Short Story / Like a Hawk

The cell phone played the same annoying tune as it flashed and vibrated in a spastic attempt to draw attention. Hawk stopped packing, placed the cigarette in ash tray on the dresser then picked up the phone. He reviewed the ID display, it was HIM.

HIM was the man, the only man Hawk would speak with.

“Hello”, Hawk said in a deep gruff voice with a tone that demanded respect and attention. In Hawk’s mind, he didn’t care how he sounded, he worked for HIM, he didn’t kiss his ass.

“Hawk, it’s time”. The voice was soft and whispery, male, masculine, and mysterious. Hawk hated the voice, it sounded too dramatic. He thought of Dom DeLuise imitating Marlon Brando as the God Father to snap his contemptuous feelings and resume his focus on finishing the task.

Hawk clipped the black cell phone in it’s belt clip, picked up the smoldering cigarette and took one last long drag before snuffing it out like an insect or other seemingly useless life form.

He returned to the bed, his tote sitting on top of the made bedding. He couldn’t stand a messy bed, never waited for room service who changed the bedding later anyway. Hawk had an order for things, and things had to be kept in order to prevent mistakes; possibly fatal mistakes.

The 6’8” tall 270 lb frame barely fit through the doorway as he left the room. An intimidating presence, he could often feel the leering and hear the whispering as he passed through the lobby. Hawk was definitely not low profile, nor did he try to be. His demeanor exhibited a man on a mission, a man you didn’t want to interrupt or delay. Outside of the motel, Hawk entered an available cab, “take me here”, he said as he handed the cabbie a slip of paper.

“Sure thing Mac”, the cabbie said in a voice that reminded Hawk of Lou Costello.

Yes Hawk is a great fan of off beat comedy like Abbot and Costello, the Marx brothers, Dom DeLuise, and Gene Wilder to name a few. The soft side to the 40 year old, enormous, hard to the core, former MMA national champion, Hawk found his sanity and humanity in crazy comedy.

“Here’s yur stop mister”, the cabbie commented as he steered the car towards the curb.

Hawk noticed the meter read $25.75, he leaned forward stretching over the seat, handed the cabbie $30 and grumbled, “keep the change Lou.”

Hawk stepped out of the car, towering upon the sidewalk wearing black leather pants, leather jacket, leather wrist bands and a black cotton T shirt. He keeps his hair trimmed close, a crew cut design, and he wears a short goatee. With his dark biker style glasses he looked like he should have just dismounted a Harley, not exited a Taxi cab.

The ring tone sounds, the phone vibrates like it’s trying to jump free from the clutches of the holster. Hawk pulls the phone free and reads the display, it’s HIM. His eyes squint, his teeth clench, he answers, “yes?”

“Do you have the package?”, asked HIM.

“Yes.”

“Are you at the location?”

“Yes.”

“Make the delivery.”

Hawk closed the clam shell phone then placed it in its holder. He scanned his surroundings, looking for any suspicious behavior then approached the apartment complex. He read the mailbox labels, found James, apt 110. He cautiously approached the apartment door and knocked.

There was no response, so Hawk leaned in and pressed his ear to the door then knocked again and listened. He could faintly hear a television inside. He made a fist with his bear paw size hands and pounded heavily on the door, once, twice, three times.

“Who is it?”, came a voice from inside.

“Delivery!”, Hawked said in a firm authoritative voice.

As the door swung open, the voice said, “Who??” A woman appeared, her voice stopped, as her eyes made contact with Hawk’s chest. It’s as if the word stopped in mid air and fell to the ground as her mouth remained open while her eyes worked their way up to Hawk’s.

“Pizza Ma’am”, Jason Hawk said as his voice involuntarily changed octaves influenced by his pubescent conversion to adulthood.

You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.