Declination

by Gregory Ashe

  They lay there, Shaw inside the crook of North’s good arm, until their breathing evened out. North’s fingers twirled on Shaw’s shoulder, gathering the glaze of sweat.

  “North Zedekiah McKinney,” Shaw whispered.

  “Not my middle name.”

  Shaw hesitated. And then, so soft North could barely hear him, Shaw said, “Thank you.”

  With a laugh, North said, “Thank you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  North kissed him. Then his hand swept across the bed, and he found the cards that Shaw had dropped when they had abandoned their game of Go Fish. He plucked two and held them out so Shaw could see them: the three of hearts, and the three of spades.

  “You are a shit liar, baby. And a cheat.”

  “What do you do to cheaters around here?” Shaw asked, walking his fingers up North’s chest.

  North slapped his ass again and pushed him toward the edge of the bed. “They have to buy the pizza. And the beer.”

  Chapter 37

  A WEEK LATER, North was grilling hot dogs, hamburgers, black bean veggie burgers, and some sort of vegetarian hot dogs that Shaw had dredged up. The small yard behind the Borealis office was decorated with balloons and streamers. Somewhere, Shaw had purchased an enormous inflatable elephant, which was now filled with helium and floating serenely above the party, its trunk curled into the number six. A banner read, Never Forget: North is Twenty-SIX. And Shaw, because he was a wiseass sometimes, had written in Magic Marker below: Also celebrating North getting stabbed. North had added a caret and the word surviving between North and getting.

  Their friends filled the backyard, sitting on benches and folding chairs, drinking all of North’s beer and throwing back so many burgers that North was starting to think he’d spend his whole birthday party at the grill. Pari had come, and she had spent the entire time sitting in Truck’s lap and feeding him cake. Rufus had come, his wild hair making him easy to spot in the crowd. Teddi was there. He had brought with him, of all people, Jack, the bartender North and Shaw had met earlier that year, and the two of them were holding hands whenever they weren’t eating. North didn’t quite understand it, but they both looked happy enough. Other people had come too—North had bargained for a cap at five guests, and Shaw had insisted they needed to invite at least a hundred people; they had settled somewhere around thirty, although North was starting to think Shaw might have fudged the numbers. Peter and Paul, perhaps unsurprisingly in light of how North had behaved at their anniversary dinner, had declined the invitation.

  Everything had been good: the guests were the right people, even if there were more of them than North wanted; the food was good; the cake was good, although Shaw kept trying to cut North off after each piece. At the grill, North reached for another patty, only to realize that he had run out. He shifted the burgers and dogs to indirect heat, closed the grill, and headed inside to get more food. Behind him, someone had changed the music to Bob Dylan, and North smiled to himself. He’d have to get out there and put something else on before Shaw got all weepy and tried to explain the lyrics.

  Before North got to the refrigerator, though, Shaw stepped into the kitchen through the other door. He had a soft, unfocused smile, and he bumped into the counter, a chair, and the table before he stopped and seemed to realize where he was. When he saw North, his smile widened.

  “Look at this.”

  Shaw went back the way he had come, and North trailed after him. They went into the inner office, and Shaw shut the door behind North.

  “Ok,” North said. “This is all very mysterious.”

  “It’s exciting, that’s what.”

  “If you wanted some afternoon delight, Shaw, you just had to ask. No need for this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

  “Actually, Master Hermes was telling me that my aura is already showing signs of sexual stagnation, and he said I needed to try something new.”

  “That’s because Master Hermes is trying to pimp you out to that weird cousin of his who supplies his weed.”

  “No, I don’t think so. He did say Randy might be able to help—oh.”

  North wrapped Shaw in a hug and kissed him. “Tell Master Hermes that I’ll cut off Randy’s dick if he touches you. Ask him how that might affect the sexual stagnation in your aura.”

  “I think we’re living in a new age, North. Jealousy like that, possessiveness, that doesn’t fly anymore. We’re moving into an age of sexual grace and giving.”

  “Uh huh,” North said and kissed him again.

  “The most important thing now is to keep good energy moving.”

  “Uh huh.” Another kiss.

  “It’s selfish to keep the bliss of sexual harmony to one partner.”

  “Very selfish.” Another kiss.

  “Not that I want—” Shaw’s eyes were owlish now.

  Another kiss. “Of course not.”

  “I wouldn’t ever—”

  “I know.” Kiss.

  “But it’s the principle.”

  “Absolutely.” Kiss. Kiss. “Shaw?”

  “Um?” He blinked; he looked like he was having a hard time remembering his own name.

  “Maybe I should see if Randy can help me too. You know. So I’m not sexually stagnant.”

  “Oh fuck no,” Shaw said. “I’ll cut his dick off.”

  When North trusted himself to speak without cracking a smile, he said, “I’m guessing you didn’t bring me in here for the Age of Aquarius bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit, it’s—ow! North, damn it. My nipple!”

  Releasing the purple nurple, North stepped around Shaw and dropped into his chair. On the desk, a pile of manila envelopes was stacked, and on the front of each envelope, the words Aldrich Acquisitions were printed in bold.

  “What’s all this?”

  Massaging his chest, Shaw scowled.

  North flipped open the first folder. It contained information on an intellectual property theft that had taken place in an Aldrich Acquisitions subsidiary based in Silicon Valley. North grabbed the second folder. This one had to do with an accountant, missing money, and a flight chartered to Venezuela. The third detailed an executive who had run away with his mistress. On and on like that.

  “Shaw.”

  “Aldrich Acquisitions is a huge company. They’re international. They’re always going to need help, and we can provide that help.” Shaw grinned, his hand slowing over his tortured nipple. “For very reasonable hourly rates, of course.”

  “It’s your dad’s company.”

  “It’s a publicly-traded company.”

  “It’s going to be your company one day.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “I know,” Shaw said, the words a rush. “I know you don’t want special treatment. I know you don’t want favors. I know you want to build this business on your own.”

  North had to fight the welter of words and feelings inside. “On our own.”

  “But that’s what we’ve done, right? We haven’t taken any handouts. We’ve got a great reputation. We’ve solved major cases.”

  “I think—”

  Shaw kept speaking over him. “Washington Strategic is proof of that. I know they dropped us. That was my fault, North. That doesn’t have anything to do with the caliber of work we do. I messed up our big chance.”

  “I think—”

  “But they wanted us. They hired us. They chose us over another agency, and that’s the proof, North. We don’t need to make a name for ourselves. We’ve made a name. We don’t need to show we can do this. We’ve already done it. Now we just need work. And I want to do this.”

  “If I can finish?”

  Shaw made an aggravated go on gesture.

  “I think it’s a great idea.”

  “I know it’s my dad’s company, but I don’t care. We’re going to work for someone else totally unrelated, and we’re going
to be treated just like any other contractor, and—wait. What?”

  “I think it’s a great idea. Thank you.”

  Shaw crossed his arms.

  “Really,” North said. “Thank you. You know this means we’re going to have to make some changes? We’re going to have to hire people. We’re going to have to grow. That means you and I, we’re going to have to change our roles too.”

  “You really think it’s a great idea?”

  North nodded.

  “You’re not mad?”

  North shook his head.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” Shaw announced.

  “I think that’s a great idea too.”

  One kiss turned into two, and two turned into a few more, and eventually Shaw broke away, his breathing rapid, and put a hand on North’s chest.

  “Happy birthday.”

  “Belated birthday.”

  “Happy belated birthday.”

  “I plan on making it a very happy belated birthday,” North said, leaning in for another kiss.

  Laughing, Shaw slipped off North’s lap and made his way to the door. “Come on. Everybody’s going to think we’re doing something.”

  North put his arms behind his head, leaning back in the chair, and raised one eyebrow. “We don’t want to disappoint them, do we?”

  “Come on.”

  “Take off those ridiculous pants.”

  “I like these pants. They’re comfortable.”

  “They look like something a pimp would wear when he was in bed with a cold.”

  “I like these pants.”

  “I’d like them better on the floor.”

  “I’m going back to your birthday party before you ravish me,” Shaw said, pulling open the door.

  North lunged out of the chair, and Shaw broke into a run, laughing. Instead of catching up, though, North let Shaw escape into the backyard, and North stopped in the kitchen to pick up more meat for the grill. From the fridge, North pulled out another stack of burger patties and a pack of hot dogs—no more vegetarian shit at this point; North made an executive decision. When he closed the door and turned around, Ronnie was standing there.

  As always, the short, stout man wore a Hawaiian print shirt, the blue fabric with white palm trees snug over his potbelly. He’d sacrificed shorts and flip flops to the weather, and now he wore track pants and scuffed sneakers. With a grin, Ronnie ran fingers through the gray fringe above both ears. “How do I look?”

  “Hi, Uncle Ronnie.”

  “I got a haircut. Dynamite, right?”

  “You’re a ladykiller.”

  “Ladykiller, Ronnie repeated with a laugh, leaning in to smack North’s arm. The movement brought the scent of pineapple air freshener and Vitalis. “I like that. Ladykiller.”

  North checked the smaller man; no obvious weapon. His eyes skated to the back door. Then to the front. He couldn’t back up without bumping into the counter.

  “If you’re here for Truck,” North said, “I thought we took care of that. You got the money, and there’s nobody left who can say anything—”

  “No, no, no.” Ronnie waved his hand; they were just chatting—that’s what the gesture conveyed. No reason for either of them to get worked up over a silly little thing like two million dollars of stolen money. “It didn’t even cross my mind. Consider it resolved. What would you and your friend say? Case closed.”

  “My boyfriend.”

  “What?”

  “Shaw is my boyfriend. Not my friend.”

  “Ah. Of course. I’m an old man, North. I come from a different time. You understand.” The dark hollows under his eyes reminded North of the sockets in a skull.

  “Do you want a burger, Ronnie? A lemonade? A beer?”

  “A lemonade? Gee, North, I don’t know when the last time was I had a lemonade.”

  “I’ll grab you one. A dog, too, right?”

  Ronnie’s pudgy hand, wrinkled and spotted, caught North by the arm. Those skull eyes said, Not so fast. He was grinning.

  “North.” He said it like he’d caught North elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

  “We’re done, Ronnie. I tied up the Slasher, with two million dollars on top. That squares us.”

  “Not quite.”

  “You said—”

  “I said that would square all the little favors I’ve done you, North. And we’re square. If you need any future assistance, I’ll be happy to help you. You’re like a son to me, you know. I’d do anything for you. I hope you feel the same way about me.”

  The fingers bit into North’s arm harder now.

  A frown worked its way onto Ronnie’s face when North didn’t answer, and Ronnie said, “Maybe you forgot just how much I’ve done for you.”

  North yanked his arm from Ronnie’s grasp. He hit the refrigerator, and the whole unit rocked up, clattering when it came back down. From outside came laughter, Rufus’s annoying call to “Chug, chug, chug,” a string of popping noises, and Pari screaming, “Shaw, put down my cheesecake.”

  “I never asked you to do that,” North said. “I never would have asked you to do that. I didn’t want you to do that. You did it.”

  “I did it for you,” Ronnie snapped. “And for your father, not that you’ve ever given a damn about him in your whole life. Maybe you don’t realize that everything you’ve got right now, you owe it to me. Everything you have, I gave it to you. I own you, North McKinney.”

  North wanted to say it wasn’t true. He didn’t owe Ronnie anything because he’d never asked Ronnie to do what he’d done. But North knew it didn’t matter; with guys like Ronnie, it never mattered. All that mattered was that they thought you owed them.

  Outside, the laughter seemed even louder now, breaking against the house like a storm. Pari and Shaw were both going at it, bitching at each other at a hundred percent, something about a cheesecake from the year before and a crushed Oreo topping and a roast beef sandwich. Like any of that mattered when the world was about to burn down.

  “What do you want?” North said.

  Ronnie had a cat-and-cream smile. “I hear you’re about to start doing work for Aldrich Acquisitions.”

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest thanks go out to the following people (in alphabetical order):

  Justene Adamec, who read an early draft in a single sitting and wrote back with a list of all the plot holes—and with kind words to keep me moving.

  Austin Gwin, who passed ideas back and forth and helped me locate—as he always does—the problems I could feel in my gut but couldn’t see on the page, especially with Truck, with the tone, and with how to build a series.

  Cheryl Oakley, who read the manuscript multiple times, scouring it for errors, and who helped me figure out what was really happening between North and Shaw and how I could put their relationship on the page exactly the way I wanted.

  Tray Stephenson, who was the first—and funniest—to alert me to my misuse of congo for conga, who read through multiple times for typos, and who provided all-around moral support with his happy emails (and for teaching me the proper word for the headliner in a car).

  Jo Wegstein, who saw the real story behind the Slasher that I was trying to tell and brought it to the surface, who went through (or so I see her in my mind) line by line with a red pen, catching my errors, and who put into words, in a way I needed, why North was so embarrassed of that damn anime.

  About the Author

  Learn more about Gregory Ashe and forthcoming works at www.gregoryashe.com.

  For advanced access, exclusive content, limited-time promotions, and insider information, please sign up for my mailing list here!

 

 

 
; -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share