Apparently, North decided, shooting a gun in Wahredua was a bigger deal than in St. Louis, because they spent the rest of the night dealing with the fallout from the scene at Adam Ezell’s house. They had to tell the whole story to the responding officers. Then they had to tell it to a sour-faced detective named Palomo. And then, eventually, they had to tell it to John-Henry again. In his office. With Emery glaring at them over John-Henry’s shoulder.
When they’d finished, John-Henry rubbed his face, fighting a yawn. He was quiet for a moment. And then, in a controlled voice, he said, “I understand that our conversation earlier was rushed. I also understand that you’re used to…to working independently.”
“To doing our jobs,” North said. “The jobs you hired us to do.”
“To create a fucking shitstorm,” Emery said. “Is that what you were hired to do?”
“We were hired to track down Welch,” North shot back, “and we did.”
“Really? Where is he? Was he in that private home on that residential street you shot up like it’s the fucking Wild West?”
“We’re following this case where it leads us, and it led us to that fucking church and to some sort of connection with that missing deputy. What the fuck have you been doing? Picking lint out of your ass?”
Emery opened his mouth, but John-Henry slapped the desk and barked, “Enough.” In the wake of the shout, the buzz of the fluorescents was the only sound. “Ree, I’m handling this. North, knock it the fuck off.”
Maybe it was the late night. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the powerlessness of watching death and chaos ripple through the town you were sworn to protect. Whatever it was, it was riding John-Henry like a devil, and North could see it in his face now: a man pushed to the edge.
With a grunt, North sat back and looked at Shaw. Shaw shrugged helplessly.
“Sorry,” North muttered.
After a moment, John-Henry nodded. Emery leaned against the wall with an oddly satisfied look on his face.
“While you are working for the Wahredua PD,” John-Henry said, the words clean and neutral, “I expect you to obey the law and conduct yourself in a way that will make whatever case we bring to trial airtight. Do you understand?”
The wait was like sandpaper on raw skin. Finally, North bit out, “Yes.”
“And while you are working for the Wahredua PD, I expect regular updates about the progress of your investigation. You are not cowboys, to borrow Ree’s metaphor. You’re not on your own. You’re part of a team, and I’m not just talking about Wahredua PD.” Something in his voice yielded. “Either we’re in this together, or we’re not.”
“We’re in it together,” Shaw said quietly.
North nodded.
Emery snorted.
“But also,” North said, “fuck you, you big lump of fucks.”
For some reason, that made John-Henry grin, and he looked younger.
“Have the Highway Patrol been any help?” Shaw asked.
The smile evaporated from John-Henry’s face, but Emery was the one who spoke. “They’re still processing the cells, taking an eternity so they can tell us what we already know: Philip Welch killed two men in there.”
“They didn’t catch Welch with the roadblock,” John-Henry said, “but I think we’ve got an idea why—he was well past it by the time they put it into position.”
“What are you going to do about that?” North asked. “The Moss family, the church.”
“Cassidy,” Emery said, that single word a dead sound.
Something flickered in John-Henry’s expression, but when he spoke, he sounded tired. “It’s going to be a jurisdictional nightmare. It already is, I suppose.”
“And, as a result, we’re going to spend as much time jerking each other off as we do actual police work, which is a vibrant reminder of why I purposefully left this bullshit behind.”
“Also,” North said, “they would have fired you anyway.”
Emery turned a flat look on him.
“What about Gid?” Shaw asked.
“We’re looking for him too,” John-Henry said. “That shouldn’t be as hard; I can’t imagine the son of a preacher has the kind of skills and resources to lie low for an extended period of time. He’ll swipe a credit card or pop up on a traffic camera.”
“Of course, it would have been nice if you’d held on to him,” Emery said.
North tried not to make a face about that, mostly because he agreed with Emery. Jem’s all-clear had sent them venturing out onto Ezell’s lawn, and by the time Shaw had remembered Gid, there was no sign of the man.
“We were a little busy,” North said. “Fucking Jem. Rushing in there like a fucking amateur.”
Emery raised his eyebrows.
Shaw made an unhappy noise.
“You know,” John-Henry said, “there’s a good chance Gid’s still alive because Jem acted the way he did. This man in black, whoever he is, is a killer. And I don’t like that he’s carrying a gun now.”
“No,” Emery said, “it was so much better when he was a cross between Freddy Krueger and a ninja.”
“Oh, he’s not Freddy Krueger,” Shaw said, “because Freddy Krueger had those hedge-trimming gloves.”
“That was only in an episode of The Simpsons—” North tried.
“He’s more like a cross between a ninja and…oh! A medieval peasant harvesting a cereal crop.”
“John,” Emery said.
“Or mowing hay.”
John-Henry rubbed his eyes again. “Any idea what the youngest son of a preacher was looking for in our missing deputy’s house?”
North shook his head. “That’s got to be enough for a warrant, though, right? We’ve got a clear trail that has Welch walking up to their front door, and a couple of hours later, Gid drives across the state to break into some random deputy’s house? That’s a connection.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” John-Henry said through a yawn. “Right now, I’m hitting a wall.”
North opened his mouth to say something—the phrase weak sauce was probably in there—when a yawn caught him too.
“We’re sorry again, John-Henry,” Shaw said. “Emery. We’re really sorry. We’ll do better.”
Emery said nothing, amber eyes glittering as he studied them. John-Henry cracked a smile, though. “I’d appreciate it, if only so I don’t lose my job.” He was quiet a moment, and then he said, “Thank God you’re all ok.”
A false dawn turned the sky to pewter as North drove them back to their motel. They could have piled into the Hazard and Somerset household again—they’d done it before, on and off over the course of the last few insane weeks—but the house was already overcrowded, and, more importantly, every time North turned around, Colt was there. Literally. One time, he’d opened the refrigerator to get something to drink, and he’d hit the boy in the face with the door. Worse, Colt had apologized to him. Unless Shaw had been right, and he’d been apologizing to the refrigerator.
The Bridal Veil Motor Court was full of long shadows, and the glass-block accents winked as the headlights swept over them. North parked in front of their room—the motor court wasn’t exactly burdened with an abundance of guests—and they went inside. They fumbled their clothes off in the pre-dawn gloom, and North pulled Shaw’s back to his chest in bed. The mini-split couldn’t keep up, and skin on skin was sticky, but he wanted him close. He wondered if what felt like the start of a raging boner was going to mean putting off sleep for another hour, and he was vaguely aware of his brain explaining the hormones still working their way through his body after a brush with death. And then he was asleep.
He woke to sunlight. Too much sun. And Shaw taking off his underwear.
“Guh,” North muttered.
Shaw laughed quietly. He smelled like soap, and when he bent to kiss North, he tasted like toothpaste, and his hair was wet where it tickled North’s chest and shoulder. North hardened quickly—first in Shaw’s hand, then in his mouth. Shaw was already hard, of course, his dick brushing wet lines onto North’s thigh. North heard his own uneven breaths, the sounds of Shaw’s mouth, the rattle of the mini-split like coins tumbling in a dryer. Too much sun, his brain reminded him, and that’s when he realized the curtains were only partially closed.
He was going to say something, and then Shaw pulled back, a lube-slick hand pumping North once before Shaw straddled him and seated himself. The first hot, gripping inches forced a noise out of North, and his hands bit into Shaw’s thighs. Shaw whimpered as he settled himself slowly. Too slowly. And then he was there, all of him and all of North joined together. A flush ran across his thin chest. He was breathing in a way North recognized.
“Shit, baby,” North muttered, and he manhandled Shaw until Shaw keened. “Already?”
Shaw nodded wildly and began to move, and North moved with him. It might have been thirty seconds, but North thanked God nobody had a stopwatch. Shaw first, then North, his hands tightening until he knew he’d leave bruises. When it was over, it was as though something had swept through North, hollowing his bones, scouring his insides. He felt light and empty and clean, and maybe it wasn’t all that much sun, because as Shaw lay next to him, damp hair pillowing his head on North’s chest, North realized he was about to fall asleep.
He woke the second time to “Oh shit, they’re naked!”
And then a door slammed.
“Fuck me,” North groaned.
Shaw laughed sleepily into his chest.
“Not like that,” North said and slapped his ass.
“I wasn’t trying to look, Theo.” The voice was unmistakably Auggie’s. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen yours look all red and smushed like that. Well, I don’t know, maybe because he’s so white.”
“How old is he?” North muttered. “Twelve? Is it legal to kill twelve-year-olds if they’re complete and total twerps?”
“This seems like a good stopping point for our one and only conversation about North’s dick,” Theo said. Then he hammered on the door.
“Like Twinky Twerp,” Shaw murmured. “That sounds like something Lars would say.”
North pulled his hair until Shaw yelled, and then he sent him into the bathroom.
“They’re definitely awake,” Auggie said as he opened the door a crack. “I heard Shaw yell.”
“I’m not saying they’re not awake,” Theo said, “I said let’s not go in until we’re sure—”
“For fuck’s sake,” North said, pulling the sheet over himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”
“Are you, uh, decent?” Auggie asked.
“Decent. You already barged in here like a couple of cockhounds. I hope that was educational for you, Tiny-tot. In another ten or fifteen years, your body will go through some dramatic changes.”
Auggie and Theo pressed into the room. Auggie wore a partial smirk, but the bandage couldn’t dim his amusement. Theo’s mouth was set in that tiny frown that was like crack for North. It was too easy to push the older man’s buttons, especially when it came to Auggie. They were dressed like they had somewhere to go that involved a lot of bros slapping five and giving each other handies under the table—polos, slacks, shoes that were too nice to be called sneakers. Theo was carrying two paper cups, and Auggie held a bag that, unless North’s nose misled him, contained something remarkably delicious.
“Changes like what?” Auggie asked. “You know, I didn’t realize your stomach could look like that while you were lying down.”
“Make it through your twenties, dickbreath. Talk to me when your metabolism gives up the holy fucking ghost.”
“Aren’t you in your twenties?” Theo asked.
North gave him the bird. But he did sit up. And pulled the sheet higher.
“Theo’s stomach definitely doesn’t look like that,” Auggie said.
“Yep, Grampsie is one in a million. Your lucky catch. What the fuck are you two doing here besides perving on us and getting your jollies?”
“Bringing you breakfast,” Auggie said, hefting the bag.
“And coffee,” Theo said.
“But if you’d rather us leave so you can continue, uh, exhibiting with the windows open…”
North made a gimme gesture, and Auggie’s smirk grew as he handed over the bag. Theo set the coffees on the nightstand, and then they took the only chairs in the motel room. The bag held two enormous biscuit sandwiches, a clamshell container of home fries, and a hubcap-sized cinnamon roll.
“Holy Jesus,” North said, “this is as big as your head, Strawberry Shortcake.”
The nickname only made Auggie roll his eyes, but Theo’s little frown came back. It was too easy, really.
North was cuffing the sandwich wrapper and opening his mouth when Shaw emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet and holding a washcloth in front of himself. Auggie’s eyes got huge, and then he started to laugh into his hands. Theo didn’t exactly make the sign of the cross, but he did look like a man seeking divine intercession.
“Hi, Auggie,” Shaw said brightly. “Hi, Theo!”
“Put some pants on,” North barked.
And then he realized his mistake.
Shaw’s eyes fastened onto the breakfast sandwich. “No, North! Our diet!”
“No diet,” North said and took the biggest bite his jaws were capable of. It was, admittedly, hard to swallow. And that made a voice in North’s head perk up, the one that sounded like Shaw, that sounded like all those bad blowjob jokes, the ones about how he’d chewed the head off Nick’s dick or whatever Shaw was always going on about. North powered through—there was that Shaw voice again, droning on about Nick—and managed to get the food down. The other day, at the park, Tean had been talking about geese not chewing their food, or maybe it had been ducks, and that memory came back vividly now.
“We’re on a strict diet—” Shaw said, trying to climb across the bed—and, in the process, dropping the washcloth.
North elbowed him away. “Get off the bed. And get away from my sandwich. And get some fucking clothes on so you’re not hanging dong in front of small fry; he’s strictly PG-13.”
“Oh God,” Shaw said. “Sorry, Auggie.”
“You know—” Theo began.
But Auggie squeezed his arm, laughing, and Theo grimaced and settled into his chair.
North finished the biscuit sandwich and half the coffee before he felt human again, and he entrusted Auggie with safeguarding the cinnamon roll because he knew if he left it to Shaw, the traitorous weasel would either eat it all himself or feed it to birds or summon an army of mice—God only knew, the list went on and on. He padded into the bathroom, and he chose to ignore—because he was an adult, and adults didn’t argue with children—Auggie’s final comment.
“Ok, I know you’re going to think I’m joking, but is one cheek bigger than the other?”
The shower, added to the food and caffeine, went a long way toward completing that process of turning North back into a functioning person again. When he’d finished, he checked his stomach in the mirror and decided Auggie was full of shit. It was muscle. And mass. Then he checked his ass. It was hard to tell if there was a size difference. But there wasn’t, because that wasn’t a thing that happened to people. And it was this goddamn cheapass mirror, that was all.
Towel around his waist, he returned to the bedroom just in time. Shaw had the cinnamon roll in his lap, and when North threw a look at Auggie, Auggie sank down guiltily in his seat. Head thrown back, Shaw was saying, “And then sometimes he says—well, moans, really—‘Yes, yes, Shaw, right there,’ and he’s talking about this spot—”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, bird brain?” North snapped as he snatched what remained of the cinnamon roll—less than half!—from Shaw and dropped onto the bed. “And you two, don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Aside from bringing you breakfast?” Theo asked drily.
North scratched his cheek with his middle finger and attacked the cinnamon roll.
“Actually, we do have a reason for coming over,” Auggie said.
“Wonder of wonders,” North muttered, but the sarcasm was dampened by the mouthful of bread and icing.
“So, first of all, that guy Gid?” Auggie glanced from Shaw to North. “He’s the one who chatted me up in the Cottonmouth Club a few days ago.”
For what might have been the first time in his life, North forgot about a cinnamon roll. “You’re shitting me.”
Auggie shook his head. He held out his phone, displaying a publicity photo of the Moss family, and pointed to Gid. “Gideon Moss, right? He’s the one who had you at gunpoint last night?”
Shaw nodded.
“When we were looking for those missing kids,” Auggie said, “we went to the Cottonmouth Club.”
“I remember,” North said drily. “You couldn’t stop talking about it after we kept your asses from getting capped in a parking lot.”
“Jesus, North,” Theo said under his breath.
“The point is,” Auggie said, “a guy talked to me while I was in the club, and it was Gid. He even used the same name. I saw him get in a fight—well, an argument—with a couple of other guys, and then he was looking for a way to inflate his own ego, so he started talking to me—shooting his mouth off, really, because he wanted to brag, and in the process, saying a lot of stupid stuff.”
“Like what?” Shaw asked.
“Like they did wild stuff there. Private stuff. Stuff you couldn’t do anywhere else.”
North waited, but when nothing more came, he said, “That’s it? Shit, he could have been talking about playing Dungeons and Dragons in their jocks.”
“He talked about getting Auggie a girl,” Theo said.
“Seriously? Did he even look at the little wiener?”
Theo sat forward in his chair. “Knock it off.”
Placing a hand on Theo’s knee, Auggie said, “He didn’t say anything super incriminating, no. But he talked about how the Cottonmouth Club was different, about how you could get a girl there and do whatever you wanted to her. That was the part he emphasized. And I think he realized he’d said too much to a stranger, because he left in a hurry. That was when I decided to get out of there, but as I was leaving, I spotted him talking to someone. He looked, well, worried.”
North broke off another piece of cinnamon roll, but then he let it fall back into the box, and he wiped the icing from his thumb. “Ok,” he finally said. “Welch takes us to Gid. Gid takes us to the Cottonmouth Club. And two of the three people who died last night, they were going to identify a man they’d met at the Cottonmouth Club.”
Shaw tented his hands over his mouth and shook his head.
“Did you tell John-Henry about this?” North asked.
“Yeah, of course. As soon as Jem and Tean updated us—”
“Which wasn’t their job,” Theo said, “because we should have already been kept in the loop.”
North scratched his cheek again.
“—I found that church’s website, and boom, there was Gid.”
“Auggie was up half the night doing research,” Theo said.
“Theo was up all night,” Auggie said. “When Jem and Tean left, he was in charge of keeping the kids safe.”
Which, North had to admit, might explain why the grumpy teacher was a little grumpier than usual. So, he decided to forego the low-hanging fruit about the kids.
“Did you find out anything else about the church?” Shaw asked.
Auggie shrugged. “They must take in a lot of money. That huge campus, the one you saw last night? They’ve got a satellite campus in Joplin, and both campuses have fully equipped stages—lights, cameras, everything. They broadcast online, so there’s no real distribution costs, and they’ve got a big audience. The guy who started it all, the dad—”
“We met him,” North said. “He might as well be a piece of furniture; nobody’s home.”
Auggie nodded. “They talk about his advanced age and failing health, but nobody’s come out and said that. The oldest son seems to be covering the responsibilities up here, and the satellite campus has somebody else running the show—not family, I mean. Kind of interesting, right, when you’ve got two sons and two campuses?”
“The brothers clearly didn’t get along,” Shaw said. “We saw that last night.”
“But that’s normal, right? Disagreements between brothers?” Theo asked. “Or what are we talking about?”
Shaw shook his head slowly. “I think this was more than that. The older brother, Jed, is clearly the more successful one. He’s also clearly in charge. Gid was hopped up on something last night, and I doubt it was the first time. Add that to what Auggie told us, and it sounds like he’s got substance abuse on top of already erratic behavior, plus the need for approval. That’s what he was after with you, right, Auggie?”
Something like surprise flitted across Auggie’s face, and he seemed to be considering Shaw anew. North recognized the look; it happened whenever someone got a glimpse of the real Shaw. “Uh, yeah,” Auggie said. “That’s exactly what he wanted.”
“Anything that might explain why he went to that deputy’s house last night?” North asked.
“Not really. That’s what’s so strange, I guess. Neither campus is located in Wahredua, and Jem and Tean said they didn’t see anything inside Ezell’s house that suggested a connection between him and the Epiphany of Light.”
“Wait,” Shaw said, “they went inside the deputy’s house?”
“We’re talking about Jem,” Theo said with a half-smile.
Auggie glanced at each of them. “But the connection to the Cottonmouth Club, that’s something, right?”
“And it’s a connection that Emery and John-Henry are going to handle,” Theo said.
“I know, I know,” Auggie said. “But North and Shaw needed to hear about it, don’t you think?”
Theo nodded, but the look on his face sent a mixed message.
“I guess you did your due diligence,” North said, “although you could have put this in the group chat instead of playing peeping Tom. We’ll see if we can run down—”
“That’s not why we came over,” Theo said. “Tell them, Auggie.”
“I got us an appointment with Eric Brey.”
“What?” And then, “Who?”
“Brey. He was one of Welch’s visitors. Well, his only visitor, I guess.” Auggie grinned. “And he’s a state representative.”
North honestly didn’t know what to say for a moment. He finally said again, “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. One guess where he’s from.”
“Auburn,” Shaw said.
Auggie nodded.
“Jesus,” North said. “What are we mucking around in?”
“Good question,” Theo said.
North tried to run through what the connection meant, but the best he could come up with was the cold, hard reality: Welch’s trail had gone cold at the Epiphany of Light, but Theo and Auggie had handed them a fresh trail to follow. Auggie was still grinning, obviously pleased with himself and just as obviously waiting for recognition.
“Good work, super squirt,” North said.
Auggie rolled his eyes, but his grin got bigger.
“All right, if that’s it, I’m going to get dressed. We’ve got work to do—”
“No, no, no,” Auggie said. “I got the appointment for us. All of us.”
North stared at him. Then he looked at Theo.
Theo held up both hands. “Oh no. I learned my lesson the hard way.”
“Look,” North said, “you did a good job—”
“I tracked him down,” Auggie said. “I created the fake PAC. I built the damn website at three in the morning. And I’m the one who talked my way past his assistant and convinced Brey that he needed to see us today.”
It was a long fifteen seconds before North gritted out, “Fine.”
“And you should make him say sorry,” Shaw said.
North turned on him so fast that Shaw fell off the bed. Auggie pulled his shirt up to cover a grin, and Theo rolled his eyes.
As North knelt next to his duffel and began rifling it for clothes, he said, “I’m not dressing like a penis in a collared shirt like the two of you. In case you were wondering.”
Theo sighed. “No, North. I can honestly say nobody was wondering that.”
“So?” North said as he threw a pair of jeans on the bed. “How’d you convince him to see us? Who are we, all that shit? Knock that look off your face; I’m not going to leave you behind. We’ll get you all buckled into your car seat, and you can fall asleep on the nice long drive.”
“You know what?” Auggie said. “I’m starting to get it.”
North refused to ask what.
“This whole thing Shaw does. It makes more and more sense every day.”
This time, North gave him a dirty look. “Talk, or you aren’t going to get that pair of stilts for your birthday.”
“We’re ‘Watchdogs for Information,’” Auggie said. “We’re fighting the fake news media.”
North thought about that. “God, that’s a stupid name for a PAC.”
In the tone of someone at the edge of his rope, Theo said, “North.”
“What?” North said. “That’s a compliment. They’re all stupid.”
“That was a compliment,” Theo muttered.
Shaw, bare-assed and digging through his suitcase, suddenly straightened and looked over at them. “Oh my God, North, this is just like that dream I had. Except in that one, Theo was wearing those leather shorts.”