up to Jimmy. As always, Jimmy told him to shut his mouth or he should start looking for a new job. When Sean replied he would keep that in mind, Jimmy exploded.

But there was something Sean hadn't seen before in Jimmy's eyes: fear. Did Jimmy know that Sean was a good worker and could find something better? So many of Sean's coworkers had left over the years. Left because of Jimmy's tirades. Sean wondered why he had put up with it all this time. He looked again at the scene four stories below.

Ron Willis grabbed a drink from his fridge and plopped down on his couch. His furniture looked too nice for this dump of an apartment. Why couldn't they upgrade the flooring and paint? And the bathroom! The tile grout was discolored, and the trim looked like it was caulked by someone stoned.

Ron had contacted his lawyer, but he was out of the country for two weeks. He could go with someone else in the firm, but then he wouldn't get the discounted rate. He settled in his mind that he'd be here another week and then back in his rightful apartment.

If it weren't for the fact that he loved sunlight and hated closed blinds, he would shut them. The warehouse, with all its broken windows and decayed siding, constantly stared at him. Such a rundown, dilapidated sight. Why had no one purchased the building and fixed it up? And the people on the street? Did no one on this street want to do anything with their life?
His mind flashed back to work. It was a new month. Time to go out and be top dog again. He usually flew off to a fast start, closing two or three deals the first day. But so far, nothing had hit. Still, there was plenty of month left. He'd reach his goals no problem.

Sean Behm plopped down on his new sofa and grabbed the remote. Why not watch a little cable? Because he could! He was affording cable and even the premium package. Yes, he was dipping into the little savings he had, but it was only a matter of time until he could pay that back with his new job. He'd finally left Valera, Jimmy, and all the ugliness.

He'd gotten a job at a clothing retail store, and they promoted him in the interview to first assistant manager. More pay and weekends off! Why had he waited so long? Things just felt better these days, like they were going his way. He looked out his window and could see The Grand a few blocks away. Now those were apartments! If things kept improving, maybe he could get into those.

Ronald Willis clicked the submit button and moved his entire mutual fund portfolio from aggressive to money market funds. He felt things were going to get a little rocky and wanted to play it safe. He stood up from his couch and walked to the windows overlooking the street. Normal trash and decay today. Yesterday he saw his second robbery. Two in the last month. This one had been in daylight after work. Pretty brazen. Very scary.

His lawyer was fighting this, but everything just dragged on and on. And of course, the battle cost. A lot. The lady they'd met supplied documents from her rental software "proving" that he and the other guy switched places, which of course, they had not.

He'd only closed three sales so far this month. Three! In almost three weeks. Unbelievable. And his sales pipeline looked bleak. No good-looking prospects. Everything looked dark and dreary. He felt his blood pressure pounding. Or was he just imagining that? Better call the doctor anyway, just to make sure.

Ronald glanced down at the street. Dealer and Rocky were there. He hadn't seen Taylor for a few days. The previous tenant had stopped by and expressed his sorrow at what was happening. He knew, they both knew, that Priscilla couldn't be more wrong. The man had told Ronald all the names he had for the street people below, and now Ron used the same names for them.

The stress was getting to him. Last month was his worst ever and this month was starting slow. His boss asked him if he wanted to go on salary instead of straight commission, but he had never even considered that. With salary, you still had to hit certain minimums anyway, and the pay was miserable. Plus, this was something his company did for someone they were considering letting go, kind of a rep's last chance.

His whole team had complained of his negativity. Who wouldn't be negative? You lose five months of rent, get kicked out of your apartment, get stuck in ghetto living, and you're gonna be positive? His life had been vandalized. He stared at Dealer. Maybe he should do some business with him to wash away his sorrows.

Sean Behm polished his new Aldens. He took meticulous care of them, and Ashley had noticed. She even knew the brand, something he hadn't even heard of a month ago. He had always shopped for clothing at Ross and grabbed whatever looked cool.

But now. Why was everything so different? He glanced out at the dusky downtown area and could feel the city coming to life. The line grew at the gelato window, dog walkers chatted at the small grassy area a half block up the street, and billboards lined the street advertising Hamilton coming to the performing arts center.

He called and confirmed his reservation at Yanata's, the wood-fired place. Ashley would meet him there in 30 minutes. He jumped on his laptop and accessed his 401(k). He had heard of 401(k)s, but never understood what it was all about. He loved to check every two weeks because his new company matched what he put in. He confirmed the match. Amazing. And he kept hearing about a year-end bonus.

Priscilla hated to leave her office and really hated leaving it to look at apartments. That's why they had a maintenance team. But supposedly something on the 10th floor "had" to have her attention. She pushed the button and waited for the elevator to come down from the 23rd floor.

As she waited, a man walked up and waited with her. She almost didn't recognize him.

"Hi, Mr. Behm."

"Oh, hi. Is it Priscilla?"

"Yes. You look like you've done something with your hair."

"Yeah. I thought a new haircut would do me good. Been hitting the gym as well. Got to stay in shape."

"Well, I'm glad we got that situation figured out. Please don't let anything like that happen again."

"Oh no, ma'am. I'm sure it won't. Thank you."

Mr. Behm exited the elevator and she proceeded to the next floor. After seeing something she obviously didn't need to see at all and scolding the staff for calling her all the way up there, she again pressed the elevator button and waited. As it opened, she recognized the other man who had been there with Mr. Behm that day.

"Hi, Mr. Willis."

He lightly nodded and simply stared at her.

"Are you feeling okay? You don't look well."

He mumbled something and walked past her.

She shook her head at his wrinkled clothes and unkempt look. One thing became crystal clear: she had got it right. Mr. Behm was a northsider, and Mr. Willis was all southside.