The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(9)
By the set of his shoulders, I can tell Lawrence is finished talking about his past, and this time I have enough to ponder that I let it drop. I wonder what else he’s kept from me. It’s nuts how complicated my life has become since Matteo appeared with his questions. I lean back over the sink and let the hot water and L’s humming momentarily wash away my worries.
I snort at one of my own wayward thoughts. “Now at least I understand your willingness to go to Hooded Falcon stuff. I always assumed you just liked the spandex.”
“I may not love comics, but I can appreciate the art. I loved the drawings that Casey Senior did in his journals. The messy ideas, the scribbles, the colors, the costumes.” Lawrence shrugs, then meets my gaze in the mirror and gives me a small secret smile. “And the spandex. In fact, Senior gave me one of his journals right before he died. He knew I loved watching him work, drawing the characters. He’d said he wanted me to have it.”
“Wait—like you have original memorabilia? And I don’t know this.” I’m a little jubilant, mostly deeply offended.
“I told you we were done talking.” The blow-dryer clicks on, and we’re forced into silence.
“Can I see it?” I ask the moment my hair is dry. Lawrence tries his best to hurry me out of the chair, but I’m not finished.
“It’s just a journal. An old journal. Aren’t we done talking about this?”
“If you show it to me, we can be.”
“You’re so stubborn.”
“Back at ya.”
Lawrence throws down the brush with a scowl, leaves me sitting in the salon chair, and trudges off to the back hallway without another word. I can hear him clomping upstairs to his apartment and . . . silence.
Ryan eyes me over his phone in puzzlement. He removes his headphones and motions to the back of the shop. “Are you done now?”
“Almost. Lawrence has an original journal from Casey Senior he’s going to show me!”
Something sparks in Ryan’s gaze, but his words are blasé. “And you care because . . .”
“Ryan. Seriously. Because I love The Hooded Falcon? Do you know me at all? You’re working on the video game! Aren’t you interested?” It takes all my willpower not to divulge the entirety of L’s secret.
Ryan’s lips press into a thin line, and something odd passes over his face. My friends are acting so weird today. He clamps the headphones back on his ears just as the creak of stairs announces Lawrence’s descent. Lawrence reappears moments later and shoves a worn black moleskin notebook in my face.
I can’t help myself. I squeal like a Whovian at the start of a new regeneration. “Lawrence, it’s real!” I flip the pages, taking in the pen and ink sketches, the messy notes, the odd torn-out page. I have notebook upon notebook exactly like this of my own work. I recognize the thought process of a fellow comic book writer; familiar sketches call to me at the beginning of the journal—sketches from the last issue ever published. This is a gold mine. It’s likely one of the last journals Senior ever drew in. I flip faster, wanting to see everything this treasure holds.
A scene near the back, fully and artfully wrought, especially for a sketchbook version, catches my eye. It’s an all-black panel that spans two pages, the pen lines of a hatch fill in all the white, leaving just two lone figures in the center. It’s the Hooded Falcon, kneeling before Swoosh and handing him his bow.
I do a double take and look again. I flip to the back, then forward again to the sketch. “When was this written?” I’ve never seen this sketch before, but its significance is undeniable, and it’s definitely not in the canonical issues.
“Girl, don’t you mess up my keepsake.” Lawrence taps his foot. He reaches for the notebook, but I parry and spin the chair around, using his shins as a push-off point.
“I need a date; I need a date—ah-ha!” I find a little sketch that Casey Senior dated a few pages back, do a little quick mental math that only someone truly obsessed with the comics would know, and shake my head. “This isn’t possible.”
“It’s real, if that’s what you mean. He gave it to me himself, right after a meeting with his son.” L sounds offended now.
I spin the chair back around and meet his eyes with my own wide gaze. “I believe you. But according to this, Casey Senior was retiring the Hooded Falcon. He was going to stop the Falcon series.” I look around. “Can you copy these two pages for me? I promise I won’t show anyone. I want to do some research if I can. This is the biggest news in the comic industry in years.”
“But . . . the comic is still going, isn’t it?” Lawrence looks confused and extremely hesitant to share his journal.
I catch my breath. “You said that Casey Senior argued with his son the night he died. What if it was about his plans to stop the comic? What if my boss knew his dad wanted to stop the comic and has been covering up and hiding the original creator’s wishes? It’d be a huge deal if Casey Senior finished the series and his son hid the issues in order to capitalize on the franchise. I need to find out if anyone else knew about this.”
There’s a moment of coiled violence where I think Lawrence is going to rip the journal out of my hands. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and his shoulders relax a fraction of an inch.
“No one else sees this unless I say so.” Lawrence takes the journal to the copier at the register and runs off two sheets for me. He’s muttering about how I should just leave the past alone again, but I can tell he’s a little glad we talked today. It takes a really good friend to dredge up your former life drama and maybe relieve a bit of misplaced decades-old guilt. Or maybe it’s the thought of Casey Junior getting caught doing something wrong. Either way, I’ll take it.