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 youhaven’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 withmylighter, 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.”
