About Henry Fellows
On Killing and Innocence: The Chronicles of Henry Fellows
Chapter 11 Begins
Chapter 11: Astronaut
“Deputy Trevor Hawker?”
“Who in hell is this?”
“This is Henry Fellows. The murderer. Please don’t hang up.”
“You know… number one?”
“Look creep, I don’t know how you got this number, but stick it.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know how I got this number? You are kind of a cop, aren’t you?”
“You could’ve got it from a card I handed out at one of a million places. Call again and I’ll bust your ass.”
I hear a beep and then nothing. That was brief.
My three cohorts are standing around me, all manifesting particular brands of nervousness. Floyd, as usual, is letting his fingers dance through his mustache. Billy’s doing that neck-rolling thing guys with too many muscles do. Marie V’s biting her fingernails. I think they’re scared of Hawker. Even spooks get spooked.
“That didn’t sound good,” she says.
“How’d he come off?” Billy asks.
“Really well, actually,” I say. “Pretty sure he’ll be phoning real soon to invite me to dinner with his family.”
“Did the press ever find out—you know, ‘bout you dumping that money into his brother’s account?” Floyd asks.
I nod at the old man, hitting redial on the burner. Sweat is pouring from my face; I can’t blow this.
“Alright, you son-of-a-b—”
“Deputy Hawker. I know you want to know how I screwed your brother over. Let’s make a deal.”
The line falls silent. I can hear him breathing, calculating what to say, whether he should say anything at all.
I don’t wait. “Look superstar, I’m sure you’re getting all kinds of whack-jobs calling up the office, messing with you at home. What’d you expect? Frigging internet shenanigans.”
“Trying to be a hero, Hawker?”
It isn’t going well. But it was never going to. I’ve just got to convince him to stall his rage for enough time to think.
“What do you know about my brother?”
Progress. “I know him and a bunch of the others lit out of the DOJ about as fast they could. There was an account, a bunch of money. My money. Congress was bound to pick up on the scent. He made the smart play.”
“When I find you—”
“Look. I’m gonna find you. Turn myself in.”
“Is that right?”
“And when I do, I’m going to admit to screwing with those bank accounts. Clear your brother, or whatever you guys want. Sorry about the whole thing. Not like I wasn’t up against it.”
“What’s the catch?” He’s gone from pissed to bored. Like making deals isn’t his thing. Probably isn’t. The guy takes bullets in the chest for fun. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, on the road, trying to get some with his wife. I don’t where he is or what time of the day he’s living in. We’re in frigging England.
“I need you to get my family. They’re in danger. Don’t know where you are, but call the Texas field office and put them in protective custody. Is there a Texas office?”
“Oh so now you want to protect the family.”
Yeah, I get the jab. I’m a butcher, a menace. It’ll take more than a phone call’s convincing to get him off that tack.
“Fellows, are you saying you’re coming after your family? What is this, like an irresistible impulse you’re begging me to stop?”
“There’s no time for this, Hawker.”
“Just look up the name Stover Marks. You’ll probably get nothing, but if you have any real connections, you may find something at the bottom of the rabbit hole.”
“And who is he?”
“He’s the guy who killed my parents. I mean, I’m close to positive, anyway. Lately he’s the guy who’s been trying to kill me. His attempts aren’t going well. The next move will be for my family. And you, bright eyes, since you made yourself an internet sensation, he’s probably gonna kill you just to make sure you don’t get in his way. Amazed you’re not dead already.”
A bit of a scoff forces its way through the line. Can’t say I blame the guy. “What the hell is going on, Fellows? I honestly can’t tell if you’re crazy or something else entirely.”
“Makes two of us, pal. Sending you an email. All I have on Marks. It’s not much. Get to my family, Hawker.”