CHAPTER FIVE
Hawk
After a string of sixteen-hour days at the keyboard, I took a weekend off. Driving into town, I checked in at the gym for Kenny, only to be told he was at the Y. It turned out that Kenny volunteered to teach some of the boys at a YMCA how to defend themselves — with their fists instead of guns. They let me in on a guest pass, and I found him in a corner of a gym with two youths in gloves swinging at one another. Kenny was barking orders and pulling them apart when anger got in the way of self-discipline.
Just as he’d taught me, a boxer was only as good as his self-discipline. Losing your temper cost you concentration. Without that, the fight was already over.
I tossed him a wave of my hand, and he nodded. At one point, he pulled the boys apart and motioned me over, handing me a pair of gloves. “Here, give me a hand, Hawk. Let’s show these boys the difference between learning and brawling.”
Shrugging, I pulled on the gloves while the kids moved back, sitting on the gym bleachers. I was in socks since my street shoes couldn’t go on the gym’s wooden floor. Kenny and I fell into our routine, and it was hell to stay upright. I peeled off my socks, but it didn’t help much. I lost my focus and didn’t protect my face. Kenny got a punch in, and I went down.
I heard the boys cursing and realized there was blood on the wooden floor. Kenny peeled off his t-shirt and held it up to my face. The boys watched as the gladiators left the stadium, the blond one bloody and embarrassed.
Kenny walked me to the front desk. “Hey, Liane, get me the kit, would you?” he asked the girl behind the desk. She nodded and soon materialized with a blue metal box that contained medical supplies. Kenny worked on my bleeding nose with gauze and a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding. “Jesus, sorry, man,” he said, his face filled with concern.
“Hey, no problem. It was my fault,” I said and heard a voice behind us. One of the boys had brought my street shoes.
I leaned against the counter to slip them on and looked up to find Liane watching me, her face filled with sympathy. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tinged with a British accent. “Shall I call someone for you?” she prompted me.
“No, no one. I’m fine. Just a little red,” I answered, looking into the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen. They seemed almost molten, like spheres of compassion that drew you in without even being aware of it.
“Yes, indeed, red you are,” she laughed and covered her mouth quickly as though she’d been rude.
Her brown eyes were framed by voluminous chestnut hair that glowed with good health. It reminded me of a colt’s coat, well-brushed and yet to see its first molting. Someone tapped my hip, and I turned to see the other boy, holding out my sunglasses. I’d left them with my shoes. I grabbed them and slid them on quickly so that I might study her from the safe side of my subliminal wall.
Liane was smiling at me, and I looked at Kenny, who picked up on it. “Liane, this is Hawk. Don’t ask me his last name, we never got that far,” he said and then cocked his head as he realized the truth of his statement.
“Sansabri,” I provided. “Hawk Sansabri.”
“How do you do, Mr. Hawk Sansabri? I’m Liane Coventry. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She offered her hand, which I took, if only to feel the texture of her pale skin. She was as delicate as crystal, and there was a musical lilt to her voice that was more than her accent. It sounded like tinkling chimes in the breeze of a spring morning. It made me almost giddy.
“Sansabri… without a home in French,” she commented, and I knew she was as intelligent as she was beautiful. Her full lips were pursed in concentration. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone with that name before.”
“You’re British?” I countered, unwilling to waste the opportunity to learn more about her.
“Well, in a manner of speaking — forgive the pun,” she laughed. “My dad is a vicar; a pastor of a local Methodist church and his accent is much stronger. I was born here, but naturally picked up some of his accent,” she explained, smiling and winking a bit wickedly.
I was enchanted. That may be the first time I’ve ever used the word enchanted. I’m standing here, fucking bleeding all over myself and using the word enchanted. What’s the matter with me?
“You work here?” I asked, trying to establish some sense of where I might find her again when I pulled my shit together.
“Volunteer,” she offered.
“Liane is great,” Kenny chimed in. “She volunteers here a couple of days every week to help the kids in the neighborhood. They all think she’s straight out of Harry Potter because of the way she talks.”
“She is something special,” I agreed and grinned at her.
“C’mon, man, let’s get you back to the gym.” Kenny patted me on the shoulder. “I’ve got the right stuff there to fix you up.”
I nodded and looked to Liane. She gave a small wave and a sweet, sweet smile. “Until next time,” she said, and I nearly floated out of the building into the bright sunlight.
“Jesus!” I said, and Kenny laughed.
“I’d say somebody’s got a crush.” I turned to look at him in surprise.
“Damn! You may be right,” I agreed and would say nothing further. I looked like a fucking ass in there.
Kenny read my mind. “Forget it, man. She’s not like the others. She’s real. She’s at the desk on Wednesdays and Saturdays, in case you’re interested.”
I nodded, and we got into my car and headed for the gym, his shirt still held against my nose.
***
I was back at work the next day, but all I could think about were those sweet, full lips and that glorious hair. It was driving me mad. My nose was swollen, and I had two black eyes so I contented myself with a ride on Diablo to get some exercise and perspective. I rode close to Carlos Acres and could see people moving around. I carried a small binocular and used it to watch from behind the leaves of a tree.
I had done my research. Carlos Acres was a training and breeding facility my mother built. It was made up of a central breeding barn and indoor show ring. There was a training barn that included a pool and a number of ten-acre hobby farms where owners could come and stay. Her clients were wealthy individuals who liked the idea of owning a Thoroughbred but lacked the knowledge and work to care for them. My mother’s staff took care of that for them, and they just dropped in when it sounded like fun — primarily at Derby time.
There was a small hotel on the grounds, and my parents had built a new farmhouse-style home where they lived with my younger siblings, Mark and Marga. I was fairly sure my grandparents lived on one of the hobby farms. My maternal grandfather and paternal grandmother married one another and all was wonderful in Easyville, I was sure.
I boiled inside as I looked down upon all that should have been mine someday, but would be parceled out between the twins instead. Not only had I been banished, they weren’t even sure I was alive. Not yet, anyway, but that would change when the time was right. I swore it.
I turned Diablo back toward my house and ran him, hard. It hurt my nose, and I even felt a bit of blood and soon tasted the metallic saltiness that lay on my upper lip. I pulled back the reins and walked Diablo, trying to focus on business before I returned home. It was no good. She was in my head, and I couldn’t shake her.
***
The only churches I could ever remember being in were in Mexico, and they were all colorful and Catholic. Where they’d been filled with statues and candles for the saints, this one was stark and cold by comparison. Nevertheless, I hadn’t come to see the church, but the young lady I hoped to find sitting somewhere near the front.
I arrived at the last minute to avoid chit-chatting with strangers. I’d had to wait a week before the black eyes faded to a pale citrine color and the swelling had gone down on my nose. I shuffled in just as the doors were being closed and took a seat in the closest pew.
The organ struck the chords for the processional, and I looked up and saw Liane seated at the keyboard. Her back was to me, but there was no mistaking the long hair. She wore a retro-looking white sweater, and when the music was concluded, she turned full profile to look at the pulpit. I could tell, even at this distance that she had full breasts and legs that could put Gucci shoes to shame. I felt myself harden and quickly laid a hymnal over my lap, crossing my legs to disguise it.
A man in a suit approached the pulpit from his high-backed wooden chair, pre-Victorian in design. He laid a Bible on the pulpit’s face and straightened his tie after adjusting the height of the microphone before him. This had to be Liane’s father. There was a very vague resemblance, but when he began to speak the opening prayer, his accent confirmed my assumption.
I listened absent-mindedly, standing and opening the hymnal to a random page when others around me stood. I couldn’t take my eyes off Liane. I wanted to inscribe in my memory every nuance of the way she looked and how she held herself. She was very slender, despite her curvaceous figure, and almost wraithlike in her pale skin. Her hair seemed to almost overwhelm her, hanging below her waist and pooling on the organ bench on which she sat. She had an unconscious gesture of pushing her hair behind her right ear before putting her hands on the keyboard. I realized then that she was right-handed and needed her hand to be free to move forward and turn the pages of music from which she read.
Even from my distance, I heard her sweet voice joining in. Like her speaking voice, it was melodic and soprano in range. She swayed a bit with the rhythm of the music, telling me she was creative and sensitive in nature — she was too responsive to be otherwise. I let my mind go to the vision of making love to her. Surely she would be as responsive to my love making as she would be sweetly tactile in handling my cock. I imaged those long fingers closing around me.
My groin began to ache, and I knew if she spotted me, I would be lost. I chose the coward’s retreat and left just before the closing prayer. There was a limit to what I could stand and the fact that she was so overwhelmingly magnetic convinced me I needed a plan.
I paced all afternoon when I got home. I couldn’t concentrate on my work and even working out Diablo didn’t help. I took a cold, long shower and remained restless, even after I jacked off to visions of her spread before me.
Grabbing my keys, I headed to my part of town. Murphy’s was the ideal place as it was Sunday and only beer would be sold. Murphy saw me enter and had it waiting. I ordered a plate of ribs, and Mrs. Murphy brought them out to me. She flashed a wink indicating she was interested if I was. I lost my appetite at that point and merely pushed the boned meat around on the plate with a fork.
I had, somewhere along the way, become a master at blending in, never conspicuous, even with the scars. They had faded, and I’d been told on more than one occasion that they made me look rugged and mysterious, but I kept the worst hidden by a pair of aviators.
I also blended in by only making innocuous comments and never argued, never challenged. It was called survival, and I was very, very good at it.
Kenny wasn’t around, and I was almost glad. While I had no one to talk to, it also meant I wasn’t obligated to talk when all I wanted to do was think. I laid a twenty on the bar for my beer and ribs but didn’t leave. Murphy put the bill in the cash drawer and the change in his pocket. That’s the way things were there.
I had to find some way to get a grip on myself. I’d spent years planning this return. Years of waiting for word from my father that never came. Years plotting what I’d do when I stood on this land. I had to be hard to carry out those plans. I couldn’t have a conscience, couldn’t be forgiving. This was winner take all. I had to keep total focus on my revenge.
Liane had changed those rules, all in the space of a couple days. I couldn’t keep my mind off her for more than a few minutes at a time. Her beauty was captivating, but there was so much more. A goodness surrounded her. Emanated from her. It seemed to cast a glow on everything she touched.
Too bad she was the exact opposite of me.
My entire life was a lie. How could I explain that to her? How would I justify what had to be done to set things right? Would I be forced to choose between revenge and regeneration? Was I capable of that, if she was even interested in me at all?
So many questions.
I missed Bernie. He’d always had the right words, even if they were bullshit. He and I had one particular thing in common. We both lived off lies. They were a currency in a world where discovery could mean your demise.