The next morning Duncan loitered at the back the run down garage and watched. He never saw Richie arrive, which gave credence to the lad's tale that he was living on the premises. Although, it also begged the question, why did he feel the need to wear sunglasses when he hadn't even stepped outside? He tried to tell himself not to borrow trouble, although the way the lad was handed one dirty job after another while the others stood around shooting the breeze or critiquing the lad's best efforts with jeering words made his blood boil. Somewhat to his surprise Richie kept his mouth shut and his head down.
Which only added to his concern.
At lunchtime the men took themselves off to the bar across the road, deliberately cold shouldering Richie and leaving him, judging by the brief but heated exchange, to finish the work they had neglected. Left alone, Richie threw down his wrench in despair as he gave vent to a string of expletives that made even the Scot's eyebrows rise, before he sank to the floor in a pool of abject misery.
Duncan's jaw clenched as his hand twitched reflexively for his sword. Decision made he crossed the road to a local deli, emerging a few minutes later with his purchases.
"Here."
The voice made Richie glance up from the floor in surprise, his gaze tracking over the hand made leather boots, up the designer jeans to the now familiar leather coat and the large brown paper bag hovering in his field of vision.
"Macleod," The look of alarm on the lad's face as he scrambled to his feet wasn't exactly the reception he had envisaged. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Tessa was worried you weren't eating properly." Duncan shrugged. It wasn't exactly a lie.
"Well, thanks, now make tracks willya?" Richie barely glanced at the brown paper bag as he looked anxiously over his shoulder towards the bar. "You gotta have vases to sell or swords to polish or something."
"Alright, I'll go," Duncan put his hands in his pockets. "Just as soon as you tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing."
Without a word Duncan reached forward and plucked the sunglasses from his face, tilting the lad's face into the light, sure enough, he was sporting a spectacular black eye.
"That doesn't look like nothing."
"Yeah well, its nothing compared to what's gonna happen if they catch me talking to you again, alright? Richie pulled away.
"Talking to me?" Duncan frowned. "What happened?"
"Some dude comes around in some fancy ride, with designer clothes and wallet full of cash, asking questions. What the hell do you think happened? They thought you were an undercover cop or something. I'm lucky I've still got a job."
No matter how many times it happened, Duncan never got used to the feelings of guilt and helplessness when witnessing someone suffering simply for being his friend. It was his own fault for trying to get too close to the boy. If it had been another Immortal the chances were the lad would have considerably more than a black eye to worry about. He should have known better. Abruptly he turned on his heel, leaving Richie staring after him in confusion. He was almost at the door before he could force the words out over his closed throat.
"I'm sorry."
He walked out without looking back.
As soon as he got home he did what he should have done in the first place. Three simple phone calls were all it took to secure the boy's future. And if he lived to a ripe old age and died in his bed without ever being thrust into his Immortality, then so much the better and there would never be any need for their paths to cross again.
It was for the best.
He had to believe that.
He supposed he should have expected Tessa's reaction.
"So," She stood in the doorway regarding him with a glare, her arms crossed. "This is how you wash your hands of him? With a cheque?"
"I'm not washing my hands of him, Tessa. I'm trying to keep him alive."
"By abandoning him?"
"Richie knows how to take care of himself."
"And this is why his face looked like a blueberry pancake?"
"Better that then dead," Duncan muttered with grim truth. The boy was a trouble magnet and no mistake. Add Immortals to the mix and he'd be looking at an early grave or worse. "Look, the money will be enough to give him a head start, put a down payment on an apartment, maybe enrol in college. He's a bright boy, he'll make the right choices."
"You cannot be sure of this." Tessa was rightly sceptical.
Richie's reaction was rather more of a surprise.
"What do you mean, he wouldn't take the money?"
"Just that," On the other end of the phone Karl Burton, a long time Seacouver beat cop turned private eye shrugged. "I told him that I was from Social Services like you asked, he seemed pretty surprised that anyone would bother to come looking for him, but he was eager enough when I said there was a cheque due him."
"So, what happened?"
"Look, you gotta realise, these kids typically get something like a few hundred dollars, when they leave state care, if anything at all. That kinda serious money is bound to raise questions."
"You used the cover story I gave you?"
"Sure, I said it was a bequest from Emily Ryan's estate and as her only living relative it had been held in trust until he turned 18 and we'd been looking for him ever since."
"So?"
"So, he said that was 'a load of croak.' Seems the kid pulled some sorta scam at Child Services the other week and got a look at his paperwork. Turns out this Emily Ryan was his foster mother, besides which he said they never had any money." Burton paused uncomfortably.
"What exactly did he say?"
"He said it wasn't like they lived in some fancy place in the heights."
"He guessed it was me."
"I'd say so. Look, I got him to take the cheque. I told him I wouldn't get paid unless I delivered it. I figure when he gets cold or hungry enough he'll cash it."
"Maybe."
Duncan wasn't so sure. The lad had already proved that he was too stubborn for his own good and unwilling to be beholden to anyone if he thought there were strings attached. Still, Burton had been a beat cop a long time and he had good instincts. It couldn't do any harm to wait a week or so and see what happened.
When the phone rang at 2am he knew it wasn't good. Anyone calling from another time zone for a chat usually had the courtesy to check the difference. Reaching over to pluck the receiver from its cradle he met Tessa's worried eyes.
"Macleod."
"Ah, Mr Macleod, you don't know me but I'm Anne Lindsay, a doctor in the ER at Seacouver General. I'm sorry to call so early but I wondered if you knew a teenage boy, blonde, about five three, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old? We found your business card in his jeans pocket."
"I know him," Duncan confirmed, his stomach clenching. If they were trying to track down his next of kin then things must be pretty bad. "His name is Richie Ryan. Is he alright?"
"I'm sorry Mr Macleod, but before I release that information I need to know what your relationship is to him."
"I'm his employer," Duncan lied glibly. "Richie is an orphan. He was in foster care until a few weeks ago when he turned eighteen. He moved around. A lot. I'm the closest thing to family he has." The ironic thing, Duncan reflected, was that his statement was quite possibly true.
"I see," He could almost hear Dr Lindsay chewing her lip. "That might explain the amnesia."
"He has amnesia?"
"What he has is a pretty nasty lump on the back of his head, no medical insurance," Duncan could hear the sympathy in the doctors' voice. "I'm guessing he thinks it's a good call."
"Concussion?"
"I can't rule it out." Lindsay admitted.
"Do whatever you think best, Doctor," Duncan advised her. "I'll pay any costs."
"Well, he's pretty battered, he was found semi-conscious in an alley, looks like he was jumped and when they found he didn't have anything worth stealing they got mad." She paused.
"How badly is he hurt?"
"It looks worse than it really is. A few deep bruises on his back and legs that will need watching, a nasty scratch down his ribs, long but shallow, as long as its kept clean it should heal without scaring and then there's that lump on his head. All he really needs," Lindsay pressed. "Is a warm bed and a kindly soul to keep an eye on him overnight."
"Alright," Duncan gave in. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"I'll tell him you're coming." Lindsay sounded relieved.
"Ah, about that," Duncan's face twisted. "Maybe, you'd better not say anything just yet."
"Broke curfew did he?" He could hear Lindsay's smile.
"Something like that."
"Look, Mr Macleod, its not up to me to tell people how to raise their kids, but try not to come down too hard on him," Linsay counselled. "He's already had a pretty rough night and he'll be stiff enough to feel pretty sorry for himself when he wakes tomorrow morning."
"I'll try to remember that."
Putting the phone down he considered his options. Like as not if Ryan saw him, he'd just take off again and by the sounds of it the lad was in no fit state to be out on the streets. Which meant he needed another approach.
"What has happened to Richie?" Tessa asked, with genuine concern.
Richie Ryan hopped, carefully, off the examination bed, wincing slightly as his need to ensure that his dignity was well covered in the draughty hospital gown warred with his body's ability to manoeuvre. Poking his head out of the curtain he looked up and down the hallway, estimating his chances of scoring some clothes and high tailing it out of here before the Lady Doc returned.
"Ahem."
The soft sound from behind him made him whirl around, desperately clutching at the back of his gown, even as he blushed bright red, knowing that whoever had entered the cubical from the other side would already have got an eyeful.
"Tessa!" He exclaimed, forgetting in his surprise to be embarrassed. "What are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same question," She replied as she crossed the distance between them, her hand, soft and smelling slightly of lilies, cupped his jaw and her eyes narrowed as she took in the bruises that marred his face. "Who did this?"
"Just some guys," Richie shrugged. "I already told the Doc that I don't remember nothing."
"You know who I am." Tessa pointed out.
"Look, much as I'd love to stay and chat," Richie adroitly changed the subject. "I'm trying to get out of here before someone decides to have me committed."
"Dressed like that?" She raised a brow.
"Yeah, well, they kinda took all my stuff." Richie groused, not wanting to gross her out by telling her that the long scratch down his ribs from the point of the knife had bled all over his left side, or that being rolled and kicked across the floor in the garbage and filth strewn alley had sent his only good pair of jeans past the point of no return.
"Then perhaps you should have these."
Richie peered into the bag she offered him, jeans, a jumper, flannel shirt, socks and to his acute embarrassment a pair of those kind of brief things that he hadn't worn since he was in elementary school.
"They are not right?" Tessa asked, watching his face.
"No, they're fine," Richie assured her quickly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. Surely, Macleod didn't wear those things? "More than fine. Thanks."
They stood there for a moment, looking at each other.
"Um, Tess?" Richie offered hopefully.
"Oh, I am so sorry, do you need some help getting changed?"
"Noo," He drew the word out. "Though, a little privacy would be nice?"
"Richie," she crossed her arms. "I grew up with two brothers, I am not going to wait outside so you can slip and injure yourself more than you already have."
"Well, could you at least turn around?"
"Then how will I see if you are to have an accident? Besides," Her impish grin surprised him, "If you are the one to turn around I won't be seeing anything I haven't already seen."
He felt her watching him with concern as they walked through the Hospital reception. She hadn't said anything, but he figured she had to be pretty grossed out by the boot shaped bruise he was pretty sure he had on his back.
"Um, Tess. Thanks for the clothes and all, but you should probably get going. Macleod will be wondering where you are. I can take it from here."
"And where exactly are you going to take it?" Tessa challenged.
"Well, I figured the Zoo, is closed this time of night," Richie tipped his head on one side. "So, my place?"
"If you think you are going back to that bad place with those wicked people when you are hurting so badly," Tessa managed, before she lapsed into a tirade of angry French.
"Hey, I'm eighteen now, I can do as I like."
"And this includes breaking the law and making money out of other people's suffering when their cars are stolen?"
"Will you keep your voice down?" Richie hissed, as he realised they were attracting attention. "And its not like I'm the one making any money here!"
"Then it will not bother you when I do this!" Tessa made a beeline for the nearest phone
"Tessa, what are you doing?"
"Hello. Yes, is that the police? I would like to report the discovery of several stolen vehicles. Licence Plate numbers?" She raised a brow at Richie, who sighed and resigning himself to the inevitable recited the latest batch of arrivals. "Location?" Tessa glared and Richie parroted the address. "Who am I?" Tessa frowned at the phone.
"Hang up!" Richie hissed.
Tessa silenced him with a finger on his lips as she drew herself up haughtily to her full height. "I am an officer of the Gendarmerie de France temporarily assigned to the FBI."
"FBI?" Richie winced, making a face.
Tessa just put the phone down with a satisfied air and turned her attention to Richie.
"So, now it is settled. You will stay with us." She announced. "The car is this way."
"And I thought Macleod was the scary one." Richie muttered as he trailed in her wake.