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"Mr. Charles Evans?" I heard one of the Legal Aid people call into the waiting room. I looked up, and Charles shuffled out from one of the rows of chairs. The phone rang, and I pushed the correct button to answer. "District Attorney, Three Corners office. How may I direct your call?"
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"Bruce, here's what I've been able to find on our hero from last night." I plopped down next to him, and continued, "Charles Evans is facing eviction from his one bedroom apartment because he's been unable to find work. His savings ran out three months ago, as did his unemployment. He has a minor criminal history dating back from when he left the Navy, just some drunk and disorderly charges, and two batteries. Apparently someone tried to assault his girlfriend, now his wife, and he defended her. They had better lawyers then he did, so … No charges in the last ten years, though."
"Hmm." Bruce replied. I continued, "The building is owned by one of those co-ops that a group of attorneys or doctors will form as an investment. The building manager is a crook. He's been refurbishing the building, though. Starting and ending with his own place. He now 'manages' three other buildings near there. They seem to be in worse shape than Mr. Evans' place, though." Bruce nodded, and I continued. "I had an idea on the train, though." I pawed through the folder until I found it. "One of the local churches passed this on to put on the bulletin board, so I grabbed a copy. They're holding a renovation party for another building this weekend. What do you say to buying the building, and letting the tenants renovate it?"
"Interesting idea, Selina. What about Mr. Evans, though?"
"Well, Bruce, Mr. Evans was a Seabee in the navy. I think he'd make a wonderful live-in manager, don't you?" His grin was all the answer I needed.
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"Hello, Charles." I said as he put his key in the lock. He jumped, and looked around as I materialized out of the shadows.
"Hello, Miss … um… "
"My name is Catwoman." I purred. "Aren't you going to invite a lady in? I have a business proposition for you and your wife." He straightened, and said, "I won't do anything illegal, no matter how much we owe you."
I smiled, and said, "That's just what I was hoping to hear. No, there's nothing illegal, but it may help you and your neighbors." I glanced around the dusty, dark hallway. "Not to mention your daughter." I added. He hesitated, then opened the door, and held it for me.
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"So that's the deal." I finished. "You can check it out with Father Tim over at St. Andrew's if you wish. He knows who the investor is, but he or she wishes to remain anonymous. Father Tim can vouch for them, though."
"But what about Mr. Murtagh?" Josephine asked.
"Don't worry about Mr. Murtagh." I said with a smile. "The current owners were unaware of his … activities, and will be handling him. The investor has put forward another suggestion for building manager, and the owners seem to be most favorable, if he's willing to assume the position."
"Who?" Charles asked.
"You." I handed him an envelope, and added, "Check out the contract with your legal aid attorney. Essentially, you'll handle routine maintenance, with a fixed percentage of the tenant's payments going toward buyout of the owners. In a few years, you'll be owners of the building, at which point you'll switch to reporting to the tenant's committee, instead of the investors. In addition, St. Andrew's will be holding a refurbishment party here once the deal goes through."
"Which means?" Josephine asked.
"Which means that the tenants and the parish members co-operate in fixing up the place. This building is actually in St. Michael's parish, but Father Tim and Father Stephen have agreed to swap a building here and there."
"I see." Josephine looked at her husband, and then at me. "What do you get out of it, young lady?" she asked.
"I … I get a bit better karma, a bit more shine on my soul, a bit of making up for my past sins, if you will. A few less Hail Mary's." I grinned, then said, "There's one other thing. Father Tim sent you a letter, to be read when I've gone." I passed them the thick envelope, then flipped my hair over the cape and adjusted my cowl. I stood up, and said, "If there are no other questions, I'll be going. Any questions, call Father Tim."
"We can't. They disconnected our phone two months ago." Charles said. I looked at him, then walked to the tiny kitchen and lifted the handset. Hearing a dial tone, I said, "Works for me." I smiled, then strode to the door. I paused, and added, "Happy Holidays!" With a wave, I vanished through it.
### Chapter 15: Of Landlords and Priests