Hunter and Morgan: Gatecrasher

by H. K. Nightingale

  "Not for another hour, no."

  The TV came on in a blaze of noise. Caleb yelped and clamped his hands over his ears. Aiyeda looked over her shoulder with an expression of total innocence on her face and her paw on the TV remote.

  Morgan got up and took the remote from her. He turned off the TV. "Be good," he said to her. "I'm having a conversation."

  Caleb groaned.

  "I like to keep up on current affairs, Guapo," said Aiyeda, snootily.

  "No you don't. You were looking for cartoons."

  Aiyeda huffed smoke and padded off to the other end of the coffee table. She started to flick through a magazine, taking an exaggerated moment to lick a single, sharp claw before using it to turn each page. It was testament to her control that she didn't rip the thing to shreds.

  "So," said Morgan to Caleb. "You had a wild night?"

  Caleb rolled his eyes. "You're not going to let it go, are you? Even after your dragon just made my head explode?"

  Morgan smiled beneficently.

  "Oh, all right then. We went for a nice dinner, and then we had a few drinks at this burlesque club called 'Bubble'. Dave's a member. Jennifer scored something interesting, and please turn your judgy face off right now, it was safe. Essence. None of your street drugs for our Jennifer."

  "Oh, Caleb, you didn't."

  "It was just a little buzz."

  "A magic buzz."

  "Would you rather I was snorting coke or popping Ecstasy cut with rat poison?"

  "I'd rather you were sticking to vodka."

  "Morgan, you are such a prude sometimes."

  Aiyeda snort-hissed. "Tell me about it. You should see his dirty dreams." He looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowed at Morgan. "Pathetic."

  "You know nothing about my dreams," said Morgan. "You're just pissed off I won't let you watch cartoons."

  "Bah!" said Aiyeda, and went back to his magazine.

  "You have no idea where the magic came from," Morgan pointed out to Caleb. "Or that it would do what it claims to do. Or how powerful it is. Some peoples' magic is weaker and degrades much faster than others."

  "Yeah, well, maybe you missed your vocation?" said Caleb, with a pointed look in Aiyeda's direction.

  Morgan sighed. "Okay, so they fed you, got you drunk and gave you questionable mood-affecting magic. Where did the sex party come into all this?"

  "It wasn't questionable. It came from an old friend of theirs."

  "Whatever."

  "Okay, okay. So we were watching this burlesque show, enjoying a nice high. Dave had his hand on my thigh, and Jennifer was whispering some very naughty things in my ear. And then this guy came to our table. He was wearing a tux with no jacket, white gloves and a white pompom on his backside, like a bunny tail. No ears, though. He was carrying this silver tray with a big, old-fashioned looking key on it, and three masks, like, masquerade masks, you know? All black lace and feathers. So he goes and pops the tray on our table and says, 'With the compliments of Mr Appleford.' Turns out, every night the guy who owns the club selects any of the guests he fancies to come and join a private party downstairs. Jennifer and Dave were really excited, because they'd wanted to get in for ages, but never got picked. So we put on the masks, and the bunny-tail waiter guided us downstairs to a big door, like on a dungeon, you know? All iron hinges and this big metal keyhole. We popped on the masks, Dave stuck the key in the keyhole, and in we went. Only, not a dungeon inside. Thank fuck, because you have to be careful who you play with, right?"

  Morgan nodded. He was so drawn into Caleb's story he'd almost forgotten he actually knew where it ended up.

  "Not a dungeon at all. Just a big room with the hugest four poster you could bloody imagine in the middle, and the floor was all covered in big cushions and expensive looking blankets and silk sheets. We were there for hours. There was champagne and, yeah, okay, more magic, but I only took that one Essence from Jen. After a bit you forget to be shy or worry about who's touching you. It's just sex. Wherever you look. Gorgeous people having sex and wanting to draw you into it. I swear, Morgan, I edged for hours and hours, just touching, being touched, like floating on this big cloud of pleasure."

  Morgan glanced at Aiyeda. The little dragon was sitting on its haunches, staring at Caleb, round eyed, slack jawed. Morgan had never seen it look shocked before.

  Morgan was pretty shocked himself. Maybe Caleb had been right about him. Maybe he was… Well, not a prude. Innocent, perhaps?

  Well, not that, either, considering some of the things he'd imagined doing to Hunter last night. And yet still, shocked.

  God. Caleb.

  "Are you okay?" he said. "I mean, now you've come down, or you're coming down… Really, are you okay?"

  "I'm fine." Caleb fell against the back of the couch, arms flung wide. "Seriously, beyond fine. I feel amazing. Well, apart from the hangover."

  "You don't feel…" Morgan searched for the right word. 'Used' felt a bit moralistic. 'Taken advantage of' sounded patronising. "Upset?"

  "No. Why would I?"

  Morgan and Aiyeda exchanged glances. Caleb did seem all right. Perhaps this was just one of those 'your mileage may vary' things. Morgan didn't want to kink-shame, or behave like a maiden aunt with an attack of the vapours. It was just so far from what he thought a good time might look like. And what would happen now? Would Jennifer and Dave make a habit of taking him to clubs because he'd attract the attention of the next depraved sex-party host they wanted to impress?

  "It's just sex, Morgan," said Caleb. "Sometimes you just have to throw caution to the wind and say, 'fuck it!', you know? Just… Fuck it. Life's short. Live while you can."

  Okay, that made some kind of sense. "Carpe diem, right?"

  "Carpe diem, Morgan. Exactly. Now fuck off to work, and take your dragon with you. I have a lot of sex and drugs to sleep off."

  Given Hunter's opinions about magic, Morgan knew it would never be 'bring your dragon to work day', so he took a few moments to call his magic back inside of him, where it settled as a warm glow somewhere around his centre. Then he caught the train to the city centre and walked to Hunter's office. The front door was open, so he gave a quick buzz and let himself in. Jogged up the stairs and opened the door, to find himself looking at the unmistakable aluminium back of an iMac. There was a wireless keyboard on the desk, too, and a mouse and trackpad. And a sleek, white iPhone box.

  Morgan looked from all the expensive toys over to Hunter, who was leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest. Smirking, naturally.

  "Well." Morgan popped his rucksack under his desk.

  "I hope you feel suitably well-equipped," said Hunter.

  Morgan strode across the room, got right up in Hunter's space and kissed him. "A clapped out old laptop would've been fine."

  "Rubbish. I have standards to maintain." Hunter unfolded his arms and rested his hands on Morgan's hips.

  A delighted little laugh escaped from Morgan. "I absolutely love it. How did you know I have a hard on for shiny tech?"

  "Oh, now, let me see." Hunter shifted his hips and pulled Morgan in a bit tighter. "Yep, there it is."

  "That might just be for you," murmured Morgan.

  Hunter chuckled. Then he took a slow breath in, quite possibly sniffing Morgan's shampoo. "I thought you might have changed your mind again."

  "We should take it slow," said Morgan. "But we should take it."

  Hunter breathed in again, this time a big, unashamed huff of Morgan. It was very hot. "Yeah. Let's."

  "We'll have to make sure Pearl doesn't find out. And please tell me you didn't get me a computer so I'd have sex with you."

  "No! I ordered it yesterday, before any of that. I'm honestly hurt you'd think such a thing, Morgan."

  He didn't sound hurt at all. He sounded how Morgan felt: light and giddy, like laughter could come bubbling out any moment.

  "We'd better get to work, Mr Hunter," Morgan said.

  Hunter lightly smacked Morgan's arse. "Off you go the
n, Mr Kerry. Be sure to get your equipment ready."

  "I'll have you know my equipment is always ready, Mr Hunter."

  Hunter giggle-snorted and smacked his arse again.

  Morgan was in danger of volunteering for a full-on spanking session when Hunter's phone rang. Hunter wasn't in the habit of missing calls, so it gave Morgan a moment to run back to his desk and fire up his new computer. He popped his new Poundland cushion onto his chair before he sat.

  "Okay," Hunter said to whoever it was on the phone. "We'll be there at ten thirty. Yeah, I'll check. Bye."

  "New case?" Morgan asked. The computer sang a sweet little tune to him as it came to life.

  "Could be. Um, I know you told me, but I've had a lot on my mind. Where might I find the missing person's files?"

  "Right of the book case, top two drawers. Alphabetical by surname."

  "Wow. That really is efficient."

  Morgan beamed at him. "It's what I do."

  "Among other things," murmured Hunter, and he started rifling through his filing cabinet.

  Morgan hadn't been in a police station since the warehouse incident, and he didn't remember much about that one, except that it had smelled of antibacterial spray, like hospitals, and none of the rooms he'd been in had windows. This police station was different. For one thing, it had no majos facilities, it was just an old-fashioned police station. The interview room he and Hunter were shown to had windows, carpet and curtains. It did smell of antibacterial spray, though.

  They'd had time to do no more than sit down before the door opened again and two people came in. One was a woman, with sharp, clicky heels and long, black hair that swung in a ponytail down her back. The other was a slender young guy wearing a crisp, white shirt and an earnest expression. His thick eyebrows were scrunched up, giving the impression that he was about to pay excruciating attention to everything that happened and hoped to hell he didn't get anything wrong.

  The woman said a curt "hello," to Hunter, then shook Morgan's hand and smiled. Her lipstick was the colour of a ripe cherry, combining with her dark hair to make her skin look ultra-pale. It was very dramatic, might even have been scary if it wasn't for the warmth of her smile. "I'm DS Shaw," she said. "And this is DC Goswami."

  Morgan greeted both of them politely. Hunter shook hands with Goswami, but just nodded at DS Shaw. Well. That was all very weird. Hunter's manners were usually impeccable.

  They all sat down, business cards changed hands and Detective Shaw said, "So. What've you got for us?"

  Hunter gave her a quick look, the meaning of which Morgan couldn't fathom, and said, "I think we've found a misper that matches your description."

  There was something about the way Hunter casually threw detective jargon into the conversation that sent a very pleasant shiver down Morgan's spine.

  "Reginald Klyne," Hunter said, taking a picture out of the folder where Morgan had very carefully filed it. "Aged forty nine, Customer Experience Assistant at William Hill's bookmakers in Leeds. So passionate about the industry that he follows his own tips, but not with reputable bookies. A debt management company came to me to help track him down. He owes them thirty grand."

  DI Shaw's immaculate eyebrows shot up. "Did he, now?"

  "Ah," said Hunter. "He's in the past tense now, is he?"

  "Put it this way, your employers won't be getting their money back any time soon."

  "Clients," said Hunter. Detective Shaw ignored him.

  "How long's he been missing?" asked Detective Goswami.

  "His landlord was the last one to see him," said Hunter. "December the twenty second last year."

  "Nearly six months ago."

  "I wasn't contacted until April," said Hunter. "The trail was already cold."

  "Well, you can close your file," Detective Shaw said.

  "What happened to him?"

  "I'm not at liberty to disclose that."

  "Jess, come on."

  Detective Shaw's eyes narrowed, but Hunter didn't back down, holding eye contact.

  Morgan and Detective Goswami exchanged a 'what the fuck' sort of look.

  "Thank you for your help, Mr Hunter," Detective Shaw said. "Please submit your invoice through the usual channels. I'm sorry it won't be quite as lucrative as your original employer would have offered."

  "Client." Hunter clicked his tongue on the 'C' and the 'T'.

  Detective Shaw smiled with no humour whatsoever and got to her feet. Another round of handshakes, Detective Shaw missing out Hunter again, as if she felt he didn't deserve it. Morgan bristled a bit.

  "Please don't hesitate to get in touch if we can be of any further help," said Hunter, smoothly.

  "Someone will be along to show you out soon." Detective Shaw put the picture in her own file. It was a lot thicker than Hunter's. Then she swooshed out of the room, with the same intent sense of purpose as she'd swept in. Detective Goswami threw an apologetic smile over his shoulder at Morgan.

  "Was it just me," Morgan said, "or was she a bit rude?"

  "She's always rude, Morgan." Hunter sighed heavily. "She's my sister."

  Chapter Twelve

  Morgan waited until they were back out on the street before he said, "So. Your sister."

  Hunter was fuming, unrestrained now from any need to hang on to the moral high ground. "Yes. My bloody sister. She thinks she's so smart and clever, just because she's still on the Force. She has no–"

  "So you both went into the Police. After school."

  "She got her degree first. Fast tracked her skinny little arse right past me."

  "You weren't a Sergeant?"

  "No, Morgan. I was not. We both went for promotion. She got it, I didn't. But that does not mean she's better than me. Understand?"

  Morgan decided it was best to nod. He had no idea how police ranking or promotions worked, only that police detectives on TV seemed a lot more old and grizzled than Hunter or his sister.

  "I'm guessing she's married, then, what with the different surname?"

  "Was."

  "She must have married young."

  "She's only a year younger than me. But she moves fast. Married, had a kid and divorced, all before she was thirty."

  "Oh, so you're an uncle?" Morgan had always wanted to be an uncle. He loved kids.

  "Yes," said Hunter. A soft tone had intruded on his otherwise grumpy voice. "Liam. He's three in September."

  "Aww," said Morgan.

  "I don't get to see him very often. You saw what she's like."

  Morgan's main impression had been that she seemed very professional. Beautiful, too, and now he knew that she and Hunter were related he could recognise similarities around the bone structure and their boundless confidence. And she'd seemed very pissed off with Hunter which, well, that didn't seem so unimaginable. Only yesterday he'd wanted to throw Hunter into a canal himself. He kept these observations to himself, though, and just answered with a non-committal sort of 'mmm'.

  "I want you to get in touch with her sidekick," said Hunter. "Find out what happened to Reginald Klyne."

  "I think we know that. He's dead."

  "Well, of course he's dead, Morgan. I what to know why. How. When."

  "You think the debt collectors will want to know?"

  "Of course not. I want to know."

  Morgan grinned at him and was gratified to notice the grimness of Hunter's expression diminished significantly. "Good," he said. "So do I."

  They went to a coffee shop for lunch. It was the other side of the city to the office, but everyone seemed to know Hunter, just like they did at Sophie's. They were shown to a table in the walled garden at the back, where there were only four tables, none of which were occupied. Morgan watched the way Hunter's eyes flitted over the menu, darting around from item to item like a bird scanning for a juicy worm.

  "Burger, I think," Hunter said, a few moments later, and suddenly Morgan realised he ought to choose his own lunch too.

  He opted for avocado salad and an iced tea.
/>   Once the waitress had taken their order, Morgan got out his brand-new work iPhone and tapped in Detective Goswami's number from his business card. He glanced up; Hunter was busy scrolling through his own phone, so Morgan quickly tapped in Detective Shaw's details too.

  Then he called Goswami. It rang three times before he answered. There was a lot of clattering in the background; probably a canteen, or maybe Jess took her sidekick out to lunch too.

  "Hello, Detective Goswami. Morgan Kerry here. We met this morning."

  "Hello," said DC Goswami. "Is everything all right, Sir?"

  "I'm fine. Please, call me Morgan. I like to think we're associates, aren't we?"

  "Can I help you with something?"

  "The thing is, I'm new to all this, and Mr Hunter's asked me to write up the report for our clients. I'm not sure what I'm allowed to say and what I'm not?"

  "Nothing about the case is public knowledge as of yet."

  "Ah, I see. Well, I'd be grateful if you could tell me more when you can."

  "Um, yes."

  "And if you need anything else from us, please don't hesitate to ask. Obviously I don't know the particulars, but if Mr Klyne's gambling had anything to do with his death…"

  "It's possible," said Goswami. "I'm sure Detective Shaw–"

  "That's great. I'll be sure to tell you if there's any developments at our end, of course."

  "Thank you, I'll… Hang on a minute please."

  Morgan waited. Hunter was watching him.

  "Um," said Goswami, after a minute or two. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "There is something. Do you know where Mr Klyne worked up his debts? I've got to go through it all from scratch and it would save a lot of time if you could…"

  "I'll check our records as soon as we get back to the office," Morgan said. "Anything else you'd like me to look for?"

  "Not yet. Our investigation is in its early stages so we don't want to discount anything."

  "I'll see what I can do about those bookies," said Morgan. "Thanks, Detective."

  "Call me Sahil. Bye for now."

  Morgan ended the call and looked up at Hunter.

  "Not a bad start," said Hunter.