how to bid, when to bid, why to bid. How, when and why to bid with packages. How to use the question buttons and the difference between a "HiQ" and "LowQ." Dale even discussed the simple matter of how to handle the cab radio, certainly an exercise in the obvious; I had had quite a bit of radio experience during World War II working with the French Underground. Indeed, perhaps organ-grinder monkeys might actually be able to do this job, that is, if they were allowed to drive.
It all seemed rather simple, actually, and after Dale concluded his highly repetitive explanation, the expressions worn on the faces of the other trainees seemed to relax, as if they were relieved that a new topic would be broached. Like the others, I found it a Herculean task to maintain my attention, even possessing a mental discipline superior to these children.
Dale placed a new piece of posterboard on the tripod. "This is a waybill," he said. "Waybill being the standard industry term for the piece of paperwork cabbies use to keep track of what they do during a shift."
I rolled my eyes. Or did my eyes begin to roll up into my skull. Before I knew it, I was once again staring at Nicole.
Fists pounding on wood broke through my slumber. I heard a crash and Anya's agitated voice. Then, she screamed.
I could not even lift my arms.
I lay paralyzed, only able to listen to Anya's screams, to the sound of a body loudly striking the floor and walls, the sound of tearing fabric, of smashed furniture.
By the time I could lift my arms and break open the crate, the garret was silent. Anya lay on the floor on the other side of the garret, her clothes tattered rags, her body a mess of bruises and abrasions, her lovely flesh ripped and torn asunder, her throat cut.
Bending down to close her lifeless eyes, my gaze shifted back toward the crate from which I had just risen. On the floor, next to the crate was her white lace tablecloth, a bouquet of roses, the shattered remains of a vase and a puddle of water, quickly spreading across the polished oak floor.
She had disguised the crate as a dining table, just to be especially sure the Germans would not inspect the contents for booty, covering the crate with an heirloom passed from mother to eldest daughter for two dozen generations.
No conscious thoughts directed my actions for the next several hours. Suddenly, I was no longer in the garret, having rematerialized in front of a quartet of German soldiers.
Then, I was kneeling on a soldier's chest, ripping open his shirt, tearing flesh all the way down to bone, cracking open his sternum and sinking my fangs directly into his heart as his fellow soldiers watched in horrified paralysis.
I have no way of knowing how many German soldiers died that night, but accounts of my exploits were published in newspapers as far away as England, where the citizenry reading the more plebeian newspapers were entertained by accounts of "The Prague Mangler."
Suddenly, I realized Nicole was staring at me. Or rather, she was staring at me staring at her. I quickly averted my gaze.
Dale explained how to take the beginning readings from the taxi meter and showed where on the waybill to record that information. It seemed he realized he was droning on a bit, that perhaps all this information was obvious; a certain sarcastic tone was apparent in his voice as he explained trips and units, the former being the number of times the meter is turned on, the latter being the number of additional "clicks" recorded through mileage and time not-in-motion.
He then walked us through a mythical shift and showed us how to balance our waybills at shift's end. Oddly, though his tone was sarcastic, his countenance seemed to attach a high degree of importance to the general topic of paperwork. Perhaps, it was the "bean-counter" aspect of his being which caused him to do this.
Mercifully, Dale concluded his presentation and allowed us to take another ten-minute break. When we returned, he turned off the lights and showed a defensive driving film.
"This covers the basics," Dale said. "We have an in-house defensive driving course that you will all be required to complete before passing probation. It's about eight hours over a two day period."
My fellow trainees groaned loudly. I heard myself groan. Dale smiled, making a show of shaking his head sadly. "Now, we do want