Chapter 19 Diem #2
“I always wanted a dog,” Darcy continued, rambling like we were having a casual lunch. He squinted out the windshield and pointed. “Is that your… buddy’s car?”
Blinding headlights turned into the parking lot. Only after they were aimed away from me could I make out Tallus’s Jetta.
“Yeah. That’s him. You can call him my boyfriend, you know. It’s who he is.”
“Yeeeah. I don’t think so. That just sounds super gay.”
I deadpanned.
Darcy shrugged. “What? It does.”
“Grab the package, brat.”
Darcy grinned shamelessly and removed a small manila envelope from the glove compartment. I had stuffed it with cut paper from a magazine. The feel and shape mimicked bills, and I had sealed it so the barista—who I assumed worked for Luke—couldn’t peek inside prematurely and warn him of trouble.
“You know the drill?”
All bravado vanished, and the kid fidgeted, his nerves surfacing. “Yeah. Go inside. Order a dark roast with cinnamon and cardamom and give this to Olenka.”
“Cinnamon and cardamom?”
“Those are Luke’s instructions for when I’m seeking payment. He said to use the same order.”
“Okay. Then, when you make the hand-off, you’ll—”
Tallus rapped on the driver’s window.
“Hang on. Let me set him up.” I lowered the window, admiring the look of indignation on Tallus’s face, the slant of his groomed brows behind his come-fuck-me-frames, the perfect turn of his collar and knot of his tie under his high-fashion coat.
“Hey, sexy. What took you so long?” I asked.
His mouth curled into a flirty, sassy smirk. Mischief and mayhem. God, I loved him. “Traffic was stupid. But, while waiting through three fucking reds, I looked something up. I think our friend Luke is Russian.”
“Oh? The accent?” I’d heard it too, but wasn’t knowledgeable enough in foreign dialects to pinpoint its origin with any accuracy.
“Yes, but it was what he called Darcy that made it possible for me to confirm. Myshka.”
Darcy leaned forward, invading my personal space to speak to Tallus. “He’s called me that before. When I first met him. What does it mean?”
“It’s a term of endearment. From what I read, it either means little mouse or little bear, depending on the spelling and pronunciation of which I know nothing about.”
Darcy scoffed. “Gross. Why would he call me that?”
Tallus ignored the question, asking, “Where do you want me, Guns?”
He looked good enough to eat, and I wanted to say something inappropriate, but held my tongue. Tallus read between the lines anyhow, and his smirk grew.
“I’m going to sit here,” I said instead. “I have a direct view of the counter through the front window, and I’ll be able to keep an eye on Darcy as he makes the exchange, but I want you around the corner there.”
I indicated a side street that joined the main road beside the strip mall. “When Darcy makes the drop, he can exit and go toward you. It will break line of sight with the barista, and we can get him off the street faster.”
“I don’t wanna go with Tallus,” Darcy whined.
“Too bad.”
“But—”
“Too bad.” I glared.
Darcy sulked. “You promised.”
“I promised nothing would happen, now shut up and listen.”
Tallus scoped the area and nodded. “Once I have him, do you want me to sit and wait or take off?”
“Sit. We’ll connect a call and keep it on speaker, that way I can let you know if or when I see Luke arrive.”
“You don’t even know what he looks like,” Darcy said.
“You gave me a vague description. Plus, he’ll be the guy picking up your fake envelope and acting familiar with the barista.
We aren’t confronting him,” I said to Tallus.
“We’re gathering information. I’ve got my camera.
I’ll try to get a few shots. I want the make and model of his car.
If we can tail him home and get an address, even better. No. Confrontation.”
“Got it. Let’s get this show on the road.” Tallus leaned in the window and stole a kiss.
Darcy groaned, muttering, “So gay.”
I gave him the finger.
Tallus relocated to the side street, and once he was in place, I spent ten minutes taking inventory of every car and person in the vicinity before sending Darcy to deliver the fake envelope of money.
As he crossed the street, I called Tallus.
“That kid is a brat,” Tallus announced the second the line connected.
“You’re a brat too sometimes.”
“In a cute way. He’s homophobic.”
“He’s harmless.”
Tallus scoffed. “I thought you hated teenagers.”
“Technically, he’s an adult.”
“Technically,” Tallus mocked, “he doesn’t act like one.”
I chuckled. “Neither do you sometimes. Why are you so cranky?”
“I’m not cranky. I just… don’t like sharing your attention.”
“You’re not, Tallus.”
“I am.” His sulky tone was identical to the one Darcy had used a few minutes ago.
I cut my gaze from the café window, where Darcy approached the counter, to Tallus’s Jetta parked around the corner. The windshield was too dark to see through, but I sensed his pout and his gaze aimed at the Jeep.
My heart warmed. I couldn’t remember a single time in my life when I’d caused anyone to feel jealous. This was twice in a few days, but I had no idea what he was worried about. He owned me heart and soul.
“I love you, Tallus.”
“I know. I’m used to having you all to myself.”
“He’s had a tough go. He needs people.”
“I get it, but what’s the end game? He can’t stay with us forever.”
“I’ll figure it out when we get there.” Sending Darcy back to that shithole apartment with his strung-out roomies was not happening, but I didn’t have an alternate plan. I would worry about it later.
“What’s going on inside?” Tallus asked. “Can you see?”
I diverted my attention back to the café.
Darcy waited at the counter. The barista seemed busy making drinks.
I was too far away to log an adequate description of the girl, but she seemed to be about college age, with dark hair and a white top.
It might have been part of a uniform, but I couldn’t tell.
Although I had a direct view of the counter, I couldn’t get an accurate read on how many customers were inside.
The seating was arranged with too many blind spots.
From what I could see, three other people occupied the café.
It could have been more. Two sat at a table near the window, a young couple holding hands with their heads close together.
The third stood a few feet from Darcy, a scrawny boy of about thirteen or fourteen, sporting a 90s hip hop flare I hadn’t seen in ages.
Colorful pants ten sizes too big, a jersey made for a 300-pound linebacker, and a sideways ball cap.
He wore enough bling around his neck that it gave him a stooped posture—or maybe he was going for a street-rapper stance.
I didn’t fucking know. He looked ridiculous.
And harmless.
I wrote him off and surveyed the parking lot again, looking for new arrivals or anyone who stood out. Everything was calm and ordinary.
The barista returned with a take-out cup and slid it across the counter.
“He’s passing off the envelope now,” I said.
Darcy accepted the cup and pushed the envelope to the girl before turning to the door.
“He’s heading out.”
Darcy had an easy escape to Tallus’s vehicle. No roads to cross. No barriers. In less than a minute, he would be safe inside the Jetta, and we could wait for Luke. I was about to comment on how smoothly it went when movement in the window caught my eye.
A man in a dark coat appeared beside the barista. In one smooth move, he took the envelope from her, tucked it inside his jacket, and rounded the counter, aiming for Darcy.
“Shit.”
“What?” Tallus asked.
Before the kid made it to the door, the man grasped Darcy’s arm and tugged him against his side. I jolted forward, my seat belt locking at the sudden pull as the man spun Darcy around and shoved him toward the back of the café.
Then, I lost sight of them.
It happened in a matter of seconds.
I fumbled with the locking mechanism on my seat belt. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What’s happening? Where is he?”
“Is there a back door?”
“What? Probably.”
“He’s got him.” I reached for the door handle and was halfway out of the Jeep when I cursed my idiocy.
“Who’s got him?”
“Fucking Luke, or whatever his name is. Grabbed him as he was walking out.”
“Shit. On it.” A door slammed, and I didn’t process the meaning behind Tallus’s words right away since I was dealing with my own stupidity.
I needed to get the fuck across the busy street without getting hit by a car, and I couldn’t chase this guy down on foot if he was heading for a car. I needed to drive.
Revving the engine, I screamed out of the parking space but immediately faced an impossible merge onto Lake Shore Boulevard, traffic streaming in both directions. I punched the steering wheel and cursed, scanning for an opening.
When one appeared, I Hail Maryed it and punched the gas.
“Hold on, girl.” I lay on the horn and shot across four lanes of traffic, weaving toward the side street where Tallus’s Jetta was parked.
Horns blared. Tires squealed as people jammed their brakes to avoid collisions. I held my breath and clenched my teeth as I avoided ramming the bumper of a red minivan by mere inches. Someone shouted, but their voice was muffled by my closed window.
Safely on the other side of the road, I slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop beside Tallus’s car, only to realize he was no longer in it.
“Tallus?” I shouted, registering heavy breathing coming from his end of the line. “Where the fuck are you?”
“I… told you.” He panted and gasped. “I’m… on it.” I glanced at the building in time to see Tallus vanish around the back at a sprint.