Hawk's Revenge

by N. M. Catalano

  He’s already turned away from me when his hand goes up in a wave. “You couldn’t live without me, neither can these people. See you in a little while,” he singsongs as he walks away, his skinny hips sashaying as he goes.

  The first couple of hours I’m lost in the music and the drinks, my eyes finding the door every five minutes unconsciously looking for a broodingly gorgeous man to come walking through them. Finally, about half past nine, I see Hawk just as the door opens, like clockwork. My damn heart slams on the brakes, does a three-sixty, then flips.

  Get a grip, Jo, he’s just a man.

  Saying Hawk is ‘just a man’ is like saying the Sistine Chapel is just a church. Hawk is…different. His presence is massive, but elusive, it’s dark magic that clouds your perception with fear and intrigue. He’s like a malevolent ghost you can’t stay away from. In the depths of his eyes is death and destruction, but you don’t know if it is because he taunts death and destruction is his favorite dessert. He’s a beautiful web of macabre and mystery that I’m sure will destroy if you get too close.

  Pouring draft beers and filling highballs, I’ve got one eye on the door and the other on what I’m supposed to be doing. My heart is pounding and I’m feeling nervous.

  This is so out of character for me. I’ve been on my guard for five years, I’ve had to be, I’ve been existing in a sea of blood thirsty monsters.

  Not tonight. No matter how much I might hate to admit it, tonight I’m a woman who is attracted to a man. I’m not fooling myself. I don’t know who Hawk is, but he is certainly not just any man. There’s something lethal about him, something dangerous, some warning that tells you to keep your distance. Something that tells me he is the darkness I need.

  Dave is working the door tonight and Bo is on security.

  Good, that should keep him far away from me.

  For the first time since his first week in town, Hawk is stopped at the door. I slide the Bud Lite draft to the waiting truck driver and reach for another mug, pretending I’m not hoping Hawk will come to the bar. My end of the bar. Holding the glass at a tilt, I watch as Bo makes a beeline toward Hawk. My foot starts tapping on the floor as I watch the golden liquid rise and the foam start to form. Then Bo leads Hawk toward the dressing rooms. Frank’s office.

  What?! NO, NO, NO.

  Hawks eyes lock with mine across the room when he and Bo are about halfway there. I can’t break the stare, and neither does he, as Bo keeps walking, not stopping until he gets to the closed door. Bo pulls it open and stands to the side, waiting for Hawk to enter into the backrooms.

  Where Frank Castillo holds court.

  Please NO.

  Hawks hard gaze never falters, pinning me with his glare, as he walks through and the door closes behind him.

  Hawk has just signed his soul over to the devil.

  I feel like the world has just opened up and sucked me under. Something shatters inside me, followed by an explosion with the intensity of a sonic boom.

  I’m furious.

  CHAPTER 9

  Hawk

  I feel fucking guilty.

  I’m here to do a job, and everything is pointing to Castillo being that job, whatever the fuck it is.

  Then why do I feel like I just betrayed Jo?

  Because Castillo is obviously the boss. The one Bo said could get rid of Jo. Just. Like. That. The one that Jo obviously is afraid of. The one with all the control.

  I still want to crush all the bones in Bo’s hand for touching her the way he did. I’m hoping I’ll get the chance.

  “Boss wants to see you,” Bo had stopped me when I came into the bar. “You ready to go to work?” He asked with that stupid grin on his face.

  I hesitated. I. Hesitated. What the fuck was wrong with me? I never hesitate, I’m always two steps ahead, I know what they’re going to do before they do. I know what they’re thinking, I know what they’re feeling, I’m in their goddamn skin and inside their head. For one fleeting moment, I didn’t want to be on a job. I wanted to be here for her.

  I should have been pleased I was getting a special delivery invite to get inside.

  The problem was some foreign part of me wanted to sit silently at the bar and watch the sexy, bad ass broad back there all night long. Knowing Bo had threatened her the way he had only fueled my desire to be near her. Somehow knowing every minute is a battle for her. Seeing her reaction to the boss flipped every kill switch I’ve got. I’d be lying if I denied I want to protect her, when the fuck that happened is beyond me. I obviously must have turned into some kind of pussy when I set foot inside her bar, because I like to watch her. I was agitated because I can’t. I’m not sure which pissed me off more, the fact that I can’t, or because I’m mad.

  Get your head out of her ass. Because that’s exactly the vicinity I want it. I’d be lying about that too.

  It doesn’t matter, I’m Hawk the mercenary. Cold merciless bastard.

  I follow Bo through the bar to a door at the side of the stage. People are getting their five minutes of fame singing karaoke. The only thing I see, the only person on my radar is Jo. And she’s mad as hell. It’s clear she has an inclination of exactly what’s happening with Bo and me, and I have a feeling if she could smash that shotgun she keeps behind her over my head, she would. I watched her expression turn from maybe happy to see me, to surprise, to completely furious.

  Son of a bitch.

  Bo opens the door and motions for me to enter. “In there, good luck,” Bo grins.

  I really don’t like that guy.

  The door closes behind me leaving me standing in front of the two guards inside.

  “You Hawk?” one of them asks.

  I dip my head in a nod.

  “Hands up, I gotta pat you down.”

  I nod again and raise my hands above my head slowly. As he works his hands down my jacket, then slips them inside, I’m listening. There are two doors with voices coming from behind the first one, men, but other than that the only other sounds are coming from the other side of the door I just came through. It’s difficult, but I can make out some of the words.

  “Frank, it’s been…enough. What are you waiting for?” Castillo. The man sounds agitated.

  A second voice, but it’s too low, it’s only a murmur.

  “I agree…time to…I’ll take care of….”

  From what I can make out, it seems like there’s three of them speaking. I’d prefer to be a little bit closer, but I think the goon enjoys feeling me up.

  “Look at this beauty,” the guard pulls out my Beretta. “Expecting to find a reason to use this, boy?” he brings his face closer to mine.

  “Nope,” I reply unbothered.

  “It’s not something somebody brings to a bar to have a beer.” He inches closer. “Unless that’s not why you’re here.”

  Ding, ding, ding! Give the man a prize.

  “It’s not.” I tell him, not moving, not giving a shit he’s holding my gun.

  “Is that a fact? Then why are you here? It seems kind of strange you’d show up out of nowhere in a town nobody has a reason to come to.”

  He’s leering at me as I stare straight into his fucking eyes.

  “Joe,” I answer quietly. Because Joe was the reason I was sent here, and his bar. Or so I thought when I arrived. Now I’ve been rethinking that.

  His eyes go wide. “You’re here for Jo?”

  Let him think whatever the fuck he wants.

  I don’t reply. He eyes me and I can see he’s getting more and more agitated because his tough guy routine is not working. The poor little shit. What I’d like to do is put my gun under his chin and blow his brains out, then I might put two bullets in the other guy’s knee caps, one in each, before I walked into Castillo’s so-called office. Him I’d take my time with.

  Uncomfortable with the silence, he snaps, “Let’s see what the boss has to say.” The guard slides my gun into the waistband at the back of his pants, then turns, walks to the first closed door, and kno
cks three times. I’m not worried about my gun; I’m getting it back. Tonight. One way or another.

  “What is it?” from inside comes a man’s voice with a slight Latin accent.

  Frank Castillo.

  A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins, waking the killer inside me. His must have been the voice I couldn’t make out.

  “Hawk,” the guard responds and turns to look at me with a satisfied sneer.

  He doesn’t trust me, and he doesn’t like the fact the big guy wants to see me. He shouldn’t. I’m getting ready to fuck up his world.

  “Enter,” comes the command from the other side of the door.

  The guy’s jaw clenches and his lips flatten to a hard line. He does not like the idea I’m here.

  He doesn’t know how much he should not be happy. But he will.

  He pushes the door open and stands inside allowing me to enter.

  Frank Castillo is sitting on the couch, the same fucker who’d scared the shit out of Jo a couple of weeks ago, legs crossed, with a drink on the table at his side and a cigar held casually in his hand. Across from him are two men. One of them is dressed in a brown suit, not cheap but not as nice as Castillo’s, his hair cut is close, and he appears to be in his fifties. The old perv who’d ordered a round of drinks without paying, and who was playing with his toy. He turns to face me with a condescending look. He looks like a cop. The second is a sharp guy, his suit is fashionable, but too perfect. The smile on his face is permanent.

  Interesting trio.

  “This is Hawk,” a slow smile lifts the corners of Castillo’s mouth. Up close, his appearance doesn’t surprise me. He’s a good looking man, a little older, expensively dressed, and relaxed. He’s the kind of man that would fit in at a country club, if it weren’t for his accent. The cold hardness in his eyes says he’d be happier burning it to the ground. “This is Chief Taylor.” Bingo. “And this is Tom Sullivan.”

  Guy Smiley is definitely not a cop.

  Sullivan stands. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Hawk.” He slips the single button of his jacket through the hole. “Frank, we’ve got to move on this. Time to tie this up.”

  “Don’t worry so much, Tom.” Frank gives him a cold smile.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Except this one’s different.” Tom replies, still smiling. I bet the guy could take a shit and still be smiling.

  “No talk of business in front of guests,” Castillo silences him.

  Sullivan’s eyes flick to me. “How rude of me. My apologies. I have to go,” he says to Castillo. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He heads to the door.

  “Go have a drink and talk to one of the girls. You work too hard, Tom,” Castillo tells Tom with a false pleasantness, but his eyes are on me.

  Tom waves over his shoulder as he walks out the door.

  “I heard about you,” The piece of shit Taylor shifts to face me. “I believe you met one of my men on the other side of town.”

  Both of them watch me, probably waiting for a comment or something.

  I decide to play along. “That’s right.”

  “Would you like to tell me why?” Taylor questions.

  “Suppose you should ask him.”

  He turns his body so he’s directly facing me. I’ve pissed him off. Good. “No, asshole, I’m asking you. Why were you there?”

  I shrug. “Nice day.”

  His face is now beet red, poor guy. I must be getting his blood pressure all worked up. “You worthless shit, I should have you locked up,” he hisses and begins to stand.

  “Sit down, James,” Castillo sounds amused. “Hawk was just looking around, nothing wrong with that.” His eyes remain fixed on me. “Isn’t that right?” His tone sounds bored, however he’s goading me, toeing the line of false indifference and I’ll-slice-your-throat.

  I dip my head to the side. “Yep.”

  The guard walks over to Castillo. “He had this on him,” and places my gun on the table next to Frank’s drink.

  “Well, isn’t that pretty. It appears Hawk has good taste.” Castillo eyes the weapon, but doesn’t pick it up. Smart man, no finger prints. “Going hunting?”

  I shake my head slowly. “Just trying to fit in.”

  Castillo laughs.

  “You got a permit for that, boy?” Taylor sneers at me.

  Second person that called me boy, funny.

  “Get out, James,” Castillo’s laughter is cut short.

  Shock washes over the dirty chief’s expression as he whips his head to Frank. “What?”

  “I said get out.” He turns a hard glare on Chief Taylor.

  Taylor makes some kind of grunting noise as he shoves to his feet, buttons his jacket, and hits me with his shoulder as he passes. My gaze stays fixed on Castillo, and his mine. Chief Taylor slams the door on his way out without uttering another word. Good dog.

  “Please, sit down,” he gestures to the chair Taylor just vacated.

  I lower into the seat and sit back, relaxed, like I’m about to watch a movie.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asks me. I decline. “Cigar?” he extends his in question. I shake my head no again.

  I’m not here to socialize. I’m here to hear what he’s got to say.

  “Alright. Then let’s talk. Bo suggests you might be looking for some work.”

  Another no question statement. This time I reply. “Depends on what that is.”

  “That depends on what you do.”

  I eye him, trying to read him as he studies me. Because that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to figure out if I’m a narc, from another cartel, or maybe somebody with a vendetta.

  “I kill people,” I answer, because that is part of what I do.

  He has no reaction, which is a reaction in itself. “That explains the piece.” He takes a puff of the stogey, his eyes never leave mine. “Did somebody send you here for a job?”

  “No,” because technically I’m not here on assignment.

  He lowers his arm. “Then why are you here?”

  I look at him, just look at him. “Seems like the right place to be for what I do.”

  His eyebrows raise and his mouth morphs into an upside down grin. “You could be right.” He shakes his head as he considers me and what I’ve told him. “I’d like to put you to work,” he comments casually as he flicks ashes into the crystal ashtray.

  “Doing what?”

  “You’d start out around here working security with the guys. Then we’ll see what comes up,” Frank states offhandedly as he takes another puff.

  “No thanks, I don’t want to be a bouncer.” I start to stand.

  “Sit down, boy. I didn’t say you could go,” Frank’s voice drops to an icy tone. Number three. “Do not take me for an asshole, Hawk. I don’t appreciate the insult.”

  I look right into his face. “I’m not. And I’m sure you wouldn’t make the same mistake. Now that the misunderstanding is out of the way, tell me what you really want me to do.”

  He eyes me again for a long moment. “Fair enough.” He nods his agreement. “There are a lot of business transactions that take place in this bar. I need men I can trust. One’s that are not easily persuaded.” He points the fingers holding his cigar at me. “You seem like that kind of man. We don’t trust each other. Which makes us the same.”

  Hell fucking no! I might be a lot of things, but like you I am not. I’d put a bullet in my own head before that happened.

  “So do we have an agreement? Start here in the bar, then we’ll talk about other jobs.” Frank finishes his offer.

  I consider his words, but only to make him think I am. I was going to take his job. What better way to get to know the devil than to go to hell with him?

  I nod my agreement slowly.

  “Good.” Frank smiles, it’s evil and devious and makes me feel like he’s lining me up as a target. I hear the heavy intake of breath from the guards standing behind me. They are not happy. “Get Hawk a couple of shirts. He starts tonight. A
nd give him back his gun, he might need it.”

  “Yeah, boss,” one of them answers before exiting the room.

  “Now, I have another question.” Frank continues.

  Here it comes.

  “I heard you said you know Jo.”

  I shake my head no. “Didn’t say that. Said I was here for Joe.” Frank extends his hand signaling for me to continue. “The old man Joe, he was a friend of a friend.” Which is probably the truth, although no one at The Program ever came out and said it. “Stopped by as a favor.”

  “I see. Shame he’s been dead five years. You’re a little too late.” His expression doesn’t change, remaining bored and uninterested. Dead men don’t usually pose a threat.

  I shrug, but don’t say anything further. I can see his frustration because I’m not giving him anymore information. If he asked, he’d show vulnerability, and a man in his position cannot afford that.

  “Here you go,” the goon is back with two black t-shirts, the same as the other guards. Who would have guessed that a plain black Hanes would be officially issued uniforms?

  “You can leave your things here..,“ Frank begins.

  “I’ll leave them with Jo,” I cut him off. Because even though she’s going to hate me, she’s the only one I trust.

  Castillo does not like that. His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. I don’t care who the fuck he is, that shit fingers my kill switch. It shouldn’t, I can’t show any sort of affiliation with her, but it does. I can’t deny the idea of this monster anywhere near Jo would flip me right over the goddamn edge.

  “Put Hawk on the wall between the stage and the bar, next to Jo.” He glares at me with a smirk.

  “Got it boss,” the guard remarks.

  So I can protect her from you and your men.

  My face remains impassive not giving anything away.

  Castillo picks up his phone. “We’ll talk later.” He dismisses me.

  I’d be stupid to think he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. I came to check on a friend, she’s his daughter, that would make her a person of interest. He’s testing me.

  The guard who’d taken my gun picks it up as I stand and hold out my hand. Begrudgingly, he sets it on my palm. Just to be a prick, I wink at him.