The Good Landlord

Andrew couldn’t believe this shit. He had dealt with some entitled and irresponsible tenants in his life, but this new family was the worst.

Andrew Peabody Walker was a successful property owners in the state of Illinois. While he identified himself with the more prestigious term of landholder, he was known by his tenants as a landlord. He owned and managed a block’s worth of houses in the South Side of Chicago, but he lived in the more affluent city of Glencoe, where he often spent his time boating on the waters of Lake Michigan or golfing at Skokie Country Club.

The tenants in questions were the Murphy family. The father, Leonard Murphy, was a delivery driver for a large tech company. He was an Irish American blue-collar worker who spent the little time he had with his family or enjoying a few beers with his friends. His wife was an African American schoolteacher named Tanisha Murphy. They had two children together, a teenage son named Patrick and a young daughter named Fiona. Andrew thought this pairing was extremely unorthodox, if not morally corrupt, for even though Leonard’s ancestors were famine driven Irish Iberian peasants and not the Anglo-Teutonic old stock that made America great, he was still a white European mixing with a Sub-Saharan negress. However, as long as they paid their rent, Andrew did not pry into this sacrilegious arrangement.

The issue at hand was with the Murphy’s rent. Leonard’s employer had recently gone bankrupt and laid off 500 employees, Leonard being one of them. He had already filed for unemployment and was seeking other jobs in his field. Tanisha still received her teacher’s salary, but it alone was not enough for a family of four. Leonard and Tanisha had called Andrew up not even a day after his layoff, begging for an extension on the rent.

The Murphys had never been late on a payment before, but nonetheless, this irritated Andrew. No, it infuriated him. Promptness was an important quality for a person to have, and one that was quickly escaping America. Andrew refused to make appointments with people with Hispanic or black sounding names, due to the propensity of those people to show up to events late. Showing up to an event late was bad enough, but the Murphys were late on a PAYMENT. This was simply unacceptable. Andrew would have to wait for a late payment from one out of twenty tenants, which would be 5% of his earnings that month. He would practically be a beggar on the street if the Murphys did not punctually pay their rent.

Andrew thought for many hours on how to deal with this problem. After a great deal of brainstorming, he thought of a solution. He called up his maternal great-uncle, Dr. Derek Smith, a retired chemist, who in another life was known as SS-Hauptsturmführer Dietrich Schumann. Hey, there was a reason he said Anglo-Teutonic.

“Uncle Derek,” Andrew began over the phone. “I need your help.”

“What is it, boy?” Uncle Derek asked.

“I have some tenants who are asking me for leniency on paying rent.” Andrew ranted. The father was laid off and they need a bit more time to get the money.”

“Well that is just unacceptable,” Uncle Derek scoffed. “Irresponsible, even, on their parts.”

“I know,” Andrew groaned. “Now, I can’t simply evict them yet. This is their first time missing a monthly payment. However, I’d like a way to drive them out, so I can find new tenants who won’t be as imprudent as them.”

“I have got just the thing for you, Andrew boy,” Uncle Derek laughed. “You know how riot police use tear gas to disperse crowds? It works like that. Just pop a canister open in their air vents and let it do its magic. It’ll be shipped to you within a week.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Andrew giggled. “You sure are the best, uncle!”

“No worries, boy,” Uncle Derek said. “Just make sure to wear a safety mask when opening it.”

Needless to say, five days later, the package arrived at Andrew’s house, delivered by a private courier. The canister was an olive green and had the word “Cyclone” written on it. Andrew drove down from Glencoe to Chicago. He waited for night to fall, then went to the Murphys’ apartment. Once he confirmed they were all asleep, he made his way to the air vents. Making sure to heed his uncle’s advice, he put on a safety mask and twisted the canister open. A horrible, nauseous white gas poured out. Feeling his eyes water, Andrew chucked the canister into the vent and slammed it shut. He ran to his car and drove to a nice hotel, staying there for the night.

In the morning, Andrew received a call from Chicago PD. All four Murphys were found dead in their apartment, one of his properties, from poisonous gas inhalation. Andrew paid a good sum of money to local police and news outlet to keep quiet about the incident. A month later, a Polish family, the Szymanskis, moved in, and when they heard about what happened to the last tenants, they were NEVER late on paying rent.