Nobody's Angel (22 page)

"Fucking stupid," I said to myself as I drove away. "You are so fucking stupid." It was just another test, I decided. If you were stupid enough to let white trash in the cab when they told you they didn't have enough money to pay, you would be stupid enough to talk dirty with them, and then drive down a dark little side street and wait to be robbed. I wondered if the Polack would have fallen for the pair and I realized he'd never have stopped at all.

A major offense committed by a chauffeur who previously has been found guilty of committing two (2) or more major offenses shall be deemed an aggravated major offense.

City of Chicago, Department of Consumer Services Public Vehicle Operations Division

It was three in the morning when I spotted a guy in a business suit signing out of an office building in the financial district at the far end of LaSalle Street. He waved wearily to the night guard, picked up a briefcase and pushed through the revolving door. When he saw me waiting he lifted his free hand and turned it palm up in question. I waved him over.

His suit was rumpled and his tie had disappeared. He opened the door and dropped the briefcase to the street, then stood there going through his pockets. "I've only got forty-two bucks," he said after a while. "I know it's a little short but can you get me to Barrington for that?"

Barrington was an exclusive suburb way-the-hell northwest. The last train had gone hours before. "Forty-two." I hesitated a moment, as if I were really thinking it over. "What the hell," I said.

"Thanks." He tossed the briefcase into the back seat and climbed in after it. "Get off at Barrington Road," he said as I started to roll. "You might have to wake me when we get there."

"Must be a lawyer," I said.

"How'd you guess?"

"Only ones work these hours."

"Yeah, it's crazy."

"Great for us."

"One man's poison," he said.

The highway was loaded with drunks heading home. The only sober drivers were behind the wheels of cabs and trucks. There wasn't a cop in sight.

A few minutes out of the Loop, I was in the left lane passing a flatbed truck when a Caddy came barreling up flashing its lights. I glanced in the mirror and my passenger was sitting there wide awake.

"Can't sleep?" I asked.

"Something about this traffic," he said.

"Half of 'em have been drinking since five," I said.

"Let 'em pass," he said. "That's my advice."

I drifted right and the Caddy came shooting through blasting its horn.

"What kind of law you do?" I asked.

"Corporate," he said, "mergers, that sort of thing."

"Sounds pretty interesting," I said.

"Most boring thing in the world. Believe me."

"Why do it?"

He shrugged. "Where the money is."

"You ever do any divorce work?"

"Christ," he said. "That'd be even worse."

"I guess that's what I need," I said. "A divorce lawyer. I mean, I'm already divorced, but I guess if I wanted some advice that's what I should look for."

He didn't say anything. I glanced in the rearview and he was sitting there wide awake. "What's it usually run out to Barrington?" he asked a while later, and then answered his own question. "Fifty, fifty-five," he decided.

"Something like that," I agreed.

"And then there's the tip," he said. "So I'm probably shorting you what, about twenty bucks?"

"This time of night, I'm glad to get the forty-two," I told the truth.

"So tell me why you think you need this divorce lawyer?"

"It's a pretty long story," I said.

"You've got me trapped," he said. "You'll never get a lawyer this cheap."

"I don't know where to start."

"Try the beginning."

"See, I used to have a good job." I tried to explain how my life had come apart. "I didn't always do this."

"Okay," he said.

"And then I got fired and couldn't find anything."

"And your wife decided she wanted out."

"How'd you guess?"

"It's pretty classic."

"Really?" I don't know why this made me feel better but it did.

"Oh, sure," he said. "A lot of women, the minute the paycheck disappears they do too."

"I couldn't really blame her," I said. "I was a mess. You know, drinking all night, sleeping all day. So I didn't contest anything. She got the house. She got custody. I got visitation on Sunday afternoons."

"How many kids?"

"Just one," I said. "A girl. She's gonna be sixteen next month."

"How about child support?"

"Well, when we got divorced, I still wasn't working and my unemployment had run out, so there wasn't any."

"Then you got a job."

"Yeah, stupid fucking job, way the hell out in Addison. But it was the only thing I could get. I took home about two hundred a week and the judge decided about half of that should be child support. I did okay for a while, but then there was just no way. I mean, the car breaks down, you got to fix it. So now I couldn't even see my own kid."

"And?"

"My wife kept dragging me into court, trying to get money. They put a lien on my pay but the job didn't last and I was back on unemployment for a while. I got another job, worse than the first. I didn't tell my ex about it, but she found out and put a wage assignment on that check. Anyway, eventually, I owed about six thousand dollars. One day her lawyer came up to me with this agreement. He said if I signed it they'd forget about the child support."

"You have a lawyer look at it?"

"No."

"What did it say?"

"That it was okay for my ex-wife to move out of state and that I couldn't have any contact with my daughter until she turned twenty-one."

"And now you want to see your daughter?"

"It's been seven years."

"It's kind of hard for me to believe that any judge would go along with an agreement that sounds so clearly out of line. Are you sure it was filed with the court?"

"I don't know," I had to admit. "We were in the hallway outside the courtroom."

"Did you go into court after you signed it?"

"I don't think so," I said.

"Well, my guess is that agreement is pretty much worthless. But the first thing to do is have a lawyer take a look at it, and then dig out the court file and see if they filed it. I can recommend someone, if you want."

"I don't have a copy," I said.

"You lost it?"

"I never had it," I explained. "I just signed it and the lawyer took it back."

"You signed a contract and you didn't keep a copy?"

"I guess so," I said.

"Do you know what that means?"

"No," I admitted.

"Well, let's hope they filed it. Otherwise how do you prove it ever existed?"

"I don't get you."

"Say she drags you into court and wants child support for the last seven years."

"That was part of the agreement," I said.

He smiled and held his arms wide. "What agreement?"

"Oh, Jesus," I said.

"Here," he said, "let me give you a guy's name." He wrote on the back of a business card and handed it up. "He's expensive. But mention my name and tell him you're a cabdriver."

"It's okay," I said. "I've got some money in the bank."

"Christ," he said. "Never tell a lawyer that."

On the way back into the city I got off the highway at North Avenue and headed east. There were girls everywhere. They were parading up and down the avenue, jumping in and out of cars, and flashing passing motorists. But the girl I was hoping to see was nowhere around.

Public Chauffeurs must comply with the Illinois White Cane Law by accepting, without extra charge, passengers with seeing eye dogs, hearing dogs or support dogs. (Under that law, the owner of such dog is responsible for any damage done by the dog.)

City of Chicago, Department of Consumer Services, Public Vehicle Operations Division

I got a late start Saturday night, and then I couldn't find a load.

I did the circuit for a while; Clark to Halsted, Lincoln to Wells, North to Halsted back to Clark, up to Belmont, to Sheffield, to Addison and then back to Halsted. There were empty cabs everywhere, waiting for the smallest crumb to fall their way, fighting for every load, driving like fools.

An American-United came around my right on Lincoln Avenue and jumped the light to beat me off the line. I let him go. He got a load at the next corner. I continued past. At Armitage there were three girls looking for a cab. I waved them across the street but they shook their heads and pointed back the way I'd come.

The early show was breaking at Second City but there was already a long line of empty cabs double-parked in front.

Waiting for the light at Clark and Division, a Flash Cab pulled to my right and his passenger got out. A guy standing on the corner suddenly decided he needed a cab and slid into the Flash's back seat. The Flash turned right on red, and a Yellow took his place and then jumped the light.

I took Maple east and drove around the small park where Rush Street meets State. A skinny guy in a dark suit was standing on a fire hydrant on the edge of the park holding a thick bible in his hand. "Repent?" he shouted over the sounds of Saturday night, and there was clear disbelief in his voice. "Even if you people wanted to repent you couldn't.

There's no way you could ever repent. You don't even know all your sins." Nobody seemed to be paying any attention.

I followed an empty Checker past the bars on Division Street. Neither one of us got a load and the cops kept us moving along. The Checker made a right on Wells Street. I slowed down and the light turned red.

A few seconds later a horn sounded behind me. I looked in the mirror. There was an empty Yellow back there. The driver was waving his arms around. I continued to sit there. I wanted to put some space between myself and the Checker. There wasn't much percentage in following empty cabs.

When the light changed, I made a right and then moseyed up the block, the Yellow still trapped behind me. He kept blasting his horn and looking for an opening to pass but there was traffic coming our way.

A few blocks up, a well-dressed guy was standing on the curb looking up at a sign that advertised PEEP SHOW. As I approached he turned towards the street and raised an arm into the air.

I pulled to the side and the Yellow came flying around, horn blaring, the driver waving his arms as he sped past.