Peak Oil by Arno Joubert

tip of a much larger iceberg.  
    Alexa stared out of the window, deep in thought. She wore a light, floral summer dress. She had kicked off her shoes and was sitting cross-legged, her dress pulled up high on her tanned legs. He wondered if she was thinking the same. He put his hand on her knee, and she threaded her fingers through his without looking up.
    “Slow down,” Alexa said again as they neared the house where the police officer and the Becks had had their altercation less than an hour ago.
    The patrol car was now gone. Neil recognized David Beck, the man they had met at the diner at the Ocelot Inn a couple of days ago. His dark hair was plastered to a sweaty brow. He was working a mechanical lever on the back of the truck, rolling up the thick rubber hose onto the large spool that stood on the loading bed of the truck.
    Neil slowed down and pulled up on the grassy shoulder of the road in front of the house. He pushed a button, and the window slid down. “Oi,” he called to David, waving a hand.  
    David Beck looked up and wiped his brow with a muddy hand. He hitched his dirty jeans above his hips and wiped his hands on a soiled T-shirt. He smiled and waved when he recognized Neil and jumped off the truck.  
    “I noticed you had a visit from the local law enforcement,” Neil said as Beck approached.
    Beck leaned forward, resting his hand on the roof. He shook his head. “Asshole.” He bent down and greeted Alexa. “Come in. I have some coffee on.”  
    They undid their seat belts and followed Beck into his home.  
    “Excuse the mess, we’re still getting settled in.” David Beck pointed around the foyer.  
    Cardboard boxes stood scattered, some empty and others halfway unpacked. The house had a modern, spacious interior with upscale finishes. The living room was tiled with white, polished marble, and the large, glass sliding door opened to a view over the valley and the forest below. A row of framed watercolor paintings were propped against a corner in the living room, but Neil didn’t recognize any of the artists.
    David led them into the kitchen.  
    Lucy Beck was on her knees, unpacking cutlery and dinnerware. She looked up and smiled brightly. “Hi,” she said, wiping her hands on the front of her shirt. ”Good to see you guys again.”
    David Beck took a bottle from the counter and rinsed his hands. “Damn water supply is cut off again,” he said, looking over his shoulder.  
    He removed four chairs that were stacked on top of a table and placed them on the floor. Lucy poured the steaming coffee into mugs.
    “So, why were the cops here?” Neil asked, taking a seat.
    David waved a dismissive hand. “They’re ignorant idiots. They won’t let me dig a well.” He took a sip of coffee. “I found a strong stream thirty yards down in my backyard; it’s all we need to supply the household.”
    “You dig water wells?” Alexa asked.
    Lucy laughed. “No, we’re geologists.” She glanced at David and smiled. “We both got our doctorates at Princeton.”
    Alexa nodded slowly. “So why aren’t you allowed to dig in your own garden?” She took a sip of coffee. “Do you need a permit or something?”
    David threw his hand in the air. “Beats me. I’m registered as a driller at the Texas Department of Environmental Quality. They’ve already approved my drilling permit. That’s what I was trying to explain to the clown, but he wouldn’t have any of it.” He looked at Alexa and then at Neil. “He said Mr. Fitch needs to approve it first, can you believe it?” He shook his head, a dumbfounded expression on his face.
    “Why do you want to dig a hole in your garden, anyway?” Neil asked.
    “A well,” David corrected. “Have you seen the water supply in this place? It’s erratic at best.” He pointed to the faucet. “You never know when it’s going to be disconnected, and we don’t have a ten-thousand gallon holding tank like Missy has.”
    Lucy stood up and placed her cup in