Down with the Underdogs by Ian Truman

Author:Ian Truman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

Chapter 20

“Where the hell is he taking us?” Phil asked from the backseat.

We had no idea, but we had been driving for a while now. We had no idea how badly Karl had beaten Boulay, but he had hatred in his stare like I had rarely seen when he got out of that building.

It was the way he swung the truck’s door open. He drove right in front of us with that hundred-yard stare in his eye as he looked down the road. I still didn’t know if Boulay was alive or dead. I wasn’t gonna ask. It would have been important for me to know, but there was no asking questions now. I had given him the lead on this one, and you don’t back down on Karl.

So I shut up and tried to keep up with him the best I could. He headed north to the 40 and then navigated the mess of the Decarie Exchange better than anyone in a U-Haul should be allowed to. I could imagine all the crap we had piled up in there, smashing itself all together. I just felt glad I managed to keep up without ending up in Laval.

“Is he leading us to where I think he’s leading us?” Phil asked once we hit the West-Island suburbs.

We had all heard of Karl’s “cousins,” out around Cornwall. We had never met any of them or had no idea if they were family or just business partners. But you combined Cornwall and Karl Anderson, and that opened a world of possibilities.

Let’s just say we were glad to be on his side. I looked at Ryan, and he was smiling that wide, satisfied smile of his in anticipation of greatness.

Things could get glorious, all right, and it was contagious. I was feeling it, too. Heavy machinery could be involved, metal crushers or, even better, guns and maybe even explosives. He had talked about lots of bullets, so anything was on the table now.

This was the kind of thing that you only heard happened around Cornwall, Ontario, or shitholes like Joliette up the 40 highway.

We got off the highway just past the Ontario line. Headed for a farmer village named Alexandria. It was one of these vaguely distant places that was unequivocally Canadian. So close to a city of four million, but we could have been a hundred miles away and it would have felt the same. There was no one around here. No one. Thirty-five million people in the great white north, ninety-nine percent of the damn place was empty.

This time it felt like a blessing. I looked at the scenery. The field had been abandoned a long time ago. Grass was tall in thick blotches, and small trees grew here and there. The dirt road leading to it was messy, barely manageable, in fact. The truck dangled ahead of us. I could feel the car struggling in some of the mud. The thick wall of forests surrounded the field now, and not a plane in the sky to disturb us.

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