Page 135 of A Better Man

Honoré found the adventures of Toby and his balloon hilarious. Jean-Guy found them strangely moving, as the boy struggled mightily to protect his vulnerable friend. And no matter what happened, to never let go.

“He runs a gang of kids dealing mostly prescription meds, painkillers. But other stuff, too. We catch them, but they’re on the street again in no time. Don’t be fooled by their age.”

“We aren’t,” said Beauvoir.

They followed Cameron into the building.

The place reeked of damp and mold and rot. The chipped concrete stairs were sticky.

They climbed up one flight, but just as Cameron stepped onto the landing, there was a sharp whistle and the sound of footsteps racing on the floor above.

“Shit,” said Cameron, and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, followed by Gamache.

Beauvoir, though, seeing where this was going, ran downstairs, out the front door, and into the side alley, scanning for the back door.

There was a loud bang as a door flew open, and kids piled out of the basement.

Gamache and Cameron split up, chasing different kids down the hallways. Cameron cornered one in the stairwell leading to the roof.

“Where’s Toby?”

“Dunno.”

He frisked her and came away with packets of foil and a switchblade.

He cuffed her to the railing and moved on.

Gamache chased another kid into an apartment, where he tackled him, both of them falling onto one of the stained mattresses pushed together on the floor. Getting quickly to his feet, Gamache put the kid in a hold, patting him for weapons and scanning the room for other occupants. It was then he noticed pill bottles neatly arranged on shelves lining all four walls.

“Are you Toby?”

The boy was silent.

Gamache pulled a knife, a bottle of pills, and an ID from his pockets.

Not Toby.

“Where is he?”

Beauvoir grabbed hold of the collar of the largest kid as he tried to escape down the alley and swung him around. Not a he. A she. A girl about fifteen.

“Let her go,” came a voice from above.

Beauvoir turned, still holding the girl, and saw a skinny kid on the fire escape. Pointing a gun.

“You a cop?” the kid asked. “Of course you are.”

The girl yanked her jacket out of Beauvoir’s grip and stepped away.

“Toby?” Beauvoir asked the kid holding the gun.

“Get his gun,” said Toby.

The girl reached out, but Beauvoir backed away. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Give her your gun, old man,” said Toby.

“Or what? You’ll kill a cop?”