The Darkest Day

FORTY-TWO

Victor headed south. He allowed himself to slow down to a walk. The chase had elevated his body temperature and he was sweating in an attempt to cool down. That would be a problem if not for the rain coming down hard disguising his body’s attempt to regulate itself.

He was fit and as well conditioned as a professional athlete, but fatigue was beginning to take hold. His limbs were feeling heavy. His mouth was open. His heart raced.

Two cop cars formed a loose barricade ahead. He could get around it easy enough, but not the four cops who stood guarding it. He backtracked through the crowd, only to see more NYPD were setting up another barricade at the other end of the street.

He was forced east with the crowd, taking long strides to reduce his height a little. He saw two cops in his peripheral vision cross the road and head towards him.

Accelerating tyres squealed on the wet asphalt. He looked back to see the white minivan coming after him. He ran, veering across the road and heading west.

A blue-and-white cruiser appeared ahead.

He doubled back and hurried north, the only way left. He heard the helicopter again, or maybe it was another. He felt the net tightening around him. No escape from capture or death.

The sound of sirens, rotor blades and revving engines filled his ears. Nowhere left to go. Nowhere to hide.

Stealing a vehicle was no good. The streets here were too gridlocked to escape behind a wheel. He would only trap himself.

But that gave him an idea.

He headed on to the road and pulled open the back door of a yellow taxi stood still in a line of unmoving traffic.

‘We ain’t goin’ nowhere,’ the driver told him before he had sat down. ‘Power’s down across the whole city. No lights. It’s gonna take a damn week just to get off this street.’

Victor shut the door. ‘That’s fine by me.’

The driver turned round in his seat, disbelief further creasing his worn face. ‘What you say?’

The man appeared to be in his late thirties, with a face worn down by hard experiences. His head was shaved but he had several days’ worth of stubble on his face. His neck was covered in tattoos.

‘I’m happy to sit here.’

‘Are you nuts? What do you think this taxi is, a damn park bench? Take a hike.’ He gestured.

Victor took out a hundred and held it up for the driver to see. ‘Park benches are free though, are they not?’

The taxi driver’s eyes were wide as he took the bill. ‘True that.’ He shoved the bill into his pocket. The firm wouldn’t be taking their cut because the meter wasn’t running. He turned back.

They sat in silence until the driver said, ‘Say, you wanna listen to some tunes while you sit?’

‘Sure. Do you happen to have any Brahms?’

His gaze met Victor’s in the rear-view mirror ‘Any what?’

‘Silence will be fine.’

‘Suit yourself, brother. It’s your park bench.’

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in a practised rhythm, supplying a beat to the silent melody his head was moving back and forth to.

Running footsteps made the driver stop and check his wing mirror. Three cops ran by on the pavement and disappeared into the distance. Then four more did the same.

None of the cops so much as looked at the line of traffic, let alone who was sitting in the back of any taxi. They were pursuing a man on foot, at least that’s what they thought.

The driver sat still for a long beat, thinking, deciding, then made eye contact in the mirror and said, ‘Are they…?’

‘Yes.’

It would have been pointless to pretend otherwise. Victor held the driver’s gaze in the rear-view.

The driver burst out laughing. ‘Man, that is some funny shit.’ He slapped a palm on the steering wheel. ‘Now, I knew you were crazy when you climbed into my ride. But I had no mind that you were that crazy. You must have balls as big as balloons to pull off a stunt like this.’

‘I don’t like to brag.’

The driver laughed louder, and Victor managed to smile in the rare moment of calm and humour, sitting in the back of a stationary taxi while a legion of cops hunted for him nearby.

The driver stopped laughing and frowned. ‘Say, you’re not some kind of terrorist or some such shit, are ya?’

‘Do I look like a terrorist to you?’

‘I don’t know,’ the driver said. ‘I’m not sure how a terrorist is rightly supposed to look. You wearing one of those suicide vests under that shirt? Nah, I guess I could tell.’

Victor thought of a time in Italy. ‘Not necessarily.’

He unfastened a few buttons so the driver could see a section of chest.

The driver smirked and waved a hand. ‘Put that shit away, bro. I don’t need to be seeing that. I guess you’re no terrorist.’

Victor refastened the buttons. ‘I’m glad we can agree on that.’

‘But if you ain’t no terrorist looking to blow yoself up, what the hell are you to be on the run from Five-0?’

‘How long do you have?’ Victor asked.

‘I got as long as you sit there, don’t I?’

Victor risked looking over his shoulder to check the street. No more cops had appeared. The sound of sirens had faded as the search headed away.

He said, ‘I think we’ll have to save it for next time, I’m afraid.’

The driver looked too. ‘Coast clear now, is it?’

Victor nodded. ‘Looks like it.’

The driver grinned. ‘All part of the service. Tell your friends I’m the best damn cab driver in this town.’ He used a thumb to point at himself. ‘I’m Leo.’

Victor said, ‘Now, you’re not going to tell anyone about me, are you?’

‘Do I look like a snitch to you?’

‘No,’ Victor said. ‘You don’t look like a snitch to me.’

‘Damn straight I ain’t. I know the rules. I know how shit works on the street. I didn’t always drive a cab, you know?’

‘That’s good, Leo,’ Victor said, ‘because I really didn’t want to have to kill you.’

The driver didn’t laugh or smirk. He looked at him, intrigued, like he believed Victor hadn’t been joking and in that fact saw far more about his passenger.

He said, ‘Next time I see you I’ll buy you a beer and you can tell how you ended up hiding in the back of my ride. I got a feelin’ that story is worth listenin’ to.’

‘Some things are best left unsaid.’ Victor reached for the door handle. ‘Thank you for this.’

‘No problem, amigo.’

‘I owe you one,’ Victor said. ‘I really mean that. If we ever cross paths again then you can cash it in.’

The driver nodded, thoughtful, then said, ‘Hey, don’t you go nowhere without telling me your name, brother,’ as Victor began to climb out. ‘Not after I saved yo ass.’

For fun, Victor told him.