Chapter 39

Jesus, I’m getting a woody!

“I think we can go in now.”

Hank felt heat rise to his cheeks, as if Ollie had been reading his mind. He didn’t trust himself to speak, seized by an irrational fear that his voice would come out high and squeaky like a little girl’s. He threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.

“Don’t leave that there,” Ollie said.

“Really? Oh for Christ’s sake.” Hank picked the cigarette butt up off the ground, brushed it off, and stuck it in his pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, you can grab the insulated box out of the back. I’ll get the plates and stuff.”

The two lugged everything up to the little neon pink bungalow with its canary yellow front porch. It looked out of place here on 17thin Capitol Hill, not only because of its hey-look-me-over color palette, but also because its neighbors were a mix of apartments and commercial properties.

“What is this guy? A fag?” Hank snickered.