by Gregory Ashe
“But this isn’t the end,” Jem said, and then he kissed him. “It’s the beginning.”
INDIRECTION
Keep reading for a sneak preview of Indirection, book one of Borealis: Without a Compass.
Chapter 1
“STAKEOUTS DON’T REQUIRE CHEESE,” SHAW SAID to his partner, boyfriend, and best friend since college, North McKinney. They were sitting in a Ford sedan on a quiet block of Kingshighway. On one side of them, Forest Park opened up, where puddles of safety lights illuminated February-bare branches. On the other side stood businesses, churches, Barnes-Jewish Hospital, condominium buildings, and the glowing façade of The Luxemburg. Still nothing.
“It’s not cheese.” North’s voice was low and deep, with the heat of a fire about to catch. He rattled the can for emphasis.
“It’s got cheese in the name.”
“No, it’s got cheez in the name.” North traced the letters with one finger. “See? That’s so they can’t get sued for false advertising.”
“That makes it even worse. You understand that, right? It’s probably full of benzoates and carrageenan and that’s not even getting started on what dairy does to your body.”
“It’s not—”
“Because of your dairy allergy.”
North’s jaw tightened before he spoke again. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you: I’m ninety-nine percent sure there’s no dairy in this. None. It has cheez, Shaw. Not cheese. So I’m totally safe.”
“I really think—”
“No.”
“I’m just going to—”
“No,” North rumbled, and when Shaw reached for the can, North planted a hand against Shaw’s head and shoved him against the driver’s window.
“It’s killing you,” Shaw said, trying to knock North’s arm away. “By 2038, I won’t have a boyfriend anymore.”
“It’s going to take that long? God, I need to start buying this in bulk.”
“North, I absolutely forbid you to—”
The can’s hiss interrupted Shaw. One-handed, North sprayed a mound of the artificial cheez onto a cracker balanced on his knee. The mound got bigger. And bigger. North didn’t stop until the pyramid of cheez started to topple, and then he scooped up the cracker and shoved it in his mouth. He grinned, displaying the cheez foam between his teeth, and crunched loudly. Then he coughed.
Shaw watched him for a minute as the coughing continued and tears ran down North’s face. North was getting plenty of air. He was also white-knuckling the can of cheez spray as though he thought Shaw might take advantage of this moment of weakness.
“Don’t worry,” Shaw said, putting his fingers to his temples. “Master Hermes just recognized that I’m now a level-five psychic. I’ll dissolve the cracker with my mind, and while I’m in there, I’ll fix that acid reflux you’ve been—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” North croaked, swatting Shaw’s hands away from his temples. He managed to swallow, cleared his throat, and in a raspy but more normal voice continued, “First of all, that psychic stuff is bullshit Master Hermes sells you when he has to pay the vig to those Bosnian guys he borrowed from.”
“Oh, he didn’t borrow it. The spirit of George Gershwin showed him where—”
“And second of all, even though I know it’s not real, don’t you ever fucking dare use that juju to mess around inside me.”
“A lesser man would point out that a couple of nights ago you were begging me to mess around inside you.”
“And third of all, I don’t have acid reflux. I got food poisoning from that fucking toxic nacho cheese—”
“Dairy allergy,” Shaw murmured.
Whatever North had been about to say, he didn’t finish because instead he screamed with what sounded like frustration. Softly.
Movement at The Luxemburg’s front door drew Shaw’s attention. In the flood of lights illuminating the building’s exterior, Chris Hobson might as well have been standing on a stage. He was in his late twenties, close to North and Shaw’s age, cute but on the verge of being rat-faced. He was an investment wunderkind at Aldrich Acquisitions, the company owned and run by Shaw’s father, and he’d been responsible for helping Aldrich Acquisitions become a principal investor in several highly valued biotech startups. He was also, Shaw and North were pretty sure, a thief.
“He’s moving,” Shaw said, taking out his phone. He sent the same message to Pari, their assistant, and to her nonbinary datemate, Truck.
Kingshighway was a busy road during the day, but late on Saturday, the flow of cars was irregular. Twice that night an ambulance had pulled into Barnes-Jewish, sirens screaming, and once a Silverado had pulled to the curb ahead of Shaw and North, breaking the crust of old snow so that a troop of frat boys could pile out and piss on the sidewalk. Chouteau boys, undoubtedly—the same college, just up the road, where North and Shaw had met. Other than that, though, the night’s entertainment had consisted of Shaw trying to tap into his past lives and North trying to see how many crackers he could sandwich together with spray cheez.
Now, though, Hobson had emerged, and it was time to work.
Hobson turned up the street, walking toward the portion of St. Louis known as the Central West End. It was a ritzy area, with Chouteau College, Washington University, and the hospital creating anchor points for people with way too much money. It had trendy bars and coffee shops, fancy restaurants, and even a handful of clubs. If Hobson stuck to his usual routine, he’d be going to the Jumping Pig, a hipsterish bar that offered pork infusions and bacon-themed everything. If Shaw had to guess, he’d say it would be closed in a couple of months, but for now, it was Hobson’s go-to.
As though on cue, Hobson went east at the end of the block.
Shaw and North waited a tense ten minutes; the only sounds were their breathing and the cars whipping past, the whisper of slush churned by tires. Then a message came from Pari: an image of Hobson backing through a men’s room door, his hands on Truck’s waist.
HE’S TOUCHING MY DATEMATE!!!!!!
“You’re never going to hear the end of that,” North said, grabbing the door handle. “You know that, right?”
Shaw sighed, nodded, and got out of the car.
At the next break in traffic, they jogged across Kingshighway, cutting at an angle so they reached the sidewalk at the end of the block. Pari was coming towards them along the cross street. Her long, dark hair was bundled up under a ski cap, and she wore a quilted down coat that came to her knees. The bindi today was raspberry colored.
“He’s touching my datemate!” was her first, screeching announcement.
“I think it’s sweet,” Shaw said. “Having a bisexual villain. I think that’s really kind of nice. And progressive. Don’t you think, North?”
Pari’s head swiveled toward him.
“I mean—” Shaw tried again.
North groaned.
“You think it’s sweet? You should have seen Truck’s face. That…that new-money prick was groping Truck through hir jeans. Truck was so scared!”
“Truck offered to spank my monkey—those were hir words, by the way—this week, Pari. Twice. Ze’s not exactly a sexual shrinking violet.”
“We’re getting into the weeds here,” North said.
“I’m sorry,” Pari said. “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? Are you slut-shaming my datemate? Ze’s level of sexual activity is none of your business.”
“Well, it’s kind of my business when we’re talking about my monkey.”
“Let’s not—” North tried.
“Truck is an unbelievably generous lover,” Pari said, shaking the set of keys she’d lifted from Hobson.
“So is North!”
“That’s really not—” North said.
“And Truck is extremely well endowed.”
“So is—”
“Ok,” North said, grabbing the keys from Pari’s hands. He caught Shaw’s arm and dragged him down the bl
ock toward The Luxemburg. Over his shoulder, he called back, “Let us know if we need to hurry.”
“I’ve seen North when he wears those cutoff gray sweatpants,” Pari screamed after them. “He might as well have been holding a measuring tape for me.”
“Jesus Christ,” North muttered.
“It’s very difficult to have a conversation with her because she’s so—”
North growled and shook Shaw by the arm. “Don’t. Start. You two were fucking made for each other.”
By then, they were getting close to The Luxemburg. North released Shaw’s arm, and Shaw stumbled a few steps before catching himself. He set off toward the condo building, glanced back, and said, “I don’t want you to feel bad, so I just think I should tell you that I think you look really good in those gray cutoffs. They make your whole, you know, business area look very impressive.”
“I’m going to murder you,” North stage-whispered. “Get the fuck in there so I can be done with this nightmare.”
“Very bulge-y.”
North packed a snowball faster than Shaw expected, and it caught him in the back of the head as he ran toward the condo building. He was still shaking snow out of his hair, the snowmelt trickling down his nape, when he stepped into the lobby.
It was about what he had expected from The Luxemburg’s outside: tile and wainscotting, coffered ceilings, lots of white paint. A mural of the 1904 World’s Fair covered one wall; in the bottom-right corner, a young lady looked like she was having an indecent relationship with a waffle cone, although Shaw would have to inspect further to be certain. On the other side of the lobby, a security desk marked the midpoint between the front doors and the elevators.
Two women stood behind the desk: one was white, in a security uniform, a hint of a pink-dyed curl slipping out from under the peaked cap. The other was black and wore scrubs. An ID clipped to the waistband identified her as Dr. Holloway. The women had been looking at something on a phone, and now they both turned their attention to Shaw.
“Hi,” Shaw said, wiggling out of his sherpa cloak. “I’m—” He’d gotten his arm stuck, and it took him a moment to get it free. “I’m Max. I’m here to see my cousin. Oh, I like your nails!”
The women exchanged a look as Shaw approached the desk. “Sir,” the woman in the security uniform said. Her nametag, now that Shaw was closer, read Weigel. “You said you’re here to see your cousin? What’s the name and unit number?”
“I told my boyfriend I wanted to get rainbow-painted cat claws for Pride,” Shaw said wistfully, staring at Weigel’s nails, “and he told me no. Oh, you’ve got a tattoo! Is it a rose?”
“It’s a carnation,” Weigel said, rotating her arm to display the underside of her wrist.
“For purity,” Holloway said and started to laugh until Weigel slapped her leg.
“My boyfriend won’t let me get any tattoos. Or piercings. I told him I wanted to get my nipples pierced, and he said he’d break up with me. He said he’s the only one allowed to touch my body.”
“Boy,” Weigel said, drawing out the word. “What’d you tell him?”
“Oh, I know he just wants what’s best for me. Davey’s so sweet. He picks out what I’m supposed to wear—well, not my cloak. He told me I couldn’t have this, but I bought it anyway. But he made me wear this stuff.” He gestured at the long-sleeved tee and jeans. “And I have to hide the cloak at Mom’s. But I can’t tell her about Davey because when I said something about the diet Davey put me on, she just about lost her mind.”
Holloway narrowed her eyes at him; she was picking at her weave with one hand. “You ain’t nothing but skin and bones. Why’re you on a diet?”
“Davey likes it when he can count my ribs. He says that’s when I look best for him. Oh, Coca-Cola. That’s my favorite! I don’t know when the last time was that Davey let me have one.”
“Like a giant, white baby,” Holloway murmured to herself.
Weigel held out an unopened can of Coke, but instead of taking it, Shaw moved around the desk. “Hey, you’ve got all sorts of cool stuff back here. Do you really watch all those screens?”
“You know you shouldn’t be back here,” Weigel said.
“Leave him alone,” Holloway said. She reached out and caught some of Shaw’s hair. “Now don’t tell me Davey makes you wear your hair like this?”
“Oh.” Shaw let his expression fall. “I was, um, really bad. One time. And Davey cut my hair. It was for my own good. You know, he had to teach me a lesson.”
“Child,” Weigel said. “Why don’t you call Davey and tell him to come down here?”
“Do you want to see what my hair used to look like? It was really long. Oh, that’s a picture of a mole on Davey’s back that I think might be cancerous. And that’s a carousel horse, but the carousel’s gone, so I guess maybe it’s just a regular horse now. But out of wood. And that’s—”
“Just a giant baby,” Holloway said to herself again, both women turning away from the lobby to face Shaw, leaning closer to look at the pictures on his phone. He glanced up just once, over their heads, as North sprinted silently across the tile. Then he went back to the patter, dragging it out until North rode the elevator up and Shaw guessed that several minutes had passed.
“Anyway,” Shaw said, “I guess I’d better go see Chris. Chris Hobson. He’s my cousin; he lives in 8A.”
“Sweety pie,” Holloway said, “you got to get this Davey out of your life. He’s got some bad energy.”
“I say call him,” Weigel said. “Get him down here and let the two of us talk to him for a few minutes. That boy won’t ever trouble you again.”
“And drink that Coke,” Holloway said. “I think I’ve got a Kind bar in my purse. You’re too thin; don’t listen to that boy.”
“Drink that Coke right up,” Weigel said as she grabbed the desk phone. “What’s your cousin know about all this?”
“Oh, he and Davey don’t get along at all. That’s the whole reason I came over tonight; Chris wants to talk about it.”
The women exchanged knowing looks.
“Uh huh,” Holloway said, fluffing Shaw’s hair again. “Listen to your cousin, Max. You’re too pretty to waste on a jerk like Davey.”
“Mr. Hobson? Yes, I’ve got your cousin Max—yes, sir. I’ll send him right up.”
It took a little longer, but Shaw finally managed to extricate himself and ride the elevator up. He found the door to 8A unlocked, and when he stepped inside, North was waiting near the landline phone where he’d answered the call from the security desk and told them to let Shaw into the building.
“What the absolute fuck was all that fuckery?”
“I got a Coke!”
“You’ve got an abusive boyfriend named Davey? Jesus fucking Christ, Shaw. I didn’t say you couldn’t buy that stupid fucking cloak. My exact words were, ‘I don’t think you’ll wear it very much, so I don’t think it’s worth the money.’ And I didn’t say you couldn’t get tattoos or have your nipples pierced. I said maybe you should think about the fact that you don’t like needles and having the script of Memento tattooed over every inch of your body might be a decision you regret in a few months.”
“I—”
“And if you say one fucking word about that Coke, I’m going to lose my fucking shit.”
North’s shit looked pretty lost already, so Shaw just sipped the cola and nodded. “It’s been a hard night. Your penis. Those cutoffs.”
North’s fists clenched at his sides. Then he turned slowly and stalked down the hall.
The condo looked like it had come straight out of a CB2 catalogue: sinuously modern furniture, glass and teak, the occasional bleached wicker and white-varnished rattan piece. It even smelled store-bought, like all-purpose cleaner and artificial lavender. Sliding glass doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the park: asphalt ribbons, the arched backs of stone bridges, winter-brown grass rippling like water.
Shaw and North
pulled on disposable gloves and moved quickly through the unit. They couldn’t toss the place the way they normally would have, but they still managed to work efficiently, dividing the rooms without speaking, each man methodical in his search.
North found the safe hidden on the bookshelf. It had a cover designed to look like a row of books, and it was surprisingly good—from a distance. With the cover pulled back, a keypad and lock were visible. They tested keys on the lock until one of them turned, and the safe’s door swung open.
“Computer,” North said as he drew several external hard drives from the safe.
“Got it,” Shaw said, already powering up the laptop. A login screen appeared, and Shaw typed in the Aldrich Acquisitions administrator password—provided courtesy of his father, who also happened to be their most valuable client. After an uncertain flicker, the screen changed, and Shaw had access to Chris Hobson’s computer.
After scrolling quickly through the files, Shaw said, “Nothing obvious.”
“It’s corporate espionage,” North said as he plugged in the first external hard drive. “He’s been smart enough so far not to leave a trail of bread crumbs. That’s why we’re here.”
“So far,” Shaw said with a smirk. A new window popped up, showing the contents of the hard drive that North had just connected. “Porn.”
“Tentacle porn,” North corrected.
“You really shouldn’t judge—oh.” Shaw cut off when North double-clicked one of the files. He covered his eyes and then peeked between two fingers. “I didn’t know he could fit so many inside him.”
North was already disconnecting the drive. He plugged in the next one.
“This is it,” Shaw said as he looked at the files.
“Make a nice, obvious folder to stash it all. Something like ‘Chris’s Secret Stuff – DO NOT TOUCH.’”
Instead, Shaw burrowed into the computer’s main drive, created an unnamed folder, altered the properties so that it was hidden, and copied over the contents of the hard drive. It was a lot of data, and it took several minutes. While they waited, he sent a text to their contact at Aldrich Acquisitions—a woman named Haw Ryeo.