HAWKMAN by Gary Lovisi 
Published in Detective Mystery Stories #24 

They called him Hawkman, but his name was just Hawk. It was dangerous for him to enter the Easy Lady tavern, dangerous because of what he’d planned, but he took a deep breath and steeled his nerves and determination. He entered from the back door alley. Usually he used the front door, like almost everyone else, but this time things were different. This time Joe Mulligan was in the Easy Lady and Hawk was after him. 
There was a jukebox off in the corner playing a Little Richard song. He could barely see it through all the smoke. It was one of those old Wurlitzer’s and was all lit up sporting a cracked glass top loaded with empty beer bottles and shot glasses. The Easy Lady was crowded this time of the night, a good size crowd that held a representative assortment of the local losers. There were the usual pimps, hookers, skell gamblers, drug buyers, drug sellers, drunks of all types, and many others from the down-and-out world - as well as many of the people that heelped them stay down-and-out, guys like Joe Mulligan. 
Hawk could see the big Irishman at the end of the bar laughing and guzzling beer, as he was nuzzling a big-breasted blonde with a low-cut blouse. He was surrounded by a half-dozen drunken associates all evidently having a good time as they kept Mike the bartender busy. No sooner did Mike lay a full glass down on the bar than Mulligan and his guys and gals made sure that glass was empty. 
Next to Mulligan sat his girl, Sue Atkins, a dolled-up chickie in a too-tight red dress, low-cut blouse, and hot-money attitude. She was drinking something long and tall and red as well, and was pretty tight herself. In front of her were five similar glasses, all empty. She was busy finishing number six. 
Hawk noticed the other patrons of the Easy Lady also; all busy drinking, talking, laughing, and dancing to the music with varying degrees of competence. It was a general ruckus kind of place. He liked it well enough, but tonight he was here on business, not pleasure. 
He saw Tom Riley and his hardhat buddies in one booth tanking up, while in another sat John and Cath Kilderman who owned the laundry across the street, in here more than in their own place. In another booth were Jake and his wife, Maria, who ran the corner deli, called Jake’s Place. They were both silently slipping under the table. No one noticed. No one cared. 
Hawk took in all this in one sharp glance, along with the form of Mulligan. Mulligan looked exactly like the guy he had seen kill Al Foster yesterday in the alley out back behind the Easy Lady. Now Mulligan was sitting and drinking with his buds as though he hadn’t done anything and didn’t have a care in the world. The cops needed a witness and Hawk would oblige them, but first, he had to be sure in his own mind. And he had to be sure in his own way. 
Hawk relived it all now, how he’d been drinking in the tavern early yesterday afternoon, and how he’d had to excuse himself from the fellas at the bar to go and take a leak. How the bathroom in the back was closed because Elliot the plumber was trying to fix the damn toilet again like he did almost every other week, and how he’d told Hawk, “Go ahead out back if it’s that urgent, Hawkman. Can’t you see I’m busy here.” 
So Hawk opened the door that led out back and what he saw there sent shock and anger coursing through his alcohol-numb brain. For there was Al Foster, a buddy of his since childhood, talking with some big Irish palooka who suddenly pulled out a long blade and jabbed it into Al with a rapid and vicious one-two-three in the guts. Al never said a word as he slumped to the dirty alley floor dead. The killer disappeared almost immediately. 
Events had occurred so fast Hawk had not been able to get a look at the man’s face, but even without such evidence the killer’s build and demeanor were enough to let Hawk know that the man he had seen kill Al had to be Joe Mulligan. And now Mulligan was here, at the end of the bar living it up with his skell buddies, and Al hardly cold in the grave. It made Hawk fume with rage and indignation at the injustice of it all and he knew that he had to do something. Which was just what he had come to the Easy Lady to do. Quietly, he moved forward into the center of the tavern, standing square in front of Mulligan. 
He didn’t do it subtle, that wasn’t Hawk’s way, he shouted right into the big Irishman’s face with a tongue that was as sharp as Mulligan’s knife, “You’re a no good murderer, Mulligan! I saw you kill Al, and I’ll see you fry for it!” 
Mulligan was taken by surprise by the suddenness and audacity of Hawk’s appearance and words but he rebounded quickly enough, even though the knowledge that someone knew he was the killer put the cold hand of fear around the big Irishman’s heart. His eyes bored down into Hawk, “You threatening me! You got a lotta nerve calling me a killer. I ain’t never done nothing!” 
“I’ll see you fry for it, Mulligan! You just wait, before I’m through with you you’ll wish you never heard of Al or me either. I know you think you got off with it scot-free. You think you’re a smart guy, sitting here in the Easy Lady like nothing ever happened and you haven’t a care in the world - well, I saw what happened out back. You’re the killer! And I’m gonna talk!” 
Mulligan did some fast thinking, as a crowd began to form around the two men. Hawk recognized some of Al’s friends; the mood of the place was getting ugly as the anger began to build. Mulligan knew that he had to do something fast, Hawk had seen too much. It wasn’t healthy for a guy in this town to see too much, and less healthy if he talked about what he had seen. Mulligan knew that he couldn’t allow Hawk to leave the Easy Lady alive, and withdrew a piece from his pocket, pointing the weapon at Hawk. 
“You couldn’t let it be Hawkman! First you come in here and threaten me, and then you make all kinds of wild accusations. Lay off, or I’ll send you right on down to hell with Al!” 
“I saw you kill Al, Mulligan,” Hawk said looking at the gun that was leveled at him. “So now you’re going to kill me too? Just like you killed Al. Only you’re gonna kill me in front of a bar full of people. Not smart, Mulligan. Think about that. Everyone here is a witness. I’m going to ask Mike to give me the house phone and I’m going to call the cops to come here and collect you for the murder of Al Foster.” 
Hawk nodded to Mike the barkeep and soon a phone was put up on the bartop and Hawk went over, lifted the receiver and began to dial. 
“Get away from that phone!” Mulligan barked. “You ain’t calling no cops!” 
“No dice, killer!” 
“I said, get away, or I’ll blast you!” Mulligan threatened his voice a terrible thing to hear. 
“With a bar full of witnesses? Go ahead, Mulligan, then you’ll fry for sure!” 
With an angry oath, Mulligan ran out of the Easy Lady and into the street where Hawk closely followed him. 
“Get away from me!” 
“Why? Otherwise you’ll kill me, just like you killed Al?” 
“You’re damn right I will, Hawkman. Mess with me and you can be made to go down a lot easier than Al did!” 
That was all it took. 
Suddenly a horde of cops came out from their hiding places and grabbed Mulligan. They’d been waiting for the trap to spring all along. 
“This is all a mistake…” Mulligan barked as he was quickly disarmed, frisked, cuffed and then dragged to a waiting prowl car. 
“And you made the mistake, Mulligan.” Hawk said, as Mulligan was lead away. “You don’t really think I was stupid enough to confront you without having the cops here and ready, did you? They were here waiting for you to run sacred, waiting for you to spill the beans on Al’s murder. You see, I know you killed Al, but I never got a good look at your face. Now I’m certain of it. So are the cops. You gave away your hand by running away and threatening me, then by admitting you killed Al. An honest joe would never have done that. You killed Al, Mulligan, and you’re gonna fry for it! Al always said you were the type that would someday, and I guess old Al was right.” 
THE END 
Copyright 1999 by Gary Lovisi