Cavalier

Chapter Fourteen

David doesn't have to wander around town very long before he finds a place that rents and sells used cars.

The cars aren't anything special, very few of them actually have any redeeming qualities and most could probably be taken to a scrap yard, and it's exactly what David wants. He doesn't want something flashy, something that will draw attention to him, even though it's what he's used to because President Saul's garage holds more expensive cars than anybody would know what to do with. David doesn't just want a car that will blend in, he needs a car that will blend in. He meanders around the lot for a bit, all the time in the world, trying to gauge the value and road worthiness of a car based solely on what it looks like on the outside and what's under the hood. He doesn't want to be here for too long. He's already overstayed his welcome.

He's been looking for half an hour before he finds it. The make and model are similar to the ones that a lot of people have back home, home home, although he's pretty sure this specific model was released five years before the one he's the most accustomed to. It's got some rust damage, definitely, but under the hood is neat and tidy and no worse for wear. Most importantly, all the pieces are there.

"Can I help you?"

David gets out from under the hood and shuts it before he turns to look at, presumably, the owner. He shifts the backpack on his shoulder and swallows; his throat is dry. "I'd like to rent this car."

The man raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" 

"Well, I mean, I'd like a test run, but—"

"Man, hold up," the salesperson says. "Like, I'm not trying to be rude, and this one comes pretty cheap, but are you sure you have the—"

He comes to an abrupt and uncomfortable stop. David raises an eyebrow and tries to be patient. "The what?"

"The money."

David hasn't changed clothes or showered in two days, not since he left Agent Samuel's house. He's been sleeping outside in that time. His clothes are dirty and his hair is greasy and unkempt and he has two days worth of facial hair on him.

He looks like he's homeless, he realizes.

"I—yeah." David pulls out his wallet, grabs the credit card Agent Samuel had given him and hands it to the man. "Put it on that."

The man takes it, but doesn't leave. "Can I see some ID? Just gotta make sure the name on the card matches the name on your licence, or whatever."

And make sure that your face matches the face on your licence.

David gives him the driver's licence, tries to look unaffected and stoic and not worried at all by this turn of events. It's okay. Agent Samuel gave the ID to him, so it must be solid. Has to be. There is no way that the agent or any of his associates would jeopardize him like that, not when they've been trying so hard to keep him safe.

The salesperson looks back and forth between David's driver's licence and his credit card, and when he's satisfied with that he looks back and forth between the licence and David's face and a chill runs down David's spine. This is worse than waiting for the man to spot any difference between the two cards because there is a flicker of recognition on the salesperson's face. A flicker of recognition that is enough to make David's least favourite song run through his head.

Saul has slain his thousands

and David his tens of thousands

David prays as he tries to keep looking cool and unaffected, because there's nothing else he can do in the wait as his nerves curl unpleasantly, preparing to run away.