Upstairs the bedrooms are pre-wired, so I don’t have to do much more than unscrew the wall plates and dig inside for the line. The first bedroom must belong to this Ty guy, because there are pictures of those dogs all over the desk and dresser, and naked centerfolds from Playboy stare at me from the walls.
Billy doesn’t even glance at the nude chicks—he’s too busy watching me as I kneel on the floor behind the small TV, my hand inside the wall like I’m a surgeon delivering a baby. I hope these walls are fished—I’d hate to have to explain to him that I don’t do that. I don’t do installs. I’m just a service tech. But I think that if he asks me nicely, I’d fish the whole damn house for him.
Hell, he doesn’t even have to ask. Just smile and look at me with those sparkling eyes I’m half drunk
