Chapter 12 The Boost
Ryan
The downpour traced cold fingers down my neck as I followed Hawley into PixelLab.
The gaming café sat half a block off Yonge-Dundas Square, the city's busiest intersection, where the billboards stacked four storeys high stayed lit at three in the morning and the sidewalk crowd never quite thinned.
Air-conditioning hit us. Along with the blue glow of dozens of monitors and rapid-fire clicking of keyboards.
I nodded. Scanned the rows of gamers hunched over their screens. Most wearing headphones. All lost in digital worlds where real-life problems didn't exist. Not one person glanced up as we walked through.
The place smelled of instant noodles, energy drinks, and the faint musk of bodies that had been sitting too long in one place.
I trailed my partner to the counter where a bored-looking manager in his thirties scrolled through his phone.
He barely acknowledged us. His expression soured immediately at the sight of our badges.
"Police? Again? I already sent the footage to your station."
"We need to know if anyone spoke with this boy." I pulled up Min's photo on my phone. Turned it toward him. "Or if you've seen him return since that night."
The manager examined the photo for half a second before returning to his phone. "Look around." A broad gesture with his free hand. Irritation evident. "You think I memorize every kid who comes through here? We get hundreds every day."
My partner tensed beside me. Before he could say something that might shut down our only lead, I leaned against the counter and switched tactics. Softened my expression. Let my shoulders relax. Offered an easy smile. The one that had talked me out of speeding tickets and into exclusive clubs.
"Just trying to find a missing teenager before something bad happens. His mother is worried sick."
The manager's attention flicked up. Held mine for a moment before returning to his phone with a noncommittal grunt. Not a breakthrough, but not a complete shutdown either.
Hawley had already moved away from my charm offensive.
Methodically examining the layout of the space.
His focus complete. Invisible lines tracking across the room, noting exits, blind spots, and the path Min would have taken that night.
Like he'd built a mental simulation of events that only he could see.
One last smile for the manager before joining my partner near computer 27.
"Computer 27 is positioned with clear sightlines to both exits." A subtle gesture toward the main entrance and a smaller door at the side of the room. "He chose it deliberately. Watching for someone."
I studied the setup. The observation impressed me. The computer faced away from the wall, giving whoever sat there a perfect view of anyone coming or going. Not the choice you'd make if you were just there to play games.
"Smart kid."
A sleepy-eyed employee approached us. Clutching an energy drink. He barely looked older than Min himself. Acne-spotted cheeks. Hair that needed washing.
"You guys looking for someone?" A yawn interrupted his words.
Min's photo appeared on my screen. "This boy was here two nights ago. Did you see him?"
The employee squinted. Recognition dawning. "The quiet kid in the blue hoodie? Yeah, I remember him. Kept looking over his shoulder like someone was after him."
I straightened. Alert flooding through me. "Did he say anything about where he was staying? Or did you see which direction he went when he left?"
The employee took a long swig of his energy drink. Thinking. "Didn't talk to me. But when he left, he didn't go toward the main street. Went through the side door, the one that leads to the laneway."
A glance at my partner, who was already heading toward the side exit. Outside, rain hammered the awning above the door. The laneway stretched in both directions. To our left, it connected back to Yonge. To our right, it narrowed between buildings.
"Which way would you go if you didn't want to be seen?"
He pointed right, toward the narrow passage. "There. Away from streetlights and traffic cameras."
The laneway stank of rotting food and stale beer. Amplified by moisture. Dumpsters lined the concrete walls, overflowing with garbage bags and discarded furniture. Our flashlight beams cut through the darkness, bouncing off puddles and wet brick.
"Somewhere close but not obvious." Methodical precision marked every sweep of his light. "He needs shelter. Visibility. Multiple escape routes."
We moved deeper into the laneway. Our footsteps splashing through puddles. Without discussion, we fell into a pattern. Him taking the left side. Me taking the right. Our beams crossed and separated in a strangely synchronized rhythm. Checking behind dumpsters and stacks of empty crates.
"You seem to know how runaways think." I watched him carefully for a reaction. Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead. Made him appear younger. Less severe. "Professional insight or personal experience?"
His pause was almost imperceptible. Just a slight hitch in his movement before he kept scanning the laneway. "Both." The single word hung between us before he added, "Foster system. Three homes every two years."
The admission caught me off guard. In the week we'd been partners, this was the first personal detail he'd voluntarily shared. An unexpected need rose to offer something in return. To balance the sudden shift between us.
"I stayed put. My dad and I haven't spoken since I chose this job. My mom did the rest of it alone. Held everything together while she could." The darkness covered my expression.
His attention flicked to me. A brief moment of recognition between us before he turned away. "Check behind those crates." Professional again. The moment of vulnerability closed.
I moved toward a stack of wooden pallets.
Shone my light into the narrow space behind them.
"Nothing here." Frustration edged into my words as water soaked through my jacket.
My shoes were waterlogged. My socks squelched with every step.
"Maybe we're overthinking this. Maybe he just passed through and kept moving. "
He shook his head once. Definitive. "The security footage shows exhaustion. He wouldn't have gone far after leaving."
I stared at him. Surprised. "You could tell he was tired from that grainy footage? I could barely make out his features."
"It wasn't his features." He continued scanning the buildings above us. "It was his posture. The way he held himself. When you're that tired, you find the closest safe place and crash."
I followed his sight line upward. Noticed for the first time the service ladder attached to the adjacent structure. It started about seven feet up. Difficult to access without assistance. But not impossible for a desperate teenager.
"What about up there? That storage facility has a flat roof with those utility structures. Perfect shelter."
His eyes narrowed as he studied the ladder, then the rooftop. "Good sight lines. Multiple buildings to cross if needed. Sheltered from wind." A nod. A ghost of approval on his face. "It's where I would go."
I crouched beside him. My knees sinking into the wet gravel.
He'd gone completely still, the way he did when he'd found something significant.
His flashlight beam illuminated a small collection of trash nestled against the building's foundation.
A discarded instant-noodle cup and scattered cigarette butts.
"Look." His words barely audible above the downpour.
I leaned closer. Our shoulders nearly touching as we examined the evidence. The cup sat upright, protected from rainfall by a slight overhang.
"The cup's still damp but not filled with liquid." I picked it up carefully. "Recent. And these cigarettes..."
"Cheap brand," he finished. "The kind a teenager with limited money would buy."
I nodded. Let my attention drift back to the service ladder that disappeared into shadows above us. "So he was here. And if I were hiding..." I trailed off. Mentally plotted the safest route for a scared kid.
"You'd go up." He was already moving toward the ladder. "High ground, good visibility, shelter from the elements."
Rain streaked down his face as he examined the bottom of the ladder, which hung frustratingly out of reach. I stepped closer. Pointed to a faint muddy smear on one of the lower rungs.
"Someone's been up here recently."
A nod. The micro-change I was learning to recognize as his version of excitement. "I'll secure the perimeter and call for backup. You check the roof."
I glanced up at the slick rungs disappearing into shadows. Then back at the ladder's seven-foot starting point. "Shouldn't we wait? If he's scared, an unexpected approach might spook him."
The rain intensified. Plastered my hair to my forehead. Moisture trickled down my neck, beneath my collar. My partner stood motionless. Seemingly impervious to the discomfort.
"He's been running for nearly forty-eight hours." His words unexpectedly gentle. "Patrol officers or uniforms might spook him. You're..." He paused. Seemed to choose his words carefully. "Better with people than I am."
I blinked. Caught off guard by what might be his first compliment. Rain had softened his usually sharp features. Made him appear younger somehow. Less severe.
"Was that almost a compliment? I'm touched."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close. "Just climb the ladder, Carlson."
I stared up at the first rung, which hung well above my head. Then back at him. He understood immediately. Interlaced his fingers to create a foothold.
"I'll boost you up."
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing my foot in his cupped hands. His grip was solid. When he lifted, the strength caught me off guard. He boosted me up with such ease that I nearly overshot the rung. I scrambled for purchase. Grabbed the cold steel and pulled myself up.
His strength shouldn't have surprised me. I'd seen him at the boxing club. Had witnessed the controlled power in his movements. But feeling it directed toward helping me was different. Unsettling in a way I couldn't quite define.
As I gripped the first rung, he added quietly, "Be careful. It's slippery."
The concern in those words sounded unpracticed. As if he wasn't used to expressing it. I glanced down. Found him watching me. His face half in shadow.
"Worried about me, Hawley?" I couldn't help the teasing lilt. My default response to moments that felt too sincere.
He didn't answer. Just took a step back. Rain streaming down his face. "I'll be right here." His cadence returning to its usual professional clip. "If you find him, talk first. No sudden movements."
I nodded. Began to climb. The steel cold and slick beneath my fingers. Rainfall made each rung treacherous. Forced me to move with deliberate care. Below, his flashlight beam tracked my progress. A steady point of light in the shadows.
As I neared the top, his voice floated up from below. "And Carlson, if he runs, don't chase him across the rooftops. Wait for me."
I paused. Peered down at my partner's upturned face. "Didn't know you cared."
His response was immediate. Practical. "I care about not having to explain to Inspector Murphy why you fell off a building chasing a teenager."
I pulled myself onto the narrow ledge of the roof. Rain pelted me as I caught my breath in the humid air. Below, his flashlight beam remained fixed on me. Steady. Unwavering. I'd spent a week telling myself I didn't need his approval. His attention. His concern.
Liar.
So why did knowing he was watching make me feel both stronger and more vulnerable than I had in years?
I turned away from the edge. Focused on finding Min. One problem at a time.