“And we lost the whole country. We never have been good at real estate.”
Hawks leaned over, kissed me awhile. My fingers ran through her long hair as I stared in her face, looked at her features. She was beautiful in clothes, but absolutely stunning in the raw.
Her hand was on my erection, her body shifting, moving to climb and mount me.
She moaned. “Mind if I put this big piece of meat back inside me for a while?”
“Go right ahead.”
She did, closed her eyes, and bit her lip, put me inside a warm and friendly place.
Hawks moaned as she moved up and down, her movements slow and intense.
I stared up at her beauty and eroticism, moaned, then whispered, “So you’re part Indian.”
“Native American.” She took a ragged breath. “That bother you?”
“Turns me on.”
“Glad something about me turns you on. Lord knows you had me turned on when I first looked at you. I was like, good Lord.” Hawks moaned a little louder. “I love your voice, the way you talk.”
“You love my diction.”
“Everything you say makes me tingle all over.”
“My diction turns you on.”
“Right now just hush and keep giving me the diction without the -
tion
part.”
I pulled Hawks’s hair as she rode me, looked at her as she moaned, stared into her haunting eyes.
Hawks moved up and down, going up easy, coming down hard, did that over and over. I held on to her, let her move, let her roll and gyrate, move up and down on me, her moans severe.
She slowed and kissed me, sucked my lips, sucked my neck, bit my skin.
She moaned. “How long you gonna be around this part of the country?”
I moved deeper inside her, held her waist, made her sit, tried to fill her up.
I caught my breath. “Leaving Dallas tomorrow . . . spending the night at the Adolphus.”
“Always wanted . . . to stay there . . . heard it was beautiful . . . all kinds of fancy-shmancy things in it.”
I moaned. “You’re more than welcome to stay with me at my fancy-
shmancy
hotel.”
“Stop mocking me.”
She laughed, the walls of her vagina tightening around me as she laughed.
“You staying at my fancy-shmancy hotel?”
“Sure this won’t be enough to unload your wagon?”
“Won’t be enough.”
“You are one frisky man. I have to be in Houston tomorrow.”
“When you leave Dallas?”
“My flight is . . . is . . . is . . . at three . . . on American . . . to George Bush International.”
“You coming?”
“About to come . . . about to . . .”
“To the Adolphus.”
“Uh-huh uh-huh if you want if you want mmm I can stay mmm I can I can stay the night.”
She closed her eyes, her breathing intense, her body trembling, panting.
When she slowed down she swallowed, took a few deep breaths before finally opening her eyes and looking at me, glowing, smiling, her expression vulnerable, her expression sexy, a different Hawks.
She moved and moaned and came, rocked her hips back and forth.
When she was done moaning she stayed on me, caught her breath.
I said, “Maybe we can get cleaned up, go to Sambuca, take in some dinner and music.”
“Like on a date?”
“Yeah. Like on a date.”
Hawks moved again, became a rocking chair, slow at first, then a little faster. “Damn.”
“What?”
“Oh god this is so amazing so amazing so damn amazing.”
When we made it to Dallas, Hawks marveled at the suite. Two bathrooms. A living room. Two televisions. Dining room. Then I took her to Crimson in the City on Commerce, bought her some nice clothes to wear, some things by Matt & Nat, Ronen Chen, Lilith, and Independent Art, designers out of Canada, Israel, France, and Japan. I sat to the side and let the owner, a beautiful woman named Stefani, treat Hawks like she was a top model. Hawks loved it. The way she did the girl-talk thing with Stefani, another side of Hawks was being witnessed. Only a few hours back she was visiting a loan shark, bringing his loan sharking days to an end. We put people in the ground, then went on with life as if we were getting off a regular nine-to-five. I shopped, bought myself a few things to get me through the next few days. I usually bought my gear at someplace that ended in
mart
or at the low-end store owned by the Gap.
I thought about how Arizona liked her men, all dressed up. But that day I dressed for Hawks.
Hawks dressed country with an edge and I dressed the same.
Guess I was like tofu, took on the flavor of whatever was around me.
Hawks was the kind of woman who had one drink, that drink being Johnnie Walker Blue on the rocks. She would rarely swear but she laughed at dirty jokes, could close down a bar, and would prefer to listen to Brad Paisley rather than Miles Davis, but she enjoyed listening to Miles just the same.
Later that night, after the jazz and dinner, after foreplay and sex, she had put her head on my chest, the windows open, the lights in downtown Dallas shining like stars. The sex we had that night was different than before. She made love to me like she was my girlfriend. Hawks’s Elvis CD was playing like it had been her good-luck charm. We talked about the places we’d been. I was still angry back then. Not that my anger has gone away now, but it was greater back then, not as controlled. No one was following me when I met Hawks, but I had been searching for the whore who had turned me into an assassin.
I was searching for the woman I wanted to put in the ground for the things she had done.
Hawks whispered, “You work a lot, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Trying to get a million dollars.”
“Why in the world you need that much money?”
I had almost told Hawks, but I didn’t reveal my motivation. Lying in bed naked with the scent of one woman on my dick wasn’t the right moment to talk about another woman. Didn’t tell her about Arizona, the Filipina grifter I had met in a pool hall in Sherman Oaks, California. Kept that to myself.
I said, “I just need a million dollars.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I ever had that much money at one time.”
Hawks was the opposite of Arizona. That wasn’t a bad thing. Just an observation.
She said, “Maybe I can help you out. Throw some work your way.”
“What do you have?”
“I have this other job that came through yesterday. I turned it down but you might want to check it out. I can put you in contact with the woman who’s ordering the hit. She’s a bitter, angry woman.”
“Where is the job?”
“In Detroit.”
“What do you know so far?”
“Some preacher always in the news, about to run for mayor. Wifey already has her alibi set up and the money is in place. Supposed to be a real easy one. She’s been planning her husband’s demise for some time. Supplying codes to the alarm. Floor plans. From walk-in to walk-out, five minutes.”
I asked her how much the job paid. She told me. The sum was right. I’d pick that job up.
And that would be the job I regretted the most.
Hawks kissed my chest, rubbed my skin, whispering, “This has been the best day of my life.”
“Mine too,” I said, not knowing what misery was down the road. “Has been a great day for me.”
“Don’t take my number and promise to call me and don’t call.”
“I’ll call.”
“I mean, if you’re just unloading your wagon, tell me that you’re unloading your wagon and that will be okay, because I needed to unload my wagon too. Been a while since I had this wagon unloaded.”
“Hawks, I’ll call.”
Her voice softened. “Don’t leave me waiting like a little girl waiting on her daddy to come back.”
I kissed her again. Didn’t do much more because this wagon was empty. By the way she moved and touched me, the way she moaned, I could tell she wanted more, wanted it all night.
I put two fingers inside her, touched her on that swollen spot, massaged that magical button.
Not knowing that my life would become convoluted, not knowing I wouldn’t call. My own issues had consumed me then, as they consumed me now, left me unable to focus, unable to sleep.
Twelve
death in the shadows
Outside Nashville
. Rain still falling, skies dark.
Soaked in mud. Covered in plastic. Checked behind us. No one was following me.
Again Hawks asked, “This trade we’re in, does it ever get to you?”
“Let it go, Hawks.”
“Have you ever done a job that just messed with your head?”
“Hawks.”
“Being a gun for hire. When the cowards hire us to be executioner, does it bother you?”
I didn’t care for the direction the forced conversation was going. I gave Hawks some ambiguous answer, then took the reins of the conversation, asked her what work she’d done, tried to understand what had put her in that frame of mind. What we did, if we thought about it, pondered it, if we became too human, if we became less than soldiers on a battlefield, that was no good. So I moved from that conversation into another one. Did that so we wouldn’t have to go down that bumpy and uncomfortable road. Hawks was smart enough to know what I was doing.
“Well, you can’t mean-mug me and stop me from asking whatever I want to ask. You might not answer, but that sure as hell won’t stop me from asking. So it will be revisited, even if that visit is a wash.”
Again I asked her what work she had done, trying to find out what had changed her.
She didn’t answer. Something about Hawks had changed.
I said, “If you have problems with the work, bail out before you end up having to post bail.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s called food, clothing, and shelter.”
“You short on money?”
“Made some bad investments.”
“As have we all.”
“Had no choice but to come back and pick up a few jobs.”
I nodded, let a few seconds move between us before asking, “What did you do in between?”
“I picked up a job working at the Caterpillar office, West End.”
My face showed my surprise. “You got a job?”
“Administrative assistant.”
“You serious? You work a nine-to-five?”
“I like the job.”
“Hold on, you’re a secretary?”
“Administrative assistant.”
“Same difference.”
“The pay is for the shits, but I like the job.”
“You work with squares?”
“Like the people. Pittsburgh, remember. I’m hardworking and blue-collar to the bone.”
“You’re looking good.”
“I’ve put on ten, fifteen pounds.”
“It settled in all the right places.”
“Go to hell.”
She drove to some lofts on the edge of downtown, a place where two bedrooms went for one hundred and ninety thousand, high for Nashville. With the value of the dollar now rivaling the value of the peso, that price was a steal to anybody from overseas dealing in European currency.
She parked and led the way, left me following her like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.
The beauty and the beast.
Hawks started talking again. “Corporate outsourcing. Autism. Strokes. Epilepsy. Tornados. NAFTA. Subprime loans. Makes me wonder what kind of god would allow for all of that mess. I wish Jesus would come back, maybe have a Bible signing over at Barnes and Noble. I’d get in line just to ask him a couple of questions. And to take a picture of us with my camera phone. Put it on my MySpace page next to the ones of me and Keith Urban and Kenny Chesney.”
I didn’t respond, just walked behind her, sloshed in my shoes.
Then she whispered, “But I’d really want to ask Jesus a question or two. The way the world is now, all this hate, if Jesus decided to come back—he thinks he had it bad the first time. If I was him I’d stay right where I was. Which is probably what he’s doing.”
After that Hawks took a deep breath, most of what was burning inside her now gone.
She put down some more plastic and I stepped inside her loft, a place with earth-tone walls, exposed brick, fireplace, hardwood floors, and colorful artwork. I took all of my muddied clothing off, let her roll it all up and take it to the Dumpster. By the time Hawks came back I was inside the shower.
Had my head down, rubbing the back of my neck, stress as thick as rope, angst as hard as concrete.
She said, “That’s a lot of money.”
I’d left the briefcase on the table in the living room, left the case wide open.
I said, “Didn’t count it.”
“Do men count anything?”
Her sarcastic words aggravated me. I made myself smile, said, “Not really.”
“Yours?”
I took a breath. “It is now.”
“Where did you get it?”
I took another hard breath, let the water hit my face. “Took it off the crew who was after me.”
“Contract money.”
“I guessed the same.”
“Do I detect a flippant tone?”
“Was just saying that that’s pretty obvious.”
“Never met a jerk so ungrateful.”
“I’m a little stressed at the moment. A few people just tried to kill me.”
“And how is that my problem?”
“Yeah, it’s contract money.”
“They’re dealing in cash, no wire transfers.”
I mumbled, “Looks that way.”
“Somebody wants you in the ground pretty bad.”
Again I mumbled. “Give the lady a door prize.”
Hawks walked around a moment. “You need temporary transportation?”
“Hard to fly with my wings this wet.”
“I’m going to take some of the money. About a thousand.”
“Most women try to take half.”
“Imagine you can see my middle finger.”
“Take a joke.”