The Adventures of Hasty Hank

Don’t Beat the Love Seat

Short story by Henry Lee 

In the summer heat of southwest Florida, in the city akin to Russia, two women are camped in Hank’s humble abode while Hank is away working, strenuously as usual. Both women could even seem Russian by appearance: the elder Jane with her wiry, tanned physique that’s still able to work long days in the sun better than most men, and the svelte, dark-haired, very white-skinned Nicole, “Nic,” whose appearance would suggest the name Natasha. Her fine but not overly voluptuous body suggests a once headlining dancer, but this woman is now Truly Lazy. And unbeknownst to Hank, a secret home invader-destroyer and consummate couch potato.

Hank had left that early morning with the assurance that Nic would definitely get Jane driven to her all-important government disability appointment. There were thousands of dollars at stake as well as the ongoing financial security Jane needed since her car accident.

Jane was a bit crusty. Though she was still attractive and vital, she seemed a shell of her former self. Even before her accident, she had been going downhill. Long gone were the days of debutante balls and shaking Kennedy’s hand at her Canaveral job. Now she even had to rely on Hank, a friend of a couple years, to help her.

The drama unfolds as Hank returns home extra hot and tired, seeking his usual combination of two rums—Sunny D and Hawaiian P with a splash of lime juice. And yes the soft, sleep-inducing love seat sofa. It’s about the best thing Hank owns besides the entertainment system and the much cherished fishing tackle.

The large love seat had it all: reclining, vibrating, heating, and such a nice fabric color to blend with the decor.

With the large tasty drink and a few minutes on the sofa, the stress and soreness melted away into a relaxed drowsy state that Hank relished each day.

Today when Hank comes inside his home, he sees Jane sitting at the kitchen table. Nic is in the bathroom as usual, constipated, she hollers. Likely all her inactivity, coupled with massive use of so-called pain pills for some so-called pain, and cigarettes chain smoked.

“Well, how did the appointment go?”

Jane states it didn’t. “Nic never left the sofa all day.”

At the same moment Hank sees his precious sofa with ashes all over it. And wait! Oh my God! A hole! No, several! Burn holes! “Damn! SOB!”

Hank’s hasty temper then sets in while Nic’s on the toilet seat, oblivious with an Oh Well attitude. “I’m sick!” she exclaims.

“Well, carry your sick ass out of here. I hate you!” Hank screams as he goes back to stare angrily at his sofa. He then picks up a baseball bat from behind it, and begins to let out some steam.

After the sofa suffers several wallops, grunts, and curses, Nic decides to make a cell phone call, 9-1-1 to the po-lice. “He’s got a baseball bat. He’s swinging it, cursing. I’m scared, come quick!”

A few seconds later, Hank, now more composed, is discovering that the police are on the way. “Well Nic,, you can wait for them outside with your belongings. Here’s help with your stuff out the door”

Nic goes to her car, sans belongings, sits, and later an officer arrives. A young, good-looking ladies-man-type rookie cop who takes the complaint of Nicole, who no longer is sick.

“He chased me outside and then around the house twice with the ball bat because I wouldn’t leave. I know my rights: you stay three or more days and you become a legal resident. State law. He has to evict and that takes weeks.”

So what does the rookie do? When in doubt, arrest Hank, maybe get his first real bust, possible weapon offense at that! He gets to speed through traffic now. Hank is more scared by the driving that about jail for some off-the-wall charge. But first the young stud has to stop by a store where his girlfriend gets to peer into his back seat and look at the trophy buck.

Then it’s on the station for fingerprint, where Hank sees 3rd Degree Felony Aggravated Assault, $5000 bond. As Hank sits for nearly three days in jail awaiting very anxiously his buddies to bail him out, he gets called out and down, and is amazingly released on a Personal Recognizance bond, no money, just agree to come to trial.

As Hank speeds away with a friend from the large jail facility, Hank’s head swells with ego. After all, the FBI fugitive warrant for him has gone unnoticed. He’s slipped through the cracks again (but that’s another story).

Hank secures a top-drawer attorney for $1200 who simply writes a letter to the DA and the case is dismissed. As the lawyer says, “By admitting to brandishing a deadly weapon, they could convict you here, and in other states as well. It was mostly the woman Nicole being such a poor complainant, with a long history of such scenarios, that released you.”

Yes, one must watch this law. Even going to your door could land you in prison if the salesman or whomever felt threatened, even scared, by anything you had in your hand.

So what happens to Hank’s love seat? He saws it in half, removing the burnt, ugly side to the dumpster, where perhaps by now Nic is sick of scavenging. 

Henry Lee resides in a Texas prison and enjoys reading his WA Free Press subscription.