Marvel: The Enlightened One#90+91: Gwen, Who Likes to Drink Hot Chocolate, IRS Certified!

“Gwen, where are you?”

“I just left Hawk’s place.”

“Ooh...”

“Don’t get any ideas. City Hall sent him a notice to mow his lawn or face a fine. He didn’t know how, so I went over this morning to teach him.” Gwen, having just left the East Village, was on the phone with Mary Jane, whom she was supposed to meet for an afternoon of shopping.

Mary Jane laughed. “Our neighborhood has a landscaping service. You’re telling me a place as fancy as the East Village doesn’t?”

“They do. He just doesn’t want to pay for it.”

“Why not?”

“Save where you can, spend where you must.”

Gwen recited Hawk’s philosophy.

Mary Jane was stunned for a moment.

But then she remembered... Hawk from high school—the guy with only three outfits, who communicated mostly through grunts, who got around on his own two feet, who lived like a monk—and she had to admit, it sounded exactly like something he'd say.

But discussing Hawk’s ability to buy a mansion but not hire a gardener wasn’t the point of the call.

Mary Jane got back on topic. “So when are you getting here? Should I grab us a table at Madame Neuille?”

Gwen’s face lit up. “Yes! I’m on my way. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

She loved hot chocolate.

And the hot chocolate at Madame Neuille's Patisserie was, in Gwen's expert opinion, the best in all of Queens—no, in all of New York City.

Soon, Gwen hung up the phone. The thought of that hot chocolate made her foot press down on the accelerator.

Her yellow Corolla picked up speed, heading toward Queens.

Behind her, a nondescript Toyota sedan matched her acceleration.

“Think she noticed us?”

“No way. It's a straight road...”

“Then why’d she speed up?”

“Who cares. Stick to the plan. Once we’re over the bridge and in Queens, we find a spot and box her in.”

“Remember, the client wants her alive. A million for a live target, half a million for a dead one. Don’t fuck this up.”

“Got it.”

“Got it.”

The two men in the back of the Toyota nodded, their eyes fixed greedily on the yellow Corolla ahead.

The confirmations hadn’t come from them. They had come from a walkie-talkie held by a bearded man in the passenger seat.

Clearly, this wasn’t their only car. There were three.

Sure enough, as Gwen’s Corolla approached the entrance to the Manhattan Bridge, two more nondescript Toyota sedans appeared, pulling up on either side of her.

Once they were on the bridge, the three cars, moving with the flow of traffic, shifted positions, forming a perfect pincer formation around her yellow Corolla.

A little while later, Gwen came off the bridge and turned onto the road that led to Mary Jane’s house. The Toyota to her left suddenly swerved into her lane. As if misjudging the distance, it bumped into the side of her car with a loud thud.

Gwen jumped, slamming on the brakes.

The other car pulled over too.

A middle-aged woman got out of the car, an apologetic look on her face.

Gwen opened her door and got out. She looked at the dent and sighed.

Just as she was about to get her phone to call and tell Mary Jane she would be late, the woman called out to her, insisting the accident was entirely her fault. She suggested they pull over to a side street so they wouldn’t block traffic while she called her insurance company.

Gwen was a bit thrown by how fast it all went down, but since the lady was being so cooperative about taking the blame, she went along with it. No police meant no paperwork and no waiting around.

Soon, Gwen followed the woman’s car into a quiet side street.

But the moment she was about to put her car in park, the screech of tires echoed behind her. Another Toyota had shot into the alley, blocking her exit.

“What the—”

Shit.

Gwen froze, a terrible feeling washing over her.

Robbery or kidnapping?

Her mind was racing, but her instincts took over. She hit the door lock button. Just as she was reaching for her phone to call 911...

CRASH!

Another massive impact.

Gwen cried out in shock. The four men in cartoon masks who had just gotten out of the car behind her were just as startled.

They all spun around.

A black Audi A8, so new it still gleamed in the sun, had slammed into the back of their Toyota.

Suddenly, the driver’s side door opened, and Hawk, wearing a fitted black t-shirt, stepped out.

The four masked men exchanged a look, then all raised their handguns and aimed them at him.

"Fuck you!"

“DIE!”

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!

Four bullets tore through the air, striking Hawk in the face, chest, and right arm.

And then... nothing.

With four metallic pings, the flattened slugs clattered harmlessly to the ground.

Hawk glanced down at the bullets at his feet.

The next second, he vanished, reappearing in front of one of the masked men. His right hand shot out, paused for an imperceptible moment, then his left hand joined it. He gripped the man’s head and twisted.

CRACK.

The sound of the man’s neck snapping was sickeningly loud in the quiet alley.

Another masked man recovered from his shock.

“Ah—”

CRACK!

He met the same fate as his partner.

The other two were no different.

From the moment Hawk had stepped out of his car to the moment the four masked men lay on the ground with their heads twisted at impossible angles, less than three seconds had passed.

By the time Gwen had processed what was happening, Hawk was already at the front of the alley.

The engine of the first Toyota was screaming, the rear wheels spinning uselessly against the pavement, kicking up clouds of acrid smoke, but the car didn’t move.

Hawk had the rear of the car in a one-handed grip, his four fingers sunk into the trunk as if it were tofu. The muscles in his arm weren’t even tensed, but he held the car firmly in place.

“SHIT!”

“COME ON!”

The woman in the driver’s seat was screaming, her foot jammed on the accelerator.

Hawk raised an eyebrow, then let go.

The next second—

BOOOOOOOOM!

Like a drag racer off the line, the Toyota shot forward, slamming head-on into a wall. The airbag deployed instantly, knocking the woman unconscious.

The moment he had released the car, Hawk had turned and walked back to Gwen’s Corolla. He tapped on the window.

Inside, Gwen was still gripping her phone. She looked up with a dazed expression and numbly rolled down the window.

“Hey, Gwen? Are you here? I ordered your favorite hot chocolate for you.” Mary Jane’s voice came from the phone in Gwen’s hand.

But Gwen didn't seem to hear it. She just stared at Hawk.

The last time Hawk had fought the Hulk, most of the battle had been underwater. By the time he had resurfaced, it was already over.

But this time, she had seen the whole thing.

Her mind was still replaying the image of Hawk’s ice-cold face, of the bullets flattening against his skin, of him appearing before the four men and snapping their necks—crack, crack, crack—and of him holding a speeding car in place with one hand.

Gwen was in shock. Hawk was not.

He looked at her dazed expression, smiled, and took the phone from her hand. “Hey, Mary Jane.”

“...Hawk?”

“Gwen’s a little tied up. Can you get that hot chocolate to go?”

“Wha—”

Hawk hung up, then a thought seemed to occur to him. He looked at Gwen. “So, hot chocolate? I thought you said you didn’t like it.”

Gwen snapped back to reality. “Hawk?”

“Yeah?”

Hawk smiled. “The police captain’s daughter is letting her guard down. Or was it the thought of hot chocolate that did it?”

Gwen’s cheeks flushed. She didn’t answer, just scrambled out of the car.

“There was another car.”

“What?”

“There were three of them. Three Toyotas. There are only two here.”

Gwen’s mind replayed the scene on the bridge. She remembered the three cars—one on her left, one on her right, one behind her. “There were three Toyotas following me.”

She would absolutely not admit that her guard had been down because she was thinking about dessert.

Gwen’s expression was serious. “And I don’t like hot chocolate. I’m eighteen now.”

Hawk just smiled.

“But I heard Helen say that when you were little, your biggest dream was to live in a house made of chocol—”

“Shut up.” Gwen’s eye twitched. She quickly cut him off, changing the subject back to the third car.

“There was a third car.”

“They got away,” Hawk said with a small smile. He saw her worried look and added, “Don’t worry. They won’t get far.”

Gwen blinked.

As she was trying to figure out what he meant by “they got away, but they won’t get far,” the sound of sirens echoed in the distance, growing closer.

WEE-WOO, WEE-WOO!

THUMP, THUMP!

"NYPD! HANDS IN THE AIR! DO IT NOW!"

“...”

<><><><><><><><>

Hawk and Gwen turned to look.

Down the alley, a male and female police officer were staring at the four bodies on the ground, their necks twisted at impossible angles. The officers scrambled to draw their service weapons, aiming them with trembling hands at Hawk and Gwen.

Gwen immediately spoke up.

“My father is the captain of the 19th Precinct.”

...

Captain George Stacy, who had been in his office at the 19th, rushed to the scene the moment he got the call from the Queens precinct.

The entire area was already cordoned off with police tape.

As George got out of his car, the first thing he saw was Gwen and Hawk standing together, answering questions from a Queens detective.

“Gwen!”

“Dad.”

Gwen’s face lit up as she saw him approaching in his white dress shirt.

The surrounding officers and detectives saw him, and as per protocol, they straightened up, offering salutes and greetings.

George’s focus was entirely on his daughter. He rushed to her side, his voice tight with concern.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

Gwen smiled and shook her head. She glanced at Hawk. “Hawk got here just in time.”

George’s eyes shifted to Hawk. He said nothing, just gave him a curt, meaningful nod.

Hawk smiled faintly in return.

Just then, the captain of the Queens precinct, who was inside the crime scene, heard he had arrived and called out, “George!”

George followed the voice and saw his old friend. He told Gwen to wait and then walked under the yellow tape.

“Alan, what the hell happened?”

“Preliminary assessment is an attempted kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?”

“Yeah.”

Allen, the Queens precinct captain and a longtime friend of George’s, pointed to a roll of duct tape and zip ties that had been recovered from the Toyota. Then, a thought seemed to strike him. “So, Gwen’s boyfriend doesn’t mess around, huh?”

George paused.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at this.”

Alan pointed to the four bodies on the ground, their masks removed, each with its head twisted one hundred eighty degrees. "The M.E. just finished a preliminary. No gunshot wounds. All by hand. Necks snapped clean."

“...” George stared at the bodies, a look of pure astonishment on his face. He instinctively glanced back outside the tape, at Hawk.

Gwen saw her father’s look and nudged Hawk with her elbow, whispering, “My dad’s curious about you now.”

“It’s fine.”

Hawk wasn’t concerned.

The strength he had today was the result of a thousand straight days of relentless, unwavering effort.

The System... It had only given him the opportunity. Hawk was the one who'd taken it and run with it. Ten thousand punches a day for a thousand days. Sounds easy enough. But how many people could actually pull that off?

And so—

Why should I hide the strength I earned with my own two hands?

The first time he’d hit Quantico, he’d only worn a surgical mask. He hadn’t tried to conceal himself. The Lizard, the Hulk, the second Quantico run—he had never once considered hiding.

What’s the point of having power if you hide it? No more walking in the shadows. It’s time to live out loud.

Pretend to be weak to fool his enemies? Not his style...

He preferred to put all his power on full display.

...

Hawk thought to himself, and his eyes met George’s from across the crime scene. He gave him a small smile.

George held his gaze for a moment, then looked away as a detective ran up to his friend Alan with a report.

“Abu Lembel.”

“He’s with the Devil's Gang.”

“Made bail two weeks ago. The other three are with the gang, too. The woman we took to the hospital is Abu Lembel’s wife.”

“The Devil's Gang...” Alan looked at his friend. “You think they were coming after you?”

The Devil's Gang wasn’t a Queens crew. They were from Manhattan. And their main turf was the 19th Precinct.

George shook his head. “I’m head of Homicide. Organized crime isn’t my division.”

Gang-related cases were handled by the Organized Crime Investigation Division. His job was to handle the murders in his precinct.

Allen’s brow furrowed. “Then who were they after? They couldn’t have been after Gwen herself, could they?”

“What’s the status of the woman they took to the hospital?”

“Don’t know yet.”

Alan glanced at his watch. “Want to go check it out together?”

George nodded.

He didn’t ask Allen to hand over the case. He knew his friend couldn’t, even if he wanted to. It was a gang-related crime in the Queens jurisdiction.

“Gwen.”

“Uncle Alan.”

Gwen, who had been discussing the case with Hawk, smiled sweetly at the captain as he and her father walked over.

Alan smiled back. “You weren’t too scared, were you?”

Gwen saw her father’s eyes linger on Hawk. She smiled and tightened her grip on Hawk’s arm. “You’ve already asked me twice, Uncle Allen. I’m fine. Hawk protected me. Really.”

George watched his precious daughter clinging to the arm of this wild animal, and his eye twitched.

Captain Alan just laughed. Then he seemed to remember something. “Gwen’s eighteen this year, right? She’ll be graduating college in three years. By the way, George, how much have you saved up for her wedding fund?”

It was tradition.

Typically, the bride’s family was expected to cover the cost of the wedding, and if they were well-off, the honeymoon as well.

George said nothing. He just shot his smartass friend a look, then took his car keys from his pocket and tossed them to Hawk.

Hawk caught them easily.

“Take Gwen home.”

“Alright.”

Hawk nodded and, with Gwen on his arm, walked toward George’s unmarked police car.

As for his own Audi A8 and Gwen’s Corolla, they had already handed the keys over to the insurance agent—who had arrived even before George. The agent would have the cars towed to a repair shop and delivered back to them once they were fixed.

...

Soon, Hawk was behind the wheel, openly driving a police car away from the crime scene.

Captain Alan watched them go, then turned to George as they walked toward his own car. “Your future son-in-law seems like a good kid. Is he going to Berkeley, too?”

George shook his head. “No. NYU Law.”

Alan’s expression turned serious. “Law school. That’s good. That’s very good.”

He could become a wealthy lawyer, or a powerful politician.

Law school was a smart move.

But—

“You run a background check on him?”

“I did. He’s an orphan.”

“...” Alan, now in his car, looked over at George in the passenger seat and drew in a sharp breath.

He glanced back at the gleaming black Audi A8.

“An orphan with an Audi A8? You sure?”

“He just moved a few days ago.”

“What?”

“He used to live in the Queensbridge Houses. Now he's in the East Village.”

“...”

Queensbridge Houses—a notoriously rough housing project in Queens. The East Village—an upscale Manhattan neighborhood known for attracting the wealthy.

“Hiss.” Alan couldn’t help but draw in another sharp breath.

“He...”

“Unbelievable, right?”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” George looked at his friend’s serious face and shook his head. “The only thing I know for sure is that the money he used to buy that house is clean.”

Allen’s brow furrowed.

George seemed to guess what he was thinking and smiled faintly. “Because the IRS hasn’t paid him a visit.”

Alan immediately shut his mouth.

The logic was undeniable.

There was a reason criminals laundered their money.

It wasn't just about hiding it. It was about paying taxes on it. Because once you paid your taxes, the IRS left you alone. And a man who wasn't on the IRS's radar was a man with clean money.

...

That evening, when George got home, Hawk and Gwen were in the living room, watching the new episode of Desperate Housewives with Helen.

Seeing him, Gwen immediately asked, “Dad, what happened?”

George took off his coat and walked to the bar. “She didn’t make it.”

Gwen was stunned. “She died?”

Hawk’s eyes flickered for a second.

Good. No loose ends...

Helen, who already knew what had happened, looked at her husband with a worried expression. “Why would someone try to kidnap Gwen? Do you think they were after you?”

“Alan’s still looking into it.”

George poured himself a whiskey and took a sip. “I’m arranging for two officers to be posted downstairs. Don’t go out alone for a while. Your safety comes first.”

Helen and Gwen both nodded.

It was a grim but familiar reality. Cops and their families were often targets for retaliation.

Seeing that George was home, Hawk stood up. “Mr. Stacy, I should get going.”

George looked at him, nodded, and said one word. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s my job to protect Gwen,” Hawk said with a smile.

Gwen walked Hawk to the door.

Across the street, a parked police car gave off a sense of security.

“You be careful, too.”

“Don’t worry.” Hawk smiled, said his goodbyes, and walked toward the subway. The moment he turned the corner and was out of Gwen’s sight, he stopped. He took a deep breath.

And then, he unleashed his full senses.

...