Dorsai - Taxi

He paused to look at me, and I took the opportunity to ask him "Okay, that's all well and good. But you said this woman is handicapped, right? So what is it that I'm supposed to be doing, other than just driving her around?"

"I was rather hoping that you would be agreeable to, ah, accompanying her during her shopping. Carrying any purchases she might make, that sort of thing."

Something doesn't sound quite right; I finally figure out what it is, and ask him straight out "Are you saying that you're wanting me to push her around? Like in a wheelchair? Doesn't she have one of those electric jobs?"

He gets this pained look on his face before he admits "Well, yes, that was what I was hoping you'd do. She does have a battery-powered wheelchair, but it's large and heavy enough that there really isn't any way to get it into a regular vehicle. She isn't happy about it, but she understands that because of the unplanned nature of this outing, she's going to have to use a more conventional wheelchair. Of course, with her condition, there would have to be someone to handle transporting her in it."

I'm finally starting to get the whole picture now. Not only is this woman likely to be a pain to deal with under normal conditions, but now she's having to go out without her go-buggy – and probably pissed about it. And I'm the poor bastard that's been picked to take care of her. Lovely.

I think about what this guy has told me, along with the pros and cons of just telling him to get stuffed; I finally decide that it would be better all around if I went ahead and did as he wanted. But I decide that I've still got a little leverage, and that I'm going to get the best deal I can out this.

He's been watching me as I think all this through, so he's already paying attention when I tell him "Okay, I'll do it. But if I'm going to have to stay with this woman the whole time, I think it would a lot more reasonable if I got paid for it. Instead of paying the meter and giving me a tip for the same amount for the driving, I think it would be fair if I dropped the flag when I left, and it stayed down until I got back – seeing as how you've already 'forewarned' me that she's likely to be a handful. And any tip I get from her is mine, of course." If I leave the flag down the whole time, it's likely going to add up to a pretty hefty chunk of change, what with waiting time charges and all; I know it, and I know HE knows it. But he also knows that he's asking me to do something that's way beyond just driving a hack, even for a special guest. Either one of us can 'just say no' to the deal – but there's definite downside if we do. For me, there's the chance he'll get a hair up his ass and I don't get as much – or maybe even NO – business from him and the Central. For him, he's risking the chance that I get bent out of shape and spread the word about this little deal, and why I turned it down; if that happens, his (and the hotels) reputation maybe goes down the crapper: a lot of the cabbies in town know and respect me – if I say I felt like was going to get hosed on a deal, he might discover he has a cab shortage for a while, which is not a good thing for him.

I can see him thinking it over, and he finally agrees. I kinda figured he would; sure, I was bending him over a barrel – but it was only a little bit, and I was willing to grease him up first.

With the details of the deal settled, he tells me who the client is: Evangeline Towers, 29 years old. Hearing the name, I finally remembered reading about the accident in the papers some years before: as a college Senior, she'd been on her way to her before-school job in a donut joint one early morning when a drunk driver that a bar had let stay late ran into her little economy car. Her folks hadn't been rich, but they'd had enough money and foresight to get the best reputable lawyer they could – and proceeded to sue the guy that hit her (an executive with some big company), the bar staff, the bar owners (a national chain), and the car manufacturer. The drunk driver had been in a company car, and his history of DUIs was known to his bosses, so the company he worked for paid rather than try to fight it; the driver himself had finally been put in prison for a few years. The bar staff tried to fight, but it was pretty much a losing battle: that they'd let the guy stay late and admitted they knew he was drunk didn't help them any. After that, the national chain paid off to try and minimize the bad publicity. The company that made the girls car, though, were the ones that really got hit in the wallet: after their design had gotten good crash safety ratings, they'd made some changes that had decreased the impact worthiness of the vehicle. It came out in a trial that several of their engineers had warned them about the decrease in vehicle strength that the changes would cause, but some financial beancounters had insisted anyway, gambling that any insurance payoffs would be cheaper.

By the time everything was said and done, the girl had damn near a hundred million in benefits due her over the course of her lifetime – and that was in addition to her medical care being paid for. Me, I'd figured everybody but her got off pretty easy.

I nodded my understanding and remembrance to the manager; he looked at his watch and said "She'll be coming down pretty much any time now, so we might as well wait for her in the lobby" before standing up. I followed his example, and the two of us made our way out to the front desk to wait for her after he reaches into a drawer in his desk to hand me a Handicapped parking placard, saying "This should make it easier for you to find convenient parking. If you get ticketed or anything anyway, we'll take care of it."

We made small talk with each other for a couple of minutes before one of the elevators opened up to reveal that the hotels concierge had gotten her into a non-powered chair (a damn good one, by the look of it), and down to where we were waiting. When they'd gotten over to where we were, the manager took a step forward and said "Miss Towers, this is Jim Stoddard. He's probably the best cab driver in town, and we've made arrangements for him to guide you around today. He'll not only be driving you, but helping you get around, as well as carrying any purchases you make. We think you'll be quite satisfied with him."

As he was talking to her, I took the chance to look her over: it had been a few years since the accident, and being unable to move much (if any) hadn't done her any good – but to my surprise, she still looked fairly attractive. Her auburn hair was cut short in a style that complimented her features (and made it easier on whoever took care of her, I figured). She had lovely hazel eyes, and her face didn't seem to have suffered any damage in the accident. Her arms and legs were somewhat thin from lack of exercise, but it was pretty plain that she was careful enough with her diet and got whatever exercise she could to keep from gaining too much weight. Dressed in a lightweight pantsuit, it was easy for me to see that she'd undoubtedly had a very nice shape: medium-sized breasts, a waist that was doubtless a little thicker than it had been, and hips that had suffered a similar fate. All in all, even in a wheelchair, she was still something of a looker.

When the manager had finished his little spiel, she turned her head to look me over for a few moments before saying "So you're the poor bastard that's my watchdog today, huh?" Her speech was slightly slurred, but understandable.

Looking into her eyes, I answered "Begging your pardon, Ma'am, but no, I'm not your watchdog. Like he said, I'm here to help you get around. If you want to do something to get yourself arrested or something, that's your get-go."

Surprised by my response, she just looked at me for a few seconds while the manager got a pained look on his face. Finally, she gave me a small grin and said "Okay, we know where each of us stands – or sits, in my case."