Indirection, page 38
part #1 of Borealis: Without a Compass Series
When Shaw came around the corner, she punched him, aiming for the face. He had good reactions, honed by sparring in the smattering of martial arts he’d picked up and then abandoned, and he managed to dodge so that the punch only clipped his ear. It still stung, and the rush of adrenaline narrowed his vision to a tunnel and sent his pulse racing. She kicked before he could recover, catching him in the hip, and Shaw went down. He landed on the cracked pavement, chips of cement slicing his palms.
Kelly came after him. A part of Shaw’s brain told him things had gone wrong—she should have run again; now was the perfect opportunity for her to escape—but things were moving too quickly for him to figure out why. Her boot came down in a vicious stomp intended for Shaw’s head. He rolled and came up against a dumpster.
The movement had reversed their positions: now Kelly stood at the mouth of the alley, and Shaw scrabbled backward, deeper into the cleft between the brick walls. Bringing back Nicci’s purse as though intending to use it as a club, Kelly leapt forward. Shaw grabbed a broken section of pallet, driving splinters into his hands, and tossed it. It caught Kelly at the legs. She swore, stumbled, and almost lost her balance.
That delay gave Shaw time to regain his feet. This time, when Kelly lunged, Shaw was ready. He threw a jab that was meant to catch her in the solar plexus, but the uneven cement caused Kelly to lose her balance. Shaw’s fist connected with her breast. Kelly’s eyes got huge, and she screamed.
Shaw had already committed himself to the uppercut, launching up with as much force as his body could produce, focusing all of it behind his clenched hand. The blow caught her on the jaw, a perfect bell ringer. Silence. Lights out. Then the soft scuff of clothing as she slid to the ground.
Behind Shaw, in the alley, a man’s voice said, “Jesus Christ, sorry I’m late. Toss me the wallet so you can get back in there before the bitch realizes—”
Shaw spun. Through red clouds of adrenaline, he was aware of his hand throbbing, his heart hammering in his throat. He locked eyes with a man who had at least six inches on Shaw and a hundred pounds. Bald, tiny eyes, and the evolutionary trade-off of a neck for shoulders that looked big enough to do some serious smashing.
His steps slowed. His tiny eyes were little black chips of confusion. “Kels, what…what did you do to her? I’m going to—”
“Hey.” That was North, speaking out of the darkness near the bar’s fire door and stepping into the middle of the alley. “Bozo.”
Tiny-eyes lumbered around.
North grabbed a length of two-by-four and cracked it across the back of the big guy’s head before he’d gotten farther than a quarter-turn. Again came the soft thump of flesh hitting cement. North tossed the broken length of wood aside, standing up straight, shoulders back, deep breaths making his chest rise and fall. The orange glow from the security light touched the mess of short blond hair, the pale eyes the color of ice. He was trying not to smile. He put his hands on his hips and glanced down at the big guy.
“Very het,” Shaw called, shaking out his hand. Adrenaline was leaching out of him, and pain from his hand and a dozen scrapes and bruises was rushing in.
The half-hidden smile on North’s face went out, and he scowled.
“No, seriously. It was super het. I’m really proud of you. I thought you’d still be busy on the phone, and then boom, ‘Hey, bozo!’”
“Pretty big talk from a guy who just beat up a girl,” North said, squatting next to the big guy to roll him onto his back. He patted him down, stopped when he uncovered a knife, and tossed the weapon into a dumpster. Rising, North added, “You must be really proud of yourself too, knocking her around like a frat boy who can’t get his dick up.”
Shaw sat down crisscross applesauce on the broken cement. He emptied Nicci’s purse onto the ground: Marc Jacobs mascara, a pack of face wipes, a baggie with several latex dental dams, crumpled tissues, and the wallet. As Shaw opened the wallet and began taking out credit cards, he said, “First of all it’s the twenty-first century.”
North’s only answer was a grunt.
“Women have every right to get beaten up in a fair fight.”
The clip-clop of those massive Redwings.
“And she started it.”
A noise that might have been a laugh.
“And if I hadn’t punched her, I would have been treating her differently because she’s a woman, so basically it was a feminist imperative that I, you know, beat the shit out of her.”
Kneeling next to Shaw, North made a very angry rumble in his chest, but his touch was soft as he tilted Shaw’s head.
“I’m trying to do something,” Shaw whispered, but he’d forgotten about the wallet.
North took Shaw’s hands next, turning them up, and he released a blistering string of swears when he saw the cuts and broken bits of glass and cement embedded in his palms.
“Where’d she get you?” North asked.
“I was stupid; I came around the corner, and she was waiting. She just got me on the ear, and the rest of it is mostly from the fall.”
“This ear?” North asked. Then he kissed Shaw’s ear lightly, his lips brushing the inflamed tissue. He kissed Shaw lightly on the lips and leaned back on his heels. “I really fucked up.”
“No, that was the right ear.”
“I mean in there. I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. I shouldn’t have let you go after her alone.”
“It’s fine. I knew you’d have my back.”
“But I—”
“I knew you’d have my back, North.” Shaw shrugged. “I trust you. Besides, I can handle one skanky bitch on my own.”
“That sounds like the feminist imperative talking.”
“The feminist imperative is a real thing.”
“Sure. And I’m sure that’s what you were thinking about when you titty-punched her.”
Shaw shrugged again. “At least I didn’t pull her hair.”
Kelly made a soft, groaning noise.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” North said. To Shaw, he asked, “Anything?”
“Two Amex, three Visas, a hundred and sixty-three dollars in cash—”
“Jesus.”
“—and the grand prize,” Shaw flourished a card on a lanyard, “an Aldrich Acquisitions secure-access ID.”
“What the fuck?” Kelly mumbled.
“Stay down,” North said when she tried to sit up; either the words or the tone convinced her, or maybe she just didn’t have the strength, because she fell back against the cement. “Police are on their way. What was this? Some sort of identity-theft scam? You toss bozo her wallet, and then you gaslight Nicci until he finishes copying everything? Nicci gets her purse back before the end of the night, none the wiser until she learns that somebody ordered eight thousand dollars’ worth of Xboxes on her Mastercard?”
“Who are you?” Kelly said. “What the hell is going on?”
North made a disgusted noise. “You’ve got some fucked-up priorities, lady. Nicci seems nice. She seems like she really cares about you. But her dad was right about you—you’re garbage. You’re going to throw away a chance with a decent woman for a few credit cards that will get canceled by the end of next week.”
Kelly gurgled. It took Shaw a moment to realize that the sound was laughter. The words came more slowly, and Shaw was starting to realize he might have caused some damage with the uppercut. “Her dad?”
Shaw glanced at North.
More laughter. Kelly rolled onto her side, curling up slightly, but the muffled words kept coming. “Her dad’s the one who hired me in the first place.” She laughed again, raised herself up on one elbow, and spat blood across the cement. “Nicci was having a mid-life crisis. Nicci lezzed out, wanted to start a band. Daddy’s little girl got wild, and that wouldn’t look good to the board.” The short, declarative sentences dissolved into huffing breaths.
“Her father hired you?” Shaw asked.
Kelly nodded. Her pupils were huge; the cone of orange light barely reached her face.
“To—what? Steal her identity?”
“To fuck her life every way from Sunday.” This last sentence seemed to take the rest of her energy; she slumped against the cement, lines of tension relaxing in her body.
Shaw began returning everything to the wallet. North watched silently. Disapprovingly. When Shaw had finished with the wallet, he returned it to the purse along with the rest of the contents he’d dumped on the ground. Then he stood.
North caught his elbow. “He’s the client. He paid.”
“He’s a monster. He’s conducting this psych-ops warfare on his own daughter because he doesn’t like her life choices and wants to scare her back into submission.”
When Shaw tried to step away, North’s grip tightened. “We’re private investigators. We aren’t going to like every job we’re hired to do. We don’t have to like the jobs we’re hired to do.”
“And we started our own agency so we didn’t have to answer to anybody else. So we could help people. Is that what this feels like to you?”
“No, but he didn’t ask us to—”
“He wants pictures of Nicci with Kelly so he can hold them over her head. And he told us to run Kelly off because he figured we’d be more receptive to that. Do you think this is the right thing to do?”
North didn’t answer. He held Shaw’s gaze, his face coloring, and then he broke and looked away.
Shaw reached for the hand still clutching his elbow. He had half a mind to rip North’s fingers away; instead, he was surprised to find himself taking North’s hand into his own, squeezing.
“Compromise,” North said, his voice rough. “She tells Nicci what her dad was up to, and then she leaves, and she never talks to Nicci again. We tell her dad we couldn’t get any decent photographs, but we managed to put a scare into her, and she won’t bother his daughter again.”
“That doesn’t solve the problem, North. He’s going to try again.”
“We can’t solve all the world’s problems. We’re solving this one, right now. That’s what we can do.”
Shaw’s eyes stung; he closed them for a moment. North’s fingers tightened around his own, and after a moment, Shaw gripped him back.
When Shaw opened his eyes, he was looking at Kelly. She was still punch-drunk, her mouth loose, her breathing soft and shallow.
“Tell Nicci the truth,” Shaw said. “And don’t do anything like this again, or I’ll punch you in the other, you know.”
“Titty,” North supplied.
Shaw sighed and headed back to The Unicorn Trough. North’s hand, warm and solid, found the back of his neck.
“There are seventeen reasons,” Shaw said, “why you shouldn’t say tit or titties. Number one, it’s sexist.”
North squeezed the back of his neck and sounded suspiciously like he was laughing.
Chapter 2
NORTH DROVE THEM BACK to Shaw’s house in Benton Park, on the south side of St. Louis. It was, for the most part, a quiet area, although with lower income and higher crime than the western neighborhoods. They passed Hodak’s, windows dark beneath its green awnings (best fried chicken in the city). They passed the Dollar General, where a scrawny white man was trying to lift a motorized shopping cart onto a city bus. The April breeze chased a Big Gulp down the gutter. With the windows down, the smell of hops and malt and yeast from the Anheuser-Busch brewery floated into the car, and the 1968 GTO’s engine rumbled pleasantly at the light.
Instead of dropping Shaw off, North took the alley and parked in the garage. The door rattled down behind them. Neither man moved. The automatic light flicked off. The air was cooler here, kept cold by the dark and the concrete slabs, and North shivered.
“I’m really sorry. About Tucker. About taking that stupid call. It’s like—it’s like he’s in my head, and he knows exactly what to do to make me insane. I can’t even think straight.” North let his head fall back against the seat. “I swear to God, if he keeps trying to drag out the divorce, I’m going to drive over there one night and murder that son of a bitch.”
The noise Shaw made was much, much sadder than a sigh.
North found his hand in the darkness, and Shaw hissed as their fingers slotted together.
“Christ, I forgot. I’m sorry.” North thumped his head against the seat once. “Fuck me, I cannot believe I let you do that alone. I can’t believe I let you get hurt.”
“North, it’s fine. It’s—”
“It’s not fine. It’s very fucking not fine, Shaw.” North turned in the seat, got into an awkward kneeling position, and lifted Shaw’s hand to his mouth. He kissed the swollen knuckles. He kissed each fingertip. He turned the hand over and kissed each scrape and cut, gossamer kisses. Shaw shook himself once and let out a harsh breath. “I.” He kissed the inside of Shaw’s wrist. “Am.” He kissed a few inches higher up Shaw’s arm. “So.” Another kiss, this one to the sleeve bunched at Shaw’s elbow. “Sorry.” He kissed Shaw’s shoulder. Then, as gently as he could, he kissed Shaw on the lips, his tongue flicking until Shaw parted and let North in.
When North pulled back, Shaw’s mouth hung open. Just a little, sure. But it did nice things to a guy’s ego.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” North whispered. “We’re going to go inside. I’m going to get a bath ready for you. I’m going to ice your hand while you soak in those healing salts. I’m going to tape up the worst of these cuts when you’re nice and relaxed. And then I’m going to ride your dick like Paul fucking Revere.”
As North leaned in for another kiss, Shaw said, “But you probably want to sleep in your own bed tonight.”
North froze. Pulled back a quarter inch.
“You’ve been working so hard,” Shaw said. “And I move around too much, and I elbow you, and I snore. So you probably want to sleep in your own bed tonight.” Shaw groped blindly for the door handle.
Gathering a handful of Shaw’s jacket, North said, “I do not want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
Shaw pulled the handle; the door popped open.
“Where do you think you’re going?” North asked.
“You probably need to get home to the puppy. He needs you. He needs your full and undivided attention. He needs you to take him out to go the bathroom. He needs you to get his food and water. He needs you to play with him even when your boyfriend is trying to tell you about the psychosexual Mormon homoeroticism underpinning seasons one, three, and five of Battlestar Galactica.”
North drew back another quarter inch, studying Shaw. “The puppy is with Pari and Truck. What the fuck is going on?”
“And you’ve probably got to take another phone call.” Shaw would have slid out of the car, but North’s grip was too firm. “And I’d hate to be a distraction when you’ve got to take an important phone call.”
North’s eyes narrowed. “You petty little bitch.”
“North! You can’t say bitch anymore either because—”
Shaking him by the jacket, North said, “Oh no. You’re refusing to give me dick as a punishment? That is fucked up, Shaw. That is seriously fucked up.”
In an easy, practiced movement, Shaw grabbed North’s wrist and broke his hold. He slipped out of the car and slammed the door.
“Hold on one fucking minute,” North said, throwing open his own door.
Shaw was already sprinting toward the door into the house, laughing.
North had to skirt Shaw’s Mercedes SLC 300, which slowed him down, and he barely got to the door before Shaw could lock it. They played that game for a while, Shaw laughing uncontrollably as he tried to force the door shut and set the deadbolt, North growling and swearing and shoving just enough to keep Shaw from winning. Finally Shaw gave up, bolting down the hall. The main floor had been given over to the Borealis offices; North flew past them without even a glance, buttonhooking through the reception area at the front and following Shaw into the kitchen.
Shaw let North catch him at the top of the stairs.
North grabbed his ankle, dragged him down, and climbed on top of him. He trapped Shaw’s wrists, pinning him; Shaw was still laughing. His auburn hair had come loose in the tussle, and now it formed a crazy cloud. For a moment, North just enjoyed the view: the refined features, the slender eyebrows, the sharp triangle of cheekbones and jaw that made Shaw more than handsome, more than beautiful. His hazel eyes were bright with amusement.
“Not fair,” Shaw said. “I’m injured. You never would have caught me otherwise.”
North made a noise low in his throat. He bent his head, nuzzling aside Shaw’s collar and kissed the sensitive skin there. Then he bit. Shaw groaned, hips coming up, the beginning of his erection rubbing against North’s belly. North ignored the silent request, sliding his mouth to Shaw’s neck, kissing again.
“Not—” Shaw gasped. “Not fair. Not fair, North. I—” He made a high-pitched noise when North bit his collarbone, and this time, his boner was steel as he rutted up. North rocked back to meet him, coiling Shaw’s hair around his fingers, turning his head to attack his neck again.
Unable to help himself, North bent down, his voice a low, hot whisper: “Still think I should take that phone call?”
Shaw shook his head wildly—or as wildly as he could, with North still clutching his hair. Then he froze, one hand on North’s chest.
North froze too. “What happened? Shit, you got hurt worse than I realized, didn’t you?”
Shaw’s phone buzzed in his pocket; the faint notes of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” floated into the air.
Shaw’s slender eyebrows drew up into innocent arches.
“Ignore it.”
“It might be important.”
North rubbed the bulge of Shaw’s erection. “I’m going to be so nice to you. Ignore it.”
Swallowing, Shaw blinked glassily. But he whispered, “It might be really, really important. Sometimes I get these important phone calls, and I have to drop everything else.”
