ahead, a door opened, and a large bulk emerged and lumbered toward my vehicle. It was Truck, aptly named for his big-boned frame bundled with vast rolls of fat covering rather thick muscles. His hair was long, black and stringy, his beard overgrown and quite unkempt. He wore a black leather jacket covered with thick, shiny zippers, heavy chains hanging from both epaulets.
He stopped by my door, his beard fluttering in the soft breeze. I rolled down my window.
"Hey Count, " he said, a gentle smile on his face.
"Good evening," I replied blandly, annoyed at the interruption of my solitude.
"You okay?" His smile faded, replaced by an expression of furrowed-brow concern.
"Adequate," was my terse reply.
"Well, I was wondering, because earlier you and I were racing for a call - "
"We were?" Indeed, my preoccupation was apparently quite overwhelming.
"Well, yeah." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "You had me dead to rights, but when I got to the call, the passenger was waiting out front, and you were nowhere to be seen."
"Then, apparently, you just simply beat me."
He shook his head. "No, man. I've seen you in action. No way in hell I was beating you to that call. Hell, you're one of Kern's trainees. When Kern trains somebody, they win races."
The fellow was sincerely concerned, though my mind was racing with various paranoid possibilities as to his real motive for speaking to me such. "I have been preoccupied, that is all."
"Yeah, that's what I figured." Truck reached through the window and slapped me lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, just keep your head in the game. You got something on your mind, don't let it get you into trouble. And if you're that distracted, feel free to come off the road. You tell dispatch you just can't drive, they don't have a problem with you checking it in early."
I thanked Truck. He bid adieu and returned to his cab. Shortly thereafter, headlights drew my attention to the rear-view mirror. A cab pulled up behind me, its driver long of raven hair, angular of face. What is it the Americans say? Let sleeping dogs lie? It seemed a good policy, except I still possessed her father's book, far too valuable a relic to keep when it belonged to someone else. Civility certainly mandated that something be said to her regarding this.
To say the least, Nicole was less than happy to see me. Upon seeing me approach, she leaned back in her seat, arms crossed in front of her chest. She opened the window but a crack.
"Yes, Al." Her tone was guarded and condescending, the way one speaks to a child.
I backed up slightly and raised my hands, palms facing her. "I am not here to harass you in any way."
"Better not be."
"I merely wish to inform you that I still have your father's book. It is safe and awaiting your retrieval. If you so desire, I can drop it off at your house."
Perhaps, the mention of her father's book might have softened her demeanor. Perhaps not. "I desire no such thing," she snapped. "I'll come by and pick it up." She closed her window and buried herself in a book.
At least her emotion was anger and not fear, a fact allowing for a certain degree of solace. Obviously, she merely thought me insane. Onedoes accept camouflage, regardless of whatever bizarre shape it might take.
Eventually, a trio of planes landed. Flights had been delayed, but now the Cab Gods had blessed us. Every cab at the airport was able to load. Unfortunately, by this time, too many cabs had pulled in behind me, thus making it impossible to get a split-load, but at least there was activity with which to occupy myself.
It seemed that the Cab Gods chose to intervene personally to assuage my troubled mind. My passenger was a businessman going all the way to the Radisson Hotel, clear across town from the airport. Just before reaching the destination, a call materialized at a restaurant across the street from the hotel. It was mine and went to Middleton, a suburb directly adjacent toMadison 's west side. A call in Middleton popped up. It went back to the far west side. Then....
"Platteand Odana," Dexter's crackling voice said over the cab radio.
The Cab Gods had indeed taken pity upon me. "Gammon and the Point to Gammon and Odana," I said when Dexter called my number.
"A mere formality," Dexter chirped. "Count, theGinza . Comes up."