Friendswood Read Online Free Page A

turrets and fake-old brick, everything fake English, with a strange topiary of a misshapen horse out back and a bright pink shed, where the owner used to keep rabbits. The husband wanted to see the garage first, of course (they almost always did). It was potentially a weakness in this case, because it was just a two-car, and there was a partition down the front wall (fake English brick with vines) so that if they owned a truck, it wouldn’t fit inside.
    â€œWhat kind of car do you have?” Hal asked casually.
    â€œA BMW is our other one—this is a little small for storage, but not bad,” said the husband, jutting out his lower lip.
    Not bad
. The thick whine in his voice irked Hal, but he tried to get past it. He found that if a client annoyed him he almost never made the sale—people just liked to feel liked.
    They went to the front door, and the wife was cooing about the beautiful ivy, and Hal was praying that the key would work because he didn’t think he could keep his temper if it didn’t, and he was distracted by thewife’s large breasts snug in the rainbow that arched over her sweater. He needed to get a sale. He needed to be clean in the mind, to turn this bad luck around.
    The key fit in the lock, perfect. He opened the door, saw pricked-up brown ears and bared teeth. Shit. The skinny flank scraped past him, sharp, buzzed fur, and the dog ran into the street. The wife screamed, and Hal ran after the mutt. He chased it past mailboxes, past birdbaths, into a wet grassy yard, the stubbed tail bounding ahead, the little pink asshole teasing him.
    The dog ran around the curve in the street, and Hal ran as fast as he could now, his chest heaving, dress shoes slipping and clacking on the pavement, sweat gathering in his armpits, the skirt of his suit jacket flying.
    He was out of breath, in terrible shape, his face hot with effort and rage. He raced around the corner and the dog was gone. It would ruin the sale and he’d lose the listing too, plus he’d feel guilty as hell. Why didn’t the seller warn you when they had a pet? Common sense. There was a goddamn drought of common sense around there. Too many people just wanted to fail.
    He ran around back into a yard where a rusting swing set straddled a sandbox, then back around to the street dappled with tree shade, where a yellow car sped by. His eyes stung, and he felt the wind crushed out of him. Then he saw the dog’s stubbed tail sticking out from behind a big oak tree. Hal snuck up behind it, grabbed the mutt’s mangy flank just in time to have the dog pee on the leg of his pants.

    W HEN HE GOT BACK to the office, he went straight to the bathroom, splashed water on a thin brown paper towel, and swiped at the stain near the hem of his trousers, but it still smelled of urine, maybe even worse than before. Coming out of the bathroom, he walked past the cubiclesand tried not to look at the other agent, Stan, who seemed intent on finishing up more paperwork. Hal sat down and just breathed for two minutes. He felt the ache in his heart for whiskey, and said a tired prayer.
Help.
He checked his voice mail, and there was a message from Darlene to pick up a carton of eggs at the store; a message from the broker about someone’s credit standing; and, then, like an answer to his plea, there was one from Taft Properties: “Hal, old buddy. Any chance you can come by the office on Wednesday?”
    The fluorescent overhead lights seemed to stutter and blink, and Stan looked up at him from across their desks, as if he’d heard the message too. Stan, with his round, pie face and grating laugh, would never amount to much as a salesman.
    Hal called Avery back, thinking he ought to try to move up the appointment if he could do it casually enough. Avery’s assistant answered the phone.
    Hal stammered, fumbling for a way to gracefully change the time. “Say, is Avery around tomorrow?”
    â€œNope,” said