Redirection

by Gregory Ashe

  A flashfire smile touched North’s mouth and burned itself out. “Last night…”

  When it was obvious he wasn’t going to go on, Shaw shifted in the seat to face him more easily. “We don’t have to talk about it. I know I’ve been pressuring you, and that’s not the way any of this is supposed to be. So we don’t have to talk about it.”

  The silence made Shaw’s skin prickle, and adrenaline zinged through him when North spoke, the rawness of his frustration laid bare. “What if I don’t know how to talk about it? What if that’s the whole problem?”

  “That’s ok too.”

  North shook his head. He was looking through the windshield now, at the neat little mailboxes and the neat little flowerbeds and the neat houses that weren’t little at all. “Maybe it isn’t. I think maybe it isn’t ok. I think you—I don’t know.” He let out a low breath and let his head clunk against the door.

  When Shaw touched his neck, North flinched, but then he was still again, and Shaw rubbed his neck for a while. The window was open. Somewhere, a sprinkler chirped incessantly. An eddy of air brought the smell of gasoline and baking asphalt into the car.

  “You’ve been nice to me today,” North said so quietly that Shaw barely heard.

  “Not totally nice. I said you had a weak flow. I—” Heat made Shaw flush. The day seemed twice as hot, and perspiration soaked the poplin shirt. “I was a jerk with Percy.”

  “No. You were making a point. And you were giving me a chance to do better. You’re always giving me more chances.”

  “You gave me one extra second chance on my birthday once, remember? It was a card from Life, and you’d written on it with a Sharpie, and I had to use it after I turned all your hats into birdhouses.”

  Another of those flashfire smiles raced across North’s mouth and was gone. “After everything lately, though. You’re always nice to me. Not nice. Kind. Good. I don’t even know what the right word is.”

  “I like being nice to you.”

  “I guess you do.” Then, voice thick, he blinked rapidly and asked, “Why?”

  It was all in that question; Shaw wasn’t a genius, but he was smart enough to know that. North’s father, and Tucker, and all the things about North that Shaw didn’t understand or that hurt too much when he tried to understand them. That one-word question was asking for an answer to all of them.

  Shaw opened his mouth to say the only true thing he could give, the only answer that might have a chance of meaning something, and then he froze. Up the hill, on the other side of the windows in the Slooves’ house, something moved. Shaw swiveled to catch a better look. And then Will’s face was clear in the summer sunlight as he stood at the glass. “He spotted us.”

  When Shaw turned back to North, North was drying his eyes on his shoulder and clearing his throat.

  “Maybe we should—”

  “Good. I’m glad he sees us. He lied to us from the beginning. Lied about why he came to St. Louis, about when he got here, and about what he’s been doing. Lied about his dad, about being in contact with him. And he lied because he’s a murdering son of a bitch.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “He’s a messed-up queer kid who’s been living on the streets, doing God knows what, because his dad made him feel so fucking ashamed of who he was that anything was better than staying there. And then he learns that his dad has switched teams, or maybe always played for both teams, and is fagging out all over town. He hops a bus, comes straight back, and catches his dad trolling for dick at a gay club. They fight about it. He can’t handle it, everything he’s done, everything he’s given up because his dad made him hate himself for who he was, and now all that hate gets redirected at Daddy. He follows him after the party and beats his brains in.”

  “Maybe.”

  North twisted in the seat. “Maybe?”

  “I swear to God, North, I’m not trying to do a repeat of the last few times we’ve had this conversation, but I think you’re projecting a lot onto the case. We don’t have any evidence—”

  “He told us why he ran away from home. He told us what his dad said about queers. Everybody we’ve talked to has said the same thing: for a while, Rik played the conservative crusader against homos. And now he comes back and finds his dad sticking it to kids his age, so tell me, Shaw, what am I projecting about that?”

  Shaw plucked at the batik shirt, fanning himself with the poplin.

  With what sounded like a lot of effort at restraint, North said, “I’m not saying I don’t have shit to deal with. But the facts are there.”

  “You can’t put him in that motel room. You can’t put Tucker’s golf club in his hand. Those are pretty important facts too, North, and a prosecutor—”

  “Shit, he’s coming out.”

  Shaw turned to the house. The garage door rolled up, and the Porsche backed out. A moment later, it was speeding away from them, turning sharply at the end of the block before disappearing from sight. The garage door was still rattling down.

  “Come on,” North said, popping his door.

  The spare key in the planter was gone, but the French doors opened easily. North loided the latch with a slim piece of metal that he kept in a neoprene case with his picks, and then he gave a shove, and the doors wambled inward. North waved for Shaw to go first.

  “Such a gentleman,” Shaw said as he stepped into the arctic blast of the air conditioning.

  “Duh.”

  “When you’re not yelling at me.”

  North grimaced, but Shaw squeezed his arm, and a reluctant, embarrassed smile took its place.

  “Or asking me to pull your hair and riding me like a two-bit whore who used to turn tricks on the rodeo circuit.”

  The sound was spittle catching in North’s throat. Fire-engine red, he shut the French doors, taking longer than necessary. When he finally turned around, he still couldn’t meet Shaw’s eyes. He stabbed a finger toward Shaw.

  “Payback is a bitch.”

  “I was making an observation.”

  “I’m telling you right now, payback is a bitch, Shaw. Remember this moment.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a very good memory. I remember, for example, that when I pull really hard on your hair, you literally tighten up on me, and—hold on, I’m still sharing a memory with you.”

  North picked his path through the trash covering the floor and headed deeper into the house.

  Inside, the Slooves’ home was a disaster. A greasy, chemical film hung in the air, leaking from crumpled Big Mac boxes and flattened bags of Fritos—the winning combination of mayo that had turned and high school feet. Dirty dishes filled the sink. Drips of mustard pollocked the island. At some point, Will must have given up on the mountain of trash in the trash can, because garbage spilled across the floor. From where Shaw stood, he could see down the hall: sneakers kicked off at intervals, as though Will had done ditched the shoes while still walking. All the signs of a kid who expected a parent to pick up after him—or didn’t expect anyone to care.

  The chaos flooded the rest of the house.

  “This is too much,” Shaw said. “It’s only been a day, right? Less than a day?”

  “He had a party,” North said.

  Shaw looked at a broken mirror, his reflection fractured, one corner of the bronzed frame snapped off.

  “Trust me,” North said, “he had a party. Even if he doesn’t know anyone in the area, it wouldn’t have been hard. Shit, we’ll be lucky if the dipshits didn’t make off with valuable evidence.”

  They did a quick tour of the house first and stopped in the guest bedroom upstairs, the one with the cast-iron bed frame and the light fixture that looked like a wedding cake. New clothes were piled on the floor near the foot of the bed, many of them still with tags attached: Nike and Under Armour, but also Gucci, Neiman Marcus, Saks. A phone charger was plugged into the outlet near the bed, but the phone was missing.

  “Guess we know where he decid
ed to sleep,” North said, flipping the light switch with his elbow. “Too creepy to sleep in Mommy and Daddy’s bed, probably.”

  Something had tightened in Shaw’s gut, like someone pulling on a knot. He moved over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. The collection of burner phones rattled against each other and slid across the wood. He shut the drawer and moved to the closet. The cardboard boxes were still stacked inside where they had found them last time.

  “What?” North asked from where he crouched next to a wastebasket.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You look worried. What’s wrong?”

  Shaw wiped his mouth. “I don’t know.”

  From below came the sound of a door, and then, “This is Detective Jadon Reck with the St. Louis Metropolitan Police.”

  “That,” Shaw said with a sigh.

  “If there’s anyone in the house, you are trespassing. Please do not make any sudden movements. Identify yourself by calling out your location, and I will give you further instructions.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Jadon,” North shouted back. “Get the fucking stick out of your ass.”

  Jadon muttered something that was lost in the distance. Then, “Get down here. Both of you.”

  “You go first,” North whispered on the stairs.

  “You’re the big, tough, butch one.”

  “Yeah, but he likes you. Be nice to him. Drop your bloomers and give him a show. Offer him some complimentary head.”

  “I will not—you can’t—whoring me out—”

  “And don’t say whore,” North said. “That’s twice today, and it’s a very offensive word.”

  Shaw was still trying to process that when North caught his shoulder and propelled him forward.

  Jadon stood in the living room. His gun was unholstered but held low, and his sandy-dark eyebrows were knitted together. He looked capable, in that moment, of chewing through the GTO’s rims—and anything else that he got his teeth into. Like Shaw’s ass, for example. On the porch behind him, Will stood, glaring at them.

  “Is it just the two of you?” Jadon asked.

  “Nice to see you too, Jadon.” North said. “How’s the hammer hanging?”

  “Answer the damn question.”

  “Gotcha. Not getting any.” North winced. “Does it help if I tell you it’s because of your personality? And your looks, that dog-fucker face. But mostly your personality. Well, it’s probably a tie.”

  “I thought I was supposed to drop my drawers?” Shaw said.

  “Is it just the two of you?” Jadon snapped.

  Shaw nodded. “My Girl Scout troupe couldn’t come.”

  “My improvisational sketch comedy club had a bar mitzvah to perform at.”

  “I asked my sewing circle, but they had to take a ham to the Widow MacBride.”

  “Just the two of us,” North said. “We’re still working on that clown car trick, but I’m behind on tuition, and I got booted from clown college.”

  “Aww,” Shaw said. “That one was cute.”

  North shrugged, color climbing his neck.

  “I love the thought of you at a clown college.”

  “Ok, yeah.”

  “No, it’s sweet. I bet you’d be so good with kids, making them those balloon schlongs you know how to make. You could do five-year-old birthday parties.”

  “Shaw, you’re kind of ruining it.”

  “Oh, right.”

  When he turned back, Jadon had holstered the gun and was taking slow, deep breaths. “Are you done?”

  “I’m done. North sometimes still has a zinger up his zipper.”

  “Jesus Christ, Shaw, that sounds like I’ve got the clap.”

  “He doesn’t,” Shaw said for Jadon and Will’s benefit. “His penile discharges are totally normal. Well, last time I saw. It’s been a little while. Since yesterday. But it’s a whole thing. He broke up with me, but I kind of had to do it for him, and then he still wanted to sex me up because I’m his dick kryptonite, which he whispered one time in my ear, but it wasn’t actually as sweet as he thought it was going to be—”

  “I didn’t mean for it to be sweet,” North said, “just so we’re all clear.”

  “—but yeah, totally normal discharge yesterday, although—”

  “Stop talking,” Jadon said, “or I’m going to arrest you for trespassing.”

  Shaw had only heard that tone a couple of times before. He stopped talking.

  “Let’s go,” Jadon said.

  “Where?” North said.

  “Back to the station.”

  “No fucking way. This guy killed his dad, Jadon. He’s been lying since the minute we met him.”

  “The investigation—”

  “No, God damn it. He lied about when he got to St. Louis. He lied about his relationship with his dad. We have a witness who saw them in a physical altercation, and I bet we can connect him to the car we saw following Rik after the Fourth of July party—”

  “The investigation is closed,” Jadon shouted. “Someone confessed, North. We found corroborating physical evidence to support the confession. We’re done.” He made a slashing motion with his hand, but when he spoke, he’d regained some of his control. “You’re done. If you break into Mr. Slooves’s home again, I’ll have to arrest you. Get out of here.”

  “It’s not his home. It’s his mom’s home.”

  “North, I am trying really hard to be decent with you, and you are being a fucking shit about it. Get your ass out that door right now!”

  North opened his mouth, but Shaw yanked on his shirt and whispered, “Cut it out.”

  After a moment, struggle visible in his face, North growled, “Fine. Let’s go.”

  “Jadon, could I talk to you?”

  “I don’t think now—”

  “Please?”

  Jadon gave a jerky nod. Shaw nudged North toward the door, and the two men passed each other without barking or snarling or snapping their teeth, although North went out of his way to make himself as big as possible, and Jadon looked like he wished he still carried a nightstick.

  “That’s right,” Will said as North passed him. “I told you to stay off my property, so stay off!”

  “Fuck you, you fucking psychopath,” North shot back, still walking. “I know you, and I know what you did, and you’re not going to get away with it.”

  Jadon shut the door. Silence dropped like a scrim between them.

  “Who confessed?”

  Jadon shook his head.

  “Jay, please, you know I’m not asking to cause trouble. It’ll be in the news soon anyway.”

  “Do you like dealing with that all the time? That behavior? Jeez, Shaw, he can’t even be civil with me because you and I used to date, never mind that you dumped my sorry butt.”

  “I didn’t dump you, and…I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re doing, I guess. It’s too much to figure out right now, so I guess I’m saving it to figure out later.”

  “Your therapist must love you,” Jadon said.

  Shaw surprised himself with a laugh. “I’m putting her kids through college.”

  Jadon’s smile was grudging, and the hard set of his shoulders softened. “We had two confessions, actually, and I ought to be down at the station unraveling this mess instead of here, dealing with you two boneheads. It’s a nightmare, Shaw. The whole thing. I’m not going to sleep for the next six months.”

  Shaw barely heard him. At the word two, something had startled in the dark, icy waters of his subconscious, and the rest of his brain was trying to catch up. He spoke without meaning to: “Peter and Paul.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “They both confessed?”

  Expression grim, Jadon nodded.

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does, in a way. They seem very…attached.”

  “But you’re not taking this seriously, right? I mean, Peter a
nd Paul couldn’t have done this. You’re making a mistake.”

  “Do you think I would arrest two obviously distressed men on their word alone?” He rubbed his eyes; fatigue made a time-lapse of his face, and for a moment, Shaw could see what he’d look like in ten years, in twenty, still handsome but ground down to a fine edge. “We’ve been working on this for, Christ, most of a day. I haven’t slept in thirty hours or something. This is between us, ok? The injuries on Peter’s hands don’t look good; they’re consistent with repeated blows—hard blows—and we think he must have spent some time hitting Rik in the head with his hands, not just with the golf club.”

  “That doesn’t—lots of people get in fights, and—”

  “Lots of tech millionaires go out brawling? We also collected blood from inside the washing machine. They destroyed the clothes—they confessed to that too—but it’s not that easy to clean a washing machine. We typed it, and it’s O+.”

  “That’s the most common type.”

  “But it’s not their type—neither man has O+. But you know who does?”

  “You haven’t tested it for DNA. You don’t know for sure that it’s Rik’s.”

  “Shaw, what do you want me to do? Peter walks in, tells the duty officer he killed Rik Slooves, and then has physical evidence to match. His husband shows up half an hour later trying to tell the same story because he’s scared to death. Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

  “You’re supposed to do your goddamn job. You’re supposed to find the real killer, not arrest my friends and wait for me and North to figure it out.”

  In the kitchen, a drain gurgled.

  Jadon was still for a moment. Then he rubbed his chin. “If you trespass again, I’ll make sure you and North get charged. It might even be a B&E charge if you keep it up like this. Either way, it won’t look good when you apply to have your license renewed.”

  “I can’t believe you.”

  “Great. The feeling’s mutual.”

  Shaw pushed past him, heading for the door.

  “Shaw, will you come on for a second and see this from my side?”