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11:02 a.m.
Walking down the main corridor of the mall, my heart started to pound. Following me, about fifty metres back, were CSIS agents. Either that, or accountants. Shit. These two agents looked more intense, more serious, than my friends, Agents Smith and Smith. Maybe these guys weren’t CSIS. That was a very scary thought. Who else could they be? I wondered, in a panic. Who else would be mad at me right now? Who else would consider me some kind of threat? The answer was: any number of world governments, terrorists, etc. The broad, sweeping strokes of my lies had encompassed everyone on the planet who had weapons and wasn’t afraid to use them!
What kind of jail time did people do for treason? A life sentence, asshole. You never heard about any Canadians being charged with treason. Maybe that charge didn’t even exist anymore. After all, it was a central part of the Canadian identity to slander our leaders and denounce—well, everything. But certain other countries were not so relaxed in their attitudes. If I were extradited to ... Iran, or something? I drew images from all of the most disturbing movies I’d ever seen.
Shuddering, I picked up my pace. Butterflies sprang into my gut and fluttered about. I dodged shoppers and made for The Bay, located at the far end of the mall. I saw the food court on my right but ignored it. Not far along I saw a Foot Locker sports store. I ran into a woman and almost bowled her over. I caught her before she fell and steadied her. “I’m so sorry,” I said. I’d knocked her purse to the floor, so I picked it up for her. I held it out in front of me, and her eyes grew wide with shock and surprise, and I realized how bad this looked—she must have wondered if I intended to snatch her purse. Is that what I looked like to her? A purse snatcher? A small crowd had gathered. “Are you okay?” I asked. She didn’t budge. “Please, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” I shoved the purse into her chest and she grabbed it. I hurried away, flashing glances over my shoulder. I weaved between the mall pedestrians and eventually hurled myself inside Foot Locker.
By the time I’d finished shopping, I’d picked up a Hamilton Tiger Cats cap, a green basketball jersey, a pair of pseudo Gucci sunglasses with yellow-tinted lenses, blue Adidas track pants, and a pair of red Converse high tops. There were three guys in line in front of me. I begged the guy in front of me to let me in and he did. But when I asked the next guy, he pretended not to hear me. When I offered him twenty bucks, his hearing was magically restored. The final guy to persuade towered above me by about six inches, and outweighed me by about ninety pounds.
The salesman was busy with a phone call.
“Excuse me, sir, would you mind letting me in? I’ve gotta meet my ex-wife, and if I’m late, it’s over between us.”
“Sounds like it’s already over.”
“What?”
“You said ex-wife.”
“I did?” My God, did I? Subconsciously, had I already written off our marriage? Despair filled me up.
“I meant to say wife. We’re still married.”
“You go right ahead, married man. I’ve got two exes, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He stepped aside and ushered me in with a wave of a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt.
The salesman hung up the phone and rang my purchases through.
A thought had suddenly occurred to me. I turned to the man behind me. “Excuse me, do you play pro football?”
“Played pro ball for Dallas for seventeen years.”
The other shoe dropped. “You’re Marcus Riley.”
He nodded, narrowing his eyes a little.
As I swiped my card on the debit machine and keyed in my pin number, I asked, “Wow, what brings you to Hamilton, Mr. Riley?”
“One of my boys plays for the Tiger-Cats now. Came down to watch him today at Ivor Wynne Stadium. Plus, I’ve got an ex in Toronto I need to see to sort out some legal matters.”
The salesman handed me my bag.
I was feeling reckless, so I asked a very nervy question. “Do you mind if I ask you what happened, Marcus?”
“With my marriage? Or with football?” He gave me a wary glance.
“Your marriage.”
He was silent for a moment. His voice was quiet. “I cheated on her—only once. But that was all it took. Do I regret it? Go on and ask me.” He leaned into me, tilting his massive face inches from mine.
“Do you regret it?” I whispered.
A small crowd had formed. “It’s Marcus Riley,” someone whispered reverently.
“Damn right I do. Now, why don’t you get your sorry ass over to the missus and smooth it out before you regret it for the rest of your life. It’ll haunt you all the way to the grave, trust me.”
“Thanks man.” I awkwardly tried to high-five him and ran for the door. I spilled into a clothes rack, knocking clothes onto the floor. I picked them up and threw them onto the top of the rack—I didn’t have time to fix them up right. The crowd and Marcus were shaking their heads at the pathetic fool stumbling out of the store. I realized how stupid I must look.
I’d just stepped out of the store when I realized I hadn’t changed into my clothes. “Damn!”
I fled into a nearby men’s washroom.
After I changed, I checked my watch. It was twelve-fifteen a.m. Late! I was late again! Allison hated my tardiness; that was another strike against me. Now she would think that I didn’t care at all anymore. That I wasn’t going to change.
The food court brimmed with pensioners eating their Filet-o-Fish and mothers with whining, restless children in strollers. As always, a huge line-up snaked out from the Tim Hortons kiosk. The coffee smelled really good. I checked out my reflection again in a shop window. I was a walking fashion crime. Kids, don’t let your parents try this at home. Keep them away from all hip hop clothing.
But the cool duds were achieving their purpose. The agents were over at the far end of the food court, surveying the crowd in search of one Donny Love. But they wouldn’t find that old fool: Eminem was in the house.
Allison, where are you?
I felt like a moron. Not only had I resorted to lying for a living, I was disguising myself as some kind of criminal. What was next? Nancy Grace doing a show about me?
I checked out the Greek place, but Allison wasn’t there. She got tired of waiting and left. Dammit! I checked out every nook, cranny, and crevice in the food court, but couldn’t find Allison. Dejected, I made for the main thoroughfare, remembering that whenever Allison and I had visited the mall, we always parked in the Sears parking lot, so maybe she’d headed down the mall in that direction—I’d run out of ideas and hope.
When someone tapped me on my shoulder, I almost jumped out of my skin.
I’d expected to turn and see badges and weapons. “Allison! Oh my God, you scared me.”
“You’re late.” Thunderclouds scrunched her forehead.
“I’m sorry, I—”
She lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “Why are you dressed like this? You look like a complete idiot!”
“I know, but don’t worry about it. I’ll explain later.”
“Sure you will. You always do. Let’s get a seat,” she said, motioning towards the cluster of tables. A coolness had settled into her voice.
“No,” I said. “We can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” She bored her eyes into me. “Donny Love, what have you done now?”
I squirmed. How could I explain it all? “I’m being hunted.”
“Hunted?” She gave me a scary, cheerful look. “Donny, did you get the counselling we talked about?”
“C’mon, let’s get out of the mall before they see you.”
“Who?”
“I’ll explain later. But if they see you, they’ll know I’m me, and you’ll blow my cover.”
Now she looked scared, as well as angry. “What the hell is going on here?” she hissed.
I hooked my arm around hers and re-directed her away. She followed, but she slid her arm out of mine.
“I’ll explain once we get out of here.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said through gritted teeth.
