Triangulation by Gregory Ashe

Author:Gregory Ashe [Ashe, Gregory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gregory Ashe
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

SHAW SAT IN THE Beamer’s passenger seat, staring out at the blur of south-city strip malls and fast food joints. The low brick buildings ran like a line of Morse code, dots and dashes broken up by parking lots and forgotten playgrounds and rundown apartments. The intensity of light concentrated inside Shaw’s head, gathering into the first throbs of a migraine. His busted nose throbbed too.

“Do you want to tell me something?” North said.

“What?”

“About the Slasher and going down to Potosi.”

“What are you talking about?”

North’s hands skimmed the leather-wrapped steering wheel. Strong hands. Callused hands. But the way he had touched Shaw’s face, turned his head, had made those hands seem like they were made of glass. North had been the one who seemed fragile after that encounter with Taylor and Waggener. Standing in the kitchen, unable to let go of Shaw, North had looked like an old window with cracks spiderwebbing through him. For one moment, Shaw had feared that North would fall apart completely. And then the moment had passed.

“I heard him, Shaw. I heard Taylor. I heard him asking you about Potosi and why you went down to see Roman Stroud. We called him about two suspects in a murder investigation, but all he wanted to talk about was Stroud. And that’s not all.” North’s hands slid along leather again. “I think . . . I think Waggener, at least, was wondering if she was going to have to kill us.”

“Did she threaten you?”

“Kind of. I don’t know. Not really, not until Taylor hit you and I tried to get to the kitchen. But she kept watching the street like she wanted to make sure nobody had seen them. She kept . . . Damn it, I don’t know. I can’t even explain it. But I know, Shaw. I know that’s what she was thinking. So my question is: do you want to tell me something?”

“About what?”

“About why the fuck two Metropolitan cops care that you visited the Slasher in Potosi. About why the fuck they showed up to their own murder investigation and didn’t even ask about Mike or Grace Augusta, didn’t even blink, but they were thinking about scrubbing us out because they were worried.”

Shaw blinked a few times, taking in the tension in North’s shoulders and arms and hands, the way he turned sharply onto River Des Peres and clipped the curb, the way he swore and punched the gas. Shaw thought of those cracks spiderwebbing through glass, and he reached over and ran his hand on North’s shoulder, squeezing once, and then rested it at the nape of North’s neck. They drove like that for a minute. And then another.

Then Shaw said, “You’re red here.”

North shrugged, trying to knock Shaw’s hand off of him.

“And you smell like cigarettes again.”

“The neighbor was smoking as he cut the grass.”

“I didn’t hear a lawnmower.”

“You were too busy stuffing your face.”

“We’re going to be ok, North.”

“We? I am not worried about ‘we,’ Shaw. I’m worried about your hipster ass.

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