by Jonas Saul
He screamed like stuck dog as he dove for the driver’s cheek next.
His teeth missed their mark. The driver shouted in pain and, as the loss of a chunk of his ear registered, he lost control of the van.
The vehicle veered to the right with such force that Darwin shot forward across the driver’s lap.
In the next second, the van swerved sideways then lifted into the air and began to spin, flipping three times before it crashed down to the unforgiving cement highway.
Darwin’s back was braced against the steering wheel, his stomach across the driver’s stomach. When the van landed, he was thrust sideways, out of the front seat and toward the back, away from the breaking windshield. The driver moved along in front of him. When they hit the back door, the driver’s body connected first, snapping his back in two, his body broken in the middle like a twig.
The driver’s body cushioned Darwin, but almost dislocated his shoulder. The van’s impact with the road crushed the back doors as the roof caved in at least a foot.
The van slid along the highway for what seemed forever. Finally, it came to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Darwin heard dirt and rocks slide under the van’s side wall.
With his hands still cuffed behind him, and his shoulder on fire, Darwin got up and crab-walked along the side of the van, which was now the floor.
Andre was dead. No doubt. The windshield had broken, cutting Andre. The oozing blood formed one big splotch of red across most of his body. Andre stared with open eyes, his jaw slack, and his neck broken so violently even the skin had snapped open, like a large, human Pez dispenser.
Darwin spotted the keys in the ignition, the engine still running. A small handcuff key dangled from the keyring.
With his hands cuffed behind him, he backed up and felt his way to the keys. His hands found the steering column. He felt his way up until his wrist bumped into the ring. He latched on and twisted, but they didn’t budge. He twisted the other way, and the keys turned. The engine shut off with a little protest. He leaned forward and yanked the keys from their slot.
He had to get out of the van. People would be coming. Cops would show up. He’d have too much explaining to do. Two men lay dead. It was his fault. The police would want to know how he came to be their prisoner. Too many questions, no good answers.
But what if people witnessed him running from the scene of an accident in handcuffs?
That was a risk he would have to take. It would be better for people to speculate about his intentions than for him to be in custody and know what he’d wanted to do.
Using caution, his anger dispelled like a dam broken open, Darwin stepped through the broken windshield and onto the hot pavement of the highway.
Cars raced by on the other side of the median. Some slowed to look at the accident. He glanced around the back of the van. A long line of cars were now parked, glinting in the noon-hour sun. Limousines, buses, trucks, Smart cars and bikes, all waiting to get around the accident.
He walked down the shoulder and into the ditch. After he’d gone twenty meters, a hole in the fence led to a large parking lot and what looked like a shopping center.
He still had his wallet and passport. He would go into the mall, buy new clothes and use their bathroom to get fixed up. Then he’d rent a car, or take a taxi, and head back into Rome.
It was time to call Special Agent Greg Stinsen, the lead FBI investigator tasked on the Fuccini Family meeting back in the abandoned hangar.
The one who said to call if Darwin ever needed anything.
They had tried to kill him. They had attempted to hurt his wife.
They’d gone too far.
He needed something now.
He needed the Fuccini Family boss on a spit.
Chapter 3
Rosina couldn’t help herself. The tears wouldn’t stop. Her hands shook and she felt like she was falling apart.
On the way to the airport, they had ridden the Terra Vision bus, but when she ran back to the bus area, it was gone. She found a different one idling at the airport that said one of their stops was Termini Station. She had gotten on and taken a seat.
Now they sat on the highway, not moving. An accident on the road ahead had temporarily blocked all the lanes heading into Rome, the driver had told them. It wouldn’t be long now.
She leaned out into the aisle and stared ahead at the top of a vehicle that had flipped onto its side. At least twenty cars separated her bus from the accident.
Wow, that was close. It would seriously suck if she got hurt in a random accident when she had stayed behind to help her man.
Her man. Her new husband. She couldn’t let him face this alone. Not after all they’d been through together. Years of fighting with their parents and their stupid, old-world customs. Her mother saying she should marry an Italian boy. His father saying he needed a nice Greek woman. Neither side not backing down. Her mother’s reaction had especially disappointed her. Rosina had expected better.
So Darwin had proposed the idea to elope to Rome. Get married in Rome as a show of respect to her family and honeymoon in Greece as a show of respect to his father. Deal with the repercussions later.
But now look at them. On the run, with someone trying to kill them, according to Darwin. Ridiculous. Everyone died that fateful night at the hangar. No one was alive to see Darwin hit that man. Besides, the guy was insane. How did he think he could kill that many people and expect to live?
What did her husband ever do? Accident, by definition, meant not intentional. He didn’t mean it. Darwin didn’t aim his Ford at the guy.
Rosina shook her head and looked out her window at the traffic rushing by the other way. She wiped at her eyes and took in a deep breath.
She would need to talk to somebody. The cops? The bad guys?
Who were they anyway? How could she find them?
She had no idea how things worked, nor did she want to know. She just wanted her husband back and she would do anything for him. Even risk staying in Rome and not running to Greece.
She’d waited too long to find the man of her dreams. She’d lost control, running around, laughing and screaming, when he came up with the idea to run to Rome. His book sales had shot through the stratosphere in the last two months after the news had labeled him the Hero of the Hangar. His picture ran in every newspaper across North America, detailing how he accidentally killed a mafia killer, with an American Ford Mustang. One sleazy paper even asked, was there any other way to deal with vermin?
The bus’s engine revved and the driver angled the bus closer to the railing at the median.
It took him a few minutes, but then the bus passed the accident. Rosina stretched in order to see out the window and tried to catch a look at the vehicle, but from her side, she only saw the top of the vehicle, which lay on its side door.
She eased back down and wondered what had happened to Darwin. Why couldn’t he be honest with her? Was it because he knew this is how she would respond? Did he know her that well already?
If so, she didn’t know him well enough. She should’ve figured out what was bothering him lately. She had noticed that he was out of sorts, but she didn’t push harder to find out why. Also, she couldn’t figure it out on her own when she should have.
Whatever happened in the next few days, Rosina would stand by her man. She would be there for him at all costs whether he liked it or not. It was the Italian way. It was her way.
Then, maybe, her parents would accept their relationship.
She’d show them. No one would push her around. People weren’t really out there killing each other. Life wasn’t an 1800s western with everyone and their neighbor toting guns and shooting each other.
Sure, there was crime. But there were laws and people couldn’t kill with impunity. She was in a civilized country, her ancestor’s country, and she would see any perpetrators of illegal activities put behind bars.
Worst case, she’d walk into the Canadian Embassy and demand her rights as a
citizen of one of the best countries in the world. That would be better than calling local authorities. Who knew how many were paid off.
Maybe that’s what she should do in the first place. Just go to the embassy and explain to them what was happening. Show them Darwin’s note. See what they could do.
No, first, she’d head back to the Hotel Luigi and get a room. She couldn’t make a wrong move. If she contacted the wrong people, Darwin could be in worse trouble. The decision on what to do grew increasingly stressful.
The bus entered the downtown area. She stared out the window at all the buildings as they passed the bus’s windows and yearned for Darwin to be sitting beside her. She didn’t think she could possibly miss him as much as she did at that moment.
It’s all their fault. Those fucking assholes will pay for screwing around my husband. Nobody does this to my family. Nobody.
The bus driver hit the horn as he angled into his spot and stopped.
The familiar Termini Station bustled around her as people milled about. She got off in turn and started across the street toward her hotel. Her stomach growled, reminding her of how hungry she was. The worst feeling was flying on a full stomach, so she had eaten a small portion of the continental breakfast that morning, which was hours ago. After she checked in, she would stop and get something to eat. Or was that a diversion from doing what she knew she had to do, like contacting someone to tell them her husband had been kidnapped.
It struck her that she wasn’t being too cautious. What if Darwin’s pursuers were following her right now? What if they’d already killed her husband?
She stopped walking and turned around fast. People walked left, right and all around, but as far as she could tell, no one was paying any special attention to her.
She turned back around and stepped into the lobby of the Hotel Luigi. After running up the front stairs, the clerk informed her that they had a room available.
She walked up to the second floor and entered room twenty-seven. She parted the tall, white curtains, opened the long, slender doors and stepped out onto the balcony. To her surprise, it was the only room with a balcony. Rome bustled one floor below her. To the right sat the wall of Termini Station, to her left, open street.
She had to go to the police. Either that or the embassy. She saw Darwin get put into a van. There was no question he was in danger.
She took in a deep breath and turned back into the room. She closed and locked the balcony doors, grabbed her room key, fifty euros and locked the room behind her.
Standing in the hallway, it hit her. Could the men who had blocked traffic in the two Crown Victorias that morning, be connected to all this? Were they trying to get Darwin, even then, on the open, public highway? If they were, then these men, this organization, was fearless.
She descended the stairs to the lobby and then more stairs to the door that led outside.
A long, sleek limousine sat parked across from the open door.
The back door opened. A very large man in a suit two sizes too small stepped out and started toward the sidewalk. She watched him closely.
The man hit the sidewalk and turned her way.
Rosina looked away out of embarrassment. She didn’t normally stare at people. Today was different. She had to watch people. See who they were, what they were up to.
She had to consider, that after Darwin was done with the two men in that van at the airport, he would try to contact her. But now she felt she’d waited too long. She had to call the police as soon as possible.
She looked back. The man from the limousine stood behind her, glaring.
“Come with me.”
She looked him up and down. “I am not a call girl. You may have money, but it’s fuckin’ rude to assume.”
He grabbed her arm.
“Hey! Let go of me,” she said as she struggled.
He leaned in close. “Don’t resist if you ever want to see Darwin again.”
She went limp. This man was one of them. It was that easy. Check into the hotel and there they were.
Fine. She wanted to meet with them anyway. Give them a piece of her mind.
She allowed herself to be led to the limo. A door opened as they approached and the man with the small suit shoved her inside.
“Hey!” she yelled again. “There’s no need.”
The man jumped in behind her and even before his door was shut, the vehicle got underway.
Rosina righted herself, adjusted her blouse and sat back in the leather seat. The man who grabbed her sat to her right. Another man sat facing her in a backward-facing seat aimed at hers. Both men were grinning. She had no idea why, but they were.
“You two wanna tell me what the joke is?”
They looked at each other and then both turned their attention on her. The man who threw her in the limo said, “It’s over. That’s why we’re happy. We get to go home.”
“What’s over?”
“We have that rat bastard of a husband of yours and now we have you.”
“You have Darwin? Where?”
“We’re taking you to see him right now. Don’t worry, it won’t be long now.”
She looked out the window. If they already had Darwin, and they were taking her to where he was, what did that mean? When he said it was over, what could he mean? Home now? Where was home for these men?
Then she decided on another question.
“Was it your people who shot at us the other night?”
The man sitting across from her raised a hand to his companion. “I’ll handle her questions. This is the fun part. I like toying with my prey.”
“Prey? I’m nobody’s prey.” These disgusting brutes talked like animals.
“Whatever you think, missus. Yes, it was us.”
“Why would you shoot at us? If one of your bullets had hit me or my husband, you could’ve killed us.”
“We’re sorry. We weren’t trying to hit you. Believe me, if we were, we wouldn’t have missed.”
Confused, she asked, “Why were you trying to miss us? That doesn’t make sense, if you’re after my husband for accidentally killing that man.”
A smile played across his mouth. “We wouldn’t want either one of you to die so easily. We don’t believe in that. What kind of men would we be known as? Hit men? Hired guns? No, we like to hurt and kill people in unique ways.”
Even though she hadn’t eaten much, her stomach lurched and what little she had eaten threatened to come up. There was no way the man sitting across from her was telling the truth.
He continued. “If you’re still wondering why we would shoot at you, it was because we were hoping you’d call the police. They’d file a report and then we’d know where you were staying. All the time you’ve been in Rome, we’ve been trying to find where you two were staying. We hadn’t got permission yet from the ruling families here to do our business, so we had to wait, collect information. We knew we were running out of time, so we thought we’d try to run you over, shoot at you, get you to call the police. But that didn’t work. Then we found out you were headed for the airport, and we just got granted our permission. So we made our move, and here we are, nice and cozy.”
He was lying. He had to be. “How would having us call the police help you?” she asked.
He laughed and shook his head a little. He had bad teeth and five-day old beard. The guy looked unkempt, and yet he acted cocky and cool like he was in disguise.
“You really don’t know who we are, do you? You aren’t aware of our world? How men like us have police on the payroll? How politicians, back home in Canada, do what we want? You live in your ivory towers and look down at us, not having any idea that we’re the ones who make the world go ‘round. You fucking whore,” his voice rose in volume. “You fucking slut. You have no idea what you’re in for.”
Rosina didn’t think of herself as stupid or naive. She knew there were people like the man in front of her in the same world as her. But why would they hurt innocent, regular folk li
ke Darwin and her. She was barely twenty-five years old. She’d never even been in a fight except for a little hair-pulling in grade school. As far as dealing with difficult people, Darwin had only ever dealt with his stepmother. But now these people were on their case. Apparently, they had Darwin. Now they had her. What was next? They would kill Darwin and her? No, she wouldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it.
No way. I will deal with this and I will walk away. Darwin and I will live a long life together and men like this will be the ones who die young.
She watched Rome flash by.
“My name is the Harvester of Sorrow,” the unkempt man said. “I’m the distributor of pain. Do you like that?”
