Hank's Arc

Chapter 10 of 14

The cruiser turned onto the main road and the property fell out of sight behind them. Hank watched the case of beer on the floor by Queen V.'s boots. Half a jacket over it. Bottles clinking soft with every bump. Henry's hands tightened on the wheel. Nobody spoke about it. Nobody had to. The case sat there like a third passenger nobody invited, and Hank knew the staff at the gates would see it the second they pulled in. Henry pulled off near a leaning wood pole wrapped in peeling yellow tape. He killed the engine. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a small framed plaque, the kind that sits on a desk. The oath. He held it on the steering wheel and read it without reading it. "If I roll in with that case, I lose this," he said. "If I dump it on the roadside, I lose it different." Queen V. unbuckled. She lifted the case out by the cardboard handles and carried it to the base of the pole. She set it down in the dry grass. She came back and shut the door. "Not your call to make alone," she said. "It's ours now." Henry put the plaque back in his pocket. His shoulders dropped an inch. He started the engine again. The cruiser rolled clean into the treatment lot. Intake staff checked the floor, the seats, the trunk. They found nothing. Henry kept his badge. Hank walked through the doors with Queen V. beside him, hands empty, and signed his name on the line. Behind them, miles back, the case sat alone by the pole, bottles warming in the sun, waiting for somebody else to find it.