Jonas Saul - The Kill

Darwin waited a breath and then looked down. Written in pencil, he read the words: FBI listening.

He looked up and nodded so subtly that only she could tell.

“Go, Darwin. The car is two rows up. Push the lock button, the horn will honk to help you find it,” she whispered. Then she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Save my daughter again. Get the bastards who have done this to you two. I heard what you did in Rome for Rosina. I’m proud to call you my son-in-law, even if the men running to this table right now don’t think so. You’re a real man, Darwin. Now, get out of here.”

Darwin squeezed her hand back and jumped up from his chair so fast he knocked it over. He ran for the Starbucks door, spilling empty chairs behind him to block his pursuers’ path.

He hit the door in full sprint and bolted for the second row of cars. He recognized the two-door BMW convertible right away.

One look over his shoulder, and he saw two men coming out of the Starbucks behind him.

He made the car, dropped into the front seat, cranked the engine with the stick already in first, and popped the clutch. Spinning out of the parking spot, his door slammed shut with the forward motion.

He saw the two men coming to a stop in the rear view mirror.

There was only one place to go. He had no leads on any mafia family members. He knew nothing about them, where they hunkered down, or where they did business.

But there was one place he knew where this had all started. One particular store where he tried to do the right thing and now he was paying for it.

The store where he had to shop, even though he hated going in there, for the mint tree lotion that Rosina had grown to love so much. He’d read about it online and looked everywhere for it, until one day someone said you don’t go to the Body Shop in the mall for that. You go to an adult store.

The same adult store in Mississauga where he bought his wife her lotion. The same adult store where a man had carelessly dropped a piece of paper that had the address to Buttonville’s old airport location and the time for that night’s meeting. The note had said group therapy for phobia sufferers.

When Darwin picked up the paper, he read the heading quickly to see if it was worthless, and then tapped the man on the shoulder to hand it back to him. The two words phobia sufferers had caught his eye.

He’d gotten a cold stare, handed the man the note, looked away and went to buy his wife her mint tree.

It was the same man he killed later that night when he’d ventured out there, in the dark, which he would never normally do, to see if he could join or sign up for the group therapy on phobias in his yearning to heal even more so Rosina didn’t have to live with his worst moments. He had wondered why it wasn’t being held in a doctor’s office or a counseling office. The fact that he had decided to go in the dark would be a step in the right direction and maybe he would have triggers to deal with that could be talked about during the session if he could stay.

It was all for his wife.

But that man, Vincenzo, had stumbled in front of his Ford and with the interior light on, Darwin hadn’t seen him until it was too late.

It all started at the adult store.

It would all end there too.

Alfred came up and knocked on her door an hour later. She lay spread-eagle on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“They’re gone,” he said through the door.

She didn’t answer him. She lay there, happy as hell that her parents were okay, but missing Darwin so much it hurt.

“Rosina, can we talk?”

“What do you want?”

“Can I open the door?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry. I agree, the FBI looks like a bunch of bumbling fools here. Remember, though, it’s not me. I just came on duty. I, personally, didn’t do this stupid stuff. So if you need someone to talk to… I’m here.”

She waited a moment. “You can open the door.”

The knob turned and he opened the door. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I have news. It’s not good, but it’s not bad either.”

“What is it? Just tell me.”

“We have visual confirmation that Darwin is alive and well.”

She turned her head and looked at him sideways. “Where is he? Are you bringing him here?”

“Not exactly. He met with your mother at a Starbucks in Mississauga.”

“Darwin went to a Starbucks? He must be on the run for sure,” she said and smiled, attempting humor.

Alfred frowned.

“Never mind. Go on.”

“He met with your mother, and she gave him the keys to her car. He left in her BMW when my colleagues tried to talk to him.”

“So now he’s running from the FBI. You guys must be really scary. Or do you think it’s because he’s figured it all out and doesn’t trust the very people we’re supposed to trust?”

Alfred dropped his head a little and looked at the carpet. “I guess we deserve that.”

“Damn right. Now, tell your colleagues to get the real bad guys and stop worrying about my husband.”

Alfred stepped out and clicked her door shut.

Rosina rolled into a ball and prayed it would all end soon.

#

When Greg interviewed him over and over and took his statement the night Vincenzo was run down, Darwin never revealed the adult store connection. He couldn’t allow Rosina to know he would ever visit a place like that.

It wasn’t a bad thing. Many good people shopped in stores like that. He was sure of it. He was a good person. He shopped there.

It was more about her preconceived notions of what an adult store represented. Pornography, smut, low-lifes, and sexual deviants. Sure, in some of the trashier places, there could be an element of that. But in the nicer ones, it was a real store with real products for men and women and loving couples.

Darwin believed it was something Rosina would accept better in years to come, but so far, in their relationship, anything too deviant had been taboo. He was fine with that. Their sex life was great. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell her where he bought the mint tree bottle yet.

But after this mess was cleared up and behind them, he’d have to tell her. She was his wife now and that meant honesty. Full disclosure. There could be no other way to live.

He pulled into the store’s access ramp and parked in the middle of the lot, leaving the car idling, checking in all four directions to see if anyone watched.

Five minutes later, satisfied he hadn’t been followed and no one spied on him, Darwin turned the car off and got out.

He locked the door and leaned against the side of the car, taking in the area. He couldn’t make any mistakes. If this was a mobster hangout, he could very easily walk in and be killed. He had to be sure. He had to careful.

This was end-game stuff.

He was tired of running. He couldn’t live like this all his life. There was no way. Rosina needed a calmer existence. He needed a calmer existence. He couldn’t produce another novel if the stress level remained this high. These people and their sick, pathetic code of ethics weren’t just fucking with his life and his wife, they were fucking with his livelihood too.

That meant if he was on the run for the next few years under the threat of death, he wouldn’t be able to write well, thereby not able to provide for his wife.

Then he thought of Salman Rushdie and his book, The Satanic Verses.

“Oh shit, he did it, didn’t he,” Darwin said to himself. If Salman could run from the Ayatollah in Iran, with millions in bounty for his head, and live to publish again, then Darwin could run from a few mafia boys.

But still, this had to end. No justifications, no figuring things out and making deals. Nothing but a complete cease of all pursuit. The only way Darwin would achieve that was to kill the man who sent out the order.