“Why don’t you drop me off right here,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “Headquarters is the other way. Don’t worry. Drop me off and go, do whatever you have to do.”
For the first time he looked at me as if there was more to me than met the eye.
“Are you certain?” he finally said.
“Yeah. Go. Don’t worry. I’ll call a taxi.”
“When I’m done, I’ll call you.”
He dropped me off and drove away. I looked around; this was unfamiliar territory. I pulled out my cell phone, ready to dial for a cab when I saw one come to a halt across the street. I squinted. It was orange and navy green. The cab plate number looked familiar and the driver did too. I rushed over.
A guy was approaching the vehicle when I intercepted.
“Sorry, sir,” I said, catching my breath. “Police business.” I waved my badge and got in.
“Police Headquarters. Fast,” I ordered the driver in a loud voice. He complied and put his foot on the pedal.
Once the guy was out of sight the driver slowed.
“You always do that,” said the driver in a slight accent. “He called for the taxi.”
“Hey, Mahmud,” I said, shocked. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“Yeah, sure,” replied Mahmud Hanif.
Mahmud always wore a Blue Jays baseball cap, even though he’s not a baseball fan, and below that a plaid shirt and a sports jacket. He once tried to explain to me the similarities between baseball and cricket. Not sure what they were because I don’t know anything about cricket or baseball, for that matter. He’s from Pakistan and he came to our fine land almost three years ago with his wife and four children. Back in his country he was a qualified engineer, but once he arrived here, his experience and education were thrown out the window. He tried desperately to secure a job-any job-in his field, but it always came down to his zero Canadian experience. With a large family, going back to school was not an option. So he started driving a taxi to put roti, so to speak, on the table.
“Mahmud,” I said. “How come I always end up meeting you?”
There are five million people in the Greater Toronto Area and somehow I always managed to run into people I knew. Maybe it was my dashing good looks and sharp intellect-gravitating people toward me. Or maybe it was coincidences that only happened to me. That was the story of my life. Jon Rupret, man of infinite probabilities.
“So where is your car? Towed again?” he said smiling.
“I am ashamed, Mahmud, that you would say that,” I leaned over to the front seat.
“It happened before. Many, many, many times,” he said. “So what are you really doing with no car?” Mahmud asked.
“I’m glad you asked,” I said. “I’m on a case. A covert operation.”
“Covert?”
“Secret, top secret, to be precise. What I tell you must never leave this vehicle.”
“Sure,” he said, humouring me.
“I’m serious. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Even some people I work with.”
“Then why tell me?”
“You know they have doctor-and-patient relationship? Lawyer-and-client relationship?”
“Yes.”
“You and I have passenger-and-taxi-driver relationship.”
“Yes, that’s very important.”
“So with our special relationship I can trust you. I know what I tell you will never leave this taxi.”
“You are correct.”
“I’m on a mission between good and evil.”
“Which side are you on?” he said. Then started to laugh.
“Very funny.” I said, slightly hurt. “Keep driving. No more of those smart-ass remarks or else our special relationship ends.”
“Sorry,” he said, still smiling.
“Like I was saying. There’s this new evil approaching our city and only one man can stop it-”
“-Sorry, I’m too busy driving taxi. Don’t have time.” Then he exploded.
“That’s it, Mahmud, our relationship ends right here.”
That didn’t bother him. He continued laughing.
“I’m warning you. I’ll find a new taxi driver. Someone who can appreciate our special relationship.”
“No, no. I’m sorry. Special relationship is very important.”
I sat back, crossing my arms. “Man, I was going to tell you everything. Now I’m not.” I pouted.
“No time. We are here,” he said looking at me through the rear-view mirror.
“So how much do I owe you?” I said putting my hand into my pocket.
“Forgot to turn on meter. Maybe next time,” he said.
Mahmud never charged me fare.
It happened eight months ago while I was driving through my usual route. I saw a taxi parked in front of a park with no driver in it. Parking around the park was not allowed. When I approached the vehicle, thinking I might get a tow, I heard a noise coming from the trunk. I pried it open and found the driver in bad shape. His was throat slashed, his palms bleeding, and he’d been stabbed in several places. I rushed Mahmud to the hospital. I guess I saved his life.
“You know you have to stop doing this,” I said.
“I forgot to turn on meter,” he repeated.
“I saved your life because it was my duty. If you keep doing this it could be seen as bribery; that’s illegal in this country, you know.”
“Next time I will turn on meter,” he smiled.
I patted him on the shoulder and smiled. “Thanks, buddy,” I said and got out.
EIGHT
Ms. Zee came back to find Joey in one piece. “Good, Kong, you behaved yourself,” she said, walking past him.
Kong didn’t smile. His features stayed the same: empty and devoid of any emotion.
“Ms. Zee,” said Martin. “We are still missing a chemist.”
“I have already solved that problem.”
“How?”
“Armand worked for Bantam Pharmaceuticals before he was fired, right? At Bantam, Armand worked in a team. He said there were others who influenced the design of the painkiller. Like him, some were also let go. We find these people and persuade them to continue our research.”
Martin thought about this. If Ms. Zee had an idea she rarely went against it. “How do you suggest we do that?”
She turned to Kong. “With Influence.”
There was renewed energy in Kong’s eyes now.
***
After having retrieved my car from Central Command Headquarters I drove back to Parking Enforcement Headquarters. I found Sergeant Motley in his office.
He was glad to see me. “Jon, how did it go?”
“Good, I guess,” I said. “Sir, I have an important question to ask you?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Can I still write parking tickets?”
“Um…No.”
“Not even part-time?”
“No.”
“On weekends?”
“No. Jon, what is really on your mind?” he said.
Motley could always sense something was bothering me.
“Do you know Phillip Beadsworth?”
“No, I can’t say I do. Why?”
“He’s my new partner.”
“You have a partner?” he asked, shocked.
“I’m not too proud of it. I don’t tell many people that.”
“Of course not,” he said..
“How about Andrew Aldrich?” I asked.
Motley’s brow furrowed. “I met him once at a charity event. Good man. Believes in authority. He doesn’t like those who disobey him. There was something about him and the drug squad but I can’t remember what that was all about. How are you two getting along?”
“Great,” I said. “I’m like a son to him.”
Motley didn’t believe me.
“What about Ronald Garnett?” I then asked.
“That name sounds familiar,” Motley said searching. Then his eyes lit up and his face went pale. “Jon, of course. I’m so sorry.”
I raised my hand up. “That’s all right. He and I will work something out.” It was more like he’d work me into a pulp.
“Who’s taken over my shift?” I asked.
“Calvert.”
“George Calvert?” I exhaled. “That man is no good. He’ll mess up all my clientele.”