Harley preferred to watch Perverts from a bird's eye view without encountering birds and other creatures circling over the magic school. The fact that the professor's motorcycle was flying solved the first problem, the loud roar of the engine - the second. Sometimes a mechanical eagle owl of Porrie Gutter was tied up behind Harley, but the robot still seemed not as unpredictable as living beings. Let him.
That evening, however, Philimon did not keep him company. But on the second lap, Harley's attention was drawn by a tall white figure, waving furiously. Without understanding what they were trying to tell him - a request to fly closer or an indecent gesture, the psychoanalyst slowed down and hung at the window of the hospital ward. The mysterious figure turned out to be a former ministerial investigator and a real patient of Harley.
- Good evening,- said Professor Assa. - I have a round of territory here. That is, uh, the flight over. And what to do?
- You must use this... This... an invention? - It sounded like Phantom had a fight, even though he looked at the bike with interest. - Wake up the whole school.
Harley tactfully kept quiet about the fact that dissatisfied students could create a soundproof sphere or use magic simpler. Fortunately, Ass did not wait for the answer to his question. Put his hand on the wheel, spun back and forth and snorted:
- How do you even fly it?
The psychoanalyst assessed the likelihood that he would be able to explain how the Moodle engine works and the complex set of spells. It turned out to be a little weak. Not at all. However, a saving solution was found.
- Would you like to try it?
Ass mistrustfully humbled. Then I snapped again as if checking if it wouldn't be more effective. Then I gave up and climbed onto the window sill. Surprisingly deftly jumped on the seat, from which the bike tilted and grumpy, as alive. Harley felt his shoulders clung to with a steel grip: so Phantom was actually a little... Scary? This word somehow did not fit the image of a stubborn, active and often meaningless investigator. Nor was it suitable for the gloomy subject who broke the silence just to ask a rhetorical question or say something nasty. How can a person who has lost everything be scared? It is not easier for a magician to lose magic powers than to be left without hands.
But the fingers are not unclenched, on the contrary. So Ass began to fear again for his life. You no longer have to look in the face, expressing nothing but persistent hatred for everything in the world, and say any nonsense that came to mind to distract him. To hear over and over again: "Why?", spoken louder, angrier and more desperate.
A motorcycle with a roar of the womb soared over the roof of the hospital wing. The night sky rushed towards the roof, and the whistling of the wind in his ears interrupted all the sounds. Except for one.
Harley was ready to swear that he had heard a quiet, approving cry. It could have been "goddamn it", or it could have been something stronger. And then they hugged him. Almost as tight as they had held him by the shoulders before. And he miraculously held the wheel in his hand.
***
They were sitting on the windowsill of the Yellow Room. The window was wide open: the wind blew the smoke out of the room from the obviously stolen McCanaricle's cigarette, which Ass was pulling out of the room immediately upon his return. Harley preferred not to think about how the mixture of black lotus and gasoline was affecting people.
The smell of engine oil was in Phantom's clothes, and Harley involuntarily thought that Ass would look great in a leather jacket and on a motorcycle. It was not possible to imagine himself in an investigator's suit: he never wore such things and was not going to wear them. In addition, it was difficult to imagine anything under the watchful eye of a former magician.
- How long have you had a motorcycle?
- Harley hasn't taken his eyes off the course since the fourth one, feeling like he was experimenting. The question was asked simply to attract attention, and Ass must be dissatisfied that the psychoanalyst manages to think about extraneous things. Perhaps the Phantom would have been reassured by the understanding that Harley was not very good at building logical chains in his presence and was not thinking at all. Yes, it would definitely calm down... But he wasn't going to explain anything at all. Because now he...
Well, almost. Almost the right assumption.
...imprints him in the back of the head in the window frame, and, answering the kiss, Harley will hope he doesn't lose his balance. Because at such a moment to fall - from what? From the fifth? - The floor would be very stupid.