Falcon
Falcon continued to watch the front door of the house. He sat straddling his bike a ways down the street, farther than before, a cigarette between his lips. It was his third in the last hour.
Immediately after his argument with Bridgette, he’d been too pissed to do anything but kick around the house, stewing in his frustration. He was still reeling from finding out about Gabby, and between his anger at Bridgette and his inability to wrap his mind around the concept of fatherhood, he was a mess.
His original plan had been to let her go, to forget about her. If she didn’t want him in her life, fine. He didn’t need her anyway. He had a daughter to worry about now, and come hell or high water, he was going to figure out how to be a part of her life.
Bridgette wouldn’t like it at first. She would do everything she could to keep him away. But he could be persistent, and eventually he would find a way to be a father. Fuck, if he had to steal Gabby away a couple of times just so they could spend time together, he would. Bridgette wasn’t the only one who would have a say in this, and if she wouldn’t listen to him, he would have to take matters into his own hands.
But as time passed and his blood cooled a bit, he began to reconsider his rash ideas. If he pissed Bridgette off, there was no telling what route she’d go to keep her daughter safe, especially if she thought he was a threat to Gabby’s wellbeing. She might try to get a restraining order or get the courts involved, and that was the last thing he needed in his life.
Not to mention how bad it would be for Gabby to have them fighting over her, to have them hostile and always at each other’s’ throats. Falcon still remembered what it was like to be the kid in those situations. His parents had always had a rocky relationship, and being caught in the middle of their shouting matches had left a definite mark on him. He would never admit it to Bridgette, but whenever they’d argued over anything, even small things, his stomach curdled and twisted painfully. Nothing made him sicker than the feeling that he was falling back into the same miserable cycle he’d lived through as a kid.
He didn’t want that for Gabby. He didn’t want her growing up with that feeling in her gut. If that meant he’d have to back down a little and wait for Bridgette to let him into his daughter’s life, so be it.
He’d considered staying away from her. But as the seconds ticked by while he sat alone in the house, shuffling restlessly from room to room, trying to distract himself by turning his attention back to his problem with Martin, he found himself unable to think of anything but Bridgette and the rift of bitter words that hung between them. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch; it pervaded his thoughts to the point of consuming them.
It had been maybe a half an hour before he decided that he couldn’t leave things the way they were. It wasn’t good for him and it wasn’t good for Bridgette. They had enough to worry about already. He could suck it up and be the bigger person here. He could apologize and tell her that he’d respect her wishes, even if that ended up being a temporary arrangement.
Christ, he hoped it wasn’t temporary. It hadn’t been a week and already he was addicted to her—the scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her naked body beneath his hands. When she’d pulled away from him, the feeling of withdrawal had been physically painful.
Maybe it was his own damned fault for believing he could quit her cold again. Maybe he’d forgotten what hell it had been when he’d left her the first time. It was easier to lie to himself, to tell himself that he’d been strong enough to take it and that losing her hadn’t hurt that badly.
Easier until now. Now he faced that possibility again.
Falcon hadn’t waited long after that realization. He’d headed straight out to Bridgette’s friend’s house, hoping to catch her before Bridgette showed up to pick up Gabby. She wouldn’t like him turning up with their daughter around, but he wasn’t going to wait another goddamned second. He wasn’t going to give her time to decide that she was better off without him.
He’d been waiting out on the street for at least ten minutes, and he was beginning to suspect that he’d already missed her. And if that were the case, he was shit out of luck, since he had no idea where she lived. And he had a strong feeling she wouldn’t be taking his calls after their last little exchange.
Falcon took a final deep drag from the cigarette, allowing the concentrated smoke to linger and percolate at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes as the familiar soothing effect washed over him, calming his nerves a little and quieting the buzz of thoughts in his mind. He dropped the butt onto the ground beside him and stamped it beneath his heel.
So what the fuck was he supposed to do now? Knock on this woman’s door like a Jehovah’s Witness? Try to convince this woman that he needed to talk to Bridgette right away?
Well, he didn’t have many other options.
Falcon took a moment to straighten his leather kutte, as if that could somehow make him any more appealing to this suburban mom. He knew what he looked like: bad news. The wrong crowd. Like the kind of guy parents warned their kids about.
Falcon made his way down the sidewalk and up the path to the front door. Time to turn on the charm, he thought.
He rang the doorbell and waited.
After a few seconds of waiting, the door cracked open just a fragment. Bridgette’s friend peered out through the opening, a chain door lock hanging just below her chin. “Can I help you?” she demanded coldly.
Already off to a great start, Falcon thought to himself.
“Hi, sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I’m looking for Bridgette. I can’t seem to get ahold of her.”
“Who, Bridgette Lewis?”
Falcon fought the instinct to fire back a sarcastic remark. “Yes, ma’am, Bridgette Lewis. She mentioned you were a friend of hers, and that her daughter was staying here—”
“She gave you my address?” The suspicion in the woman’s voice was evident.
Shit. She was onto him. She probably thought he was a stalker. “I was out in the car when she dropped Gabby off,” he lied smoothly.
The woman let loose a derisive “humph.” “Were you now? Because I could have sworn I saw you circling off just down the block, spying on her. Get out of here before I call the police. And stop harassing that poor woman. She’s been through enough without having to deal with a creep like you.”
The door slammed shut in his face.
Falcon let loose a roar of frustration. The stupid bitch didn’t even know what she was talking about.
No. He had to keep calm. If he wanted to make things right with Bridgette, he couldn’t fuck up now just because he was having a little trouble tracking her down. He would just have to tell her the truth—or, enough of the truth, at least. And if that didn’t work…well, maybe he would have to go around knocking on doors. Or maybe he’d find a phonebook and try his luck there.
Falcon rang the doorbell again. He waited but there was no response.
Great, he thought. Well, he wasn’t about to turn around and forget about tracking her down. He started pressing the doorbell and releasing at regular intervals, hoping that Bridgette’s friend would eventually cave and come back to the door.
“Mom!” he heard a little girl call from inside.
“Mrs. Benjamin!” That was Gabby’s voice.
Gabby was still here? How was that possible?
“Mrs. Benjamin, there’s someone at the door!”
“Mom!”
“I’ve got it, girls!” Bridgette’s friend yelled. Falcon could hear the exasperation in her voice.
The door cracked open again, and Falcon found himself face to face once more with the portly woman, who now looked at him with unabashed disdain.
“I told you to scoot, buster. Now, I’m serious, I will call the cops on you, so you’d best get on out of here.”
“Did Bridgette call about picking up Gabby?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”
“Did she call or not?” Falcon snapped, his voice pitching louder than he’d intended.
Falcon watched with satisfaction as she recoiled back from him. Her angry confidence deflated a little, giving way to apprehension.
“She didn’t.”
Falcon’s gut tightened inexplicably. He didn’t like this. Something didn’t sit right with him. It had been too long since Bridgette had left. She should have come by already.
There were plenty of other explanations, he told himself. This didn’t mean anything.
Falcon decided that pushing for Bridgette’s address from this woman would probably be asking for too much. Besides, Bridgette would have to come by here at some point. He could just hang out in the area, keep an eye out for her vehicle. Maybe leave a few messages on her phone on the odd chance that she’d actually listen to them.
“If Bridgette comes by, tell her that Fal—that Kyle is looking for her, and she should give him a call.”
The woman continued to eye him warily. At least she hadn’t slammed the door again. “Sure.” Her tone wasn’t very reassuring.
“And tell her I said I was sorry,” Falcon added. Then he turned and stalked away before he could do anything stupid.
Something felt so wrong. He wanted to get his daughter out of that house and take her back to his place where she would be safe for sure. He had a gnawing feeling in his gut that things were about to take a turn for the worse, and he didn’t want to chance anything, especially not with his little girl.
He had to keep reminding himself as he walked away that she was probably safest with Bridgette’s friend. Martin wouldn’t be looking for a little girl. Bridgette had never taken her near the bakery and had only been out in public a handful of times with her since this whole mess started. That meant there was no reason for him to potentially ruin everything with Bridgette by snatching Gabby up without her knowledge or permission. That would only piss off her pudgy soccer-mom friend and scare Gabby half to death.
Besides, he reasoned as he made his way back to his bike, this is just a feeling. Bridgette had been pretty pissed when she’d left. Maybe she’d gone for a drive to blow off steam. Maybe she had errands to run before picking up Gabby. There were plenty of possibilities. He was just on edge because of the way they’d left things.
When he reached his bike, he pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at the screen for a minute, trying to decide what to do. She wouldn’t pick up. And he’d never been good with leaving messages. He never could get the words out right, and they always ended up being a jumbled, incoherent mess. Or worse, he’d end up sounding antagonistic somehow, because that was what came easiest to him. He wasn’t good at contrite and apologetic.
But, shit, he’d have to try, wouldn’t he? He was out of options.
He pressed the phone to his ear and waited. The ringing seemed to go on forever. Each stretched out tone and silence felt so much longer than normal, especially with Falcon being so keyed up. He was about ready to scream into the receiver to hurry the fuck up when it hit voicemail.
“This is Bridgette. Leave a message.” Short and sweet. Then the message tone.
Had he really expected anything different?
“Bridge, it’s me. Look, we really need to talk. I’m near your friend’s house. Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything stupid. I’ll be around, so just give me a call when you get this. And even if you’re still pissed, just call me so I know you’re safe. Okay? All right, talk to you later.”
Falcon hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. His gut felt tighter than before. He hadn’t apologized at all. He should have said something to acknowledge that he’d been a little out of line. Not that she was completely blameless either. But he had to acknowledge that she’d only been trying to protect her daughter. Their daughter. If he’d been in her place, he probably would have done the same.
Why hadn’t he said that? He hesitated, wondering whether he should leave a second voicemail. God, but he didn’t want to sound desperate or obsessive.
His phone started buzzing his pocket. His heart skipped a beat as soon as he felt the vibrations against his side. He fumbled to get it out, struggling get ahold of it in his haste.
His whole body sagged a little in relief when he saw the caller ID. Bridgette. So he’d just been paranoid after all.
Falcon pressed the phone to his ear. “Bridge,” he sighed.
“Kyle?” she sobbed from the other end. Her voice, laced with terror and panic, cracked on his name.
Falcon’s blood ran cold and his ears started to ring. He could no longer feel the phone in his hand or the ground beneath his feet. It was as if he’d slipped into the worst of his nightmares, and the physical world around him was fading away. Nothing mattered, nothing but the shaking voice on the other end of the line.
“Bridge, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing.” A sinister male voice replaced Bridgette’s. A voice that was familiar to Falcon. It hadn’t changed much over the years. “Nothing yet, that is.”
Martin. Shit. Falcon never should have let her walk out. He’d let his temper get the better of him. He’d let her walk out, knowing full well how dangerous the drug lord was. And now Martin had her.
“What do you want?” Falcon demanded flatly.
“Straight to the point, Kyle. But it’s been so long. I thought we could catch up first. You have yourself such a pretty girl now. She has such a lovely face. Tell me, did she like what I did to yours?”
“If you touch a single hair on her head, I will gut you,” Falcon growled. “Now tell me what the fuck you want, so we can be done with this.”
Martin tsked into the phone. “You haven’t answered my question, Kyle. You might remember that I don’t like that very much. And I only ask because I thought that, if she liked my work, I might make you two match. What do you think?”
“She has nothing to do with this,” Falcon snarled. “This business is between us. Just the two of us. Leave her out of it.”
“Now, that isn’t going to happen and you know it,” Martin simpered. “You have balls, kid, that I’ll admit. And I never expected you to be the type to play the long game. But here we are, you with enough of my product for a comfortable little nest egg, and me with the little bird who was helping you feather that nest. Smart of you to use her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Martin. I don’t know why the hell you think that Bridge or her bakery have anything to do with some product you misplaced. We tore that whole place apart trying to find your stuff—“
“Lies,” Martin hissed. “You’ve always been a lying little bastard, Kyle. You slipped away last time, but something tells me you won’t be skipping town this time. But it doesn’t matter if you do. Because I’m sure your girl here will eventually tell me everything. Where you’re hiding my goods, who gave you the intel on Mateo. She doesn’t seem like the type to hold out too well in an interrogation.”
Falcon heard Bridgette’s pained whimper in the background. The sound lit a fire in his veins and set his blood boiling. “Don’t you fucking touch her. I told you, we don’t know what you want. We didn’t take your shit. You got bad information—“
“I’m not a patient man, and I don’t have time for your cock-and-bull story. So you listen to me, you little prick, and listen well. If you get your ass down to the warehouse with my product—and I mean all of it, down to the last gram—I’ll let your girl go. We’ll call it a truce and part ways, and if you get the hell out of my town, I won’t bother you again. But if you skip out like last time, if you even think about taking off with my product, I will take her apart piece by piece. I will make her suffer. And then I will hunt you down and do what I should have done all those years ago. You can pay in blood for daring to steal from me.”
Falcon thought about repeating that he and Bridgette hadn’t stolen anything and that Martin was barking up the wrong tree, but he knew it would be a waste of time. Worse, it would only provoke the drug lord, and he couldn’t afford that, not when Bridgette was in his hands.
“I’m going to need time to get it all together,” Falcon hedged. He didn’t know how much time he could buy, but every minute would count. Especially if he wanted to do more than just get Bridgette out of there safely. If he wanted to really end this, to cut off the head of the snake and move on with his life, he was going to have to call in a Hail Mary.
“You’ve got one hour. After that, I can’t make any promises as to what the guys might do to her. What I did to you was quite a piece, but Bryan here’s an artist.”
“Two hours,” Falcon countered. “I’ve got a few things to arrange—“
“Then you’d better do it fast, Kyle. Because now you have forty-five minutes. You show up alone, you bring my goods, and you don’t try to pull any stunts. Because if you don’t, this….” Martin paused, and then Bridgette’s shriek rang out over the receiver. “This will be the last you hear from your girl.”
The line went dead.
Falcon didn’t waste any time. He immediately dialed Shark. It took them only a few minutes to set up a plan for the four of them. It was going to be a longshot, since they couldn’t actually give Martin what he wanted. There was no more time to search, and it wasn’t like they were going to turn up anything new. Bridgette’s bakery was practically gutted at that point.
Not that meeting the drug lord’s demands would get them anything but a bullet in the back of the head.
Then he called Benny. His Hail Mary. If the Raging Reapers couldn’t come through in this, he was a goner. Bridgette, too. He tried not to think about that.
He had to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t think about the price of failure. About Gabby. About what Martin would do to Bridge once he figured out that he hadn’t brought the drugs.
No, right now he had to focus on getting out to the warehouse before Martin’s deadline.
I’m coming, Bridge, he thought, and I’m bringing hell with me.