Showdown in Mudbug by Jana DeLeon

piece of Scotch tape toremove the fingerprint from his cheek. No way was he walking into the CSI unit sporting a lipstick print on his face. There were some things a man could never live down.
    He wondered briefly where he’d stashed his old patrolman’s uniforms and if they still fit.
    She’s a suspect.
    He blew out a breath. The sooner he ran that print, the better. God forbid he came up with nothing, because he was certain his spare handcuffs were in his glove box.
    Hank Henry pulled the business card from his pocket and checked the address once more. This was the place. He parked his truck and walked across the street to the construction site, scanning the workers for the owner, a guy named Chuck. He finally located the man on the side of the building and introduced himself.
    Chuck gave him the once-over, then lit a cigarette. “Pauley says you do some damned fine cabinet work.”
    Hank nodded. “I’m glad Pauley’s happy with his cabinets.”
    “Pauley also said you do some damned fine drugs and some not-so-fine petty crimes.”
    Hank gritted his teeth and counted to three. You have to expect this given your past. Don’t take the bait. “Well, sir, that would have been absolutely correct if you’d spoke to me a year ago.”
    The foreman blew out a puff of smoke and squinted at Hank. “Got clean, huh? I can respect that.” He crushed out his cigarette on the side of the building and motioned Hank inside. “Place is gonna be some sort of clinic. Every room in the place is going to need cabinets, and they didn’t want those cheap white prefab jobs. Said it was ‘too clinical,’ whatever the hellthat’s supposed to mean. The place is a clinic, after all.”
    Hank nodded and poked his head into a couple of different rooms. After rehab, Hank understood exactly what too clinical meant. The center he’d been in was a restored Colonial mansion, and the people running it had taken a “home” approach to getting clean and their counseling. For the first time in his life, Hank had felt like a member of a family, right down to the chore list and sharing dinner every eve ning.
    “Looks nice,” Hank said, wishing he had the clout to actually score the job.
    “Think it’s something you can handle?”
    Surprised, Hank looked at the foreman. “You’re serious?”
    “Of course, I’m serious. Did you think I had you come all the way down here just for me to smoke a cigarette and run my mouth?”
    “Yes…no…I mean, I figured you were talking to me as a favor to Pauley. I guess I didn’t figure you were serious about hiring me.”
    “Hell, I like Pauley, but not enough to hire any excon or reformed druggie he tosses out to me. My reputation’s good in this town, and I want it to stay that way. Truth is, I saw the work you did at Pauley’s bar, and it’s some of the best I’ve seen in years. I like that you took the time to customize those cabinets particularly for the same feel as the bar, but higher scale. Really classed the place up, but without making the rest of it look shabby in comparison.”
    Hank smiled, pleased that Chuck had latched on to the very thing Hank had been attempting to do with Pauley’s bar. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that, especially coming from you. Pauley says you’re pretty well sought after for this sort of work.”
    Chuck nodded. “Stay pretty much booked.” He pointed his finger at Hank. “If you’re serious about being straight, I can help you make a name for yourself. You got the talent. If you have the discipline, you could have a hell of a career.”
    Hank stared at Chuck, feeling almost dizzy over his words. A second chance at life. And not just any life—a great life, doing something he loved to do. It was almost too good to be true, and before he could stop himself, he started mentally calculating all the ways he could screw it up.
    Stop it.
    He forced his whirling mind to a stop. This was a golden opportunity. Some people never got one at all. He’d