Chapter 17 Diem
Diem
Diem
Arguing with Tallus wasn’t anything new. In the beginning of our relationship, disagreements seemed endless and cataclysmic. They had bothered me to my core, each one leaving me with a sense of doom, certain that the best thing in my life was ending.
Dr. Peterson helped me understand that expressing uncomfortable feelings was healthy.
People don’t always get along, he’d said.
Relationships aren’t perfect. We were allowed to have different views, different likes and dislikes, and different opinions.
None of that meant we had failed as a couple.
Learning to blend our differences made us stronger.
Lately, we managed our disagreements and each time came out the other side.
If I could have explained my reason for bringing Darcy home, I would have, but I didn’t know how to describe something I didn’t understand. Seeing his living situation had triggered something visceral—primal—and I’d reacted without thought. Poorly, I admit, but something had to be done.
Tallus’s concern was valid, and I should have consulted with him before making a decision that impacted us both, but dragging Darcy out of the apartment happened in the heat of the moment, and I couldn’t take it back.
I saw his future in vivid technicolor, and it made me physically sick. I didn’t know where Darcy’s family was or if they were part of his life, but if he’d spent time in a boys’ home, chances were, they weren’t worth knowing.
I doubted the kid had much of an education.
If I cared to look, I would likely find a buried juvie record.
A boys’ home meant he was once part of the system.
Kids didn’t end up in places like that for no reason.
Ejection from that system at eighteen would have called for a level of independence Darcy likely wasn’t ready for or taught to handle.
Boys in that situation scrambled. Independence meant a desperation to survive. A desperation to survive often led to poor choices simply to make ends meet. Poor choices led to criminal behavior because getting a job and making an honest living when you were a troublemaker was next to impossible.
The world revolved around money, and if you couldn’t earn it, you stole it. Criminal behavior inevitably circled back to life in the system, only worse. It meant jail time. Prison sentences. Drug and alcohol addiction. Suicides or overdoses. Death.
Darcy hadn’t fallen through the ice yet, but the ground was a spider’s web of cracks under his feet.
One wrong move, and he would plunge below the surface.
I’d been on thin ice enough times to know how sickeningly vulnerable it felt.
I’d made poor choices. I’d taken drugs. I’d done all it took to survive.
I knew the taste and texture of desperation firsthand.
Somehow, despite the odds, I’d made it. Beaten. Battered. Bruised.
But alive.
Did I know what I was doing? Fuck no. Most days, I made it up as I went along, but I was here.
Were Darcy’s problems my problem? Also, no, but I couldn’t seem to walk away.
Darcy exited the bathroom wearing Tallus’s joggers and an old tee. They fit baggy but were better than anything I could have offered from my closet. He held his dirty clothes and the wet towel.
“Toss them by the door. I’ll wash them in the next load.”
He obeyed, then stood awkwardly, lanky arms wrapped protectively around his middle, bare toes folding over one another, cheeks flush from a hot shower, and hair a towel-dried, uncombed mess.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Are you still hungry?”
He shook his head, wet bangs slapping his face, lower lip protruding in a childish pout I’d seen on Tallus a few times when he didn’t get his way.
I gestured to the phone. “Unlock it.” Gentler, I added, “Please.”
He hesitated for half a beat, then complied, despite the sulky mood.
The burner had no apps or excess functions. The address book contained one contact number. Luke. I scanned their text exchange. It mostly consisted of blunt instructions; not enough detail to guide me anywhere in particular.
“How do you know Luke isn’t his name?”
“When I met him, he said, ‘You can call me Luke.’ No one says that. Besides, why would he give me a real name if he’s a criminal?”
The kid was right. Luke was an alias, but it was such a normal-sounding name that it made me think the guy’s real name might be a variation of Luke. Regardless, it didn’t help.
The text thread started in December, the same timeframe as Elwood’s scam. At least Darcy had been telling the truth that Elwood was the first job. Based on their communication, Darcy had taken several jobs from the scam artist since. Their most recent exchange happened three days ago.
“How many times have you done this?”
“About four.”
“Are all of them in old age homes?”
“No. The rest were seniors still living on their own. Evergreen was my test run. It’s why it took longer. He was… training me.”
But why send the kid to a nursing home in the first place, even for a test run. He would be surrounded by staff and other residents. It made no sense.
Luke sent Darcy links to online profiles for the people he was to impersonate.
He instructed Darcy to study the details and download pictures from their albums to support the illusion.
In each case, Darcy bore a striking resemblance to the person he was meant to imitate.
Darcy was instructed to familiarize himself with his subject’s friends and family.
Luke sent maps to each location, relayed visit times, and gave him explicit instructions for each encounter.
In most cases, his interactions were limited to one visit.
Darcy texted when he completed the task, passing along banking information and relevant passwords.
I suspected this Luke person had a pool of kids Darcy’s age, all with varying looks, all willing and desperate enough to act the role of an absent grandchild.
If he hired youth living on the edge of poverty, they would do anything to earn a buck—illegal or otherwise—and they would keep their mouths shut.
“How were you paid?”
“Cash. He gave me a time and a drop location where I could pick up an envelope. We didn’t meet in person again after the initial few visits. He only pays when the job is complete.”
“Five hundred a pop?”
“Yes. I got more for the Evergreen case since I was told to go three times and build a rapport.”
“Why is that?”
Darcy shrugged. “Training? I don’t know.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”
Darcy squeezed his arms around his midsection, shifting his weight. He repeatedly rolled his thumb over his fidget ring. “Yeah, but I didn’t know he was taking that much money from them. I figured it was, like, a thousand or two thousand at most.”
I shut off the phone and chucked it on the counter. The information was useless, and since it was a burner, I wouldn’t be able to trace it.
“You’ve met this Luke guy three times in person?”
“Yeah.”
“When? Where?”
“In November last year. It was, like, a recruitment interview. You know? He wanted to be sure I was suitable. He had to look at my size and face and see how I acted. Like, my mannerisms or something. I don’t know.
Then, we went over the details of what I would do.
The last time we met, he gave me the phone and a bit of cash upfront for… incentive, I guess.”
“And you haven’t met again?”
“No.”
“Where did you meet?”
“At a café in the Longbranch area. Java something-or-other. I can’t remember.”
I roughed a hand over my jaw. None of this was helpful. “What did he look like?”
Darcy scoffed. “Does it matter? You gonna find him in a city of millions?”
“Humor me.”
“God. I don’t know. Rich. He wore a nice suit and tie. Shiny shoes. He smelled like expensive cologne. Had one of those watches that cost a fortune. Gold, maybe. I don’t remember. He was a white guy. Salt-and-pepper hair, neatly combed.”
Fuck my life. He’d described about half the middle-aged men living in Toronto. “Any significant markings?”
“No.” Darcy perked up. “Oh! He had a mild accent.”
“That’s good. What kind of accent?”
His excitement waned. “I don’t know.”
I balled a fist and reminded myself to stay calm. “How old was he?”
Darcy spun the ring, gaze darting about the kitchen. “Like, f-fifty maybe. Forty? I don’t know how to judge age. Like, older than my dad but not as old as a grandpa? Does that help?”
No, I didn’t say. “Facial hair?”
“Clean-shaven. Where’s my coat?”
“In the wash.”
Darcy looked stricken, his entire body deflating like a popped balloon. “Oh man. My smokes were in the pocket.”
I produced the pack I’d bought for him, along with my lighter, and tossed them on the counter. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Oh, thank god.” He reached for them and slid the pack open, plucking a cigarette from inside.
“No fucking way. Not inside. Balcony.”
Darcy glanced about, located the sliding door, and headed in that direction, already flicking the Bic to life.
I followed, hoping to keep the momentum of our chat going, not that I was learning much.
The minute we stepped outside and a brisk north wind cut through the night air, the kid violently shivered, folded in on himself, and tucked one foot over the other. “Fuck me, it’s cold.”
“Hang on.”
I returned inside, was about to aim for the bedroom to grab Darcy a clean hoodie from Tallus’s closet, but detoured to the kitchen instead. With an ice pack, a few Advil, and a glass of water, I headed down the hall. Hopefully, an apology care package would reduce my boyfriend’s anger.
Tallus wasn’t asleep. Wearing only a pair of tight boxer briefs—always black—he lay on top of the covers, propped against several pillows and the headboard, watching videos on his phone.
Echo lay curled up beside him in my spot, on my pillow. I’d been officially ejected from the equation.
A faint bruise peeked from the top of Tallus’s briefs, and his ankle was noticeably swollen. My stomach clenched.