Murder at McDonald's by Phonse; Jessome Read Free Book Online Page A

the street. Then he clambered back up to the car and jumped in behind the wheel. Darren Muise was on the passenger’s side in front; Derek Wood was in back with the bags. Through the windshield, they could see the top of the large golden M outside the restaurant.

Three
    MacNeil started the car and drove towards Highway 4, while Darren Muise crammed his mask and blood-soaked gloves into a duffel bag he grabbed from the floor behind the seat, then began taking off the extra set of clothing he had worn over his street clothes. “I finally got to slit someone’s throat,” Muise bragged, as though it had been a lifelong ambition. It was a strange comment, coming from someone who had made it clear to his oldest friend only a few months before that he was not into violence. Muise and his friend were out on the town when they encountered a group of teens who had roughed up the friend a week earlier. The friend saw a chance to even the score, knowing Muise’s martial-arts skills would give him the upper hand. But Muise declined, saying he preferred to do his fighting in a gym.

    The inner door to the basement storage area at McDonald’s, with Derek Wood’s backpack still propping it open. [RCMP crime scene photo.]
    As the big Impala sped away from the dark gravel road, Derek Wood removed his gloves. It was less than an hour since Wood had volunteered to help Arlene with the inventory; now she lay on the floor in the restaurant basement, the victim of a bullet he had fired. A sudden sickening realization hit Wood, but it was not a sense of guilt or remorse. “My fuckin’ bag! We left my fuckin’ bag in the door downstairs—we gotta go back.” Ironically, the backpack marked ESCAPE was now standing in the way of a clean getaway.
    The three headed back to the restaurant; they could get the backpack and, at the same time, go back inside and see if Arlene MacNeil was still alive. Fortunately for Arlene, when the Impala came to a stop at the bottom of the restaurant driveway, the three killers saw the taxi circling above and drove away. MacNeil sped towards the intersection of Kings Road and Keltic Drive, swinging hard left through the intersection and driving down Keltic towards his home. Darren Muise lit a cigarette as the three men tried to figure out a way to explain the pack.
    That gave Wood an idea. “Let me out. I gotta create an alibi,” he demanded, digging through his pockets and emptying the contents onto the seat beside him. He wasn’t sure what he had with him, but if he was going to talk to the police, he didn’t want to be carrying anything that could tie him to the robbery. MacNeil pulled over just before he reached the Sydney River bridge, and Wood jumped out and disappeared into the darkness.
    MacNeil pushed a cassette into the tape player in the dash. He needed to think, and Muise was beginning to ramble. The heavy bass lines filled the car as dance music shook the windows. Muise gulped the smoke deep into his lungs as the two raced towards MacNeil’s home.
    Behind the Impala, back at the intersection of Keltic Drive and Kings Road, another big car sped past, this one coming from Sydney and heading towards McDonald’s, not away from it. It was a taxi driver, John MacInnis, rushing to help his friend Daniel MacVicar and see what was happening at the restaurant. He had not noticed the Impala racing in the other direction. MacInnis turned left and sped up the driveway, coming to a stop near his friend’s cab as it too came to a stop after what, to MacVicar, had felt like an eternity of circling the lot.
    Both drivers got out of their cars and ran to the doorway where Jimmy Fagan lay, face down. MacInnis gently turned Fagan over, noticing the blood running down his face. Fagan was alive, gasping and clenching his teeth in pain. MacInnis laid him on his back and ran to his car to get some paper towels. The stocky, dark-haired driver was surprisingly