Round Robin by Joseph Flynn

bread: the heat was on. Her park had been saved. The glow of physical comfort and psychological relief lasted only until she remembered the price at which they had been purchased. Had the giant already moved in?
    She’d given him the keys he’d need before he’d left yesterday.
    She started to swing her feet out of bed to go find out, but she stopped. She flipped back the covers and looked at her injured ankle. It was tightly wrapped in an elastic bandage. The giant — then she remembered his name — Manfred had done it for her. He’d gotten the bandage from his car, an ancient but well kept diesel Mercedes. He’d again offered to carry her to her apartment, but as far as Robin was concerned Manfred was her moat monster, never to be allowed into the upper reaches of her castle. Robin let him wrap her foot and ankle outside on the front step.
    He’d been deft and impersonal about it, as if this were something he’d done a million times. Even so, having a man touch her in any way at all had been enough that she’d had to fight to keep from trembling. Manfred had pretended not to notice. He’d just looked at the job he’d done and told her to keep her weight off the ankle as much as possible. Then he’d bowed and said he’d be back with his belongings tomorrow.
    Today.
    Robin got out of bed carefully, testing the ankle. Not bad. Tender but not painful. She’d remembered what Manfred had said about icing the injury, but she hadn’t wanted to undo the tight, clean wrapping job he’d done with the bandage and had skipped the ice. She still didn’t want to unwrap it. She’d just take a sponge bath this morning and leave it on. This afternoon, after work, she’d come home and ice it.
    As she hip-hopped through her ablutions, tip-toed into her clothes and ate breakfast with her foot up on a chair, Robin kept wondering: Was he down there? Was this going to work? And how in God’s name could a guy that big ever have been a spy? What kind of crowd could he possibly blend into?
    The phone rang and Robin jumped.
    It was him, Manfred.
    Had he known she’d been thinking about him? Did the CIA teach mindreading?
    He said, “You have a two-car garage in back. Does our agreement permit me to use one-half of it?”
    Robin had to think. This whole deal had been Mimi’s idea. She hadn’t even thought about the garage. She, herself, had no car. She walked, took the CTA or got a ride from her dad when she wanted to go someplace. Other than housing a few garden tools, the garage was empty. And Manfred had his nice old car. Still...
    Robin said, “I suppose. If you do enough around here to justify it.”
    Without pause, he replied, “I am sure you would let me do no less.”
    Not even moved in yet, and he was busting her chops. She had a good mind to ... No, she didn’t. Not yet. The furnace might be only temporarily fixed. She wanted her house to be in perfect running order before she dumped Herr Manfred Welk.
    So she said, “You bet I won’t.”
     
    Robin treated herself to a taxi that morning to get to work. She didn’t know how this situation was going to work out long term, but for the moment she felt as if a tremendous financial burden had been lifted from her so she decided to splurge. And since the cabbie was silent, drove safely and took the most direct route, she even gave him a good tip.
    Mimi noticed her injury as soon as Robin hobbled through the door.
    “What happened?”
    “I hurt myself chasing a burglar. At my house.”
    Mimi almost popped her emerald green contact lenses.
    “My God! Are you serious? Are you crazy? You could’ve been killed.”
    Robin sat down at one of the tables.
    “It worked out all right. Turns out he wasn’t a burglar at all.”
    “What was he?”
    “A handyperson.”
    Suddenly, Mimi had the uneasy feeling she’d just fallen into one of Robin’s traps.
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “No. He’d come about the job.”
    “But how did he find out where you