Hank's Arc

Chapter 2 of 14

Hank was shoving the last case under the porch when he heard footsteps on gravel. He backed out and stood, wiping dirt from his hands. A man stood at the fence line holding a phone pointed straight at him. The neighbor from two lots over, the one who never waved back. The fence between them was built from empty beer bottles cemented into a low wall — Hank's doing, three summers back when he still thought quirky might pass for charming with the county. Now it just looked desperate. The neighbor stood behind it with his phone raised like evidence. Behind him, in front of his guest house, sat an oak barrel with foam spilling over the sides. The man had beer on tap. Hank had twenty-three cases buried like a criminal. Hank walked toward the fence, hands still dirty. "You recording?" "Already sent it," the neighbor said. He lowered the phone but didn't pocket it. "Queen V. said she'd pay fifty bucks for tips about the sweep. Figured you'd want to know." He turned and walked back toward his guest house, leaving Hank standing at the bottle fence with dirt under his nails and nowhere left to hide the cases that mattered. The beer garden wasn't going to save itself, and now someone was watching every move he made.