Indirection, p.25
Indirection, page 25
part #1 of Borealis: Without a Compass Series
“Quadrangle,” Shaw said.
“Huh?”
“Not triangle.”
North grunted. “Well?”
“First, no Adderall scrip. Second, what are we supposed to do? I think we need to get you mildly drunk.” Shaw prepared a list of reasons, including North’s nonstop work over the last several months.
To Shaw’s surprise, though, North didn’t object. He dry-washed his face, nodded, and said, “That sounds fucking amazing.”
Chapter 30
THEY WENT TO RIVETS, a marginally gay bar in Lafayette Square. It sprawled across the main floor of what had originally been several distinct storefronts. The result was a maze of rooms and narrow hallways and two separate bars: one near the front entrance, and the other in a back room that had probably once been designed for storage. The décor was accent walls of exposed brick, plaster painted in muted shades, hot-water radiators, and dark-stained wood. And, of course, rivets. Tarnished rivets glinted in the upholstery, along the edge of the bar, in decorative patterns on the walls.
North and Shaw chose the bar at the back, where the weak light of a winter afternoon didn’t reach. The electric lighting was buttery and sparse, and Shaw drank four Cokes before North noticed and cut him off. After that, he traced his design for rocket shoes (why had nobody thought of those before—nobody except Wile E. Coyote, that was?) on the bar, his fingers leaving streaks on the epoxy-resin surface. North nursed two beers and looked like he might fall asleep sitting upright.
“Let’s go back to your place,” Shaw said. “We’ll give Pari a break from puppy-sitting, and you can get comfy, and we’ll call it an early night. We’ll pick up tomorrow.”
The words seemed to startle North. He blinked owlishly at his phone, swore, and waved at the bartender to settle up. As he counted out cash, he said, “Tony Gillman is going to be off work any minute. I want to beat him to his condo.”
“Tony can wait a night.”
“Great. I’ll call the hospital and tell them to expect another boy beaten within an inch of his life.”
Shaw hid his hands under his arms.
“Sorry,” North said, although his tone was flat. “I’m tired.”
“You’re tired because you’ve been working nonstop and because you don’t trust anyone else to do anything.”
“Can we not do this right now?”
Shaw didn’t answer, which was its own kind of answer.
They drove to Clayton and found a spot across from the Sussex Downs building on the rapidly emptying street. For the next hour, traffic in and out of the condo building’s parking garage was steady, but there was no sign of the yellow Camaro. They traded off after that; Shaw suggested that North rest, but instead, North found a golf pencil and the back of a QuikTrip receipt and started scribbling something, muttering numbers under his breath. When it was North’s turn to watch, Shaw used the ebook app on his phone to skim new books that he’d picked up.
Some of them were pretty good—Mary Angela had released her next My Alpha Billionaire, which was set in Dubai and featured what Shaw was fairly sure was an illegal use of a popsicle. He marked that one as a definite ‘must read.’ Clarence had released a standalone called Street Wars that, like much of his recent work, seemed passable without being inspired: a slapped-together cover, a plethora of editing errors, and an abundance of exposition. The main character had just explained to the reader for the third time why he was involved in a prank war with his gruff, sexy neighbor—the first round of battle had involved a laxative in a post-workout shake (one side) and flaming dog poop (the other side). And Karen had released The Prisoner’s Ex, which was about an insane ex-wife, her prison-made-me-gay former husband, and the nerdy but sexy criminal-law tyro who had proved the husband had been wrongfully accused (framed by his crazy ex, Shaw guessed). The ex-wife was obsessive and murderous, but more importantly, she seemed to share a couple of interesting traits with Josue: both were Dominican, and both were black.
“What are you reading?” North asked, voice gravelly from disuse.
The city had fallen into night. The lamps up and down the street hung cones of sickly, yellow-orange light across the pavement. Weeks-old snow, packed and melted and refrozen, was black with trapped dirt and pollutants. Two couples were heading into the tavern up the street. A date night, Shaw guessed. What normal couples did.
“Just some new books.”
North shifted. His hand, heavy and warm, came to rest on Shaw’s leg. “So, I was a dick and now you’re going to stonewall me?”
“No.” Shaw looked over his phone and met North’s gaze long enough to say, “You were a dick, so I’m cold-shouldering you.”
North looked like he tried to fight it, but he gave in and smiled.
“They’re books from the authors at the con.”
“I thought you bought a bunch in paperback.”
“Yeah. Those are for my bookshelves. These are to read.”
North’s smile got bigger. “Run that past me again.”
“No. You heard me fine; you just want to tease me. Listen to this one, though.” He told him about Karen’s book and the Josue-like character.
“So in that scenario, is Karen the wrongfully accused convict who learned to love dick? Or is she the idealistic Harvard law graduate who’s charmingly befuddled by real-world situations?”
“I didn’t tell you he often got confused—North!”
“Easy guess.”
“I don’t know what the parallels are supposed to be, but it’s weird, right?”
“Write what you know. Isn’t that the advice?”
“Speaking of which,” Shaw said, sliding down in the seat. “If I’m ever going to be a multi-billionaire author like JK Rowling, I’m going to need to write some very convincing apology and make-up sex scenes. You know. After the sexy reference librarian gets in a fight with the sexy, but often very rude and inconsiderate, jack-of-all-trades handyman who keeps the library running.”
North’s eyebrows rose. “This jack-of-all-trades character sounds dreamy.”
“He’s not. He gets snappy when he doesn’t get enough sleep, and he hooked up the cable box wrong so that all they get is scrambled Korean porn.”
“It was a Korean cooking show, but I’m glad to know where your imagination goes first.” North’s hand slid higher. “I bet even though this jack-of-all-trades guy gets a little snappy, he feels sorry about it later, and then he throws a killer fuck to make up for it.”
Shaw pushed North’s hand off his leg and raised his phone again. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s got ED. I haven’t written that part yet.”
When Shaw thought it was safe, he sneaked a look; North was still trying to wipe the grin away.
The yellow Camaro appeared fifteen minutes later, and as soon as it turned into the garage, they were out of the GTO. Shaw sprinted toward the garage ramp, slipped around the barrier, and headed up into the frozen cement block and the darkness reeking of piss and motor oil. By the time he got to the fourth floor, the blood was pounding in his ears.
The Camaro was dark and empty.
A text came from North: ???
Nothing, Shaw replied.
Stay put.
Chafing his arms, Shaw paced near the access door to the condo building. He was freezing even inside the duffel coat. A boat of a Lincoln, probably thirty years old and floating like a cloud, rolled past him and climbed another level. The driver had to be near eighty, shrunken so that the top of his head barely cleared the steering wheel. In that car, Shaw guessed, he probably could have crashed into a school bus without noticing. An engine roared to life somewhere below Shaw. He shivered and walked faster.
The old man in the Lincoln had gotten in his head. Would Shaw still be driving when he was eighty? Or would he be taking one of those Call-a-Ride services? Would he and North be living in a place like this—nice, safe, minimal upkeep? Or would he and North still have their respective homes in Benton Park and the Southampton area? Even if North wasn’t driving, Shaw couldn’t imagine him giving up the GTO. He’d probably park it in their assigned stall and let it sit there, even though the smart thing in a dense area like Clayton, where the need for off-street parking was high, would be to rent out the spot to someone who could use it—
The access door to the condo building opened, and North emerged. He had changed clothes; he still wore the Redwings and the worn jeans, but he’d pulled on an orange Spire Energy shirt, and over that he wore a hi-vis vest. The reflective tape shimmered under the fluorescents.
“Please tell me you always keep a hard hat in your trunk,” Shaw said.
“It’s part of the disguise,” North said, glaring as he whipped it off. His thatch of blond hair was mussed worse than usual underneath.
“Sexy gas man? That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
“It’s not sexy anything. What happened?”
“It’s definitely sexy. That’s always your angle: sexy dogwalker, sexy meter maid—”
“That’s a sexist term. I’m really disappointed in you.”
“—sexy carwash jockey—”
“Carwash jockey?”
“—sexy bootblack—”
“We’re not in Victorian fucking London, Shaw.”
“—sexy upscale denim salesperson. That kind of thing. Sexy everything.”
“Not this. I’m just a drone from the utility company. Now, what did you—”
“What size is that shirt?”
North colored. It might have been the cold, but Shaw knew it wasn’t. “We need to focus, Shaw.”
“I’m very focused. That shirt might be a medium, but judging by your nipples, I’d say it’s a small. And you normally wear a large. Hence, sexy gas man.”
“This is the size I always wear.”
Shaw moved forward. “Great. Let me see the tag.”
North retreated a step and pointed. “Take one more fucking step.”
Grinning, Shaw raised both hands in surrender.
“I told the neighbors I needed to get into Gillman’s apartment for a routine check, and they both said he doesn’t come home until late. Often past midnight. I asked if he didn’t stop in after work some days, and they both looked at me like I was crazy. Whatever he’s doing, he’s not going inside his condo.”
“Oh, that? I figured that out.”
North’s hands tightened slowly into fists. “What?”
“Yeah, I figured that out while I was waiting for you. It’s pretty obvious, actually.”
With what sounded like a great deal of effort at controlling his voice, North asked, “Do you want to explain it?”
“He rents a second stall from someone else in the building, and he’s got another car there. He parks, runs downstairs, probably puts on a basic disguise, and leaves immediately. He’s probably out of the garage by the time anyone’s starting to look for him.”
“Mother. Fucker.”
“North, I know now is a difficult time for you, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your nipples.”
North stalked away.
“Frostbite is real, North!”
Chapter 31
THEY WENT BACK TO North’s Southampton house, where Pari was eager to give them an agonizingly detailed accounting of the puppy’s misbehaving.
“And he growled at me,” she said. “And he barked at a bird that landed on the windowsill. And he’s a menace to society. I don’t know why you put up with him. And I’m not doing this again unless you pay me double. Oh. And hazard pay.”
“The threats lose some of their force,” North said, “when you keep interrupting yourself to cover him in kisses.”
By the time Pari left, the puppy had wiggled into his crate. To escape more kisses from Pari, Shaw guessed. When the door finally shut behind Pari, North stood one-legged in the hall, unlacing the Redwings. Shaw moved to stand in his line of sight.
As the second boot hit the floor, North glanced up. “Mmm,” he said. He pressed a hand against Shaw’s erection, and a tiny smile lit up his face as Shaw rolled his hips. “Yeah?”
“God,” Shaw nodded, “all day. I’ve wanted this all day.”
“You’ve wanted it all week.”
Shaw nodded faster.
North made a considering noise as he guided Shaw toward the closest wall, hand applying just enough pressure to chafe sparks of pleasure up into Shaw’s belly. When Shaw hit the wall, North slid his hand to that spot just above Shaw’s dick, rubbing hard circles into the sensitive flesh there, and Shaw let out a thirsty little pant.
North kissed him and whispered, “All week.”
The blush was hot in Shaw’s face, but he said, “Longer.”
“Longer?” North drawled. “Sounds like I’ve been slacking.”
“No—ah!” Shaw shuddered as North forced the harem pants and his briefs down to mid-thigh. The cotton dragged against sensitive skin, and then cold air brushed him, and Shaw shuddered again. “You’re just—you’re just busy.”
“I am.”
“You’re a busy guy,” Shaw said. Then North’s hand closed around his dick, and he threw his head back, where it thunked against the wall. “Jesus Christ!”
“Shush,” North said with a laugh. “You’re going to wake up Mr. Winns.”
“Oh fuck,” Shaw whispered. North’s callused hand tightened, dragged, twisted. Shaw tried to squirm—back, forward, he wasn’t sure—and North’s other hand caught Shaw’s sweater and hauled him back into place. “Oh, North, no, I’m so close—I don’t want to—not yet—”
“You’re not quite there yet,” North said; underneath the perpetual smolder of his voice lay a note of what might have been amusement, but his pupils were huge, and his breathing had accelerated. “Are you?”
Shaw whined.
“Are you?” North insisted.
“North.”
“That’s what I thought,” North whispered and then kissed a line down Shaw’s neck, his hand still moving. Sometimes North could be shockingly gentle. Sometimes—sometimes not. Tonight, he was rough, and the firm, callused grip and the hard, tight, unrelenting movements began to blur with the possessive kisses, the nips, North’s mouth restless on Shaw’s neck and jaw and lips.
“Oh shit,” Shaw chanted, “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
North’s hand sprang open; the other hand, the one gripping the sweater, gave Shaw a shake. “Uh uh. Not yet.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Shaw managed. Barely. He gulped air.
The next kiss, on his jaw, was a question, and Shaw nodded with his eyes still shut.
“Off,” North said, tugging on the sweater and turning Shaw out of it. He dragged the harem pants off next, then the briefs. Shaw hopped to peel off the ragg-wool socks. North ditched his own clothes. As soon as Shaw had both feet on the ground again, North caught his balls and tugged him into another kiss. “Bed. Now.” Then he gave a squeeze that made Shaw grunt, and he slapped him on the ass as Shaw turned for North’s bedroom.
As Shaw’s bare feet slapped the boards, a phone buzzed behind him.
“At this fucking hour,” North said.
Shaw stopped and looked back. “Leave it.”
“What if someone’s in the hospital again?”
“Honestly, North? At this point, I need fifteen minutes with your dick, and then I can solve world hunger or invent faster-than-light travel or solve this damn case. But dick first. It has to be in that order.”
A spectral smile crossed North’s face as he retrieved his phone and checked it. It was either a text or an email because he stared at the screen. For a moment, North was lost in whatever he was reading: leaning against the wall, one arm curled so he could push at the mess of short blond hair, the hard lines of his chest and abdomen on display. Then his face changed: practical, focused, another problem to solve.
“Damn it. I’ve got to do this right now.” He looked up at Shaw, made a face, and said, “Sorry.”
“Did my house burn down?”
“What? No.”
“Did a foreign power launch a nuclear missile?”
North shook his head; he was staring at the phone again, tapping the screen.
“Did something happen to your dad or my parents, God forbid?”
“Um, no. Wait. What?”
“North, if it wasn’t any of those things, you can put your phone down and fuck me and then take care of whatever memo or invoice or blind carbon copy you forgot to send.”
North’s head came up, and for a moment, irritation stormed across his features. Then, with what looked like effort, he smoothed out his features. “It’s an Energizer exec. He’s willing to pay triple our rates for us to do some short-term corporate work. Six months, but he says it could be renewed.”
“That does not constitute an emergency.”
“He wants a whole sales kit, whatever the fuck that is, tomorrow morning. He says they’ve got to make a decision this weekend and get started. Jesus Christ, what the hell is a sales kit? A pamphlet? A slideshow?”
“We’ve got plenty of work. We’ve got more work than we can handle. We’ve got all the Aldrich stuff, plus the one-off jobs, plus—”
“I’m going to have to put the whole thing together from scratch,” North was saying to himself as he fished his underwear out of the jeans puddled on the floor. “And my good computer is at your office. Do I drive over? Fuck it.”
“North—”
In boxer briefs, North jogged to Shaw, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “Sorry, baby. This is going to take me all night.”
“North—”
“You get some sleep; I’ll be quiet, I promise.”
And then he was gone, moving toward the kitchen, the smell of American Crew hair gel lingering in his wake.
Shaw closed his eyes. Opened them. He showered, considered jerking off, and instead leaned his forehead against the tile. The cool, sharp edges were a lifeline. He dried off, wrapped himself in a towel, and paused in the hallway. Still in his underwear, North hunched over the kitchen table, pecking away at a laptop. Shaw turned away and went to the bedroom.
