Just another night for a Cabbie.

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Radio crackles, “Cab 28, Call-in! – over”. . . Click, “Cab 28, Wat’cha got, Julie? – over”. . . “Mrs. Russo needs to get groceries, everything as usual, you know where she lives” – over . . . “Yeah, sure, I’m on my way – over-and-out”. Mrs. Russo calls for a cab every other Wednesday evening at 8:00. She would call earlier except that she knows Rob doesn’t start his shift until 8:00.

Mrs. Russo trusts Rob.

Rob drops her off at Kroger’s and picks her up an hour later. She waits with her bagged groceries on a bench outside. Rob loads her groceries into the roomy trunk of the big De Soto, drives Mrs. Russo home, and carries the groceries to her kitchen table. Mrs. Russo always has a big tip for Rob. She appreciates his helpfulness.

Rob wishes every fare was like Mrs. Russo.

“Rob/ Cab 28, I’m open – over” . . . “Cherri needs a ride to the Hi-Life Club – over” “On it – over-and-out”. Cherri and several like her were regular fares. They were all strippers working for Girlie-Shows along Bradstreet. All claimed to be eighteen. Rob thought sixteen was more likely. None of them owned cars. All were sweetly innocent. They had plenty of cash, though they lived poor. They saved almost all their earnings for college. They were good tippers.

Rob would drive them to work and pick them up at closing time. It was an understood. arrangement. One call to the dispatcher covered both rides. Often, two, three, or more at a time would share Rob’s Cab. They all lived in the same shabby apartment building a few miles away from Bradstreet. They talked a lot. Rob enjoyed their chatter. They were nice girls with serious plans for their futures. Rob respected that. He hoped their plans worked out as well as planned. Sweet, pretty & generous; attractive fares in so many ways.

In between were less attractive fares.

“Rob/Cab 28, I’m open – over” . . . “There’s a guy at Bennett Plaza, says he needs a ride home. He sounds drunk - or something. Be careful. He’ll be standing in front of Toys-R-Us – over” . . . “Got it Julie, I’ll be careful – over-and-out”

Rob reflexively touched the snub-nosed 32 cal. he keeps in the gym bag beside him.

The fare was barely standing. Rob had to help him into the cab. He was mumbling. It took a little while to understand he wanted to go to one of the run-down motels along old R-65. These motels lost most of their business when I-65 replaced R-65. They were at full flower when R-65 was the main drag through town. Now their business was mostly alcoholics’, parolees, and assorted riff-raft. The names sounded like motels, but they were really more like one-story flop-house hotels.

Rob had many regulars along old R-65.

Rob had to help Mr. Toys-R-Us use his key to get into the room. He’d been slurring, “I got the money, I got the money, don’t you worry none ‘bout that”, over-and-over for the whole ride. To Rob’s relief he paid the fare. There was no way of knowing what he was doing at 2:30 AM, in a deserted shopping plaza, in front of Toys-R-Us.

“Rob/Cab 28, What’s next, Julie – over” . . . “A couple, at Moonlite Dream, they want a ride to the near westside – over” . . . “Just down the street. I’m on my way – over-and-out”. Rob knew these two. They weren’t exactly well behaved, but they paid. The guy, Chuck, had a pint in a paper sack. “Can’t drink that in the Cab”. “Sure, sure, I know”. Betty asks if she can smoke. “Roll the window down! Don’t bother me. Might bother the next customer”.

Nobody talked for the rest of the ride, until the last few minutes, when Chuck & Betty got into a shouting fight. They were going to visit Betty’s mom, to ask for money. Last time they did that, Chuck was rude to Betty’s mom. Chuck said, Betty’s “Mom” called him a bum. Rob left them, still shouting, at the curb.

He put the cash in the receipt folder, put the one-dollar tip in his pocket, then wrote name, trip-time and fare on the clip pad - and radioed Julie.

“Rob/Cab 28, wat’cha got – over”. . . “Joe D. wants his usual ride to the bar and pick-up at closing time – over” . . . “Yes ma’am, I’m rollin’ – over-and-out”.

Joe D. was a regular fare, almost like a friend, even though he was surly and didn’t say much. He was like many of Rob’s D.U.I. regulars. Most had given up on ever being able to drive. They didn’t need a car. They had Rob. They weren’t going anywhere except to the bar anyway. Big tippers, all, especially for the trip home.

D.U.I. alcoholics, strippers, and widow-ladies needing transportation for groceries were the bread-and-butter of Rob’s business. Solid regular fares, good tips, no problems. The fares in between weren’t so predictable.

“Rob/Cab 28, I’m up – over” . . . “Johnny James needs a ride to the Greyhound station. You might remember him from summer when you were working days. You drove him a few times to his parole officer. – over” . . . “Yeah, I remember. Not on parole anymore?. – over . . . “Guess not, he’s taking the Greyhound. – over-and-out”.

“Hi Johnny, guess you’re glad to have that parole stuff behind you”? “Uh huh. Thass right. Thass damn sure right. Ain’t on no damn parole. Ain’t goin’ back to no damn jail neither”. Johnny was hot. He could see Rob’s alarm in the rear-view mirror. That’s when Johnny pulled the gun. “Nuthin’ you need tuh worry ‘bout. Momma dyin’ in Tennessee. Don’t care ‘bout nuthin’ else. You keep them hands on the wheel where I can see ’em”. Johnny tossed a twenty onto the front seat. “Don’t touch that. Don’t reach at nuthin’ ‘til I get otta the cab”.

No more was said.

Rob delivered Johnny to the Greyhound station, then drove a few miles further on to a closed-for-the-night Mr. Hero up the street. Still buzzing, Rob shifted the cab into park. “No harm done. The twenty covered fare, plus tip - I’ll call Julie anyway”.

“Rob/ Cab 28, We gotta talk – over” . . . Rob tells Julie the whole story. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? – over . . . “I’m ok, think I’ll just sit still for a while”. – over . . . “You take as long as you need. Maybe you should take the rest of the night off? – over . . . “No, no, I’m ok. I’ll be ready to go in a half-hour. – over-and-out”.

Rob kept the cab running. Except for monthly maintenance these big Desoto’s were never shut down. Starting drivers got into already running cabs. These were tough cars.

Julie waited another hour more before dispatching to Cab 28.

“Hope you’re recovered. Got a nice dull fare for you – over”. “ Thanks Julie. I’m ready – over . . . “Mrs. Cortez fell. Thinks she broke her hip. Wants a ride to emergency care. You may have to help her out of the house – over . . . “Sure, sorry to hear she fell. I’m on my way – over-and-out”. Mrs. Cortez was one of Rob’s grocery lady regulars. Mrs. Cortez did break her hip. She’d be hospitalized for an unknown time. She wouldn’t need a ride back.

Julies next dispatch was to Metro Airport. Sheik Abdul bin Fahd needed a lift to Mortin Heart Clinic. Airport pick-ups were rare for JulieCab. City Cab had a granted monopoly for airport business. The monopoly could be ignored if another Cab Company was called directly. Abdul bIn Fahd’s brother, Khaled, had given JulieCab’s number to Abdul. When Khaled bin Fahd was treated the previous summer at the world-famous Clinic, Mortin Heart Clinic recommended JulieCab. Khaled was very satisfied with his treatment at the Clinic, and very satisfied with JulieCab’s service. He didn’t want his brother to risk any other Cab Company.

Abdul was waiting at Gate 12, draped in the light flowing robes of his native desert land. For some reason neither brother had given thought to winter in north America. Rob opened the door for the shivering Sheik. He offered his coat. It was much too small for Abdul’s girth. Abdul draped the coat over his chest and continued shivering. “Please, more heat”. “More heat, please”. “More heat”. Rob kept turning up the heater. It wasn’t enough. Full-blast wasn’t enough. They arrived at the Clinic with Abdul still shivering.

Still, Abdul was grateful for Rob’s attempts to warm him. He offered a fifty-dollar bill as tip. “Is enough”? “Yes, yes. Is enough. Thank you”. Abdul waved goodbye as he walked into the clinic. Rob rolled both front-seat windows all the way down and radioed Julie.

Julie laughed. “You’ve had quite a night. When you get cooled down, Jessica at Avalon Apartments has decided to go home to mom & dad. She’ll be waiting outside at No, 3. – over”.

Jessica’s only luggage was a battered carboard box with clothes falling out on every side. She kept her hand inside a bunny hand-puppet pressed to her teary cheek. On the ride home the bunny confided to Rob that Jessica’s boyfriend had been very mean to Jessica.

Dad paid the fare and tip.

Avalon Apartments provided many customers for cabbies. Young couples in love, moved there for a dreamed-of first place of their own - and for the cheap rent. After their first big fight they would discover that domestic stability required more than cheap rent. Sooner or later, one or the other, would storm out and call for a cab. Usually it was the girl. If the girl had been paying the rent, it was the guy. Rob had heard their stories many times. Despite that, he listened as though he’d never heard of such outrage.

Sympathetic listeners get better tips.

“Rob/Cab 28, ‘Bout ready to call it a night. Got time for one more – over”. “Got an easy one. Chuck & Betty are ready for a ride back to Moonlite Dream – over”. “I’m on it. After this I’ll be bringing it home – over”. “Roger that. See you then – over-and-out. Chuck was speechlessly drunk. Betty was just speechless. It was a quiet trip all the way back to Moonlite Dream. Betty paid. She had a fistful of green.

Rob pulled the DeSoto into the JulieCab yard and left it running. He handed the fare envelope & clipboard to Julie and said goodnight. Julie was closing down, too. Her younger sister, Mary, had already started daytime dispatching.

Chet, the dayshift driver for Cab 28 said good morning.

It wasn’t a bad night all-in-all.

Rob forgave Johnny James. Federal Marshalls were probably waiting for him when he got off the Greyhound in Tennessee. Johnny loved his momma. Can’t fault him for that. The Sheik’s fifty-dollar bill made up for a lot.

Just another night for a Cabbie.

Tomorrow night . . .

Who knows?

By K. L. Shipley

Website: https://www.eclecticessays.com