It wasn’t long before Zander’s taxi was put to use by a muscular Latino man, who flung himself into the back and spread his arms across the back of his seat. He smiled at Zander in a cocksure way that engendered distrust, with Zander’s instinct re-affirmed by the man chuckling for no good reason. Zander steadied himself. If he hadn’t wanted to pick up a fare he shouldn’t have driven onto the stand. It wouldn’t do to order the man out, especially as he’d done nothing wrong. ‘Where to, my friend?’
‘Ainslie Street, Williamsburg.’ His passenger flicked his wrist in a languid instruction for Zander to proceed.
Zander nodded. He knew the area well. He knew every street well. ‘Anywhere in particular along there, sir? I can save you a bit off a walk if you give me some idea where you wanna go.’
The man gazed out of the window while Zander pulled into the traffic and for a while the passenger said nothing. Zander concentrated on his driving. If nothing else, having someone in the cab made him worry less about the illness he was coming down with, and that was a good thing.
Two blocks down, the man relented and gave a reply. ‘You can drop me off anywhere along the strip. I’m in no hurry.’
‘Sure thing, bud. A leisure trip, is it?’ Zander cursed himself. He’d rather not engage in conversation but he was never able to help himself when behind the wheel. It was some sort of taxi drivers’ malaise. Although today he wished he’d kept quiet. He’d no great desire to interact with anyone, let alone the general public. It was too much an effort. He wouldn’t pick anyone else up after this. He’d keep his light off and simply drive, or maybe head back to the depot if he didn’t start to feel better. At least, locked in his office, there was a chance for some rest.
‘Something like that, yeah. I’m gonna visit an old friend. Give her a surprise.’
Zander pretended to mull that over. After a short pause, he asked, ‘She don’t know you’re coming?’
‘Nope.’ The man smirked. ‘I can’t wait to see the look on her pretty face. It’s gonna be sweet.’
Despite himself, Zander laughed and said, ‘I bet. Is she an old girlfriend, then?’
The smile dropped from his passenger’s face, replaced by hatred and anger. ‘Enough with the questions, alright? You ain’t no counsellor. You concentrate on your driving.’
The change chilled Zander but the instruction suited him fine. He drove. In any event, the best thing to do in situations such as this was to clam up and concentrate on the road ahead: that was better than making eye contact, better than continuing to talk. But Zander’s mind raced. After all, it was hardly fair that a guy such as his passenger should have chosen Zander’s cab out of all others on the rank. All Zander had wanted was an easy job, not a ride that put his teeth on edge and set his pulse racing. What he’d needed was something safe and boring, like driving a grandma to see her newborn granddaughter at the maternity unit. Yeah, he should have gotten a fare like that: something uncomplicated. He flexed his hand. If anything, the prickling sensation was getting worse. He wished it would disappear and take his cold sweat with it.
The remainder of the trip was undertaken in a glowering silence. Zander attempted to ignore his growing unease, but his pulse quickened and his breath shortened. Yet, his passenger feigned relaxation as he lounged upon the back seat. Zander was having none of it. That relaxation belonged to a lion lazing amid prairie grasses.
After an age, he pulled into Ainslie Street and stopped at the first available parking space. He’d no wish to take the guy any further. He glanced at his meter. ‘That’ll be fifty bucks, mister.’
‘What?’
‘I said, that’ll be fifty bucks.’ He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.
When the door handle clicked, he cast a glance through his rear mirror. The man was leaving without paying. No man of business would tolerate being robbed that way. After all, a job was a job. Despite his illness, Zander propelled himself out of his seat and bustled around the front of his cab to stand ready as the big man unravelled himself from the back seat.
‘Fifty bucks.’ Zander extended his hand, palm skyward.
The man laughed and Zander didn’t. It was obvious that there would be no competition should the pair come to blows: his fare towered over him. The street being deserted didn’t help, either. There was no one around to come to Zander’s aid should things turn violent.
‘Honestly?’ The man smirked and drummed his fingers against the cab’s roof. ‘You wanna go there with me, old man?’
Zander gulped. There was so little air in his lungs and drawing more was such an effort. He didn’t want to go anywhere with the guy, but money earned was money due.
His passenger took a small step towards him: close enough that the tips of his shoes settled upon Zander’s; close enough to Zander that the man’s hot breath wafted up Zander’s nose; close enough for Zander to receive an easy punch against the shoulder. It wasn’t a heavy strike, but it made Zander twist and stumble backwards, even as the man stepped away.
‘I repeat,’ the man said, ‘you really don’t want to go there. Get back in your cab and drive. Go on. Or I will really hit you.’
There was no arguing the point. Zander would never be strong enough to compete if it came to blows and he didn’t want a set of bruises. Illness had a strong enough grip of him without someone adding to his woes by giving him a beating. Instead, he scurried backwards, hands probing their way over the bodywork of the cab, while he kept his eyes fixed on his erstwhile passenger in case any sudden attack was mounted. But the man had already dismissed Zander, and was nonchalantly swaggering up the street while tunelessly whistling. Zander waited until there was a safe distance between them before he slumped behind his wheel. The pins and needles along his arms were distracting and there was so little air about. He flexed his fingers. It didn’t help. ‘A man needs a drink,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll head back to the office, open that special bottle. That should calm these nerves. Gotta get them calmed down, somehow. Gotta get calmed down.’
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