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J scowled briefly at The Blocks' broken elevator, and then turned towards the stairs.
"Mijo," someone called.
J spun.
A small, weathered, frowning woman with a cane, a basket, and a cup from the corner store balanced precariously in her arms, stood in the entranceway. "Mijo," she said again.
"Sí, Abuela?" J asked, coming closer to take her basket.
She smiled at him and patted his hand. "You work for Hood, no?"
"Sí, Abuela," J agreed. "You need something?" He let her guide him to the one bedroom apartment on the second floor, and he scowled again at the 'out of order' sign on the elevators when they emerged, carefully, from the stairwell.
You're sweet, Mijo," she said. "Our new super is," she waved, "Cabron inutil (A useless asshole)," she said finally.
J frowned. "What? New super?" He set her basket on the kitchen counter and pulled out his phone. "Lo siento (I'm sorry), Abuela," he said, waving the phone briefly, "But let me ask Boss about that." He texted Alex, "Blocks new super?" Then he turned back to Abuela. "What's he doing?"
She was silently directing him to put her groceries away as she settled at the kitchen table. "Nada (Nothing)," she answered. "Ese es el problema (That's the problem)."
J opened the fridge, and then stared into the empty, lukewarm, unlit depth. "Abuela, your fridge."
She gestured at the ice chest on the floor. "Carlito brought me fresh ice this morning, so I didn't have to carry it with the groceries."
"When did you tell the super it was out?" J asked, a sinking suspicion in his chest.
"Last week," the little old lady said placidly.
J grit his teeth. "Okay," he said. "I'm going to tell Boss, and we're going to fix this."
"Young Pietro at the corner has a refurbished fridge that would fit in this space," she said. "He'd give a good deal, si estas interesado (if you're interested)."
J turned to look at her. "Abuela," he said slowly. "What are the other big problems here?"
"The washers," she answered promptly. "Only one works, and it runs pretty much twenty-four-seven, to keep our clothes clean. Mayra takes her hijos (kids') clothes to the laundromat two streets down, instead of trying to get into our washer."
J sighed. "What else?"
"The elevator, obviemente (obviously)," Abuela answered. She shrugged. "Then I think you find that everyone has little broken appliances, holes in the wall, locks that don't work, drawers that catch, y tal (and so on)."
J tipped his head. "You know a guy?" he asked.
Abuela smiled, eyes shrewd and keen. "Rytis in the next street's good with his hands."
J returned her grin. "How about washers?" he asked.
Abuela inclined her head. "I can ask around," she agreed.
"Want to be super?" J asked.
"Can you offer that?" she returned immediately.
J inclined his head. "Boss trusts me," he said. He shrugged. "Call Pietro, get the new fridge, and have him invoice Park Row Community Center. Boss'll pay. Get with the neighbors, see who has shi-stuff needs fixing, call Rytis, get him out to fix anything that needs it, especially drafts, windows, stuff that's impacting hvac bills."
"Invoice the Community Center?" Abuela asked, cocking a silver eyebrow.
J inclined his head. "Hopefully Boss'll come by and get you a company card, but if he hasn't, yeah, have Rytis invoice us."
"And the washers?" Abuela asked.
"Ask around," J answered. "Boss'll be out within the week, we'll see where we are."
"The elevators?"
J made a face. "There's only one company that will service elevators in the Bowery, and the Blocks has been on their to-do list for more than a year." He shrugged. "Boss's tried bribes and threats, and not gotten anywhere."
Abuela blinked. "Give me their number," she replied.
J laughed. "I'll send it over with Boss," he promised.
"Now, Mijo, I hope I haven't kept you too long."
J shook his head. "Last stop," he said. "No rush, Abuela. Is there anything else you need from me? Errands run, things moved?"
She patted his cheek fondly. "Sweet Mijo," she murmured. "No, well," she said, hesitating.
"¿Que? (What?)" J asked gently.
"Tomasito," she said. "I haven't seen him in weeks, and he looked ill."
J blinked, opened his mouth, closed it. "TJ?" he checked. "Joyas? Fourth floor?"
"Sí," Abuela said. "You know him?"
"I'm here to get his stuff," J answered. "He's moving in with Boss."
"¿Esta bien? (He's all right?)"
"Yeah," J promised. "He's- well. Es amor (It's love)," he said, shrugging.
Abuela put her hand over her mouth, but her eyes were bright. "Good, he needed a nice young man to look after him."
"Boss is good to him," J promised, a silent promise to himself as well, to be good to Dick.
"Good," Abuela said, and then she shooed him out of the apartment. "Ve, ve! (Go, go!) And tell Hood to take care of Tomasito!"
"Prometo (I promise)," J said, and headed back into the stairwell.
Hood pounded a fist on the door of the unassuming apartment on the first floor of The Blocks. The door rattled loosely in its frame. He supposed it was a sign towards incompetent instead of embezzling, that his own apartment was also falling down.
"The fuck do you-" the super, one Nathanael Vlaho, demanded as he yanked the door open, and broke off with a shocked noise when his eyes landed on Hood.
Alex said he'd only taken the position six weeks ago, when the previous super, Jenny Molina, had moved to Metropolis to be closer to her new grandchild. He'd been the only applicant who'd stayed past the tour of the building.
"Congrats, you're fired," Hood said.
"Uh-what- sir?" Vlaho stuttered.
Hood repeated, "You're fired. You're a shit super, and I'm replacing you. You can take one of the two empty units in the building and start paying rent, or you can get the fuck out."
Vlaho stared at Hood with his mouth open.
Hood was glad the idiot wasn't arguing, but the slapped-fish look wasn't a significant upgrade. "Well?" he demanded.
Vlaho nodded hastily. "Yes, yes," he stammered. "I- just-" and then he crumpled.
Hood stood staring as this man buried his face in his hands and wept. "Uh," he said after a moment.
"Sorry," Vlaho stuttered. "I just needed a place to live," he whispered.
Hood sighed deeply. "Are you in school?" he asked. Vlaho was probably low-twenties, maybe twenty-four at the outside. College was a blind guess, but not a bad one, from the nerdy shirt he was wearing.
"For now," Vlaho muttered into his hands.
Hood's head tilted. "Single on the fourth floor's empty," he said instead of any of the suspicions slowly building in his head. "Or the single on the second floor is currently occupied by the new super, and if you want to just swap with her, you could—the fridge in there's been replaced."
Vlaho wilted. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do," he whispered.
"Ask for goddamn help," Hood said before he could stop himself.
Vlaho looked up at him in surprise.
Hood softened his stance. "I know," he said before Vlaho could say anything. "I know that wasn't possible. But it is now." Hood sighed. "Take the fourth floor," he ordered. "We'll talk rent later. I'll talk to Abuela."
"I- I'll start, start moving?" Vlaho said hesitantly.
"You need help?" Hood asked, already pulling his phone out to text Will.
"Please," Vlaho whispered.
"I'm going up to the second, talk to Abuela," Hood said. "I'll see who's around to help you move."
Will texted back that he, Danny, and a couple of the other older kids could be over in half an hour. Hood knocked more decorously on Abuela's door.
"Adelante (Come in)," Abuela called.
Hood tried the door, and stuck his head in. "Abuela?" he called softly. "I'm Hood, J sent me over."
"Oh!" the old woman said. She was at the counter, mixing dough. "Come in, señor," she said.
"Hablo español (I speak Spanish), if it's easier," Hood said. "Can I help?" he added, nodding at the ingredients spread across the counter. He peeled off his gloves and left his jacket draped over the back of the couch.
Abuela's face changed into something much softer and warmer. "Lávase las manos (Wash your hands)," she ordered, gesturing to the sink. "I'm making empanadas."
Hood obligingly washed his hands—and the dishes in the sink. "J says you're going to be a much better super than the previous," he said.
Abuela huffed. "Es inútil (He's useless)," she said. "Won't be hard."
"I just talked to him," Hood said. "He's a dumb kid, and I'm moving him into TJ's old apartment for a while."
Abuela frowned. "¿Seguro? (You're sure?)" she wondered.
Hood inclined his head. "Split second judgment. You can keep an eye on him for me, if you're worried."
Abuela snorted, swatting his shoulder. She showed him how to shape the dough while she added fillings. "¿Cuántos años tiene? (How old is he?)" she asked.
Hood tipped his head. "Early twenties," he said. "College kid. Shouldn'ta been made super in the first place, but I wasn't watching closely enough." He turned to face her. "Lo siento (I'm sorry)," he said softly. "I shoulda paid better attention."
"Se perdono (I forgive you), Mijo," Abuela said gently, patting his shoulder. The she nudged him to the egg wash.
Once the empanadas were in the oven, Abuela led him to the tiny dining table, and gestured for him to sit across from her.
Hood made tea for them both, and then joined her. Then he got back up and went to get the contract and information packet out of his jacket. "Con toda sinceridad (In all honesty)," Hood said wryly, "This is not usually my job. So perdóname (forgive me) if I mess it up."
Abuela smiled at him. "I won't tell," she promised lightly. She lifted the packet of job expectations and contact list and frowned over it for a long time, humming and murmuring to herself.
Hood waited patiently. When she looked up at him, he said, "Some of our supers prefer to have rent paid to them direct, and then use the money for repairs, and settle up with RH Incorporated on a schedule that makes sense, or we can do the accounting for you, whichever you prefer." He tapped a pattern on the table briefly, and added, "Often it depends whether residents are paying cash, card, or other digital transactions."
"Carlito taught me how to use Square, for the bake sale," Abuela said, smiling. "I don't mind learning, and I worked as a bookkeeper for my Herberto, que en paz descanse (may he rest in peace). I'll manage."
Hood nodded. "So you're in?" he asked.
Abuela signed the contract with a flourish. "Sí, patrón (Yes, Boss)."
"You absolutely do not have to call me that," Hood said immediately. "Hood is fine, and I kinda liked Mijo."
Abuela smiled benignly, and just said again, "Sí, patrón (Yes, Boss)."
Hood laughed.
"Your J," Abuela said. "He is young, to be in your business."
Hood stifled his chuckle and nodded. "We look after him," he promised. Jenkins mother-henned him enough for three people, and Dick was all about monitoring his sleep schedule, the great hypocrite.
"Good," Abuela said. "J also said you would bring me the phone number of the elevator repair company."
Hood had to retrieve the card from his jacket, but he handed it over with good will. "Nothing I've tried gets us any further down the priority list," he said. "And none of the other companies will come to the Bowery, so it's not like I have any recourse."
Abuela patted his arm. "Déjalo de mi cuenta (Leave it to me), Mijo," she promised.
Hood grinned under his helmet. Patrón hadn't lasted long, to his relief.
The oven timer buzzed.
"Momento perfecto (Perfect timing)," Abuela said cheerfully, and went to get the empanadas out of the oven. Most of them went on a cooling rack, but three went into a basket wrapped in a towel, and one more went into a paper plate, which she folded over and clipped with a paperclip out of the most fastidiously organized junk drawer Hood had ever seen.
"Now," Abuela said firmly. "You have work to do, I'm sure." She handed Hood the basket. "Para usted y su novio (For you and your young man)," she insisted. Then she handed him the paper plate. "And for el cabron inutil (the useless asshole), hopefully no longer useless."
Hood chuckled again. "I should check on his moving progress anyway. He's taking TJ's old apartment upstairs, and we can get you moved into the super's apartment whenever you're ready. My boys'll be glad to help you move."
Abuela gestured at the paperwork. "Tengo su telefono (I have your number), I'll let you know."
Hood nodded and let her shoo him out again.
Will and Danny were in the process of clattering up the stairs with scattered piles of personal belongings. "Hi Hood!" Will called as they went past. Danny was carrying what appeared to be a bundle of kitchen things wrapped in a blanket.
"Did you not have boxes?"
"Nope!" Will shouted.
Hood headed downstairs, where he found three more of Will's crew of kids swarming over Vlaho's nearly-bare apartment, and the young man himself presiding over the chaos with a shell-shocked look. "Yeah," Hood said. "Will has that effect."
Vlaho looked at him. "They're very efficient?" he said.
"You just don't have any stuff," Ericka replied. She was carrying bedding, which looked like it had been stripped off the bed.
Hood handed Vlaho the empanada. "Abuela sends her regards," he said.
Vlaho inhaled the still-hot pastry with a little moan of pleasure and relief. Hood was suddenly looking forward to giving Dick his. Then he wondered when Vlaho had last eaten. Then he sighed.
"Will!" he shouted into the hallway.
"Yeah, boss?" Will asked, bouncing out of the stairwell, Danny on his heels.
"Almost done?" he asked.
Will nodded. "If Ben's done in the bathroom."
The kid in question emerged in that moment with the bathroom setup wrapped in the bath mat, the same way Danny had been carrying the kitchen stuff. "I'll take this up," he said.
"Bring the key," Hood answered. "We're going to dinner."
"Thanks for helping," Vlaho said, sort of forlornly.
"Oh, you're coming to dinner," Hood replied.
Vlaho perked up, and Hood tried not to remember how it felt to be offered a free meal when you were hungry. He sighed. Goddamnit.
Will was turning away to hide his grin.
Hood pointed a silent warning at him, and then collected the kids—Vlaho very much included in that number, never mind they were probably similar in age, if not Vlaho being older—and ushering them down the street towards the nearest diner. How was this his life?