Hatch shot a glance over to the thick bartender and restaurant owner, maker of sauces. "You talking about Ernie? Wenk? Him over there?" she asked, confused.
Bennett nodded slowly but said nothing.
Hatch said, "Why would he know anything about it?"
"Because he was one of the founding members. Eyes and ears everywhere," he said with a wink.
Hatch sat back, absorbing this. The man she'd known for years. She’d come to his establishment, drinking, and eating, and socializing. To think Wenk had known or may have known something about her father or his death, and had held back, sickened her.
Hatch finished the rest of her rum and Coke. The ice had already melted, the remnants in the cup were more water than anything else. She was grateful for it because with too many drinks, she didn’t know if she would be able to contain the anger rising up. It was misguided anger and she knew it. She didn't know who she was angry at or if Wenk knew anything at all. But here Bennett sat, laying it all out for her, at least hinting at what potentially could've been right in front of her all along.
"Hey, look, maybe he doesn't know anything. Maybe he was in it early, got out early. I don't know. And I don't know what this has to do with your father's death, but what I can tell you is this--some things are better left buried. Sometimes it's just better that way," he said.
Hatch looked at him, then turned and looked at Wenk behind the bar, who nodded and held up a bottle of Crown and gestured at her glass. She shook her head no, and he went back to his work.
"Yeah, listen, Hatch, I gotta go. I got stuff to do. It was good seeing you," he said.
"Was it?" Hatch asked.
Bennett stood and looked down at her before leaving. "For what it's worth, you were a hell of an operator, and I'm sorry for the way things played out. And whatever it is you're looking for, I hope you find it."
With that, Bennett walked out of the bar, leaving Hatch alone in the private section of Snake Eaters. The lunch wave of people began to trickle in, and tables were starting to fill.
Hatch stood and took her glass over to the bar. She debated on discussing the new information with Wenk right here, right now, but as the man became busy with orders, she didn't want to tip her hand. Hatch decided she would return later, around closing time, and have a little one-on-one with her friend and bartender about the group responsible for her father’s death.
Three
Hatch sat in a rental car and sipped from a lukewarm cup of coffee she had picked up from a local convenience store. The bitterness of the tepid liquid gave her more of a jolt than the caffeine and was somehow strangely satisfying.
She waited, knowing Snake Eaters closed early. Strange for a business operating outside of a military base, but Wenk kept odd hours. He always had. He liked to open early and close earlier than most other bars in the area. The watering hole became a launching point for most GIs as they set out on their night of drinking. By closing the bar at 11:00, Wenk figured it also prevented some of the fallouts that tended to occur toward the later hours of a bar's night when the drinks multiplied and tempers flared in relation.
Hatch watched as the last group of patrons staggered out into the thick mugginess of the night air. She could see Wenk still inside, working the bar. He was setting up glasses and restocking the shelves of booze. Hatch figured he'd probably be at it for the next hour or two, and she wanted to have a conversation before he was too tired or too put off to fully comprehend her line of questions.
She set the empty cup down in the center console and prepared to exit the rental when her phone began to vibrate. She slipped it out and looked at the incoming caller, Dalton Savage. It was the third time he'd called this week. And it would be the third time she hadn't answered. He left one message out of the three calls, a short, brief voicemail. He had just asked if she was okay and told her that he was thinking about her. Thinking about her, she thought. She had saved the message on her phone and listened to it more times than she cared to admit. His voice was the last thing she heard before falling asleep.
Since leaving Hawk’s Landing, Hatch had allowed herself to mentally drift back to the place she had thought she’d forever left behind. She was gradually coming to believe there might be a chance at something normal, a life beyond what she knew.
The night she had laid in the motel bed with Savage, nothing happened. But falling asleep to the rise and fall of Savage’s chest had left a longing inside her, a sensation she had long since forgotten she was even capable of having.
Hatch knew she needed to call him. She wanted to. She wanted to tell him that she was working on finding her way back to Hawk’s Landing. He knew why she was on the move again. And knowing the type of man that he was, she knew undoubtedly that Savage understood. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to answer the phone. Maybe she was more scared that if she answered it, he would say something that would derail the path she was on. Hatch knew he had the potential power to do that, and she couldn't afford to let that happen. She needed to stay the course, focus on the task at hand, find out who was responsible for her father's death, and if possible, make it right. Only then would she be able to really go home and begin taking care of Daphne and Jake, work on the relationship with her mother, and maybe, if she was lucky enough, start a life with Savage.
She let the phone vibrate until the call had gone to voicemail and then slipped it back into her pocket. Exiting the car, she walked across the street and pulled the door open. Wenk popped his head up from behind the bar and was caught off guard by her entrance.
"Rachel? Back so soon? I just closed her down. You know better than most I like to shut things down early before the riff-raff gets out of control." He chuckled. “I’ll set one up for you if you’d like?”
"No need. I'm sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy getting things set up for tomorrow. I just wanted to touch base on something that’s been gnawing at me all day."
He set a glass mug down on the towel he was using to dry it and looked at her, cocking his head slightly to the side. "Why didn't you just ask me when you were in here earlier?"
"I would have, but there were just too many people. You were busy, and it wasn't the right time," Hatch said. “Do you mind?” She eyed a stool.
"I always have time for you, my dear.” Wenk rounded the bar and pulled up a seat on one of the stools nearest her. "How about that drink?"
"Not tonight. I'm going unleaded for the rest of the evening."
"Fine by me. I don’t partake myself these days.” He stared at the empty mug and then to the line of bottles shelved in the backdrop. “Three years sober this month," he said pridefully.
"Huh," Hatch offered. "I didn't know."
Wenk’s cheeks pushed upward, creasing the outside corners of his eyes. "It's a strange thing, right? A bar owner on the wagon. I find myself a bit of a hypocrite nowadays. I serve them up all night long but refuse to consume any myself.” He continued before Hatch could offer a counter. “Hell, back in the day I used to be half in the bag working the bar. I'm sure I let a lot of money go in and out in the wrong direction. I could barely keep track of things. But after the car accident, I decided it was time I cleaned my act up and got myself together."