Hobson turned up the street, walking toward the portion of St. Louis known as the Central West End. It was a ritzy area, with Chouteau College, Washington University, and the hospital creating anchor points for people with way too much money. It had trendy bars and coffee shops, fancy restaurants, and even a handful of clubs. If Hobson stuck to his usual routine, he’d be going to the Jumping Pig, a hipsterish bar that offered pork infusions and bacon-themed everything. If Shaw had to guess, he’d say it would be closed in a couple of months, but for now, it was Hobson’s go-to.
As though on cue, Hobson went east at the end of the block.
Shaw and North waited a tense ten minutes; the only sounds were their breathing and the cars whipping past, the whisper of slush churned by tires. Then a message came from Pari: an image of Hobson backing through a men’s room door, his hands on Truck’s waist.
HE’S TOUCHING MY DATEMATE!!!!!!
“You’re never going to hear the end of that,” North said, grabbing the door handle. “You know that, right?”
Shaw sighed, nodded, and got out of the car.
At the next break in traffic, they jogged across Kingshighway, cutting at an angle so they reached the sidewalk at the end of the block. Pari was coming towards them along the cross street. Her long, dark hair was bundled up under a ski cap, and she wore a quilted down coat that came to her knees. The bindi today was raspberry colored.
“He’s touching my datemate!” was her first, screeching announcement.
“I think it’s sweet,” Shaw said. “Having a bisexual villain. I think that’s really kind of nice. And progressive. Don’t you think, North?”
Pari’s head swiveled toward him.
“I mean—” Shaw tried again.
North groaned.
“You think it’s sweet? You should have seen Truck’s face. That…that new-money prick was groping Truck through hir jeans. Truck was so scared!”
“Truck offered to spank my monkey—those were hir words, by the way—this week, Pari. Twice. Ze’s not exactly a sexual shrinking violet.”
“We’re getting into the weeds here,” North said.
“I’m sorry,” Pari said. “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? Are you slut-shaming my datemate? Ze’s level of sexual activity is none of your business.”
“Well, it’s kind of my business when we’re talking about my monkey.”
“Let’s not—” North tried.
“Truck is an unbelievably generous lover,” Pari said, shaking the set of keys she’d lifted from Hobson.
“So is North!”
“That’s really not—” North said.
“And Truck is extremely well endowed.”
“So is—”
“Ok,” North said, grabbing the keys from Pari’s hands. He caught Shaw’s arm and dragged him down the block toward The Luxemburg. Over his shoulder, he called back, “Let us know if we need to hurry.”
“I’ve seen North when he wears those cutoff gray sweatpants,” Pari screamed after them. “He might as well have been holding a measuring tape for me.”
“Jesus Christ,” North muttered.
“It’s very difficult to have a conversation with her because she’s so—”
North growled and shook Shaw by the arm. “Don’t. Start. You two were fucking made for each other.”
By then, they were getting close to The Luxemburg. North released Shaw’s arm, and Shaw stumbled a few steps before catching himself. He set off toward the condo building, glanced back, and said, “I don’t want you to feel bad, so I just think I should tell you that I think you look really good in those gray cutoffs. They make your whole, you know, business area look very impressive.”
“I’m going to murder you,” North stage-whispered. “Get the fuck in there so I can be done with this nightmare.”
“Very bulge-y.”
North packed a snowball faster than Shaw expected, and it caught him in the back of the head as he ran toward the condo building. He was still shaking snow out of his hair, the snowmelt trickling down his nape, when he stepped into the lobby.
It was about what he had expected from The Luxemburg’s outside: tile and wainscotting, coffered ceilings, lots of white paint. A mural of the 1904 World’s Fair covered one wall; in the bottom-right corner, a young lady looked like she was having an indecent relationship with a waffle cone, although Shaw would have to inspect further to be certain. On the other side of the lobby, a security desk marked the midpoint between the front doors and the elevators.
Two women stood behind the desk: one was white, in a security uniform, a hint of a pink-dyed curl slipping out from under the peaked cap. The other was black and wore scrubs. An ID clipped to the waistband identified her as Dr. Holloway. The women had been looking at something on a phone, and now they both turned their attention to Shaw.
“Hi,” Shaw said, wiggling out of his sherpa cloak. “I’m—” He’d gotten his arm stuck, and it took him a moment to get it free. “I’m Max. I’m here to see my cousin. Oh, I like your nails!”
The women exchanged a look as Shaw approached the desk. “Sir,” the woman in the security uniform said. Her nametag, now that Shaw was closer, read Weigel. “You said you’re here to see your cousin? What’s the name and unit number?”
“I told my boyfriend I wanted to get rainbow-painted cat claws for Pride,” Shaw said wistfully, staring at Weigel’s nails, “and he told me no. Oh, you’ve got a tattoo! Is it a rose?”
“It’s a carnation,” Weigel said, rotating her arm to display the underside of her wrist.
“For purity,” Holloway said and started to laugh until Weigel slapped her leg.
“My boyfriend won’t let me get any tattoos. Or piercings. I told him I wanted to get my nipples pierced, and he said he’d break up with me. He said he’s the only one allowed to touch my body.”
“Boy,” Weigel said, drawing out the word. “What’d you tell him?”
“Oh, I know he just wants what’s best for me. Davey’s so sweet. He picks out what I’m supposed to wear—well, not my cloak. He told me I couldn’t have this, but I bought it anyway. But he made me wear this stuff.” He gestured at the long-sleeved tee and jeans. “And I have to hide the cloak at Mom’s. But I can’t tell her about Davey because when I said something about the diet Davey put me on, she just about lost her mind.”
Holloway narrowed her eyes at him; she was picking at her weave with one hand. “You ain’t nothing but skin and bones. Why’re you on a diet?”
“Davey likes it when he can count my ribs. He says that’s when I look best for him. Oh, Coca-Cola. That’s my favorite! I don’t know when the last time was that Davey let me have one.”
“Like a giant, white baby,” Holloway murmured to herself.
Weigel held out an unopened can of Coke, but instead of taking it, Shaw moved around the desk. “Hey, you’ve got all sorts of cool stuff back here. Do you really watch all those screens?”