Kill the Messenger

45

Tyler Damon gave Parker the saga of the Damon brothers, picking like a bird at a plate of pasta in Smeraldi’s. The big blue eyes periodically made passes around the room and out to the Biltmore’s Olive Street lobby, taking it all in like he’d fallen into an LA version of a Harry Potter book.

Parker’s heart went out to him. The poor kid was terrified for his big brother, and terrified for himself. He had to feel like everything about his life was changing on a dime, and here he sat, telling it all to a cop.

“What’s going to happen to us?” he asked miserably.

“You’re going to be fine, Tyler,” Parker said. “We need to find your brother so he’ll be fine too. Can we make that happen?”

The skinny shoulders went up to his ears. He stared at his plate. “He hasn’t answered any of my radio calls.”

“He’s been pretty busy today. I have a feeling we’ll have better luck tonight.”

“What if that guy with the motorcycle got him?”

“The guy with the motorcycle doesn’t have the motorcycle anymore,” Parker said. “According to what I was hearing across the street, your brother was hauling ass on that bike of his. The bad guy took a dive off the Bunker Hill Steps. He should have died.”

“But he got away?”

“Your brother was long gone by then.” Parker tossed some bills on the table and got up. “Come on, kiddo, let’s blow this shack. You’re riding shotgun.”

Tyler Damon’s eyes went huge. “Really?”

“You’ve got to be my partner. This isn’t going to work without you.”

“I have to call Madame Chen first.”

“We’ll call her from the car. She’s not going to ground you or anything, is she?”

The boy shook his head. “I just don’t want her to worry.”

“We’ll call her.”

They went out through the main lobby, where Andi Kelly was loitering. Parker raised a hand and gave the universal sign for “I’ll call you,” but didn’t pause. He needed Tyler Damon’s trust, and he wasn’t going to get it by giving his attention to other people.

Parker’s car sat in a red zone with an LAPD pass clipped to the sun visor. They got in, the boy trying not to make a big deal of being impressed with the convertible. Parker put the top up for privacy, and because, with the sun gone, it was damn cold. He made a mental note to take the kid out in the Jag after this mess was over.

“So,” he said, “does Jace have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“A boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Does he have any friends he might try to stay with?”

“I don’t think so,” Tyler said. “He’s too busy to hang out.”

The boy explained where he had been looking for his brother and why. Parker thought about it for a minute.

“Do you know if he was carrying much money with him?”

“We don’t have very much money,” the boy said.

“Credit cards?”

Tyler shook his head.

It wasn’t likely Damon would have gone to a hotel anyway, Parker thought. Too confined, too many people, too much potential for trouble.

He made a phone call to the Midnight Mission and asked a friend there if anyone matching Jace Damon’s description had come in, and to call him back if a possibility did show up.

His next call was to Madame Chen to allay her fears that Tyler had been abducted, or worse. She asked to speak to the boy, and they conversed in Mandarin, Tyler glancing up at Parker every so often, Parker pretending not to listen. Then the boy handed the phone back to him.

“I need Tyler to help me tonight, Madame Chen. I have to find Jace before anyone else does, and I can’t do that without Tyler.”

Parker could tell by the quality of the silence that she didn’t like the idea.

“I won’t let anything happen to him,” Parker promised.

“You will bring him back tonight?”

A question rather than an order. She was worried. Hell of a woman, Parker thought, taking these kids in literally off the street. He didn’t know a single person who would have done the same, himself included.

“I’ll bring him back as soon as I can.”

Another silence. Her voice was strained when she spoke again. “He has school tomorrow.”

Parker didn’t point out the incongruity of what she’d just said. She only wanted for their lives to go back to normal.

“I’ll bring him back as soon as I can,” he said again. He wanted to tell her that he could script this and that everything would work out like a Hallmark movie, but he couldn’t.

“Take care of him,” she said. “Take care of them both.”

“I will,” Parker said, and ended the call.

Tyler was watching him, watching his face, trying to read him the way he would read about Pythagoras, or figure out a math problem. It had to be frustrating for him in a way, Parker thought: having that big 168 IQ, but still being a little kid with little kid fears, and no real power over his life.

“You got a nickname?” Parker asked.

The boy hesitated for a minute. Like maybe he had one he didn’t want.

“On the radio, my name is Scout,” he said, brightening. “Jace is Ranger.”

Parker nodded. “Scout. I like that. Buckle up, Scout. Let’s ride.”