We waited for Meghan’s cab, glancing nervously back toward Main Street in case the proprietor and his creeps from the van came after us. But we only heard car horns and shouting: the chaos of the accident was no doubt sucking up every bit of their attention. After a few minutes the waiting seemed endless. Meghan suggested we walk up to the corner of Main and flag the cab when it arrived.
“No way,” I said. “Go back to Main Street? I’m not getting an inch closer to that van. Let’s head up to King.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We thoroughly screwed them. With luck, they will all get arrested.” A cab rounded the corner and came toward us.
When we got in, Meghan asked the driver to go to the library, York Boulevard entrance.
I protested. “We should go to my place!”
“I’ve got to go to work.”
