86-90

*Chapter 86: Using Momentum to Remove Future Threats*

At the entrance to Fountain Street Ranch Park, after a brief two minutes of car alarms blaring, everything fell quiet again.

It might have disturbed some nearby residents, but no one was willing to come out and check in the middle of the night.

Pedro, hands bound behind his back, his face covered in blood, was being led into the dim park by Hawk, who had a gun pointed at him.

Edward jogged over, holding a steel wool ball. “I pulled this from the exhaust pipe, along with the right tire valves, which were all blocked with superglue.”

As they reached the edge of the woods, Hawk kicked Pedro to the ground. “So, superglue to block the valves and steel wool to clog the exhaust, right? Savior, stuff that steel wool in his mouth.”

Edward bent down to do it, but his technique was far from as practiced as Frank’s.

Pedro struggled frantically.

Hawk pressed the gun against his forehead.

Pedro opened his mouth obediently, and the steel wool ball, tainted with ash, was shoved in.

Hawk waited a moment, then said, “Answer a few questions. Who are you? Why did you do this? Who sent you?”

“Mm… mm…” Pedro nodded vigorously.

Hawk signaled Edward, who pulled on the exposed end of the steel wool.

Pedro groaned in pain, and by the time it was out, his mouth was red.

Hawk kicked him. “Talk.”

Pedro mumbled, “I was in a bad mood today, walking by, and I didn’t like the look of the car…”

Hawk tossed the superglue to Edward. “Stuff that steel wool up his rear, then seal it with glue.”

Edward opened his mouth, about to object—he wasn’t exactly experienced in this.

Hawk didn’t actually expect him to go through with it, so he continued, “Doesn’t he love superglue? Seal all his holes—mouth, nostrils, ears, eyes, everything.”

He pointed at a low branch. “Then hang him from there. His family jewels would make a perfect slingshot target in the moonlight.”

Edward hesitated at gluing his back end, but ears were another matter. He unscrewed the cap, holding Pedro’s head steady, ready to drip glue into his ears.

Terrified, Pedro shouted, “I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”

His head and mouth ached, and after catching his breath, he said, “My name’s Pedro. I came here to stand up for my brothers Luis, Puyol, Javi, and Sergio—they suffered a lot in prison because of you!”

Hawk knew those four names. “You’re with the Shorties?”

“Yes.” Pedro looked up, seeing Hawk’s dark expression and the glue dangling near his face. “You and Fox made things bad for them, so I just wanted to get back at you.”

Hawk thought of Megan. “What did you do to Fox’s people?”

Pedro replied, “I keyed Megan Taylor’s car.”

Hawk continued, “Who’s your boss?”

Pedro hesitated.

Hawk kicked him between the legs, and he rolled around in pain.

When the pain subsided a bit, Hawk’s boot was pressing on his weak spot again.

Pedro realized that loyalty was no good if his brothers were in trouble. Family comes first.

He shouted, “Henry! Henry Cruz, leader of the Shorties!”

Hawk pressed on, “Does he have ties to Miller Collins?”

His loyalty nearly crushed, Pedro answered, “Miller and Henry have been friends since they were kids. All of Miller’s shady work goes to Henry.”

Hawk asked a few more questions, then instructed Edward to keep an eye on Pedro while he took out his phone and searched for Megan Taylor’s contact.

The Shorties were a persistent nuisance. Now that they’d gone after Megan, would Fox News tolerate having their high-profile anchor and producer threatened by a small gang?

Hawk didn’t have the clout to handle this alone, but Fox did.

With this in mind, Hawk called Megan.

She had just left the studio. “Calling so late, what’s up?”

“I caught the guy who keyed your car…” Hawk quickly detailed Pedro’s confession.

Megan asked, “He’s with you? Not dead, is he?”

Hawk glanced at the bloodied Pedro. “He’ll live.”

He added, “Fox’s prominent anchor and producer being threatened by a gang—won’t Fox take this seriously?”

Megan saw through Hawk’s intentions. She wanted the same thing. This was more than a scratched car.

“If you don’t hit back hard enough this time, there’ll be more coming next time,” Hawk added. “Still comfortable covering big stories?”

Megan replied, “Wait for my call.”

After a short pause, Megan called back.

Fox News would fully back her, and a team was on the way.

It wasn’t long—under half an hour—before three cars arrived.

Megan stepped out of one, still in a skirt, stockings, and heels in her haste.

She asked Hawk, “Are you okay?”

“No worries.” Hawk noted the team from Fox and filled them in carefully.

One of Fox’s security heads called the police.

Soon, multiple squad cars arrived, and without a word to Hawk, they hauled Pedro away.

The security chief told Hawk, “Fox will see this through.”

Hawk replied, “Hope I can help Fox.”

The man nodded with a smile and got back in his car.

Megan, too, was ready to go. “I’m keeping a close eye on this. Those who mess with us should be punished!”

Hawk nodded. “If there’s good news, let me know.”

Megan agreed and drove off.

Hawk glanced at the car’s superglued valves, then went home to sleep.

…

When a major news corporation like Fox moves, even ten Franks wouldn’t compare.

Using some less-than-public methods, Pedro quickly spilled everything he knew about Henry Cruz and the Shorties.

In the early hours, Henry’s apartment echoed with snores.

He had been drinking and partying with two women and was sleeping soundly.

Suddenly, a loud crash as his door was kicked open, followed by a flashbang thrown inside.

Dazed by the blast, Henry and the women were unable to move.

SWAT officers, guns pointed at him, filled the room.

Henry, groggy, saw the SWAT team and felt confused. Did he really warrant all this?

At the same time, the LAPD began sweeping through the Shorties’ territory, arresting multiple high-ranking members.

The gang leader, Brighton, was found hanged from his home’s beams, ruled a suicide.

But his safe was mysteriously missing.

That day, the Shorties, once feared in parts of West LA, were no more.

As the sun rose, Miller Collins, caught in scandal and a messy divorce, hadn’t yet woken from his hangover when several LAPD officers, led by a lieutenant, knocked on his door with a subpoena.

As he was led out, a crowd of reporters, tipped off beforehand, swarmed him with cameras.

Fox’s affiliated media soon unleashed a torrent of revelations, accusing Collins of crimes like hiring thugs and instigating criminal acts.

His ties to the Shorties were once again exposed on “Midnight Entertainment,” scrutinized in excruciating detail, broadcast across the country.

Some tabloids even speculated that Collins hired someone to eliminate Shorties’ leader Brighton.

Megan frequently called Hawk with updates, sharing what she knew.

On Friday afternoon, Hawk, Edward, and Frank set up a folding table at the park’s parking lot again.

Reading the latest papers, Frank lamented, “Why didn’t you call me that night? I wanted to try the steel wool…”

“Shame,” he said, pretending to reminisce. “I never thought of using steel wool back when dealing with those starlets.”

Hawk and Edward gave him the finger.

“Relax, next time we’ll definitely invite you,” Hawk replied, recalling Edward’s hesitation with the glue. “You’re great at tying people up and stuffing socks in their mouths.”

Frank seized the moment. “They insisted, couldn’t say no. After enough times, you get good at it.”

Edward, tired of his boasting, changed the subject. “Fox really went big on this. Does Megan have that much influence?”

Hawk answered, “Not Megan alone—Fox is protecting its reputation.”

Frank explained in more detail, “Fox is one of the big four networks in the U.S., with many journalists in sensitive positions. If they can’t protect a high-profile anchor from gang threats, how will those on the front lines feel?”

He added, “Fox needs to show it’s a mountain that won’t be shaken!”

Edward, learning something, didn’t mock Frank for once. “That makes sense now.”

Frank looked at Hawk. “You saw the opportunity, so you borrowed Fox’s power to eliminate the Shorties.”

Hawk replied, “Cockroaches won’t kill you, but they sure are annoying.”

After they finished eating, Hawk and Edward left.

Edward mentioned, “Boss, I won’t be here tomorrow. Going to see Donnie’s son.”

“Go ahead,” Hawk said. He also had plans for the next day.

Megan Taylor had invited him to a “Midnight Entertainment” party.

Chapter 87: The Light Pole Warrior

Beverly Hills, Courtyard Hotel.

In the private banquet hall, the crew from Midnight Entertainment was in full party mode.

Megan Taylor slipped away, carrying her plate into an adjacent room and pulled out a chair across from Hawk.

Hawk picked up his wine glass, poured her some red wine, and asked, "Leaving the party already?"

"They don't feel free with me around." Megan fixed her gaze on Hawk, studying him.

Hawk was dressed casually, his fitted white T-shirt accentuating his muscular build, every movement of his arm highlighting the definition of his muscles.

Megan felt her mouth water slightly and took a quick sip of wine to compose herself.

Noticing her lingering gaze, Hawk asked teasingly, "What's on your mind?"

Megan glanced at her watch; it wasn’t time to leave yet. "I heard Gretchen from Prime News has been in contact with you?"

Hawk saw no need to deny it. "It's just business. She wants the latest stories, and I can provide them."

He asked her directly, "What's your relationship with her?"

Megan laughed. "Direct competition. If you ranked Channel 11 anchors, Gretchen’s in the prime-time slot, while I'm second."

A strategic move, Hawk immediately responded, "Since she’s your competition, I’ll refuse any collaboration with her."

Megan didn’t entirely believe him, but she couldn’t help feeling pleased. "What’s your approach for your next story?"

Hawk replied earnestly, "I only report real events. Integrity is key."

"I’ll give you a tip." Megan shared, "Miller Collins and Maria Collins are going through a divorce. The judge and mediator are both women."

Hawk caught the implication immediately, "Women supporting women."

Megan’s eyes lit up. "That’s a fresh perspective." She continued, "If all goes as expected, Maria and her daughter will walk away with most of his assets."

Hawk recalled that Maria Collins was already on Edward’s list and thought, Looks like someone up there is looking out for us.

Sensing there was more to Hawk’s motives, Megan mused, "I don’t know why you’re targeting Miller Collins, but you got what you wanted."

Hawk corrected her, "I'm only interested in women."

Megan blinked at him, suppressing a grin. "Well, thank you for helping me with him."

Hawk warned, "But you should still be careful. There could be some Little Guys left out there looking for revenge, and it could get ugly."

Megan nodded. "Good point. Last time, they keyed my car. Next time… who knows."

Hawk suggested, "You should hire a bodyguard."

Megan glanced at him. "Tonight’s a bit late for that."

Checking her watch, she decided to take her chances. "Aren't you always working out? How about playing bodyguard and giving me a lift home?"

Hawk picked up his phone. "Sure, I’ll take you."

After a brief exchange, they walked out of the hotel together.

Hawk drove his Ford Mondeo, taking Megan from Beverly Hills to Westwood, then turned onto Olympic Boulevard. Soon, they arrived at a small, detached villa.

Before he could park, Megan pulled out a remote and opened the gate. "Pull in."

Hawk drove into the driveway, following Megan out of the car toward the front door.

She led the way, while Hawk trailed slightly behind, enjoying the view.

Inside, as Hawk turned to shut the door, Megan dropped her bag and lunged at him.

They kissed passionately, hands roaming.

Moments later, Hawk pulled back.

Megan, now seated on the sofa, looked at him in surprise, trying to figure out why he had stopped.

Hawk walked over to the window, glanced outside at a streetlight pole, and then closed the curtains.

"Careful, aren’t you?" Megan remarked.

"Not for myself," Hawk replied, pulling down another curtain. "I’m worried you’ll make headlines."

Once all the curtains were closed, Megan, still in her heels, walked toward the bedroom. She leaned on the doorframe, teasingly beckoning Hawk. "Why do you keep looking at the light pole?"

Hawk replied honestly, "It’s a nickname—Light Pole Warrior."

Megan glanced him over, her gaze lingering on one particular spot, clearly impressed. "That’s... accurate."

Hawk quickly stepped forward, pulling her inside.

…

Meanwhile, outside a restaurant in Brentwood.

To thank Edward for spending the day with Indio, Deborah had invited him to dinner.

When flirting, a certain charm always seemed to come alive in Edward, as if cotton-filled brain cells suddenly sparked back to life.

After a day spent together, Edward had won Deborah’s favor.

Deborah put Indio in the car first and said to Edward, "Thank you so much for today. We haven't had this much fun in a long time."

Edward beamed. "I had a great time with you both too."

As Deborah hesitated to leave, she searched for something to say. "I didn’t ask before—what do you do for work?"

Edward recalled his agency’s work scope. "Crisis communications and business strategy consulting."

Deborah, having dabbled in acting, understood the industry. "That’s an impressive line of work."

Indio, worn out from the day, lowered the window and called out, "Mom, can we go home to sleep?"

Deborah gestured to Edward. "Just a moment. I’m saying goodbye to Edward."

From the backseat, Indio chimed, "Why can't Edward come to our house to sleep? We have plenty of rooms. Then I can play with him again tomorrow!"

Deborah flushed slightly.

Edward politely excused himself. "It's getting late. You should take Indio home."

Deborah nodded.

Edward opened the car door for her, and the red Bentley soon disappeared down the street.

Returning to his office in East Hollywood, Edward checked around for Hawk but found nothing.

"Strange, he's not back? Maybe he found a major lead." Edward considered calling, then remembered that Hawk had gone to Megan Taylor’s party.

Realizing what was likely going on, he chuckled to himself and headed upstairs to shower and sleep.

…

The next morning, Megan felt refreshed, the weight of stress finally lifted.

After a morning of feeling revitalized, Megan decided to make breakfast for Hawk—eggs, milk, and grilled fish, all high-protein fare.

They sat together at the dining table.

Hawk took a bite of the fish and complimented, "Tasty. You've got cooking skills."

Megan replied, "I usually make my own breakfast." She glanced at the tall streetlight outside and asked, "Does climbing those poles really help with… that?"

Hawk replied casually, "I haven't climbed many poles."

Megan raised her brows. "But Light Pole Warrior is fitting."

Hawk took it in stride. "Thanks. I’ve earned the name."

He grew more serious. "There’s something I wanted to tell you."

Megan set down her knife and fork, preemptively shutting down any romantic notions. "Let me go first."

Hawk nodded. "Go ahead."

Megan was straightforward. "My work is demanding, my career’s on the rise, and I don’t have time or energy for a relationship. But I’m a grown woman, and I do have needs."

Hawk relaxed. "That’s what I was going to say too."

Megan, recalling Channel 11’s star anchor, added, "We’re perfect partners, even in thought."

Hawk, steering the conversation back, said, "We don’t intrude on each other’s lives. If either of us has needs, we just call."

Megan thought further. "And not limited to my place; we can go anywhere."

"Works for me," Hawk agreed.

Megan, clearly satisfied, couldn’t help but admire Hawk. Not a traditionally handsome face, but strong and reliable.

And of course—the Light Pole Warrior.

After breakfast, Hawk gathered his things to leave.

Megan suddenly remembered something. She led Hawk to the basement and retrieved a box from a storage cabinet. "A sponsor gave me this at an event. Since I’m not out in the field, maybe it’ll be of more use to you."

Hawk opened the box to find a small, shoulder-mounted camera, perfect for recording on the go.

Megan added, "I noticed LAPD is starting to use similar devices lately."

Hawk nodded. "I think they’re called body cams."

Megan confirmed, "That’s right."

"I’ve been wanting one. Checked a few stores, couldn’t find any." Hawk pocketed it. "Thanks, I'll put it to good use."

Megan hinted, "Make sure to capture some exciting news with it."

Hawk checked his watch. "Time for you to head to work. Let’s go."

They left together. Megan’s BMW 7 had been in for repairs, so her replacement car was still at the hotel.

Hawk drove her to Fox’s television center before heading back to the studio.

When Edward saw Hawk arrive, he set down his sandwich and sniffed. "Boss, there's a scent on you... something familiar. Let me think..."

He had a knack for these things. "Megan Taylor's perfume!"

Hawk smirked. "Spot on. So you lose a week’s pay."

"You monster!" Edward asked cautiously, "Are you two… an item?"

"Get serious." Hawk stretched out on the couch. "We’re… workout buddies."

Edward was impressed. "Classic boss—never tied down."

Hawk noticed some boxes near the door. "You moving out?"

"Some things got left at Nicole's place, and she told me to pick them up as soon as possible," Edward concluded with a lesson learned: "In the future, I shouldn't leave stuff at their place—better to bring everything with me when I move in."

(End of chapter)

Chapter 88: The Mexican Mule Gang

Nicole’s shelter was located in the Hollywood area.

In recent years, the traditional heart of Hollywood, like the Walk of Fame, had seen a sharp rise in the number of homeless individuals.

Consequently, shelters had opened up in response.

According to what Edward had told Hawk, Nicole and he used to live in the shelter.

All their needs were covered by the shelter.

The van drove through Highland Avenue and parked on a street east of the Walk of Fame.

In front of the shelter was a sign for the Ackerman Charitable Foundation, with a long line of homeless people waiting outside.

Hawk didn’t rush to get out of the van. He observed carefully as the shelter handed out cheap meals like burgers, pizza, and bottled water. A few medical vans were also parked on the side, providing free health checks for the homeless.

Edward eyed the medical vans and remarked, "These checks have been happening more frequently..."

Hawk tapped him lightly. "Keep quiet."

Edward nodded, "Got it."

Hawk opened the van door and pointed to the shelter entrance, "Nicole’s over there."

Edward grabbed two boxes and headed toward the door.

Hawk followed behind, curious and observant.

The free health checks included blood draws and even came with a nutritious meal, attracting a large crowd.

"Boss, I’ll go find Nicole," Edward said, gesturing to the shelter entrance.

Hawk stopped. "I’ll wait here for you."

Edward went to the entrance with the boxes.

Nicole seemed busy and asked him to wait for a while.

In the June sun of Los Angeles, it was starting to feel hot. Hawk stood under the shade of a tree, continuing to watch the free health checks.

He noticed that some people in line were being turned away. When he moved closer to listen, he pieced it together.

These people had participated in the Ackerman Foundation’s free health checks recently, and this round was intended for new homeless arrivals.

Those who had already been checked were deemed of no further use; perhaps they were looking for someone new? Hawk couldn’t help but speculate.

Nearby, a few reporters and photographers were taking pictures.

The Ackerman Foundation was known for promoting its charitable work.

Seeing so many taking pictures, Hawk pulled out his Nokia phone, snapping shots of the shelter’s entrance and the medical vans.

"Sir," a Mexican man walking by pointed to the ground. "You dropped something."

Hawk glanced down and saw a business card on the ground—it looked like Megan Taylor’s card, probably pulled out when he reached for his phone.

"Thanks," Hawk picked up the card.

The Mexican man, walking with a limp, hobbled toward the shelter entrance without saying anything more.

Hawk turned the card over, noticing a lipstick mark from Megan and a note written in eyebrow pencil.

“12 AM at my place.”

Hawk guessed she must have secretly slipped it into his coat pocket that morning.

"A little game, huh?" he tucked the card away.

Edward came back, carrying the boxes and looking worn out.

Hawk moved to help him.

As they were about to meet, a commotion erupted behind Edward as two men roughly shoved the Mexican man, who had just received his burger, causing him to stumble backward.

Hawk quickened his pace, overtook Edward, and blocked the man from being shoved further.

The Mexican man, unsteady on his feet, nearly fell over.

Hawk steadied him, looked across at the other men, and said, "Be careful."

Several volunteers in vests rushed over to separate them and warned, "If this continues, we’ll have to stop meal distribution for the day."

Not wanting to become public enemies, the two men turned and left.

The Mexican man looked at Hawk and said, "Thank you."

Hawk replied, "No problem."

The man bent down, picked up his dropped burger, and limped into a nearby side street.

Hawk took one of Edward’s boxes and asked, "Is there anything else?"

Edward replied, "There are a few more things. Nicole will have someone bring them to the back door, so we’ll drive around to meet them there."

The two of them loaded the boxes into the van, drove around the corner, and parked near the shelter’s back door.

Next to the back door was a parking lot. Once parked, Edward went alone to the back door to wait while Hawk stayed in the van with the AC on.

A Dodge pickup pulled up in the spot next to him.

It was the same model Hawk had driven in Provo, so he took a second look.

An older man in the driver’s seat of the Dodge turned off the engine, placed the keys behind the sun visor, and got out, talking on his phone as he walked away.

As Hawk wondered if someone might steal the truck, a bald Mexican man approached, got in, took the keys, and started the engine.

Noticing Hawk watching him, the bald man raised his left hand and flipped him off.

Hawk didn’t hesitate to return the gesture.

The bald man gave him a hard look before reversing and driving away.

Hawk looked in the direction the older man had gone but didn’t see him. Instead, he saw the Mexican man from earlier, hurrying over.

The man placed his right hand on the car and warned, "Stay out of this."

Hawk lowered the window, glancing quickly at the man’s right hand. "Need something?"

The man replied, "That was the Mexican Mule Gang moving a shipment. Just act like you didn’t see it—they’re extremely dangerous. Don’t get involved."

Hawk recognized the warning as well-meaning and replied, "Thanks. I won’t look for trouble."

The man nodded and started to leave.

Hawk called after him, "What’s your name?"

The man paused, "Campos."

At that moment, Edward returned, pushing a cart from the shelter’s back door, and chimed in, "Nice name! There was a famous fighter named Campos too."

Campos forced a smile.

Hawk grabbed two bottles of water from the car and handed them to him. "Just arrived in LA?"

Campos took the water without replying.

Hawk didn’t press, "Thanks."

Campos carried the bottles to a corner of the parking lot, where a few other Mexican men sat on cardboard in the shade.

Edward put the boxes in place, got in the driver’s seat, and asked, "Boss, why are you interested in that Mexican guy?"

Hawk replied, "He’s not an ordinary person. The skin between his thumb and forefinger and his index finger shows signs of long-term firearm use."

Edward was surprised. "A gang member?"

"I don’t know," Hawk said thoughtfully. "But he’s probably a recent arrival to LA, likely without legal status. Later, tell Big Ugly to keep an eye on him... and maybe look out for him."

Edward said, "Once we’re done here, I’ll go talk to Big Ugly."

Hawk asked, "Have you heard of the Mule Gang?"

"Yeah," Edward, being a local, knew the area’s underbelly well. "It’s a cartel that’s risen along the U.S.-Mexico border in recent years. I’ve heard folks from Compton mention them—they’re ruthless, shoot first, kill without hesitation. They’ve hijacked several smuggling routes and expanded into the LA market."

Hawk nodded, "I’ve always heard Mexican cartels were brutal."

"They’re more like warlords than street gangs," Edward said. "My buddy once said the big Mexican cartels aren’t just gangs—they’re practically paramilitary."

He added, "By comparison, even the smaller gangs can’t hold a candle to the Mule Gang."

Hawk, knowing good help was hard to come by, cautioned, "If you run into them, steer clear."

Edward replied, "I definitely won’t mess with them. They’re like rabid dogs if they feel threatened."

After delivering the boxes, the two returned to East Hollywood. Edward didn’t have a place to stay yet, so Hawk agreed to put him up until he found somewhere.

Edward promised, "Boss, give me two weeks, and I’ll have Debora convinced. Then I’ll be living in her mansion in Downey, roughing up her son!"

Hawk knew Edward could pull it off in that regard.

Edward settled in, treating Hawk to a lavish lunch.

In the afternoon, they received a call from an informant. Tom Cruise and Spanish actress Penélope Cruz had been spotted at the Beverly Center.

Hawk and Edward rushed over.

When they arrived, the area was swarming with paparazzi, cameras everywhere.

Losing interest, Hawk sent Edward to take pictures and stayed in the car to rest up for the evening.

Suddenly, he noticed Sarah Parker on the large screen at the mall entrance.

It was a commercial for skincare products.

Sarah Parker had evidently landed a deal to endorse Lancôme’s skincare line.

Hawk called Carolyn.

It took a while, but she called back, “I was in a meeting. What’s up?”

Hawk replied, “You’re not very considerate, Miss Carolyn.”

Carolyn shot back, “Considerate? Learn to baa like a sheep.”

“If that’s what you want, I don’t mind.” Hawk got to the point, “Your client got the Lancôme deal because of my advice. Don’t I get a cut?”

Carolyn countered, “Excuse me, hillbilly! That plan cost Sarah $250,000 to buy back!”

Hawk wasn’t really after money, just confirmation that things were progressing well. He added, “If your client needs more strategic planning, let me know.”

"Got it." Caroline hung up the phone.

Hawk hadn't put down his phone yet when it rang again—it was Johnson calling this time.

He answered, "Inviting me to the range or the gym?"

"Neither," Johnson replied directly. "Hawk, you’re not busy with any projects right now, are you?"

Hawk answered seriously, "Not at the moment."

Johnson continued, "Don't take on any new work just yet. Remember what I mentioned at the shooting range last time? I made it through the selection and the first audition. I want to give it my all to land the lead role. Can you help me out?"

Hawk responded without hesitation, "No problem."

(End of chapter)

Chapter 89: Johnson's New Venture

Early in the morning, Megan Taylor, half-asleep, vaguely heard noises. Struggling to open her eyes, she noticed the empty spot next to her and heard footsteps. She turned to look in that direction.

Hawk was already dressed and waved to her. “I have important work today. I’m heading out.”

“Goodbye,” Megan replied, still reminding him, “If you get any big news, make sure to contact me.”

Hawk left the house, got into his Mondeo, picked up the remote Megan had given him, opened the electronic gate, and drove towards Century City.

Fifteen minutes later, he met Edward at a breakfast place in Century City. After they ate, they went into William Morris.

The receptionist asked a few questions and then led them upstairs to the familiar small conference room.

Dwayne Johnson was already there.

When he saw Hawk, he welcomed him warmly with a bear hug. “The competition is fierce this time. I don’t have any certainty, so I had to call you.”

Hawk got straight to the point. “Which movie and what role?”

Johnson handed him a script. “It’s an action film, not officially titled yet, but currently called S.W.A.T. I’m aiming for the lead role.”

Hawk opened the script and skimmed through it quickly. Edward, wearing a suit and gradually adapting to his role, chimed in, “I think there’s a TV series with that name.”

Johnson replied, “Some of the writers on this project came from that show.”

Hawk saw that it was a character script and sped up his reading. He flipped through the first fifth of it, then skipped to the end, and closed the script.

“This helps actors, not me,” he said, looking at Johnson.

The office door opened, and Dany Garcia walked in, holding some documents.

“Morning, Hawk,” she greeted him and Edward, adding with a grin, “Good morning, savior.”

Hawk stood up and shook her hand. “Dany, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“We might work together again,” Dany said with a smile. “Shall I go over the cooperation terms?”

Discussing payment and job specifics was crucial, so Hawk listened. “I’m all ears.”

Dany began, “Assisting Dwayne in securing the role is different from image planning or business consulting; this falls under a manager’s duties. My suggestion is to sign a temporary manager agreement just for this role.”

Hawk knew the difference between agents and managers in Hollywood and said, “Agreed.”

Dany moved to the topic of compensation. “Managers typically take 10% of the actor’s fee. Dwayne’s salary for The Scorpion King was $5.5 million, and the new role’s pay won’t be any lower.”

Since coming to Los Angeles, Hawk had studied Hollywood and the broader North American entertainment industry. “If the movie’s box office hits over $100 million, the lead actor’s salary will definitely increase to match their status.”

Dany nodded slightly. “West Coast Studio’s pay will be 10% of Dwayne’s salary for this role.”

Hawk added, “If the production adopts a base pay plus profit-sharing model, the profit share must be included.”

Dany, confident in Hawk’s reputation for helping a star player from the Dodgers recover from disgrace, agreed. “No problem. But I should mention, Hollywood studios can be tricky. Dwayne’s status and strength aren’t top-tier yet, so post-release profit-sharing might not happen.”

Hawk asked, “What’s my minimum guarantee?”

Dany replied directly, “Even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll still get $100,000.”

Hawk said, “I need to clarify a few things first. Dany, Dwayne, you both know me from our previous collaboration. I’m not an expert in acting techniques, audition performance, or character prep.”

Johnson interjected, “If we needed that, we wouldn’t have asked you. Just do what you’re good at.”

Hawk continued, “My methods are unconventional, even beyond what’s publicly accepted in Hollywood.”

Dany chuckled. “If we followed all the public rules, Hollywood wouldn’t be Hollywood.”

Johnson added, “Do you know why I decided to bring you on? Because some people don’t follow the rules. After my first audition, Kevin Spacey called to pressure me into stepping down.”

“Kevin Spacey?” Hawk thought of rumors he’d read online about Spacey’s hidden nature. Was he trying to help or hinder someone for the lead role?

Dany confirmed, “Yes, the Oscar-winning actor called, and I was there. He didn’t directly threaten, but every word carried an implied warning. He all but said that if Dwayne didn’t back out, his career would be ruined.”

Hawk looked at Johnson. “You weren’t scared off and still want the role?”

Johnson smiled warmly. “I’m not an inexperienced newcomer, and I’m not easy to push around.”

Hawk said decisively, “If we’re using unconventional methods, I’m in.”

Dany and Johnson both visibly relaxed at this. If the competition didn’t play fair, neither would they.

Hawk didn’t hesitate. “Let’s sign the contract.”

Dany had it ready. “Here’s the agreement.”

Hawk read it carefully, sent a copy to his lawyer via fax, and once he got the green light, signed it.

With that, they were officially on board.

Hawk requested the production’s basic info, which he reviewed thoroughly. S.W.A.T. was a Sony-Columbia project with investments from four smaller companies and a public budget of $80 million. The lead producer, Leonard Gordonburg, was a non-Jewish white man whose most notable work was Charlie’s Angels.

The director was Clark Johnson, a name Hawk hadn’t heard before.

Dany provided his background: Clark had worked in television, directing episodes of The West Wing and The Wire, and had made one TV movie. This was his first feature film.

Samuel L. Jackson was already cast and had a dual role as an actor and production manager, supported by one of the investors.

Filming was set to start in September, with an August release the following year.

Hawk asked, “Who’s the casting director?”

Dany explained, “Leonard Gordonburg has final say on casting, and while Clark Johnson can make recommendations, Sony-Columbia trusts Leonard due to Charlie’s Angels’ success.”

In Hollywood, producers had the final say unless the studio intervened, with top directors being exceptions.

Hawk asked, “Who are Dwayne’s competitors?”

Johnson replied, “The initial rounds have eliminated most candidates. Now, it’s down to five of us, including me, Paul Walker, Colin Farrell, Josh Hartnett, and Jeremy Renner.”

Hawk recognized all the names, knowing that none would surpass Johnson in the long run.

He walked to the front, pulled over a whiteboard, and listed the production company, producer, director, and competitors' names. He added a line: Production Insurance Company.

“We need to start with background checks and gather as much intel as we can on these people,” Hawk stated.

Dany took notes. “I can pull up related files from the company’s database, including work history and family info.”

“That’s not enough,” Hawk said, putting down the marker. “I need to know their preferences, habits, personal lives, casting room behavior, whether they’re involved in casting couch scenarios, substance abuse, whether they’re a disruptor or the disrupted, financial status, and any buried scandals.”

He emphasized, “The producer and director`their past choices and reasons for picking or rejecting actors. I’ve heard that audition performance is one part, but what happens outside the audition room matters just as much.”

“Outside matters more,” Johnson agreed.

Hawk continued, “We also need to know which insurance company is guaranteeing the film’s completion, who the contact is, their background, and what risks concern them most.”

Dany felt a bit overwhelmed. “PR firms are better at tracking vices, dirt, and scandals.”

Hawk suggested, “Bring in Ms. Caroline.”

Johnson told his wife, “Call Caroline and have her come over.”

“You two, seriously`the way you refer to her,” Dany said as she pulled out her phone and called Caroline. “Dwayne has an important task, come to William Morris right away. What? You’re at a client event on Hollywood Boulevard?”

She got to the point, “This gig has separate pay. $20,000.”

Caroline didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

In just over ten minutes, Caroline rushed into the room, her feet sore from her high heels.

Hawk pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.”

Caroline sat down, noting that Hawk was in the lead chair, and asked Johnson and Dany, “What happened? You`”

*Chapter 90: Proud to be Black*

Venice Boulevard, Cactus Auto Care Center.

Hawk sat in a chair, watching a group of Mexican workers hustle and bustle.

Edward roamed around, curiously eyeing the items displayed in the shop window.

The owner of the service center came over carrying a cardboard box and said, “This is the dashcam I ordered specifically for you. It just arrived yesterday afternoon.”

Hawk asked, “How’s the image quality?”

The owner opened the box, plugged it in, recorded a clip, and copied it to the computer for Hawk to see.

Considering the era, you couldn’t hold it to the standards of a decade later.

Hawk found the quality acceptable, inspected the dashcam, and said, “Install it on the car.”

The owner instructed a worker to do the installation and added, “It’s like surveillance; it comes with an overwrite feature. If you need any files, copy them right after recording.”

“Got it.” Hawk called over Edward. “Find some time to bring the van over so we can install one in it too.”

The work efficiency here was always impressively slow—Hawk had waited a month for the latest model to arrive.

After the installation was complete, Hawk tested it, paid the remaining balance, and had Edward drive to Culver City.

Sony Columbia Pictures Studio was located there.

Hawk found the studio at the address provided, a two-story building with a “SWAT” sign hanging out front.

The crew was recruiting extras. Hawk donned a wig, beard, and glasses, did some makeup, and, using the William Morris agency badge he got from Danny, entered the studio and grabbed a few recruitment forms.

Like some minor agents from other companies, he took the forms to a small meeting room on the first floor and began filling out actor application details.

Hawk paused to take a sip of water from a bottle in his bag, filling out the forms painstakingly slowly.

He made up information for about a dozen so-called extras and left the room, pretending to head to the restroom.

Hawk slipped into a supply closet, found a “Cleaning in Progress” sign, hung it on the men’s room door, pulled a small pack of tissues from his pocket, and walked briskly toward the stairs.

The staircase was next to the front desk, and the receptionist noticed him heading upstairs. “What’s up?” she asked.

Hawk waved the tissues in his hand. “The first floor is being cleaned, and I can’t wait.”

Seeing his urgency, the receptionist waved him on, letting him pass.

Hawk went up to the second floor, entered the men’s room briefly, then came out, adjusted the William Morris badge on his chest to be clearly visible, and walked confidently through the second floor like a manager coming in for a business discussion.

He passed a few people, but no one stopped him.

Hawk made a round, found nothing noteworthy, and was about to go back downstairs when he heard a door open in the hallway and quickly glanced over.

About 20 feet away, an office door opened, and out stepped a man in a black beret.

He was hard to miss, and Hawk recognized him immediately: the not-yet-bald Samuel L. Jackson.

The actor headed further down the hall.

Hawk waited a moment, then followed, walking down the hallway with his bag.

Ahead, Samuel knocked on a door and entered the director’s office. The sound of conversation drifted out.

Hawk quickened his pace and glanced inside as he passed by.

Samuel closed the door behind him.

In that brief moment, Hawk caught sight of two other people inside.

One was a bald man Hawk had seen in a file the day before—the director, Clark Johnson.

His complexion was dark, suggesting he might be of mixed Latino or light-skinned Black descent.

The other was a full Black man wearing glasses who looked familiar, possibly someone Hawk had seen in the media.

Hawk caught a few key words from their conversation.

The two mentioned civil rights advocate Steve Nutt and the increasing Black rights movement in California.

Hawk realized he’d been on the second floor too long, and seeing no other gains, he returned to the meeting room downstairs to keep filling out forms.

Soon after, several agents went to submit them at the front desk.

Hawk joined them but didn’t hand in his forms. Instead, he used the busy moment to slip out of the building.

He looped around and got back into the car, removing his wig, beard, and glasses while cooling off with the air conditioning.

Edward asked, “Boss, did you find anything?”

Thinking of the men in the director’s office, Hawk replied, “Keep calm and wait a bit.”

Close to noon, Samuel L. Jackson, Clark Johnson, and the man with glasses exited the building.

Hawk took photos and asked, “Savior, do you know who the guy with the glasses is?”

Edward replied, “Spike Lee, one of Hollywood’s top Black directors.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

“Boss, I’m Black,” Edward said proudly. “Spike Lee is a leading figure in Hollywood’s Black movement. Of course, I know him.”

Hawk recalled the conversation inside the building. “Is Clark Johnson Black too?”

Edward said, “His complexion is like Dwayne Johnson’s. I’m not sure.”

The trio got into a car, and Hawk signaled for Edward to follow as he called Danny. “Is director Clark Black?”

“Did I forget to note that in the file?” Danny apologized and added, “His dad is African American, so by certain rules, yes, he is.”

Hawk continued, “Does Spike Lee often speak up for Black issues in Hollywood?”

“Not just often—constantly,” Danny replied. “He’s the Black rights leader in Hollywood.”

“I see,” Hawk said and hung up.

The car ahead stopped at a restaurant, and the three men went inside for lunch.

Hawk told Edward, “Let’s get lunch too.”

They entered the same restaurant.

The place wasn’t crowded, and Hawk chose a booth close to the three men.

The trio didn’t discuss movies; most of what Hawk overheard was about the situation for Black people in Hollywood, with them expressing dissatisfaction with the status quo.

After lunch, a car came to pick up Spike Lee, and Samuel and Clark returned to the studio.

Hawk received a call from Caroline and instructed Edward to drive to Burbank.

On the way, Hawk reviewed Clark’s file, marking it with notes about being Black and supporting civil rights.

In Burbank, Caroline called again.

Hawk used his William Morris agent badge to enter the studio lot and met Caroline at a small table in a glass-fronted café, sipping lemonade.

Miss Meh had a new bangs hairstyle and large earrings.

Hawk pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “Find anything?”

Caroline took a sip of lemonade. “Follow me.”

She led him on foot through the studio, past a couple of soundstages, before stopping under a tree and nodding at a building. “The Firefighters’ Fund Insurance Company, which provides completion bonds for ‘SWAT,’ has its business manager Green inside that stage, negotiating with Warner Bros.”

Hawk nodded and asked, “Is your other client, Steve Nutt, closely connected with L.A.’s Black rights organizations?”

“More than closely. After what you did, Steve’s become a figurehead for Black rights in sports. The organizations treat him like a mascot leader…”

She paused and nudged Hawk, pointing with her eyes. “That guy getting on the golf cart—that’s Green.”

Hawk saw him, a man in his 30s, a bit lighter-skinned than Edward.

A mixed-race Black man.

Caroline whispered, “Should I approach him?”

Hawk shook his head. “Don’t make direct contact. Have your assistant or someone else feel him out… ask for his views on Steve Nutt.”

Having worked with Hawk before, Caroline was beginning to catch on. “I get it. A little flirtation. Easy.”

“Let’s go,” Hawk said, heading for the studio exit.

Caroline followed, already on her phone.

Probing like this wasn’t hard for a PR agency.

Hawk thought as they walked. After she finished her call, he asked, “How influential is third-party disapproval of an actor on a production?”

Caroline replied, “Extremely. Especially for action movies. If an insurance company won’t cover an actor, any incident puts all the risk on the production. And without a completion bond, financing partners bail.”

She summarized, “Third-party insurance backing is a cornerstone of modern Hollywood.”

At the exit, Hawk asked, “Have you got the competitor’s file yet?”

“Working on it,” Caroline said.

Hawk urged, “Hurry up, don’t be slow like a lamb.”

Caroline glared, punched his arm lightly, and made another call.

They reached the parking lot and got into the Mondeo together.

Edward waved. “Good afternoon, Miss Meh.”

Caroline’s face darkened as she kicked the driver’s seat with her high heel. “One country bumpkin and one cotton-picking descendant—worse than sheep…”

Hawk’s phone rang. It was Danny.

Her voice was upbeat. “I’ve got good news. Paul Walker pulled out.”

Hawk asked, “Why?”

Danny quickly said, “Universal Pictures greenlit ‘2 Fast 2 Furious,’ and the role’s co-star Vin Diesel is shooting another action movie, so he won’t be in it. Universal offered Walker an unrefusable deal…”