Hawk and Wolfe: A Life Interrupted

by Edward Kendrick

  “He picked up the wrong guy, who decided to mug him.” Richard shrugged. “It would be like him to suggest that, I think. But why did Mick have Andy’s driver’s license?” he asked.

  “Maybe my brother hired him to do something to me?” Mick suggested. “If he needed money…”

  “That I couldn’t say. I’ve only met him a couple of times, in passing, when I went to The Den with you. I wonder…There’s also the possibility you were going to fire Andy and he got pissed and decided to do something about it,” Richard said.

  “Anyone else who might have something against Mick besides his brother?” Shorty asked.

  “Not that he told me.” Richard shot Mick a look, asking with a quick grin, “How does it feel to be talked about like you’re not in the room?”

  “Weird, but then in a way I’m not here, am I, since I don’t remember ‘me’?”

  “We’re going to change that,” Richard replied emphatically. Without thinking, he hugged him the way he used to when Mick had had a rough day and needed to know someone cared.

  Mick didn’t pull away, much to Richard’s relief. Quite the contrary, he leaned into it with a small sigh, saying “Thank you.”

  “For what? For caring about how you feel? I always have and that’s not going to stop until you tell me to get out of your life. Hell, even then it wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Mick replied softly. “I must have loved you or we wouldn’t have been together.”

  Shorty chuckled. “I’m not sure that always follows. In your case however, yeah, it probably does. Now all you have to do—”

  “Is remember what we had together,” Mick said sadly.

  “I told you, that will happen,” Richard replied. “One step at a time. I’m not giving up on you, on us, no matter what. Got that?”

  “Got it,” Mick said with a small smile, as if he believed what he’d said, or so Richard thought.

  A ding from the washing machine in the basement let them know Shorty’s clothes were ready to go into the dryer.

  When he went down to take care of it, Richard said, “You’re lucky he found you. If it had been anyone else, well, who knows if they’d have done anything?”

  “I know. He’s a good man. You’re okay with his staying here?”

  “Mick, it’s your house. Not that it makes a difference. I’m fine with it.”

  “Our house, from what you said, so you have an equal say in it.”

  Richard grinned. “Remember that when I want to paint the walls a bright blue.” It was something he’d teased about a couple of times after he’d moved in with Mick.

  “Pale blue, maybe,” Mick retorted. He smiled suddenly. “That’s what I’d say when you threatened to do that.”

  “It was.” Richard hugged him again. “Bits and pieces.”

  “Another memory?” Shorty asked, coming back into the room.

  “Yep,” Mick replied. “Nothing earth-shattering yet, but…”

  “It still counts,” Shorty said, settling in his chair, again. “If you don’t mind a suggestion, how about we stop with the ‘who wanted you dead’ for a while and maybe watch TV? It’s been forever since I had a chance to see anything except through a store window.”

  “Sure.” Richard picked up the remote from the side table, turned the TV on, and scrolled through the Friday night menu. “A comedy?”

  They decided that would work to take their minds off everything for the time being. It and Shorty’s drying ended at the same time. He went down to get his clothes, and then took them upstairs, saying, “I’m going to bed, if that’s okay. I’m beat.” He grinned. “Too much thinking.”

  “We should, too,” Richard suggested when Shorty disappeared from view.

  Mick hesitated before replying, then said, “I can sleep on the sofa.”

  “No way in hell. We have a perfectly good bed and we’re going to share it.” He got up, waiting for Mick to stand as well. When he didn’t, Richard said, “All we’ll do is sleep, I promise. I’m not going to try anything.” Not that I don’t want to, but it wouldn’t mean anything, the way things are right now. Well, good sex, but…no. When we made love it was just that—sharing our love. If we can’t have that, it’s not worth it.

  * * * *

  Mick stood, wondering if this was a good idea. That he trusted Richard was a given at this point. Still…Two men who cared for each other, in bed together? Can we really sleep and nothing more? He considered that as he got his pack and walked upstairs with Richard. Does it matter? Yeah, it does. Recalling tiny bits of our life together is a long way from my remembering how much he says he meant to me. Until I can do that, we keep things impersonal.

  When they got to the bedroom, Richard suggested that Mick unpack. “Or not. It’s not like you don’t already have more than enough clothes here. These were, are your drawers.” He opened the two on one half of the dresser to reveal underwear and T-shirts, as well as other foldable clothing. “And your half of the closet.” There were jeans, slacks, and at least a dozen shirts hanging on one of the two racks in the walk-in closet, with several pairs of shoes on the floor beneath them.

  “You’re a bit of a clotheshorse,” Richard commented with a grin. “But you have to be, since you own the clubs and have to look like the boss.”

  That brought up something Mick hadn’t thought of. “Is Trenton in charge, now?”

  “I’m sure he thinks he is. At least until you get back. Of course, if he’s responsible for what happened to you, he probably figures you returning isn’t happening.”

  “Then he’ll be in for a surprise.”

  “Tell me you’re not planning on walking into the clubs blind. For starters, you won’t know, okay, remember anyone.”

  Mick lifted an eyebrow as he took off his shirt, tossing on the backpack. “Are there websites for each of them?”

  “Umm, yeah. Sure.”

  “Good. With pictures?” When Richard nodded, Mick said, “Then we can spend tomorrow morning looking at them and you can tell me who’s who.” He frowned. “Unless you have to work.”

  “I’m a bank teller. Usually, I work Monday through Friday, so I’m all yours tomorrow.”

  “I should have known that,” Mick replied contritely.

  “Mick…” Richard put his hands on Mick’s shoulders. “There’s nothing you should know that you won’t find out in time. Don’t start beating yourself up for something you have no control over.”

  “I’ll try not to,” Mick promised, although he wasn’t certain it was possible.

  Stepping back, Richard said, “Why don’t you go shower,” gesturing to the bathroom door at one side of the bedroom.

  Mick went to the dresser, hoping there was something he could wear to bed. He had no intention of sleeping in his boxers when he’d be sharing the bed with Richard. That they had been lovers, according to Richard, was a moot point at the moment even though Mick believed him. To his relief, he found a pair of sleep pants. Putting them over his shoulder, he went into the bathroom. When he finished showering and had dried off, he took a moment to check for the tat in the full-length mirror on the door. It was right where Richard had said, and looked exactly like Richard’s. That caused a surprising spurt of relief because it reinforced what Richard had told him—they had cared for each other in spite of the fact they’d only met a couple of months previously.

  Lust to love in such a short time? Hell, why not? He’s easy to care about. Even if we’d only met today, I think I’d be attracted to him as a person. It was a good feeling which he savored as he put on the pants, brushed his teeth, and did his best to comb his damp hair so it didn’t look like bed-head before he even got there. He grimaced when he got to the area of the wound, which was very tender.

  “Want me to take a look at it,” Richard asked from the doorway, startling Mick. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I heard the shower go off several minutes ago and wondered if you were okay.”

  “You’re n
ot intruding,” Mick told him. “I think it’s healing all right, but I can’t see it as well as I need to, so…” He closed the toilet seat and sat.

  After a moment of carefully moving the hair surrounding the wound and gently probing, Richard said it looked good to him. “It’s clean. No redness or swelling. I could do the eye check, to be certain you didn’t get a concussion, but it’s way too late for that, I think. My guess would be whoever hit you didn’t know what they were doing. They knocked you out, saw a lot of blood, figured the job was done, and left you to bleed to death.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Shorty, I would have.”

  “We both owe him for that, although I’m sure he’d disagree.”

  “You better believe it.” Mick got up, going back into the bedroom. “Your turn,” he said as he got into bed.

  Richard got the sweatpants Mick presumed he usually slept in and returned to the bathroom. He came out ten minutes later wearing them, bare-chested, drying his hair. Mick tamped down an extremely physical reaction to what he was seeing—a very sexy, half-naked man. He was quite certain that they had been lovers—because Richard had no reason to lie about it that he could see—but as he’d vowed less than half an hour earlier, he had no intention of acting on it until he had total recall of the man standing in front of him.

  “What time do we want to get up?” Richard asked, as if it was the most normal question in the world. Undoubtedly something we’d ask each other every Friday night.

  “I guess…around eight.”

  “Okay.” Richard got rid of the towel, stopped to turn off the overhead light, then slid into bed next to Mick. “Is it all right if I…I hold you?” he asked hesitantly.

  Without a second thought, Mick replied, “I’d like that.”

  Richard eased him into a gentle embrace, murmuring, “I missed you.”

  Mick had no response to his words that wouldn’t sound either self-pitying or snarky, so he curled into the embrace with a soft sigh, resting his head on Richard’s shoulder. He fell asleep feeling truly safe for the first time since he’d regained consciousness in the alley.

  Chapter 4

  “I feel strange,” Mick commented as he dressed Saturday morning.

  “Why?” Richard asked.

  “Clean clothes with no holes or stains?” Mick smiled wryly. “Up here—” he tapped his forehead, “—I know this must be how I always dressed, because when Shorty found me I had on decent clothes, but what I’ve worn for the last few days…I guess I sort of got used to it.” He looked in the mirror. The man he saw was a stranger, not the homeless person he’d looked like since soon after he and Shorty had met.

  “You’ll get used to it, again,” Richard replied. “Be glad you weren’t…aren’t the kind of man who wore a suit and tie to work every day. Then you’d really feel weird.”

  Mick agreed. He was comfortable in the slacks and shirt he had on. He wouldn’t have been in anything more.

  They ran into Shorty in the hallway as they left the bedroom. He looked at them, and asked with a grin, “Who are you and what did you do with Mick?”

  That rated laughs from everyone as they went downstairs to make breakfast.

  After they ate, Richard got his laptop from the office, booted it up, and with Mick and Shorty sitting on either side of him on the sofa, he brought up the website for The Hawk’s Den.

  “This is Andy,” Richard said, tapping a photo after clicking on the ‘Our Employees’ tab for The Den. “But you knew that from the picture on the license.” He went on to name the other men and women shown on the page, even though their names were under the photos, telling Mick a little about each one.

  “Where’s Trenton’s picture?” Mick asked.

  Richard went to the ‘Home’ page and scrolled down to the picture, asking, “Ring any bells?”

  “No,” Mick replied after studying it. “We have a family resemblance, but then I thought that about Andy, too.”

  Richard moved on to the Rainbow Hawk site. The set-up was the same—the home page with rotating photos of the club at the top, and Mick’s photo below a list of weekly events. While Trenton had been listed as ‘Manager’, Mick’s said ‘Owner-Manager’.

  “I bet that frosts Trenton’s ass every time he sees it,” Shorty said, getting chuckles from the others.

  Mick didn’t recognize any of the men on the employee’s page, but then he hadn’t expected to.

  Again, Richard told him what he knew about them, including the fact that one man, Ed Nichols, was the assistant manager at the club. Then he had Mick repeat back the information about his employees. When Mick did, pretty much verbatim, Shorty said, “Nothing wrong with your memory now.”

  “If I could fast backward to before I was attacked, it would help,” Mick retorted.

  “Fast backward?” Richard chortled.

  “So what’s the opposite of ‘fast forward’?” Mick asked.

  “I think, rewind. At least it is for videos and tapes.”

  “Whatever,” Mick said disconsolately. “I can’t, damn it.”

  “Mick, you’ve started to,” Richard replied, giving him a hug. “It’ll keep happening until you remember everything.”

  Shorty shook his head. “He might not remember the attack. Way back when, when I was a productive member of society, I read something about that. Your mind is, umm, traumatized by what happened and refuses to remember it, even though everything else comes back.”

  “Then I might never know who attacked me, and why,” Mick said.

  “One way or another we’re going to figure it out,” Richard replied. “We have to, so it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Now there’s a happy thought,” Mick said dryly. “You’re right, though, which is why I want to visit the clubs as soon as they open. If the attack had anything to do with them, my showing up could push someone’s buttons.”

  Shorty snorted. “I think that’s a given.”

  * * * *

  Mick wanted Shorty with them as moral backup when they went to the clubs. When Shorty protested, saying with a grin, “I ain’t got nothin’ decent to wear,” Mick found him a short-sleeved shirt that worked. He couldn’t do anything about jeans or slacks, given Shorty’s smaller stature. It turned out not to be a problem as Shorty had one pair of jeans that was in relatively good condition—”If you don’t look at the hems.” After shaving, and with his hair neatly combed and pulled back in a ponytail, he looked like someone’s slightly older, avuncular uncle.

  At Richard’s suggestion, their first stop was the Rainbow Hawk. “It will give you a chance to get acclimated before you have to face your brother,” he said, and Mick agreed.

  Since Mick had seen pictures of The Rainbow on the website, he knew what to expect when they walked into the club around three that afternoon. The main area took up half of the one-story building, with a bar along the back wall, a small kitchen off to its left, and tables scattered throughout the room. There was a large arch next to the bar, opening onto a second room with more tables surrounding a dance floor and the bandstand. Richard told Mick that, along the hallway to the right side of the dance area, there were two restrooms across from each other, and a storage room across from Mick’s small office.

  Because it was Saturday, there were already a lot of customers. Mick hesitated, getting his bearings, before walking to the bar. One of the bartenders glanced his way, and then hurried over, saying, “We were beginning to wonder if you fell off the face of the earth, Mick.”

  “Felt like it,” Mick replied. “I got hit by a bad case of the flu.” He glanced at Richard. “You were supposed to let everyone know.” It was the story they’d come up with to explain his absence.

  “I left a couple of messages,” Richard protested with feigned guilt. “I meant to come in to tell Ed in person, but…” He shrugged.

  “That’s okay,” someone said from behind them. “I managed to manage without Mick’s input.” There was laughter in the tone of the man’s voice, and Mick
saw that he was smiling when he turned to see Ed Nichols standing there.

  “Maybe I should disappear more often,” Mick teased, hoping that’s how he would have responded under normal circumstances.

  It must have been because Ed clapped him on the back, replying, “Don’t you dare.”

  “Did you have a problem?” Mick asked.

  Ed snorted. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Your brother came in Thursday night, looking for you. I told him you were sick to get him off my back, and I guess I was right. At least he didn’t try to tell me how to do my job while you were gone.”

  “Miracle of miracles,” Mick muttered, getting a knowing smile from Ed. “He did call the house, but I wasn’t feeling well enough to deal with him so I let it go to voicemail. I guess I should stop by The Den to let him know I’m back in fighting shape again. Is there anything I need to handle here at the moment?”

  “Not that I can think of,” Ed replied. “Everyone’s been paid; I placed the orders with our suppliers for what we’ll need for the next week.”

  Mick grinned. “You mean I can retire and leave the club to you?”

  “Umm, no.”

  “Well, damn. Okay, barring complications I’ll be back later.”

  “If Trenton doesn’t kill you for not letting him know what happened?” Ed winked.

  “That, too.” Mick left it at that before heading out of the club. “Did I handle it all right?” he asked Richard when they were on the sidewalk. “I mean, is that how I would have reacted?”

  “Yep,” Richard replied. “You’re pretty easy going with your employees, so I’m sure he didn’t get any weird vibes off you.”

  Mick nodded. “Now I have to deal with Trenton.”

  “You’ve got it in the bag,” Shorty assured him. “We’ve got your back.”

  Chuckling, Mick replied, “Any other clichéd wisdom you want to impart?”

  “Don’t get smart with me, boy. I’m old and wise,” Shorty retorted. But he was grinning so Mick knew he was joking, which helped him stay calm.