Andrew Vachss: Footsteps of the Hawk

Acclaim for ANDREW VACHSS

"Vachss is in the first rank of American crime writers."

— Cleveland Plain Dealer

"Vachss seems bottomlessly knowledgeable about the depth and variety of human twistedness."

— The New York Times

"Burke is an unlikely combination of Sherlock Holmes, Robin Hood, and Rambo, operating outside the law as he rights wrongs….Vachss has obviously seen just how unable the law is to protect children. And so, while Burke may be a vigilante, Vachss's stories don't feature pointless bloodshed. Instead, they burn with righteous rage and transfer a degree of that rage to the reader."

— Washington Post Book World

"Vachss is America's dark scribe of the 1990s….His protagonist Burke is our new dark knight, a cold–eyed crusader."

— James Grady,

author of Six Days of the Condor

"Move over, Hammett and Chandler, you've got company….Andrew Vachss has become a cult favorite, and for good reason."

— Cosmopolitan

"The best detective fiction being written….Add a stinging social commentary…a Celinesque journey into darkness, and we have an Andrew Vachss, one of our most important writers."

— Martha Grimes

"Burke fills a void….With his soiled white hat, this Lone Ranger of the '90s asks difficult questions of readers, while also shining a light into the darkest recesses of their souls."

— Chicago Tribune

Andrew Vachss

Andrew Vachss has been a federal investigator in sexually transmitted diseases, a social caseworker, a labor organizer, and has directed a maximum-security prison for youthful offenders. Now a lawyer in private practice, he represents children and youths exclusively. He is the author of numerous novels, including the Burke series, two collections of short stories, and a wide variety of other material including song lyrics, poetry, graphic novels, and a "children's book for adults." His books have been translated into twenty different languages and his work has appeared in Parade, Antaeus, Esquire, The New York Times, and numerous other forums. He lives and works in New York City and the Pacific Northwest.

The dedicated Web site for Vachss and his work is www.vachss.com

BOOKS BY

Andrew Vachss

Flood

Strega

Blue Belle

Hard Candy

Blossom

Sacrifice

Shella

Down in the Zero

Born Bad

Footsteps of the Hawk

False Allegations

Safe House

Choice of Evil

Everybody Pays

Dead and Gone

Pain Management

A N D R E W

V A C H S S

FOOTSTEPS

OF THE HAWK

for Baby Boy E…

You took Death all the way through the last round.

And got jobbed by the judges.

Again.

No more fixed fights for you, little warrior.

Now it's— finally— time to play.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

To Alan Grant

a volunteer in a war not his own

to free all the Children of the Secret

FOOTSTEPS OF THE HAWK

In my business, if you're the last one to a meet you could end up being left there when it's over.

I watched the refrigerator–white Range Rover work its way around the broken chunks of concrete dotting the asphalt that used to be a parking lot. Those luxo four–bys cost big bucks— I guessed Saunders had come into some serious money since the last time we did business. The big rig nosed forward, came to a halt at the start of the pier, then reversed so its rear end was backed against the abandoned building.

I trained the binoculars on the driver's door, watching the man get out. It was Saunders all right, dressed in a suburban safari outfit, right down to a pair of gleaming black boots. The passenger door opened. Another man. Medium height, with a face too chubby for his build, wearing a camo jacket and combat boots, eyes covered with mirror–lensed aviator sunglasses. I climbed down from my perch atop a heavy crossbeam using a rope ladder dyed black. As I moved closer to the door, the ladder merged into the shadows.

The mid–afternoon light was strong, fractured by the wreckage inside the abandoned warehouse— I could see all the way across the grimy Hudson to the Jersey waterfront. The door swung open and they stepped inside.

"Burke," Saunders said, offering his hand. "Long time no see."

"You said business," I told him.

"Same old Burke," he chuckled, dropping his hand…but keeping it in view. "This is the guy I told you about. Roger Cline."

"That's Cline like Patsy, not Klein like Jew," the guy said, smiling with his mouth, his eyes invisible behind the mirror lenses. "Saunders here tell you what we need?"

"Yeah," I told the man. "Ordnance."

" Heavy ordnance, my friend," he said. "Can you do it?"

"Sure," I told him. It was the truth— with all the military base closings, it's easy enough these days.

"What we need is— "

"You ever do time?" I interrupted.

"Huh?"

"You ever do time?" I repeated, watching my reflection in the mirror lenses.

The man turned his head slightly to his right, looking for an ally, but Saunders only shrugged, shifting his weight slightly to his outside foot, letting his body language tell the story.

The man turned back to me. "Yeah, I pulled some time," he said, a hostile undercurrent to his reedy voice. "So what?" He pulled off the sunglasses and glared at me all in the same motion— I guess it had worked better when he'd practiced it at home.

"Not so what," I told him. " For what?"

"What's it to you?" he asked.

"I like to know who I'm dealing with," I told him in a reasonable voice.

"Hey, I ain't asking your daughter for a date, man."

"Suit yourself," I said.

He was quiet for about fifteen seconds, still trying to stare me down— good fucking luck. Then he ran a palm over his close–cropped brown hair, bit into his lower lip for a split–second, said, "Armed robbery."

I nodded as if I was absorbing the information. "You go down alone?" I asked him.

"Huh?"

"When you went to the joint, your partners go with you?"

"No. I mean, I didn't have no partners."

I nodded like that made sense too. "All right," I told the man. "I'll see what's available. Take about three, four weeks. No guarantees, though."

"I thought you could— "

"What? Go over the wall and steal the stuff? Get real, pal. I got an inside man— that's the only way to pull off this particular thing. What's for sale is what he can get, that's the story. Whichever way it comes up, that's the way it is, that's the way it stays, understand?"

"Yeah. But…" He let it trail off, looking over at Saunders.

"Let me talk to you for a minute," Saunders said. "Just a little one–on–one, okay? For old times' sake?"

I nodded.

"Wait for me outside," Saunders told the other man. "Here's the keys."

Cline–like–Patsy started to say something, changed his mind. He took the keys from Saunders, walked out through the sagging doorway.

"What was that all about, Burke?" Saunders asked me.

"He's counterfeit," I told him. "A three–dollar bill."

"How do you know?"

"Nobody says they went inside for armed robbery— that's social–work talk. You say you went down for stealing, or you say you re a thief. You gonna rob, you're armed— how else would it be? And you see his face when I asked him about partners? He never had partners— not for what he was doing."