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It was as expected.
The bed was unmade, the sheets needing washing desperately. The garbage can—one of the outdoor variety, an attempt one of the women likely implemented in the hopes that the trash wouldn’t end up all over the floor and tops of surfaces, an effort that failed it seemed—had several flies dancing around on top.
I went over, closing the bag, then tossing it out of the door, so I could go back in and start collecting the shit on the ground, dressers, and around the computer desk where Arty was steadily working, completely ignoring me. I knew from experience that it was pointless to interrupt him until he took a break.
So I continued to clean, dumping iffy contents of old coffee cups into the toilet, then cleaning the bathroom, stripping the bed, sweeping the floors, everything to get the place even halfway decent again.
“Hey, man, don’t get too distracted, okay? I’m just gonna take this shit out, drop off your laundry to be cleaned, grab some coffee, and come back.”
He said nothing, and I had no idea if he even heard me, but I headed out regardless, wanting to get this shit handled.
The girls who were with the OG members all took a liking to Arty, dropping in to clean when they could, making sure he ate something decent. But the girls were busy with kids and shit like that, so they hadn’t been dropping by as often as they used to.
It was lucky the prospecting period included a shitton of cleaning. It gave me skills that my upbringing hadn’t provided me. And it made me a lot less squeamish about rolling up my sleeves and doing the dirty work. Though, no, none of the work I’d done at the club had been anything as disgusting as Arty’s place.
After dropping off his laundry, I headed out to grab some more cleaning supplies, garbage bags, ordered lunch, and got some coffee.
By the time I came back, Arty’s headset was off, and he was looking around his apartment like he’d never seen it before.
“You got floors in here, man,” I said, handing him a coffee and a bag of food. “I think I’m as amazed as you are,” I added, setting the sheets on the bed, but not putting them on.
“You never come here,” Arty said, brows pinched.
“I think I only got to come because I was up first,” I admitted. “We have a couple of things we want you to look into,” I told him as he handed me a sandwich, then bit into his own.
“Like what?”
“First, a new MC over in Coral Springs. We don’t even have a name, but someone mentioned it, and it was the first we’d heard of it. But also, I want you to look into an ex-con named Velle. Sorry, that’s all I got. Woulda gone away for grand theft auto. Got off of parole a few months ago.”
“It’s enough. Velle isn’t a common name. I’ll find him.”
“Great,” I said, nodding.
“He’s prospecting?”
“Probably. Actually, can you look into his old prison bunkie too?” I asked. “He was a shrink that went away for giving scripts he shouldn’t have. I’m just curious if there was anything else shady about him too.”
“Okay,” he agreed, tearing into his sandwich like he hadn’t eaten in days. Given how gaunt he was, that was probably true. When he was working, Arty tended to drink, not eat, his calories. And he was always working. Most of the food containers that were in his garbage were mostly full. Hence the smell. And the flies.
“Been busy, huh?” I asked.
“There’s a lot of work lately,” he agreed.
“Have you had any days off?” I wondered, feeling a stab of guilt at piling more work on. But the fact of the matter was, Arty was going to be working no matter what. I don’t think the man had any hobbies or friends, or even left his apartment much. Knowing him, he even had all his coffee and energy drinks ordered in and dropped off outside his door.
Maybe we should make more of an effort to try to get him to hang out at the clubhouse, come to some parties. Maybe meet a girl. But I also knew that it wasn’t his scene, and forcing him into it was only going to upset him.
If nothing else, I guess I could try to hire someone to visit every week to clean. Or twice a week, given how bad it was. It would put my mind at ease to know his place wasn’t at risk of a roach or rat infestation. The man made more money than likely all of us combined. He shouldn’t be living in his own filth.
“How’ve you been, man? Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Got a new system,” he said, waving toward his desk.
“Yeah? How’s it going?” I didn’t give a shit about computers, but this was what he was into. The least I could do was engage him a bit to talk about it.
“Good. Teddy brought me to the store,” he added.
“When was that?”
