Hank's Arc

Chapter 7 of 14

Hank stood in the shed doorway the next morning, staring at his garden through the gap in the boards. His head hurt and his mouth tasted like copper. The conversation with Queen V. still sat heavy in his chest. They'd admitted something out loud that couldn't be taken back. He walked to the platform and picked up a half-empty bottle from the night before. The glass was warm in his hand. He should pour it out, start fresh. That's what someone serious about change would do. Instead he lifted it to his lips and took a long pull. The beer was flat and bitter, but he finished it anyway. He was reaching for another when he heard tires on gravel. The cruiser rolled up slow, white with SCPF printed across the door in bold red letters. Hank's stomach dropped. The sweep. Someone had called it in after all. He set the bottle down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Through the windshield he could see the driver, and that's when he noticed the pendant hanging from the rearview mirror. Two metal circles, interlocking. His brother wore the matching one. Hank had forgotten Henry was back on patrol this month. Henry stepped out and leaned against the door, not coming closer. He looked at Hank, then at the bottle, then back at Hank. "You look like hell," Henry said. Hank wanted to argue but couldn't find the words. His brother pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket. "I'm not here about the beer," Henry said. "Paul called me. Said you might need someone to talk to." The relief hit Hank so hard his knees went weak. Not arrested. Not reported. Just his brother, showing up. Henry walked over and stood next to him on the platform. "You want to tell me what's going on?" Hank looked at the bottle he'd just emptied, then at the cases still stacked near the shed. For the first time since the county denied him two years ago, he tried to explain it out loud. Not the permit or the planning commissioner or Queen V.'s deal. Just the drinking. Just the truth.