Finally

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Short Fiction

 

By

 

David A. Archer

02/15/1968

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

09/12/2006

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Average, everyday evening after no less than another 12 hour workday.

 

I had a beer and some wine, then as normal, called a cab.

 

I didn’t work for tips.  I worked the average hourly pay scale in a kitchen, which as many know isn’t that much.  I still managed to work a cab ride into my budget on evenings of especially long hours.

 

I felt that I deserved it to some degree.

 

My work life then, isn’t the story.  The story here is based around the ever elusive fact that any cab driver, no matter how many times they have taken you to the same address will do what they can to lengthen the ride just a little.

 

I’ve been in cities, arriving from the airport where it is just truly outrageous.  So much so that it becomes a form of entertainment in many respects.  Especially when it is that a person is familiar with the surroundings and where it is that they are destined after the flight.

 

Somehow there is this over laying attitude among cab drivers, that everyone else on the planet is some form of walking dead.  Without even the common sense of the ass behind the wheel most times.  This of course is a major part of the entertainment value in listening to them precariously attempt to balance a thin conversation with pressed tones connoting some form of integrity, while you watch them knowingly take the “scenic route.”

 

I had gotten off of work that evening… and as I stated, I had a few drinks and was more than ready for my lounge chair at home.  I knew that odds were, the ride would take me between the standard 15 minutes, and nearly a half hour depending upon who got the call.

 

I hung my head slightly when the car pulled up after seeing which “straw” I had drawn as per paid drivers. 

 

I knew it was going to be close to another 20-25 minutes before I even got to the curb in front of my residence.  I simply accepted it even though I wasn’t in the mood to watch or listen to the drama I’ve described in regard to posturing and covering for the added mileage and drive time.

 

It was just over the hill for crying out loud.  I had walked it many times.

 

I got into the cab and being near winter it was already becoming dark, but I still managed to notice something I will never forget as a solid reminder.

 

It is a reminder that regardless of how in syncopation cab drivers think they are, anywhere around the world I suppose, they will at every chance do anything to increase their income.

 

This I now knew definitely as I sat in the back seat and then noticed the severed head in the floor board just next to me.

 

Not being one to be any too surprised at anything I may encounter in a cab, I stated in an average tone;  “Hey!  You know you still got a severed head back here.”

 

“Aw man” he replied, “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice… I wanted to wait until after my shift to do all of the paper work and reports on it.  I can’t stand anything cutting into my day like that.  Ass holes had no right to begin with… trying to drag me into their mess.”

 

Of course I was still none too surprised to get a drawn out introduction to the severed head being in the floor board, then further and just as predictably being seen as problematic to his day.

 

I decided to bite seeing as we were still sitting in the same place and the meter was already running.   It was going to be no less than 25 minutes.

 

"So.. do tell" I said, "I'd like to hear about it on the way" I stressed.

 

"It's no big deal really" he stated, again in a rather predictable nonchalance doing everything he could to down play a severed head accompanying a paid fare.   "These two guys got in… and I normally just mind my business, you know…. But they were drunk or something and started in on each other… then before you knew it, one guy cut the other guys head off…but I managed to recoup the cab fare when I dumped the body in the street…I just haven't got around to kicking the head out, yet.   Idn't that a bitch?"  He then asked, still further in the direction of non involvement somehow.

 

"Yep" I said as I could begin to smell the death rising from the head rolling here and there with the turns and sway of the car, "that would really suck to be dragged into something like that.   You probably made the right choice in just not getting involved…and it's a good thing you got your cab fare, too."

 

"No joke… man, those guys were going at it and I thought for sure I would have to make up for it later somehow… you know" he paused, get an extra fare or something just before my shift ended."

 

"You don't think you'll have to explain at the garage?'   I asked him.

 

"No... I'll just stop and spray it out at the car wash on the way back.   The guy after me doesn't even have a green card yet, so he won't say anything… if he happens to notice anything different….. besides, he said he used to drive in some mid east city… so he probably wouldn't be too upset anyway."

 

I then began to think about how cab drivers seemed to stay at lights a little longer, and drive just a bit slower when they knew you worked at a nice restaurant.   It obviously didn't even occur to the guy that I made an hourly wage and didn't even get tipped out.  His presumption was probably that I was rolling in dough, so to speak… just because of the reputation of the place.

 

The idea of "artisan" never seems to occur to those type of people…those bent on making a quick buck any way they can.  I can’t recall ever having much more than monthly rent and some beer money.  All while working at one of the most recognized restaurant establishments in the city.  It was even ranked somewhere in the country as per industry regulations.

 

I’m sure that is where they got the idea that somehow I was rolling in cash.

 

I found out sometime later that the fact of my employment actually led to further research about my personal “file,” which then led them on a goose chase based on some relations formerly of the entertainment industry.

 

I am sure they just couldn’t wait to figure a way into my pocket book.

 

As I looked again toward the rolling severed head, and put the continuing cackle from the front seat at the back of my mind, I then found myself actually wondering why it is that everyone in the United States can vote?

 

I know that sounds a bit callous, but considering the experience I feel I was justified with the line of thought… especially further when finding out about the extra “research” as per my person.

 

“This guy has a head rolling around in his vehicle” I thought to myself, “a vehicle that is used to procure an income from other people riding in it… presumably safely and with some level of efficiency.”

 

I gazed out the window at the changing street light, just counting the seconds to myself for some reason I still can’t put a finger on.  I knew, even with the change in direction indicators already having occurred, that the car would still sit there for at least another few seconds.

 

“What kind of creatures were humans becoming?” I continued to think to myself.  “This guy has a license to chauffer people for paid exchange, and has a head rolling around in his car which, as per his own disposition counts as less of a priority than does his fare.  It might as well not even be there as far as he cares and I am sure that in a courtroom a person would never be able to have him recall it… or our conversation for that matter.”

 

I then found myself wondering if maybe he had pre-arranged calls for get-a-ways from heists and the like?

 

It truly wouldn’t surprise me in the least…

 

…As long as they didn’t mind a severed head rolling around with them, in the back seat….

 

…And of course, as long as the money was right.