Эд Макбейн - Running From Legs and Other Stories

“To where?” he asked.

“To 86th and Madison.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m going down to 84th and Park. Shall we share a cab?”

“Why not?” I said, first big mistake.

We got into the taxi together, and I asked him if he minded if I smoked a cigar, explaining that it was my habit to have a cigar on the way down to work each morning. He said he didn’t mind at all, in fact he liked the smell of a good cigar, so I offered him the cigar I would have smoked after lunch and, thank God, he refused it.

“What sort of work do you do, Howard?” he asked, and I told him I was an accountant, stop in some time and I’ll figure out your income tax for you. He laughed, and then coughed politely when I lit my cigar. He opened the window a little, which I really didn’t need as it was probably eighty degrees below zero outside, with Harlem looking gray and bleak and barren as the taxi sped past the market on Park Avenue, the push carts on our right, the sidewalk shopkeepers bundled in mufflers and heavy overcoats, salesgirls wearing galoshes, little school kids rushing across the avenue to disappear under the stone arches that held up the New York Central tracks.

“What sort of work do you do?” I asked, beginning to feel the breeze from the window, and wanting to ask him to close it, but also wondering whether he might not then choke on my cigar. As you can see, my troubles had already started.

“I’m in the travel business,” he said. “I’m a partner in a travel agency.” I didn’t say anything. I had never met a travel agent before. The one time I took Adele to Bermuda, I had made all the reservations myself. Adele had said it was a luxury we could not afford. I told Adele there are certain luxuries you have to afford, or you wither away and die. This was before Marcia’s monumental dental work had begun, of course. I sometimes think that child will have braces on her teeth the day she gets married.

“Yessir,” Harry said, “we’ve got two offices, one on 45th and Lex, and the other up here on 84th. I spend my time shuttling between the two of them.”

“Well, that must be very interesting work,” I said, “being a travel agent.”

“Oh yes, it’s very stimulating,” Harry said, “do you mind if I open this window?” The window, it seemed to me was already open, but without waiting for my answer, Harry rolled it all the way down. I thought I would freeze to death. It was plain to see that he had never been to Korea.

“Listen,” I said, “would you like me to put out this cigar?”

“Oh no,” he said, “I enjoy the smell of a good cigar.” Then why are you freezing us out of this cab, I thought, with the window open, I thought, like an icebox in here, I thought, but did not say. I was very happy to see the New York Central tracks disappear underground because that meant we had already reached 98th Street, and I could get out of the cab very soon and run upstairs to the office, where I knew it was warm because Dave Goldman always kept the heat at eighty degrees, and wore a sweater under his jacket besides. The driver, whose head was hunched down into his shoulders now because he too was beginning to feel the wintry blast, made a right turn on 86th and pulled to a stop on the corner of Madison Avenue. I told him to hold his flag, and then I took out my wallet and handed Harry a dollar and a quarter, which is exactly what the ride cost me every morning, and which I was, of course, more than willing to pay for having had the pleasure of being frozen solid.

Harry said, “Please.”

“No, take it,” I said. “I ride a cab every morning, and this is what it costs me, so you might...”

“No, no,” Harry said.

“Look, we agreed to share a taxi. I can’t let you pay...”

“Traveling is my business,” Harry said. “I’ll charge it to the agency.” He smiled under his black mustache. His pale blue eyes crinkled behind his glasses. “It’s deductible, you should know that.”

“Well, I feel kind of funny,” I said, and thrust the money at him again. But he held out his hand, palm downward, and then gently nudged the offer away, as though the money had germs.

“I insist,” he said.

“Well, okay,” I said, and shrugged, and said, “Thank you, have a nice day,” and got out of the cab and ran for the office. It took me a half-hour to get my circulation back.

The next morning, Harry got off at 125th Street again, and again he said, “Care to share a taxi?” so what could I say? Could I say, Listen, my friend, I like to ride alone in the morning, I like to smoke my cigar with the windows closed, you understand, closed very tight against the cold outside, not even open a crack, with cigar smoke floating all around me, reading my newspaper, nothing personal, you understand, no hard feelings, but that’s one of my little luxuries, that’s what I promised myself in Korea many many years ago, could I tell that to the man?

I suppose I could have, but I didn’t.

Instead, I got into the taxi with him, and I lit a cigar for myself; and he immediately opened the window. So I immediately snuffed out the cigar and asked him if he would please close the window.

“How’s the travel business these days?” I asked. I had folded my arms across my chest, because I was in a pretty surly mood. What I usually do, you see, is ration out my cigars, one in the morning in the taxi on the way to work, another one after lunch, another one in the taxi on the way back from work, and the last one after dinner. Four cigars a day, that’s enough. I do twenty pushups each morning, and twenty before I go to bed, to keep the old “bod” in shape, as my daughter calls it. She kills me, that girl. So I was thinking I really didn’t need this guy to ride down with me and deprive me of my cigar, who needed him? But there he was, telling me all about the travel business and about a charter flight they were getting up to Aspen, Colorado (just the thought of Aspen, Colorado, gave me the chills), and had I ever tried skiing?

“No,” I said, “I have never tried skiing. I don’t even like ice skating.”

“That’s too bad, Howard,” he said, “I think you would find skiing a most agreeable sport.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m too old to go out and break a leg. When a man gets set in his ways, he develops certain habits, you know, that he doesn’t like to change,” hoping he would realize I was talking about my morning cigar, which he didn’t.

“That’s true,” he said, “but you seem to be in pretty good shape, and I doubt if you would break a leg.”

“My cousin broke a leg in his own bathtub,” I said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry said. “Did you know they shot The Pawnbroker on this corner?”

“Which pawnbroker?” I asked, not having heard about any shooting on that corner, which was the comer of 116th Street and Park Avenue.

“The movie,” Harry said.

“Oh, the movie. I didn’t see that movie.”

“It was a very good movie,” Harry said. “They shot it right on this corner.”

I was really wanting a cigar very badly by that time. I looked out at the El Radiante bar and visualized Harry being shot on the corner.

“There were a lot of your people in that picture,” Harry said.

“My people?” I said.

“Negroes,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“It was a very good picture.”

The cab sped downtown. The overhead tracks came level with the ground, then sank below the pavement and disappeared. When we reached 86th Street, I took out a dollar and a quarter again and thrust it into Harry’s hand, but he turned his hand over quickly and let the money fall onto the seat.

“No sir,” he said, “not on your life. I have to go down this way, anyway.”