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Hank’s Blog – The Upper Hand

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Big happenings around here this week. Sit down — this is… well, this is big. Ready?
Alright, here we go. Prepare yourself…

I left the house.

I know… take a minute and let that settle. It’s, well, it’s a lot to take in. But it’s true.
I left the house under my own power. Couple of times actually. My wife’s losing her
shit over my “amazing progress.” I’m surprised she didn’t put out a freaking press
release to announce my launch back into the real world. Truth be told, I’m pretty stoked
about it as well. I was dangerously close to losing all my marbles and ending up in some
nut hatch drooling into my Jell-o. I will never again wish for endless days of lazing
around in bed. Ever… Okay, maybe just on weekends.

So yeah, I managed to escape the purple prison this week. What did I do to mark this
momentous occasion? I did what every red-blooded American would and had some fast
food with the nephew. It was glorious. Definitely made the right choice there. A man
can only live on soup and pudding for so long, so this sweet, sweet artery-clogging
manna-from-heaven was right about what I needed.

Had some entertaining news from the nephew as well. Apparently he manipulated
my pushover brother-in-law into buying him a muscle car. I love that kid. Things have
been a little up-and-down over at their house lately, so I guess the little shit just put on
the puppy dog eyes when dad showed the slightest moment of weakness and, boom —
he’s got a sports car. Who knew it was that easy? The kid’s got some skills, all right.
Pretty sweet ride sounds like, too. Course his mom is far more skilled in the art of
defending against “pulling one over on the parentals” and shut that shit right down. Hey,
that’s what moms do, right? Anyway, now he’s bitching “woe is me” to anyone who’ll
listen. Yeah, yeah… I bet his diamond shoes are too tight as well.

My little fast food outing was made possible by yours truly killing it with PT these
days. After all, I can’t spend all my time bitching about not being able to walk without
really giving it my all. Not that I’ve been slacking off before now. Trust me, I’ve been
busting my ever-loving ass this whole time. But this case I got requires a slightly more
active role. As much fun as it might be to try, can’t really bring down El Numero Uno
drug kingpin from my bed. So, goodbye comfort and dignity — hello double physical
therapy sessions and old man walker.

I even made it into the office to present my case to the Bossman. (Course, first thing
I see is Gomie’s ugly mug. How little things change.) They weren’t really buying what I
was selling — I mean, I don’t blame them. I’ve got a slight history of jumping the gun
(not that I was necessarily wrong, mind you), so they’re cautious. Luckily, I had an ace
up my sleeve. I’d managed to procure some evidence in a pretty badass cloak-and-dagger
kind of way. It was a pretty delicious moment when I busted that bad boy out.

I gotta say, one of the best feelings in the world is to know, to really know, that
you’ve got someone nailed. You’re slogging along, chasing down leads and banging
your head against every wall you can… and then suddenly a light goes off, and you make
that connection. Then you do the follow up work — hoping your instincts are right,
doing every damn little thing by the book… This is usually when everything goes to shit
and you’re left with your ass hanging out. But sometimes, every now and then, it works.
You find the little piece you need to tie the whole thing together, and you’ve got the
bastard dead to rights. These are the days I love my job.

That, my friends, is what we’ve got today. There’s blood in the water, and I’m ready
to strike. Happy days are here again.

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