Arthur turned the volume down on the radio, the strains of the Scottish reel sinking to a whisper. ‘Hey, buddy,’ he said as the stranger climbed into the back of his cab. ‘It’s a fine day, ain’t it?’ When there was no answer, Arthur glanced backwards. ‘Was it a long trip?’ It would be a bad job if he missed Janice McKie’s Celtic Moments because of a taciturn fare.
His passenger blinked at him in puzzlement before replying in an accent Arthur took for European. ‘Not so long. I was in Athens this morning. Now I am here.’
Arthur nodded. ‘Ah, Greece, right?’ A smattering of knowledge about the world’s capital cities was useful for a taxi driver, especially on the airport run. It was possible to build up a good rapport with customers with information like that, and a good rapport encouraged decent tips.
He tried to continue the conversation. ‘I went out with a Greek girl once. Melanie her name was. A nice girl. Smiley. She ended up moving to Chicago. It was a pity, you know?’ He laughed emptily. She’d been a nightmare of a blind date set up by his boss, Zander. Someone’s daughter from the Greek community whom Zander knew. She and Arthur had gone for a meal in a swanky restaurant – well, posh for him at any rate – and she’d spent the night complaining about the food and guzzling beer. By the time dinner was over she was under the table. Maybe she’d moved to Chicago after that fiasco. Arthur didn’t care, and had no wish to find out. ‘So where are we heading, bud?’
The response was slow but Arthur was used to this. Sometimes foreigners took time understanding his New York Scotch brogue, too. Despite living in America most of his life, Arthur retained traces of his accent. ‘I have a reservation,’ the man said, his voice faltering over unfamiliar words, ‘at the Hotel Olympus. Is it far?’
‘No, not that far. It’s uptown, off Fifth Avenue, ain’t it? You here on business?’
‘Yes.’ The man nodded and settled back into his seat. ‘Please take me there.’
Arthur sighed. ‘Sure thing, bud!’ There was little conversation in this fellow. However, the businessman might yet be good for a decent tip. Arthur hoped so. He needed the extra cash to pay for the holiday he’d booked the day before.
He wasn’t one for vacations but had a hankering to go upstate to Ithaca. It was an area he’d never been but was sure Taylor and her children would love. He’d tell them about it at the last minute, of course, as a huge surprise, once he’d packed their bags for them. The two girls would smile in excitement at that, which would make their mom happy. And if Taylor was happy, well then, Arthur would be ecstatic. He pictured the four of them in the cabin he’d rented in the woods. For a week it would be a place where Taylor and he inhabited a secluded bedroom and the kids a bonus room each. The youngsters would love that, as they shared when at home with their mom, or at Arthur’s.
The holiday had been a spur of the moment thing, Arthur deciding he and Taylor needing time alone. She’d been closed off and tense over the last couple of weeks, and they’d argued in a way they never had before. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of trouble in their relationship but if it was, a trip away ought to bring them back together. Besides, there were warblers and woodpeckers in those forests he wanted them to discover. And they would, if they were quiet enough.
He reached for his in-cab radio. ‘Hey base, it’s Arthur calling.’ There was a burst of static and a voice complained, ‘…and if you keep this crap up Davide, I will tell your wife…’ and then abruptly, ‘Oh, hey, Artie! Florence here. You gotta fare?’
‘Yeah, I’m heading uptown… going to the Olympus Hotel.’
‘Got it! Remember to check back in when you’re done, right?’
‘Gotcha!’ He pulled his cab away from the rank in front of JFK, dodging pedestrians and taxis alike. Arthur glanced in his rear-view mirror. His ride was gazing back toward the airport, and Arthur chose not to interrupt him. Sometimes you learned to leave customers to their own devices.
Arthur turned the volume back up on the radio instead. Disappointingly, Celtic Moments had paused for a news bulletin. He let the reporter’s words drift over him and concentrated on the complex road interchanges ahead.
‘Koráki! Crows! Driver stop, please.’
Startled, Arthur struck his foot against the brake, and caused the car to lurch to a halt. His fare spilled onto the roadside almost before the vehicle stopped, and proceeded to search his surroundings. ‘Where did they go?’ the man asked. ‘Where did they go?’
Arthur waited, uncertain whether to leave the meter running. After two minutes had elapsed, he wound down his window. ‘Hey buddy, are you needing your ride? Only I can go pick up someone else…’
Any driver might be hired by a dangerous or flaky passenger, and Arthur was no exception. He’d transported drunks and felons, arguing couples, hookers, and all manner of wackos and oddballs in his ten years with the firm. Most of the volatile types left him alone, but now and then someone would get aggressive. The first time it happened, the drunken idiot tried to strangle him. Arthur pepper sprayed the man’s eyes and drove straight to the precinct where the cops took the nutter off his hands. Listening to the man’s squeals of pain as the pepper spray worked its villainous magic had been unpleasant, but Arthur didn’t want to consider what the man might have done to him if there had been no spray in the cab.
His current passenger was bent over the roadside railing, above an underpass. With a stiff, jerking motion he straightened and whirled around. He was a large man, made to look taller by the way the sun silhouetted his back.
Arthur wound his window up fast, but the man was too quick, slipping his hand into the receding gap before it closed. He stooped until his eyes were level with Arthur’s. ‘Ill-omened birds, crows,’ he said. ‘No good comes from them.’ He spat on the ground. ‘But they are gone now, yes? Please, let us resume our journey. Take me to my hotel.’ He swung his long legs back through the passenger door and settled into the seat before Arthur objected.
an empty expression settled upon the man’s face. It wasn’t simply that he’d slipped into a reverie, but rather that he‘d become vacant, not fully there. Arthur shivered and fingered the canister of pepper spray tucked in the storage well of his door. He might need it yet.
As he pulled onto the carriageway, movement in his side mirror caught his eye. By the verge, staring at his motor, were three ladies dressed in loose-fitting black outfits. This startled him because they hadn’t been there seconds before, but there they were. As he drove passed, they pointed at the cab, their mouth gaping open in shock, their eyes wide and fearful.
Arthur swerved and almost struck an oncoming SUV. He blinked, swore, and tugged the steering wheel to the right. ‘Shit!’ he hissed, unsure of himself.
‘Is everything okay. driver?’
Well, there was little chance of this man’s custom again after that performance, little chance of a tip. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. I spotted your crows. But they’ve fluttered away already.’
His passenger swivelled in his chair to glance out the back window, which was followed by the creak of leather as the man settled down again. ‘Pity,’ the man said. ‘I should meet them.’
‘Don’t you mean ‘see’ them? Ah, not to worry… we have plenty of crows in New York, bud. And starlings, sparrows and pigeons. They’re all waiting for you to introduce yourself. Just rock up and say Hi.’ Arthur regretted bringing the birds back into conversation. He wanted this fare over and done with. He took a couple of deep breaths, put his foot on the accelerator, and drove.
His mind didn’t settle during the rest of the journey. Those women had reminded him of raggedy-winged crows. He shook his head. He wasn’t prone to hallucinations or visions and was not inclined to conjure up ghosts. Life was hard enough without the dead getting involved.
It took the best part of an hour to drive uptown, the traffic snarling up at the usual pinch points. By the time Arthur halted his cab beside the fake Grecian pillars of the Olympus the same women had appeared three times: once as he headed along the 678 where they stood in the middle of the central reservation; once along Lexington Avenue where they crossed the street behind his cab while he waited at lights; and finally on 5th Avenue near the reservoir. Each time they were there and then not. Arthur pretended not to be spooked by them. ‘That’ll be fifty bucks,’ he told his fare. ‘And my card is in the docket in front of you should you wish to travel anywhere in the city. Just call the number on it. Got it?’ It was something Arthur said to all his passengers – an automatic courtesy he gave them, even those he’d rather never cross paths with again.
‘Thank you.’ The man reached inside his blazer for a wad of money and thrust it into Arthur’s outstretched hand, stepped onto the pavement, and peered into the cab. ‘I shall keep you in mind.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But I did not enjoy your driving, boy.’
Even as a youngster Arthur had hated that term. As an adult, he found it patronising. He bit his tongue. His job might depend on how he conducted this conversation. ‘I’m sorry you had a bad experience, sir,’ he said. ‘It was an erratic drive and I apologise. I didn’t wanna hit anything.’
The man scowled at him. ‘Bah! You should have struck those crows. They were too far away from me to cause them damage, but you… they were easy for you to strike! Bloody koráki! They pick over carrion, you know. All that’s left is theirs. Dirty things.’
Arthur didn’t consider crows that way. They were resourceful birds, fascinating to observe, and they’d never done him any harm. ‘They’re fulfilling their niche, I suppose,’ he said. ‘I won’t go out of my way to hit one. Not deliberately.’
‘We nearly collided with the vehicle heading towards us instead. I should report you to your boss. What’s your name?’
Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘We don’t give out names, sir.’ He needed to keep this polite. ‘That taxi card has my registration number on it. My boss will figure out who picked you up if you quote the number back to him.’
‘Give,’ the man said. Clearly, he’d no intention of re-entering the cab to get a card for himself.
Arthur fished through a pocket. He always carried a couple of spares. Each card was identical and simple. The company name Kaufmann Cabs was emblazoned on them beside an image of a yellow cab and a mission statement that read We’ll get you there. Arthur’s boss wasn’t imaginative when it came to marketing. The firm’s phone number was at the bottom of the card besides, in smaller lettering, the phrase ‘Your driver today was A143.’
The card was snatched from his hand and pored over critically. ‘Thank you,’ his passenger said. ‘Our paths will cross again, I am sure.’
Arthur’s mouth turned dry. If he received a call to pick the guy up again he would say he was unavailable. He would be valeting his cab or getting a tyre replaced. Despite himself, he nodded, and muttered, ‘Have a good stay in New York,’ before manoeuvring into traffic as quickly as possible.
Two blocks away he pulled over, shaking. The city was humid in the afternoon air and his clothes clung to him. Sweat beaded his brow and made his shirt sticky. He longed for a shower, yet that opportunity was several hours away at the end of his shift. Drawing a few deep breaths of New York air, he connected back to base. ‘Hey, Florence, I’m finished at the Olympus. Where should I go next?’
‘Hey, Artie. You need to come back here. Some ladies have walked in, asked for you, and said they needed you to take them someplace. I figured they’re either family or some of your regulars, though I ain’t seen them before.’
Arthur smiled. After the oddness of the last hour a simple fare with one of his regular passengers was what he needed. ‘I doubt it’s family, Florence, but tell them I’ll be there as soon as.’
‘Sure thing, Artie.’
He turned the volume up on the radio, allowing the Latino strains of Vincente Toro to wash over him. This was Taylor’s music. She loved the vibrancy of it. For a moment he pictured her in a bar after a couple of glasses of wine, dancing with her hands above her head, her long hair swirling around to the rhythm of the merengue. Recollections of his crow-hating fare drifted away. He tapped his steering wheel along to the beat, smiled, and headed back to the depot.
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