Previously, Zack and Sydney drive to Calgary, where the trusty Subaru dies mere kilometres from the Calgary city-limit.
Sweaty and exhausted, Zack and Sydney slumped onto the empty chairs of the C-train at Tuscany station. It was the terminal station and the car they had chosen was empty, save for one guy sleeping at the far end. Zack piled all of their luggage around their feet and rubbed at chafed shoulders and sore muscles. Walking ten kilometres was one thing, but walking ten kilometres carrying more than one hundred pounds was something completely different. Zack had a new perspective on those boring military training scenes in movies where they just seemed to walk in the desert wearing their huge military backpacks and complain.
It was fucking awful. Zack took off his shoe and rubbed at his raw heel. He peeled off his sock and poked at a blister that was a large angry bump.
“That was the worst idea ever, Zack. I never want to walk again,” Sydney said. She sprawled on the seat across from Zack. Her hair was plastered over her face and she looked wiped.
Zack just nodded and rubbed his sore body. The C-train announcement came on and chimed that they would be leaving to the next station momentarily.
Sydney sloughed the bags she was carrying onto the empty seat beside her. She rummaged through her backpack and came out with a notepad. “I did a lot of planning while we walked across the fucking world. How about this: I will take the gear and find a spot to lay low while you get us some money to buy another car. I can plan out where we will get everything from. There’s got to be a currency exchange place in the mall downtown. Let’s go there.”
Zack stretched his aching back. “My thoughts exactly.”
Sydney adjusted a bag that was falling off the small pile she made. “What should we do with all of our stuff?”
Zack pondered. The C-train cut right down the middle of a multi-lane road. They came to a stop and had to squish some of their things under their legs and closer to themselves as people piled onto the train. They needed a safe place, with internet, ideally, where Sydney wouldn’t be bothered and she could plan out the next steps.
The best thing he could think of was a coffee shop. Canada’s ‘favourite’ coffee shop, Tim’s, had popped up in every city across the nation. The food and coffee actually were awful, but they would tolerate Sydney and all of their bags for a little while. There had to be one close by.
The train started to get a lot more crowded. Zack wasn’t sure if it was normally like that, or if it was busier because it was a weekend. Probably the weekend. A few people grumbled as they were pressed up against all of their luggage.
“Next Stop. Eastbound Third Street Southwest,” the robotic voice of the train announced.
Zack started gathering their bags up and they jostled through the crowd to the door. “Excuse me, excuse me,” Zack said, trying his best not to knock people over with their bulky bags.
“Watch it!” someone growled. Zack pressed on.
“Mister, I’m in no mood today. Don’t push me,” Sydney said, glaring at the frail man who had called out.
They found a shopping cart not far from the train station, shoved into some bushes, and Zack piled all of their shit inside. It clattered and shook as Zack pushed it along the sidewalk.
Coming out of the train was jarring. They had gotten on at the edge of the city, where there was still a lot of open space and quiet suburbia. Now, towering skyscrapers and sirens filled their senses. Bustling sidewalks made it difficult to navigate their noisy shopping cart, and Zack flinched at every loud sound he heard.
In the park up ahead, there were some people bent over double or passed out on some kind of wild drugs, and a pair of police officers tried to calmly reason with a woman who was yelling and gesticulating. A trash can overflowed while a man with long white hair poked around, looking for cans.
It was madness. Zack licked at dry lips as they passed the park. One of the officers looked over at them pushing their cart, but, thankfully, looked away. Zack grimaced and kept his head down.
There was a Tim’s on the corner. Zack stuffed the shopping cart into a space where a fire hose connection came out of the wall of some oil company tower. He unloaded the stuff and they walked into the Tim’s and found a table in the corner. “Grab a coffee or something, so we can use the internet,” Zack said.
Sydney slumped into a chair and pulled out her computer. “You grab us a coffee or something. Get the WiFi password,” she said as she tapped on the keys of the laptop. “I wouldn’t mind something to eat, too.”
Zack smiled and ignored her outburst. She had been through a ton. Snapping back wouldn’t help anyone.
“Sure,” he said. He took some cash and bought them sandwiches, two coffees, and some donut holes. The clerk at the till wrote the WiFi password on the back of Zack’s receipt. He walked back and slid the food onto the table that Sydney had set up on.
“Here’s the WiFi password,” Zack said, holding out the receipt.
“I already cracked it. Thanks though,” she responded, her eyes scrolling over the screen. “I found a few options for cars. But, the cash we have won’t be enough. There’s a CurrencyX in the mall. Second floor. Don’t fuck up.”
Zack nodded. “Yeah. Don’t fuck up.”
The SecurBag was tucked away inside of his duffel bag, and Zack unzipped it and carefully went through the different currencies. Which one should he bring? The Omani Rial would bring the most amount of money for them, but it was also the most volatile currency. Zack grabbed the clear ziplock bag holding it and then took a few other options. Just in case. He stuffed them into his backpack and flung it onto his back. “See you in a bit.”
“Don’t fuck up.”
Zack chuckled. “You said that.”
“Yeah. Please don’t.”
The entrance to the mall was across the street and Zack tried to take on an air of being a tourist, or maybe a real Calgarian, just walking around downtown. The doors opened automatically and Zack was blasted with warm air and he strode inside.
“Just a regular guy,” he said to himself, as he stepped onto the escalator leading up to the second floor.
Except his hands were shaking and he could feel the sweat making stains on the underarms of his shirt. He gnawed on his lip while he walked and then he spotted the store. CurrencyX.
Waves of anxiety rolled through his body. His stomach clenched and unclenched, and Zack took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Ready, Zack walked into the store and joined the line to the front. Should he try the Omani money? He had about $4200 worth, easily the largest single amount that he had. Zack had heard that many places in Canada weren’t accepting it, something about the UN Human Rights council and Oman’s treatment of its citizens. He also had packed Singaporean Dollars in his backpack. A much safer option, but there was only a few thousand worth.
Zack stepped up to the counter and shrugged his backpack off.
“What can I help you with today?” the clerk said. He was a bored looking man with an acne scarred face. His digital watch made a slight beep-beep as the time changed and Zack’s eyes darted to it. Eleven o’clock.
Zack gulped and licked at dry lips. “Yeah, do you take Omani Rial?
The clerk’s blue eyes slid up to meet Zack’s gaze. “Omani Rial? I haven’t seen that stuff before. I’ll ask my manager quick. One sec.”
“Oh—” Zack interjected, but the clerk had already bounded out of his chair and had marched away.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
The manager, an overweight lady, returned with the clerk. “Omani Rial, eh?”
Zack felt his face burning. “It was only a question. I heard…never mind. I actually have Singaporean money to exchange today.”
The woman stared at him. “Huh. How much?”
Zack pulled out the wad of multi-coloured money and slid it through the slot in the glass. The counter was worn and the under layers of the blue counter, white and brown, showed through. The clerk took the money and quickly counted it off. “Thirty-two hundred and fifty.”
The manager leaned over the clerk’s computer and typed into the screen. “Our rate today is one Singaporean Dollar equates to a dollar and five cents, Canadian. How does that sound to you?”
Zack tapped on the counter. A sound behind him caused him to turn. “Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks.”
The clerk tapped into the computer. The manager stepped back and studied Zack. “You have your identification on you today?”
Zack felt like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. His heart fluttered uncontrollably in his chest. “Identification?”
The clerk pulled out a piece of paper. “Yes, sir. We have a company policy to collect the identification details of every person who makes any exchange over a certain amount.”
“How much?” Zack squeaked.
“Three-thousand Canadian, or equivalent,” the clerk responded. “Any other currencies to exchange today?”
Zack stole a glance at the corner of the store, where a little black bulb of a security camera recorded his every movement. He sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Zack reached into his backpack. “I also have about thirty thousand Thai Baht.”
“Okay…” the clerk tapped on the keyboard. “That’s worth about one thousand, six hundred and fourteen Canadian dollars today.”
Zack slid the Thai money through the slot.
The manager slid the piece of paper through the slot. “This is a FinTRAC form. Standard practice. Please fill it out and then once it is completed, we can exchange your money.”
Zack scanned the form. They had already populated how much foreign money he was exchanging and which currencies, the only remaining parts to complete included his name, address, and other basic demographic information.
Information that would reveal where he and Sydney were. Zack twirled the pen in his fingers. They needed money, that was for sure, but Zack wasn’t certain that leaving a clue to their pursuers was necessarily a good idea. ‘Don’t fuck up,’ Sydney had said.
Zack gulped. This didn’t feel like fucking up, but it didn’t feel like a clear success either. Zack looked up at the clerk who gave him an ‘are-you-or-aren’t-you’ look. Someone behind him in line coughed.
“Mo-om, how much longer?” A little kid whined.
There was no choice. Zack bent down and started filling out the paperwork. He nearly misspelled ‘unemployed,’ he was so nervous, but he managed to get all of his information down. He didn’t dare filling it out with incorrect information, that would be the golden ticket to not getting any money and having the police from the park visit him here.
Zack slid the completed form through the slot. The manager looked it over briefly and then handed it to the clerk. “Process this. Sir, you’ll need to provide your ID.”
Zack fumbled his wallet open and tried to calm his shaking hands as he handed over his driver’s license.
The manager squinted as she looked it over. “Cranbrook, hey? I saw something on the news about that place not long ago. Some big crime or something. I can’t remember. Do you know anything about that?”
Zack swallowed and took his ID back. “No. I haven’t heard anything. I just got back into the country. Sounds pretty crazy.”
“Right.”
The clerk counted out the money for Zack, and then slipped it into an envelope, handing it over to Zack. “Have yourself a great day.”
Zack took the envelope and nodded his thanks. It felt anticlimactic, too easy. Zack peeked inside of the envelope and stared at the brown and green bills inside. He moved away from the counter and knelt down while he rearranged his backpack. He had just zipped it up when he heard the manager whisper something to the clerk.
“Suspicious Transaction Report? You thought that guy was suspicious?” the clerk asked.
“Quiet, Brian. Just run it.”
“Okay. You’re the boss.”
Zack blanched. He scurried out of the store and jogged out of the mall. They had to get the hell out of there.