While I Breathe: The Veiðimenn Mob, Book One

“Marks, I need to see you in my office.” David sighed as he made his way into the small room. It had been a few weeks since he was uprooted from Ontario and tossed onto an island on the east coast of the country. A few weeks of wondering if he would still have a job if he didn’t find what Hans wanted most. He sighed, looking into the office at an old college buddy who had moved to the province to take over the branch there. “You need something, Mike?” “I need you to take on a special case. No one else will even talk to the kid because he’s apparently a handful,” Mike said as he handed him a thick file. “He’s been in and out of more foster and group homes than I can shake a stick at. That said, this one’s right up your alley considering you were once in the system yourself.” David took the file from his boss’s outstretched hand. “Calim Hanson? Mike, this kid’s file is bigger than my school record.” “I know.” “He’s sixteen?” David noted with a crease of his brow. “Why is he so hard to place? It’s not like there’s a shortage of foster families.” “Come on, man. You know how it is these days. Most foster families want the tinier humans rather than the mood-swing behaviours of a teenager.” Michael Stone sighed dramatically as he downed the rest of his coffee. Glancing over at his college friend, he said, “He slipped between the cracks and came out swinging the way anyone who was in his position would. God knows kids don’t get jaded on their own, Dave. They’re taught to be that way by life, and we know it.” David shook his head. A distant memory tugged at his mind as the picture of the boy caught his eye. For some reason, he looked vaguely familiar to him. Hans was looking for his son, but David had forgotten to pack the picture he was supposed to take with him on the mission. Knowing that he was on a time-crunch, he shook his head. Frowning over at Mike, he read out some of the file, “He was surrendered to the system after being found half-dead on the side of the highway near the Island’s main port authority. Huh, and it says here that he showed signs of violent behaviours and ill-temperament while in the first group home. Was there an investigation held?” “Nothing was done,” Mike said. “They dismissed his claims and slapped the label Problem Child on him.” “Oh, snap,” David muttered under his breath. Mike got up and poured himself another cup from the pot he kept in his office. He could have used the communal one, but he didn’t want to take that chance. “Anyway, you can clearly see why I want you to take the case.” “Yeah, I see it,” David tucked the folder under his arm. “Thanks, I owe you big time.” Mike smiled as he watched the other man leave the office. Three days later, David sat looking across the desk at a male teen, who sat with his arms crossed and eyes down. Wearing a pair of black jeans, a black Harley Davidson jacket, and a Metallica t-shirt, the kid gave off the vibe of someone who would kill and not be afraid of the consequences. On one hand, he could understand the boy’s trepidation. On the other, he was fighting a shudder at how much this kid reminded him of the guys back home. David sifted through the papers in front of him, “We can’t make any progress if you don’t talk to me.” The teen scoffed, “What for? I’m just another payday bonus to you people.” David tried not to let that remark get to him. “I found a family, but it’s a final resort.” “A whole family? Just for me? Aw, you shouldn’t have,” Callum said in mock excitement. David hid a smirk behind his coffee mug. This was the most fun he’d had in a few years, and he could tell that the kid was able to give what he got. “Their daughter is your age and attends a local private school, which you will also be attending. There’s a mention in your file of you owning a motorcycle?” The teen scoffed, “And?” David pushed on, falling into his own sarcastic ways. “How did you obtain it?” “I stole it,” Callum smirked over at the man across from him. “Can you be a little more serious about this? I have to document everything that comes through.” “Whatever,” Callum snapped into a standing position. The chair wobbled a bit but didn’t tip over. David watched him yanked his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans before dropping back down into the hard plastic chair. Tossing two cards over the surface of the desk, he snorted a laugh. “This information wasn’t mentioned in your file.” David was beginning to see why the nearly seventeen-year-old kid was so hateful toward the people around him. Callum let out a sharp laugh. He ran his hand through his blond hair, “That’s funny. Really, man, you should be a comedian. Half the crap I went through ain’t in that file.” David nodded wordlessly, understanding that the boy was hurting bad under all his crassness. “Yes, and one of them tried to claim I stole it. The manager at the local branch had to confirm my story,” The teen watched as David looked the cards over and sighed. “So, when do I get to go meet my new foster family?” Sarcasm dripped darkly off each word. David picked up the file, humoured by the challenge the boy was trying to issue. “Let’s go.” The teen paled, “Wait, what?” Handing the kid a business card, David rose to his feet, gathering his car keys and the necessary papers for the foster parents to sign in the process. “How did you get here?” “My Ninja. How the else would I get here in time for the meeting?” Another witty comment from the peanut gallery had David staggering between mad and laughing. Good God in Heaven help me, he thought, “In that case, you’re going to have to follow behind me.” Callum stood, his eyes wide. “What about my stuff?” “Yes, unless you want to go back to the group home,” David smirked, knowing that the kid had no interest in going back. "I can deliver your things later this evening." He watched as the teen glared daggers at him. “Fine, let’s go have another round of Musical Homes for Callum.” Frowning, David caught the subtle way that the teen pronounced his name. Thinking nothing of it, he led the boy to the garage. An hour later, they stood on the doorstep of a two-story townhouse with an attached garage. Located in a quiet part of town, the house looked as if someone used Pepto-Bismol to paint it. The attached garage was a bonus, mostly because it gave him a place to store his beloved bike. So far, the house was fine. The town was okay, too, but he had yet to meet the family. When it came to them, Callum knew that they only played nice until the Worker left. To the family, he was a paycheck, a means to an end, and he hated it with an unabashed passion. The kids, if there were any, would act like he was beneath them just for being in the system. David rang the bell, and a woman answered the door. “Mrs. Kincade?” “Yes, can I help you?” She was model skinny with long brown hair that was tied back from her face in a ponytail. Callum rolled his eyes as he caught the indifference in her voice. David forced a smile. “I’m David Marks. We spoke on the phone about your new foster.” Something flashed in the woman’s eyes, but it was too fleeting to catch. “Oh, yes! I forgot you were coming today. We just got the room finished. Come in, please.” One last, longing look at his precious Kawasaki Ninja and Callum took a deep breath before following them inside. The front hall was unremarkable with flowery wallpaper but no pictures. A side door that had been left slightly open gave the teen a view of the garage. Yeah, he was sure that his bike would fit in there. They were led to a living room, where a sectional couch and stand-alone recliner sat facing a sixty-inch television. The surround-sound speakers could probably pound nice and loud. He would have to try them sometime when no one was home. His dark gaze settled on the man in the recliner. “Justin, honey, the new foster is here,” Mrs. Kincade smiled sweetly at the man. Schooling his features into a practiced smile that was about as warm as the Arctic, Justin got to his feet. Walking over, he shook David’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marks. I’m Justin Kincade.” He extended his hand to Callum, but the teen backed away. “I don’t do handshakes, sorry.” Unfazed, Justin gave the kid a once over and held back a sneer. “Alright then, no problem,” he said cautiously. “Why don’t you sit down and make yourself at home while we go hash out the details.” Callum jerked his head at the television. “Can I flip through the channels?” Justin picked up the remote and handed it to the teen. “Sure thing, kid. Help yourself.”