Hank

 

The rainy, chilly night of December 18th was when the trouble started for Hank “The Hammer” Hall.

 

Of course, there were plenty of people who'd claim that the trouble had really started on the same date one year earlier when his wife and ten-month-old son were killed in a brutal car wreck with a drunk driver. And there were even some who'd swear the trouble actually began the year before that, when Hank—an enforcer for the Carnage Warriors motorcycle club—somehow allowed himself to believe that he deserved the happiness of marriage and a family, without karma swooping down and cackling and shitting all over it.

 

But no. Later on, Hank would be able to insist with absolute certainty that it was this particular evening in December when everything began to go horribly wrong.

 

That night, Hank's MC accounted for almost half the patrons in The Jingle Jangle Tavern in Matador, Texas. The town was their base of operations, and even though the Warriors had initially established themselves as purveyors of weed and meth, they were celebrating a new business venture that had greatly increased their income—selling fake IDs, Social Security cards, birth certificates, and other identification papers. The clientele for this service varied from high school kids who wanted to buy booze to immigrants who'd crossed over from Mexico, and even desperate fugitives.

 

Bib Statler, the president of the MC, was standing at the bar, grandly ordering rounds of drinks for his men and slapping them on the back. His niece Beth Callaghan stood at his side as she often did when she got off work. Her tiny frame was dwarfed by Bib's massive body as she laughed and traded dirty jokes with the bikers.

 

But Hank was sitting alone at the back of the tavern, chasing shots of whiskey with beer and staring down at the tabletop morosely. The sounds of happiness and triumph were drowned out by the grief that clanged in his ears, ugly and insistent, like a fire alarm.

 

A year since they'd died. Did it feel like more time had passed? Less? Both?

 

When he closed his eyes, he could still see the tiny crinkles at the edges of Elena's gray eyes, and the way her curly blonde hair would gently bounce back and forth as she shook her head and laughed at him. He could still hear her soft, mellow voice as she cooed and played with Jason, their infant son. He could still taste her breath on his lips, sweet and warm, like a summer wind.

 

The rain pattered relentlessly on the roof of the bar, intruding on his memories. It had been raining the night she died, too. How long had she clung to life as the raindrops fell on the pavement around her? How long had she waited for the ambulance, holding Jason's broken little body and watching her blood mingle with the puddles in the road? The cops and paramedics who came to give Hank the news had said that they both died instantly and without pain.

 

Hank wanted to believe that. But he couldn't.

 

He opened his eyes again, and for a split-second, he thought he was still seeing an afterimage of Elena. It caught him off guard before he realized he was looking at Beth instead.

 

And she was looking at him.

 

Since Beth was related to Bib and he was fiercely protective of her, all the men in the club made a point of treating her like she was “just one of the guys.” No one dared to look at her or talk about her in any sexual context, and this had always applied to Hank too, since long before he'd met and married Elena.

 

But the way Beth was looking at him now, it was hard not to notice how beautiful and sexy she was. He could see the short nubs of her nipples under her tight t-shirt, and her cutoff jeans revealed her long, tan, toned legs. Her thick, wavy hair was the same shade of blonde that Elena's had been. Her eyes were blue instead of gray, but their shape was still similar to Elena's eyes. She even bit her lower lip in the same hesitant, sensual way, like a little girl who knew she was about to do something bad but couldn't help herself.

 

And she was staring at Hank as though he was the “something bad” she was about to do. There was seduction in those eyes—but there was tenderness, too, and compassion.

 

He shot a glance at Bib, but the president was leaning over the bar to flirt with the barmaid and order another round. In fact, it seemed like he was making a concerted effort to look in every direction but Hank's.

 

Hank looked away and shook his head, trying to clear it. He told himself that this was silly. He was overcome with grief, he'd lost count of how many shots he'd swallowed, and if his brain was telling him that Beth reminded him of Elena and that she was giving him the eye now, well, it just meant he was so drunk he was seeing things that weren't there. He decided to have one more drink, get up, go home, and pass out before he did something he'd regret.

 

But when he looked in her direction again, he saw that she was walking toward him, holding a fresh bottle and two more beers.

 

“May I join you?” she asked.