Mafia Trilogy 03 - The Scythe (12 page)

He lunged across Williams and pushed open the door on Kirk’s side. Then he shoved Kirk’s shoulder until he fell out sideways, the whole time watching as Scott exited the vehicle, still holding his arm. The driver got out and stood by the back door.

“Can I help Williams?” the driver asked.

“Get him to the grass over there,” Darwin said.

He rested the gun on the back of the seat as the driver put a hand under Kirk’s shoulders and half dragged him away from the car.

Scott’s face had gone white.

“You’re going to be okay,” Darwin shouted at him over the noise from the traffic racing by. “Tell the driver that I want Kirk’s jacket and everyone empty their wallets of cash.”

Scott didn’t move.

At any moment the Ontario Provincial Police highway patrol could pull up and it would all be over. He had no patience for Scott. He turned the weapon, aimed it at Scott’s foot and pulled the trigger. The bullet kicked up dirt not an inch from Scott’s toes.

“Shit, I missed.”

Scott jumped and started to run away.

“Hey, I will shoot you in the back.” Scott stopped running and nearly fell. “Get me Williams’ jacket and I want the cash. Do it now or you will die on the edge of this highway.”

Darwin kept the gun trained on them as he pulled the backseat door closed. Then he crawled over the seat and dropped down into the front. Scott had made it to the driver and Williams, who was looking a lot better. The driver helped him out of his jacket and collected cash from all three wallets.

Then he took a few steps toward the vehicle.

“You aren’t going to shoot me too, are you?”

“Do you want to be shot?” Darwin asked.

He shook his head violently. “I’m just the driver.”

“Bullshit. FBI don’t have
drivers.
You’re either an agent or RCMP. Now bring me everything I’ve asked for. After that, walk back to them. Do that and you will not get shot. You have my word.”

He moved closer. At the open passenger door, he extended his arm, set the cash 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 stood behind the counter.

“We’ve got a variety of scythes, from sixteen-inch blades to fifty-inch. It all depends on your needs.”

“I need something small for close contact, I mean, culling closely spaced saplings.” He thought that part sounded good.

“In that case, you might want to go with an eighteen-inch ditch blade or a sixteen-inch.”

For what Darwin wanted, he couldn’t buy the large ones with long wooden staffs. They would see him coming a mile away. He had to go with the smallest blade attached to a handle the length of a hammer with a little finger-grip piece on the handle.

“I’ll take two of these.”

“You’ll need a whetstone and a whetstone holder.”

“What’s that?”

The clerk showed him the holder and how it clipped onto his belt and what to do with the whetstone.

“You could go one step farther and get a small anvil and peening hammer so it’s easier to dress the blade in the field. Got to keep it sharp, you know.”

“No, that’s okay. The whetstone will be enough.”

After he paid, the clerk threw in two blade covers.

Darwin walked back out onto Yonge Street with his new assault weapons tucked under his arm.

He had over a hundred bucks left from the cash, but he wouldn’t need any of it until later. He had bought what he needed for the next step and he had a destination in mind.

On the way to kill some Russians, he stopped for an extra large coffee and drank it back as fast as he could without burning his mouth.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 12

Darwin stayed in the shadows across the street from the Russian restaurant on Queen Street where he’d met Yuri and studied the faces of everyone entering or leaving.

Mentally, he had crossed a line. He knew it and he was okay with it. The good part of him had evaporated and in its place was only hate. He no longer feared them or was angry at his enemies. They were enemies and needed to be treated as such.

The Mafia, whether it was the Italians or the Russians, were at war with his family. The FBI was doing nothing about it. No one was being arrested, no one questioned. The Mafia had kidnapped his wife, shot Carson Dodge, and decapitated Greg Stinsen, and the FBI was sitting on their collective hands while Rosina was still in danger.

If the Red Mafia could do whatever they wanted and still walk the streets, then so could Darwin. If the FBI wasn’t prepared to do anything about this mess, then
he
would.

It was time to set things right. Time to send a message. All the addresses of known clubs, bars and restaurants owned by or affiliated with the Russian Mafia in the Toronto area had been in the folder Special Agent Williams had given him. Along with that were dozens of photos of Mafia men and associates. All those photos and addresses were folded neatly in Darwin’s back pockets. As he dealt with them, he would pull their pictures out, rip them up and discard them.

He knew he couldn’t walk into the restaurant, pull the scythes out and not expect a bullet. He would need to use Williams’ and Scott’s guns. Then he would use the scythes.

He stepped from the shadows. It was after ten at night and he had other stops to make. After he crossed Queen Street, he walked up to the window of the restaurant and just like on his first night here, peeked inside past a little white curtain. Only five people were inside. Four men were sitting at one table halfway down and the bartender stood behind the bar. They all looked Russian.

Darwin moved to the door, pulled out William’s gun, concealed it beside his leg, and opened the door. He slipped inside and pulled the door closed, latching the thumb lock.

He took a couple of deep breaths through his open mouth, lifted his hoodie over his head, and turned into the main part of the restaurant, his gun hand behind his butt. The four men turned to see who had entered.

The bartender had been wiping glasses behind the bar. Darwin stopped ten feet from him and he set down the glass in his hand.

“You look for someone?” the bartender asked in a heavy Russian accent.

Darwin figured the four men would be armed, but he had forgotten that bartenders always had a weapon behind the bar. Once the shooting started, he would have to duck down somewhere, find shelter.

But where?

He moved sideways toward the table where Yuri had eaten the night he was here.

“Hey, he ask you question,” one of the four men at the table said, his accent also heavy. “Why your hand behind your back?”

He was in too far. There was no other choice now. There was no way he could walk backwards out of the restaurant. At any second, one of the four men was going to demand to know what he was doing in their establishment if he didn’t act more like a customer.

He stood beside Yuri’s table now. The bartender had moved closer to the bar, no doubt getting closer to a weapon.

Next time I need to come in with guns blazing.

“I’m looking for Yuri Pavel,” Darwin said.

“He ain’t here. We’ll tell him you were by.”

“How about Arkady?”

The four men looked at each other. Then the speaker stood up. “How you know Arkady? Who are you? Pull that hoodie off.”

“One of them has my wife. Until I find her …”

“Yeah, until you find her what?”

“Until I find her, I will kill every Russian I encounter—”

A weapon fired from somewhere behind him, and everyone jumped. Darwin’s legs were already weak and shaking. He slipped to the floor when the gunshot startled him. Glass from the front window cascaded down in a high-pitched tinkling sound.

He spun his head around to see a man outside on the sidewalk aiming a gun at him through the broken glass of the restaurant window.

Darwin brought up William’s gun and fired as fast as he could, hoping to beat the shooter.

He did. The bullet hit the man in the left cheek. A squirt of blood shot out and the man’s face disappeared from the window.

Another loud bang, this time from inside the restaurant. Chunks of wood broke off the table beside Darwin’s head, a couple of them lodging in his face.

He turned in time to see the bartender cocking a shotgun. Darwin aimed and emptied Kirk’s gun in the bartender’s direction, screaming as each bullet left the barrel. The gun clicked on empty. He tossed it aside and dropped down flat as more bullets whizzed by him.

Now the foursome was shooting at him.

He brought up Scott’s gun and peeked through a small hole in the table. The four men had scattered. Two were behind an upturned table just as Darwin was. The other two were behind pillars near the back. He applied the gun to the hole in the table, aimed it as best as he could and emptied it in the direction of the two men by the pillars.