“She seemed happy to get into the water. Your Abigail looked damn bored in that pond, though. I bet she’d like the work.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Hero.

“I’m retired.” They considered Houndstooth over the rim of their glass. “But I’m glad you came to tell me about this ‘job’ in person. Like a gentleman.”

Houndstooth’s eyes found Hero’s. “Shackleby. That’s an honest name. Are you an honest person?”

Hero smiled, close-lipped. “I’m not a liar. Ask me anything and I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Is that sweet tea poisoned?”

Hero’s smile broke into a broad grin. “I thought you’d never ask.” They picked up the second glass of sweet tea from the porch rail, took a sip, and set it back down. “See? I’m just fine.”

Houndstooth didn’t touch the glass.

“Abigail is bored,” Hero said after a moment. “She’s not used to living in one place, to having her own pond all to herself. She loves it. Has her own little dentist-bird.” Hero leaned their head back against the rocking chair and fanned themself with the letter. “But she’s bored. I haven’t saddled her up in months. It’s just been the two of us, all alone, plus the milkman once a week. And I don’t even drink milk.”

“Hero.” He seemed to be rolling their name across his tongue. Hero caught themself staring and looked away. “Hero, I’m supposed to get you to accept this job. I accepted this job with the understanding that I would have a demolitions expert on board.”

Hero sipped their sweet tea and watched Houndstooth fiddle with his hat. “I’ll need some convincing. So. Convince me.” They tried not to blink while they said it, knowing that it sounded for all the world like a line. Houndstooth’s eyes snapped up, and he swallowed hard. Hero rubbed a tapered forefinger through the condensation on the outside of the pitcher of sweet tea.

“Well,” Houndstooth said in a low voice. “There’s the money. Eight thousand dollars. Gold, not bonds.”

“Hmm.” Hero ran their finger down the side of their throat, letting the cool water cut through the heat of the afternoon.

“Then there’s the job itself,” Houndstooth said. “Clearing the feral hippos out of the Mississippi. You’d live up to your name, if we managed it. We’d be heroes, Hero.”

“Mmmhm.” Hero leaned back in the rocking chair and crossed their legs, right over left. It would be something, to be a hero. A decent way to end a career that had gone on too long. Better than simply fading off the scene, like they’d planned. They tapped their nails on the arm of the rocking chair, one-two-three-four.