Nobody's Angel

by Jack Clark

  Meanwhile I wasn't making a dime following along.

  He continued east in the same leisurely manner; a guy who happened to drive a van that looked like the one I'd seen. There were a million vans around town. A couple of them had to match.

  He stopped for a light and there was nowhere to hide so I pulled up right behind him. A moment later the light changed and I dropped back a half-block or so, not very far in the darkness under the el. If the guy was paying attention, he knew I was there.

  Past the projects there was industry on both sides of the street. The old produce market was one block south on Randolph, meat packing houses were a block north on Fulton. A train rumbled overhead, dropping sparks as it headed east.

  Just beyond Morgan, the van's brake-lights flashed. And then there was a black girl waving from behind a rusty girder. But he passed her by. I was about to pass, too, but then I stopped instead.

  The girl walked to the passenger window as the van continued away. She was tall and well built with very light skin. She was wearing shiny short-shorts and a halter top under an open jacket. "How you doin' dear?" She leaned into the open window. There was a slight twang in her voice, just a hint of the south.

  I pulled a ten dollar bill out of my pocket and held it up. "Ever see that van before?"

  "He don't never stop," she said, and backed away a bit.

  "But he comes by?"

  "He look. He don't play." She reached for the ten but I pulled it back.

  "You see him a lot?"

  "He go round and round some nights."

  "You sure?" I asked. A few blocks ahead, the van turned north on Halsted.

  "He so dog ugly," she said, "how I not be sure?"

  I handed her the ten and she slipped it into her shorts. "Don't buy nothin' but a flash and a dash," she said and lifted her halter to give me a peek, then ran into the darkness laughing.

  I jumped on the gas and went after the van. It was the guy, I was sure. He'd taken the long way around but now he was heading for North Avenue. As I turned on Halsted, I flicked the two-way on. As soon as I spotted him, I would use the radio to get the police.

  I shot up Halsted but I never caught up with Tweety Bird.

  I turned left on Clybourn and left again on North. There were plenty of girls out, strutting their stuff down the avenue, but the van was nowhere around. I'd let him know I was following and now he was gone.

  I retraced my steps back to Lake Street, and then once again to North Avenue, where I pulled into a gas station and up to the pay phone.

  "Hagarty," the detective came on the line.

  "It's Eddie Miles," I said. "Look, I think I saw that van again."

  "Where?"

  I described my ride. "A girl on Lake Street told me he comes by almost every night but he doesn't stop."

  "Eddie, the guy we're looking for stops."

  "Maybe she isn't his type," I said.

  "You get a plate number this time?" he asked, but he didn't sound very excited.

  I gave him the number.

  "I hope this isn't another one of those Rollie gags."

  "What gag?" I said. "I didn't tell you to kick his door down."

  "We'll check it out," he said. "You never know. Hey, tell me about that girl at the bus stop last night. What'd she look like?"

  "She was just a kid," I remembered. "Real straight looking. Jeans. Light blue jacket. Her hair was in pigtails and she had these blue ribbons tied on the ends."

  "If you're in the neighborhood later, stop by. Something I want to show you."

  "Tonight?"

  "No hurry," he said. "Tonight, tomorrow, whenever you get time."

  Public chauffeurs who need to consult reference material to determine the location of or most direct route to a passenger's destination may do so for a reasonable time provided that the meter is not activated during such time. Any violation of this rule shall constitute a major offense. In addition to imposing a fine and/or suspension for violation of this section, a hearing officer may order the public chauffeur to pay monetary restitution in the amount of any undue fare collected.

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

  There were several familiar cabs parked by the Golden Batter Pancake house. But I knew if I stopped I'd have to explain why I'd missed Lenny's funeral. I headed east and north instead.

  I was drunk. Isn't that good enough?

  And Lenny wouldn't be coming to mine.

  On Broadway, a skinny guy in an imitation leather jacket waved. A blond girl waited on the sidewalk.

  "I've only got a buck and a half," the guy said. "Can you take us up Clarendon just north of Irving for that?"

  "It's only two blocks."

  "My lady's got a bad leg," he shrugged and smiled.

  "What the hell," I said. All I was losing was the fifty cents extra passenger charge and any tip I might get.

  "Here you go, guy," he said after they crawled in, and he handed me a handful of clammy change. "Count it. There should be a buck fifty there."

  "I'll take your word for it." I dumped the coins into an empty coffee cup, then wiped my hands on my pants.

  "Let me ask you a question," he said. "You like pussy?"

  I looked back in the mirror. They were both watching me, phony smiles planted on their faces. She was a very old twenty-five. They were both hard looking, cheap white trash.

  "Can't you guys wait till you get home?"

  "Hey, whatever you say," he shrugged.

  Broadway curved to the west. I kept straight and went north on Clarendon, a residential through street which was the dividing line between seedy Uptown, and the narrow well-to-do lakefront neighborhood to the east. There were a couple of sets of taillights a few blocks ahead. Nobody was coming our way.

  Just past Irving Park I checked the rearview and the girl was turned around looking out the back window. It must be something they all learned in prison, I thought. Or maybe this was what I was missing by not watching prime time TV. I grabbed the can of mace and set it on my lap.

  "Turn left," the guy said.

  The next street was narrow and only ran one block to Broadway. There was a nice bend right in the middle and no way was I going down there. Not with these two.

  I put my left turn signal on, but instead of making the turn I whipped a fast U-turn, hit the brakes hard and stopped right in the mouth of the street. "End of the line, guys," I said.

  "My lady's got a bad leg," the guy whined. "Can't you take us down the block?"

  I pointed the mace at his face. "Get the fuck out of my cab," I shouted.

  The guy held up his hands like he was under arrest. "Hey, don't be spraying no mace," he said, and opened the door.

  The girl didn't want to go. She was sitting right behind me and I knew she still wanted to try. I pointed the mace her way.

  The boyfriend was the brighter of the pair. "Come on," he said from out on the street. She went reluctantly. Sliding slowly across the seat, her hands down, hidden behind the back of my seat, holding some kind of weapon, I was sure.

  I didn't wait for them to close the door. I stepped on the gas the minute her feet hit the pavement and the door shut on its own.

  "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 offic
e 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 em
pty 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.

  The guy opened the back door and leaned into the cab. "There's supposed to be a strip joint around here someplace," he said. He was wearing one of those HELLO MY NAME IS tags. "Bill Harrison," was written in red.

  "You're about ten years too late," I let him know.

  "No, listen," he said, "another cab just dropped me off. He said there was a place right around here."

  I shook my head. "He must have meant that peep show," I said. "If you're looking for strippers -- girls, anyway -- the closest place is out in Cicero."