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The other two message left on Hank’s answering machine under the yellow telephone were pretty standard. Stain removal. Decontamination. Easy money.
Hank figured he could start his day off with the easier of these and work his way down the list, though the conversation he’d had with Brackington that morning was still weighing on his mind like a heat blanket. Last. I’ll do that, last.
The orange Power Wagon hummed down the highway, unburdened, with four big, empty, 50 gallon drums. Texas rolled by lazily in the steely morning light. Cows and grass and road and sky. Driving was when Hank felt most at peace. In the bubble of his own, personal automobile- with no-one to talk to, no-one to listen to, and nothing to do but press the gas pedal.
He flipped on the Radio.
“-ought to you by NPR, national public radio. I’m Michelle Norris, and this is The World Today. Guatemalan General Efraín Ríos Mott is under international scrutiny again today, for his ongoing campaign against North Mayan rebel forces. The international community is labeling Mott’s killings, genocide. Though General Efraín still enjoys a close relationship with president Regan, who this morning annou-” Hank turned the nob. “-njoy Fanta! All new Grape and-” again. “-ou don’t care about what I think… I think I’ll just stay here and drink.”
