Paradise Cab

Paradise Cab occupies the grittier part of Key West that the tourist seldom sees. Most of it's rubber and oil scented space is cluttered garage attached to a small cinder-block office which is, from dark to dawn, the domain of Toby MacNeil.

Toby has been the night dispatcher for the last five years and, in that time, watched  a lot of drivers come and go. At the moment, he was sizing up a new guy who, like all the others, had to work his way in by subbing for a regular.He had been told to come in around nine in hopes of picking up a mid-night half shift.Toby thought he looked a likely lad.

He was a fit looking guy who called himself "Rico".Somewhere on the sunny side of thirty, clean shaved,and clear-eyed with a dark braid down his back. His last gig had been as a mate on a charter boat and he looked as if he could handle himself. Not that hacking on "The Rock" was dangerous, but it had it's moments. This Rico was also a chatty sort which is a plus in dealing with the drunk tourists who are the bulk of the fares. An articulate driver gets better tips. Toby was enjoying his company.

For his part, Rico thought Toby resembled an over-sized leprechaun with an unruly mane and beard in proportion to his girth. Blue eyes glittered beneath a thatch of eyebrow that would have made an lavish mustache on a smaller man. He was going on about past drivers while threading a new "E" string in the peg of his old Gibson.

"Then, there was crazy Mark, the mad, and I mean loony tunes, Canadian
Talk about colorful." Toby's chuckle resonated from the bottom of his
barrel chest and resounded off the yellow painted walls.He inclined his massive head while he plucked away at the new string to bring it up to pitch.

"'The guy was somewhere to the left of Lenin. I think he called himself a
progressive anarchist or some damn thing. He could reel off yards of
Chomsky and Marx."

Satisfied with the tuning, Toby ran off a quick riff which sounded to Rico as if he had twenty fingers, all working at once. 

"There was that one night three years ago when this idiot tourist tried to
rob him on a run up the Keys." He rumbled another laugh and put the
Gibson aside.

"About bar close at four, this guy gets in  Mark's car and tells him
his buddies all split thinking he hooked up with some girl. So, there he was
in Key West with no ride back to Islamorada eighty miles up the road."

'Sure', says Mark, 'Three hundred- fifty bucks up front.'

"He called it in and got it confirmed so the fare can hear it. The money is
exchanged and up the road they go. The idiot is sitting up front with Mark
and they're jawboning away until they cross the Vaca Cut bridge above Marathon.
That's when the guy produces a .38 and shows it to Mark."

Toby produced a pint bottle and tipped a trace of Uncle Jack in a fresh cup of coffee
and slurped in a cautious mouthful. Rico waved off the offered bottle with a smile.

"Mmm, yeah. Well, the idiot got the shock of his life. Mark took one look at the piece and laughed like the maniac he was.

' What are you going to do dumb-ass, shoot me? We both die.'

" At the same time Mark floors it and that old Chevy cop car rockets up the
eight mile stretch on Grassy Key toward the next bridge."

Toby resorted to the coffee before he continued,

"Oh God, I would have given anything to see the look on that poor idiot's
face! OK, so, Mark picks up the long distance radio and starts talking the
most outlandish crap you can imagine about saying good-bye to all the
guys and his mother, who had been dead for years, then tops it off with;

' You know Toby, I've always wanted to know how far one of these things could fly off a bridge. My buddy here and I are going to find out in about three minutes!'

By now the fare is turning to jelly. Mark jammed the mike into transmit so we could hear it go down."

'N-no wait I . . .' the poor zoon is convinced he is in the hands of a psycho.

'Throw the piece out the window!' Out it goes.

"Mark lets off the gas and starts slowing down. All the while he is reaching
for his big flashlight all drivers carry and when he gets to around ten, he
jams on the brakes and clocks the guy as he pitches forward. By the time the mounties get there, he has the guy duct taped to a mile marker and relieved him of another hundred and change for his trouble. What? The guys gonna complain about being robbed? When the cops found the gun the next day it was empty."

Toby dissolved in laughter.

"So what happened to Mark?" Grinning, Rico waited for the other shoe.

"Don't know. I think he got fed up and just disappeared." Toby wiped his eyes and shrugged, "It happens."

Toby drained the coffee and picked up the Gibson again. "See if you like this kid, something of my own." The twenty fingers went back to work and Toby's late night
guitar flowed out the open door into the soft dark.