The audition hall was filled with contestants for the role of Brick in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Of course, Kingsley had to make himself sound more important than he was. Among the good-looking actors even his pretty face was mediocre and he had to have an edge on them, otherwise he would be passed over. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to attend yet another dark auditorium orgy of rejection where his average acting skills barely stuck it out with his looks? No, Norman Kingsley had to lie, as usual, to stand out. And lie, he did, to his subsequent regret.
Claiming to belong to a Masonic order of specialty thespians bred especially for the supreme audiences in high society meant nothing to the producers. Unfortunately, though, he was overheard by just the wrong ear at just the right time – an ear that happened to buy his bullshit for just a moment. Such was fate. Kismet came to kiss his ass goodbye, it seemed.
4
The Bristling Quarry
Nina was not in the Urals. She was not in any exotic location, digging up ancient kings or buried treasure with some high tone university professors or world-renowned historians. She was nowhere near temples or pyramids, castles or gilded caves beyond jungle waterfalls. Since her last adventure, where she was part of a historical event of Arthurian proportions, her life had inadvertently spiraled to a bland and mundane level. By no means was she in the picturesque surroundings of Russia’s wild lands or the jungle beauty of the Aztec temples, no. Dr. Nina Gould was crawling about in the cavernous bowels of her house in Oban, Scotland.
“I swear to God, if I get sick down here…!” she hissed through her teeth as the musty ocean odor assaulted her nostrils. Grating her belly along the moist rock under her, Nina leopard crawled along the narrowing mouth of ice-cold stone to reach the moving mass of shadow she had been pursuing for over an hour. “Why do I even bother?” she sighed, groaning at the thought of facing her ever-present claustrophobia. “What kind of stray cat refuses tuna? For fuck’s sake, has the world gone mad when even animals are obsessed with their goddamn diet? What, are you lactose intolerant too? You cannae be, can you? Still, warm milk in a saucer not three meters from you and no go?”
She inched her way toward the kitten, using its threatening hiss as an aid to its location. On Nina’s right hand, an oven mitt served as protection against rabies and scratches and in her left, a hand towel to wrap the little creature in. She first discovered it when she was awoken by a disturbing and incessant clank downstairs. Armed with an already bent nine iron, she had proceeded downstairs. After some very delicate scrutiny, she had found the kitten stuck in a tear in one of the wooden panels.
Nina had been meaning to fix the wooden panel, of which a large shard was chipped away on one side. It suffered damage from the last time an altercation took apart much of the carpentry to the older part of her kitchen and at the time, not important enough to bump repairs to the top of her to-do list. Now she regretted it.
After dislodging the little feline and getting scratched something awful, Nina let it scat down into the basement area. She elected to regroup and launch her next effort, which was an arsenal of warm milk and a clump of tuna. After all, it always worked on Sam.
Daring to venture deeper into the choking dark of the narrow crevice, Nina puffed loudly for three counts before lunging forward at the kitten. She braced herself for its feral reaction, pinching her eyes almost completely shut and holding her breath. The kitten sounded like a bristling cobra as Nina’s oven mitt closed around its limber, squirming body, but the historian was adamant.
“Gotcha, you little bazza!” she roared in victory. She pulled the little thing from its hiding place and, with laborious determination, reversed in the same fashion over frigid rock and sharp edges. “You owe me,” she panted heavily as she crawled backwards on her elbows, making sure that her grip remained strong. When Nina finally got back on her feet, she was exhausted. She soon realized that she was standing in the middle of her basement area, holding a kitten aloft as if she had just played midwife to the Messiah’s birth.
In her hand, the kitten was writhing madly, threatening its cruel captor with a meow that would melt the heart of even the coldest ogre. Nina’s heart jumped. “Aw,” she moaned in surrender. “I am sorry…you little shit.” But, as the hype fizzled out, Nina discovered that she was just a messy woman, standing barefoot in a basement, holding a wild cat in a mitt. It dawned on her that she had nowhere to confine the little thing until she had at least give it some nourishment.
Looking utterly distraught, the fuzzy baby cat peeked over the mitt. The telltale bluish sheen on its eyes confirmed that it would not be able to fend for itself, and its vividly quivering body would never brave the cold down here. The atmosphere of the basement was just as chilly as outside, Nina reckoned, and she knew the kitten would have to share her lounge for a while.
“Come on,” she sighed. The mitt must have warmed up the kitten by now, as it ceased its complaint and calmed down quite a bit. However, Nina could still feel its body heaving in her grasp. It was still terrified. Under her thumb, she could feel the tiny heart pulsing at a million miles an hour and this instantly incited a severe cuddle session. As long as Nina restrained the kitten in her mitt, it could not protest, attack or escape her affection. Perfect.
With soft consolations, Nina jogged along the stainless-steel shelves she had mounted along the cold stone walls of the basement. Since there was ample space downstairs, she saw no reason to leave it unused just on account of the icy temperature in there. It made for a great pantry, actually, and she had installed the shelves to store her more perishable consumables. It was a win-win. The soles of her feet burned from the cold as she made for the stairs, leaping like a stag over two steps at a time and making the most curious sounds as she did so.
“What the hell is that?” she heard a familiar voice ask as she emerged from the trapdoor hole. Sam stood at the fridge, drinking milk from the carton again. “What is that?” he repeated dreamily, ignoring for the moment that his lady friend was practically naked, dirty and holding a cat in a stove glove. “The mating call of a billy goat?”
Nina hid the fact that his tall, dark frame, suddenly present, almost gave her a heart attack. “You should know what that sounds like, eh?” she sighed and rolled her eyes.
For the moment, she had completely forgotten that she wore nothing but a lacy pair of panties and a silk camisole. Sam enjoyed the fact that said camisole and the cold basement were in cahoots, creating two peaks underneath the fabric that was impossible to ignore.
“You are brave, even for a Scots lass, you know?” he said, burping stylishly to the side. Nina tried not to smile. Sam needed no encouragement.
“What for then?” she pried.
Index finger pointing, he waved his hand from side to side to the vicinity of her breasts and explained, “Bouncing in the face of danger with so little on. It is so cold down there and here you are, not in your slippers.” Nina’s expression exhibited a perilous level of intolerance for Sam’s brand of humor just then, so he let up with a sheepish smile, hoping to disarm her. He succeeded. With only a sigh, Nina moved across the floor to retrieve an old basket from the bottom of one of the cupboards. She motioned for Sam to open a cabinet built into the wall, were an old birdcage lived.
With one hand, Nina prepared the basket, draping two dishcloths onto it to make it into a bed for the kitten. Sam helped her place the cage over the basket, to serve as a containment method for the time being – at least until she had dressed to take the little animal to the vet for a check-up.
“Well,” Sam panted as he wiped his hands after the feat, “we always make a good team.”
“Only when I am in charge,” she winked, and sauntered down the corridor to her room to get dressed.
“Need more help?” he teased.
“No, thanks!” she answered. “I will manage somehow.”
Sam looked at the little kitten. It looked lost and angry at the same time, unhappy with its confinement. It reminded Sam of Nina. She was a sm
all, feisty thing that always found herself lost, even in her home, in her comfort zone. Of course, he would never say it aloud, but she struck him as a wandering soul. No matter how steadfast her beliefs and her routine, Nina Gould appeared to be seeking endlessly for that one thing. He had no idea what that one thing was, as most people did not know their own destiny, but it was clear to Sam’s deductive reasoning that Nina was eternally out of place. She came across as a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, yet she was always searching for something more, the nature of which she herself knew not. This made her lost.
Like Nina, Sam wished her could pet the smoky feline baby, but it bristled every time he brought his hand close. He smiled. From the far side of the house he heard Nina blast some music while she took a shower. Being a blues man himself, he could not always understand Nina’s taste in music. He found it hard to understand why she enjoyed such harsh and heavy tunes, although some of it would certainly fuel him during a high-speed chase or creeping up on an illegal gathering about to erupt in warfare. Other than that, Sam had no use for Nina’s favored musicianship.
Sam’s phone rang. At first, he thought about turning it off. Today was his day to drag Nina to the coast for brunch and he did not wish to be disturbed. On the other hand, the call was identified as one Peter Carroll, a retired police captain who used to work with Sam’s best friend, Patrick Smith. Since Patrick had joined the ranks of MI-6, some years had passed and finally Peter Carroll also moved on, electing for early retirement.
“Inspector Carroll!” Sam exclaimed in greeting. “How goes it, long lost stranger?”
“Mr. Cleave, you old dog. I never thought I would see your name in the papers this much, ‘xcept maybe for trespassing or brawling,” he said, evoking a roar of laughter from the investigative journalist. It was good to hear Peter’s voice after all this time and Sam allowed him to spill the continued teasing. “All those important discoveries that you relentlessly partake in has you at celebrity status by now,” Peter sang in his boisterous, cheery manner. Then he paused, and when he continued, his voice was distinctively more solemn. “How are you doing, lad?”
“Well, all is as you say, Pete,” Sam replied with a smile, his dark eyes enjoying the cute kitten in the makeshift pen. “I have been getting involved in some interesting ventures. Freelance work has given me time for other passions, so I have been quite well.”
“Good,” Peter replied. “I take it you have won over Dr. Gould then?”
Sam chuckled, feeling suddenly miserable for the confrontation he was not ready for, having to think about his relationship, or rather lack thereof, with Nina. “On and off, as always, sadly,” he answered, keeping it concise in hopes that Peter would abandon his curiosity about Sam’s personal life. Even if he was only asking to be polite. Besides, Peter Carroll replied in a far more somber manner than to bother with Sam’s perpetual desire for Nina’s affection.
“Listen, lad,” he said, clearing his throat, “I might have a good exposé for you, if not, to ask for your help as well.”
“I am listening,” Sam replied, equally serious.
“Turn on your television,” the former investigator appealed.
“N-now?” Sam frowned.
“Right now,” came the answer. “World Channel. Four-two, I think.”
Sam left the kitten’s complaining to turn on Nina’s television. He muted the images, since her music was way too loud to contend with anyway. Fortunately, the news channel featured subtitles for deaf viewers, so Sam could follow the report.
“Are you on?” Peter asked.
“Aye. What am I looking for?” Sam enquired rhetorically. He read the wording on the screen and gradually his eyes grew wider.
5
Shower and Sensibility
She would never admit it, but Nina was glad Sam came to visit before going off to God knows where any new assignments would sweep him off to. Even though they were not engaged in any formal relationship, they had once been briefly embroiled in a dalliance. However, she preferred what they had now. Neither here nor there, their relationship was based purely on the moment. There was much flirting and teasing, but Nina made sure that it ever progressed into something more, something to the likes of what they had before.
It was not that she did not love Sam, but rather that she was set in her ways and, much as she enjoyed his presence, she could stand his habits for only that long at a time. The way things were at the moment, was perfect for her. Not being involved with one another gave them both a sense of freedom to come and go as they wished without the incessant concerns presented by common relationships. There was no jealousy. Not outright anyway. When she wanted company, Sam was allowed to intrude, but she soon made it clear that she had no time for too much commitment.
At first, Sam thought her selfish and controlling, but he soon realized that the arrangement, though trying on his sexuality, was worth the torment of not being allowed to get frisky with Nina. He discovered that it worked well for him as well, not having to check in constantly, being free to cavort with nameless beauties he encountered on his travels and not having the comfort of laying about drunk and stupefied for days if he so wished.
Of course, as long as he appeased Nina, Sam figured she would be less likely to return to Purdue, having previously been the billionaire explorer’s girlfriend. She shared much the same sexually charged platonic relationship with Purdue, which drove her two male friends crazy, but in the end served all of them well. For Nina, having been all the way with both was enough – for now. For now, she simply enjoyed the unfaltering camaraderie between the three of them and did not want to spoil it by choosing either. Besides, she could take proper care of herself through book sales, guest lectures and some shares she owned in Purdue’s umbrella companies.
The thought of Sam being in her house while she was here, naked in the hot shower, excited Nina more than she cared to admit. In fact, in the steam and hot delirium of the foamy water that meandered along her curves, she hoped. She hoped just a little that his tall, dark figure would shadow her bathroom doorway about now. It was typical of Sam. His boyish charm was all for it, though she usually admonished him for his relentless advances. Still, at the right time, Sam’s flirting was welcome, almost craved.
“Sam!” she found herself calling without a second thought. Nina swallowed his name, but it was too late. She had already cried out to him and he would no doubt show up any moment. He never made any secret of the fact that he was waiting, perpetually, for just such a moment. “Now you have done it,” she reprimanded herself under her breath. With a self-conscious sigh, she quickly ruffled up her wet, dark hair to give her that dirty lover look she liked to rock. “Slut hair,” she whispered, and a naughty smile crawled over her face. “The streetwalker look kind of suits you.”
“Hey Sam!” she sang in the steamy shower.
Prepared for Sam’s affection, she waited for several minutes, but he remained absent. It was very unlike him not to charge at her when she called him, and so Nina’s horrible mind begun with its old tricks.
‘Do you really think he will come running like a puppy after how you have treated him?’ her inner bitch asked. ‘You always decline what he offers, but when you whistle, you expect him to come running?’ Nina frowned as the impending feeling of rejection took hold of her. Rejection was not of her better-managed emotions and soon she started to feel the obvious second wave come. Anger.
“Fuck you, then,” she hissed, stepping out of the shower. With her will broken, she dried herself and got dressed, but she was so furious at his lack of response that she charged down the hallway to the kitchen with her hair still wet. He heard her stomping into the kitchen. Barely prying his eyes from the television, he could feel Nina’s discontent like a cloud of poison gas in the air.
“Nina?” he called, still static in front of the screen. “Have you seen this?”
In the kitchen she noticed that the kitten was asleep, exhausted from its futile flight earlier. When s
he heard that Sam was in the living room, Nina had to concede that he probably did not hear her calling from the bathroom, that his error was unintentional. The kitchen was closer to her room, where the shower was, but the living room was located a bit farther, around the corner to the front door. Perhaps he really did not ignore her, she reckoned. She had to let go of the rage.
“Seen what?” she asked.
“On the telly. There have been a few crimes perpetrated by the same bloke, apparently, or blokes,” he explained. “Someone has been killing little boys, no older than six years old.”
She walked into the living room as Sam turned up the volume. “The third child’s body had been discovered under a bridge in Paisley,” Sam elucidated, his eyes still fixed on the screen. “Two others have been found in Belfast and London, respectively. They think it is a serial killer.”
“Jesus,” she sighed, drying her hair with the towel. “Did they say that it is a serial killer?”
“No, not the reporters, but Inspector Carroll called me and told me to have a look. He wants me to look into it,” Sam told her. He turned to look at her at last. “He…he, uh,” Sam stammered slowly. “You know, the inspector at the precinct Paddy used to work at? He called me just then.”
She had dressed hastily, and the white men’s shirt she threw over her moist body displayed clammy patches from her dripping locks. Her legs were bare, save for a pair of socks on her feet. Nina deliberately dried her hair with the towel, so that the shirt would lift higher over her thighs every time she raised her arms. As she expected, Sam literally struggled to speak as his eyes fell in surrender on her milky skin.
“Sam!” she jolted him from his mesmerism, trying not to grin at her success.
“Aye,” he responded in a lingering daze.
“What did Carroll ask you to investigate? The serial killings?” she asked, pretending to have no idea what his struggle was about. Eventually Sam snapped out of it and managed to string together a coherent statement.
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8 Page 41