“There are six bedrooms and four bathrooms,” the lawyer squinted at his documents as though they held high wisdom between the lines of drivel Ace knew flooded the paper. “Wait, no. There are three full bathrooms and two half… but six toilets?” Ace almost wished he cared, the lawyer was running some heavy mental arithmetic. “It seems the master bathroom has back-to-back toilets, separated by a wall of course. Oh- there are even landline phones connected to both alcoves. Granted, they've been disconnected for well over a decade, but still an… interesting addition.”

Ace hummed atonally as they toured the house, vaguely suggesting interest when he couldn't care less about his father’s toilet phones. His toilet phones, he reminded himself, all of this was his now. The creaking boards in the foyer, the odd bathroom count, the goats and the pigs, the chickens and the ducks, the responsibilities he never asked for, and never wanted. At least there weren't any direct neighbors. A couple lived a half mile down the road, no children, but six dogs and a pair of donkeys, and a town whose name he had already forgotten four miles past them. He rode through on his way to the farm, but nothing caught his eye beyond the antique shop at the far end of it.

Colter, that was the town, and that shop held the same name; Colter Antiquities. Ace had always liked antique shops, every item they sold had real history, from the vinyl records to the rusted gardening equipment to the dusty old books. Real things that had a real impact on real people's lives.

Ace caught himself chewing on the skin around his thumbnail as they exited the house to examine the rest of the property. A nasty habit, one he thought he had kicked in high school. He had already chewed a flapping hangnail and decided to sheer it off with his incisors rather than let it catch and give pain later. He idly chewed the chunk of skin as he tuned back in to the lawyer's incessant droning on.

“The property consists of three major plots: the main house, warehouse, and pack house, one four-acre plot fenced off and split down the middle with a pole barn along the length, and a six-acre plot fenced off between two pole barns behind the structures. Oh, and a square pole barn in the middle of it where a bulk of the chickens roost.” The lawyer looked up from his documents for the first time since they started the tour. “The chickens free-range across the property, we tried to fence them in while we were managing the property over the last two weeks, but… well…”

“They can fly,” Ace finished for him. The lawyer had this anxious kind of smile with eyes to match behind square lenses. He was his father's go-to lawyer, usually dealing with his DWIs or helping him dodge child support. This close relationship ended up burdening the lawyer with the role of caretaker for the property until Ace could claim it for his own, a role he was ill-suited for, to say the least. A pipe cleaner with glasses, that’s what he was. Ill-suited to deal with anything bigger than a hypoallergenic cat.

“Yes…” the pipe cleaner said. He looked on the verge of tears. “They can fly.”

They stared at each other. Or, more accurately, Ace stared at the lawyer trained to maintain eye contact, being a lawyer and all. Two professional liars, one for profit and one for survival. Ace couldn’t say how long they stayed that way, but a roosters crow snapped some life back into the lawyer. Ace was unmoved. The pipe cleaner held out a monogrammed pen in one hand and the documents in the other. “If you would please sign here, ownership of all this will be transferred to you.”

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Ace stared at him for a moment longer, letting the pipe cleaner feel the weight of the expensive pen he held out. He judged it perfectly, and when the anxiety in the lawyers' eyes turned to fear of being stuck with this farm, he spat out the chunk of skin onto the grass, and grabbed the pen and documents, to the lawyers' great relief. He stared at Ace dumbly for another moment until Ace twirled the pen, and he understood the signal to turn around. He laid the documents on the lawyers’ back, pushing slightly harder than necessary as he signed his name. His full name. The one he never used if he could help it.

When it was done, he clicked the pen closed and the lawyer turned back around, reaching for the papers and pen. Ace handed over the documents but pocketed the pen, leaving the lawyer with one arm still outstretched for an awkward moment. The arm snapped back to the lawyers’ side. The pen wasn't worth it. Ace felt a tinge of pride. Maybe I’ll get it mounted.

“Thank you so much for your time,” the pipe cleaner stood a bit taller now, unburdened by what was now Ace’s responsibility. Asshole. “I must be going, I have to get these notarized before five,” he gestured with the papers and started toward the driveway. He suddenly stopped and patted his suit pockets. He seemed to find what he was looking for and came back to Ace holding it.

“I almost forgot, your father had a study attached to the garage. He left it locked and made it very clear in his will that no one was to have access but his heir under threat of postmortem legal action,” the pipe cleaner leaned in close. He smelled like plastic. “He snuck that into everything, if we opened it at all our firm would have had to shell out six figures to a charity of his choice. It would have been good PR, granted, but… you know.”

He was holding out a key. Nothing special about it, just simple brass on an empty keyring. Ace accepted it. Anything to get him gone. It felt heavy. He knew his father had been less than forthcoming with his personal life, but Ace thought he had told his lawyers everything, that was the only way for them to do their job as well as they had. To think he hid something, let alone a whole room from them even after death was… disconcerting.

Not surprising, but still.

He looked back at the lawyer planning to give a hollow thanks, but the pipe cleaner was already halfway to his car. Ace was slightly pleased he didn't have to deal with him any longer, but slightly disappointed he couldn't get the last word in. He planned on using the same “thank you” he used at the DMV last spring after that two-hour wait. The one with the head tilt, the small smile, and the slight widening of the eyes, the one that scared that woman so much she watched him all the way back to his car through the window. He had looked back at her before getting in, giving a slow wave with just his fingers. He came back a week later and sat in the waiting room, just wanting to see her and be seen by her. He never saw her again. She had resigned after he left the first time.

Ace thought about this as the lawyer drove away. If the pipe cleaner ever came back, he’d greet the man with that look. No I won’t, it doesn’t work as an opener. Over the years he had crafted a slew of facial expressions for every occasion, all practiced to perfection, and timing was everything. One doesn’t bring their queen out in the first turn.

All this fantasizing about small future victories was well and good, but like it or not there was work to do. Animals to feed. Lives to care for.

What a drag.