Chương 3
Daniel took out his phone.
“Would you mind telling me about that on camera?”
The man looked offended.
“No.”
Daniel put the phone away.
“Sorry.”
They stood there a moment.
The older man adjusted one grocery bag because a box inside had tilted.
Then he said, “Everybody wants camera now.”
“Yeah.”
“You know Mr. Han?”
“No.”
“Nursery up road.”
Daniel looked toward the bend.
“He know about sidewalk.”
“How?”
The man shrugged. “Ask him.”
Then he resumed pushing the bicycle.
Daniel called Morgan at 9:43.
Morgan answered with, “Did you move the barricade?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“I put it back.”
“Thank you.”
Daniel waited.
Morgan did too.
The silence became awkward.
Daniel said, “I want to understand why the sidewalk wasn’t maintained.”
“That’s a different department.”
“Which department?”
“Potentially two.”
“Of course.”
Morgan sighed. “Daniel.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re going to find government less funny the more you learn about it.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It’s a promise.”
Daniel laughed before he could stop himself.
Morgan did not.
Then, unexpectedly, Morgan said, “The preliminary assessment is mostly good.”
Daniel stood straighter.
“Mostly?”
“The pavement sections we checked are serviceable. Roots lifted a couple panels. The canal-side void is the main concern.”
“How bad?”
“Localized, from what we can tell. We need drainage to look at it.”
“So you can reopen the rest?”
“I’m trying.”
“When?”
“I am not giving you a time.”
“Why not?”
“Because you own a phone.”
Daniel looked at the phone in his hand.
“Fair.”
Morgan continued, “There’s another issue.”
Daniel’s shoulders tightened.
“What?”
“We can’t find the sidewalk in the current maintenance inventory.”
Daniel looked down at the sidewalk.
It remained stubbornly visible.
“What does that mean?”
“It means our system doesn’t show our division as responsible for maintaining it.”
“But it’s county property.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said right-of-way yesterday.”
“I said it appears to be within public right-of-way.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A lot, unfortunately.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Morgan said, “I’m pulling older records.”
“Can I see them?”
“If they’re public records, yes.”
“Can you send them?”
“You can submit a request.”
“How long?”
“I am definitely not answering that.”
Daniel almost laughed again.
Then Morgan said, more quietly, “And Daniel?”
“Yeah?”
“My wife found my work profile posted under your video.”
The warmth went out of Daniel’s face.
“I told people not to harass you.”
“After they had my name.”
“I never posted your name.”
“No. Somebody else did.”
Daniel looked at the canal.
Wind pushed a bright green leaf against another with a papery slap.
“Did anyone contact your family?”
“Nothing serious.”
“I’m sorry.”
Morgan was silent.
Daniel could have added that he had not intended it.
The sentence felt small before he said it, so he did not.
Morgan said, “I have to go.”
The call ended.
Daniel stood beside the barricade for several minutes.
Then he opened the video.
It had 1.8 million views.
A local television account had reposted it.
So had a national page that specialized in videos of bureaucratic absurdity.
Daniel scrolled through comments until his stomach started to hurt.
Then he turned comments off.
That afternoon, a marketing agency emailed him about a sponsorship for cordless yard tools.
He read the offer three times.
It was more money than he had made the previous month.
He did not reply.
He also did not delete the video.
The nursery turned out to be less a nursery than a long residential lot crowded with plants.
A faded sign near the driveway read HAN FAMILY TROPICALS, though there were no customers and no prices visible.
Daniel stopped there the following morning.
An elderly Korean man in rubber sandals was watering potted citrus trees.
“Mr. Han?”
The man looked up.
Daniel touched the brim of his cap.
“I’m Daniel. Someone said you might know about the sidewalk down the road.”
Mr. Han stared at him.
Then at Daniel’s phone.
“No video.”
Daniel slid the phone into his pocket.
“No video.”
Mr. Han returned to watering.
Daniel waited.
Water clicked against plastic pots.
Finally Mr. Han said, “What you want know?”
“Why it stopped being maintained.”
“You ask county.”
“I did.”
“What they say?”
“They’re looking.”
Mr. Han snorted.
Daniel smiled.
“You know something?”
“I know grass grows.”
“That part I figured out.”
Mr. Han glanced at him, as if reconsidering.
Then he shut off the hose.
“Come.”
He led Daniel behind a corrugated shed.
There, beneath a rusted awning, stood an old blue riding mower with two flat tires.
Mr. Han slapped the cracked seat.
“I cut roadside. Twenty-three year.”
“For the county?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because ugly.”
Daniel waited.
Mr. Han shrugged.
“And customers park. People walk. Better.”
“You maintained the sidewalk?”
“Grass. Not concrete.”
“When did you stop?”
Mr. Han lifted his left pant leg.
A pale scar crossed the front of his shin.
“Three year ago. Ladder.”
Daniel winced.
“Bad?”
“Bad enough wife take mower key.”
Despite himself, Daniel laughed.
Mr. Han pointed toward the road.
“After I stop, county mow maybe two time. Then nobody.”
“Did you call them?”
“Many time.”
“What did they say?”
“Not their section.”
“Which section was it?”
Mr. Han gave him a look that contained twenty-three years of experience with that question.
Daniel nodded.
“Right.”
Mr. Han turned the hose back on.
Daniel said, “Do you have any pictures from before?”
“Pictures?”
“When the sidewalk was clear.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to prove it existed and people used it.”
Mr. Han stared down at the running water.
Then he said, “My daughter wedding.”
Daniel blinked.
“What?”
“Pictures. Maybe road behind.”
He disappeared inside the house and returned ten minutes later carrying a plastic storage bin.
His wife came with him, mostly to make sure Daniel did not touch anything carelessly.
They found the photograph after nearly an hour.
It was from 2008.
Mr. Han stood beside a younger woman in a white dress, both of them laughing at something outside the frame. Behind them, beyond the nursery driveway, the sidewalk was visible.
Clear.
Wide.
May you like
Unmistakable.
Two children were walking on it.
