Chapter 14

North was freezing, wet, and on the threshold of drunk. The first two were Shaw’s fault for being late; the third was his own.

Pigs and Pups was not well advertised on the street, which North assumed was intentional. It had no signage, and the windows were blacked out. By day, anyone passing the refurbished industrial building that sat at the intersection might have mistaken it for another condo renovation or a headquarters for a struggling tech startup or even simply an abandoned attempt at urban revitalization. The building, with its 1950s lines and ornaments, really looked rather respectable.

By night, however, Pigs and Pups was anything but respectable. Men—exclusively—approached the building singly, in pairs, and once that North observed, a thruple. They wore leather. Some of them, granted, didn’t wear very much leather. Some of them, if a blue hair spotted them, might have gotten reported for public indecency. There were a lot of leather briefs. And a few leather thongs. The April night, not to mention the mist and drizzle, made those poor guys look very, very uncomfortable.

Ronnie had come through, of course. Ronnie always came through. Pigs and Pups wasn’t registered in Brueckmann’s name, and it wasn’t owned by DDD Collaborative. It was another holding entirely—a corporation, Man2Man, Inc., which made North roll his eyes so hard they were at risk of coming out of his head. He wasn’t sure how Ronnie had figured out the connection. As always, Ronnie would never tell.

On his way to the club, North had swung by the Central West End again, hoping for a glimpse inside Mark Sevcik’s apartment. When he spotted the same unmarked Chevy Impala that he had seen on his first visit, and a quick jog around the building confirmed that the lights were on in Mark’s apartment, North had given up the attempt. He didn’t need another run-in with Barr and Reck. Not tonight, anyway.

Another pair of men passed North, breaking his thoughts: a butch older man in thigh-high boots leading a twinkie brunet by a chain. The twinkie licked his lips at North, and the older man raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t tonight,” North said. Not any night, really, but it didn’t hurt to be polite.

“Find us inside if you change your mind,” the older man said, and then he yanked on the chain. As the two closed the distance to Pigs and Pups, North watched the older man’s hand crack against the twinkie’s pert little ass and the word slut carried on the night air.

North needed a smoke.

“Hey,” Shaw said, jogging up the block in those ridiculous hemp pants, in that ridiculous Lululemon top, his hair spilling out of its bun in a wet tangle and the fierce angles of his face set with worry. “Are you ok?”

“I’m not going to melt if that’s what you mean.”

“What?” Shaw scanned him, as though only now noticing the drizzle of rain. “Oh. No. I mean, did everything go ok? With your dad?”