“This is another setup,” North said. “Just like last time. You’re going to point us the way you want us to run, and whatever you tell us, it’s going to be half the truth, or a quarter, or just the skim floating on top. Whatever your angle, it’s going to be about Aldrich Acquisitions, just like last time.”

  “He’s dramatic,” Ronnie said to Shaw. “He’s always been a ham.”

  “Trust me, I know. You should see him sneeze. He does this whole thing where he winds up like he’s throwing a pitch, and then—”

  “What do you want, Ronnie?” North broke in. “We’re not going to help you. We’re not going to cave. Whatever you think you’re going to get out of us, however you think you’re going to manipulate us, you’re wasting your time. The last time I saw you, you tried to extort me by threatening to put my dad in prison for jury tampering. As far as I’m concerned, we don’t have anything else to discuss. Do whatever you’re going to do.”

  “North, apple of my eye, you are a very bright young man, but you’re a bit self-centered. Did it ever occur to you that I might not want anything from you except your help? That this might not be about you at all?”

  “No. Because that’s not you, Ronnie. And I know you.”

  With a sigh, Ronnie leaned back in his seat. He took a long drink of Guinness and glanced at their glasses.

  “It’s barely eleven,” North said.

  “It would be rude not to try,” Shaw said. “I’ve never had—”

  North took the glass before Shaw could pick it up and set it out of reach. “Clock’s running, Ronnie.”

  “I admit that our last interaction was…unpleasant. That was on me; I’ll take the blame. I’ve got a bit of a temper, as you know. But it’s all flash-in-the-pan. It’s over. And what you’ve got to understand, North, is that I deeply regret how certain events played out.”

  “Horseshit.” North pushed his chair back. “Was that why you lured Shaw down here?”

  “I didn’t lure him anywhere. North McKinney, sit down!” Ronnie took a deep breath, hands cradling his bowling-ball gut. He dipped one finger in his beer and drew a circle on the epoxy-resin wood. Then he drew another circle, larger, encapsulating the first. Then another. And then another. Then he drew several circles that intersected the others. “This is the world, North, my lad. And you are a teensy-tiny part of it. I have other concerns. I have other interests. Frankly, although I hope it won’t damage your ego, I have other priorities. I am part of a…group, if you will. A network of friends and acquaintances and business partners. We have a great deal going on, and if one of our interests turns out to be too much trouble, we simply shift to another interest. The world is a big place, and there’s no point in hitting our heads against a brick wall. Such is the case with Aldrich Acquisitions.”

  A grin hooked the corner of North’s mouth. “Oh, right. You and your business buddies, you just lost all interest in whatever you were after because it got a little too difficult.”

  “You’re being snide, North. That’s not an admirable quality.”

  “Fuck what you admire. Shaw, let’s go.”

  Shaw shook his head. “You said someone needed help. Someone from our community.”

  “And they do,” Ronnie said. “And they do. Give me just a moment.” He eased himself out of the seat, stretched a stiff gam, and made his way to the door. After opening the door, he stuck his head out, said something, and then shuffled back to his seat. A moment later, a man slipped through the still-open door and shut it behind him.

  He was tall, broad shouldered, still fit, but the way a guy is fit in his forties instead of in his twenties. Blond hair in a conservative part. Something about the mouth that suggested a winning smile. His blazer and wingtips had probably cost more than every piece of clothing North had bought in the last year put together. North’s first reaction was to imagine kneecapping him with a tire iron, and then his conscious brain caught up with the lizard brain: this son of a bitch looked like Tucker.

  “Gentlemen,” Ronnie said, “meet Lee Wallace Searls. Mr. Searls, this is North McKinney and Shaw Aldrich. They’ll the ones who’ll be taking your case if they agree.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” to North, then again to Shaw, and then, “Any connection to Aldrich Acquisitions?”

  “Maybe,” North said. “What’s your connection to the company?”

  Searls’s gaze broke away to North only for a second before returning to Shaw. “None. I work in advertising, and I’d love to get face time with somebody over there.”

  “Are you working for any of Aldrich Acquisitions’ subsidiaries?” North asked. “Or for a competitor? Or did you used to work for them in another capacity? Do you have family members, friends, sexual partners, or other connections at Aldrich?”

  This time, Searls snapped a look at North for a moment longer. “What?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Questions,” Shaw said. “You asked him more than one.”

  “No,” Searls said more slowly. “I told you, I’m in advertising. We’re based in Chicago, but we’re setting up a satellite operation here, so I’m in St. Louis two weeks each month. I’ve got no connections or friends or whatever you said. I know the name because they’re a big fish, and I’d love for our satellite office to land a big fish.” To Ronnie, he said, “I thought these guys were professionals.”

  “In any of your advertising projects, have you had any interaction at any level with an Aldrich Acquisitions employee, or with—”

  Shaw’s hand closed around North’s wrist under the table. He squeezed once, shook his head, and North cut off.

  “How do you know Ronnie?” Shaw asked.

  Ronnie chuckled, but when Searls glanced at him, he waved a hand and took a drink.

  “I don’t,” Searls said. “Not really. A friend put us in contact. He told me Ronnie would be able to help me with a problem.”

  “Then here’s a piece of free advice,” North said. “Get out of here. Don’t walk, run. And don’t look back. Because you have no fucking idea what—”

  “That’s enough, North,” Ronnie snapped. His features were tight and thin. “If you can’t behave, Shaw and I will talk to Lee Wallace alone.”

  Shaw squeezed North’s wrist again.

  Somehow, North swallowed and ducked his chin.

  “What’s the problem, Mr. Searls?” Shaw said.

  “My boyfriend.” Searls slid into a seat at the table, with the air of a man who had just finished an interview. He unbuttoned his collar and ran two fingers under the cloth. “He disappeared. I’m worried he’s hurt.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “He would have called me back. No matter how mad he is, he would have called me back. I think something bad happened. He gets reckless when he’s upset; I think he might have been in an accident, or maybe he wandered into the wrong bar. That kind of thing still happens, you know.”

  “Why was he upset?” Shaw said.

  “Why don’t you call the police?” North said.

  Shaw shot him a look, and North leaned back in his seat, caught up one of the untouched pints of Guinness, and drank deeply. The bitter, caramel-malt taste made him close to being sick, and he set the glass down too hard. Suds ran over his fingers.

  Searls watched all of this.

  “Why was he upset?” Shaw asked again.

  “We had a fight. He’s passionate. He’s younger, quite a bit younger, actually, and he’s still figuring things out.”

  “Not you, though,” North said. “You’ve got things all figured out. You’ve got that window office. You’ve got that six-figure salary. You’ve got that loft apartment. Do you drive a Beamer? Let me guess: you play golf.”

  “Do you need to step outside for a minute?” Shaw whispered.

  “No.” North drew fingers, still soaped with beer, across his mouth. “No, I’m fine. Ask him about the police.”

  With a flinch, Searls glanced at Ronnie.

  Ronnie nodded. “Best to be upfront about everything. They’ll learn it all anyway; they really are good.”

  “I…hit him.”

  “Motherfucker,” North said.

  Shaw gripped his wrist so hard this time that it hurt. The pain was grounding, a red wire tethering North as he breathed the too-thin air of memories.

  “I know,” Searls said, one hand over his face. “I know. I know I’m a piece of shit. I know; you don’t have any idea how many times I’ve told myself. And I don’t expect Danny to take me back. I really don’t. I just want to know he’s ok. You don’t have to tell me where he is. You don’t have to tell me how to contact him. I just want to know he’s ok.”

  “And we get paid?” North said. “Great. He’s ok. That’ll be five hundred dollars.”

  “His name’s Danny Wilkintonis. He hates his last name.” Searls took out his phone, unlocked it, and opened the photos app. “This is us.”

  The photograph showed two men in short swim trunks, framed by sapphire water and a blaze of white sand. Searls looked good, and from the way he stood, one arm hooked around the younger man, he knew it. The younger man, possibly Danny Wilkintonis, was attractive but not remarkable: a mess of long, sandy hair parted on the side; a great smile; a little jug-eared, maybe. Danny was scratching the back of one leg with his foot, his head turned slightly, as though Searls had just said something.

  “I don’t have any hard copies,” Searls said, “but I can get them printed if you want. I’ve got a bunch of pictures of us together, and one or two of him by himself.” Searls tugged on his collar again, his eyes sliding to the milky glass. “They’re, um, adult pictures.”

  “Right,” Shaw said, “I don’t think we’d need any of him when he was younger, so that’s probably for the best.”

  “He means they’re sex pictures,” North said. “Explicit.”

  “Oh,” Shaw said, color rushing into his face. “Got it.”

  “I think he went home, maybe,” Searls said. “He grew up near Cape Girardeau. I don’t have his parents’ address; there are a few Wilkintonis down there, and I was going to call all of them, but then I met Ronnie and he offered to put me in touch with you.”

  “Last chance.” North walked two sticky fingers across the table. “Run away.”

  “North loves a touch of the dramatic,” Ronnie said, squeezing Searls’s shoulder in a way that made him rise. Walking Searls to the snug’s door, Ronnie added, “He gets it from his mother. Have another beer. Sit down. Relax. I’ll go over the specifics with you once we’ve got everything arranged.”

  As soon as the door shut, North said, “No.”

  Ronnie walked back to the table.

  “No, Ronnie. We’re not doing this.”

  With a wry smile at Shaw, Ronnie lifted his glass and sank the rest of his beer.

  “You think this is funny?” North stabbed a finger at the door. “That guy is an abusive fuckwad. He beat the shit out of that kid, the kid was smart enough to run, and now we’re going to help him track him down?”

  “This is why I contacted you,” Ronnie told Shaw. “This is why I asked you to come alone.”

  “Let’s go,” North said, catching Shaw’s elbow to haul him up from the seat. “Final answer, Ronnie: no.”

  Ronnie slapped the table, and even though North was a twenty-six-year-old man, he jumped. “I didn’t ask you to come here, North. And I didn’t ask you to help him. I’ve reached the end of my patience with you; either be quiet or get out.”

  Heat filled every millimeter of North’s face.

  “He’s one of your business friends?” Shaw asked in a subdued voice.

  “No.” Ronnie shook his head for emphasis. “He’s not part of our little network. He’s just a man who needs help.”

  “And who will owe you a favor.”

  “I’d like to think he’d help me if I ever asked.”

  Shaw was quiet for a long time. His fingers found North’s, tracing the inside of his hand, but North couldn’t bring himself to respond.

  “Ok,” Shaw said.

  North stood. His chair scraped across the floor, and he headed for the door.

  “North, wait—have him send us everything he has on Danny, including the pictures. Phone numbers. Apartments. Friends. Family. North, will you please—”

  But North was already barreling out of the snug and headed for the street.

  Chapter 6

  SHAW TOOK HIS TIME driving back to the Benton Park house because he wasn’t sure which was worse: finding North there, or not. The GTO was in the garage, and as the door rattled down behind Shaw, he found himself taking huge, gulping breaths, eyes stinging, as he tried to summon the personal mantra that Master Hermes had sold him for a hundred and seventy-nine dollars. The clock read 11:57 when he pushed the Mercedes’ door open, the smell of cold cement meeting him, and walked into the house.

  North was in the office, examining pages on the desk next to him and then typing carefully. Client reports. Or expense reports. Or invoices. Or something with taxes, which apparently you had to pay every year. Shaw shut the door and leaned against it. Through the wood, he could hear Pari moving around, accompanied by quiet voices and swells of dramatic music. Telenovelas had been a constant presence in the reception area lately. The smell of cigarettes was strong in the closed room.

  “We’ve got to get over to the school by one-thirty at the latest,” North said as he turned a page. “I’d rather be there by one, in case there’s paperwork or the school administration wants to put us through our paces the first time. Do you want to work through lunch? Or we can run out and grab something.”

  “Actually,” Shaw said, “I was hoping we could talk about what just happened.”

  North turned a page, flipped back, and made a tsking noise as he tapped the backspace key. “Ok.”

  “Maybe we should talk about our feelings first.”

  “Ok.”

  “I’m feeling really, really awful because I went over to meet Ronnie without telling you, and I lied, and then I took that case even though I know you didn’t want to. But I did it because I’m scared that he’s going to come after you, North, and because I’m really scared that you’re going to get hurt or sent to prison or killed, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I said yes because anything we can learn about what Ronnie wants and does, that gives us an advantage. Maybe just a tiny one, but we need all the help we can get. I don’t know if that guy’s telling the truth, I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I’m scared all the time and I didn’t know what else to do.”

  And then he burst into tears.

  North bent over, and for a moment, through the storm of sobbing, Shaw had the idea that North might be climbing under the desk, having finally reached the end of his patience. Instead, though, North stood with the box of tissues he’d retrieved from Shaw’s desk drawer, and he carried them around the desk. Plucking out two, he seemed to consider for a moment, and then he handed them to Shaw.

  Shaw dabbed at his eyes. If anything, though, it only made him cry harder.

  “Sit down,” North said, hands on Shaw’s arms, guiding him into the seats normally used by clients. “I’ll get you some tea.”

  So, for a few minutes, Shaw did a magician’s trick of never-ending tissues, and eventually North came back with a chipped mug that said PRIVATE DICKS DO IT IN THE CAR. Fragrant steam wafted up, and when North pressed it into Shaw’s hands, the warmth soaked into him. North dragged another client chair closer, and they sat there, North’s hand on Shaw’s knee, until the worst of the crying was over.

  After a bracing gulp of tea, Shaw managed to ask, “How are you feeling?”

  “Grateful I didn’t have to drink any tea. Chamomile tastes like grass.”

  Shaw closed his eyes.

  “I’m fine, Shaw,” North said. “I’m irritated you didn’t tell me what you were doing, but I know you had your reasons. I understand why you took the job. We’ll do it, and hopefully we’ll figure out what Ronnie’s after this time.”

  “So when you say you’re feeling fine,” Shaw said, opening his eyes, “could you talk more about that? I just need to know how you went from feeling, you know, upset, to feeling fine. Now.”

  North laughed. “I surely fucking can’t. What about lunch?”

  Shaw considered him: the voice was North’s, but clipped; the hand on his leg was North’s, but unfamiliar; the eyes were North’s, but red-rimmed and leached of color, almost gray. The week before, Shaw had ordered their pizzas with a non-dairy cheese substitute, and North had delivered a forty-five-minute lecture that mostly consisted of readings from the National Dairy Council’s website. Today, I’m fine.

  “North, I’m really sorry about how that happened.”

  “I know.”

  “I think we need to take the case. I really think that’s the smart thing to do.”

  “I know.” North stood, hand falling away from Shaw’s leg, and moved behind his desk. “We’re taking it, right?”

  “Right, but—”

  “And I already texted Haw. She had messaged me last night about an attempted break-in; I’m starting to think this might be connected. It doesn’t seem like Searls has any special access to Aldrich or its subsidiaries, but we don’t know anything about this Danny guy. He might be what Ronnie’s really after.”

  “That’s a possibility.” Shaw turned the mug in his hand. “Could we go back, though? If you could help me understand how you’re feeling and what I can do—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Shaw.” It was the first edge to his voice, and it was so mild that it sounded more like frustration than anything else. “I’m fine. We’re fine. We talked about it. We processed it, or whatever you wanted us to do. What do you want?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t like this, and I just want things to be normal again.”

  “I don’t know what you want,” North said. “I talked about it. I told you how I felt. I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to say.”

  Shaw’s still-puffy eyes stung again, but he refused to cry a second time. He clutched the mug with both hands. His fingertips were white against the warm ceramic.