Hank continued as if he hadn’t heard. “My cousin Darren lives around here—you know Darren? Naw, you wouldn’t, ‘course you wouldn’t—he just up and quit school to be a lobsterman, just like that. Smart as a whip, he was, too, straight A’s, two credits from being a certified public accountant. Well, he got a deal on a boat and some traps he couldn’t pass up. ‘Bout three weeks later, he threw a party down at his house on fourteen, and some guy shows up there he hardly knew. Little scrawny guy he was, you know, one of those.” Hank stuck up his arm and let his hand hang loosely. “Kind of ladylike. Don’t bother me much, but Darren, he don’t like it. Anyways, Darren gets up for a minute and that guy steals his beer. Grabs it right off the table. Darren comes back, you know, steamin’ mad. ‘Give me my fuckin’ beer,’ he says. Guy says no. Darren tells him he’s gonna hit him if he don’t, and that fairy just sits there an’ says, ‘Go ahead.’ I was right there, saw the whole thing. Anyways, so Darren just up and slaps him, backhand like. That guy doesn’t say a word, just hands him the beer. Next afternoon, Darren’s wife calls him at work. ‘Hurry,’ she says. ‘Your boat’s on fire.’ Sure enough, that guy had gone down and torched it with five gallons of gasoline.” Hank grinned. “Well, they got him for arson, and Darren got as much money for his traps as he’d paid for the boat, plus insurance money. He quit lobstering for good and went into law enforcement. Darren’s lucky that way. Smart as a whip.”

David struggled to keep from laughing, then decided it was okay and gave in to the urge. Hank grinned and didn’t seem too offended. When he’d wiped his eyes a little (Damn if that story didn’t help him feel a whole lot better), he said, “So how did you end up with this house, exactly?”