Hawk and Wolfe: A Life Interrupted

by Edward Kendrick

  “We’re going over there,” Shorty said, pointing to a cluster of trees and brush across the creek. “As soon as the coast is clear. You might want to take off your shoes.”

  Mick thought it would be a bit obvious why, if he did it where they were standing, so he went down to the edge of the creek, took them and his socks off, and after putting them in his pack, dangled his feet is the slow-moving water.

  “You’re pretty smart,” Shorty said, joining him before doing the same.

  They sat there until Shorty said it was safe, and then crossed the creek to the bushes. There was a barren spot between them and the retaining wall. Above them, Mick could hear the passing traffic.

  “Do you use this spot a lot?” Mick asked.

  Shorty nodded. “When the weather’s good. I’m not the only one, but tonight we got lucky, so spread out your blanket and let’s get some sleep while we can.”

  Mick did, although, between the noise of the traffic and the fear that someone might hassle them—and Shorty’s snoring—it took him a while to fall asleep. I didn’t notice him doing that last night, but then I was beat and probably still reacting to the blow to my head.

  * * * *

  The next thing Mick was aware of was the blare of a car horn. He opened his eyes to see Shorty watching him in the dim, early Friday morning sunlight.

  “‘Bout time you woke up, sleeping beauty.”

  “What time is it?” Mick asked.

  Shorty made a pretense of checking the watch he wasn’t wearing. “Time to get moving before the path gets crowded.”

  Mick sat up, hoping there was someplace nearby where he could piss—and asked.

  “Behind one of the trees, or if you can hold it, there’s a grocery store ‘bout a block from here.”

  “Lead me to it.”

  Shorty did, and after they’d both used the restroom, they walked behind the store to the Dumpsters. “Usually good pickings here, if you don’t mind stuff that’s past its ‘sell by’ date.”

  “As if,” Mick replied while checking to see what was there. Most of it, he discovered was overripe produce, but there were also some cans of tuna, chili, and soup. Not many, as it was pretty obvious other homeless people had beaten them there.

  “Only take a couple,” Shorty cautioned. “You don’t want to be lugging around all that weight. Besides, there’s other guys who will need some, too.”

  Following his orders, Mick took two cans of chili and one of tuna, figuring they’d be edible cold. Soup, he wasn’t so sure of.

  “Now what do we do?” Mick asked when they were on the sidewalk again.

  “Find a good spot to panhandle, but not on the mall. Too much competition and too many cops and security guards. I’m not in the mood to be hassled. Buckle up your walking shoes, ‘cause we have a hike ahead of us.”

  While it wasn’t a hike, it was a long walk to the other side of downtown and what Shorty called Cap Hill. Eschewing the main street, which seemed to be home to drug dealers and young men and women selling themselves in the alleyways, they went over to Seventeenth where there were several restaurants and a variety of shops.

  “One of my favorite spots,” Shorty said, perching on the edge of a concrete planter in front of a restaurant, and then setting the cup he used for ‘donations’ next to him.

  “They won’t try to make us move?” Mick asked.

  “Naw, because they don’t want us sitting on the ground next to the wall. This way we look like we’re just resting our feet.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Shorty shot him a grin. “It works.”

  It did, although not very successfully until the lunch hour. Mick knew if he hadn’t had Shorty to keep him company he’d have given up long before then. By the time one P.M. rolled around, they’d made enough to think about leaving.

  “We’re spending most of this over there,” Shorty said, pointing to a convenience store two blocks away before transferring the change and a few bills from his cup into his jacket pocket.

  “Why?” Mick asked as he did the same.

  “For necessities like toothpaste and soap, so we can clean up in some restroom instead of a shelter.”

  Aware of how his friend felt about shelters, Mick didn’t argue. They were half a block from the convenience store when someone honked and a car pulled to the curb beside them.

  A man got out, walking over to them. “Mick? Where the hell have you been? Why haven’t you called?”

  “Friend of yours?” Shorty asked.

  Mick looked at the man and shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Mick. Damn it, it’s me. Richard,” the man said. “Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” He paused then asked, “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “Who?” Mick asked, ignoring the question.

  “You know who. Me. We’re…” Richard turned to Shorty with puzzled look.

  “He doesn’t remember,” Shorty replied to his unspoken question, and then introduced himself before briefly explaining why.

  * * * *

  “Oh, hell,” Richard said when Shorty finished. He tentatively reached for Mick’s hand, stopping when Mick pulled it away. “At least you know your name. This would be real awkward if you didn’t.”

  Mick smiled weakly. “It is, anyway. Are you a friend? Maybe family?”

  “Believe me, I’m not part of your family. I’d say I’m a friend, but it was more than that—a lot more.”

  Shorty chuckled. “Guess that answers the question about whether you’re gay, Mick,” he said, getting a brief nod in return.

  “Look, can we go somewhere and talk?” Richard asked, gesturing toward his car.

  When Mick looked at Shorty in question, the man replied, “It’s your call. It’s two against one, so we’re probably safe.”

  “Okay. Where? And not your house or whatever. Somewhere more public.”

  Richard felt a pang of dismay that Mick didn’t trust him, even though he understood why. “There’s a park close to your…our place that has a pavilion and a couple of picnic tables. It’s not too far from here.”

  “All right. That should work,” Mick said, much to Richard’s relief.

  The drive over was done in silence. Every time Richard glanced at him; Mick seemed to be deep in thought. Shorty, in the back seat, appeared to be more interested in what was outside the car than anything else.

  Richard pulled into a space on the street at the edge of the park, close to the pavilion. Unfortunately, there was a small group of people in it, but the picnic table nearby was free. When they got there, Mick and Shorty sat on one side with Richard opposite them.

  Mick got right to the point, asking, “Who am I?”

  “Your name is Michael Hawk, but everyone calls you Mick. You own clubs two blocks apart on South Broadway, The Hawk’s Den, and The Rainbow Hawk, and you manage The Rainbow. Your father turned them over to you when he retired.”

  “At my age?”

  “Sure. Why not. According to what you told me, he said you’ve got a good head for business, which is more that your brother does.” Richard tried not to grin when he added, “That did not sit well with Trenton. He expected to take over. Instead, he’s working for you, running The Den.”

  “He’s older than me? Oh, and how old am I?”

  “Twenty-seven. He’s thirty-three and married.”

  “Nailed it,” Shorty said. “I told you, you looked that old, or young, Mick.”

  “At least we found out one thing,” Mick said, taking something from the pocket of his backpack to give Richard. “Shorty says I was holding this when he found me. We thought the guy might have been a relation because we look vaguely alike. I guess he’s not.”

  Richard looked at the license. “I don’t see any resemblance other than maybe the jaw.” He waggled his hand,

  “Do you recognize him?” Mick asked.

  “He’s a bartender at The Den. He goes by Andy, not Andrew. He’s not too friendly, according to you. Does his job and
that’s it.”

  “Do my parents live here?”

  “Nope. They moved south, to Atlanta, I think. Somewhere down there, anyway.”

  Mick tapped his fingers together as he studied Richard. “You implied that you and I…?”

  “Are together? Yes. We met a couple of months ago, at The Rainbow. It was instant lust and became more soon after. I moved in with you three weeks ago.” Richard shook his head. “I’m, to quote Trenton, your gigolo, and only with you because you have money.”

  Looking dead at him, Mick asked, “Is he right?”

  “Hell, no!” Then Richard smiled dryly. “Not that I’d admit it if he was, but honestly, I’m not. I was attracted to you from the beginning and it didn’t take long before I fell in love with you.”

  “You said he’s got money,” Shorty put in. “A lot?”

  “He’s not hurting,” Richard replied. “Neither is Trenton. His…” He looked at Mick. “Your father inherited a small fortune from his father, parlayed it into a lot more, and then started the clubs as a way to keep busy while you and your brother were growing up.”

  “I wish I remembered even one thing about what you’ve told me,” Mick said sadly. “Especially you.”

  “I wish you did too.” Richard reached across the table to take Mick’s hand. “We had a good thing going. Then…you disappeared without saying a word.”

  “And ended up in an alley, wearing blood-stained clothes, because of this.” He touched his head and smiled briefly. “I’m sure they weren’t bloody to start with. They were in good shape, as far as I could tell.”

  “That sounds like you. You always dressed nicely, even if it was jeans and a T-shirt.”

  “We think someone tried to make it look like he was mugged,” Shorty said. “For damned sure that’s what I thought at first. If I hadn’t come along, he might have died, as bad as he was bleeding.”

  “I know it’s well after what happened,” Richard said, “but do you have a headache, or dizziness?”

  “No headache,” Mick told him. “I was nauseous, and dizzy for a while, probably from losing so much blood.”

  “That what I meant about you dying,” Shorty said. “If I hadn’t found you, you could have bled out.”

  “Where precisely did you find him,” Richard asked.

  “In an alley not too far from the baseball park,” Shorty replied. “Not exactly the greatest area, where he was, which was away from all the clubs and stuff.”

  “We have to figure out why you were in that part of the city,” Richard said. “As far as I know, and I do,” he smiled, “you’re not a sports fan, and it’s nowhere near where you live, or the clubs. Were you trying to hide from someone, or…Hell, that’s the only reason I can think of, unless someone, I don’t know, kidnapped you.”

  “Why would they do that?” Mick replied. Then he nodded. “If they wanted me dead, but didn’t want it to look like a planned murder, if that makes sense.”

  “Sort of. The cops find your body and put it down a mugging gone wrong, although that wouldn’t explain why you were way across town from the club.”

  “He was doing out-reach work,” Shorty chimed in. “Those guys go down there sometimes. Least ways that might be what the cops would figure.”

  “Did I ever do that?” Mick asked Richard.

  “Not since I knew you, but who knows.”

  “My brother would.”

  “Yeah, and he’d hate the idea that you did—if you did. Sanctimonious prick.”

  Shorty laughed. “No love lost there.”

  “Nope,” Richard agreed. “Whether we’re right or not, about either scenario, it doesn’t explain why you had Andy Loman’s driver’s license, Mick.”

  “He’s the one who tried to kill me and somehow I got my hands on it? Naw, that doesn’t make sense, because nothing says I tried to fight off my attacker.”

  “Maybe, whoever did attack you wanted to point a finger at him,” Richard suggested. “Guess we’ll have to ask him, but not tonight. You need to clean up, eat something other than…whatever, and get a decent night’s sleep, which I bet you haven’t had in the last couple of days.” He caught a flash of dismay in Shorty’s expression and said, “You can come with us. We have a guestroom.”

  “If you’re sure, I accept. Never let it be said I turned down food and a real bed.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  They returned to the car, and Richard drove the five blocks to the house he shared with Mick. As he did, he asked, “Does any of this look familiar?”

  Mick sighed. “Not at all.”

  * * * *

  Richard asked the same thing once they were in the house—and Mick gave him the same answer after he’d wandered through the downstairs—”Not at all.”

  It was a nice place, with a living-dining area and a kitchen taking up most the ground floor. Off the entryway was a set of stairs going up to the second floor and down to the basement, as well as a small coat closet. Behind the living room was what Richard told him was their home office, with a storage closet across from it. A door off the kitchen opened onto the back porch.

  It wasn’t until they got to a bedroom on the second floor that Mick got a glimmering of a memory. There were several photos on the wall beside the dresser. One was of him and Richard, their arms around each other, with what was obviously a park with a lake behind them.

  “That was your birthday,” Mick said softly. “You didn’t want to do anything special, so we made a picnic lunch to eat at the park.”

  “Yes!” Richard wrapped his arms around Mick from behind. “Do you remember what you gave me?”

  Mick shook his head.

  “This.” Richard pulled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his forearm of a hawk and a wolf. The hawk was soaring above the wolf, with a full moon behind them. “The wolf is because that’s my last name—Wolfe, with an ‘e’. Obviously you didn’t give it to me that afternoon, but we went to the tattoo parlor the next Saturday. I always wanted us to get one that depicted the two of us.”

  “Then where’s mine?” Mick asked. He knew he didn’t have one, having taken a shower at the shelter the previous day. He saw Richard’s reflection in the glass over the photo. He was grinning.

  “Right here.” He patted the cheek of Mick’s ass.

  “Are you serious? Why there, instead of on my arm, like yours?”

  “We were in silly moods when we were there and you asked the guy if he ever put tats on guy’s asses. When he said he did, I dared you to let him put yours there. The only caveat was, it had to be high enough so you wouldn’t sit on it while it healed, so it’s a couple of inches below your waist.”

  “Kids,” Shorty said from the doorway, shaking his head. “One memory down, a billion to go, Mick.”

  “Maybe they’ll come faster, now?”

  “I hope so,” Richard said, stepping away.

  Mick turned to look at him and saw worry and caring in his gaze. “Like Shorty said, now that I remembered this, maybe the rest will come easier.”

  * * * *

  “It better, because I miss you.” Richard worried his lip between his teeth. “I know you’re standing right here, but if you can’t remember anything about us then it’ll be like starting over again, and what if this time you decide you don’t want me.”

  “I don’t think that’ll happen,” Mick replied. “And stop with the lip thing. It drives me crazy.”

  Richard felt his spirits lift, again. “You always used to say that.”

  “Guys,” Shorty said. “You’re talking like it’s been years since you saw each other, not a few days.”

  “It might as well have been, all things considered,” Richard replied. “For Mick, at least.”

  “Good point. So…where’s this dinner you promised us? Maybe that’ll jog a few more memories.”

  It didn’t, but for the moment it didn’t matter as far as Richard was concerned. He remembers me, and that’s the first step.

  After din
ner, Richard told Shorty he was welcome to do his laundry. Shorty jumped at the chance, only asking where the guestroom was so he could get out of what he was wearing and put on the cleanest pair of sweats he owned. Richard showed him, and then while his laundry was washing, the three of them settled in the living room to talk—Mick and Richard on the sofa, Shorty in the chair beside it.

  “Why would anyone want me dead, if that’s what happened?” Mick asked. “More to the point, I guess, is who would?”

  Shorty looked at Richard, head cocked in question. “You know who he knows. Any guesses?”

  Frowning, Richard replied, “I hate to suggest this, but it could be his brother. I know I’m prejudiced because Trenton never liked me, or I guess he didn’t like the two of us together. Putting that aside, though, if something happened to you—” he tentatively put his hand on Mick’s knee, “—he’d take over the clubs. Add in the fact he’s jealous because your father gave them to you, and you’ve got a pretty good motive to get you out of the picture.”

  Mick nodded slowly. “I suppose so, but wouldn’t he be the first one the police would suspect?”

  “Maybe not,” Richard replied. “Look at where you were attacked. He could say…Yeah, that might work. He could say you were under a lot of pressure from the long hours you’ve been working and something snapped so you decided to hit up some sleazy bars looking for company.” He scowled. “I stopped by his house a couple of nights ago to see if he’d heard anything from you. He implied, no, he came right out and said that you were probably with some guy you’d picked up because that’s how you are.”

  “I am?” Mick asked in obvious dismay.

  Richard smiled briefly. “Before we met, you were. Since then it’s been you and me and no one else.”

  “Nice to know I’ve reformed,” Mick said, his gaze locking with Richard’s. He lifted his hand, as if he was going to touch Richard’s face, then lowered it, murmuring, “Thanks to you, I suspect.”

  Before Richard could reply, Shorty said, “Let’s get back to cases. Mick’s brother wants him out of the picture, so he implies he’s off screwing some dude and then what? How would he explain him ending up in that alley?”