Page 58 of True North
JT laughed shortly. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. One of our guys has a drinking problem. Gets picked up every few months. The cops just call me directly at this point.”
That was kind of tragic, but also made JT feel even more confident about his decision to get Lenny involved. He would know what to say and do. The Sault wasn’t a big place; everyone knew Lenny, and if the cops saw him as a responsible party in any shifter matters, they might be willing to bend the rules for him. JT didn’t give a shit about ethics where Misha was involved. He just wanted Misha home.
The police station was on the north end of town, not very far from Gianni’s. JT had taken the long way around by going down to Queen Street to get Lenny. He parked in the lot beside the building, glaringly lit by street lamps, and turned off the engine.
“Wait here,” Lenny said.
The night hummed with the sounds of traffic on Second Line and the eternal July chorus of insects. JT checked his phone, but Misha hadn’t replied to his message. He hated feeling helpless. He had done everything he could, and now he had to wait and let other people do what he couldn’t.
Every time he checked his watch, he expected at least half an hour to have gone by, but instead only a minute or two had passed. After his fourth check, a car pulled into the lot and a dark-skinned woman wearing a gray suit got out and strode toward the building. She was surely the lawyer. JT resisted the urge to run after her and beg her to get Misha released. Gary had recommended her, which meant she was the best the city had to offer. She would do her job even without JT’s pleading.
Some time went by. JT opened Twitter to give himself something to do. As usual, absolutely nothing of interest or value was happening on the internet. He liked a few dog pictures and scrolled through the latest overcooked takes from the Toronto beats. When he hit some speculation about his contract renewal, he closed out of the app. That was the last thing he needed to think about right now.
The night seemed to grow larger as he sat there in the dark until he could sense the full, infinite shape of the universe suspended above him. If he stepped outside, he would be crushed by its weight.
He had taken so many wrong turns in life, and he was afraid he’d come unprepared to another fork in the road. He wanted to believe that Misha had done nothing wrong, that he knew Misha well enough to be certain Misha had done nothing wrong. But he didn’t know the names of Misha’s parents, or whether he had any siblings, or his favorite color, or what he wanted in life. He didn’t want to believe Misha was a grifter, but he had to acknowledge the possibility—now, finally, when it was too late to change how invested he was, how far in over his head he’d gotten.
At last, the station’s door opened, and Lenny emerged. As he drew closer, JT could see that his brow was furrowed, and JT’s heart sank.
“What’s up,” he said, before Lenny was even fully in the cab.
“Well, the lawyer’s in there with him. She’s sharp, man. She came in with guns blazing about how he’s not a native speaker and did they have a translator for him and why not. Those uniforms at the front desk looked like their heads were about to start spinning around. Fantastic. She’ll take good care of him.”
“And he’s okay? Did he get my message?”
Lenny shrugged. “I didn’t see him. I would imagine he’s fine. I told Adeola—that’s the lawyer—I asked her to please text you with an update after she speaks with Misha, so you ought to be hearing from her later tonight.”
“Thank you,” JT said, the band of tension around his chest loosening somewhat. He wouldn’t be left to wonder and worry all night. He exhaled and let his head fall back against the headrest. “Christ. Okay. So what next?”
“What’s next is you’re going to take me back to the pub, and then take yourself back home to sleep.”
“No way,” JT protested. “I’m not going toleavehim here!”
Lenny shook his head. “Zero chance they’re letting him out tonight, if they let him out at all. He’ll have to go to court to see if they’re willing to release him. The lawyer’s got this. Go home. Get some sleep. You’ll be much more use to him if you’re rested.”
“Fat chance of me sleeping at all tonight,” JT muttered, but he couldn’t say Lenny was wrong. “All right. Fine.”
“I should probably warn you… it might be better not to get your hopes up about having him let out on bail. I know you want them to release him to you, but with charges of this nature, that’s going to be a hard sell. I imagine they’re going to want to keep him in custody. Especially because they’ll consider him a flight risk.”
“What are the—what charges,” JT said.
Lenny drew in a breath and blew it out hard, his cheeks puffing with air. “I’m afraid they’ve got him in for murder.”
Twenty-Three
Like most hockey players, JT could put himself to sleep essentially on command. After a lifetime of sleeping on buses and planes and in hundreds of different hotel rooms, it was second nature to close his eyes, take a few deep breaths, relax all of his muscles, clear his mind, and pass out cold.
But after he got home from the police station, his usual tactics failed him. The lawyer hadn’t texted him, and he tried to figure out what that meant as he went around checking the doors and turning out the lights before bed. Had she forgotten, or was she still talking with Misha? If that was the case, what was taking so long? He didn’t know how worried he should be.
He went through his nightly routine of brushing his teeth, taking a leak, and undressing, in that exact order every time. Misha wasn’t there to turn out the lights, so JT did it instead. Misha wasn’t there to fussily adjust his blankets fifteen times before finally tucking himself against JT’s side with a pleased sigh. Misha wasn’t there to turn his face up for a kiss and smile at JT in the darkness.
JT didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.
He took his deep breaths. He relaxed all of his muscles. His mind wouldn’t clear, and sleep wouldn’t come. He got up after a while and went downstairs to lie on the couch and watch TV. Better to stare at whatever late-night programming he could find than lie in bed and torment himself with his racing thoughts.
He was woken by his phone vibrating. He had been so deeply asleep that he was intensely confused at first, not sure why he was on the couch and convinced one of his parents’ dogs was curled up against his legs. That was only one of the throw pillows, though. The TV was still on. His phone was in his hand. He wiped the drool from his face with his other hand and unlocked the screen.