Chapter 11 Hawk
HAWK
I miss Daniela.
I want nothing more than to go to her, hold her in my arms, and tell her I’ll protect her no matter what.
But then I think of Eagle.
How I wasn’t there for him, and how he’s fighting for his life.
I should go see him. And I will. But first… I need to figure out what’s going on at that fucking barn.
I need to figure out why my father killed Ted Tucker and buried him somewhere near that place.
Ted.
What does he have to do with all of this?
Sadness pings through me every time I think about Ted and his demise. How I tried to save him and ended up taking a bullet from my father’s gun.
Ted…
He once mentioned that he was a middle child like I was. He also had two brothers. What were their names?
Hank and George. That’s right.
I pull out my phone.
I’ll probably be digging through a haystack looking for a needle. Tucker is a common name.
I look through obituaries, find a few that can’t possibly be them.
Next I try the social media apps.
Nope, nope, nope…
Until—
“Yes!” I yell out loud.
George Tucker runs a drywall business in an Austin suburb, and his personal cell number is on the website. So is his photo. He has gray hair, but the resemblance is unmistakable. He looks a lot like Ted.
I call the number.
“Yeah, George here,” he says.
“Hi, my name is…Frank Dirkwood, and I’m looking for George Tucker.”
“That would be me.”
“I was wondering,” I say, “did you have another brother who died a few years ago?”
“If you call fifteen years a few,” he says. “Sorry, sir, but are you interested in some drywall?”
“Yeah, I can always use some good drywall,” I say. “I’m happy to give you any job here on my ranch.”
“A ranch? Great. Which one?”
I clear my throat. “Bellamy Ranch. I’m a foreman there.”
“Bellamy Ranch,” he says. “I’ll be damned.”
“Yeah, I promise you that you’ll have more work that you can ever get done, but I need something from you in return.”
“All I can give you in return is the best damned drywall service you’ve ever had.”
“I’m sure you can give me that, but what I also need is to learn about your middle brother.”
I’m not sure what I should say. There is no statute of limitations on murder, and if I tell George that Ted died by my father’s hand in his office, I’ll be throwing him under the bus. My father, who can barely string two words together in his own defense.
“What do you need to know? It was a long time ago.”
“I’m trying to figure out a little more about his death.”
“Why? He was shot in a barroom brawl,” George says.
So that’s the story my father concocted. Can’t say it’s very original. I clear my throat. “Yes, I know.”
“Which was really bizarre,” George says.
“Yes,” I say hesitantly, “it was.”
“Because normally Ted never went near bars. He didn’t like alcohol.”
“And that’s why I’m looking into this,” I say. “I knew him a while ago, and I’ve been…” I clear my throat again, thinking. “Looking into some true crime stuff lately. You know, a hobby. Ranch work gets pretty tedious sometimes.”
He chuckles. “So does drywall. I get it.”
“Right, and I got to thinking about Ted. About how he up and disappeared one day.”
“Uh…how exactly did you know Ted?”
“We were friends,” is all I can think to say.
A pause. “Were you?”
“Yeah. We…uh…we met at the gathering of a mutual friend once and shared a game of Monopoly. Turns out we both had a love for the game and we played regularly for a while.”
“Damn,” George says. “He did love that game. We used to play as kids.”
“So anyway, I would love to meet with you. Your brother too, if possible.”
“Hank? Yeah, he lives a couple blocks away from me. I suppose we can meet with you, if there’s some business in it.”
“I promise you all my drywall business. I’m serious. And do you want to know how many buildings we have?”
“If you work for the Bellamys, I can imagine it’s quite a few. I appreciate the business, and I promise you’ll be satisfied with my work, or you don’t have to pay.”
Damn. He could do the shoddiest work in the world, and I wouldn’t care. I’ll pay whatever he wants.
“Can we meet, then? As soon as possible?”
“Sure. How about for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Great, my treat.”
“You know Francesca’s Diner off I-35?”
“I do. I’ll be there. Let’s say eight thirty a.m.?”
“Hank and I will be there. See you tomorrow.”
* * *
After visiting Eagle—still unresponsive—at the hospital early and talking to his doctor on rounds, I head to the diner.
George and Hank are already there. I recognize George from his photo. Damn, he does look a lot like Ted probably would’ve looked by now.
I walk toward him, dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, and a western shirt. I need to look like a ranch foreman.
I kind of look like a ranch foreman anyway.
I head straight to their table. “George?”
He and Hank both rise.
I hold out my hand. “Frank Dirkwood. Good to make your acquaintance.”
“You too, Frank.” George gives me a hearty handshake. “This is my brother Hank.”
“Good to meet you, Hank.”
Hank returns my handshake as well.
“Take a load off,” George says. “We ordered coffees.”
A moment later, the coffees arrive. “Sir? Coffee?” our pretty server asks.
“Please. Black.”
She smiles. “Let me just grab the pot.”
She returns a minute later and pours me a cup.
“Are you gentlemen ready to order?”
I nod to George.
“I’ll have the great big American breakfast,” George says.
“Make that two,” Hank says.
I peruse the menu. The big American breakfast is eggs, bacon, sausage patties, hashbrowns, and buttermilk pancakes. That’s a lot of food, and my appetite has kind of been crap lately, but when in Rome…
“Make it three,” I say.
“Great.” She writes our orders down on her pad. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled for me,” George says.
“Same.” From Hank.
“Over easy.”
“Got it. We’ll have that out for you in just a few minutes.” She whisks away.
I turn back to the brothers. “So tell me about yourself, George. Ted never mentioned much about the two of you, other than that he was the middle child.”
“I’m the drywall king,” George says, chuckling. “But I’m guessing you already know that.”
“Your reputation precedes you,” I say.
“But I’ve been married to Maggie for nearly twenty years, and we’ve got two kids, Dottie and Ted.”
My ears perk up. “Named for your brother?”
“Yeah. Ted’s fourteen. Was born shortly after his namesake died.”
“And you?” I ask Hank. He’s dressed in a suit.
“Never married,” he says. “I’m an attorney in downtown Austin.”
“Good, good.”
Hank looks at his watch—a Rolex. “I do have a meeting pretty soon, so I’m not going to be able to stay terribly long. Long enough to eat that big American breakfast though.”
George chuckles. “If there’s one thing the Tucker boys never turn down, it’s a free meal.”
Our waitress returns with our meals.
Hank gives her a wink. “This looks delicious, sweetheart.”
Ah, not married. I can see why. Already I can tell he’s a lifelong bachelor and a big flirt.
“Looks delicious,” I agree, smiling.
The waitress blushes. “You enjoy your meal, gentlemen.”
Hank shakes his head. “I’ve got to tell you, she’s a cutie, but I don’t stand a chance next to those baby blues of yours.”
Right. My eyes. I’m the only one of five children to inherit my father’s blue eyes.
“Yeah, you’re something, Dirkwood,” George says. “Not that I check out men on a regular basis or anything.”
“My mother’s Mexican, and my father’s white. I’m the only one who inherited his blue eyes.”
“I’d bet your siblings are mighty envious,” Hank says.
Hank’s a nice-looking man. He doesn’t look much like Ted at all. Only in the eyes. Ted had nice eyes. Warm and brown.
I add salt and pepper to my eggs and then mix them with the hashbrowns.
“So…about your brother’s death.”
“Why are you so interested again?” Hank asks.
“True crime,” I say. “I knew him a long time ago, and always thought there was something fishy about how he just disappeared one day.”
“All I know,” George says, “is that he was shot in a barroom brawl in some dive outside Summer Creek.”
“Right. That’s what you said.”
George cocks his head at me. “So you’re telling me you knew our brother fifteen years ago?”
“That’s right.”
“Pardon me for saying it, but you look too young to have known him fifteen years ago.”
I clear my throat. “I get that all the time. Turned forty last month.”
“Well I’ll be goddamned,” Hank says. “Not only do you have those bedroom eyes, but you look young for your age.”
I nod.
Lying does not come naturally to me.
In fact, I hate it.
But sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do for the greater good.
I learned that lesson a long time ago.
It was reinforced when my brother went to prison for Eagle.
“So…” I say. “Were they ever able to find out who shot your brother at the bar?”
“Unfortunately, no,” George says. “We asked a lot of questions, but whoever had the gun got away. No one was able to name him. Said it was a stranger they’d never seen there before.”
Right. Nice coincidence. My father paid them all off.
“Who started the brawl?” I ask.
“Nobody knew the answer to that question either,” Hank says.
I look at Hank. He’s an attorney. But maybe he wasn’t when this all happened. “Doesn’t that strike you as kind of strange?” I ask him.
“I’m not a criminal lawyer,” Hank says, “but yeah, the whole thing is odd. I’m sure George already told you that Ted didn’t drink. So why the hell was he in a bar?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out,” I say.
“Why the interest now?” George asks. “I get that you like true crime, but this case is about as cold as my coffee.” He flags our waitress, holding up his cup.
I shrug. “Just always seemed strange to me. And now it seems even stranger still, since you said he didn’t drink. In fact, now that you mention it, all those times we played Monopoly, he never did join me in a beer.”
“Not surprising,” George says.
“All I know is that he worked as a personal assistant to Austin Bellamy, the big billionaire rancher, my boss.” I lean in. “Did Ted ever say anything to you about Austin Bellamy?”
George and Hank both shrug.
“Hank and I weren’t overly close to Ted,” George says. “I was always more of a man’s man, fishing all the time, playing all sorts of sports. Ted was more into board games and long talks.”
I nod.
So far, nothing I don’t already know.
“And you?” I ask Hank.
He shrugs. “I didn’t hang out with him much, either. I mean, he was my brother and I love him, but I was quite a bit younger. And Ted… How well did you know him?”
“Pretty well, I think.”
“Then you know he was gay.”
I keep my eyebrows from flying off my head.
“Sure,” I say.
But no, I didn’t know he was gay.
My father said that Ted might’ve raped my mother and my sisters if he hadn’t killed him.
I know rape isn’t a sexual thing, but Ted was a very gentle person. And if he was gay, he probably wouldn’t have been interested in raping women. And he certainly never laid a finger on me or any of my brothers.
I never felt unsafe with him. In fact, I felt very safe with him. Safer than I did with my own parents. He was never inappropriate with me. He was a surrogate big brother, even kind of a father figure.
My father must’ve severely misunderstood Ted’s intentions…
Or there’s something more to the story.
“So what else about Ted? Was he in a relationship?”
“Not that we knew of, at least not at the time of his death,” George says. “He had an on-again, off-again relationship with a guy from college, but I think they were off at the time he was killed.”
“College,” I say. “He and I never talked about that. Where did he go to school?”
“He studied English and math at Texas Christian University,” Hank says. “Then he went abroad and did some volunteer work for a couple years after he graduated. When he came back to the US, he freelanced, mostly personal assistant stuff until he landed the Bellamy gig.”
“Right,” I say.
“He was good at that kind of stuff. Ted was always really organized,” Hank says.
“Where did he go when he was volunteering abroad?” I ask, raising my cup of coffee to my lips.
“He was all over. He spent some time in Togo, Africa, and then in Mongolia. But then for the last year he focused on South America. Specifically Colombia.”
Colombia?
This is all a little too eerie.
But I keep my eyes focused, my demeanor normal. I sip the coffee.
“Colombia. Really? Do you know what he did there?”
George shakes his head. “Nope. Ted didn’t talk about his time there.”