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Toronto, June 8
12:25 p.m.
The cabby knew where he was going, gliding east on the 409 from the airport. Allan sat in the backseat, watching billboards, road signs, and other vehicles whip past. Classical music, low and relaxing, drifted from the speakers behind his head. The taxi itself was clean, but the carpet and fabric seats gave off an odor of stale cigarettes. He could already feel his nose begin to itch.
“First time in TO?” the cabby asked.
Allan looked over, met his eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Second,” he said, and winced at the memory of him and Melissa driving through Toronto eight years ago on their way to Niagara Falls for their honeymoon.
The cabby bobbed his head several times. He was a slight man with wheatish skin and a South Asian cast to his face, yet he spoke without a trace of an accent.
“Where you from, buddy?” he asked.
“Halifax.”
“Here on business?”
“No. I came up to see my son.”
“How old is he?”
“He’ll be seven on Thursday.”
The cabby took a hand off the wheel and wagged a finger. “Ahh, you’re here to surprise him?”
Allan smiled. “He knows I’m coming.”
“Okay. Long time since you saw him?”
“Nine months.”
The cabby skipped into the left lane, shot past a tractor-trailer, then pulled over in front of it.
“You must be excited,” he said, flicking another glance to the mirror.
Allan nodded. “I am.”
“And your son too, I bet.”
“I hope so.” Allan chuckled softly. “What about you? Any kids?”
The cabby held up two fingers. “Two sons. Maruf is fourteen. Shahin is eleven.”
“Cool. Have you always lived in Toronto?”
“Been here thirty-eight years. I came over with my mother and brother in seventy-one when the war with Pakistan broke out.”
Allan thought a moment, didn’t know offhand what war he was talking about. “I think I need to brush up on my history.”
“Bangladesh,” the cabby said.
“Okay, yes. Now I remember.”
“Much hardship then. Still is.”
“You must’ve been young. I mean, you don’t look that old.”
“I was five. My father...he martyred himself for our independence. Two of my mother’s sisters were killed. Bad, bad times.”
Allan frowned, shook his head. “War is hard on everyone.”
“Sometimes war is necessary. Most times, not.”
Allan nodded and left it at that. He looked at the digital display on the meter and raised his eyebrows at the price. Already $34 and they were maybe five minutes out of the airport.
Through the windshield, he could see the flourish of high-rises against Toronto’s blue skyline. A huge LED sign over top of the roadway pointed out the exit for Weston Rd./Black Creek Dr. Just past it, the road swung up to the left, then to the right, and it came down on the other side to merge with the 401—a bustling and confusing quartet of expressways and collector lanes all divided by concrete barriers.
The cabby made a shoulder check and shifted over a lane.
“How long are you here for?” he asked.
“Not sure. I booked a room for a week. Work kept me from coming up sooner. I had wanted to take my son to see the Blue Jays. They just came off a three-game home stand against the Yankees. One of those games would’ve been nice to go see.”
“They went two for one against the Yankees.”
Allan nodded. “Yeah, I heard. Now they’re on the road for the next ten days. Won’t be back until the eighteenth.”
“Your son is a big Jays fan, huh?”
“More a big Leafs fan than anything. I thought it would be something nice to take him to.”
“Leafs?” The cabby snorted, rocked his head back and forth. “Bad, so bad.”
Allan laughed. “Yep.”
“There’s a lot to see in TO.”
“I have a couple of things on my agenda. The Hockey Hall of Fame. The Toronto Zoo.”
“The zoo, yes.” The cabby held up a thumb of approval. “Been there a couple times with the family. Big place. Monkeys, big cats, rhinos. You name it.”
“Is it far from my hotel?”
“Twenty-minute drive. Thirty, if traffic is bad.”
Allan considered that. He wondered if he should rent a car, if he should even try to tackle the busy roadways of Toronto, which made the ones in Halifax seem tame by comparison. He had chosen a hotel close to Brian’s street address. At least on a map, it looked to be a walking distance away.
Up ahead, another sign announced Dufferin Street at two kilometers out, his destination. Soon the trees and fencing alongside the road gave way to flat rooftops and a cluster of billboards.
The taxi’s radio suddenly crackled to life with a voice like sandpaper. “Six-forty. Where are you?”
The cabby keyed the mike. “Nearing Yorkdale.”
“I need you at Thirty-seven hundred Lawrence Avenue.”
“Roger. Fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, Antu.”
The cabby followed the green sign for the Dufferin Street South exit. The Holiday Inn was right at the bottom of the off-ramp. He pulled up to the front doors beneath the carport and shifted into park.
“Fifty-five, please.”
Allan drew himself up in the seat and dug out his wallet from a back pocket, rifled through some bills. He handed the cabby $65.
As he felt the bills being slipped from his fingers, he asked, “Are you familiar with Anthony Road?”
The cabby paused a moment, the money held up in his hand. “Yes, I know Anthony.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Two blocks on the other side of the overpasses. There’s a Mini Mart on the corner. Can’t miss it.”
“How far is it?”
“One kilometer. You need to go there now?”
“No, no.” Allan checked his watch, 12:37. Brian was in school until 2:30 p.m. “I was just wondering if it would be easier to walk?”
The cabby shrugged. “Not far. Same amount of time by foot as by car.”
“Great,” Allan said. “Thanks for the drive.”
“Enjoy your stay in TO.”
As Allan stepped out of the taxi, the cabby pressed the trunk release. Allan took out his bags, hoisting the smaller one over his shoulder and setting the wheeled suitcase on the pavement. He closed the trunk and tapped the lid twice, lifted his hand in a wave to the cabby’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
He checked himself into the hotel, rode an elevator to the top floor. His first impression of his suite was one of surprise. It was large and bright and looked down on the huge Yorkdale Mall across the street. And best of all, the air was clean and fresh; none of that starch-and-old-shoe smell he’d found in other hotel rooms before.
He placed his smaller bag on the king-size bed and the wheeled suitcase by the dresser. Then he stepped out onto the small balcony, leaving the sliding glass door open behind him. His eyes crinkled against the sun as he looked at the hustling city, much like Halifax, only on a larger scale. A breeze touched his face, blew through his hair. The whoosh of vehicles came from the 401 to his left, and the sound of cars slowing down and speeding up drifted up from the street below.
He went back into the suite, slid the glass door shut. He opened his wheeled suitcase and took out a gift bag. On both sides of it, Spiderman swung from his web.
Allan set the bag on the dresser, then he took out a rectangular box from the suitcase. Inside it was a remote-control Traxxas Monster Truck. Huge tires. Wheelie bar. Blue with black and gray racing stripes. Fast as hell, according to the guy at Mighty Small Cars in Dartmouth.
Allan had bought it for Brian as a birthday present.
He hoped his son would like it.
