“Where to, Grosvenor?” the cabbie asked, grinning at him,
revealing a set of crooked teeth as the window lowered.
It had been a hell of a day, and for a moment Chaz was
considering adding to the misery with an ugly remark, alarmed as he was at the
speed at which the cab had darn near taken the edge of his toes off in the
approach. His head swam for a moment as
he took the city in, doing his best to lose it all in the taller wanderings in
this Western of Ends, hard to see between the sheets & falling torrents,
lighter in his hand proving useless against the floods and wind.
Instead he merely dove into the back, knocking his shoes
against the door frame as if in a ward of good luck.
“Just drive, my good man,” he said, leaning back in his seat,
doing his best to breathe through the thickness of the air. The dark shell of the plastic beetle
glistened, the interior hotter than he would have liked for a ride to…where
exactly? The City could be quite suffocating
when it wanted to, an old maw opening wide for any straggling visitors. No, now he just needed a good club, a good
dive perhaps – somewhere to hole oneself up for a bit. He fingered the flask in his jacket pocket
for a moment before letting it slide, checking his mobile.
Nothing as of yet,
which was good. He still had time.
“Rough day?” added
the driver, as if seeming to read his mind.
For a moment, Chaz wondered if he should go back to the hotel, or else
try to preemptively call Emily. Her
voice would do him some good, but no, better to stick to the plan.
There was still time.
“You could say that.”
Chaz marveled at his luck that he had a true Englishman, and not some
kid with headphones in. “Feels good to
ride.” He wondered that maybe the park,
or the river would be a better bet to go; a place to clear one’s head perhaps?
“Everyone needs to mosey from time to time I should say,” tried the driver, easing into traffic with considerable
skill. From the looks of it, they were
heading into the rainy east.
“Yea, even The Goodman did, I bet. Specially in downpours like this.”
“Ha, more likely to encounter Mr. Splitfoot on these roads,
dear sir!” On this Chaz had to chuckle
along with him. Unlike his own town,
darn near every face he saw over forty here could have been mistaken for Pacino
himself, impeccably bespoke folks making announcements preemptively. He leaned back, conscious now that the driver
was still prattling on; could he take a nip on the next turn?
“They found a vampire up in Highgate once. A druid circle out in Bacey Park even. But its all just rubbish, as I say. The real stuff hides a bit more, ya know?”
“Heh, that’s true! Too
many idiots with a pint I guess.” As if
to prove their point, they passed a garish bar (pub, he had to remind himself)
where several stragglers wandered round its edges with pitchforks and capes
twirling. Most were ramming each other
in drunken reverie on some new technology or another, or howling like wolves, with
the others merely standing round filming.
Overall, it looked like a wickedly good time.
“Where is a good party at, ya figure, then?” he tried, thinking he needed something
harder. Two more hours, then a call to
Em. Maybe.
“If your asking about some of the powdered white, you can
forget about that young sir; that’s not for my tastes. I’m more a churchman meself”
“Sure sure. But anything
good worth seeing I meant? Sights,
sounds?”
“Well, that’s for me to take ya too, if you know where yous
want’s to go.”
“Honestly, maybe just drop off down somewhere along the quai? Anything good down that way?” He sat scratching the side of his
temple.
“I can sir, but that seems a mighty waste of ‘the Knowledge’
if I may says; besides no quais here, especially in these trying times.”
“I’ve got some smarts about me.” Chaz tried, glancing for a nameplate. Gus it
stated, accompanied by some typical sounding English last name.
British, he corrected
himself.
“No, no sir: I think you misunderstand me. I am talking about the Knowledge.” The fellow
paused, as if Chaz had wanted to follow along with him – the snaggletooth
gleamed as they rounded the next corner.
“The Knowledge of London? Don’t
tell me you’ve never heard of the Knowledge sir?”
“Is it some type of cake, or biscuit then?” Chaz tried after a moment, doing his best to see
what the latest blip from the mobile was.
The cabbie jergged his breaks in sharp reply, making his head swoon
further, almost seeming to snap their necks in reply. For a moment, the fellow really did turn full
back in his seat to look at him, black frame sliding from side to side, head
merely shaking.
“Your telling me you hailed one of London’s famous black
cabs, without any place, thought, destination, or utter perspective in mind? Never heard of the Knowledge, even?” On this
Chaz felt bemused, uncertain what to say.
He merely shrugged his shoulders, as if to better explain.
“Does it really matter?”
On this, the man (Gus,
he had to remind himself), laughed throatily, deeply, straitening himself
further in his seat. Crusted diamonds
seemed to gather in the corners of his eyes.
“Alright then mister, try this then. If you look to your left sir, in another half
block, look up above the doors. On the
second one from the left, the third door from the curb will be a pub with a daemon
effigy on it.” Chaz sat befuddled for a
moment, wondering what the man was saying.
He glanced over anyways, if only to kill the time.
Sure enough though, a red-eyed creature from the otherverse
drifted by in marked time. Was it a bat,
or some other rat-like creature? He
couldn’t be sure. After a moment, he
said what he really felt.
“That’s pretty neat…but it’s a trick, right? Just something you do to goose the locals?”
“No sir! No riddles,
nor games here. Just what practice, and
the Knowledge gets you round these parts.”
Chaz found himself a bit more curious for a change, leaning over his
coat a bit.
“I’m sure anyone would pick up the gist of a layout of a
city, circling round it enough times though, right? I mean, London is only so big..” He was beginning to have an idea of where
this was going yet decided to amuse the cabbie a bit further. Before them the meter ticked on, relentless.
“Only so big; oy you Yanks.
Wells, I’ll tell you what: do you happen have a guidebook on you? Anything with a blue or green cover” the
cabbie asked, sounding plum.
“Sure.” Chaz replied,
lifting the bent tome from his corner pocket, fingering it absentmindedly. For a wonder, he had actually bought one of
the things only just this afternoon, liking the weight and feel of the thing as
he perused the avenues in search of the next score. Thoughts of Emily began to disappear as the
fellow edged him on.
“Why?” He tried to
catch the cabbies eye, but they had come to a round-about of sorts, only
showing a shift of the hair.
“Flip to a random page, then, and give me any random
description of the front of the first building you see. Feel free to tell me more if you’d like, but just
a general flavor of the thing should be sufficient.” Chaz followed along, thinking best to humor
the man. Work was covering for the ride after
all, didn’t matter if it was a ploy to earn extra on the tip from a snookered
American. After a moment’s hesitation,
he indeed described the first building he saw.
“How about…well,.” He
watched the back of the balding head skeptically, wondering at the right words. “This one I’m seeing here has quite a few Greek
columns along the front. Very round,
dark even. Limestone perhaps? Looks a bit touched, specially round the
edges. Maybe on top of some sort of
globe?” He peered closer at the image, uncertain
of how best to describe what he was seeing in the gloom. He had almost lifted the book to show the man,
realizing in time that was not part of the sport.
“Aye,” Gus chortled, nodding
to himself. The eyes in the mirror
seemed to ease closed for a second, causing Chaz to make a grab for the door
handle. He was just thinking of the next
words to say, when he heard the cabbie muttering.
“Aye, why that is an
easy one, being next to the BBC and all.”
“The what?” Something
about the way the man’s brows had looked in the rearview made his skin momentarily
crawl.
“Let me guess,” continued the cabbie, “the building next to
it is slightly curved itself, a possible inner courtyard just seen, high
shadows and everything?”
“I suppose.” Chaz
said, trying to study the picture closer.
“Yea, maybe.”
“That’s the church of All Souls, it is, up in Marylebone. Easy.”
Chaz sat there, mildly impressed, glancing at the description below the
picture. It indeed was the same name,
location, everything.
Strange.
“From here, the quickest route would be back Shaftebury the
way we came, up the old Regent’s, and on the rightey. Maybe a mile, mile and a half. If you look to the right on your guidebook,
you’ll see the main map. We are near Piccadilly,
if it helps.” Chaz sat stunned for a
moment, staring down at the pamphlet in his hand. His eyes slid quicker than his fingers did
over the page, though he had literally been able to follow the street listings
as quickly as they had been spat out.
“It’s a trick,” he said before he fully thought his words
out. The cabbie merely chucked, tattering
to himself as he cut off a red double decker.
“Afraid not, Mister.
The Churches are the easy one. The
museums a little less so, then the pubs.
The tougher ones tend to be the historical markers, but even those you
get used to in time.” Chaz sat for a
moment, befuddled, everything else momentarily forgotten. Around them, the buildings continued to drift
by in a daze.
After a moment he leaned a bit forward, fighting the urge to
whisper.
“How did you do that, really?”
“Like I told you, it’s the Knowledge. Feel free to try again if you wish.”
“Sure, I suppose.” Chaz said, trying his best to sound more confident
than he now felt. Thoughts of the day
disappeared instantly under the curiosity that was coming before. He scanned the pamphlet for a second time,
wondering to himself if he should try to be clever with this pick. He waited till the driver turned onto a side street,
going a bit south before he made his move.
“How about this one then: this is a building all in maroon,
with a large barrel-vaulted opening? Above
a set of stairs, going down on either side of it. Mostly of brick.”
“Most buildings in Jolly Olde England are brick, cous!” The cabbie chortled, seeming to sparkle a smile
at him with only his eyes. “Give us a
bit more, maybe? For the Queen’s sake?” Chaz sat for a moment more, thinking of how
best to say the words coming now into his head.
He had never been a good draftsman, and this transcription was taking
the best of him.
“Ok. Sure. Well, this one has a triangular top,
limestone entry – seems to be a bus stop out front?” The driver seemed to be nodding to himself,
as much as he was Chaz.
“How many windows on the front of it?” he seemed to peering at those passing by
them, counting in time.
“Windows?”
“Yup.” Chaz sat for a
moment, counting himself. Clearly he had gotten the better of the driver, and
was just beginning to think what best more to ask.
“Well, it looks like there are eight, excluding the main barrel-vaulted
window over the entrance portico. Four
front windows on each floor, two on either side of the door. But what does that have to do with anything?” Gus paused for a long moment, giving Chaz a
feeling of satisfaction. He was glad to
win this game.
“Well,” the driver began.
“I guess it depends.”
“On what?” Chaz now
felt a strange feeling creeping into his heart: maybe one of glee? Ahead of him, the cabbie merely seemed only
to wheeze onward.
“Most people would think its quicker to go back down Portugal
Ave, right up Southampton row from where we are now. West up New Oxford, then right onto Tottenham
Court.” Chaz blinked, wondering for a
second what the man was talking about. His
eyes merely drifted back to the map before him, wondering.
Could it be?
Meanwhile, the driver continued on, nonplussed. “However, at this time of day, it would be
quicker to keep on Southampton way, seeing
as we are near the river now (for a guide to you, good sir, to give you a sense
as to where’s you be). From there, slide
sideways onto Bloomsbury Way, turn onto Bloomsbury Street (not way, as I mentioned before), loop west onto University, then come at Tottenham from the
north. Three streets down I should say:
that particular church on your right, that is.”
For a long moment, Chaz didn’t know what to say. He merely checked the route the gent had mentioned,
knowing it was a church under his finger, realizing there was too much an air
of certainty in all this for his own liking.
For kicks he really did pull out his mobile, bringing up the latest app
that would direct him there. Their
coordinates had shifted in the minute or two it took to do this, yet on first
glance it appeared the driver was right.
He merely sat back again, both bemused and flabbergasted at
the meaning of it all.
“It figure’s you Yanks would pick something close to home.”
He said, smiling with his eyes through the rearview mirror. “I tried to warn you the Churches was
easy. That one bes the American
International. Brick. It’s the mauve color you mentioned that gave
it away. I only ask about its windows,
because it has a sister structure on the south side o-the river, tis all.” Gus looked back in the rearview for a bit, as
if begging him to try more.
“We’ll I’ll be damned.”
“That, my kind sir, is the difference ‘the Knowledge’ gets
you about here in this town, or thereabouts.
Never been the same since the Je-eps came to be, though. You know about them? The G of the P of the S? Terrible times, terrible times, for us of the
Profession.” On the radio, some local
punk band was blaring a little too loudly.
“And that’s what the Knowledge is? An internal GPS?”
“Ah, yup, something like that. In this day and age of Je-eps with the
computers thinking for you, you’d think the world had no brains, no risk. No, no, me boy. In the old days we had to know this City like
the back o our hand, so they say. Only
way to get around the City is the Knowledge, if you cant keep your head.” Chaz sat back, as if expectantly.
“That’s what the black cabs really mean, and why I was so
surprised a man out for Sunday Twinner wanted to blow his buck on this! Hardest test in the world it is, sure. Ah, how yer Yanks always yank and jerk
at me.”
“What’s the test then: how many streets are you required to
know?” he remained curious now.
“25,000, give or take.”
“Your lying.” The
words were out of his mouth before he realized the frugality of it all. Even after all he had seen it still seemed an
impossibility; there was simply no way London was that large?
“’fraid not, Mister.
Its been a while since I’ve taken my orals as they say, its true….but
you’d have to get up mighty early, to pull a fast one on old Gus. Yes-sir”
Chaz sat for a long moment, thinking. He wasn’t sure if this was his good luck or
providence for the setup now before him.
Instead, he loafed sideways, absentmindedly.
“Seems like a lot to know.”
The fellow chuckled, in a gurgling sort of way.
“Just an honest way to make a living. Christ though - next you know, it’ll be the
self’ driving auto’s they’ll bring in next, and that will be the end of the
whole lot of us! End of the old ways. Right shame.”
Chaz thought of a fleet of flying cars surely arriving soon
after that.
“Well, I’ll tell you what” the driver said, as if his eyes
had just slid up from the fare itself. “With
the ticket counter getting pretty high now and all, and me up for a laugh, why
don’t we try a fun one. A real game for a change. If I can’t guess the next building your
seeing, based on a quick description, your ride is free. Why not – lets have some fun then, m’boy! My shifts over soon anyways.”
“And if I loose?”
“Oh, you know the old saying – I get your soul! Two for a tweener, tis!” On this, Chaz had to pause, not laughing
along with the bellows in front of him.
He looked to the door handle as if by impulse, mind already timing the
next red light in front of them.
Just in case.
“Oh relax Mister: I’d only just ask for a few pints, is
all. My shifts about over, and me brain
be fried. Ale will do me good.”
Hell, thought Chaz, if this is what its like when he’s shot,
what’s he like when he’s on point? Buildings
flew by as if to prove their point.
“Sure. Why not. But at the least, you’ll have to recommend a
place to drop me off at. Find something really
fun, or exciting abouts.” He thought
again of the park, the length of the river as it serpentined down to the
almighty Thames below.
“Ah, sure. I mean, up
till now you’ve been getting quite the sightseeing trip, even if your head has
been buried in that mobile of yours. But
honest: try one, maybe two more – if it’s a fair shot, anywhere in the city. Try me – take a chance, if you will. Souls and pints are all the same in a town
like this.” Chaz debated again about the
flask, tugging absentmindedly.
“Go ahead!” said Gus, clearly edging him on. “Look up something on that even, if you
want. We English gents do love our
games, after all.”
“Fine.” Chaz searched
for a second under the heading ‘Historic’, finding a pub with a jolly name that
seemed fun. He wanted to win, after all,
show this old dandy the American can-do spirit.
He spent a fair minute trying out his luck, scrolling fast over things
that looked atypical. Then he spoke
loudly, trying his best to be vague, wondering how a man could ever memorize such
sights, let alone a thousand others.
“Black awnings with a circular image on one of them:
flowerboxes in the three windows above it.
Limestone above it. A pub, somewhere...”
He paused, almost speaking the neighborhood out loud, sensing the driver
tighten his grip upon the wheel. He felt
satisfaction for the first time that eve.
For a moment, he had forgotten about the girl even. “Seems to be a yellow brick, if it suits you,
with equally yellow wood trimmed openings.
Doors on either side of a large window,” he said, noticing that once
more the cabbie seemed to struggle.
Maybe he really was chumped at the end of his shift? Good.
“A, a proper London Particular then, excellent, excellent,
is what I’ll be passing up on. Seems
like a tough one.” Chaz couldn’t help
but grin.
“However: is it near a market?” Chaz debated on answering, but his host was
already rattling down a list of names expertly, finishing with a bit of whimsy,
sensing weakness.
“The Ten Bells, easy nuff least you picked a harder
one. Pubs are hard, even if it’s a good like
that. Change fairly often. Personally, I like the Guinness they have on
draft at that one.” Behind him, Chaz
felt his face growing hotter. In a
fluster, he tried another pub, smaller though, maybe ten seats in the entire
place, opened just last year. Again, the
cabbie was spot on, keeping pace even with the mobile directional. Then it was a historical marker, about a
famous murder. Then Shakespeare’s local
hangout. Then a gym.
Again and again Gus matched him tit for tat, rattling off
street names faster than Chaz could ever hope to match. Yet the man’s confidence gave him no doubt,
no inkling that there was anything but certainty in the unwavering voice.
Finally, in exasperation, Chaz called out the last sensible
choice he could think of.
“The British Museum!” he cried in alarm. Gus merely chuckled into his rearview, before
letting his deep baritone flow smoothly.
Chaz barely heard him, knowing that that this choice was a fool’s
errand.
Yet something now was amiss.
The quickest way would be back the way they came, the blue directional
arrow of his mobile clearly showed that they were passing the center of
town. Hell, if he went the way the
cabbie was saying, they would go just around the building, just missing it.
The man was wrong for a change!
Chaz was just about to grin, just about to say he had
finally gotten the better of the fellow, when he spotted a portion of his error,
going back to double check. Gus, of
course gladly repeated his directions to a T: at the point where Gray’s Inn
became Euston, Charlotte slowly gave way to West, then Shelton, then off to the
west. The south. Then east.
North. The names were right, and
as he saw what the driver was doing, had to grin in amusement when he
recognized the pattern: he was literally spiraling into the museum in a big
circle.
Hell, if a vehicle could fly, instead of being glued to the
list of names now being belched forth, Chaz suspected that the driver would
have even put two eye dots onto his creation, one lid shuttered quickly,
perhaps, in a true wink. He sat back in
exasperation, exhaustion teetering at the edge of his lips. The firm would certainly have some questions
to ask now, as the meter ticked ever higher.
Meanwhile, the driver adjusted his mirror, staring at him in
the face in earnest for the first time.
Pretty early, they
were seeming to say, to whisper. They
were passing through alleyway’s and byways, ahead of them flashed the dome of
St. Pauls, with the glittering mass of skyscrapers behind it, framing the view
on the left.
“Fine then,” tried Chaz, suddenly finding himself bored of
conversation. “Just take me to a devilishly
good spot – somewhere where I can forget about things for a while, and lick off
these pricey wounds.” The driver tensed
for a moment, as if unsure next what to say.
“See if we can find your Mr. Splitfoot, after all.” Chaz puttered out, slouching deep, starting
to text Em for real.
It was a few seconds before he realized they were
idling. The light, the sense of worry that
broke over the cabbies face was immediate.
“Are ye shore?”
Something about the cabbie had changed. The way he pronounced ‘sure’ made him goose a
bit. Instead of speaking he merely
nodded. The engine revved, as if on its own
accord.
“Oh, it’s a party you be wantn’, eh? Oh, Old Guz can take you to a party, shore, shore.” Behind him, Chaz attempted his best to seem
nonchalant. The vehicle purred beneath
them, with a sudden new-found drive.
“Candles, maybe a
good singer, sights and whores to go along with it, too?”
“Sure?” Chaz tried
again, beginning to fidget, uncertain as to what new direction this was
going.
“Something to match that flask yer been fingering, or
something stronger to temper those ‘powdered eyes’?” On this, Chaz sat up strait, shocked. He knew he had been a bit unruffled when he
left the Ritz, but was it really that noticeable? He looked down at his hand, seeing it hadn’t
been in his lapel for a change.
Ahead of him, the cabbie had only increased his speed.
“Like I told yer Mister, you’d have to get up pretty early
to get the best of old Gus. I’ve seen it
all, so I has. I know where a good party
be on this night, oh yes. Bright and dark this city has to show, and things
I’ve stumbled that never weren’t on no test.
Too long on the road, probably, but I know an olde time smoker and user
and boozehound. Yes, yes, I can take you
to a party alright: this will be a tough-in though, hold on...” Around them now, something had clearly
changed. The glassy London of
skyscrapers had started to give way to something different, some of the
structures clearly moss strewn.
Georgian? Chaz had
figured the city looked old, certainly, the West End positively spectacular,
but this? The buildings were starting to
look out of another world. Hurt his head
as he staired.
As he eased his head back, he realized Gus was still in the
middle of conversation. He did his best
to try to focus on the words.
“Must be it. Must be
the real reason you jumped into the
back of old Gus’ cab, so it must, yes yes.”
The cabbies speech was racing, seeming to match the pull of tire on
blacktop. “Raised Anglican I was, so
that must be the real reason to day.
Yes, yes, we’ll give you a devil of a good time. Yes.
Can do.” He adjusted the mirror,
looking back as he did so.
“Hold on, m’boy: this isn’t going to be fun!”
Outside, the sights of a city that he did not know continued
to slide by and by. Chaz felt his head
clear, felt the last of the day’s ale and troubles sliding off of him. At length, he heard something kind of
wild. He opened his eyes, only seeing a
kid on a motorbike pass a little to closely to the cab. His face almost distinctly resembled a rat,
startling Chaz, until he realized it was just the design of his helmet.
Wasn’t it?
“Where are we going?”
Chaz tried, gripping the headrest tight as they bounced over something. Uneven cobblestone? He couldn’t be sure, no, seeing flashes and
greens all mixing at once. What he did
see alarmed him greatly.
“Is that a man holding a gun?”
“It’s likely Grosvenor.
Taint the best part of town round here, I’d say.” The driver continued on unperturbed, as they
down the long byways flew by. Ahead of
him, Gus was merely wavering in and out of traffic. They missed sideswiping a lorry by only
inches!
“Ease up a bit, will you?
You’ll get us killed!”
“Oh, don’t worry about any of that just yet, sonny. Worse things than getting ke-eeled. You’ll have plenty of them such things to
consider before nights end. Don’t worry,
don’t worry: I know the way, even if I
weren’t supposed.” Outside, the night
rushed by. A hundred, hundred and fifty kilometers per hour zinged
by on the dash. The streets started to
meld together, even.
Was it the blow? No,
that had worn off hours ago. Ahead of
him, the driver was humming some diddy about bus stops, and umbrella’s. Had there not been plexiglass between he and
him, Chaz would have grabbed for him. He
was wondering if he could jam the umbrella end through the slots, or jump out
if there was a place to stop.
“Hey now. Stop. This isn’t funny anymore. I’ll…I’ll call the police.” No reply from the man.
“I, hey. Hey,
Gus. Just stop.” He was looking for the right words. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I offended you, I. Hey, I’ll pay you double to stop here. I.”
Nothing. “Just let me out, let
me, here is fine, I’ll, I’ll…” He
paused. They were coming up now through
a tunnel, and in quick turn, stopped in the midst of dark, dreary. Suddenly, the brakes squealed, the car idling
quietly now, a pause.
“Ah, now here we go: isn’t that a pretty!” Ahead of them was something strange, skinless
it seemed, utterly timeless.
A park?
From the look of it, it was almost pitch black out there,
seemed near the river he insisted to go to.
“Gus?” he spoke the
cabbies name, hoping it would snap him out of it. Instead of answering, the cabbie merely shut
off the lights. The engine still
reved.
“Gus?” Chaz tried
again, feeling fearful now. He suddenly
doubted a run for it would work.
“Shut it – it’ll be starting soon.” They both looked past where the rain was
falling in droves, up to the glistening towers and cranes rising all
around. Chaz could see well enough now,
not because it was bright out from rain between the stars, or due to from the
twinkle and blink of fluorescents. No.
No, ahead of them was a black that only came from true
night, in an open field, surrounded on all sides by woods. Lit now, only by the moon; an impossibility
in the thick and bustle of the mammoth metropolis. Bigger than redwoods the trees looked in the
gloom, he now having to stretch his neck back further and further to see them
up, through the quiet and the bustle.
“What is that?” Chaz
asked again, so soft he could almost hear his own heartbeat.
“It’s my answer for what you were considering: thinking of
stiffing old Gussie on a bill, do you? I
told you, I’ve seen it all, though I often wonders to meself how many have seen
the sights like this..”
“No.” Ahead of them,
lights had begun to spring on, one by one.
But this wasn’t the electric. The
flicker of flame, of torchlight began to fill the field.
“I found you a party, Mister, just like you said you
needed.”
“This wasn’t part of the deal!” They were speaking in hushed whispers,
watching the sights around. The door
handle slid through his hand as he held it, nerves fraying.
“Depends what kind of deal you be wanting! Me, I just wanted that pint, but oh-no’s, you
want to have some fun. Well, here is
your gambit-enjoy.” Gus turned on the
headlights, as if in signal.
“No.” Chaz began again, starting to realize full well what
the sights where he was looking at.
Ahead of them, a man in red stood strutting amongst the crowd, his fine
linens a marked contrast to the hoards around him. The headlights fell on the strange trees, everything
moss covered, strange black moths or hornets circling round.
“Stop it.” Chaz
moaned, leaning back.
“However, it is said that when Mr. Sir does show up round
these parts, the locals usually end up cheating him out of his wares. Only way to appease him, is to throw him a
party, they say.” Chaz gulped, wondering
at the meaning of it all; his hands continued to shake.
“You still want out?” the driver pantomimed. Around them, the chaos seemed to delve
further. The group was all about the car
now, bodies approaching as a tide. Chaz
merely waited for his own face to appear, to join in in that maddening
crowd.
Around him, he could hear whispers, murmurs, as if only from
inside his head.
“He has been delivered.”
“It appears he has made his choice.”
“We know what you did to her – time for atonement sis
here.”
“Repent.”
“A pity though: he was such a pretty thing.” The hands (claws?) outside started
banging on the glass. Started pulling at
the handles, crawling up over the sides of the steel.
In a moment they would be in the cab, reaching, reaching...
BUT THE FLASK! He clutched
at his shirt, certain that the thing had slipped. New hands were now being added about his
breast, also clutching at the meat before.
He wavered, struggled, certain of his doom before such an unholy alter
somewhere beyond. But the tool lay there
in cold form against his breast. He clutched
it, held it, thought of kissing it twice before he began to turn and douse
anything that moved, lighter now in his hand, any attempt to ward them off, him
glad for double proof. The shapes seemed
to drop off, one by one, but did little for the overall mood. Again and again he clicked his lighter, ready
to light himself on fire if need be, the roar of the smoke deafened his quaking ears.
But the mob advanced, they clutched, they grasped. One face in particular seemed familiar, a
bleeding mask of idio-salavic grin. Was he
now outside?
Then engine shot on, revved, started forward, radio now
blaring at a hundred watts! In despair,
he turned the concoction to his own temple, miming a gun as if a sudden coward
seeking quick exit from the sights around him.
Bodies twisting, sliding, falling all over. Sharp elbows knees, all around.
“Stop! Help! Anything!”
Tried Chaz, mouth full, twisting as if beneath some awful liquid. He screamed, felt as if burning.
“Here’s your stop, Grosvenor!” yelled the driver in reply,
seeming from deep water, appearing both near and far away. With that, the cabbie reached back & with
a hardy shove, pushed him out into the dark.
Then all at once Chaz was falling, sliding sideways against his sobs. With one hard knock he struck with his butt,
bouncing him up onto my skittering feet.
He knew that any second the mob would descend, claws outstretched for
his face. He would watch as they tore his
appendages off, was beaten to death with his own limbs. He covered himself, and waited.
Was he dead? Did he
receive his wish, and now feel brains coating the same hands that reached to
protect with small hands?
No: the claws amongst his jacket, his locks had only been
the wind. He opened his eyes slowly in
wonder, and stared gaping at the sight before him.
Ahead of him merely stood the same busy recesses of Oxford
Street, glowing ever brightly in the early Christmas glow, same he had only
seen only, what, an hour or two before?
Maybe a lifetime. Somehow, the
cab had stopped at the same corner from whence they had begun, empty now, with
the driver hunkering over. Around him
was emptiness, utter and still. A
cracked street sign glared ominously above him, and before that the cab stood
idling, grin of the driver hanging out.
“Bon-swa, dear sir, we shall see you again soon! Go back to your girl, before we come back to
claim you!” With that the cabbie
began to laugh, a terrible sound that carried on the last of the wind. Perhaps this was in his head. Perhaps too, it was a grunts that uttered
from the tale-pipe, swirling fumes gathering all around then. The vehicle were gone, lost to the ages, and he
a shaking man on the corner left only to gape.
It had been a hell of a day, alright.
It was a full minuet, before Chaz began to recover himself,
began to weep openly. In time he reached
for his mobile, and began to dial.
“Hello?” said a voice
on the other end, and for a moment he was uncertain.
----Fin.----
