“Where’s your partner in crime?” Jason asked, climbing down. “She usually beats you here.”
“Bree had a call with her accountant,” Hank said. “They’re going over what happens if the board plays hardball. She’ll be by after. We sign the special use application at City Hall in an hour.”
Jason grimaced. “I’d rather pull all this wiring through twice than sit through a zoning board meeting,” he said.
“Same,” Hank said. “But apparently grown-ups attend public hearings. It’s in the manual.”
Jason snorted. “Colby texted,” he said. “He’s meeting with the bank rep this morning to go over your revised projections. Wants to make sure they see the ‘community benefit’ section.”
“That guy and his spreadsheets,” Hank said, a fondness threading through the words. “He probably didn't sleep at all last night.”
Jason said. “He was here at six, measuring the front wall again. Muttering about sightlines and light angles for Bryn’s wall.”
Hank’s chest tightened in a way that wasn’t all anxiety. “He’s putting his heart into it,” he said quietly.
“You all are,” Jason said.
The drill whirred again from somewhere behind them. Brian emerged from the back hallway, a paint roller balanced on his shoulder like a ridiculous spear, flecks of white on his forearms.
“Good, you’re up,” Brian said.
Hank gestured at the roller. “Are you starting without us?”
“Prepping the back room,” Brian said. “Figured if the board says yes, we’ll need a clean space for the office.”
He tried to make it sound like a joke. Hank heard the strain underneath.
“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Hank said. “You could be on a beach somewhere waiting for your Cup bonus wire to hit.”
Brian shrugged. “Meh,” he said. “I like this beach. And if you two are jumping off a cliff, I’m not gonna stand at the top and wave. Somebody’s got to help build the landing pad. And I like it here. I'm house shopping myself since we're all moving here, and between us, Colby snores.”
Hank laughed out loud. "You snore too!"
Brian shook his head. "Not like Colby."
Hank looked at Brian, at Jason, at the half-gutted warehouse. The sense of standing in someone else’s life crept up on him again; a life where people showed up with rollers and drills instead of rifles.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t get sappy,” Brian said. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
Before Hank could retort, his phone buzzed. He checked the screen: Diaz.
Need a favor. You heading out to the warehouse today?
He thumbed a reply. I'm here now.
Her response came fast.
We picked up chatter about a “demo day” at the bike shop just out of town on County Road A. Vendor’s supposedly showing off new “tuning tech” to some local riders. I’d rather not let our friends recruit on my turf. I’ve got plainclothes in the area, but you know the scene better than most of my guys.
His throat tightened.
You want me to run interference?
No. I want you to exist as a very visible reminder that fast doesn’t mean illegal. Talk to the kids who look interested. If someone you don’t know offers you “free samples,” remember what I said about alleys. I’ll handle the rest.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
