thus allowing no opportunity to visit the waybill office, leaving no alternative but to get my cab ready for the night's shift. When just about to leave the lot, Maggie came running out to my cab.
"Hey, Al! Wait!"
"What is it, Maggie?"
"You're in luck. We need you to run toJanesville , pick up a rail crew and bring them back to the Wisconsin Calumet Depot."
This was in contradiction with my plans. Maggie managed to sense my silent consternation.
"Hey, you'll be back in no time." She patted me on the shoulder. "I know those rail guys never tip, but it's easy money."
I forced myself to smile at her. "Thank you very much for this bountiful call. I shall return quickly to help you service all those downtown calls."
Maggie returned my smile, then left me to my bounty.
I lifted a spare tire into the trunk of my cab and tossed in a jack - both items required when we go out of town. Fortunately, this would be a short run. Likely, my prey had yet to rise, and they would most likely not commit any nefarious deeds until midnight, which these Americans were so fond of calling "the witching hour." Besides, the fare would run about $75 for doing nothing more than driving 60 miles per hour away from the setting sun.
****
Upon returning toMadison , the calls were reduced to a mere trickle, affording the opportunity to drop off the tire and jack at the office. I went inside to wash the tire grime off my hands, then stepped into the dispatch office. Sharon, the dispatcher, was doodling on blank call slips. Maggie leaned back in her chair, smoking a cigarette, staring at a phone that just didn't want to ring.
"It has gotten very quiet," I said.
"Just the lull before the storm,"Sharon replied.
"What was all the excitement about?" I asked.
Maggie extinguished her cigarette. "Some frat party, I think."
"Was it at Sigma Chi?" I asked.
"Beats me,"Sharon said.
"Whatever's at two twenty-one Langdon," Maggie said. "Had a bunch of U-Rides going there. Langdon Street, lakeshore dorms. All of 'em Buffys and Muffys."
A quick scan of the phone book confirmed the address of Sigma Chi as 221 Langdon.
"Is saw the lights were on in the Waybill Office," I said. "Is anybody up there?"
Sharonglanced up from her doodling. "Dale's up there working on payroll. What's up?"
"I just remembered something. I need to check out something from a waybill about a week or two ago. If it gets busy, I will be up in the waybill office."
"Don't get lost up there,"Sharon said. "Could get busy again soon."
With Dale's help, I first scanned the U-Ride call slips for my assignment from the previous night finding: U-Ride number 25. Origin, U-Square P.O. Destination, 221 Langdon.
I never had the opportunity to check on the woman. The nurses at the emergency room thanked me and said they would take care of her.
She appeared drunk, perhaps even suffering from alcohol poisoning. The fraternity boys acted drunk as well and acted stupid and ornery, just like normal college students - atypical on the surface, but somehow I knew better.
I began sifting through waybills, struggling to remember the exact date when Truck had told the story about throwing a U-Ride passenger out of his cab, his words echoing inside my skull as he told the tale of the ornery fellow accompanied by a woman he had described as "fucked up and glassy-eyed."
Without the exact date, the task proved difficult. It was time-consuming to find Truck's waybill and then his call slips, but eventually there was enough cross-referenced information to allow me to find the proper call slip from the bundles of U-Ride slips.
I found confirmation. Destination, 221 Langdon.
The sorority girlhad said that drunk frat boys could be jerks, especially "Smegma Boys," even if they were good, decent people most of the rest of the time.
She said they could be "animals."
Maybe they were.
****
As the Americans say, take the bull by the horns.
I drove uptown quickly, pulled up to the curb right in front of the fraternity house, then got out and walked up the front steps.
A UW football player stood blocking the door, an undersized Bucky Badger T-shirt stretched tightly across his bulging chest. He was built like a very old oak tree. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at me.
I smiled meekly. "Did someone here call for a cab?"
"I don't know of nobody calling for no cab." The gentleman flexed his ample biceps and frowned.