wrenched open the rear door and scooted into a cloud of stale cigar smoke and cheap cologne. Raj climbed in next to me and pulled the door closed as I thumped my fist on the back of the passenger seat. “Drive! Go, go, go!”
Outside, Fink raced across the street toward us with Bundy and Kyle following close behind.
The weary-looking cabbie stared at us in the rear view, a cigar hanging from his mouth. “Did you boys hold up a 7-Eleven?” He turned in his seat, looking Raj up and down and clenching his cigar in his teeth.
Raj pointed at the rear window. “Those psychos are about to turn us into chalk outlines. Please, just go!”
The cabbie peered through the window and then nodded with a glint in his eye. He opened the glove box and rifled through it. Finding what he was looking for, he tied a pair of fluffy dice to the rear-view mirror and slipped his hands into a pair of leather gloves, pulling them tight over his fingers. With a turn of the ignition, the engine kicked into life. I took a deep breath and settled back in my seat.
Thud.
Something struck the roof. My door swung open and Fink leaned in and gripped my arm. The engine roared, tires screeched, and the cab jerked forward. With a flash of alarm in his eyes, Fink sprinted alongside the open door, tightening his hold on my arm and pulling so hard he almost dislocated my shoulder from its socket. The cab swerved away from the curb, revving loudly, and Fink stumbled and collapsed into the doorframe. A raspy scream tore from his throat as he lost his hold on my arm and tumbled out onto the street. His wailing grew fainter as the cab bounced across potholes and gained speed.
Leaning out the open door, I pulled it shut and pressed the lock. “Get us out of here!”
The expression on Raj’s face eased as he watched Fink, Kyle, and Bundy shrink into the distance. Nearly a block behind us, Fink climb to his feet and nursed his arm. Kyle and Bundy ran to the next cab and piled into the back seat. Fink staggered to the cab and hobbled in next to them. After a short pause, the cab pulled away from the curb and accelerated.
Raj tapped the cabbie’s shoulder. “They’re following us.”
The cabbie adjusted the rear view and leaned forward, squeezing the wheel with intense concentration. He hit the brakes and spun the wheel, squealing the tires as he veered into a narrow alley. In dim light, the cab shot forward, throwing Raj and I back in our seats. Without saying a word, we both reached across our shoulders and dragged our seatbelts over our chests. The cabbie gripped the wheel so tight a vein in his neck bulged, and his unblinking eyes swept the dumpsters and potholes like he’d been waiting his entire life for this. At the end of the alley he spun the wheel and lifted the parking brake. Tires screeched, and we swerved onto Sutcliffe Street. The cabbie floored the gas and weaved through the traffic like a Grand Theft Auto wannabe. We drifted into the path of an oncoming bus and then veered right, fishtailing back and forth as the maniac cabbie struggled to straighten. We bounced onto the curb and the daylight through the windscreen darkened as the cab ploughed through a tall stack of cardboard boxes.
“Slow the hell down!” Raj shouted. “We wouldn’t need your help if we wanted to get killed.”
The cabbie swung the wheel and we plunged back down the curb onto the street.
Behind us, Kyle’s cab swerved into view and lurched forward, accelerating through gaps between cars and buses. Before we could get to the next intersection, Kyle’s cab was almost bumper-to-bumper with us, headlights shining in our rear window. Their cabbie was hunched over the wheel with Kyle’s knife at his throat. Towering over them from the backseat, Fink bit his teeth into the cabbie’s headrest, tore off a mouthful of vinyl, and spat it at the cabbie’s head. With his snake tongue hanging from his mouth, Fink wrapped his arms around the headrest and wrenched it back, grimacing as he strained, and broke it free from the seatback. With the headrest in one hand, he lowered his window and tossed it out onto the sidewalk.
Raj pointed at a handset on the dash. “Is that a radio? Tell them to back off.”
Responding with an alarmed expression, the cabbie lifted the handset and squeezed the button. “Cab 4-1-7 requesting 9-7-5 cease following. Over.” He let go of the button and the radio crackled.
The cabbie behind us picked up his handset, and the radio clicked. “Negative. No can do, 4-1-7. Under duress.” Another burst of static.
Raj fell back in his seat. “And you asked so nicely.”
The radio clicked, and a different voice, very calm, very matter of fact, came through. “We’re going to get you, Maddox… over.” The radio erupted with laughter and then another round of static.
Our cab swerved left and narrowly missed an oncoming truck. Raj gasped and clutched the seat in front of him. “We’d be safer in the other cab.”
“I’ve got this,” the cabbie said. He had something, but it wasn't this. Reaching into the glove box, he produced a photo of Vin Diesel. He mumbled under his breath, kissed it, and placed it back. Glancing in the rear view, he jammed his foot on the brake and the cab bucked up on its rear suspension, launching us forward against our seatbelts. With a jarring thud, the cab behind us struck our bumper and threw us back in our seats. Our cabbie shifted the gearstick into first and pressed a button on the dash marked ABS, dimming the light above it. He wiped sweat from his brow and slowed the cab to a crawl. The cab behind us, barely hanging on to its half-detached bumper, reversed a few feet. Inside, Fink leaned between the front seats and shouted at the flinching cabbie, and Kyle stared through the windscreen at me.
Without warning, our cabbie spun the wheel hard and stomped the gas pedal. The engine roared, tires screeched, and the car slowly pivoted around its front wheels as white smoke billowed from the rear tires. Raj fell sideways against his door. Cars in both lanes came to a standstill, keeping clear of the deranged cab driver.
“What are you doing?” I shouted, clutching the armrest as we spun in dizzying circles.
The cabbie strained as he held the wheel hard left, revving the engine like a racecar driver. “Showing them… who they’re messing with.”
The acrid smell of burning rubber filled the car and an orange light on the dash lit up. I pointed at the light. “What’s that?”
The cab continued pivoting around its front wheels, the engine squealing and the tires producing thick clouds of smoke. “She’s runnin’ hot,” the cabbie said. “Don’ worry. I’ll fill the coolant when I get back.”
“Coolant?”
A frown creased the cabbie’s sweaty brow. He eased his foot off the gas and straightened the wheel. The cab stopped spinning and went into a sideways drift, sending my gut into free fall. Skidding toward the sidewalk, the tires found traction, and the cabbie pulled into the curb and came to a stop. Through the rear window, we watched Kyle's cab pull in behind us. The doors opened and Kyle, Bundy, and Fink climbed out.
Raj fumbled with his door handle. “They’re coming. Run!”
“Wait!” Our cabbie raised his hand. I almost could've been convinced to trust Kyle over this lunatic. He squeezed the button on his handset. “9-7-5, get outta here. Now!”
Static crackled from the radio. “Roger that, 4-1-7.” The cab behind us veered away from the curb and started down the street.
Kyle strode up to my door and rattled the handle.
Thud.
On the other side of the car, a fist-sized dent appeared in the roof above Raj. The cabbie slammed his foot on the gas, and the tires screeched. Fink kicked the door as the cabbie spun the wheel and swerved back onto the street. Disappearing behind us, the three out-of-luck thugs sprinted hopelessly in our direction.
Raj closed his eyes, and I let out a deep breath and fell back against my seat. It wasn’t often I changed my mind about someone, but maybe I’d been too quick to judge this cabbie. We could’ve taken any other cab in the city and been hung out to dry. Now he’s got a damaged cab and nothing but the satisfaction of having helped us.
The engine shuddered and let out a metallic clattering, and the cabbie t
humped his fist on the dash. “Damn it to hell. Not again.”
“Wait… what?” Raj opened his eyes and leaned over the cabbie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
The cabbie pulled into the curb and pumped the gas pedal, and the engine graunched and fell silent.
Raj peered through the back window. “They’re coming!” Less than a block behind us, Kyle, Fink, and Bundy were closing in fast.
“Get out!” the cabbie shouted. “They’ll destroy my car.”
He wasn’t wrong. The cab would barely keep them out if it were made of titanium. We were a can of victims waiting to be uncanned. I pulled the latch on my door and stumbled out, the sudden rush of adrenaline making my heart pound. Raj limped around the cab’s trunk and onto the sidewalk.
Taking the cigar from his mouth, the cabbie lowered his window and held out his hand. “Ten bucks thirty.”
We couldn’t have paid if we wanted to, but I doubted the cabbie was going to force the issue. With Raj’s arm around my shoulder again, we hobble-ran down the sidewalk without looking back. I didn’t need to see what was happening to know we were about to be in a lot of trouble. A wave of dizziness hit me, and my legs weakened. A bent CLOSED sign hung over the window of Marley’s Bar. Further ahead on the corner, a Westside Tiny Mart sign lit up the sidewalk. I pointed at the door. “In there!” Breathless, we made our way to