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“Keep sleeping, and I’ll try to see you tonight. I’ll text you later,” I reassure her as I slip out of bed. Within two minutes, I’m dressed and out the door, already on my way to meet Hank “out back.”
Out behind Hank’s house, down a gravel footpath that winds out to the swamp, is an old boathouse. Hank uses part of it as a smokehouse and another part as a workshop. It’s a convenient place for the occasional wet work, especially since Hank already cures and disposes of meat every season.
The first golden rays of sun are beaming through the scraggly branches of the pine trees that dot Hank’s property. I can see smoke coming from the shop, so I leave my bike and start down the path, cupping my hands around my mouth to holler and let my friend know I’m approaching.
“Hank! It’s me. I got your text. You out here?”
The big guy slides open the door to the boathouse a moment later, the light from a Coleman lamp swinging in his off hand. He turns off the lantern and hangs it from a stud on the doorframe as he steps back and waves me inside. “Morning, Isaac! I got some coffee brewing if you need a cup. Figured you’d want to go ahead and get on this early, though.”
“I appreciate that.” I nod to him as he leads me over to the hot plate and pours a shot of coffee into a white Styrofoam cup.
“I got a call from Roberto over at East Coast Customs outside Fredericksburg late yesterday. Said they had a guy come in matching the description we sent out in the text blast to our associates. He was looking for work, so they set him up with a run to see how he handled himself.”
“They run him to you?” I snort as I burn my lip trying to take a sip and listen to Hank’s story.
“Yeah, ain’t that a bitch? Hey, he did a speedy delivery, though. We can check out the –”
“Later,” I interrupt Hank as I force the rest of the bitter liquid down my throat. “You already warm him up?” I raise an eyebrow as I look Hank up and down, taking in the apron he’s wearing over his bare chest.
“Oh, nah, I was just frying some bacon and didn’t want my shirt to get greasy or burn my tits. You know how it is,” Hank laughs as he leads me through the little side door that separates the boat dock from the rest of the workshop.
It was always a bit surreal to watch Hank work. The big guy looks mostly normal, other than his immense size. But when he picks up the blue propane tank and clicks the flame to life, his tiny smile never wavers. He winks at me, then quickly runs the flame underneath the feet of the man dangling from the boat lift in a chain harness.
The haggard young man screeches as if Hank had held it to him rather than just grazed him with it. There wasn’t even a trail of smoke in the air or any scent other than whatever Hank had fried for breakfast.
“You were seriously frying bacon before this?” I ask Hank as I walk over and grab one of the chains to swing the sobbing mess closer to me. “You’re Joe, right? Scabby little car thief that’s been lurking around scamming the locals?”
“Please, man,” he sobs. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I don’t do anything like that. I just…” His head rocks as I slap him to shut him up.
“Yes, you did, Joe. You hurt someone,” I tell him sternly with a finger held up to his face. I look over the chains, trying to see how Hank managed to hog-tie the boy into this position. He’s dangling from a tractor chain that’s wrapped in such a way as to hold his ankles and wrists together behind him. I can see a line across his ankle where the hair is perfectly burnt away in a clean line.
“I never did!” he sobs as Hank puts the propane torch down and offers me the plate of bacon from beside the other tools.
“Have a slice?” He offers me the plate.
“Later,” I grumble again as I wave him off. “Joe, we’re going to have to agree to disagree on this point. I don’t want to argue it, and I feel like you’re going to belabor it so you can avoid moving on to the hard part. If it’s any consolation, Joe, trust me on this one thing. This, what I’m about to do to you, won’t be the hard part. The hard part is going to be the next few months you spend healing in a hell of your own making while dealing with all the love and support your fellow inmates can provide. Well, once you’re out of the hospital, of course.”
“I never hurt anyone!” Joe screams again as Hank hands me a pair of needle-nosed pliers. That’s why I liked working with Hank so much. He understands how to handle every tool for every job, like a depraved surgical technician.
“Oh hell, Joe, I almost believe you.” I swing him around so he can see the smile on my face. “But I have, though, and I’m very good at it. You really shouldn’t have robbed that poor girl, Joe. A good thief vets his victims. Professional standards. You get it, right, Joe?”
Hank reaches over to steady the chain lift for me as I go to work on Joe. I think about what he said as he screeches his innocence while I drop his fingernails onto the floor. “You still got that bacon grease?” I ask Hank once Joe slouches in the harness, drooling and unconscious.
“Yeah, I strain it into a mug. Gotta be careful with the pipes out here,” Hank confirms.
“Go heat that up for me while I wake up Prince Charming here.”
Hank’s face lights up, and he heads back into the workshop to get his hot plate. I grab a shop rag and wipe my hands off as I try to think of what Holly would want me to do here.
With a heavy sigh, I decide that I’ll go ahead and call the hospital to let them know we’re bringing in a crash victim in a little while. A motorcycle crash can lead to some surprisingly gruesome injuries, even if they aren’t fatal.
He didn’t do Holly any permanent damage, so I will do him the same minimal courtesy.
This time.
* * *
Holly
