The Tragic Tale of Howard
A West African 9-Part Series short story about loss, second chance, betrayal and personal demons.
The midday sun cast a warm glow over Ola's expansive yard as she stood, surveying her home. The lively wisteria climbed the walls, and the sweet scent of lilacs lingered in the air. The mansion, boasting 5 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms, was once a testament to grandeur, but now, the marks of time were evident—peeling white paint, cracked tiles and weather-worn and decaying wooden windows.
A confident voice sliced through the tranquil birdsong, drawing Ola’s attention. "We can do a great job with this place, Ma," the contractor, clad in a white shirt and worn-out but well-maintained denim overalls, proclaimed, gesturing towards the mansion.
Ola's piercing eyes assessed the man before her, his words hanging in the air like the scent of her garden. She had dealt with many contractors in the city before, each promising excellence but delivering varying degrees of disappointment. As the owner of a multimillion dollar IT company and a single mom at that, precision and reliability were virtues she valued dearly, virtues seemingly elusive in the realm of home renovations.
The contractor continued, listing the proposed renovations. "New floors, best-quality materials, and newest windows. Everything new, Ma," he said, smiling just as he practiced in front of the mirror this morning.
"How much?" Ola said, meeting the man's brown eyes directly.
"Ma, we can handle everything for $100,000 US."
"$100,000?"
"Yes, Ma," the contractor replied, grinning like the clown she had seen at a rodeo show whilst attending a business tech conference in Oklahoma.
Ola sighed. It was undeniably the highest quote she had ever received. However, after spending thousands dealing with numerous contractors, she didn't feel like negotiating for a lower price at this moment. As long as the man could complete the job to her satisfaction, the $100,000 seemed inconsequential. The contractor came highly recommended by a close business acquaintance, which added to her confidence in making the payment. Plus, she still had to fence her yard, a necessity to shield her private space from the prying eyes of nosy neighbors. The sooner renovations could be completed, the quicker she can tackle this looming need.
"Alpha," Ola called out from behind to a gray-haired man with freckles, who was leaning against the driver’s window of a sleek silver 4-door Mercedes.
“Yes Ma,” Alpha said, standing up straight.
“Get me my purse in the car,” Ola said.
As if someone slapped him on the butt, Alpha scurried to the mansion’s front door. “Annie! Annie! Bring Ma’s purs—”
“Alpha!” Ola yelled.
“Yes Bosslady!” Alpha shouted, abruptly turning around from the door.
“I said my purse is in the car. IN. THE. CAR. Leave Annie alone, she’s busy with her work.”
“Oh…sorry Ma.” With an invisible slap on his butt, Alpha hurried back to the car. “Oh, it’s not in the front seat. Maybe in back. Let us see here.”
Ola massaged her temples. The old man had been getting slower and slower as of late. Nevertheless, she appreciated his loyalty: 5 good years without any incident or stealing or using her cars as taxis for that matter. Still, at some point in time not too far, she realized she would eventually have to pay him his severance and bring in someone younger, more mentally sharp.
As she waited for Alpha to retrieve her purse, Ola glanced towards the corner of her yard. There from the paved street, emerged a disheveled figure. Howard, the drunkard who roamed the neighborhood, staggered into view. His clothes, large baggy black pants held together around the waist by a power cord as belt and used to be white t-shirt now covered in black stains and stretched out from the collar, clung to his dark-skinned and frail frame. His bald head was concealed under a tattered cap, while a lengthy and unkempt beard graced his wrinkled face.
"Good afternoon, Madam. Lovely day today, isn't it?" Howard greeted with a toothless smile, his words slurring.
Ola acknowledged him with a nod and friendly smile. Howard was a familiar sight in the neighborhood. She considered him harmless and, compared to the other homeless she had encountered, more refined. She also appreciated his politeness, good manners and proper way of speaking (though she questioned if it was all an act or might it be the alcohol talking).
Howard shuffled closer as the scent of alcohol clung to him, intermingling with the fragrance of the surrounding flowers. The contrast couldn't have been starker as he stood next to the taller and polished contractor, who then blocked his nostrils with upper lip and raised his head high.
“Thank you Alpha,” Ola said, taking the purse from her driver. As she fumbled inside the bag, the contractor lowered his head, focused his eyes on the potential client and decided to do some last minute selling to seal the deal.
“$100,000 US is all we need to get this place new. We will start on the tiles first, then paint and then windows. Should only take us 9 months.”
“Where’s that damn thing,” Ola mumbled, digging in her purse.
“9 months that’s all, Ma,” the contractor continued selling. “Once we get the—”
“Madam, $100,000 US is too high for that price,” Howard blurted out, causing Ola to look up from her purse.
Ola peered into Howard's eyes, half-expecting to find a glint of mischief or an April Fools joke. Yet, there was no trace of humor.
On the other hand, the contractor thought it was a joke, an offhand one at that, and did not pay no mind to Howard, choosing to continue his spiel. “Anyways Madam, once we get the payment, we can start work right away and—”
“Madam, I’m serious,” Howard said with an emphatic tone. “$100,000 is too high for that price. I can do that for half. I know a lot of factory guys—”
The contractor let out a roaring laugh, slapping his knees before bending down to clutch his stomach.
Ignoring the contractor, Howard continued his case to Ola. “I am serious Madam. Lot of the guys from the factory that closed down last week are looking for work. Honest guys, I know. We can do this work for $50,000 and finish everything in 3 months. I can show you a scope of work.”
“Oh Lord,” the contractor said, standing back up and wiping a tear from his eye. “I thought I saw everything today. The drunk bastard and his army of drunks now knows how to do contract work.”
“Mister!” Ola shouted. “You will not use such rude language on my property.”
The contractor gulped, swallowing a mouthful of spit. “Sorry Ma. But, sometimes you have to laugh at these types of people. Beer can make people think all kinds of crazy things.”
Ola, intrigued by Howard's confident demeanor, considered the possibilities. She raised an eyebrow and looked from Howard to the contractor.
“Okay, here’s what I will do,” she said, crossing her arms. “Howard is correct about a scope of work. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Both of you, give me a detailed scope of work for the renovation. I want specifics: what you'll do, the materials you'll use, the costs and…the timing. The one with the best plan gets the job.”
Howard broke into a wide grin, his face resembling that of an old man without dentures. The contractor, on the other hand, furrowed his brows, realizing this wasn’t a joke.
"Ma, I swear to you, my team has the professionalism and experience," the contractor began, trying to salvage the deal.
Howard, however, wasted no time to seize the moment. "Don't worry, Madam. I'll get it done. High-quality work at half the price. You'll see."
“Madam, please” the contractor said, clasping his hands together as if preparing to recite a prayer. “Please think this over. We are much more better for the jo—”
Ola shook her head. "You both have until tomorrow morning to submit your plans.”
With a final glance at both men, she turned and walked back towards her house. As she entered, she couldn't help but ponder the decision she had just made. Amidst the increasing demands to straighten out at her company and pending to-dos here at home, she wondered if she was wasting time on a whim: adding a homeless man to an already packed schedule.
“God, please don't let me regret this.”
Howard wasted no time in presenting his scope of work plan. That very evening, as Ola prepared to unwind with a warm bubble bath after finishing dinner, her houseboy, Isaac, delivered a document dropped off by him. Glancing at the stack of composition notebook papers folded, Ola couldn't help but chuckle and shake her head.
Initially, she entertained the thought of waiting until the following morning to review the document, anticipating to receive a quality presentation from the contractor by then. However, as she rose from the dining room table to retreat to her bath, her attention was drawn to the handwritten words in the center of the document's front page: "To: Madam" followed by "From: Howard S.," impeccably written in beautiful penmanship.
Intrigued, Ola settled back into her seat, unfolded the pages, and began to peruse. She was astounded by what she found. Howard's plan was nothing short of exceptional: meticulously detailed, with a clear timeline for each renovation task and precise costs outlined for materials and labor. Moreover, Howard had included intricate drawings illustrating the envisioned exterior of her house with the proposed new windows.
It was the most comprehensive and well-structured scope of work plan Ola had ever come across in all her dealings with contractors. Yet, what fascinated her even more was the penmanship—crisp, orderly, and elegant. It exuded a refinement reminiscent of the finest educational upbringing in their country. Surely, her eyes were not deceiving her. The question was lingering in her mind: was this something special?
As a CEO, Ola was always on the hunt for exceptional talent to work for her. Yet, she never anticipated finding such potential in the city streets. Still, her business mind cautioned: well-drawn out plans were meaningless without successful execution. She couldn’t get her hopes up unless she saw for herself Howard completing the job, and completing it well.
The next morning the contractor dropped off his scope of work plan. But Ola did not bother to look at it. Her mind was already well made up. She delivered the news to Howard, who couldn't stop smiling, revealing a gaping hole where rows of front teeth once resided.
The terms of the contract were set—verbally that is. A three-month work agreement included a payment plan of $50,000, divided into three installments scheduled for Howard and his team of former factory workers at the end of each month, contingent upon the successful completion of each renovation phase. Window replacement and installation concluded the first month, followed by new tiles at the end of the second month. The final touch of new paint, encompassing both interior and exterior surfaces, was set for the completion of the third month.
“Now Howard,” Ola began, standing in the courtyard of her home as the morning sun cast a warm glow. “If I catch you and your boys with any drunk foolishness or any foolishness, I will void our contract and not pay any of you a single penny.”
Howard lowered his head. "Yes, Madam. No foolishness. We'll get the job done right."
“Don’t think because we do not have a contract, that you can play with me. If there’s anything stupid happens, I will throw you all in jail and you will never see the sunlight. Understand?”
“Yes Madam.” Howard raised his head to meet Ola's gaze. A chilling shiver ran down his spine as he caught a glimpse of the callousness in her eyes, akin to the focused stare of a coiled black mamba poised to strike. One did not become one of the most successful business figures in their country by being tender-hearted, that’s for sure.
“Iron woman,” he thought.
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