Jonas Saul - The Kill

He had the perfect spot to do the exchange. Fuccini would be pissed.

He also had a surprise for him.

No one would see it coming.

Darwin drove to the abandoned hangar, parked a kilometer away and sat in the BMW as the sun began its drop behind the horizon. He had his bear spray, a new flashlight and a new portable cell phone. As soon he had picked the phone up at the Rogers store, he programmed Fuccini’s number in it and then Isabella’s phone number.

Those would be the only two numbers he’d need.

He laid his head back on the seat while he waited. Ten minutes remained before he would call Fuccini.

On the heavy metal satellite radio station, Stone Sour’s lead singer, Corey Taylor, screamed about being reborn.

How appropriate, he thought.

Deep breathing, controlled thoughts and a prayer were all he had. Rosina was out there somewhere with the FBI, men he couldn’t trust anymore. His father was in peril and many people would probably die in the next few hours.

All because of Vincenzo. All because of vendettas, revenge and a mistakenly placed example of honor. How did doing the right thing get so fucked up? Why did humans have to kill each other in order to survive?

He steeled himself to get ready, make the call. It had to be done.

His father was old, frail. Darwin knew his dad would die for his son. But it wouldn’t end there. Eventually Fuccini would catch up with him and Rosina. A month from then, a year, five years. Fuccini wouldn’t stop. This was the only way. And if Darwin died, it was better than living with that threat over his head for another day.

Tonight, either Fuccini or Darwin would die.

He flipped off the radio and dialed Fuccini.

“Where?”

“The old abandoned airplane hangar in Buttonville. Bring my father. Don’t be too long, and you, personally, had better be here. I will not be giving myself up to a bunch of amateurs. I’m not a fan of the dark and the sun is setting, so hurry.”

Before Darwin hung up he could tell how much coming to the hangar upset Fuccini by his tell-tale gasp. The death of his son took place on the hangar’s soil. It would prove to be quite unsettling for Fuccini to visit the area.

But it was appropriate for two reasons. The shit all started here and it was the site of the Hangar Peace Accord. After tonight, there would be peace.

Darwin grabbed everything he needed, got out of the car, shut the door quietly and stepped away, but not before turning on the flashlight. He dropped the cell phone in his back pocket and the bear spray in the other pocket.

The walk to the hangar would take no time at all, but he wanted to walk the perimeter, walk down the road on the other side a little ways and see what was around in case he needed to escape fast.

He heard motorcycles in the distance.

Good. Right on time.

He smiled to himself as everything seemed to be coming together.

“How come it took me two hours of losing control, running through the neighborhood and knocking on people’s doors to get you to listen to me?”

“Rosina, you have done great harm here. That was a good safe house. We’ll have to sell it now. People will talk. You’ve cost the bureau a great deal of money.”

She looked out the car window as the exit for Newmarket raced by. They were on their way to Brampton so she could be with her parents.

Alfred had gotten a call with news, but said he had to wait exactly two hours before he’d hear more. Then, almost on the dot, his phone rang when they were already on the highway.

Apparently, the agents had felt that putting them together and pooling their resources on trying to track Darwin would be better than having Rosina an hour away in Barrie.

“Alfred, I appreciate how kind you’ve been. Trust me when I say that. But understand something else. I could fucking care less how much money I cost the bureau. The Federal Bureau of Investigation professionals have cost me a husband, a life. I’ve had my honeymoon ruined by the Fuccini family and now Darwin is out there, alone, because of the FBI fuck-up, and now the sun is setting. So let’s agree to disagree and just get me to my parents house.”

“Fine,” Alfred said, staring straight ahead.

She couldn’t wait to talk to her mother since she had actually seen Darwin. He’d been hard to pick out, she’d said, with what he’d worn.

My Darwin, she thought. Always fucking around.

An amateur at disguises, a man who just wants to read books, watch movies and eat nice dinners at fine restaurants. A writer. A Canadian white boy who loves Bob amp; Doug McKenzie and hockey, touts back bacon and cannot get enough of saying ‘eh’. Her husband. Her man. Lost out there, alone, trying to stay alive.

She would do anything for him as he had demonstrated the same to her. But she couldn’t help if she sat around a fancy house in Barrie, cut off from what was happening in Toronto.

She had to get back and she made a point of explaining that, albeit in a rash way, but effective nonetheless.

When she looked up and saw the sign for the 407 west, which would take them to Brampton, she was surprised to see Alfred merge, heading for the 407 east.

“Alfred, you’re going the wrong way.”

He ignored her. He didn’t say anything or even look at her in the mirror.

“Alfred, turn onto the west, not east. Brampton’s the other way. Alfred!”

The car missed the exit. They were now turning along the ramp that would take them east toward Scarborough and Pickering.

“Alfred!”

A Plexiglass window started to rise between the front and back seats. She reached out and grabbed the top of it, but no amount of force would stop its ascent.

“Alfred!” she screamed.

Rosina pulled her fingers out in time just as the dividing window hit the ceiling.

Both back doors audibly snapped into the locked position. She watched as Alfred reached forward and turned on the radio. Through the Plexiglass divider, she could barely hear Berlioz performing his Symphonie Fantastique.

“Alfred!” she shouted, banging on the Plexiglass. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t respond. She knew, wherever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

The hope she felt on the altar, days ago, for a life with Darwin, had many holes in it.

Her hope disintegrated and fell apart as the man in the front seat drove her to a meeting with fate that she’d rather take a pass on.

Darwin had scoured the entire property as much as he could. More Harleys had arrived, but Richard H had all of them park well off the property and had everyone ferried in.

It had taken too long, but the job was done, according to Richard.

“We’re ready. My men know what to do. You better come through on your end.”

Darwin knew a threat when he heard one. He seemed to be getting so many lately that even thinly veiled ones were easy to detect. They didn’t have the effect on him they once had.

“Richard. I will write the book. I will promote it. I will make sure people know what I wrote about your bike club in my previous novel was fictitious and that this novel is the real thing, the real deal. We’re cool.”

Darwin held the flashlight at his face, aimed off a little so it didn’t bother his eyes.

“Biker gangs aren’t all about violence, extortion and drugs like the media portray us,” Richard said.

He stood there swinging a chain in his hand. He had a metal baseball bat leaning against the hangar wall behind him.

Yeah, right. Nothing violent about you.

“What you wrote in that other book caused a couple of our guys to leave the club. We got a reputation to keep.”

“I know,” Darwin said. “And I’m going to fix the damage I did. That’s why I called you. I just need you, as an extension of good faith, to help me with my problem here.”