going?"
"I'm going to 1300 Grand Avenue, just like you told me."
"Granville," he shouted. "I said 'Granville.' "
"Oh, Jesus Christ," I said, and I flipped the meter off and made a U-turn.
Chauffeurs shall not solicit patronage for any restaurant, night club, cabaret, dance hall, hotel, public resort, place or amusement, nor solicit any person for transportation to any prostitute or house of ill-fame or disorderly place nor transport any passenger to any place other than the destination to which the passenger has requested transportation.
City of Chicago, Department of Consumer Services, Public Vehicle Operations Division
The roundtable started early that night. When I pulled up, around twelve-thirty, there must have been twenty cabs parked in front of the pancake house.
The back table was full. Ace and Ken Willis moved over to make room. I slid a chair from a second table where the overflow sat.
"What's going on?" I asked. "There's still plenty of business out there."
"Some strange reason nobody wants to work," Fat Wally said. There was a pile of empty dishes in front of him and he was drinking straight from one of those metal milkshake canisters. It looked like a baby's bottle in his huge hand. We weren't dealing with any metabolism problem here. Wally liked to shovel it in.
"I still don't believe it," Ace said. He was a tiny old Jewish guy with a bald head and a neat, grey mustache. He'd known Lenny as long as anyone. "Christ, if they can get the Polack "
And he left it dangling there.
"He fucked up," Willis said.
Ace shook his head. "Somebody conned him."
"But he fell for it," Willis said.
Ace lit a cigarette, the first one I'd seen him smoke in months. He was one of those guys who could never quite quit. "Kenny tells me you saw Lenny last night," he said.
"Right around midnight." I nodded, and I described the brief encounter out on Lake Shore Drive twenty-four hours before.
"Well, you're the last, so far," Ace said. "Jake saw him about eight, heading into O'Hare."
"Escrow." I winked.
Jake smiled back, and tipped an invisible cap. "Edwin Miles," he said. "The cabdriver's cabdriver."
"Morning, Eddie." Clair dropped a cup of coffee in front of me, then went around topping off the other cups. She'd just come on duty at midnight.
"Decaf," Tony Golden held up a hand.
"Oh, hell, you can't tell the difference," Willis said.
"Man, if I drink too much of this stuff," Golden held up the nearly empty cup. "I start throwing 'em out of the cab."
"Give him a double," somebody at the back table suggested.
"I was up along Ridge earlier," I said, "trying to figure out what might get Lenny to stop."
"Don't go looking for trouble, Eddie," Ace warned.
"There's that 24-Hour Pantry up there," I said. "I thought he might have stopped there on his way home."
"Not the Polack," Ace let me know. "He didn't like paying convenience store prices."
"Yeah, but say he just needed a loaf of bread or something," I went on. "This black kid works there. I asked him if he saw Lenny, you know, about 12:15, and he says
no, he gets off at midnight. But what if he stood around talking for a while, and then Lenny comes in and the kid asks him for a ride home. I mean, if Lenny's in there all the time, he might do it."
"He wasn't in there all the time," Ace said.
"Here's the funny part," I kept going. "The kid comes up with some bullshit how he knows me. Says I picked him up one night when nobody else would. But I'll be damned if I remember him."
"Sounds just like you," Willis said, and he got the biggest laugh of the night. "You probably took him down to the Taylor Homes or something stupid like that."
The Robert Taylor Homes, on the South Side, were bigger and badder than Cabrini. And I'd been in there more times than I cared to remember. But some of the guys had never made the trip. Some of them went out of their way to avoid picking up black passengers. That included Tony Golden, the only black driver in the group. One
"I'm going to 1300 Grand Avenue, just like you told me."
"Granville," he shouted. "I said 'Granville.' "
"Oh, Jesus Christ," I said, and I flipped the meter off and made a U-turn.
Chauffeurs shall not solicit patronage for any restaurant, night club, cabaret, dance hall, hotel, public resort, place or amusement, nor solicit any person for transportation to any prostitute or house of ill-fame or disorderly place nor transport any passenger to any place other than the destination to which the passenger has requested transportation.
City of Chicago, Department of Consumer Services, Public Vehicle Operations Division
The roundtable started early that night. When I pulled up, around twelve-thirty, there must have been twenty cabs parked in front of the pancake house.
The back table was full. Ace and Ken Willis moved over to make room. I slid a chair from a second table where the overflow sat.
"What's going on?" I asked. "There's still plenty of business out there."
"Some strange reason nobody wants to work," Fat Wally said. There was a pile of empty dishes in front of him and he was drinking straight from one of those metal milkshake canisters. It looked like a baby's bottle in his huge hand. We weren't dealing with any metabolism problem here. Wally liked to shovel it in.
"I still don't believe it," Ace said. He was a tiny old Jewish guy with a bald head and a neat, grey mustache. He'd known Lenny as long as anyone. "Christ, if they can get the Polack "
And he left it dangling there.
"He fucked up," Willis said.
Ace shook his head. "Somebody conned him."
"But he fell for it," Willis said.
Ace lit a cigarette, the first one I'd seen him smoke in months. He was one of those guys who could never quite quit. "Kenny tells me you saw Lenny last night," he said.
"Right around midnight." I nodded, and I described the brief encounter out on Lake Shore Drive twenty-four hours before.
"Well, you're the last, so far," Ace said. "Jake saw him about eight, heading into O'Hare."
"Escrow." I winked.
Jake smiled back, and tipped an invisible cap. "Edwin Miles," he said. "The cabdriver's cabdriver."
"Morning, Eddie." Clair dropped a cup of coffee in front of me, then went around topping off the other cups. She'd just come on duty at midnight.
"Decaf," Tony Golden held up a hand.
"Oh, hell, you can't tell the difference," Willis said.
"Man, if I drink too much of this stuff," Golden held up the nearly empty cup. "I start throwing 'em out of the cab."
"Give him a double," somebody at the back table suggested.
"I was up along Ridge earlier," I said, "trying to figure out what might get Lenny to stop."
"Don't go looking for trouble, Eddie," Ace warned.
"There's that 24-Hour Pantry up there," I said. "I thought he might have stopped there on his way home."
"Not the Polack," Ace let me know. "He didn't like paying convenience store prices."
"Yeah, but say he just needed a loaf of bread or something," I went on. "This black kid works there. I asked him if he saw Lenny, you know, about 12:15, and he says
no, he gets off at midnight. But what if he stood around talking for a while, and then Lenny comes in and the kid asks him for a ride home. I mean, if Lenny's in there all the time, he might do it."
"He wasn't in there all the time," Ace said.
"Here's the funny part," I kept going. "The kid comes up with some bullshit how he knows me. Says I picked him up one night when nobody else would. But I'll be damned if I remember him."
"Sounds just like you," Willis said, and he got the biggest laugh of the night. "You probably took him down to the Taylor Homes or something stupid like that."
The Robert Taylor Homes, on the South Side, were bigger and badder than Cabrini. And I'd been in there more times than I cared to remember. But some of the guys had never made the trip. Some of them went out of their way to avoid picking up black passengers. That included Tony Golden, the only black driver in the group. One
Similar Books
