I was sitting in my living room on my ratty couch, drinking a vodka and orange juice to take the edge off my 101st hangover of the year and watching something inane on the television with Janet. Janet spent the night on my couch, not wanting to go home and listen to her roommate and her boyfriend go at it all night. She was smoking a skinny Sherman cigarette, staring not quite at the t.v. screen, but somewhere beyond it. Who knows what the hell she saw. Beth, her roommate and our mutual friend, moved to Minneapolis to find something else, find herself, anything else, I guess. Anyway, she left Janet in the lurch with three months left on her lease and no way to afford it. It was a nice place, lots of woodwork, southern exposure. She rented the other half of the apartment to the only person who was interested, a girl was a junior business major at the university who also had a boyfriend. According to Janet they had a noisy romance. “Her headboard is right up against the wall our bedrooms share. All night long, it slaps against the wall. It sounds like a whole damn construction crew in there. And she screams. ‘God Billy! Shit yes Billy!’ She must be yelling through a megaphone or something. Christ, it sounds like he’s trying to kill her.” I took a drink of my vodka and orange. “Billy sounds like a good solid citizen,” I said. Janet continued to stare in the direction of the television. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I haven’t met him.” I took another drink, drew a cigarette out of a pack of Winstons someone left on my coffee table and lit it with a Zippo that someone else had left. Or maybe it was the same person. I didn’t care. I had no way to thank them now. We sat without talking for a few minutes until I heard a single knock at the door. Then I heard the door open. Someone walked in, opened the refrigerator and walked down the hall. The intruder rounded the corner into the living room where we could see him. It was Frank, the apartment manager. In one hand he had a silver can of beer he’d no doubt grabbed out of my refrigerator. In the other he had a weathered baseball bat with black electrical tape around the handle and a piece of red knit cloth. It looked like a ski mask. “You mind?” he asked. “Help yourself,” I said. He sat down in a chair on the other side of the coffee table. I took another drink. “You come here to fix my goddam sink?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “Is it broken?” “Yes, goddammit,” I said. “I let your boss know about a month ago.” He took a drink of the beer, draining half of it. He let out a large belch. “Oh,” he said. “What’s the bat for?” I asked. “You want to make twenty bucks?” he said. “You’ll give me twenty bucks to crack your skull?” “Hell no,” he snickered. “You are a funny one. No I want you to go upstairs, you know that apartment right above this one, and tell that little queer up there he’s got to get his shit out and move.” I crushed out my cigarette. “How do you know he’s gay?” I asked. “He wears an earring,” he said. “All sorts of straight guys wear earrings,” I said. “Not where I come from,” he said. “Anyway, fruity or not, he’s two months behind and he’s got to go. I’m thinking you go upstairs with this mask on, walk into the place, tell him to get the hell out and smash up a few of his things to make it clear.” “Hell no,” I said. I picked up another cigarette and ignited it. “Not on your pathetic life. “Thirty bucks?” he said. “No way,” I replied. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” “I like to mix it up,” he said. He drank the rest of the beer and punctuated it with another thunderous belch. “I already talked to him twice. What I need is someone, a stranger, to scare the shit out of him. Not the same tired crap and threats, I want something that makes him feel like his life is in danger.” “Great idea,” I said. “None of this entrertains you in the least?” “Hell I love it,” he said giggling. “Once we had a deadbeat family living in a place on the east side. So one night I hanged a dummy covered with kerosene on their porch and lit ‘er up. When they came out on the porch to investigate, I threw a fresh-killed cat at them. They were out the next day.” “That’s classy,” I said. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “So what do you say, Earl?” “No,” I replied. “How ‘bout another beer?” he asked. “When you fix my goddam sink,” I said. “Shit,” he said. “No reason to get testy.” “Beat it, Frank” I said. “Get the hell out of here!” “Jesus,” he said as he stood. “Don’t throw a hissy fit.” I pointed toward the door. “Get out! You’re stinking up the place.” He threw his hands over his head and walked down the hall. I heard him open the fridge, close it, then walk out the door. I took a long drink. I looked over at Janet, who was still staring at the t.v. It was playing some infomercial about hair in a can. “Can you believe that guy?” I said. Janet took her eyes off the screen and looked blankly into mine. “What guy?” she asked. A week later Janet called and said she kicked her roommate out. “I just couldn’t take it anymore, I told her to have her shit out of there by the time I get home from work tonight. I hope she’s gone.” I wished her luck and hung up the phone. Frank came by later that same day, making his usual entrance. “Well,” he said, “found somebody to do your job last night.” “Really?” I said. “Congratulations.” “Yeah,” he said as he popped open the top of his (my) beer. “Kid from one of the other units. I sent him up there with a can of lighter fluid. Soaked the guy down good and threatened him with a book of matches. Mr. Deadbeat was out by the time I got there this morning. You’ll be getting a new neighbor tonight.” “That’s just great,” I grabbed the beer out of his hand and walked to my bathroom sink and poured it out.” “What the hell was that for?” he asked. “I’ve tried pouring beer in you to get my sink fixed,” I said. “From now on I’ll just pour it in the sink. I’ll get the same result.” “Boy,” he said glaring at me, “you are one sour pussy. Maybe someone will come by your place with a can of lighter fluid.” “Shit, Frank,” I said scratching my ear. “He might just show up at your place too.” He looked at me like he hadn’t thought of that before. He smiled and said goodbye. He walked out. this time I was there to make sure he didn’t help himself to the rest of my dwindling beer stash. I sat around smoking, drinking, not doing very much. Someone knocked on the door at about six p.m. I didn’t answer it. At eight I was pretty much in the bag so I hit the hay early. Later I woke to the sound of rythmic pounding. At first I thought someone was knocking on my door again. By the time I stood up I realized it was coming from the apartment above. “Jesus, Billy!” a woman’s voice screamed, “Oooooo! Oh my God! Make me your slave, Billy!” I got back in bed, pulled up the sheet and put a pillow over my head. It didn’t help much.