Sleek Comes the Night

by S E Holmes

They held him for four hours, variously grilling on the evening’s events and going over and over the loss of the Colt. Some instinct lead Nic to reduce the role played by Sasha. He couldn’t tolerate the thought of bringing more trouble upon his loved ones. He sat on his damaged hand until the pins and needles mimicked knives and swords. Barney had eyed the bite suspiciously during the GSR process and Nic didn’t need to remind him, lest he was forced to fabricate more lies.

  “Look!” he yelled, after what seemed the thousandth time. “Somewhere between my house and the Arkady’s place the gun slipped from my belt. I have no idea where. I was too distracted about Sam in the presence of that killer leopard.”

  Barney sat back and exhaled a long breath. “You’re lucky, Nic. We’ve no evidence to hold you. Your prints are on the gun’s handle, but strangely not on the safety or the trigger. If you were genuinely trying to hide involvement, you’d wipe the whole weapon, not select parts. It makes no sense, unless the residual prints were left deliberately to incriminate you. It appears you weren’t the one wielding the weapon at the time of the incident. You’re licensed to use it, so no breach there.”

  Nic mentally blessed his cautious avoidance of the trigger for fear of accidentally shooting Sasha. Maybe there were advantages to having a hyper-safety-conscious father and years of conditioning.

  “I should be thankful? Hauled in here in the middle of the night for something I didn’t do? Grateful my mate’s in the hospital and the shooter remains at large because you’re busy hassling an innocent person?”

  Nic’s temper smouldered. He was tired. And due to the lost chance to sleep it off, hung-over. An increasing need to see Nate, confirm they were still good mates, eroded his patience. It was his fault, after all. If only he’d hung on to that dumb gun!

  His father shifted in the corner seat. He’d sat quietly throughout the ordeal, ensuring Nic acquitted himself appropriately.

  “Okay, Nicholas. Let’s not ride that high horse. Barney’s simply following protocol. And Nate’s alive to hook-up another day, girls be warned. That’s better fortune than a murder charge.”

  “It’s all right, Johnny. The kid’s probably had it. Preliminary results indicate a dearth of GSR. Jed O’Connor says he snuck inside with his latest squeeze and both saw you passed out at the time in question. He considered shaving your eyebrows off, apparently. A solid alibi for the approximate time of the shooting, even with brows in tact. At this stage, unless further evidence comes to hand you’re free and clear. But it seems to me, you’re still in trouble, Nic. Someone’s trying to frame you. Someone’s pissed enough to implicate you in a serious crime.”

  Barney stared at Nic, willing disclosure of any information withheld. Nic knew he had doubts, and Jonathon was fully aware of the omissions in his son’s statement. Awkward silence telescoped between them. Barney relented when it became clear he had nothing to add.

  “It could be dumb opportunity. An individual happening on your Colt and then using it. God knows Nate’s an expert at provocation. But there seem too many interconnecting threads based on what your father’s said. You watch yourself out there, Nicholas. I’d rather never see you again, than see you back in here.”

  Jonathon dragged to his feet, chair-legs squealing linoleum. “Thanks, Barney. We’ll do our best to comply. Won’t we, Nic?”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Barney. Sorry I got a bit testy.”

  Barney slapped him on the back with a meaty hand, showing them the door. “It’s this room,” he winked. “And I’ve seen far sorrier behaviour under easier circumstances. You ever change your mind about Medicine, Law Enforcement beckons. You’re one cool customer, Nic.”

  Nic snorted at the compliment. “Yeah, call me dirty Harry.”

  “By the by,” Barney added. “I might drive out and have a word with those Arkadys. It’s the second or third time the name’s come up in as many days. Hank’s been kicking up a stink about the felled trees.”

  Nic gulped. His eyes slid to Jonathon’s in silent appeal. Why goad the hornets?

  “Leave it with me for a bit, Barney. I’ll have a friendly chat with our new neighbours. Anything off and we’ll bring them in.”

  “Sure thing, Johnny. The trout are running thick. See you next weekend for a spot of fishing?”

  “Sounds like a plan, provided the mares don’t drop.”

  It was seven a.m. before Nic had eaten, showered and collapsed between the sheets back in his own room. The fat folder containing more than he ever wanted to know on the Arkady’s was discarded under the bed. He’d sleep for several hours and then go see Nate. At least, that was his aim. There came a soft knock at the door. He hurdled upright, temper igniting.

  “Not now, Sam!” he shouted. “I’ve endured the worst night of my life. I told you, no amount of money would get me up to the accursed, miserable, stinking Arkady manor --”

  He wrenched open the door in his underwear and stopped mid sentence. Mira smirked on the other side. Jonathon loitered in the background in pyjama bottoms, shoulders raised in befuddled apology.

  “What do you want?” Nic was too surprised for manners.

  She wore a tight-fitting beige dress and heels, her hair in a smooth roll and pearls at her ears. Her eyes lingered appreciatively over his state of undress. Heat crawled through him and he cleared his throat, wishing more than ever to slip into a foetal ball in bed and forget about the last twelve hours. Maybe develop amnesia for the previous week -- basically since the Arkady’s had swept through his life like a Biblical plague.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your rest, Nic. Especially after the night you’ve endured. I thought it important to tell you Sam is up at the accursed, miserable, stinking Arkady manor.”

  Nic gave up on figuring how she was so well informed. She loitered in his doorway, all elegance and loveliness, suppressing amusement at his blatant discomfort. That perfume of hers did something to him deep inside. He mentally berated himself for an iota of interest and wrestled composure.

  “One of yours collected him?”

  “No. He rode your bike.”

  “The little tosser stole my bike?” he groaned.

  They’d brought it home from town on the back of the farm ute. His father refused to let him ride, trapping him for the longest lecture he’d ever had the misfortune to sit through. Until Nic yelled he’d never wanted to touch the damn gun in the first place or go to the Arkady’s at all. That shut Jonathon up quick smart and they’d completed the journey in grumpy muteness.

  “Go back to bed, Nic. I’ll get him.”

  Jonathon disappeared for the other end of the house, before profound gratitude escaped Nic’s lips. Mira didn’t seem disposed to leave immediately. She examined his room curiously, surveying posters of his favourite bands, scattered text books and a seldom watched flat screen TV on the wall, while he fidgeted.

  “Are you going to church?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said. Nic could tell from the set of her jaw whatever task awaited was not viewed favourably. She settled on the electric guitar on a stand in the corner next to an amplifier. “Do you play?”

  “Very poorly. My singing is even more rubbish. You helped Nate last night? I’d really appreciate it if you could explain what happened.”

  He stepped from the frame and offered her the seat at his desk. She wafted by and perched on the edge of his bed instead, bouncing slightly to test the mattress. She demurely pressed her knees together and arranged the hem modestly. It seemed odd in the modern age, where girls wore skirts resembling belts designed to flash as if in mating display. He smiled grimly, seeking pants on the floor before remembering his were at the station filed in plastic.

  “Don’t stand on ceremony for me,” she grinned. The Arkady’s really had no clue on privacy or boundaries. Blast! In last night’s frenzy, he’d thrown on Nate’s mustard coloured skinny jeans. He hated them. They were ridiculous. “Especially if they’re the only choice.” She scrutinised them with dist
aste.

  “I’m glad someone has the luxury of humour. If you could get to the point, please. I’m buggered.” He couldn’t stop the sour attitude. She was guilty by association.

  “Buggered?”

  She tilted her head, a sliver of light glossing her hair. A strand had come loose, his instinct to tuck it back for her. The strappy shoes accentuated shapely, athletic calves, fabric straining her slim thighs. Nic really wanted Mira gone, even more so given his state of undress. Acknowledging the truth her presence thrilled him wasn’t an option. The conflicting emotions churned like seasickness. He took the chair, draping limbs as casually as possible to cover himself.

  “Fatigued. Exhausted. Fed-up.”

  “Of course. I am sorry. It is unwise to carry a gun near our cats. Even more so near Sasha.”

  “Thank you!” he snapped. “I’ve had my share of sermons for the day.”

  “No! You do not understand. Weapons are useless. The cats are too fast. However, they sense the threat. It serves only to aggravate them, to target their aggression. If you wish to protect yourself and your brother, a knife is premium. Sasha is too tricky to get caught over the shooting. He sends me a message as much as you.”

  Nic scowled. He was back to carrying a knife. “What message? Is he schizophrenic? Suffering delusions? You really need to up his meds. He’s obsessed with you, fine. But in case he hasn’t noticed, we barely speak. I’ve provided no cause for his paranoia. He seems to believe us being together is fate or some such crap.”

  “It appears irrational to you, I know. I wish I could explain fully and help you to understand. Sasha is not mad. He aims to secure his heritage.”

  The riddles irritated Nic passed forbearance. “This has been a blast. I don’t mean to be rude --”

  “Which implies what follows will be. I shall spare you the trauma.” She frowned and adjusted her hem. “Nic, please believe me when I say I am sorry for Sasha’s intrusion. If I could find a way to make him stop, I would. But I fear he will prevail unless action is taken. In that endeavour, I have a proposition.” She arched an eyebrow to ensure his attention. He nodded.

  “Sam is determined and my father accommodating. I foresee your brother shall disobey in order to stay close to the cats. It will provoke difficulties between you. Accept my mother’s job and I can help you monitor --”

  Nic interrupted, thoroughly over this suggestion. “That’s an outstanding idea! Hang out even closer to you, really test the limits of Sasha’s patience. He shot my friend at the merest hint I was in your vicinity!”

  The realisation blossomed. She was here, in his bedroom, and him in scant shorts. Without thinking, he rushed to hustle her out, lifting her from the bed with an arm about her shoulders, her body pressing the length of him, skin on skin. It was the first time he’d voluntarily touched her. She cried out and shoved him, fingers brushing his chest.

  “No!”

  It was too late, goosebumps erupted, white heat detonating his nerves. The powerful impulse threw him across the room, where he sprawled to the carpet, panting and stunned.

  “What have you done? You’ve woken the curse. I’ve been so careful, tried so hard to fight the instinct.” Tears welled her eyes, matting lashes to trickle flushed cheeks. Nic gawked dopily, flesh buzzing, more energised than he’d ever felt. “How can I possibly save you now?”

  ***

  Chapter Fifteen