Chapter 15 #3
“Mind if I move it out of the way?”
She shook her head. “That’d be awesome. Thanks.”
“Okay, then.” He climbed up and grimaced through the effort of manipulating his hip enough to engage the clutch and the gas, but soon had the truck out of the way of the other Tim Hortons patrons.
It took longer than Myles’s hip liked for the police to talk to everyone involved, and Myles had to go through his statement three times.
By the time he was on his third go-round, his phone was buzzing like mad in his pocket.
He ignored it. Cops didn’t like when they didn’t have your full attention.
The buzzing was probably Jet. The distrust of cops was so ingrained he felt like his past life collided with his present one, making a tangled mess of both his gut and his thought process.
“Do you know why these men attacked Mr. Jones?” the cop who had identified himself as Charles Clairemont asked him for about the fifth time.
“I have no idea.”
“And tell me again how you know Mr. Jones?”
Myles flicked a glance at Wyatt, who looked away at the ground the instant their eyes met.
“A friend of mine runs a shelter,” Myles said. “I was trying to convince him to come and check it out.”
Wyatt’s head jerked up, and he stared.
“Where is this shelter?”
Myles gave Wyatt a small nod before turning his attention back to Clairemont. “Gryffin’s Elbow. Which is why I think he was hesitating. Why would he get in a car with a near stranger for a lift to the next town? It’s not safe.”
Clairemont nodded. “Smart.” He looked over at Wyatt. “This true?”
Wyatt gave one fast, jerky nod, eyes wide, face pale under the dirt.
“I know the place. Do you want me to drive you there?” Clairemont asked him.
“I—” He looked to Myles. “This real? Really real?”
Myles nodded. “Lucky Denver runs it. Well, it’s still partially under construction, but he has a few beds ready, if you’re willing to pitch in with the renovations.
” He was making shit up as he went now, but anything to make sure this kid, who might be older than Jet but looked younger, had a safe place to go.
“I’ve heard of him,” Wyatt blurted.
Myles blinked. “You have?”
“Sure. Who hasn’t? He got that asshole Mackenzie off everyone’s back. I never met him, but everyone still talks about that.”
Clairemont nodded, like he knew exactly what Wyatt was talking about.
Myles’s phone buzzed again, and he frowned.
“You want to get that?” Clairemont asked.
Myles dug out his phone, read a few of the texts—enough to know they were from Jet but that nothing was on fire—then shoved it back into his pocket. “It can wait.”
Another cop car pulled into the LCBO lot, and Clairemont muttered something that sounded like “about time.” He scowled at the driver of the newly arrived car, then turned to Myles.
“I think we’re probably done here.” Clairemont turned to his partner.
“Bishop, get them”—he pointed at the newcomers—“up to speed, eh?”
“Sure, boss.”
Clairemont grunted. “She needs to stop calling me that.”
“Not her boss?”
“We’re the same. Well, she’s a new cop. I’m new at this precinct. But I don’t outrank her. I’m just showing her the ropes. She’ll make a good partner. She’s tough. Smart.” He shook himself. “Sorry.”
“Not my business,” Myles agreed.
“Listen, you sure the Cabin is ready for an actual resident? I know Denver’s been working hard on it, but last I heard, he was a ways away from accepting anyone.”
“Can you give me—” Myles’s phone rang, Jet’s shrill ring-tone interrupting him.
“You should take that.”
“Hang on.” He fished the phone out and declined the call, sending a quick “can’t talk now” text, then continued. “Give me a couple of hours to sort it out. I’m sure we can find him someplace safe if Lucky can’t take him yet.”
Clairemont nodded. “I’ll bring him wherever at the end of my shift.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m off at seventeen hundred. I’ll drive him where he needs to go then.”
“Where will he be in the meantime?” Concern laced through Myles’s guts. If he was attacked once, there was no saying it wouldn’t happen again. Who knew why it had happened.
“He can wait at the station.”
Myles eyed Clairemont. “How much experience do you have with us—them?” He huffed. “With members of the public who have no homes?”
“Enough to know Lucky Denver by another name. Before he was Lucky Denver.” He tilted his head. “And his friends, though I was a rookie, so you probably don’t remember me.”
Myles snorted. “There were a lot of cops. A lot of—unpleasant ones. You’ll forgive me if I don’t have many great memories of that time.”
“I will. You want to talk to him?”
“I do.”
Clairemont moved aside. “Be my guest. And McCreevy, I want him to be safe. Same as you, eh?”
Myles nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Wyatt stood from where he’d been leaning against the siblings’ pickup. “So?”
“So.” Myles frowned at the bruise blooming high on Wyatt’s cheek. “That cop, Clairemont. He seems okay. He said he’ll take you out to the shelter after his shift. You can wait at the station for a few hours until he’s off. Wyatt, this is your best option, okay?”
“Can’t you take me?”
Myles’s phone rang again, but he ignored it.
“I have to go talk to Lucky and get a spot ready for you, because I’d rather you go there than someplace else.
And—” He paused but didn’t see the downside of sharing his thoughts.
“And I have a good vibe from this Clairemont guy. I want him on our side. Trusting him is how that happens.”
Wyatt nodded. “I get that.”
“Hey.” Myles tapped Bishop on her shoulder. “Can I borrow a pen and paper?”
“Sure.” She handed them over, and Myles wrote down his number and the number for the Oaks, then handed the paper to Wyatt.
“Use those if you have to. Someone will answer. We’ll help, yeah?”
Wyatt nodded. “Thanks.”
“Good.” Myles squeezed his shoulder and almost didn’t cringe inwardly at the grime. Almost. “We got this. We got you.”
“Okay.” Taking a deep breath, Wyatt shouldered his bag and approached Clairemont. “I’m good,” he said.
“I’ve got another car to take one of them.” Clairemont jerked his chin at the two men who had attacked Wyatt. “Soon as that gets here, we can go.” He looked over to Myles. “You can go now. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.”
Clairemont nodded as Myles’s phone rang again.
“You’d best figure that out,” Clairemont suggested, pointing at his pocket. “We have this under control.”