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almost doing time because he couldn’t take a hint. And because Wallace didn’t do his job.
    Even though this guy had lied through every interrogation, the suspect’s stupidity still hadn’t gotten Wallace off the hook with his peers and supervisors. He’d lost their respect. Worse, he hadn’t been able to shake the self-doubt created by the whole fiasco.
    “Let’s hold off on running the picture in the paper. At least for now.” Wallace adjusted his tie clip, a thirtieth birthday present from his mama. The woman had a loving heart but a wicked hand. Growing up, she’d never been afraid to use it if she thought he was screwing up.
    Seems like I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.
    “Be sure and get me your preliminary report ASAP,” Rhodes said. “I need to figure out what to tell the press.”
    Wallace wondered how the story would read, and whether it would turn out to be another complete work of fiction.

(5)
HANK FRY
    The song playing out from Hank Fry’s cell phone tore his thoughts away from his dad’s old barn, bringing that terrified sixteen-year-old firmly back into his thirty-one-year-old body. He looked down at his blanched knuckles and forced himself to let go of the hammer. He dropped it back in his tool belt and dug the persistent phone out of his pocket.
    “I need to take this,” Hank said to his buddy working beside him on the bridge embankment.
    Hank walked down the hill, away from the work site. He was about three weeks into the job of widening the I-75 bridge that crossed Fletcher Avenue. The ringtone continued belting out “Gangnam Style,” giving him the heads-up that his younger brother Daniel was calling. Hank grimaced at the frantic beat. He couldn’t understand why Daniel liked the song so much. The boy couldn’t even pronounce half the words, opting to create his own instead of singing the difficult Korean lyrics. But it never failed, every time Daniel heard the song on the radio he’d jump up, laughing and clapping, and would plead for Hank to turn up the music.
    Last week, Hank had finally given in and assigned the ringtone to Daniel. He couldn’t help but give in since the song made Daniel so happy every time he heard it. Daniel had the matching ringtone programmed to sing out whenever Hank called him, something Hank tried to do at least once a day.
    “Hey, Small Fry. This had better be good. You know you can’t call me at the job site this time of day.” Though Hank felt aggravated, he didn’t let his voice show it. He kept a lightness in it because Daniel was overly sensitive to anger directed toward him.
    “Is this Hank Fry?” a deep voice asked.
    “Who the hell is this? How did you get my brother’s phone?”
    “Sir, this is Chad Topher of the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Office. Am I speaking to Hank Fry?”
    “Yes.” Hank put a hand over his ear, trying to block out the traffic noise rushing by him on the interstate.
    “Sir, I picked up your brother, Daniel Fry, for indecent exposure. He claims it’s all a misunderstanding, but the woman he exposed himself to gives another story. Your brother has no priors, but when I interviewed him it became apparent he is mentally challenged. Would that be accurate, sir?”
    “Yes. Daniel suffered a brain injury as a kid. What’s going to happen to him?”
    “It all depends on the complainant. She has twenty days to file the paperwork. After that, the State Attorney will decide whether to press charges. For now, though, I think it’s best to release him to a family member. Can you pick him up?”
    After the cop told him where they were, Hank rushed to clear the time off with his boss. He had to promise overtime off the books, but the important thing was to get to Daniel quickly. His brother had the mental capacity of a ten-year-old, and there was no telling what would come out of his mouth if left with a cop too long.
    Shit! I can’t believe Daniel got caught this time.

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    Hank parked next to a police cruiser