Читать книгу Confessions of a New York Taxi Driver - Eugene Salomon - Страница 13

Multi-tasking. It’s a concept that’s gained quite of bit of popularity recently. The guy with a cell phone in one hand, watching a computer screen, reading a report and eating his lunch – all at the same time – is an image of the modern age. Why should it be any different in a taxicab?

I was cruising in Hell’s Kitchen at around 1 a.m. on a cool, December night when a short, thickset guy – pale, white skin, slick black hair, about twenty-five years old – hailed me at 45^th and 9^th. A skinny, black girl, somewhere between sixteen and twenty, I would say, followed him into the back seat. I could see by the way they sat some distance apart that there was no great affinity between them.

I started driving down 9^th Avenue expecting to hear what our destination would be, but there was nothing.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘Make your next left,’ the guy said.

‘Okay.’

I turned left onto 44^th Street but hit some traffic halfway down the block. We came to a halt.

‘How long you been drivin’ tonight?’ he asked.

‘Since five o’clock.’

‘Busy tonight?’

‘Not bad for a Tuesday,’ I said, ‘but things get slow after midnight.’ The guy was showing signs of being a conversationalist. I liked that.

After nearly a minute we approached the intersection at 8^th Avenue, but there was still no decision as to what our destination would be.

‘Go left?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, make the left and make another left a few blocks up the avenue,’ he replied.

‘On which street?’

‘Whichever one you want.’

Now this was weird. I immediately began to wonder why a passenger wouldn’t care where I was going. The first thing I thought of was that he didn’t intend to pay me for the ride so he didn’t care how high the meter ran. But this guy didn’t appear to me to be a flight risk. He just wasn’t that type.

I looked at him again in the mirror. I noticed that I could see him but not her. There are only two explanations for this phenomenon: 1) they are cuddling with her head resting on his lap, facing upward, or 2) they are not cuddling and her head is facing downward… and you know what that means. Based on my prior observation that there was no particular love between them, I knew it was number two – this guy was getting a blowjob!

Well, at least I understood why he didn’t care where I drove. The girl, I now surmised, was a hooker. My taxi had been turned into a brothel and, although I might have had cause to be offended, the guy had shown manners by asking me how my night had been going, and that was enough for me not to take issue with his behavior. I drove up 8^th Avenue and made a left on 53^rd, not expecting to hear anything but some grunts and perhaps some squishy noises coming from the back seat. So it came as quite a surprise that he resumed our conversation when we stopped for a red light at 53^rd and 9^th.

‘Hey, you wanna hear something wild?’

‘Sure.’

He mentioned the name of a former US senator from the state of New York and asked if I was familiar with him.

‘Sure.’

‘Well, he’s gonna get indicted. It’ll happen in a few days.’

‘Really?’

He then dropped the name of a well-known Mafia celebrity who was in jail at the time and said he was ‘giving up’ the former senator in a deal to get out of the joint.

‘What did he do?’ I asked, meaning the former senator.

‘He’s been working for us for years.’

I paused for a moment while I processed this information. Here’s a guy getting a blowjob telling me he’s in the Mob and has inside information that a former US senator from New York is connected to the Mafia. Uh… okaaay…

‘No kidding,’ I said, ‘that is wild.’

‘Yeah, you’ll read about it in a few days.’

‘Wow.’

I buzzed down 9^th Avenue and made a right on 43^rd. We hit a red light at 10^th Avenue. There had been a lull of about thirty seconds in our conversation but now that we were sitting still Mr Horny Mob Guy felt it was time to start chatting again.

‘You play the horses?’ he asked.

‘Once in a while.’

‘Write this down – Wilfredo Prieto.’ (Not the name he actually said.)

‘Who’s Wilfredo Prieto?’

‘A jockey. ’Bout a week before Christmas he’s gonna ride a horse at Belmont. Fifty to one, but he’s gonna win.’

‘No kidding?’ I wrote the name down on my trip sheet.

‘Yeah, he comes up from Puerto Rico every year and does this race for us, then we give the money to charity.’

‘Hey, thanks, man,’ I said, ‘I’m gonna use this.’

‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Thanks!’

I drove up 10^th Avenue and made a right on 52^nd. By the time we reached the end of the block the ride and the blowjob were over. He paid me $10 for a $6.10 fare and then he and the girl left the cab and disappeared in separate directions into the night.

Well, I was set. This fare, obviously a gift from the Supreme Being, was going to turn into my Christmas bonus. I started figuring out how much money I would be able to scrape together and even borrow and with a firm decision not to chicken out on this I began my hunt for Wilfredo Prieto. For the next three weeks I searched relentlessly through the sports sections of the papers for any sign of a race with a jockey with his name in it, but Christmas came and went with no mention of the guy.

And it may come as no surprise to you that no former senator from the state of New York has ever been indicted for anything.

So as it turned out I didn’t make a dime from the Mobbed-up, BJ conversationalist. It did, however, leave me with an important Life Lesson: never believe a damned word that is said to you by someone who is getting a blowjob.