***

..... Two nights earlier Pullman encountered a handyman as he, Pullman, vacated the shitter doing his handgrips. The handyman carried a clipboard in one hand and a pair of wire snips in the other.
..... Pullman's thought process: Who the hell schedules a handyman when they're away for the summer, unless they really know that person, in which case there's no way I'm bullshitting my way out of this.
..... When the handyman's expression confirmed this, Pullman dropped the handgrips, grabbed him around the neck and slammed him against the wall. Except the handyman came up lickety-split with the wire snips and snipped through Pullman's earlobe. Pullman elbowed him hard in the face, shattering bone, and the handyman fell to the floor unconscious.
..... As the blood from his ear drained onto his shoulder, Pullman knew he should vacate the premises for a hotel ten towns away, but he had a good thing going here. Never before had he baked his cookies in a stainless steel kitchen. Or eaten his Doritos while watching Sixteen Candles on a projection TV. Or played Galaga, his favorite, without burning through a pocketful of quarters.
..... He looked down at the handyman-about Pullman's age, forty-two, but bald as a cue and stork-skinny, no wedding ring-and figured he had at least a few days before someone noticed him missing. He retrieved the wire snips and dropped to a knee. The handyman's nose was disjointed and Pullman reached down and pulled it back into place, a simple matter of dignity.
..... The handyman stirred, groggily at first, then with venom. Pullman pinned his skinny ass to the floor and went about protecting his way of life.

***

..... "It's a way of life," Pullman tells the kid now. "We're not 'fuckin' bums,' as you so eloquently put it. We're professional squatters."
..... They're sitting on stools in opposite corners of the ring as the kid straps on his leg. Each wearing boxing trunks, high-tops laced to the calves, but not the headgear. Fuck the headgear.
..... Pullman is laying it out for him. There's a network of folks like him across the country who keep each other informed. Who look out for one another. Realtors, security pros, meter readers, carpet cleaners, even some cops. Most of them have been laid off, he says, and who does it hurt if they occupy a little space in a foreclosed home or, god help us, a castle like this that sits empty for the summer?
..... The key, Pullman explains, is to leave things pretty much as you found them. To drink only an inch or two from the scotch bottle. Eat only the canned ravioli and peas. Take only half the change from the jar, loose bills if you're lucky, but never the valuables. That's the first thing they'll notice.
..... Milo knows he's being recruited, although an official offer has yet to be extended. This Pullman character is gauging his mettle. Talking some wild shit. Fuck it. Whatever. The kid finishes strapping on the leg and slips on the gloves.
..... "Ding ding," Pullman says, and they start circling one another. The kid moves pretty well with the fake leg. He's an inch or two shorter than Pullman, but thicker through the chest and shoulders with the start of a potbelly. Pullman studies Milo's gray eyes, but the kid's a hard read. Could be an asset, could be a dud. Pullman will deal with it either way.
..... He darts in and snaps off a couple jabs. The kid gets his arms up just in time.
..... "Nice," Pullman says, and dances away. "Tell me, what are you going to do with your life? Surely not sit around feeling sorry for yourself."
..... But the kid has his own questions. "What do you do for money? If you don't sack the houses?"
..... Pullman lands a jab, then an uppercut, sending the kid wobbling back on his fake leg.
..... "Watch him now." He backs off to let the kid recover. "You get more than you might think"-he smiles and nods at a black duffel bag in the corner-"and I'm good at saving."
..... Milo tries him, throwing a wild roundhouse. Pullman ducks it easily and the kid spins around and nearly falls on his ass. He spits in embarrassment as Pullman laughs.
..... "S'okay, s'okay," Pullman says, moving in. "Listen, I appreciate what you did over there. The sacrifice you made. It's a damn shame you can't find work, but I think I can help you out."
..... "What sacrifice?" says Milo, dodging another blow, getting the hang of it.
..... "The war," says Pullman, deflecting a shot from the kid. "What was it, a landmine?"
..... "War?" says the kid. "I wasn't in the war."
..... Pullman hesitates, lowering his gloves, and this all the kid needs. He drops the squatter with a shot to the chin.
..... "Wha .." Pullman says from his hands and knees. He looks up to see Milo flip off his gloves. The kid steps forward and drills him bare-knuckled in the jaw. Pullman goes face-first onto the canvas.
..... Tasting blood, he fights to keep his brain functioning, his eyes open. He rolls to his side and there's the kid, sitting next to him, removing his prosthesis. Pullman knows he should get up, but he's seriously dazed, rubber-limbed.
..... "Your old lady," he manages, spitting out a tooth. "Said you weren't right … since you came back from that place."
..... "She meant the eighth floor, genius."
..... Eighth floor? Pullman thinks. Then he gets it: the psych ward.
..... "I was a cutter," the kid says. "Cut so much I got gangrene, they had to take it off."
..... The kid has the prosthesis off and now he rises to one knee, using his stub for balance. Holding the leg over his shoulder like an ax, he says, "How do I get a hold of these people? In this network of yours?"
..... "Little black book in the duffel. But it won't work-they don't know you."
..... "Bullshit," says Milo. "They don't know you either. It's not like you're havin' fuckin' dinner parties, am I right? What do you, text each other? Use code words?"
..... Pullman begins to rise, the ropes spinning around him like a kaleidoscope. If only he could get to the duffel bag, and the nickel-plated .45 inside … now that's a piece, one of the few valuables he's lifted from his travels. He remembers how it was tucked away on a shelf in a furnace room, wrapped in ratty old T-shirt, definitely worth the chance …
..... "Pay attention!" Milo shoves him back down and Pullman's shattered jaw hits the canvas, sending a shockwave through his skull. The kid is asking how the compensation works-"Let me guess, leave a Benjamin behind for the meter-reader?"-but Pullman is done with this twit, he's made a bad read, kid's got about as much dignity as a shit-throwing monkey.
..... Milo Svoboda will never honor the network, never respect home and property, never bake cookies for strangers …
..... Pullman comes up, last-ditch, but he's too damaged, too slow, and he's met with the kid's maniacal grin, and the prosthetic leg, arcing up, and then down, and the kid is grunting now, growling in rage as he hammers away, turning the squatter's head to mush.
..... Pullman's final thoughts: This movie will not end well. But then, not all of them do.