Chapter 1.A
“Hankey baby, there is someone at the door.”
“Chill your tits woman, I’m getting up.” The sound of Hank’s voice in the morning always surprised him. It normally sounded like he was gargling marbles when he spoke because his voice was such a deep and broken baritone, but in the mornings it sounded like he was gargling broken glass. At least until he got the drink in him. Hank figured this was one of the side effects of already having a deep voice and then shouting at work crews on various construction sites for over a decade. Where did I leave that drink anyway, ah there it is, thought Hank. Half a bottle of lukewarm malt liquor from the night before, he guzzles it all down in one giant gulp.
“Ew hankey, that’s nasty.”
“You just aren’t use to being around a real man. Now get up and get out woman, unless you are making breakfast. If you are cooking you can stay awhile.”
“Oh Hankey you are so funny!”
The pounding on his door resumed, BANG BANG BANG. He wondered if the lot-lizard knew he wasn’t joking. Hank looked around for some pants or boxers in the mess of beer cans, dirty clothes, and used condoms from the night before, but gave up when he heard even more pounding at his door. Well, if they were going to bang on his door like that then they should be prepared for the consequences.
Hank stomped over to his front door, not because he particularly wanted to stomp, but because Hank was huge. Hank also didn’t particularly care about being lithe or stealthy, it just wasn’t his style, so his walking kind of always sounded and looked like someone stomping. He had solved every problem in life by being bigger than everyone else. He didn’t have many problems to begin with though, he was generally polite and minded his own business. Hank didn’t know it, but it was his lawyer Saul was at the front door, coming to give him some very bad news. Hanke ripped the front door open while shouting “What?” Let’s be honest, whoever had come to bang on Hanks door was interrupting some potential morning nookie, and this made Hank disgruntled.
“Aw Jesus, Hank put some pants on please. For the love of all that is holy cover that thing up,” said Hank’s lawyer Saul.
“Saul my man, sorry for the surprise from Hank Jr. Give me some good news.”
“I’m afraid I can’t… They won Hank.”
At the news Hank grabbed a chair from his dining room table and lobbed it across the house while he screamed in frustration. The chair landed in the drywall sideways, legs first. The legs sank so deeply into the wall that it stayed in place, seemingly floating in the air. The woman who was in Hank’s bedroom chose that time to come out and make some coffee. She was holding a sheet with one arm over the front of her body in false modesty.
“Hankey baby, you want coffee?” she asked.
“Why does no one in this house have clothes on?” asked Saul.
“Those sons of bitches, how did we lose?” asked Hank.
“It was Eugene Tillerman again, his fingers are sunk too deep into… Well everything really. I’m 90% sure he paid off the town council. My one witness clammed up all of a sudden as well. I don’t know if he paid her off or threatened her, but she retracted her testimony,” said Saul.
What Saul and Hank were discussing was a rare town charter that hadn’t been used in over 50 years. The town council had pulled the archaic and tyrannical piece of legislation out of the town’s archives and put it into play in order to claim a rare form of eminent domain which they would be using to steal Hank’s land and business out from under him. Hank ran the town gravel yard which he had inherited from his father. Hank only had a few loves in his life and his gravel business was one of them. It was also his last real and tangible connection with his father who had passed away a few years earlier to “complications,” which meant the Agent Orange his father had been exposed to when he was killing communists in Vietnam had finally caught up to him, God rest his soul.
Ever since he was a boy Hank had loved the gravel yard. He loved helping around the gravel yard too, hauling gravel, organizing gravel, loading gravel, showing customers the different types. He loved the striations in the rocks, the colors, the textures, the variety. Hank loved rocks and gravel because he was very much like a rock himself, big, hard, quiet, and heavy. He felt at home in the gravel yard like nowhere else in the world.
The gravel yard was where Hank had gone from being a boy to being a man. When times were tough Hank’s father would do free boulder and rock removal from people’s land. His father would drag the enormous rocks to the gravel yard where he would hand Hank a sledgehammer and tell him “Make gravel boy,” and Hank did. Hank loved making big rocks into small rocks. Swing after swing, and year after year. As he swung the sledge his arms became larger. His body became harder. His father made sure to feed him giant hardy helpings of seasoned steak and fresh milk which caused Hank to grow even further. As Hank aged, his sledgehammer strikes hit harder, his swings became elongated and confident. He loved the feeling of going up against a seemingly immovable and unbreakable object and utterly destroying it.
Even when their business was booming and they could afford to buy their gravel from local mines and other sources, Hank still loved breaking boulders. He eventually started a side business when he was younger and got his driver license. His side business was for large rock removal. He was the cheapest rock-remover within a two hundred mile radius. He could afford to charge just small fees for the service since he was mixing business with pleasure and creating inventory for his father.
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He loved the process of driving great lengths to discover what kind of unruly boulder he would have to load onto his old truck. Each new boulder was a potential battle that he knew he would win. How would he do it? Would he have to break it up a little on the spot to get it to fit into the bed of his truck? He loved the faces of the people who had called him, expecting to see a team of men arrive to haul away their rock and to their surprise only finding him. He especially loved the people that doubted he would be able to accomplish the task on his own, he loved proving them wrong.
He would take the large rocks back to the gravel yard just like his father had done for him when he was boy, and then break them apart. It was his hobby, his workout, and his job. His father would even pay him a fair price for the gravel that he created, those were good times for Hank. He only took breaks to spend time with the many young women who were throwing themselves at him in high-school. All of the work in the gravel yard, breaking rocks in the sun, had turned Hank into a muscular and bronzed Adonis. Top that off with his buzz-cut of blonde hair and shockingly blue eyes, it was enough to drive any red-blooded woman crazy.
This pissed off the local football team something fierce. Angry that Hank was spending time with half the women in the high-school they decided to come after him and “teach him a lesson.” Half the football team ambushed him at the lake one weekend where he had been taking the most beautiful girl in school there on a date: Suzanne, or Suzie Q for short. The “Q” stood for cute, but she was anything but cute, she was stunning in a classic way. She was the type of woman who woke up in the morning beautiful, the type of woman who men wrote songs about and fought wars over. Hank and her had been dancing circles around each other for a long time at that point, both knowing they were beautiful and unyielding. Both not wanting to be the first one to break down and approach the other.
Hank broke first as men often do in the face of beautiful and unattainable women. He brought a giant bouquet of flowers to school one day his senior year and waited for her in front of her locker. When she saw him standing there in his in his usual blue jeans and tight yellow tank top with his fathers companies name on it “Steel Gravel” her breath caught in her throat and she felt electricity in the air. Some part of her knew she was in love with Hank, even then. She couldn’t let him know that though. Hank was a conqueror of regular women, if he sensed weakness he would move on. She had to maintain an air of unattainability. She slapped her best coy smile on her face and walked over to him.
“It took you long enough. Pick me up on Saturday at 8.” She had told him, and then she walked away swaying her hips. Leaving him there with a view of perfection. She couldn't resist glancing once behind her to see if he was looking. He was, with his mouth slightly opened, stunned, still holding the flowers in his hands which she hadn’t even bothered to take.
That Saturday the date had been going great. They were laying in the bed of Hank’s truck talking about anything and everything, stealing glances at each other often, smelling the scent of one another. They were both completely enthralled with one another as young lovers often are. Then they heard the vehicles coming. They both stood up to see over ten vehicles surrounding Hank’s truck at the edge of the lake, blocking all paths of escape. There was a mixture of cars and trucks carrying randoms students from the school and most of the football team. The biggest instigator among the high-school boys, the once then captain of the football team, the one who had been getting everyone riled up and angry at Hank, stepped forward. It was none other than Eugene Tillerman, the man who was now paying off town officials to steal Hank’s land and business.
Eugene shouted while hiding in a crowd of his peers from the football team: “We are tired of you Hank. You take all the prettiest girls and leave none for us. We rule this high-school. All you do is fail classes and peddle gravel. It isn’t fair that some peasant like you is stealing our women. It’s high time we teach you a lesson.”
Hank couldn’t believe it. He harbored no ill will towards these men. He always treated his dates with respect and left them happier than when they had found him, he didn’t know what he had done to make these guys mad. Hank knew that despite all of the exercise that these guys did for the football team that he was much bigger and much stronger than most of them. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt them in a fight.
“I don’t want any trouble. Please leave,” shouted Hank. No one had ever accused Hank of being a master of diplomacy.
“We aren’t leaving until you learn to leave our women alone. Get em boys!” Shouted Eugene.
The two largest bruisers from the team stepped forward, one black, one white. Jerome Johnson and Joe Buckley. These two were notorious steroid abusers and it showed. Their Letterman jackets barely stretched over their bulging muscles and ever expanding backs. Small town football is a big deal in America, especially back when Hank was in High-school. As long as the team was winning the coaches and faculty looked the other way when it came to a little steroid abuse or switching out a failing grade for a barely passing one.
“Jerome, Joe, please don’t do this,” said Hank.
Jerome and Joe started approaching Hank while cracking their knuckles. Hank jumped from the bed of his truck and landed hard. Some of the young men from the football team swore they felt the ground shake a bit. Hank was very dense.
“Last chance guys, please turn around and go home. Hell I’ll even send you guys away with enough money to buy a 12 pack of beer if you leave now,” said Hank.
He noticed as they got closer though that their eyes were a little glazed over, these guys were abusing more than just steroids. Hank knew then that these guys wouldn’t be holding back. This had just become a fight for his life. Hank wondered if he should get the sledgehammer from the inside of his truck, or the rifle he kept in the window rack that he hunted deer with, until he looked down at his fists. They were large and callused, lined and creased from years of hard work. His hands were rock solid and heavy. Hank didn’t need a weapon for this fight. Hank is a sledgehammer, Hank is a weapon. If the football team wouldn’t have peace, then Hank would give them war.
Hank started walking towards the big bruisers which confused everyone. He walked towards Joe Buckley first hoping to single him out, but these two bruisers were used to working as a team. So Jerome oriented his body as well to intercept Hank. Hank picked up speed and so did the bruisers. The three men collided like the titans of old. This wasn’t some back alley brawl, these were living gods smashing into each with the force of small vehicles and the confidence of known immortality that only the young and the dumb have. Between the three of them they represented about a thousand pounds of muscle and fury. At first it was an insane melee, the three tumbled to the ground trying to gain superiority on one another, raining down blows. Jerome and Joe were high on whatever was being peddled by the local drug dealers in the small town and at first didn’t feel Hank’s fists and knees as he rained them onto them over and over again.
Soon the divide between Hank and the two bruises became evident to everyone watching. Hank’s muscles were hard earned and well honed. They had been earned over a lifetime of destroying things that man was never designed to destroy. Joe and Jerome had gained their muscle over the last few years through the use of steroids and lifting weights in a controlled environment. Even with the help of the pain reducing narcotics flowing through them, the slams of Hank’s heavy fists, elbows, and knees began to feel sharper and harder as the brawl went on. Hank was able to regain his feet first as Joe and Jerome started to shift their strategy to defense. That’s when Hank did something that surprised everyone that night. Before Joe Buckley could regain his footing Hank grabbed his ankle, and like Hercules himself Hank spun Joe as hard as he could and let go when Joe was facing the forest. Joe bounced along the ground for at least 13 feet before finally wrapping his midsection around a tree and losing consciousness.