by Stan Jones
“Seriously,” she said. “You’re asking ask me if Nita’s safe? Me?”
He shrugged. “I’m just—”
She put her fingers across his lips. “Not all men are like my father, you know.”
“Enough are. Too many.”
“You’re not.”
“I hope so.”
“Trust me,” she said. “You’d know by now.”
He nodded and she drew back to study him.
“But, for the record, no. No men in camp, no booze. Just a mother with a .30-30 and an aana with an ulu.” Her face softened. Her eyes brimmed in the Coleman light. “You’re so Nathan sometimes.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Very. Don’t ever change. Now, where were we?”
She moved into his arms for a kiss, several of them, then eased away a little. This, he knew from experience, was where the magic hands would come into play. Their first stop would be at his belt buckle. To make sure it was accessible, he unzipped the down vest he wore under his parka when he was outdoors or in camp this time of year.
But, no, she moved to one of the boxes, rummaged for a few seconds, and came back with a Marlboro carton. She pulled out a baggie with four fat hand-rolled cigarettes in it.
“Oh, no,” Active said. “Tell me that’s not what it looks like.”
“Yep.” Grace nodded. “Qaaq.”
She tossed the baggie and he caught it by reflex. “My God, these are big.”
She nodded. “There was a name for them on Four Street, what was it? Boffo, that’s it. No, it was boffo plus something else.”
She shook her head. “But boffo is good enough for Chukchi. You are now in possession of four prime boffos.”
“But why?”
“Strictly medicinal.”
“Eh?”
“Nelda Qivits says it’s just the thing for girls like me, too screwed up by sexual abuse to do the deed even when they do find their soul mate. I went and had a special session with her after I behaved like I did this morning.”
He studied her eyes and narrowed his own. “Is this one of Nelda’s old aana jokes? I mean, qaaq, it’s pronounced like—”
Grace nodded. “Like cock, pretty much. Joke or not, I’m gonna try it if Nelda says there’s a chance.” She sobered for a moment. “And we can’t go on like this. I really want to be sexual and when I talk to old Nelda, I really think I could. And, you, Nathan, you want to go through life on hand jobs? Come on, you got a right.”
“I’m happy.”
“Well, let’s try to make us both even happier. Now, light up.” She pulled two joints out of the baggie and passed him one.
He thought it over and passed it back. “I don’t think so. One thing, I never smoked anything in my life. I’ll cough up a lung. Another thing, maybe one of us oughta keep a clear head. You know, in case it doesn’t go, er, quite right?”
“For me, you mean?” Her eyes softened again. “Poor Nathan, always my guardian angel.”
“And you gotta know all too well by now, seeing you naked is all I need to achieve, um…”
“Liftoff?”
He grinned and winked. She struck a match on the halfagascan and lit a boffo.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tuesday evening, April 15
SHE TOOK TWO hits, coughed a little, and parked the boffo on the cooler, then stood and turned down the Coleman. The tent filled with a sourceless glow in the mingled light of the lamp and the low sun outside. She slid out of the wool shirt she’d worn on the trail and dropped it over his head where he sat on a cot.
He breathed in the scent of lavender for a moment, then flipped the shirt onto the cot beside him. The Coleman, he noticed, seemed to be as fascinated by her bra as he was, setting it agleam almost as if lit from within. She reached behind her to unfasten it—then she stopped and bent, presenting him her denim-clad rump, grabbed a chunk of wood from the box, and threw it into the halfagascan.
“Jesus,” he said. “Is this strip tease really necessary?”
“Wouldn’t want the tent cooling off on us, now, would we?”
“I doubt that’ll be a problem.”
She unhooked her bra and let it dangle from her shoulders as she gazed at him with the quicksilver eyes. “No,” she said, “I’m not ready for a full unveiling yet. It’s still a little cold in here.”
She leaned over and retrieved the boffo. In the process, he got a brief flash of one perfect breast from the side. The nipple was at least half erect, he judged. A good sign—unless it was only the cold.
She shot him a smirk. “How ya doing, there, officer? Enjoying the show?”
He reached out to show her how much, but she wagged a finger and looked serious. “Uh-uh-uh, you know the rule. I can touch, but you can’t till I say so. Not unless you want your tundra bunny turning into an ice maiden.”
“Even with the”—he struggled to say it with a straight face—“with the qaaq?”
She nodded. “So far.”
She put the boffo in her mouth and wriggled her jeans over her hips and down her thighs. She made as if to throw them at him, too, but shook her head and put the boffo back on the cooler.
Then she made a show of turning sideways and, while the Coleman lit up her panties and the dangling bra with its occasional flash of breast, folded the jeans and set them on the cot beside him, too.
She looked at him. He rolled his eyes. “How long is this gonna go on?”
Without a word, she shed the bra and panties, dived onto the other cot, rolled onto her side, grabbed the boffo and put it between her lips, and put her hands behind her head.
“Jesus,” he said again as he stood and slid out of his own clothes. “You look like that painting. The Naked, um…”
“Maja.” She grinned. “With Qaaq, right?”
He could only stare. She returned it for a moment. “What are you waiting for? Come on over.” She patted the narrow space left on the cot.
He eased down beside her, and brushed one palm over a nipple. It stiffened and he raised his eyebrows in inquiry as he stroked the side of her breast.
“Not quite yet,” she murmured. He pulled his hand away. She dragged on the qaaq with a thoughtful look. “How about I distract you while we let this stuff work its magic?”
She fumbled in the jockey box, came up with a little bottle of baby oil, squirted some on one hand, and clenched her fist to warm it up. “On your back, officer.”
He complied and she straddled his thighs.
“You’re magnificent in this light,” he said.
“So’s this.” She grabbed him in a warm slippery hand and set to work.
“Jeez,” he said. “Take it slow or we’re gonna—” He tried to roll free but she had him in a death grip. And his struggles didn’t help.
“Nice work,” he said about sixty seconds later. “Now what? Grab me a towel or Kleenex or something, eh?”
She didn’t move, just sat over him with a triumphant grin and took another hit from the boffo. She took it out of her mouth and studied it. It was about down to her fingers. She parked it, threw herself flat on top of him and rustled around in the jockey box, grunted in mild frustration, then rattled through a couple of trash bags where more of their supplies for the night were stashed. Finally she sat up with a box of Kleenex and resumed her position on his thighs.
He reached for the tissues but she shook her head.
“No, slide up and sit and I’ll clean up the mess. I made it, right?”
He complied again and closed his eyes to let events take their course on this strange night. Qaaq had put Grace in charge and it seemed to be good for her.
She bent to her work, which soon slowed to a stop, even though his skin told him she hadn’t finished the job. He opened his eyes for a look. Only the top of her head was visible. She was studying him up close. “Hmm,” she said in a tone of wonder. “Maybe I could.”
“Uh-huh.” He whispered for fear of breaking whatever spell this was.
“You know I’ve always wanted you inside me, but, you know, what with my father, I’ve never been able, ever, with any man, not the regular way, not even you, the only man I’ve ever loved, except I loved my father until he started, how could he…”
He waited for her to return from that awful maze of back trails that led from her childhood bedroom in Chukchi to alcoholic homelessness on Anchorage’s Four Street and iron-willed self-exile in the Aleutian remoteness of Dutch Harbor and back to Chukchi for her father’s murder by her mother. One day, he was afraid, she’d enter the labyrinth and never come out.
Then she shook her head and was back.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “What just happened is fine for now. The time will come when it comes.”
She raised her head and shot him a wicked grin. “You’re not gonna believe this, but I think it’s now. The qaaq, being out on the ice like this, I don’t know what, but hang on. I used to be pretty good at this on Four Street. I couldn’t do the other thing, but I could to this for the next bottle if I was drunk enough.”
She grabbed a caribou hide from Nita’s cot, threw it onto the ice floor of the tent, swung him around to a sitting position, and dropped to her knees on the hide. She took him in one hand and held him immobile as she engulfed him in the wettest, warmest mouth he had ever known and he felt himself respond, already, the nails of her other hand were scratching him in that place underneath. She was mumbling past him in her mouth, somehow, and he thought he heard “OhGodOhGodOhGod” and he sensed her other hand was between her own legs. Then he was sucked into the vortex of lust and fulfillment she created and he couldn’t remember anything for a while.
When he came back, she was astride his thigh, riding it to her own finish, moaning and crying now, loud and unrestrained, sobbing, “Oh, God, you were inside me, God, I love you so much.”
Without a word, he grabbed her waist, reversed their positions on the cot, and touched her sex. She was hot and impossibly wet as he put his head between those smooth thighs.
“I’m not sure, baby, what if…”
But this wasn’t like before. Her voice didn’t mean it, she didn’t stiffen. He took her in his mouth, and used his own tongue until she went over the cliff again and collapsed into a fetal curl on the cot, cheeks still wet.
He spooned in behind her, pulled a sleeping bag over them, and wrapped his arms around her.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she murmured. “I was afraid I’d never be…be…like that. I thought he killed it in me.”
She moved against him to adjust her position and cupped one of his hands over a breast and jiggled it some, as if to demonstrate how she could bear his touch now.
The nipple under his palm, the smooth friction of her skin on his loins and thighs brought him alive again.
“What!” she said. “Already? well, my, my, my.”
“I know, me, too.”
She wiggled her rump against him, experimentally. “Eh?” he said.
“I don’t know, baby. Maybe. We could try.”
He touched himself to the luscious heat of her entrance and paused.
She went rigid in his arms.
“Too soon?” he asked.
“Sorry, baby.”
He eased away from her and she relaxed. “It’s definitely progress.”
“Oh, God, I’ll say. A little more practice, a little more qaaq, and I’m pretty sure you’re gonna be carving another notch on your gun belt, there, officer.”
“Here’s hoping I need a lot bigger belt real soon now,” he said.
She chuckled and reached behind herself to feel between his legs. “The sooner the better. But for the here and now—well, one of these is a terrible thing to waste and—God, I loved having you in me.” She rolled off the cot and dropped to her knees on the hide, then swung his legs off the cot, parted them, and buried her head again.
This time was the sweetest yet. Not the hottest, not the hardest, not the craziest, just the sweetest. He rested on his elbows, barely erect at first, and she raised her head as she worked so they could maintain eye contact, and they watched it build and build and build in each other’s faces.
When they were done, Grace got them a bottle of water and they snuggled on the cot and gave each other drinks.
“Splibo,” she said.
“Splibo? Is that another Inupiaq word for sex? It doesn’t sound Inupiaq.”
“It goes with boffo. A big fat joint is a boffo splibo.”
“Excellent,” he said. “And I think I know what it means on Zerpalon or whatever planet that language came from.”
“What’s that?”
“Viagra for girls!”
“This girl, anyway.” She giggled, he chuckled, and they cuddled for another minute or two.
She sat bolt upright and said, “Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“How far is the next tent?”
“I doubt it matters,” he said. “They probably heard you back in Chukchi.”
“How loud was I?”
“Like this.” He imitated.
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“I was?”
“Repeatedly. And in a prolonged manner. I’m surprised my cell didn’t ring from somebody reporting an assault to the cops. No, actually, I’m not surprised. You invoked the name of the deity so many times and in so many forms, they probably thought you were experiencing a religious epiphany.”
He thought she blushed, but it was difficult to be sure in the tent light.
“I’m mortified,” she said. She thought for a moment. “No, I’m not. I’m proud. I thought I’d never see the skyrockets you read about.”
“Apparently, it’s not a problem.”
“So where were we?”
“About done, I’d say. I know you’re a girl and I’m told girls are pretty much inexhaustible in this department once they get going. But I’m a boy, and three in one night, well, it’s a bit draining.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know who I am all of a sudden, but somehow I’m ready again. I don’t want to let this moment go.”
“Have we created a monster?”
“I hope so! This is great. I love having you—”
“I know, you love having me inside you.”
“No, you don’t know. No man can.”
“I guess not. But I do know one thing. It was pretty nice being in there.”
“Look. You drink some water and chew some of that beef jerky we brought and think dirty thoughts. I’ll smoke a little more of this stuff and think filthy thoughts. Then we’ll see what we see.”
“No promises. But if anything will bring Little Nathan to attention, it’s a beautiful naked woman with a filthy mind.”
He took another swallow from the water bottle and bent over the food box for the jerky.
Active’s phone marimbaed from somewhere in the clothes he had shucked onto the other cot. He grinned at Grace as he fished it out of the heap. “Apparently someone does want to report rape and murder at Leroy Johnson’s sheefish camp.” He looked at the display and handed her the phone. “You better tell Alan you’re OK.”
A look of horror spread across her face and she pushed the radio away. “No!”
“What’s up, Alan? What? Really. Dammit, OK, give me a few minutes to pack up and I’ll call you back before I head over.”
“What?”
“Some guy may have found that snowgo we’re looking for in the Pete Wise case. I gotta—”
“It’s not the same guy that found the old dead one in the brush, is it?” Grace asked.
He nodded with a shrug.
“You’d leave a beautiful naked woman for Anthony Childers?”
“I was skeptical, too, but Alan Long says the it’s only a couple miles from here. Apparently there’s an open spot in the ice and you can see a machine under the water.”
“Come on, it’ll be dark soon and that snowgo will still be there in t
he morning. And look what you got right here in this tent.” She turned to give him a three-quarters view and waggled her shoulders to give her breasts a stripper’s jiggle. “Dirty thoughts, Nathan.” She raised one knee and rested her heel on the edge of the cot to show him her sex. “Filthy, dirty thoughts.”
Active admired the view for a few seconds, then sighed and shook his head. “Look how light it is.” He jerked a thumb at the north and west tent walls, dimly aglow in the sun. “It’s maybe an hour yet till sundown, then couple more hours after that before it’s really dark. We gotta get that thing out of the water tonight, or at least get it tied off to some floats. We get a wind from the southwest, it could cause enough of a surge to move it. Or we get a real storm and it’ll be gone for sure. Or a late cold snap freezes it in solid and it’ll take us a week to get it out.”
“I know something else that’s gonna freeze solid if you leave.”
He returned the grin. “Maybe we can figure a way to thaw it out when I get back.”
“Something tells me,” she said. “Seriously, baby, go ahead and be you. I’m good here.”
“You sure? I could call somebody from town to come get you. Or I could take you down to Christina’s family’s camp, maybe.”
“You kidding? I want to stay right here in this tent with this moment and this smell of sex and sweat and you all over me.” She pulled him in for a long kiss. “I’ll work something out tomorrow if you don’t make it back tonight. Call me when you’re done. If my cell’s off, just stay in town.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tuesday, April 15
“I HAVE TO admit,” Active said. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, boss,” Alan Long said. “I got ’em out here right away and Gabe’s getting it figured out pretty good, all right.”
Active surveyed the scene before them—two of his officers from public safety, the chief and two members from the Chukchi fire department, all bundled up in Carhartts, parkas and Sorels and looking as if nothing could be more gratifying than to stand around on the ice near sunset and figure out how to drag a sunken snowgo out of icy water. There was even a portable emergency light on a stand with its own generator.
