Paying The Rent Ch. 01

Man About The House

He heard them long before he saw them. They were having the sort of stand-up, knock-down, drag-'em-out fight that normally was the preserve of long unhappily married couples rather than college types. It didn't take him long to work out what the problem was - shit, he could have guessed it before he'd heard a word.

"What the fuck are you even doing here - you think you can go to that slut and then still come round here!"

Seems the young man with the neck-beard and the fedora had been playing around. Probably had a sizable trust fund - there seemed little other possible reason he'd attract any female. It certainly wasn't his sparkling conversation.

"C'mon Sarah - you expect me to be a fucking monk just because you had exams. That's not how life works. Anyway, now we can go back to normal. Let's go..."

The arrogant entitled little prick. If he knew Sarah she wasn't going to stand for that.

Sarah's pretty face was pink and her eyes were wide with fury. The watcher smiled and waited for the eruption but he was in for a surprise.

Before Sarah could say anything the little white shit just moved in and slapped her hard across the face. Then his hand was at her throat. "Don't you get it - it comes with the territory. You like me spending my money on you well then you'd better get with the program. Mouth shut and legs open - got it."

The girl's eyes were still wide - but now with fear not anger. The watcher was so surprised that he hesitated a second - almost expected to see Sarah nod, accept her ordained place in life according to this cracka wankster.

"Everything alright there girl..." His voice was deep - but calm. He saw the girl's eyes flick over to him - saw the plea for help. She needn't have worried - this would be a pure pleasure.

The twat in the hat looked round at him too. "Fuck off nigger." Well wasn't that just lovely. He was clearly used to having African-American folks around him and knew how to behave. Undoubtedly not the first time he'd seen a Black man carrying a mop and bucket. Shit, even the fact he was Black might not have much to do with it. Pretty much everyone else in the world only existed to serve ass-wipes like this one, or so they seemed to think. Time this one got a re-education.

Because he was a big man people often thought the man with the mop would be slow. That was a mistake. He maybe had a little gut on him that hadn't been there twenty years ago but he still kept himself in pretty good shape. Plenty of vigorous physical exercise.

The cracka had turned back to Sarah, had assumed that the man with the mop would just fuck off as instructed. Another mistake. Before they even heard the mop hit the floor there was a strong Black arm wrapped round his throat and hauling him off the girl.

"What the fuck..." Didn't seem he was used to being treated like that. A big Black hand spun him and then another bitch-slapped him hard. The cracka staggered and then found himself held up against the wall - blood trickling from his mouth. He looked into the face of the Black man - saw that he looked almost amused. The dark eyes, however, did not share the joke.

The fedora hit the floor just as the man desperately tried to swing his knee up between the Black man's legs. As he pushed up with all his force his knee was caught by the Black man's other hand and pushed back down.

"Had your go - now its my turn." He just registered that the joke had finally reached the Black man's eyes before his world exploded in pain. The Black man had driven his knee brutally into the wankster's groin. The latter crumpled to the floor and vomited.

The Black man wrinkled his nose in disgust. One big hand grabbed the man's collar and heaved him upright before kicking him out of the building. A few seconds later a fedora, helpfully wiped in the pool of vomit, was thrown after him.

The Black man returned to his mop and began cleaning up the new mess. He hardly seemed to notice Sarah or the other girl that had been watching - the new one, Rachel.

"Thanks Mr Crawston - I don't know what I'd have..."

His deep voice cut Sarah short. "Shit, no need to worry about it girl. All in a day's work putting out the trash - in cases like this you might even call it one of the perks of the job. Besides you call me Lavon, you know that by now." He finally looked back up at her.

"Thanks Lavon."

He nodded to her and then finished up mopping clear the entrance flooring.

"Might reconsider your choice of men mind..."

Sarah smiled in an embarrassed way and then went to the stairs.

Rachel

Rachel had only been living in her new digs for a couple of weeks. She was well aware that she'd been amazingly lucky.

The break-up with Trent had been volcanic and disastrous just as she entered her final year of studies. She'd thought he was the love of her life but he'd just turned out to be a needy, selfish, asshole. Not a million miles from the wankstain that she'd just seen her landlord Mr Crawston - or should she say Lavon - demolish without breaking sweat. She didn't know if it was the demographic of her College or just a sort of entitled trust fund young White man thing but there did seem to be a lot of them around. Seemed Lavon shared her opinion on them though.

She'd been living with Trent in a house with Trent's room-mates and their girlfriends. That had been OK until the bust-up but then it had been made absolutely clear that her future was not there. She'd been at a loss what to do, not needing any of this drama and shit with her finals only a few months away. Diagnostic neuropathology was not simple at the best of times. So Britney's help had been like gold dust, a real life-saver.

Britney, despite her name, was an Austrian girl who had come over to train at the College, one recognised world-wide for its medical facilities and expertise. She and Rachel had been friends for a year or so but had only really got close after the bust-up. As Britney had explained, "No offence but I hated that boyfriend of yours." So Britney was clearly a good judge of character too.

The two young women were very different, at least in appearance. Rachel was pretty much an American blue-blood, though she hated to think of herself that way. Episcopalian New England stock and a very expensive education culminating in her berth at this college. It was a little embarrassing sometimes, around friends who she knew had worked much harder to get where they were, but she wasn't hypocritical enough not to be grateful for all her parents had done for her. Not least the fact that they had let her choose her own start in life and genuinely seemed only to want her to be happy.

She was 5'8", fair-skinned, with bright blue eyes and natural blonde hair down to her shoulders. She had a helpful metabolism that meant she ate what she liked and basically kept the same figure. That figure had enough curves to attract without being overblown. Which pretty much summed her up. Not a raving beauty but an attractive young woman with a ready smile, at least once that bastard Trent had been put in the rear-view mirror.

Britney was also pretty but in a very different way. Dark brown eyes and hair framed a face that radiated mischief. Only 5'3" with deep brown eyes and a ready smile. People sometimes underestimated her but she had a full scholarship and they didn't give them to dummies. Britney might have looked a little 'chunky' next to Rachel but her 34D breasts probably made up for that from most men's viewpoints. She was born in Austria but could generally pass for American after a few years in the US. Only occassionally would her accent sneak through - which she was a little self-concious about. She had long ago learned that most Americans knowledge of Austria extended to a male film star with bigger tits than hers. Or worse, they remembered Hitler too. Not a conversation she needed to have every second day.

But Britney had really come up trumps when the Trent fiasco had finally come to a head. She'd found an uncharacteristically depressed Rachel one morning and took her for a coffee, sat her down and offered a solution. "Come and live with us. Teresa is going on secondment for the rest of the year so it's easy."

"You think I could get the vacancy."

Britney had giggled in her charming way. "No problem, like I say it will be easy."

So it had been - once, of course, Rachel had met Mr Crawston.

Lavon Crawston

The College's location was really a throw-back to the days when the city had been one of the nation's major ports. Imports and exports, though the city hadn't been keen to talk about some of the former for many years. A lot of the finer old buildings that still graced downtown had been built on the profits of the triangular trade. Built on the import of what some nowadays called 'non-voluntary immigrants'. The College's earliest benefactors weren't all so squeaky clean either. Now, however, the College was a shining beacon of economic stability in a city whose legitimate industries had been in retreat for decades.

That was one reason the College had built its new facilities. Spreading the opportunities of construction and auxiliary service provision out from the institution's original base. Not that they had gone into the ghetto of course, the real 'bandit country' that had given H-Town its not-so stellar reputation across the country. Want to make a TV show about drugs and violent crime that wasn't in LA or New York - well H-Town was Number One on the list. Nowhere gave that authentic gritty reality like H-Town. Need to fill a double-page spread or a TV News slot with a story to freeze the blood of decent Mid-Western families and show them just how lucky they were - send your cameras and reporters to H-Town. Might not be a story when they got there but if they just hung around a few minutes one was sure to happen along.

No, the College hadn't been quite that brave - but it had located near-by, in an area that had housed a largely African-American community for years and had been slowly showing the signs of local government neglect and industrial decline. The College's new facility had pretty much reversed that. Not that most of the old residents had seen too much of the benefit. Many had been relocated before the College even started construction. However, if you had been very smart or very lucky or very well-informed, or a combination of all three, you could find yourself in a very good position.

Lavon Crawston was very lucky and well-informed and he was a deal smarter than almost everyone took him for. Just because he liked working with a spanner in his hand didn't mean he had nothing upstairs. Fresh out of the Army with a trade in plumbing he'd worked hard to build a nest-egg and to take an electricians course at the local community college.

You needed that bit of luck though. He'd looked at the streets around him and had bought up two big old empty row-houses for almost nothing. The sellers had thought they had got the better of him - been delighted to escape with some money in their pockets. It had been a gamble - a big one - but he had got real lucky. He had met up with a good friend of his from his old Army days and that guy had told him to double-down - to buy another row-house or two not so far from the first two. His friend had already got four in the same street. Most of the rest there were owned by the source of the investment advice. Once he heard the name of that source Lavon had took out a loan and bought those houses toot sweet. In this city the name 'Taylor' meant something.

Needless to say, a few months later, the College's new plans were revealed and right at their heart, absolutely essential to the development and its communication links was a certain area of land currently occupied by a rather dilapidated few streets of town housing. A street which, surprise, had owners who didn't fall for the land-swap deal or the original cash offer. No, they held out until a Federal redevelopment fund provided what seemed astronomical sums to buy them out.

Lavon Crawston had only ever met Mr Taylor once - introduced by that same old Army buddy, who now incidentally lived in a condo down in the Caribbean. He'd been surprised. Mr Taylor had just nodded when he'd tried to thank him and had waved a disparaging hand. "CeeJay told me about you - figured a veteran like you could put the tip to good use. Any time I can help - you know where to find me." Of course - the Taylor Foundation was all over this city and several others. Good man to know and, what was much harder to find nowadays, a good man all round it seemed.

Lavon had put his profit into paying off his loan and then renovating his remaining properties. It came a lot easier when you could do most of the work yourself. It was satisfying too - putting in a good day's work and watching the new College buildings rise just down the road.

By the time that new campus opened Lavon was ready and waiting. His big town-houses effectively divided into twelve self-contained little communal student dwellings. Room for sixty or more students, sixty or more rent-paying students. Room also for a little pad for himself.

He lived on the ground floor of one of his buildings. Live-in landlord and handyman. Keeping an eye on his investments. If any of his tenants feared he'd cramp their style they soon learned that he pretty much left them to their own devices so long as they didn't cross one of his few rules or trash the place.

Two of his houses were in the neighbouring street. He didn't bother too much about them from day-to-day. There he stuck to being a landlord. He rented at market rates to the first to come with the necessary. He only went over for emergency maintenance and at the end of the school year to repair the damage. For smart young men his tenants there had a talent for breaking toilets and blocking drains but absolutely none for cleaning stoves or, sometimes it seemed, basic hygiene. However, those properties still turned a very tidy profit each and every month. Which let him subsidise his other two properties.

These had been adjoining and he had swiftly moved to judicially redesign them to effectively form one large sub-divided property with a communal entrance. Six little student houses over two floors of the building and himself on the ground floor.

Since this was his home he was a little more selective about his tenants. He tended to get those he wanted - the prime location of his houses and the fact he charged about half the usual rent made sure of that. He knew he had 'a type' and he wasn't ashamed of it. Might be pushing forty-five but he wasn't blind and he wasn't dead. Having pretty girls around made the time pass much more pleasantly.

It reminded him of his Army days with CeeJay. Not the days in Iraq - he forgot that shithole as much as he could. The days over in Estonia. Not a big base just a few hundred guys and only three of them Brothas. Damn those Estonian girls were fine. Even better most of them seemed real curious to be with a Black guy and plenty of them followed through on the temptation. Lou was chicken-shit - said he wasn't getting his balls cut off by no enraged Russian relative. Dipshit. The only Russians around were too busy pretending to be Estonians and the Estonians themselves were generally cool so long as you didn't take TOO many liberties. CeeJay and him had cut quite a swathe through the gorgeous young womanhood of that district. Some old farts reminisced about their Army days due to the comradeship and the sense of purpose. Lavon had something much better to thank the Army for - going on eighteen months of non-stop premium tail!

Still made him laugh how those girls over there had all assumed he'd either be a great ball player or some kind of a rapper. Harmless enough. Still all that intensive activity had made him very proficient in one area, he liked to think, and it wasn't free-throws!

So at the start of each year Lavon started out with tenants in his home that tended to fit a certain type. However, he wasn't dogmatic about it. If there'd been more minority applicants he'd have had more Black and Hispanic tenants but the College in general, and the courses at the new sub-Campus in particular, tended to be so White you could get snow-blind just checking the admissions rota.

He also didn't have any problem with male tenants. Only natural that boyfriends, new or old, would be on the scene. He had no problems with that so long as they kept the peace and didn't go against the ways of his house. Any White boy meddled with that and he got a Lavon-sized boot on his scrawny cracka backside. Lavon lived his life and his tenants lived theirs. They intersected only as much as any landlord's and tenant's did - unless of course...

Making the Grade

Britney looked at the cream left on her spoon and then grimaced a little at the realisation of how much gym work would be needed to work off the enormous ice-cream sundae she had just devoured. She glanced up at her friend and then gave a little giggle - "Too late now!" - before licking the cream off with some relish. That done she settled down and fixed Rachel with her deep brown eyes. "Come on then, what do you think of our landlord?"

Rachel had just been to see Mr Crawston about the vacancy. She had found him sawing a piece of wood and then shaping it to replace a section of sill outside a ground-floor window. It hadn't taken many seconds to recognise his casual ease in using his tools and in fitting the wood to precisely his requirements. Even while he spoke to Britney he had kept working. A man of practical skills and abilities.

He was also a pretty impressive figure. Six feet tall, maybe an inch or two more, with a powerful but understated physique. He was obviously a strong man but a man whose muscles were shaped by practical labor rather than gym work. Not jacked, just broad-chested - a big Black bear of a man. She'd guessed he might be about 40 though she was aware that she could easily have been ten years wrong either way. Only later, after looking very closely, did she guess that he was probably a little older.

The man had been friendly enough. When Rachel arrived he had just looked up from his work and given her a short scrutiny with a pair of dark eyes. It was only a moment but Rachel realised that she had been carefully examined and evaluated. Mr Lavon Crawston obviously trusted his instincts about people and didn't feel any great need to go into details.

"Britney says you need a place until the finals." He said it lightly as if it wasn't the single biggest thing dominating the mind of the young woman in front of him at the moment.

She nodded, was just clearing her throat to speak...

"Move in when you like girl. Britney probably told you how we run things, rent, etc." He looked up again with his dark face impassive.

Rachel nodded then repeated what Britney had told her.

"That's good. Means everyone knows where they stands." He held out a big Black hand which Rachel shook. "Welcome to the house girl, hope you enjoy your time here. Any problems you come see old Lavon, OK?"

OK? It was close to a fucking miracle! Not only had she got new digs with friends but they were a half hour closer to the campus and for less than half the rent she had been paying. Her new landlord hadn't even asked for references. He'd just taken her on Britney's recommendation. When she said that to her friend Britney had just laughed her cheeky little laugh.

"Not JUST on my suggestion. Lavon obviously liked what he saw..."

Rachel felt the blood rush to her cheeks and saw Britney grin again. "But that's crazy - he's old enough..." She trailed off embarrassed even more by her friend's obvious delight at her confusion.

"Relax, Rachel. Some people like to hang pretty landscapes on their walls or to fill their homes with antique furniture. They all like their surroundings to be attractive and to make them happy. Our landlord likes the same. That's why most of his tenants here are attractive young white women and the rest are the boyfriends of attractive young white women. He says they make the best tenants but you can believe that or not. Either way he won't cause you any issues that way." Britney paused and ran her tongue over her lower lip while her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Well not unless you ask him very, VERY nicely."