Jonah Kohler started his home security business because Jared Altman told him to. Now he had to get up at five in the morning to sit in the summer Hamptons traffic six days a week.

Every morning, he took a three mile run from his apartment down to the marina and watched the sunrise. “The warmth of the first rays gives me the energy to start my day,” one of the affirmations he told himself repeatedly. A month from turning thirty-years-old, he felt his knees weren’t bouncing back like they used to. YouTube videos posted by a physical therapist told him exactly how to treat the mounting aches and pains.

Cold showers made his skin feel tight and alert. A sugar-free energy drink kept him going during the long drive in the minivan Jonah converted into a work van. It was an older model, but reliable. A frugal, yet prudent decision on his part. He stretched the ten thousand dollars he borrowed from his parents any way he could.

The Hamptons held tremendous opportunity for somebody scrappy and willing to put in the work. These people will pay anybody to do anything they don’t feel like doing – especially for the security of their property and their lives. The amount of wealth made Jonah clench his jaw, which gave him frequent headaches.

Further east along Sunrise Highway, he pulled into a 7-Eleven gas station to fill up. Gas had gone up nine cents from his last fill up two days ago, which was only a dollar and change more. “That’s gonna add up,” he thought. He waited at the pump and went through his schedule for the day. First was a lock change at an apartment eviction in Westhampton before continuing on to Water Mill where he was going to survey the home of a potential new client.

After that he had nothing. Waiting for somebody to lock their car keys in the car to pick up a few extra bucks. Three years at this and things hadn’t turned out how he imagined they would. He could live, but couldn’t save anything. Couldn’t treat himself to something. Couldn’t build any future. He wasn’t bitter, he knew things would eventually work out. He just had to be persistent. That’s what Jared Altman would say.

It was Thursday, which meant a new episode of Jared’s show, The Jared Altman Affair, had been posted. He could probably finish the whole episode before even making it to Westhampton.

That familiar guitar riff opened the episode with high energy. A strong, confident, and deliberate voice opened up the episode, “This is The Jared Altman Affair, I’m Jared Altman joined as always by my producer Cy. Shocking new statistic came out this morning from the Teuber Institute. More men than ever are ALONE. Jesus Christ. Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo for men.” Jonah cracked his neck and pulled away from the pump.

Out on the road, stuck in standstill traffic, Altman continued in his ear about how lonely men are, how they can’t express their masculinity anyway they wanted, how they were being screwed over by the system. Sure, sometimes the podcast sounded a bit out there, but the foundation was a show about improving your life. Which is how Jonah ended up stuck in standstill traffic on Sunrise Highway miles away from the merge to a single lane of traffic. One of the landscapers had enough and pulled into the shoulder to cut ahead. A year ago, Jonah would have rolled down the window to yell at them, “Fucking retard!” But he was calm now. The runs, showers, supplements, and meditation had gone a long way to keeping himself grounded and centered. All done at Jared’s behest.

Finally, Altman got around to the main topic: his tips for having uncomfortable conversations with your girlfriend. “Be direct, tell them exactly what you want. You can’t be afraid of a dialogue. It’s the foundation of Western Civilization.” Jonah was already preparing a lie he would tell Morgan if he didn’t land this new client.
The eviction took no time at all and was one of Jonah’s more regular gigs. Luckily the tenants had already vacated, but their stuff was still inside when he put the new locks on. It was a normal apartment, sure a little untidy, but normal. They had the same IKEA coffee table as Jonah.
Before hitting the road again, he took the opportunity to stretch. His calves and quads were hard and tight, but his stomach was slightly pronounced. He enjoyed beer too much. He was wearing a Miller Lite tee stained with grease and coffee and torn near the collar. This was his Thursday work shirt. Friday he would wear his Blue Point Brewery shirt.

Jonah brushed his mid-length greasy hair back. He showered every night after work, but his hair would be thick again by morning. Perhaps he would shave it and never think about how clean his hair was ever again. One less distraction. He would look good buzzed with a beard, but his still wasn’t growing in full. Would it ever be? If only he had eaten better as a child and been less picky. Then he’d have a full beard and be over six feet tall. If he ever had children, he would make sure they did.

The Santini Estate sat at the end of a long row of anonymous mansions hidden behind immaculately kept hedge walls. The street was wide and empty, except for construction vehicles, cleaning crews, and other contractors. The entrance gate was a simple wooden swing gate breaking apart the hedge wall. A rusty intercom sat crooked with a single red button on it. Jonah pushed it and waited a moment before the speaker cracked on.

“Yes?” a brash woman’s voice.

“Hi. This is Jonah with J.K. Home Security and Locksmith,” before he could even finish a loud buzz fumbled through the speaker and the gate swung open with a bounce. Off the pavement and onto the gravel driveway, Jonah lurched forward following the hedge maze.

He navigated around the corner and finally saw it – the biggest house he’s ever seen.

The Santini Estate was impossibly large. Three to five stories tall. Classic dark brown Hampton shingles dressed the entire building. The exterior was dirty, maybe Jonah could start a power washing side hustle. He liked those videos he saw online. He could do that and make the videos to supplement the income. Could he just do that for home security? Several chimneys rose up between the dormers and cross gables. A cupola rose up from the corner as a look out onto the water – the windows were broken. A gutter was hanging from the far side. The grass was cut, but the grounds were ignored.

“Holy shit,” Jonah mumbled.

A woman in cargo shorts and a The Division Bell tee emerged from the grand double doors and approached Jonah as he hobbled out of the truck. “How you doin’?” she was the brash voice from the intercom.

“Good morning. Dana, right? Pleasure to meet you.” Jonah extended his hand. She pulled a cigarette from behind her ear and sparked it before shaking. Good grip.

Jonah rarely met the homeowners and worked with the property managers, people paid to do all of the annoying drudgery work of homeownership. Dana was the person who contacted Jonah, will hopefully hire Jonah, make sure Jonah gets paid, and if Jonah is lucky, Dana will recommend him for work at the other houses she manages.

Like Jonah, Dana was a worker and sits in that traffic everyday.

“This is some place,” Jonah remarked, attempting personable small talk.

“Yeah, ain’t it?” She blew smoke in his face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You smoke?”

“I used to vape.”

“Ah, good boy.” She patted him on the arm and started walking. She was probably in her early sixties. Jonah followed, looking at her. Her shoulders were more broad than his. “So here’s the deal Jonah, Mr. Santini recently inherited the property from his wife’s now extinct family. It’s been neglected for some time now and he’d like to get the whole place up to snuff in the hopes of either selling it down the road or getting it landmarked.”

“For what?”

“Some architect designed the place. If I said the name you wouldn’t know it.”

“Well, I read a lot of Architectural Digest so you’d be surprised.” She ignored his attempted joke. They rounded the corner and came face to face with Mecox Bay, a calm body of water protected from the Atlantic by the barrier island, dotted with mansions like the Santini’s.

“First order of business is to get the security system updated because Mr. Santini and the Mrs. are going to be living here full time. And when I say updated I mean state-of-the-art. He is willing to pay to protect this place – Look at it. Take a gander and let me know your thoughts.”

“Sounds good, I’ll start surveying the outside before snooping around inside.”

Dana laughed at that one. “I have some calls to make, front door is open.” She dropped her cigarette butt in the dry grass and stomped it out. “There are other contractors up for the job, so be thorough.” With a smile, she was gone.

Three years in and Jonah was pretty good at his job – or so he thought so at least. Mindset is important, that’s what Jared says. He knew what he would do already, but had to appear like he was being thorough. A contract here would be worth thousands and thousands of dollars over the years with the maintenance required. It would be enough passive income he could maybe start to feel comfortable.
One hundred Ring cameras were not going to cover this place.
Jonah assumed Mr. Santini was probably one of those rich paranoid types worried about cleaning ladies stealing jewels or MS-13 gang members raping his wife in the middle of the night.

Most of his clients were like that. Jonah kept up with the news too. It was important to be informed. He was providing a service that was needed. This all went into the business plan he presented his parents. His mother was so proud of him for finally figuring it out. His dad thought it was good and didn’t say much else.

So Jonah walked the entire perimeter of the property, which took nearly half an hour. There were plenty of gaps in the hedge walls leading into the neighboring yards. An electric fence with cameras mounted every five feet would do the trick. Or a brick wall with barbed wires, all hidden by new hedges.

Jonah wasn’t particularly passionate about home security, he would just be a locksmith if he could. Lock picking was a hobby he got into because of YouTube. One video led to another lead to another until his entire page was just lock picking. Then he was purchasing starter lock picking kits on Amazon. Now his hobby is his job and he couldn’t be more miserable. That’s not the right word. He’s not miserable, he’s frustrated. It’s important to reframe your emotions to be constructive. Miserable people can’t help themselves. A frustrated person just needs to get out of their own way. Jared Altman was helping him get out of his own way.

Back around to the front door, Jonah examined the situation from a potential robber’s point-of-view. Camera pointed right at him. He smiled. It was most likely recorded to tape and he doubted anybody was keeping up with the system. Simple lock he could pick in a moment. Or break with a hammer. No automatic lights. He opened the door, no alarm. You could rob these people blind.

Jonah slipped his boots off, his big toe had ripped through and was sticking out. He sneezed, the house was stale. The foyer was regal, Gatsby like, branching off into different rooms.

A giant watercolor of some lilies hung on the wall to his left. In the bottom right corner was Monet’s signature. Jonah was not an art person, but he did like Monet. Rather, he knew of Monet. In the weekly classes Jonah attended at the library, Jared Altman told Jonah to familiarize himself with Monet to help round him out as a man. This painting was worth more than Jonah’s entire life multiple times over. He wanted to get angry but remembered he was here to mine some of this wealth for himself. It was not worth getting jealous over.

The deep purples of the water at dusk drew Jonah in. His brother Reece came to mind. They’d never been to a place like this painting, but he still thought of Reece wading past the lilies. His stomach turned over and he started getting heartburn. He moved on before the daydream could go any further.

Most of the furniture in the house was covered with a sheet. Tons and tons of moving boxes were piled up waiting to be unloaded.

The kitchen was bigger than his apartment but more outdated than his own parent’s kitchen. He could see Dana huffing away at another cigarette on the phone near his van through a window. He decided to browse the cabinets to see what he could learn about these people.

Not much. They must have only moved into the house because there wasn’t a single slice of bread, can of soup, or soda. No cutlery. No dinnerware.

Up the creaking stairs, Jonah was met with a grand hallway that turned and continued off into infinity. The outlines where paintings, pictures, and decorations used to hang were visible.

The only sign of life was a large built-in bookshelf full of books. Upon closer examination, the titles were a mystery to Jonah. He should read more. Maybe audiobooks would work during the long car ride everyday. Is that really reading through? Jonah felt not. Many of the books had titles in a foreign language. Could have been Latin for all he knew. Maybe if he had read more he would have a Monet in his foyer. He felt uneducated. Stupid.

Continuing on most of the rooms were completely empty or full of more moving boxes. The hall was so long there would need to be security cameras all throughout. A panic room would be a good idea, he wrote that down in his phone so he didn’t forget. His text to Morgan had gone unanswered.

Hope you have a great day.

She was probably still sleeping.

The door at the end of the hall was ajar. The master bedroom. Sort of unpacked. Not totally decorated. Jonah shut the door behind himself – it was the wind, he’d say.

He was alone.

Over to the dresser. Jonah pulled open the top draw. Men’s plain white tees, socks, and briefs neatly organized. He briefly browsed around, looking under the piles. Nothing of interest.

Jonah’s hands felt dry. A cuticle he had ripped off the night before was sensitive and stung with every touch. He chewed his left thumbnail clean off during his commute.

Over to the next draw, women’s underwear. He pulled the top pair out to examine it, plain panties. Comfortable looking, worn. He sniffed. Smelled like fresh laundry.

The draw below held pajamas. Gorgeous silk sets of tops and bottoms. Nightgowns with lace. The material felt incredible. Jonah wanted bed sheets made of this to roll around naked in. He pressed one of the dresses into his face to feel it. He breathed in and held it, only imagining what it would be like to own something like this. The garment fell back into the drawer.

Another drawer for bras, brassiere, and athletic wear. Again, he rubbed the material in the face.

“What the fuck am I doing?” he thought, coming to. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t do this today. This client was too lucrative to risk being caught. Quickly, he stuffed everything back into the draw, but felt something hard, glass. It rattled.

Jonah reached in and pulled out a tiny glass jar with a cork sealing it shut. It was full of baby teeth, a full set. A lock of hair held together with a rubber band floated around as well. He shook it to hear the tiny clattering of the teeth made in the thick glass.

Jonah couldn’t help himself and grinned. Who was this baby? Mrs. Santini’s own teeth? A child’s? A dead child? If they were alive what was their relationship like? Of all the things to unpack, why this? And why keep it with the bras? Obviously, she didn’t want anybody to find these teeth, or else they’d be on a shelf.

The property managers allowed him too much unsupervised time in the homes. He knew it was because he looked relatively normal, was white, young, and kind. Boredom and curiosity get the best of him. He never stole, never hurt anybody, but he liked to look. Maybe he could understand these people better. Maybe he could give them better service with this knowledge.

After all, he needed to know what he was protecting.

“God, I am pathetic,” Jonah said to himself over and over again as he tidied up and exited the master bedroom. “I am pathetic. I am pathetic.” He knew when he told Jared what he had found he would tear him to shreds.

Through The Grinder

Zac Efron and the Eighth Grade Musical