Some dance in the rain—spinning around Jackson Square with grins on their faces and their bellies full of Cajun cooking and specialty drinks designed to lure the tourists in for a night of excess.
It’s easy to see why the Hawkes didn’t set up anywhere near Bourbon Street or the French Quarter. Their bars, their restaurants, their clubs, are all purposefully located in parts of the city where someone won’t just stumble in drunk.
They attract their clientele other ways—through their reputation alone. That’s what draws me away from the tourist traps and toward one of the most popular Hawke establishments.
The Grind bustles this evening, people moving in and out, sipping on their coffees and other drinks under umbrellas. Because of the rain, the tables on the sidewalk in front of it remain empty, but on a sunny day, they’re no doubt packed with customers enjoying the spot.
I pull over and pause outside it, watching everyone inside through the rain-fogged windows.
Despite it nearing dinnertime, the place is bustling, as is the bookstore and art gallery across the street. I scan the windows of Hawke’s Novel Idea where people move about, picking up books from shelves and reading the backs to determine their potential entertainment value.
Even though I shouldn’t, I turn off the engine, swing my leg over, and jog across the street to enter the shop.
Warm air hits me the moment I step through the doors, and the jingling bells above my head alert the tall blond man behind the counter to my arrival. He tips his head toward me in acknowledgement but doesn’t approach to make a pushy sales spiel.
I wander around the space, moving from the new popular fiction sections back to the far corner that houses the classic literature.
My gaze tracks over the familiar titles until it lands on a maroon cover with two simple words on the spine—Catch 22.
That’s what it feels like my life has become.
A series of decisions that, despite my best efforts to change the outcome, each lead to the same place—where I stand right now. Caught between duty, obligation, and convoluted feelings that aren’t becoming any clearer even when I force myself to consider them.
I pull the book from the shelf and stare at the cover for far too long, remembering the other times in my life that I’ve read it and never imagined finding myself wrapped in a situation that feels so similar to what Yossarian faced.
One massive clusterfuck with no way out.
All I can do now is try to survive it, or die trying.
I bring the book up to the counter, and the man behind it offers me a smile, his warm blue gaze tracking over my soaked head, wet jacket, and water-logged jeans.
“You look like you walked here.”
Grinning, I motion toward the front window. “Close. Rode my bike.”
He winces, eyeing the motorcycle parked across the street. “Maybe a bad call tonight.”
I chuckle, handing him a twenty for the book. “I don’t mind the rain. It cleanses everything.”
His brow furrows as he wraps the book in two plastic bags, trying to get them as tight and secure as possible. “Huh. I’ve always thought that, too.” He hands the package over to me with a smile. “I hope you get this home dry. It’s one of my favorite classics.”
Unfortunately, mine, too.
Inclining my head in thanks, I smile. “I’ll keep it safe.”
I slide the book into my interior jacket pocket, then step back out into the storm, hustling across the street to my bike.
As soon as I have the engine roaring again, I pull away from the curb, making my way farther down the street, past their steakhouse restaurant, another one of their bars, then I shoot across town to scope out The Hawkeye Club Two and Three.
With almost a hundred businesses under the Hawke Enterprises umbrella, I can see how they’ve grown so powerful here. Money grows power, and they sure have a fuckload of it.
All their establishments seem to be so well run, so well loved and cared for, so well protected.
I couldn’t help but notice the security at every location. The black SUVs parked outside and who did a very shitty job of looking inconspicuous…
Of course, I know what to look for.
Bishop wasn’t joking when she said that making sure everyone was safe was her job and her highest priority. Even when she isn’t with them, she’s doing it. But there are so many of them now, it would be impossible to keep track of them all, to make sure that every single one of them is safe from every single threat.
