thereis ice in the intersection. I'm gonna write you a ticket. You gotta to stop when the light turns red. I was right behind you. I didn't see any brake lights. You didn't even try to stop."
"Christ, what an asshole," I heard one of my passengers say. The officer shined his flashlight into the cab.
"You mean," another passenger said, "you'd expect him to risk losing control of the cab just so he can stop for your precious traffic light?"
Thank you, I thought.
"These passengers?" the officer asked.
"Yes," I replied haughtily. "I am taking them to the Field House, which is just around the corner from here. If you would allow me to do just that, I promise I will be much more careful. I can assure you I have no outstanding warrants."
The officer gave me a scrutinizing look while fondling the various implements of torture hanging from his belt. "Gimme your driver's license," he said.
Reaching for my wallet, my eyes never leaving his, I thought of the cost of a traffic ticket and considered the importance of this petty little constable in the greater scheme of things. If reincarnation truly exists, I had previously encountered this gentleman when fleeingGermany after the incident in theBlack Forest with the highwaymen who had attempted to rob me. He had said my traveling papers did not permit me to ride my horse, just transport it. This constable came too close to arranging a rendezvous between me and a burning at the stake.
"Just a moment," I said smiling. The officer frowned, his expression impatient.
I stared deeply into his eyes, watching them grow larger. My mind opened, projected. Sometimes the minds of others feel like granite, sometimes like steel, sometimes like a well-clenched fist. I almost laughed out loud; it was as if I had plunged my hand into a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal.
The frown dropped off his drooping face. Without a word, the officer turned, walked to his vehicle and drove away.
"Geez," a passenger said. "He's gone? What the hell?"
"I've never seen anything like that before," another passenger said.
I shifted into gear and moved forward slowly. "Sometimes, you get lucky," I said, "and catch them in a good mood."
Apparently, Kern's lessons were well learned. I had adjusted to harsh and hazardous weather conditions. My paychecks no longer needed to be fortified. About a week following the incident with the constable, half a shift had passed when I realized that I had not yet referred to my map or street directory.
And then came the opportunity to prove my mettle in a race. Grateful for dry streets, I had just taken the curve on Gorham where it becomesUniversity Avenue , right before the east edge of the campus. Ahead was another Co-op Cab, which displeased me because that cab would beat me out of most calls in the area.
"Lake andDayton ," the dispatcher said. Obviously, that had to be Witte Hall, a dormitory just a couple blocks away, most assuredly the other cab's call. But not necessarily.
The other cab crossedFrances Street just as the light turned yellow. As the Americans would say, I gunned the engine and squealed through a left turn onto Frances, just before the light turned red - that constable damned to hell! - then floored it toward the next intersection, the light snapping green just as I reached the crosswalk. The dispatcher took my bid, then took the other cab's bid. The race was on!
I felt myself grin as my cab flew through the intersection, the rear of Witte Hall on the right, the main entrance on the opposite side of the building, in the next block. Kern would tell me to stomp on it, and that is exactly what I did.
Stop sign, right turn. Squealed a right turn at the next intersection and pulled up to the main entrance of the dormitory just as the other cab got the green light.
My grin would do Kern justice. Not only had I arrived first, but my cab was on the correct side of the street.
The other cab crossed the intersection, then stopped when even with my vehicle. Even in the darkness, it was easy to see that the driver was glaring angrily at me. Then, his expression changed from anger to close scrutiny, like he was looking right through me.
Then, the expression turned to fear.
And suddenly I recognized the driver. It was the fellow who had given me a ride from the airport when first I had arrived inMadison .
****
Shift's end, and it was a