Madison is shaped like a woman squeezed into a too-tight whale-bone corset, with upper and lower extremities that narrow tightly into an isthmus between two moderately-sized lakes, the Capitol visible virtually everywhere near the downtown area, towering above all other buildings; later, I discovered that a city ordinance in fact makes it illegal for any building to be above a certain height and thus obscure the citizenry’s view of their Capitol.
I liked what I saw during that initial drive. The city appeared tidy and well-maintained, the wildly eclectic architecture attractive, except in the badly dilapidated student areas. The campus was lovely, especially the lakeshore section. A road that runs the length of the campus traverses an elevated section affording a stunning view of the lake, the entire shoreline and a finger-like peninsula called Picnic Point.
Bob was staying at the Concourse Hotel, just off the Capitol Square, an odd term because, though the Capitol and its sprawling lawn is bordered by four streets which meet at right angles, the road surrounding the Capitol actually runs in a circle. (Further irony: Another quartet of streets, on the outside of the Capitol Square , is known as the Outer Ring.)
“Can I get you something?” the bartender at the Concourse asked. I had just arrived—five minutes late—but Bob was not yet there. Thanking the bartender but declining his polite offer, I took a seat in a corner near a window that faced the Outer Ring and waited, enjoying the opulence of my immediate surroundings: the chair was solid rosewood, upholstered with satin, the table before me matched the chair, its surface polished to a highly reflective sheen, and this little corner was set off with floor-to-ceiling brass posts that possessed not a single smudge nor fingerprint.
After the bartender had asked me three times, I allowed the young, fleshy fellow to mix me a scotch and soda, but the drink sat untouched on the table in front of me. Bob still had not arrived which seemed queer; if punctuality was to be considered a virtue, Johnson was indeed a Pollyanna.
He finally arrived at 9:30, face flushed, brow knitted. Seeing him, I promptly ordered another scotch and soda, for he looked in need of a cocktail.
“Al,” he began, out of breath, before even taking a seat, “I’m sorry I’m late—”
“Please, Robert, take a seat.” The bartender brought over the cocktail and took my money as Bob sat and took a healthy sip.
Bob took a furtive glance at the bartender as he walked back to the bar. “Something terrible happened.” His voice was hushed.
I exhaled loudly. Too loudly.
Bob met my gaze, then looked away. He did seem quite agitated. “God, I’m sorry about this, about everything. I never should’ve told you to come out here. It was just a waste of money, and you don’t have much left.”
“Please relax, Robert,” I replied calmly. “Tell me. What has happened? Is my position still available?”
Johnson’s eyes glistened in the dim light, as if he were near tears, an expression far from the cool, confident composure he usually exhibited. “There’s no job,” he said, his voice shaking.
I nodded as calmly as possible and beckoned him to continue.
“Professor Hanson is dead.” Bob took a big gulp of his cocktail. “The only option I had available for you, and it’s gone. Dammit! There’s other possibilities out there, but this probably isn’t the best place for you to be, and what the hell are you supposed to do now? I don’t think your landlord is just going to give you your money back after signing a lease for one year. Dammit, Al, I’m sorry.”
As the saying goes, Bob was always the one to keep his head when everybody else around him was losing theirs, myself included. Now, it was I keeping him calm. This was rather inauspicious. “Please, Robert—Bob, relax. Professor Hanson is dead? What has happened?”
Bob picked up his glass, then put it back down again. “Turns out the old goat was screwing one of his students. Oddly enough, this all happened outside the context of the classroom. By all accounts, this young woman was quite brilliant, but for some reason, she took a job in a massage parlor. That’s where she met Hanson—professionally. Before long, they were meeting professionally on a regular basis, outside of the massage parlor. Now, Hanson had no idea that police believed the woman was involved in the death of a Madison man last winter, who was found in a snowbank on the south side of town. The man had been a customer at the massage parlor. Rumors had it that the man had been seeing one of the women at the massage parlor and had been quite generous with gifts of cash and jewelry, until his money ran out. Police had been trying unsuccessfully to link the woman to this killing.”
“Robert, is there a point to this story? I may be immortal, but I don’t have all night.”
“Sorry, Al. It’s a bit complicated. Anyway, Hanson also did not know that his mistress was also sleeping with a Milwaukee police officer, who was married to a fellow Milwaukee police officer. The wife suspected something and started following her husband. Then she started following Hanson’s mistress. She was determined to catch them in the act, and she did, sort of. She burst in on the young woman while she was entertaining. She pulled out her service revolver and started shooting. Before she knew it, two people were dead, Hanson’s student and her male companion, which wasn’t the woman’s husband.”
“No, it was Hanson. Now that’s just charming.” That was my only reply as I stared blankly out the window at the night that lay on the other side of the glass, the blackness swirling into a jumble of images of trees and leaves and bears and deer and riding into Oxford upon horseback, the ancient sandstone bell tower in the center of the campus piercing majestically through the darkness before me.
From the corner of my eye, Bob’s lips seemed to move, but few words seemed to reach my ears. “Talk to the landlord…Beg…Maybe get half the money back…Not much to work with…A few months in advance…Hard to find cheap rent in the bigger cities.…Have to work extra hard to find something before the money runs out…Maybe you might rethink just what you will and won’t do.”
A swath of yellow sliced through the darkness. Then another and another. “Cabs,” I said.
“Yeah, cabs,” Bob replied. “This town isn’t so small that they don’t have cabs. They’ll probably park right out there.” He pointed toward the window. On the other side of the glass, a sign read “No Parking. Taxi Stand.” “Anyway, just give me a couple days. I’m sure I can think of something.”
Inspiration seemed to come in a lightning flash of yellow. “There is no need. Perhaps I have found a possible solution.”
“Really?” Bob’s eyes bulged slightly from within their sockets. He grabbed his glass and drained the remaining contents. “Let’s hear it. I’m glad you’re so calm about this. Maybe between the two of us we can figure something out.”
I pointed toward the window at the cab that had just parked in front of the hotel, just as Bob had predicted. “Why not get a job driving a cab?”
Bob laughed loudly. “Please, Al, you can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. I can certainly assure you of that.”
He scrutinized me closely. “Jesus Christ, you are.”
“Let us examine the facts. First, I am virtually stranded here in Madison .”
Bob nodded intently. “Correct. With a signed lease and rent paid in advance, we would have no legal leg to stand on. Maybe we could sublet, but then you’d get your money back in small portions once a month and probably below face value.”
I nodded. “Second, there is the matter of a resume and the lack thereof. Simply put, I need to be able to get a job where the qualifications are, shall we say, lax.”
“Agreed.” He scratched his chin. “I’ve seen you drive in places a lot hairier than this. That’s no problem. Any blemishes on your driving record?”
I thought for a moment. “I was last cited by the police in 1961. That was in Nice.”
Bob nodded. “The only problem, you’d have to know the city fairly well to make any money, let alone get hired.”
I shook my head v
igorously. “This city is not very large. I seriously doubt that will present much difficulty.”
“Don’t take it too lightly, Al.”
My laughter echoed through the sparsely populated lounge. A couple glanced in our direction before returning to their own conversation. “Please, Robert, these are mere details. I do not care to be bothered by small details.”
“Important details.”
“I will conquer such details with the force of my will.”
Bob shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t doubt that you will. I’ve seen what kind of memory you have. You certainly can take advantage of that. Christ, if the brain really can be thought of as a muscle which needs exercise, I shudder to think what kind of shape your brain would be in if you didn’t use it as much as you do.”
“Senile vampires do not survive long before being slaughtered like rabid dogs.”
Bob rubbed his hands together trying hard to ignore that last remark. “Okay, assuming concerns one and two are taken care of, that leaves number three. You have certain special needs as far as working goes. How do you feel driving a cab would address those?”
I felt myself smile, perhaps for the first time since arriving. “This is quite the Socratic dialogue, is it not?”
My aide-de-camp returned my smile with one of his own. “Just making sure you know what you’re getting into here. I want to make sure you’ve thought this through.”
“But I have not. The idea came to me only a moment ago.” My smile stretched wider; if nothing else, it was certainly fortunate to have someone like Johnson who was trustworthy enough to hold this conversation. “I am certain I would be able to work at night, which obviously is a concern. Also, even if I would be around people all the time, no one will be in my cab for long. No one will work side-by-side with me. I can come and go like mist, and my co-workers will never know much more about me than my name.”
Bob ticked off points one, two and three, striking an index finger against index, middle and ring fingers on his other hand. “That covers the basic concerns but I’m still not satisfied.” He turned and waved at the ever-attentive bartender who promptly brought over another scotch and soda.
“What continues to trouble you?”
After taking a short sip, Bob clasped his chin between his thumb and forefinger, perhaps drawing up another list of concerns. “Part of my problem, I guess, is only having known you for fifteen years. I’m sure there’s plenty of Al Farkuss I don’t know, but the one I do know, well, I have a hard time imagining him driving a taxi. You’re used to giving orders. I’m not sure how you’ll do taking orders from someone else.”
I found myself pulling at the taut skin on my chin with my thumb and forefinger. He was correct about that, but how hideous could it be, serving the public? Surely cab passengers do not generally make totally unreasonable requests. “I can adjust.”
Bob cocked his head to one side. “I certainly hope so. You know, they say on-the-job stress is directly related to how much control a person has over their work. The less control, the more stress. I mean, Christ, kissing ass to spoiled college students? Dealing with all these damn one-way streets? Hell, there’s a street right near here I noticed earlier today. It’s only eight blocks long, but three of those blocks are one-way and all in different directions. Now, I know you won’t be dropping dead from a heart attack, but I hate to think of a person such as yourself going a little nuts from stress.”
“It would be too hideous an image to describe.” I paused a moment, then smiled at the hyperbole of that last statement. “Your point is well taken, but the options are few. I have to do something, so why not cab driving?”
“Why not?” he parroted. Bob glanced at the cab parked on the other side of the glass, drew pen and paper from his blazer and wrote down the cab company’s phone number. “I’ll call them tomorrow and let you know about their hiring procedure.”
I shook my head vigorously. “This is my penance, not yours. I’ll make the call.” I reached across the table and tried to grab the piece of paper, but Bob pulled it away. “I am serious, Robert. Give me the paper.” Very seldom one to disobey a direct order, he tore the piece of paper from his pocket-sized binder, folded it in half and placed it within my hand.
“What do you mean ‘penance?’”
“This whole ridiculous situation is my fault—”
“No, Al, it’s my fault. I should have watched Jenkins more closely. I should—”
I reached across the table and patted Bob lightly on his arm. How fortunate to have had in my employ one whose competence was matched only by his loyalty. “No, Robert, it is I who am to blame. I did not delegate responsibility. I abdicated it. Even with quality people such as yourself, the circumstances as I allowed them begged for a disaster to happen. Perhaps there is a bit of Judeo-Christian in me still, but I must work as a wage earner, not merely because I in fact need to earn a wage, but because I need to teach myself a lesson. I need to relearn the most basic lesson one learns in this world that one must be able to tend their own garden. Better than anyone, I should have known that. Certainly, that has been the key component in my survival over the years. To have forgotten that and still be intact is the absolute height of good fortune, but all good fortune comes with a price, and I think this is mine.”
“Ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.” Bob drew my checkbook from his breast pocket, placed it gently on the table and pushed it toward me. “Guess I should hand this over then.”
The moment we both expected had arrived, yet having worked so closely for fifteen years, it seemed hard to believe our association would end so abruptly. I pushed the checkbook toward him. “I do have one last job for you.”
“Name it.” He smiled broadly.
“Leave a thousand dollars in my account and write yourself a check for the rest.”
“Too generous, Al.” His voice was firm.
“I am quite serious. With my rent paid a year in advance, I think a thousand dollars should prove sufficient for my short term needs. And certainly you do have severance pay coming. You deserve every farthing. Your work has been exemplary. I just regret that I cannot pay you more.”
Without another word, Bob wrote himself the check and gave me the checkbook. For a long moment, we just stared at each other in awkward silence. Finally, I said, “Perhaps, in a few months, we might find Jenkins, get my money back and I can rehire you.”
Bob nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. Twenty mil makes it pretty easy to disappear. I’ll see what I can do, but resources are limited.”
“Any effort is appreciated. So, what do you think you will do?”
“There’s this old friend who runs a finance house. They’ve got a large group of mutual funds. About a year ago, he offered me a job as fund manager for their European fund. I’ll give him a call and see if the offer still stands.”
“Ah!” I slapped the table top. “An excellent prospect. You will keep me abreast of any interesting investment opportunities.”
“Of course. If I can still get the job.”
Bob had one more cocktail before we bade our final farewell. I left the lounge knowing it might be a long time before the world of satin and solid rosewood would be mine once again. Perhaps Jenkins would be found and my fortune restored. Perhaps, I would work for ten years and save enough money to, as the Americans might say, fight the good fight financially.
A cold gust of wind hit me as I exited the hotel. A yellow cab sat idling in the cab stand, the driver reading a newspaper. A block ahead, the traffic light flashed yellow. Below, blinking letters of white and reflected yellow read “State Street .” The gusting winds carried voices, wafting to my ears from that malled street, imploring me to come and join them. My feet soon carried me there, knowing—my entire being knowing—that State Street had more to do with my destiny than the gilded, lace-latticed, satin-covered world I had known.
Chapter 3
Hired
But wait a sec. Any job you appl
y at, you gotta go during business hours. I thought vampires can’t go out in the sun.
Sunlight. It seems you mortals seems to always wonder about that. Hollywood again, but at least this is one facet of our existence whose accuracy is not butchered by they of the silver screen.
Bob once asked me if the application of sunscreen would allow me to endure sunlight. I replied, quite nebulously, that sunlight affects vampires in a more spiritual way, and therefore, sunscreen would have no discernible effect. However, over the years, I have become less vulnerable, my body seemingly becoming ‘harder’ and more impervious to such things; when forced to flee Spain during the Inquisition and having no choice but to leave before nightfall, my flesh actually blistered beneath my clothing. Now, it merely stings. Even after 1,000 years, sunrise still will kill me as surely as anything, but once the sun passes its apex in the sky, its power seems to weaken, allowing me to be exposed to its rays.
Thus, I did not despair when they told me that I would have to apply in person between nine and five. Dark glasses, a wide-brimmed fedora and my black leather jacket with the collar turned upward provided ample protection from the waning sun, which, of course, it being late November, hung very low in the sky, even by mid-afternoon.
When I was ushered upstairs to see the operations manager, a nervous, skinny little fellow named Kevin, I was confident of my prospects. Fully prepared, I handed Kevin my New York driver’s license and a copy of my driving record, which the State of New York had kindly faxed that afternoon. The operations manager inspected the materials and, with a nod of the head, ushered me into a large room dominated by a mammoth, Arthurian round table. He handed me an application and a test to measure geographic proclivity. I smiled broadly at Kevin. Anticipating such a test, I had studied a map of the city.
Then, the struggle began, first, with the employment application. Education? Well, I did receive that degree from Oxford . Otherwise, I am self-taught. It is quite astonishing what one can learn in a thousand years.
Employment history? How does one explain being independently wealthy for the last 300 years?
Vampire Cabbie Page 3