Redirection

by Gregory Ashe

  “Because you hid it there,” North growled as he made a cheese-and-cracker sandwich. “And the only reason you ‘found’ it is because I said I’d tan your ass with a hairbrush if you didn’t stop hiding my food.” He took a savage bite, and through a mouthful of cheese and crumbs, added, “And your natural psychic affinity is for being annoying as shit.”

  “He usually has better manners,” Shaw said, “but he was raised by cheese-loving wolves, and sometimes his baser instincts come out.”

  North looked like he had something nasty to say about that, but he was too busy shoving another cheese-and-cracker sandwich in his mouth.

  “We’re private investigators,” Shaw told Will. “To answer your question. I’m not sure if you heard, but your dad—”

  “I know.” Will’s voice was soft, but it cut through Shaw’s words. His gaze slid down to the half-empty plate in front of him. He scraped the fork’s tines across the ceramic, producing a shrill chiming noise. “That’s why I came back. My bus got in a couple of hours ago. By the time my cab got to the house, the ambulance had already come and gone. One of the neighbors told me. But nobody knew which hospital, so then I came inside and started calling around, and then they told me I’d need ID to see my mom, and they wanted her insurance paperwork, and—God, I don’t have any idea how to find that stuff.”

  “Let’s start with the ID.” At least, that’s what Shaw thought it would have been if North’s mouth hadn’t been full of semi-hardened cow’s milk.

  “What?”

  “You can probably use any sort of legal ID for the hospital,” Shaw said. “That’s what North’s trying to say, but he was a baby cow in a previous incarnation, and I think he was the runt and never got enough milk, and that really came over as some metempsychotic baggage into this incarnation because he honestly can’t ever get enough dairy. Like one time, I caught him drinking milk straight out of the jug, and then he lied and said he hadn’t, but I reminded him about suckling at his mama cow’s teats in a former life, and he said—”

  “I’m not a baby cow!”

  A few flecks of cracker and cheddar hit Shaw’s arm. “Yes, that’s exactly what you said! I’m so glad you remember because I was honestly worried I’d have to remind you again about your past-life trauma—”

  Wiping his mouth, North said, “I was never a baby cow. And I sure as fuck wasn’t ever a runt. I drink a normal amount of milk and eat the USDA and US Dairy Council’s recommended daily amount of dairy.” He looked like he tried to stop himself, but more burst out: “And baby cows are called calves!”

  “It’s very telling that you know that. Most people don’t have access to that kind of bovine interiority—”

  “Everybody knows that. Everybody who’s ever read a book. What’s a baby cow called?”

  Will blinked at the sudden attention. “Um, yeah, a calf—”

  “See, Shaw? Everybody who has read a book knows that.”

  “I’ve read a book. I’ve read lots of books.” Shaw couldn’t help it; his chin came up. “I write books.”

  “Library porn.” His gaze snapped to Will again. “Where’s your ID?”

  “I don’t have any. Shit, wait. Are you guys, like, a couple?”

  “No,” North said.

  “Yes,” Shaw said. “But only in terms of psychic entanglement. In terms of a relationship, he broke up with me. Well, he did a terrible job, so I had to do it for him—”

  “I was doing fine. You wouldn’t shut up for five seconds so I could finish the job. I was—I was doing it gently.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” Shaw murmured. He rolled his eyes at Will. “Like shoving a banana through a keyhole.”

  North’s face purpled. “Will, hang tight for a second. Shaw, let’s go outside. I need to bash your head in with a brick.”

  “Seriously,” Will said, studying North. “You’re a fag?”

  With a shake of his head, Shaw said, “Oh, we don’t use that word. Well, we can use it, but we don’t, and I don’t think you can.”

  “Is that a problem?” North asked.

  Will dropped his fork and shifted on the stool. “No, man. No.” He gave a weak laugh. “I just didn’t, you know, you don’t seem—I didn’t get that vibe. Yeah, him, sure—”

  “Thank you,” Shaw said.

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” North said.

  “I think it was. I am gay, and he could tell that I’m gay, and that means I’m being my best, most authentic self.”

  “Try being your best, most authentic self silently. Let’s start with fifteen-minute intervals, and we’ll work up from there.”

  “North! And Will’s not wrong, for the record. You could be gayer. It’s not your fault, I know.” To Will, he said, “It’s not his fault. North has all these blocks and defense mechanisms and I told you about his calf—” He looked over at North, smiling with pride at using the right word, although North’s face was still pretty red, so maybe he hadn’t noticed. “—trauma, but mostly he has trouble being his true self because he was raised by a bulldozer wearing a hardhat.”

  Will seemed bemused, his attention moving back and forth between them. “Really?”

  “Of course not,” North snapped. “I’m not a fucking cartoon character.”

  “He’s sensitive about it,” Shaw whispered.

  Will laughed again, but he was still studying North. “You guys are a trip.”

  “Let’s go back—” North shot a furious look at Shaw. “—to before the shit show. You don’t have an ID?”

  “Nope.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Shrugging, Will picked up his plate. He moved to the sink and rinsed it. “I don’t have one. I don’t have any of that stuff, actually.”

  “You rode a bus to get here. You took a cab.”

  “You ever ridden a bus? I could have been holding out my Mickey Mouse Club card, and they would have told me to hurry up.”

  “Why don’t you have an ID?”

  “That’s not any of your business.”

  “Here’s something interesting—” North began.

  “What North’s trying to say,” Shaw nudged the cheese plate toward his partner, “is that we’re investigating Rik’s murder. And that means we’ve got to do some digging. So when all of a sudden you’re here but you don’t have ID, well, that means we’ve got questions. And you’re right; we can’t make you provide proof, but you can bet that if we have questions, the police will have questions too. And they’re not going to let a stranger who can’t identify himself walk into this house and start taking things, especially not after a murder.”

  Will turned off the water. He loaded the plate and fork in the dishwasher and dried his hands on his jeans. Up close, Shaw could smell body odor, a multi-day funk that he had probably tried to keep down with paper towels and spit-polish jobs in bus station bathrooms.

  “You want to see something? Come here; I want you to see something.”

  Back in the office, Will pointed to the photographs on the desk and bookshelves.

  North and Shaw examined the photos. Some showed Rik and Jean at different points in their lives. One showed Jean as a young woman in a simple white dress. A few showed Rik and Jean with people who were either extended family or friends.

  “You’re not exactly helping your case,” North said.

  “I bet if there are any pictures of me, my mom hid them. You can look around the house and check, but you’re not going to find anything; either he got rid of them, or Mom put them away somewhere.”

  “We might take you up on that.”

  “Yeah, well, if you find any, let me know. I can take them to my next therapy session.” Will dropped into one of the Louis XVI chairs, long legs akimbo. “My dad and I didn’t get along.”

  “My dad and I don’t get along, and he hasn’t thrown out all my pictures.”

  “How’d you put it? I was trying to do it gently.” Will’s smile was humor
less. “He kicked me out of the house when I was sixteen.”

  “Why?”

  “We argued. A lot. We didn’t agree on things. He didn’t like what I was doing.”

  “What were you doing?” Shaw asked.

  “The fights got worse and worse, and then I had to leave. I had to.” Will scrubbed one cheek. His eyes were distant. “We couldn’t even be in the same room together.”

  “Your mom didn’t try to help you?”

  “She would have, I think, if she’d known where I was. We were in Chicago, and I got lucky and ended up in one of those safe houses for runaways. My first night. That’s not what usually happens, you know. Usually, it’s something bad, and it happens fast. Usually, if you’re a boy, some fag finds you and makes you do stuff. But you can’t stay at those safe houses forever, and things—things got worse. I was in some trouble, and I heard Bloomington, that’s in Indiana, I heard you can live pretty easy there, spring, summer, and fall. And then one winter, I went out to LA, and after that I’ve gone up and down the coast.”

  “How long are we talking?”

  “Um. What year is it?”

  “Are you fucking serious?” North said.

  “Yeah, I mean.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “It’s not like it mattered.”

  “2019.”

  “Shit. I’m twenty-one.” He laughed. “Guess I can buy beer now.”

  “You’ve been living like that for the last five years?” Shaw asked. “And your parents didn’t know? They didn’t help you?”

  Will scratched the back of his head. “Like I said, I didn’t talk to my dad. I talk to my mom every once in a while. After I got out to LA, a couple of friends helped me realize that I was being stupid. I got a phone. We talk every once in a while.” His voice tightened with what Shaw guessed was embarrassment, and he looked down at his Jordans. “She sends me money.”

  “At sixteen, you’re old enough for a driver’s license.” North crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me your rich, suburban daddy didn’t buy you a car.”

  “Yeah, he did. This little Subaru. It was cute.” Will sighed. “The car got jacked my first night at the safe house. And I sold the license before I left Chicago. I got into some…hard stuff for a while, and I needed the money. There are lots of people who will buy stuff like that. They’ll buy any document you have. I don’t know what they do with them; sell them to other people, I guess, or use them to make fake IDs.”

  “So you haven’t seen your family in five years, and then one day, Mommy dearest calls to tell you your dad got murdered, and you’re on the next bus out here.”

  “Pretty much. I got trashed, actually, and it took me a day to get the junk out of my system. Then I caught a bus.” To Shaw, he asked, “Why’s he being such a dick?”

  “He’s asking what the police would ask,” Shaw said quietly. “Will, you need to think very carefully about how you can prove that you are who you say you are.”

  “I’ve got my bus ticket—”

  “Something I couldn’t have printed off my inkjet,” North said drily.

  “I don’t know, man. I haven’t seen these people in five years. They’re—they were pretty much dead to me.”

  “Until you needed money.”

  “Go to hell.” Will played with his twist-out. “I mean, they don’t even live in the same house anymore. I don’t know how I’m supposed to prove I am who I say I am. My mom will tell you when she wakes up.” His hand stilled. “She is going to wake up, right?”

  “We hope so,” Shaw said.

  “The spare key.”

  “What?”

  “They kept a spare key in one of those fake rocks. In Chicago, it was by the back door. In case I ever got locked out. My mom and dad don’t like change.” He smirked. “I mean, look at this place. I bet the spare key is back there.”

  “Let’s go take a look,” North said.

  They headed down the long hallways, following the gleaming floors, and their ghosts chased them in the gilt-bronze mirrors. Look at this place. Yeah, Shaw was looking. And he realized now he was standing inside a museum.

  After they’d exited through the French doors, Will began to putter around, searching the planters and flower beds on one side of the doors. North joined him, with a meaningful look directed at Shaw. Shaw took the other side of the doors, and he found the fake rock in the third planter.

  “Got it.”

  North and Will turned, and Shaw held up the fake rock and shook it. The key rattled inside. He slid it open and retrieved the key.

  “Let’s see if it works,” North said.

  “What?” Will frowned. “Why?”

  “Let’s just see.”

  He plucked the key from Shaw’s palm and tested it in the French doors’ lock. Then he grimaced and spun it the other direction.

  “It works.”

  “Yeah, it’s their spare key. It’d better work.” Will frowned. A note of outrage crept into his voice. “Did you think I planted it?”

  “I think I just wanted to see if the key worked.”

  “That’s a load of crap.” Will played with his twist-out again. “You guys think I had something to do with what happened to my dad.”

  On the street in front of the house, the sound of a car came towards them. Then the car stopped. A door opened. The Jonas Brothers were back, reminding everyone again they were suckers. A girl laughed, and then her laughter cut off and the door slammed shut.

  “I wasn’t even here,” Will said. He had his hands in his pockets. “I was in LA.”

  “If you’re telling the truth.”

  “I don’t even know why you’re doing this! I don’t even know why you’re looking. That faggot did it.”

  “Use that word one more time,” North said, his voice even, “and you’re going to have a problem.”

  “It had to be him. Dad’s known him forever. They go back to when Dad was teaching college. There’s the money.”

  “Why don’t you tell us about that?” Shaw said. “Why don’t you tell us what you know about your dad and Tucker?”

  “Who’s Tucker?”

  A stray breeze flapped the pool cover. No chlorine smell, a tiny part of Shaw’s brain noticed. Instead, all he could smell was the phlox that someone had planted in thick clumps along the side of the house, the purple blossoms overpoweringly sweet.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” North said. “Start explaining yourself right fucking now.”

  “It’s—he left a message.” Will glanced away, playing with his hair again. “I checked because I thought maybe the hospital had called. You can hear it for yourself.”

  He led them back into the kitchen with its ocean of French country blue and hard marble shorelines A cordless phone was tucked back in the corner. Someone had taped a sticky note to the base with the four-digit code 1960.

  Shaw used a towel to turn on the phone, hit the voicemail button, and punched in the code.

  “First message,” a roboticized woman’s voice announced. “Tuesday, July 2, 2019.” Then a beep. Heavy breathing followed, and a familiar man’s voice began to speak. “Pick up the goddamn phone, Rik. Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? When I find you, I am going to kill you.” There was another beep, and then, in her cool, controlled tones, the robo-woman informed them, “If you’d like to save this message, press one. If you’d like to delete—”

  Shaw pressed one.

  “What the fuck,” North muttered, his eyes finding Shaw’s, “did Percy get himself into?”

  Chapter 13

  THREE CALLS TO PERCY went to voicemail. Each call had pushed North’s blood pressure further into the red.

  “He might be in a meeting,” Shaw said.

  “He’s not. He’s avoiding us. Call him again.”

  They were driving south on I-270. Rush hour traffic had thinned out. The summer evening was drawing toward twilight, the sky blushing to the west, the world falli
ng into shadow to the east. When they hit I-64, MoBap glowed at the cloverleaf, the pale stone bleached and leprous under the floodlights. They’d barely gone a quarter mile east, into the gloom, before traffic came to a standstill. Swearing, North turned on the blinker and inched right.

  Percy’s voicemail picked up. “This is Percy Herbert with Herbert and Galleli.” Then the tone to record.

  Shaw moved to disconnect, but North shook his head. “Percy, it’s North. You’re screening my calls, and it’s pissing me off. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to drive to your office. And if you’re not there, I’m going to drive to your house. And if you’re not there, I’m going to keep calling and keep looking. So pick up the phone and call me back right fucking now.”

  “Seven and a half,” Shaw said after disconnecting. “It would have been an eight, but you lost points on the dismount.”

  “Come here.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to smash your face into the steering wheel, that’s why.” North drummed his fingers on the leather-wrapped wheel. “That kid calling himself Will is a fucking liar.”

  “He didn’t lie about the voicemail.”

  “No, but I think he lied about everything else.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “That’s why I said I think. Jesus Christ,” his voice rose into a shout, “does nobody in this fucking city know how to drive? What the fuck happened up there?”

  Shaw peeled one of his hands away from the wheel and squeezed his fingers. With his other hand, he placed another call.

  “Who are you—” North began.

  The voice from the phone said, “Reck.”

  “Oh fuck me.”

  Silence. Then, “Hello, North.”

  “Hi, Jadon,” Shaw said.

  “Hey.” His tone was wary. “I’m on speakerphone?”

  “Yeah, so if you were planning on running a sex chat with Shaw, you’ll have to make it a three-way.”