Hercules to the Rescue
How was I supposed to work when the Cramers’ son was always walking around the house practically naked? The place was supposed to be empty during the repairs, but their boy, Dylan, had just finished finals at the University of Miami and had told his parents he needed to stay in town to find a job. Never mind that Hurricane Ava had torn half the tiles off the roof and took most of the north wall from the bedroom next to his.
“How the hell am I supposed to talk on the phone with you guys making all that racket?” he yelled while my assistant on this job, Alex, sawed away at the tree branch that had come through the wall. Dylan only wore tiny gym shorts and pumped a small barbell with his left hand, an angry expression trained on the two of us.
I looked at him calmly.
