The Black Taxi Part 1
by Olivia Jean Ecklund
This was inspired by a small group of Taxis in my own hometown called Knight's Taxi Cab Service. However, they are not black.

No infringement of anyone's right intended. Permission for Teri and Mel to archive.

The Black Taxi cab sat at the curb. The driver drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. His fare was late. The driver had been in New York a little over two years and drove the night shift. His life was ruled by the passengers he drove, through them he touched life. As each night neared to a close, he returned to the garage and to the tiny apartment above it to sleep the day away.

His life was so different from what he'd led in the past. Gone were his fine clothes and comfortable apartment, as well as the job that fulfilled his life, his friends and loved ones. He'd burned all those bridges one fateful night. He made a choice that ended that life and sent him off in a very different direction, a course far from his former life.

The hotel door suddenly burst open with activity. A large group of people crowded out the door; milled around say their good nights to old and new friends. It was some sort of convention.

The attendees headed for the line of taxis. A man tried to enter the driver's car, "Sorry, Mac. I was called by a passenger."

"Geeze." The gentlemen backed out, slammed the door, and started to look for another taxi.

The driver checked his log sheet. "Woman, blonde, short hair."

A woman came forward and stared at the taxi.

The driver bent to take in the woman's blonde hair, but her coat collar was pulled up to nearly cover her face. She didn't lean down toward him, but stood there lost in thought.

He called out in his best cabbie voice, "Hey lady, are you going to get in?"

He put the logbook away and didn't see her lower her face to look at him. Shock and relief registered on her face. She let out a soft breath that trembled, stepped to the back and took hold of the door handle with nervous fingers. She pulled the door open and slid into the back seat.

"Where to?" he asked not even glancing in the mirror. One passenger was the same as a million.

She spoke but her voice was somehow damaged and came out in a croaking whisper. "Is there a place to see a good view of the water and the city?"

The driver became uncomfortable, something seemed to tingle in his brain, but he dismissed it. "Yeah, I know a place. It's pretty unpopulated at night. The fare will be high though."

"Perfect," she croaked.

"It's your dollar, Lady." He started the motor, and swung into the traffic.

"Some kind of convention?" he asked, not interested, but making conversation.

"Medical," she answered.

That comment caused him to withdraw into his own thoughts. He saw a beautiful woman with rich, dark brunette hair and a smile that would light the night as no other had - but she was long dead.

The passenger called him back to the present. "Have you been in New York long?"

"A couple years." The conversation was safe and the usual questions people asked. He was surprised how nosy people were.

"Wife? Kids?" she asked.

"No."

"Parents?"

"Mother's years gone, Father passed on a couple years ago."

"I'm so sorry," she said. There seemed to be compassion in her voice, yet he thought he heard sarcasm. He glanced up in the mirror, but her face was lost in the shadows. He dismissed his thoughts. It must have been her voice, unable to express sound right. Why would this stranger find some pleasure in his father's death? He continued to drive, getting closer to the coast.

He decided a change of subject was best, and he only knew one thing about her so he asked, " are you a doctor?"

"Not recently. I've been on medical leave for several years. I plan to go back soon. An accident robbed me of the use of my left side.

It has taken a lot of rehabilitation," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," he said as he turned his attention to the road ahead.

The passenger leaned forward and raised her hand to touch his golden curls. Then she seemed to check herself and withdrew.

She asked, "Where'd they get the name for the taxi company? I've never seen black cabs in New York."

"I always thought being a Knight was a exciting part of history. An ancestor, who was a knight, fought in the crusades."

"Really," she whispered. "You own the company then. Why drive a cab?"

"It's pretty small, just me and the dispatch, a young homeless girl I helped off the streets. I have a small apartment over the garage. I like to meet people. A good friend once told me how much better my life would be if I didn't hide away so much."

The driver didn't see the woman dab at her eyes with a tissue. "Where's your friend now?" she asked.

The driver was silent for a long moment.

The woman could hear the pain in his voice when he answered. "She's dead. Murdered." His voice cracked.

"I'm so sorry. You loved her?" she asked as she leaned forward to hear the answer.

"Yes," he whispered so low she nearly didn't catch it.

The traffic was thinning now, and the buildings gave way to a spectacular view of the coast and the distant Statue of Liberty.

He pulled up to the dock. "This is it, Miss."

Another request came from her. "Please. I'll pay you to walk with me to the end of the dock. It's pretty isolated out here."

He sighed. He usually didn't talk so much, or get involved with his passengers. It was best to stay distant. Yet, he knew he could never let this woman walk alone out there in that desolate place. It was also the best view he'd ever seen.

"No charge. It's on the house," he said as he got out of the cab and went around to open the door for her.

The End of Part1.
By Jeannie Ecklund Gersknightlady@cs.com




Black Taxi Part 2
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