The roads are wet and you’re tired; very tired. The kind of tired where your vision is bleary, your peripherals jump and the whole world starts looking strange and new. You promised to stop by 4am but you’re still driving, still looking for fares.
You discover him by an old church: a large man in a black trench coat, flagging you down in the rain. He runs up to the cab waving a fistful of cash; always a good sign.
Catie Park cemetery, please, it’s urgent.
You start figuring out the fare; it’s a long way, forty minutes; good fare.
here, take it. just go!
You look at the dripping bundle of currency thrust before you, thousands of dollars. Brushing the hidden .38 for assurance you twist to look him in the face – he’s bald and overweight, with small ears. The huge silver crucifix on his chest seems out of place but he’s normal enough so you swing out north onto Chester.
It’s on the highway that you first catch a glimpse of the knife, a wicked curved dagger glinting in the rear view mirror. You spin around in your seat yelling at him, you’re too tired for this shit tonight.
You are in no danger son, tonight we do the Lord’s work. This blade was not forged to spill mortal blood. Please watch the road. And do hurry, if the sun rises this will go badly for me.
Religious crazy is okay. You get used to it in this city. But it’s best not to encourage crazy, so you stay silent and concentrate on the road.
You drop him outside the east gate of the cemetery. You hope he’s crazy; or he wins.