“Where is it located.”

Shriveling under Larkin’s unrelenting gray stare, Reynold reluctantly gave him the address of a commercial facility in Bushwick that he mailed payments to, and one in East Harlem where he retrieved his packages. “He went by Archie Bunker.”

Larkin rolled his eyes while he pulled the addresses up on his phone to confirm they were legitimate, still-existing locations. “Why did Marco have one of those photos in his possession,” he eventually asked.

“I don’t know. I have no idea. I swear to God.”

“God doesn’t give a shit what you say,” Larkin stated, tucking his cell back in his pocket. “Did Marco find out about you and your buddy.”

“I don’t know,” Reynold repeated. “I found out Marco died the next day, at school, like everyone else.”

Larkin felt as if he were running face-first into a wall.

Like the world was hellbent on proving that even a star detective and shepherd of the dead and forgotten couldn’t win them all, save them all, or remember them all.

Taking a deep breath and recollecting himself, Larkin reconsidered the clues at present and asked instead, “Who’s Creepy Dicky.”

Reynold groaned and turned his head away.

Larkin snapped his fingers in front of Reynold’s face. “Look at me when I talk to you.”

“He’s just some homeless schitzo.”

“Mr. Reynold,” Larkin began with a frown. “Need I remind you, I was tased earlier this afternoon, and suffice it to say, I am not in a particularly amicable mood. So if you bullshit me one more time—”

“He—he was just someone Archie mentioned in the old forums!” Reynold wailed, his mustache quivering so much that it looked like it’d sprout wings and fly away. “After the YEC closed down, I guess Archie kept in touch with Dicky. He’d posted that he had a point of contact who knew the kids, where they went for free meals or what tunnels they slept in. The kids are always changing, like… like a revolving door. But Dicky knows them all.”

“And when Archie, whom I presume is the individual you were texting on that burner phone, ceased all communication, did you take it upon yourself to find Dicky and his band of Lost Boys.”

Reynold hesitated.

Larkin narrowed his eyes a second time.

“Archie let slip enough details over the years that I was able to piece together the area that Dicky panhandled when above ground. And about a year ago, I saw him waiting in line for lunch at St. Jude’s Mission over on the East Side—that’s his neighborhood. It’s rich, you know? And lots of kids go to St. Jude’s, but you can’t… you can’t approach them there.”

“Yes, whatever would Jesus think of you, preying on the weak in his own home,” Larkin said. “Why the falling out with Archie after all these years.”

“I wish I knew,” Reynold answered. “The forums closed years ago. The only regular communication we’ve had since then is through burner numbers. Do you think he’s been hurt?”