down on the seat in a pile and tossed the jacket in. It rolled off the seat and dropped onto the floor.
“I need a cell phone too.”
“In the glove box. We have extras.”
“Step away from the car. Go back to them and call an ambulance.”
Darwin dropped the car into drive and slammed his foot on the accelerator. He pulled away so fast, the passenger door shut on its own.
He hit the Sheppard Avenue exit, turned left and raced east. Five blocks down, he turned onto a side road, parked and collected the cash from the seat. He slipped into the suit jacket, slipped a gun into each pocket, and got out of the car, the keys in his hand. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the glove box where he found two cell phones. Then he changed his mind. They could probably trace him wherever he went. He reached across the backseat and snatched up the manila folder.
After shutting the door, he waited a minute to let his heart slow down. Then he crossed the street and walked up to two young men loitering by a tattoo parlor.
“Here,” he said. “Take these.” He tossed the car keys at the bigger guy. “It’s yours.” He pointed at the Crown Victoria he just walked away from.
“Is it hot?” the guy asked as he passed them.
“Not at all. I’m moving to Europe and don’t need it.” He turned around to face them and continued walking backwards. “I didn’t have time to sell it, so it’s yours. Have fun.”
He mixed in with the crowd of pedestrians and disappeared on the streets of Toronto.
Chapter 11
Darwin spent the day shopping, picking up new clothes and discarding the old. As soon as he looked completely different in jeans and a hoodie sweater, he grabbed a cab to Woodbridge, and five minutes later, took a cab to Brampton. After a ten-minute wait, he took a cab downtown Toronto, making sure to always use a different cab company. He needed it to be virtually impossible for the authorities to follow his trail. He had a full meal at a chicken restaurant downtown, courtesy of the FBI cash his friends happily left on the front seat of their Crown Victoria for him.
During the early evening, he kept his head down, watched his back and searched out a knife shop on Yonge Street. As the sun dipped behind the skyscrapers and the beginnings of dusk fell upon the streets, Darwin entered a large knife shop that sold almost every type of weapon he’d ever seen. Samurai swords hung suspended behind the counter. Cases displayed a myriad from Swiss army knives up to hunting knives.
He could never have entered the store three weeks ago. Not with his phobia of sharp and pointy things. Being around knives, seeing them this close, would’ve driven him into a rage. But now, after the swelling and induced coma, his phobias had disappeared.
I had a phobia of knives and now I’m looking to buy one. I must be crazy.
“Can I help you?”
A young man wearing a collar shirt and a tie stepped up to him. He was clean shaven and wore glasses.
“You work here?” Darwin asked.
“Yeah. Were you expecting someone else?”
“No, you just don’t look the type.”
“The type? Should I have tattoos, a nose ring, a shirt with cutoff sleeves?” he joked. Then he narrowed his eyes, smiled, and pointed at Darwin in a friendly gesture. “Are you stereotyping me?”
“No, I just …”
“It’s okay. I get that all the time. This is my shop. What are you looking for?”
“A scythe.”
“A scythe? What are you thinking of cutting with it?”
“Why do you need to know that?” Darwin snapped before he could stop himself.
“It’ll help to determine the size and kind of blade.”
“Oh, ahh, grass. I need it for grass.”
“Come with me.”
Darwin followed the clerk through the store. Under the counter were small, handheld scythes. Larger ones, some as tall as Darwin with a long wooden handle
“I need a cell phone too.”
“In the glove box. We have extras.”
“Step away from the car. Go back to them and call an ambulance.”
Darwin dropped the car into drive and slammed his foot on the accelerator. He pulled away so fast, the passenger door shut on its own.
He hit the Sheppard Avenue exit, turned left and raced east. Five blocks down, he turned onto a side road, parked and collected the cash from the seat. He slipped into the suit jacket, slipped a gun into each pocket, and got out of the car, the keys in his hand. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the glove box where he found two cell phones. Then he changed his mind. They could probably trace him wherever he went. He reached across the backseat and snatched up the manila folder.
After shutting the door, he waited a minute to let his heart slow down. Then he crossed the street and walked up to two young men loitering by a tattoo parlor.
“Here,” he said. “Take these.” He tossed the car keys at the bigger guy. “It’s yours.” He pointed at the Crown Victoria he just walked away from.
“Is it hot?” the guy asked as he passed them.
“Not at all. I’m moving to Europe and don’t need it.” He turned around to face them and continued walking backwards. “I didn’t have time to sell it, so it’s yours. Have fun.”
He mixed in with the crowd of pedestrians and disappeared on the streets of Toronto.
Chapter 11
Darwin spent the day shopping, picking up new clothes and discarding the old. As soon as he looked completely different in jeans and a hoodie sweater, he grabbed a cab to Woodbridge, and five minutes later, took a cab to Brampton. After a ten-minute wait, he took a cab downtown Toronto, making sure to always use a different cab company. He needed it to be virtually impossible for the authorities to follow his trail. He had a full meal at a chicken restaurant downtown, courtesy of the FBI cash his friends happily left on the front seat of their Crown Victoria for him.
During the early evening, he kept his head down, watched his back and searched out a knife shop on Yonge Street. As the sun dipped behind the skyscrapers and the beginnings of dusk fell upon the streets, Darwin entered a large knife shop that sold almost every type of weapon he’d ever seen. Samurai swords hung suspended behind the counter. Cases displayed a myriad from Swiss army knives up to hunting knives.
He could never have entered the store three weeks ago. Not with his phobia of sharp and pointy things. Being around knives, seeing them this close, would’ve driven him into a rage. But now, after the swelling and induced coma, his phobias had disappeared.
I had a phobia of knives and now I’m looking to buy one. I must be crazy.
“Can I help you?”
A young man wearing a collar shirt and a tie stepped up to him. He was clean shaven and wore glasses.
“You work here?” Darwin asked.
“Yeah. Were you expecting someone else?”
“No, you just don’t look the type.”
“The type? Should I have tattoos, a nose ring, a shirt with cutoff sleeves?” he joked. Then he narrowed his eyes, smiled, and pointed at Darwin in a friendly gesture. “Are you stereotyping me?”
“No, I just …”
“It’s okay. I get that all the time. This is my shop. What are you looking for?”
“A scythe.”
“A scythe? What are you thinking of cutting with it?”
“Why do you need to know that?” Darwin snapped before he could stop himself.
“It’ll help to determine the size and kind of blade.”
“Oh, ahh, grass. I need it for grass.”
“Come with me.”
Darwin followed the clerk through the store. Under the counter were small, handheld scythes. Larger ones, some as tall as Darwin with a long wooden handle
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