Arthur reversed between a cab and the office wall. The parking lot was barely large enough to hold the firm’s ten taxis, and was rutted with potholes, to the drivers’ disgust. He got out and scrunched his way across gravel to a door marked Kaufmann Cabs – Private.
The office was a flat-roofed building with two entrances, with the second, public one, glass-fronted and leading in from the sidewalk. The building was the sort of construction that would blow away in a stiff breeze, and it leaked when rain came in off the sea. Mould lived in its corners, damp rose up its walls, and in winter it was more comfortable sitting in the heated confines of a taxi than in the office. The drivers speculated that their depot was kept deliberately shoddy so they’d spend more time on the road. They wouldn’t be earning Zander Kaufmann any money loitering in the office, after all.
It was a wonder Florence coped, stuck inside it during each of her twelve-hour shifts. She was there now, doodling idly on the jotter in front of her, her jaws working a piece of gum she’d popped into her mouth before Arthur had started his working day. ‘Hey, Flo! Rolf! Davide!’ he said. A couple of drivers lifted their heads from their coffee mugs and waved theatrically.
‘Hi, Artie! You got back in one piece?’ Flo asked. She’d sketched images of Davide and Rolf again. Zander didn’t approve of her drawing during work hours, thinking it was too much of a distraction, but the girl was good.
‘Yeah. He was a bit of a weird one.’ Arthur told them what had happened and the drivers nodded. They’d all been there, after all.
‘I picked up a fare once,’ Davide said, ‘who counted all the traffic lights as I drove. But get this: he miscounted after thirty-eight and started to swear and slap himself about. Well, I got kinda scared by this, so I asked him if he was okay. He didn’t answer, so I asked him again. This time he accused me of driving too fast and making him lose count. I mean, it’s the middle of Manhattan, man, not the freeway. It’s not possible to speed. Anyway, he insisted we go back to where I picked him up and we went over the route again, only this time he wanted me to go slower. Now, I said, that’s fine, but the meter’s running and it’ll cost you. Man, he went ballistic: he took a chunk of leather out of his seat with his bare fingers and smashed up the rear windscreen.’
‘What did you do, Davide?’ Florence asked, amazed.
The driver shrugged. ‘Did what he asked me to. We went back around to where I picked him up and drove around again.’
‘And he counted right this time? He didn’t lose track?’ Flo asked.
Davide winked at Arthur. ‘Yeah, this time he counted them right. And the trash cans on the roadside as well, for good measure.’
‘Wow! What about the damage to the cab? Did he pay for it?’ Florence fell for all the crazy tales the drivers conjured up and Arthur hoped she got wise sometime soon; taxi firms were unforgiving places, especially for naïve kids not long out of school. Her face blushed crimson when Rolf chuckled. ‘Oh, youse guys!’ she said, pouting. ‘That’s unfair. Artie, help me out will ya?’
The damage was already done, though. Instead, he changed the subject and hoped that would limit her embarrassment. ‘You said I’ve a fare waiting?’
‘Oh, yeah. They’re through front. They asked for you specifically and said they wouldn’t take a ride from anyone else. I figured they must be people you know, but they didn’t answer me when I asked. Only thing they said was that they’d known you for a long time.’ She blew a bubble in her gum, popped it. ‘I told them to wait around until you came in. Didn’t think you’d be long.’
Arthur had a small bunch of regulars. Most had the number of his cell phone and called him directly which let him collect them whenever they wanted. That wasn’t quite company policy, but he trusted those folks not to abuse the system. He’d get in trouble if they did. Occasionally, one of his neighbours would ask for a ride, but those fares Arthur collected from their homes. He doubted he was about to meet any of those people, either. Intrigued, he navigated the short distance to the public section of the building.
‘Oh, he’s here!’ a woman’s voice said with a curious, non-American inflection. Arthur came across all sorts of accents in the cab, but the origins of some of them were too tricky to guess at.
‘About time!’ said another.
Two of the women sat on the couch in front of him. The third was bolt upright on one of the two easy chairs positioned alongside. All three wore flowing black dresses as dark as their hair. Olive skinned, with dark eyes that glistened, each had a nose with a little hook. The women might have been sisters – triplets, even – rather than friends or business colleagues. Uncomfortably, they were identical to the women he’d spotted on his drive from JFK. He shook his head at that impossibility, and wonder how these women knew him.
His third visitor replaced a copy of National Geographic upon a pile of magazines spread across the coffee table in front of her. As she stood up, she said, ‘You weren’t expecting us, were you?’
‘He doesn’t even recognise us,’ one of the others said, ‘let alone expect us.’
Her companion tutted. ‘For goodness sake, no one remembers us let alone expects us.’
‘Well, he should. We’ve met him often enough. Such a bad memory he has…and he’s scruffy, in my opinion,’ the third said.
Arthur was taken aback. When you sat behind a car wheel for a living you didn’t bother about your appearance beyond wearing a t-shirt, pants and kicks. ‘Ladies,’ he said, ‘I hope you haven’t brought me here to insult my dress sense.’
‘Well, he’s got some spirit, at least!’
‘Yes, he has. And that’s no bad thing. Also, he’s safe, and we can count him lucky in that regard. Arthur, you had us worried.’ She reached inside the folds of her clothes and withdrew a wad of dollar bills. ‘Here,’ she offered the money to him and turned to her companions. ‘We can get him smartened up on the way back.’
‘I can’t take that, and I don’t need smartening up!’
‘Nonsense! You can’t look a mess while you’re driving us around. And we’re going to keep you busy, Arthur Corbie. We’ve bought your services for days. You’ll have no time for anyone else.
‘So… no complaining. You will dress appropriately. You’ll purchase a suit and tie and a smart pair of shoes. This is more than enough money to buy yourself some class. And don’t skimp on the shirts either. You’ll need more than one. So, take the cash…all of it…and don’t be ungrateful.’
Arthur put the money into a wallet he kept in the back pocket of his pants. He refused to look the woman in the eye. This was too much cash to accept off hand, the sort of payment only criminals might offer. Accepting it without grafting for it didn’t sit right with him. He had to earn it, at least, and the work had to be honest work. He wasn’t going to be a stooge in some dodgy scam.
‘Shall we set off?’ the woman asked, and her companions stood.
‘Wait a minute. You said I know you. But I swear, I’ve never seen youse in my life.’
All three of them laughed, which shamed him a little. ‘Don’t worry, Arthur. People have a habit of forgetting us. You can call me… Lara. My sister over there is Chloe…’ One of the women gave him a small wave, as Lara continued, ‘And this other one is Tina.’
He wasn’t totally mollified, but was prepared to play along. Besides, he suspected those weren’t their real names, which was fine. Everyone had their secrets. ‘So youse are sisters?’
Lara shrugged. ‘Sisters. Friends. Associates. It’s all the same. We’re together all the time, so it doesn’t matter one way or the other.’
Arthur considered this. ‘I guess not. So… where do youse wanna go?’
Lara replied, ‘An hotel in Upper West Side. We’ll show you where when we get closer.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring the cab out front… won’t be a minute.’
There was a commotion from the back office and Florence’s voice squealed in irritation, ‘Davide! Have you no fares to pick up?’
She’d turned away from the service hatch window that allowed her to see into the public office, but there was no denying that the drivers had flustered her. Davide and Rolf were visible at their table, guffawing.
The thin glass of the window shuddered on its runners as Tina pulled it open. She stuck her head through the gap and pointed at Davide accusingly. ‘You are a bad man,’ she said. ‘You should be ashamed, teasing a young girl in that way.’
Davide was startled by the rebuke, and his grin dropped away, and Rolf’s laughter diluted to a nervous giggle before stopping completely and he appeared unsure whether the joke of a second ago was funny any longer.
The woman pointed a finger toward him. ‘As for you… a child laughs like that, not a grown man.’
Rolf cast his eyes at the tabletop in front of him, chastised.
‘Now, this is more civil.’ The woman addressed Florence. ‘Child, do you see the ball of elastic bands on your desk? Do you have a sudden desire to throw it?’
Florence reached for the bundle.
‘Go on,’ the woman urged. ‘Pick it up.’
Florence’s fingers grasped the ball.
‘Now, do you know what to do with it?’
The receptionist nodded mechanically, lifted her arm above her head, and with an awkward jerk flung the ball in the direction of Davide. It struck him full on the forehead. ‘Gotcha!’ she yelled, excitedly.
This made the woman in black smile. ‘Good. Throw it at him each time he steps over the line. That should keep him quiet for a while. Oh, and by the way,’ she peered through the glass at Florence’s artwork, ‘you have a great talent for drawing. Don’t let anyone stop you. You never know where it might lead.’
She left Florence wearing a stunned expression, the girl’s pen hanging loose between her fingers.
‘Shall we go?’ Arthur didn’t understand what he’d just witnessed, and wasn’t sure if he approved. ‘Okay,’ he said, uncertainly. Something about this situation made his skin crawl. He didn’t want to spend any more time in the company of these ladies than he needed to. ‘I’ll get my cab. Meet me out the front.’
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