Chapter 35 Hawk
HAWK
If I weren’t driving, I’d probably throw my phone down on the hard pavement. Watch the screen shatter.
Shattered—like the mirror at Reyes’s house.
Shattered—like Ted’s skull in my father’s office.
Shattered—like whatever I had with Daniela.
“Feel better?” Falcon asks.
“Why does everything end up broken?” I say, more to myself than to Falcon.
Falcon’s mouth flattens. “You want to ask me that? Really?”
“No. I know that’s not fair after what you’ve been through” I rub the back of my neck. “I need a drink.”
He stares straight out the windshield. “You sure that fixes anything?”
“No. I’m sure it doesn’t.” I keep my eye on the road. “Where do you go when you need to not feel like this?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He keeps staring straight ahead. I’m asking about quiet. Distance. A place where the noise in your head gets drowned out by something else.
“I know a place,” he says finally.
“Good.” Then I start thinking. “You sure Peter will handle this?” I ask.
“He always does. Unofficially, like you wanted. If Dad trusts him, I trust him.”
Right. Falcon doesn’t really know who our father is. And now isn’t the time to tell him. Not when all this other shit is going on. I don’t have time to listen to my brother extol his non-existent virtues.
“Where?” I ask.
“Cut past the next exit,” Falcon says. “It’s a little dive bar outside Summer Creek about thirty miles.”
I do as he says. We drive past a strip of pawn shops and a busted laundromat and then into a neighborhood that looks like it forgot what year it is. I hit a pothole, and my bones rattle.
“There it is.”
The neon sign flickers. It says only “Bar.” No name other than that.
I pull into a spot and kill the engine. “What the hell is this place?”
“The kind of place you want right now,” Falcon says, opening the passenger side door. “It’s a dive. The kind of bar that never closes, even though no one other than a few locals go in.”
“Sounds like a front for money laundering,” I say.
“Could be.” Falcon scratches the side of his nose. “But I doubt it. I think it’s just one of those dives that refuses to die.” His mouth curves in a half-grin.
I glance at the cracked brick, at the way the neon sputters.
Falcon steps out first, boots crunching on gravel.
I take a breath and shove open my door.
“Why here?” I mutter, falling into step beside him.
“Because in a place like this,” Falcon says, pushing the door with his shoulder, “no one asks questions, and no one remembers faces.”
My brother’s words strike something in me. “Fuck, Fal. This is why you didn’t want me picking you up when you got out. You came here first.”
“Yup, I did.”
“Breaking your parole already?” I shake my head.
He chuckles lightly. “Only once. Didn’t have a valid ID either. But the bartender, a middle-aged woman named Iris, served me anyway.”
“What did you drink?”
“Rotgut bourbon,” he says, “and let me tell you, it tasted like fucking Pappy Van Winkles after the toilet hooch I was used to.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I imagine.”
“But that was the point, too.” He shrugs. “The shit was both awful and delicious at the same time. But this place is special to me for a reason other than that.”
“Why?”
He leads me to the bar, sits down on a stool covered in cracked red vinyl. “This is where I met Savannah.”
“Seriously?” I sit down next to him, hoping the stool doesn’t crumble under my weight.
“Yeah. She came in here with Gert and a few others for their ladies’ night. It was the night…”
“Fuck. The night her friend died.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
Inside, it’s cold in the way only old bars pull off—AC too strong, lights too dim, day held back by stained blinds. It smells like spilled beer and floor cleaner. Pool balls clack somewhere in the back. A guy in a Dallas Cowboys hat sleeps at the end of the bar.
A male bartender nods at us. “What’ll it be?”
“Where’s Iris?” Falcon asks.
“Off today. I’m Byron.”
Falcon nods. “Good enough. Two bourbons, Byron. The shittiest you’ve got. Neat.”
Byron chuckles. “Been that kind of day, huh?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I reply. Then, to Falcon, once Byron turns his back. “You sure you want to do this? I don’t want to be responsible for you violating your parole terms.”
He chuckles. “I’m a big boy, Hawk. No one knows me here, and no one cares, either.”
Two glasses appear. Two fingers each.
I pick up my glass. “Bottoms up,” I say.
Falcon nods and we both take a drink.
“Damn,” I say, once the burning in my throat subsides.
“Right?” Falcon sets his glass down. “Smoke, a touch of caramel, and a lot of battery acid.”
“That’s about it.” I take another drink. “It’s perfect.”
He elbows me in the ribs. “Was I right or was I right?”
“Why here? Why before you came home?” I ask.
Falcon takes another sip, this time a little more cautiously. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I kind of do,” I say. “But I kind of don’t, too. You’ve always had a taste for good booze. Good wine. Hell, you were going to take that wine trip with Mom before…”
He nods. “Yeah, I know.”
“Right.”
“I can’t explain it any better than I already have.” He finishes off his drink. “So… You and Daniela.”
I set my empty glass down on the bar hard. “Don’t.”
“Okay. But I can only tell you this.” He signals Byron for a refill. “If you’re feeling something for this woman, don’t try to fight it. You won’t win that fight. Trust me. I know.”
I sigh. “She told me she didn’t want my kind of protection. That if this is what it looks like, she doesn’t want it.”
“What does it look like to her?”
I exhale sharply. “Breaking and entering. Stalking. A man tied up in our old barn.”
“She’s got her eyes open,” Falcon says. “All that is true.”
“Yeah, but I’m trying to protect her, Fal. She’s been through so much in her short life, and I’ll be damned if she goes through anything awful again as long as I’m breathing.”
“But all of this…” Falcon gestures broadly. “None of it is you, Hawk.”
“Maybe I never wanted to be Mr. Fix-it,” I say, downing the last of my bourbon and signaling to Byron. “Maybe this is who I truly am. Not the invisible middle brother. Maybe it’s my time to protect the woman I—” I stop abruptly.
He grins. “So you fucking love her.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “Hell, I don’t know. I’m feeling something I’ve never felt before, that’s for sure. But it’s more than that.” I let out a sigh on a whoosh. “It’s Eagle and the fact that he OD’d. It’s Dad. It’s Mom.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Mom?”
“Never mind.” I take a drink of the refilled glass Byron slides toward me.
Falcon spins his glass on the bar. “You’re not telling me everything.”
“You’re right.” I take a drink, let it coat my throat with its acidic flavor. “I’m not.”
Falcon looks past me, seems to focus on the doorway. “I’ll say it again. You’ve always been the cool one. The lid. The fixer. Now you’re running hot.”
I stare at my drink. “Maybe the lid doesn’t fit anymore.”
“And maybe part of you is thinking with your dick.”
I turn my head. “Say that again and I’ll fucking knock you into next week.”
“You’re kidding, right?” He laughs. “I took out bigger and stronger men than you on the inside, Hawk.”
He’s no doubt right. But I’m not thinking with my dick. I’m not that stupid. Yes, I want to protect Daniela. But Falcon has no idea what other secrets I’m keeping from him.
If he did?
He wouldn’t believe me anyway.
“I’m telling you to be who you are.” Falcon says. “You’re the guy who plans. You’re the guy who doesn’t miss a step. You’re the guy who looks five moves ahead.”
“I looked ahead,” I say. “I saw her dead. That’s what I saw. Chocolates with poison. Threatening notes with her name on them. A fucking live grenade, Falcon.”
He hears it. He doesn’t pretend not to. Byron wanders to the far end to handle a tab.
“Rein it in,” he says finally. “Put your head back on.”
“You want to be the pot or the kettle?” I ask. “You almost died for Savannah.”
He nods once. “I did.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No,” he says. “Not even slightly.”
We sit with that. It’s heavier than the whiskey. It should be.
“There’s already an unconscious guy in the barn,” he says. “Let’s not add names to the list.”
“You think I’m not aware?”
“I think you’re past caring.” He tips his head. “That’s not you.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” He looks at me hard. “I am.”
I look away. The bar mirror throws back a distorted version of me. The man in the glass looks like a stranger who borrowed my face to do things Hawk Bellamy would never do.
“You’re not yourself,” he says again. “And don’t tell me this whole thing isn’t frightening to you.”
Why lie? I swallow down a lump of emotion. “I’m fucking terrified. Of losing Daniela. Of losing myself.”
Falcon nods. “There it is.”
We let that sit. It doesn’t get easier, but it gets truer.
“What does she want?” he asks.
“For me to stay out of danger. Hire a PI. Do things the right way.”
He punches my shoulder. “That sounds like the Hawk I know.”
“I’ve gone too far the other way.” I rub at my forehead. “I keep seeing pieces on the floor and the broom’s in my hand before I know I picked it up.”
He shrugs. “Then pick a different tool.”
I roll my eyes. “You got one in mind?”
“Yeah.” He counts on his fingers. “Listen to Daniela. Get a PI. A lawyer. Please.”
“Please?”
“Yeah, please.” He finishes his second drink. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I’ve done time. I know what it’s like in there. I did it to save Eagle, and I’d do it save you too, Hawk. But you’re scaring me. I’m not sure I can save you now.”
I almost smile. “Did you rehearse that?”
He tries to hold back a smile, but he can’t. “Fuck you.”
“Tell me straight,” I say. “You think I’m wrong.”
“I think you’re right and wrong at the same time,” he says. “You’re right that someone’s after her. You’re wrong about how you’re going after them.”
“I’ll hunt them all,” I say. “Every name. Every ghost.”
“You’ll bury yourself doing it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You say that now.” He leans in. “You care about one thing.”
“What?”
“Her.”
“I never said I’m in love with Daniela,” I say.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “It’s in your eyes.”
Fuck. Is it that obvious? “I… I can’t lose her,” I say.
“Then stop acting like losing yourself is collateral you can afford. Don’t you want to be someone worthy of her once all this is squared away?”
I laugh, though it’s forced. “You sound like a therapist.”
“Man, I’m so far from that.” He tilts his head. “But what the fuck… You want to make a list?”
“Of suspects?” I tap at my temple. “It’s already in my head.”
“No. A list of how to do this on the up and up.”
I take a deep breath, center my thoughts. “Reyes doesn’t get to walk. Not until I figure this out and have some leverage over him.”
“I agree,” Falcon says. “You’re already in too deep with him. But you have leverage. What he did to Daniela.”
“My word against his.”
“True.” Falcon pauses. “But he doesn’t have to know that. Maybe Agudelo kept photos. Videos.”
I smile. “Yeah. Maybe he did.”
“Good.” Falcon rubs his forehead. “You still think Haynes is a plant?”
“Yes.”
“By who?”
“Could be Reyes trying to misdirect,” I say. “I’m still not completely convinced he’s clean on this. Or he could be someone using Reyes to distract me. Or he could be the pawn of someone else.”
“Gordon Brown?” Falcon asks.
I shake my head. “Vinnie’s gut. Maybe. Dani doesn’t remember the name. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. A lot of those men probably used aliases.”
“Okay,” he says. “Here’s what we do.”
I wait.
“You call a PI. Today. You have him scrub Jordan, Reyes, Brown, and anyone else Vinnie flagged. Quietly. Legal enough to pass a sniff test.”
“Legal enough,” I echo.
“You have Peter keep Haynes off any official docket he can, and if it lands anyway, it doesn’t land with your fingerprints on it.”
I nod.
“You talk to Vinnie about Reyes,” Falcon says. “About how we unwind that without blowing us up.”
“He’ll tell me to let him go.”
“And you’ll say ‘not yet’ and give him twenty-four hours to give you a plan that doesn’t end in handcuffs.”
I rub my temple against the ache springing up. “And Dani?”
“You call her. You tell her the truth she asked for, and then you shut up and listen. You don’t argue. You don’t justify. You say you heard her. You say you’re pulling back. Then you actually do it.”
“Pull back from what?” I ask. “Breathing?”
“From breaking into a third house today.”
I snort. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it,” he says. “Every time Gordon Brown was mentioned. I can see it in your eyes.”
I scoff. “Thought you saw love there.”
“I see both,” he says. “That’s the problem.”
I glare at him. “And what do you see now?”
He exhales sharply. “Message received.”
I sigh, gazing out the nearest window. “It doesn’t matter anyway.
It was easy to find information on Reyes.
He’s a well-known man, a member of the Colombian congress.
I don’t know shit about Gordon Brown. His last name is so common.
A million results come up when I do a search.
” I think about signaling Byron for a third bourbon but then decide against it.
I turn back to Falcon. “You know the thing about being the fixer?”
“What?”
“You don’t get any credit when it works. You just get the next mess.”
He lifts his empty glass. “To the next mess.”
I clink his and don’t smile.