I sat inside Mahmud’s taxi not far from Regent Park. To fit the role of a taxi driver I had asked Mahmud to lend me his Blue Jays cap.
It had gotten dark very fast and the street was only occupied by the occasional passer-by.
I got out and went in the direction of the brown building. The poor lighting on the street concealed me. I found a white BMW in a lone corner spot. Earlier, Marcus had emerged from the vehicle and gone inside.
I looked around. There was a group of kids bouncing basketballs heading in the other direction. I knelt, took another look, and began releasing air from the tires. When I was on the third tire there was a sudden noise. Startled, I turned around, with fists raised, ready to fight. There was no one there. It was only the streetcar in the distance, going east on Gerrard.
I finished my task and headed back. Once I got inside the taxi I began to fully breathe again. My shirt was soaked from sweat and I tried to air it dry. While I was breathing deeply a man in a suit got inside the taxi.
“University Avenue and Edward Street,” the man said.
I slowly turned.
“University Avenue,” he repeated.
“Sir, I’m waiting for a customer,” I said.
“Where is he?”
“Who?” I said.
“Your customer.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Get out,” I said.
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“What’s not fair?”
“I shouldn’t have to find another taxi if the guy you’re waiting for doesn’t even show up.”
Actually, the man did have a point. My imaginary customer had no respect for my job as a driver, or for this man.
“How about this,” I said. “I’ll give you five bucks and you go find another taxi?”
He thought about it. “You’re serious?”
I pulled out a blue coloured piece of paper and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he said. “I hope your customer comes soon.”
I hoped so too.
I waited…and waited…and waited, until I could no longer wait.
Hours had gone by. No sign of Marcus. I turned the ignition and headed toward the building. I drove slowly. The BMW sat airless on the right. I moved past it, when suddenly the door of the brown building swung open and a suited man came out, followed by the unmistakable fur-coat-man.
I kept driving at a snail’s pace, away from them. Through the rear-view mirror I saw Marcus look agitated. He began yelling at his bodyguard, for obvious reasons.
I was in the parking lot of an adjacent building when I saw Marcus look in my direction. He raised his hands and waved to me. I stopped. Oh, crap.
I did a three-sixty-turn and headed back.
I halted two feet from him. He rushed over.
“You here to pick someone up?” he said.
“Um…yeah. I got a call to come down, but all the buildings look the same,” I said.
“I’ll give you fifty bucks if you take me to Queen and Coxwell,” he said.
“Sure,” I said.
He turned and told his bodyguard to have the BMW fixed immediately.
He got in and I eased the taxi onto Gerrard.
“You’re not going to start the meter?” he said from behind.
I eyed the machine carefully and then pressed a button. Red numeric digits appeared.
We were going east when I said, “So, how about the weather, eh?”
“What about the weather?” he said annoyed.
“I…I mean…it’s nice,” I stumbled.
“Yeah, so.”
“I can tell you’re not a big weather fan.”
“It’s all the same.”
That’s probably because you wear a fur coat all the time.
“How about those Blue Jays, eh?” I said.
“You gonna talk all through the ride?”
“Just trying to make small talk,” I said.
“Don’t,” he shot back. “Just drive.”
I didn’t have much time. This wasn’t a long ride, anyways, so I dove in.
“You a drug dealer?”
Through the rear-view mirror I could see his face contort.
I said, “Yeah, you are. I saw you in the papers.” I lied.
“What’s your name, boy?”
I searched, “Abdul Karim-er, Hakim-bin Karim-bin Hakim Karim.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“How would you know?” I said feeling offended. How dare this man insult my people?
“Mahmud Hanif. You don’t look like Mahmud Hanif,” he said.
“How would you know that?”
“There’s a picture of him behind your head.”
Damn. There was always a photo with the name and cab number of the driver on the back of the headrest.
Once we were past Broadview I had had enough. I found a spot and parked.
“What are you doing?” Marcus demanded.
I turned and looked him in the eye. “I need information.”
“So?”
“You’re going to give me the information I need.”
“Kid, you’re dead. You know that?”
“Shut up,” I said. “You don’t scare me.”
“My boy will get you.”
“Your boy is still pumping air in the tires with his mouth.”
He moved for the door.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“When you’re out that door I’m going to run after you and with that fur coat on you’re not going to get very far. Once I catch you I’ll beat the shit out of you.” I was lying, of course. I was thinking more of running him over with the car.
“I’ll call the cops. You can’t touch me.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll say you bolted before you paid.”
“Shit, kid. You got a lot of nerve.”
I flared my nostrils boldly. I was the man.
He looked at me intently. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you that parking cop who was in the papers a couple of years ago?”
My nostrils deflated.
“Yeah, it was you.” He started laughing. “What? You screwed up so bad now you’re driving a taxi?”
“A man can’t get no respect,” I said.
He continued laughing.
“I am in the drug squad now.” I flashed him my badge for good measure. “That is why you’re going to help me.”
He leaned back and spread his arms.
“Do you know anything about RACE?” I said.
“Who?”
Whenever I mentioned RACE people got that confused look.
“Do you know anything about Nex?”
“Kid, what are you talking about?”
“This new drug that’s suppose to be bigger than Ecstasy.”
“How’d you know about that?” Marcus asked, surprised.
“I’m in the drug squad.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
He was right. He didn’t. It all looks so easy in the movies, where the hero demands answers from the villain and most often than not he gets them. In real life it’s entirely different. I might have to beg.
“Come on, man,” I said. “Help me out.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” he said laughing. “The only way I’m talking is if you arrest me.”
“Fine,” I said. “Last time I do anyone a favour.”
His eyes narrowed and he said, “What’re you talking about?”
“I’m just saying,” I started. “We know you’re involved in all of this. Last week we saw them-” I had know idea what them looked like. “-at your place.”
He said, “I’m gonna deny everything.”
“Of course you are. But let me tell you. When these guys-” I was careful not to say RACE. “-Get busted, you’re going down with them.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’m saying we know they have the drug and it could be ready in a matter of days.”
“You know about that?”
“Of course, man. We’re the cops. We’ve got a huge team working on this case. You’re a paper-reading-kind-of-guy so you must have heard about the RCMP’s investigation into the drug squad?”
He nodded.
“To bring respectability back to the force we’re going to get this gang of drug makers and we’re going to make an example of them.” I emphasized the next sentence. “We’re going to make an example of you.”
His face went serious. “The favour you mentioned. Why?”
“Let’s just say, I want to be the one who breaks this investigation. Make up for the mistake I made years ago.”
A group of people stared at us. I guess they wanted a taxi. I started the car and drove.
“What will I get if I help you?”
“I’ll tell them you were very helpful.”
“I’ll still go to jail. I sell drugs to kids, remember.”
“That’s your problem, but if you help us you won’t go to jail for this new drug, will you?”
He thought about it.
“There is nothing to think about,” I said.
“Okay, okay. They came a few days ago with their new quick-dissolving formula. You know about it?”
“Yeah, of course.” Quick-dissolving?
“This thing, I mean, this tablet just disappears inside your mouth.”
“You tried the drug?”
“No way,” he snapped. “You crazy.”
“Where can I find these people?”
“How the hell do I know? The rule is you don’t ask any questions. But they’ll probably come back when they have the drug.”
“Right,” I said more to myself than him. “Once they come to you, we follow them.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said.
“So we have a deal, right?”
He moved his head in agreement. “Yeah, sure.”
I turned my head back, slightly. “You better stick to the deal or else-”
“Look out!” he screamed.
I twisted and saw a kid crossing the road. I turned the wheel sharply. The car veered to the right, went onto the sidewalk, and hit a large recycling bin. The heavy plastic bin flew over passing vehicles and landed on the opposite sidewalk, like a scene from a cartoon.
I turned to see if the kid was okay. He was walking in the opposite direction with his head low and bopping. His ears were covered with large pilot-style headphones. He had no idea what had just happened.
Teenagers!
I looked back and Marcus had horror over his face. His eyes bulged out and his arms were spread apart. He looked as if he was going to fall and was holding on for dear life.
“You okay?” I said.
He was pale and his mouth was open.
“You must have seen worse,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt.
He nodded and then quickly pounced out of the car.
“Remember our deal,” I yelled as he ran away.
It’s not pretty seeing a grown man in a fur coat run like that.
I got out to see the damage.
I nearly screamed, the kind of scream that even aliens on far away planets can hear.
There was a large dent, the size of a half watermelon, on the right side of the front. The headlight was smashed beyond repair.
This was not good.
Mahmud would kill me.
I pulled out my cell phone and called the one person I knew who could help in this situation.
Eight minutes later a brown coloured tow-truck parked behind the busted taxi. Out came Joe Coultier, his massive body moving toward me.
“Jonny,” he said.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked. “Why didn’t you send someone else?”
“The boys are busy. This is our peak time, you know. Parking on the streets without residential permits, leaving cars in the parking lots of malls, the usual stuff.”
“Who’s watching the business?”
“Marcie.”
“She’s back?” I asked.
“Yeah, I couldn’t run the place without her. I begged her and gave her a raise.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “I was looking forward to opening my very own impound with her.”
“You know what? I like the coupon idea you had,” he said. “It would build customer loyalty and stuff. Anyways, you hit a taxi?”
“No. The taxi hit the recycling bin.”
“So what did you hit?”
“The recycling bin.”
“Both the taxi and you hit the recycling bin?’
“No. Only the taxi hit the recycling bin.”
He shook his head violently. “Okay, what were you driving?”
“The taxi.”
“What?” he said. “What’re you doing driving a taxi?”
“It’s a long story. You gonna tow or what?”
“I’ll tow,” he said getting down to business. “Just because you’re a loyal customer. No questions asked.”
“So how many tows have I got?” I inquired.
“Why?”
“This one could be free.”
Joe had taken the taxi to a mechanic he knew. I was going to cover the costs, of course, but that was not the problem. How was I going to tell Mahmud? He trusted me and I’d let him down.
Maybe I could deny it.
What taxi? I never borrowed any taxi? I don’t even have a license to operate one, must be someone else?
No. I couldn’t do that.
Mahmud was a good person, a decent person. I didn’t know how I was going to tell him what had happened. This might even end our fragile relationship.
I got off and waited at the spot we had decided to meet. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was almost eleven. I paced back and forth, thinking of what to do next. Four long minutes later I saw Mahmud turn the corner and walk briskly towards me.
“Mahmud,” I said. “Buddy, pal, how are you doing?”
“Good, Officer Rupret, how about you?” he said smiling. His eyes darted behind me, searching. “Where is the taxi?”
I scratched my head. “Well, Mahmud…maybe you should sit down.”
He looked around. We were in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Standing might be better.” I took a step back. I said, “Mahmud, something happened to your taxi.”
His smile faded.
“There is a large dent on the right side.”
He nodded, slowly.
“But I’m going to pay for the repair.” I didn’t know how much was in that thick envelope Sergeant Motley gave me, but it would help.
There was a pause and then he finally said, “You are okay?”
“Yeah, couldn’t be better,” I shrugged.
“You hit another car?” he asked.
“No, recycling bin.”
“Recycling bin?” He paused. “But recycling bin is on the sidewalk.”
“Yeah, well, I kind of…you have to realize there was this kid with these big headphones walking down the street and to avoid hitting him I swerved…”
He nodded, trying hard to digest what I was saying.
“Mahmud, I’m really sorry,” I said.
Mahmud looked hurt. I understood. It was his only means of making a living.
His eyes narrowed as if thinking. He then moved his hand through his matted hair. He looked at me and then his eyes moved to the top of my head.
I pulled off the Blue Jays cap and handed it to him.
He put it on and then looked at the ground. “Maybe I made a mistake,” he said.
“I know. You shouldn’t have trusted me.”
He smiled. “I made a mistake of not running taxi over you before.”
I woke up in the middle of the night in the Beadsworth’s guest bedroom. I tossed and turned and tossed some more. I was having strange dreams. First, I was in a taxi with Marcus being pulled by Joe Coultier-not towed, but literally pulled by his massive arms. Then, I’m back in the taxi and I hit a recycling bin and out pops Mahmud. He demands why I hit his recycling bin and not someone else’s. Then I’m in the House of Jam and I’m being chased by Mahmud’s taxi. Finally, I’m standing near a lake and I decide to jump into the water, and when I do the water turns into pills and I get sucked in like quicksand. I scream but no one is there to help except for Clara Terries. I call for her and she reaches out to help me, but before I can grab her I wake up.
It was 3:21 in the morning. My stomach moaned. I got up and went downstairs. As I turned into the kitchen a boy leaped up, startled. He was holding a sandwich in his left hand and his right hand was covered in a cast.
“Hey, I’m not a robber,” I said. Black guy in the house in the middle of the night can send wrong messages to white kids. “I’m your father’s partner.”
“I know that,” he said. “I was surprised.”
“You’re…Christopher, right?” I said.
“No. Noel.”
Damn. Close, though. “Mind if I join you?”
He shook his head and sat down. He took a bite off his sandwich.
“That looks good,” I said.
“It’s tuna. I’ll show you were Mom keeps it.”
He pointed out all the ingredients and I made myself a similar sandwich.
Once we were seated I said, “By the way, my name is Jon.” I offered my hand as a late introduction. He shook it. “You couldn’t sleep either?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I couldn’t,” I said. “I had nightmares.”
“You did?” he said, looking up.
“Yeah.”
“What kind of nightmares? Scary monster nightmares?’
“You could say that,” I said.
“I get this nightmare where this humungous giant lizard with fangs and five tentacles comes out of the closet and eats me alive.”
Humungous lizard? I hope he doesn’t come after me.
“Are you a police officer just like dad?” he asked.
“Sure am,” I said, in my police-like tone.
“You catch bad guys every day?”
“Sure do.” I felt like John Wayne telling some whippersnapper about his sheriff duties.
He then said, “You make lots of money like dad?”
Uh? “What?”
“Dad makes lots of money.”
I paused. “Yes, he does.”
I slowly took a bite of the sandwich, thinking. “Your dad told you he makes lots of money from his job?”
“No, but I hear him talk to Mom. He brings her money in an envelope.”
“An envelope, eh?” I said, thinking deeper.
“Brown envelopes, sometimes white envelopes.”
I began to eye the kitchen suspiciously: marble countertop, stainless steel dishwasher, two-door refrigerator, all top-of-the-line stuff.
“What else did your dad tell you,” I asked, hoping to get more out of him.
He shrugged, suddenly disinterested.
I needed more information. “So, you broke your arm playing soccer?” I said.
He looked away.
I leaned in. “You didn’t break your arm playing soccer, did you?”
He made no comment.
“You got into a fight.”
He nodded, very slowly.
“Why?”
He looked up and opened his mouth into a wide smile.
I waited.
He pointed to his teeth.
“What?” I still did not understand.
He pointed more dramatically.
“Oh,” I said. “Kids made fun of your braces?”
He closed his mouth and lowered his head, staring at the empty plate.
“Your parents don’t know?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t worry about what those kids think,” I said. “When you’re older you’ll have a perfect smile and they’ll have crooked teeth like cats.”
He laughed.
Right then I should have told him an incident from my childhood, but I couldn’t think of one so I let it go. “You know,” I said. “You should tell your parents. Maybe they can help.”
I suddenly realized the hypocrisy of what I was saying. Here I was giving Noel advice about being open and honest while I was hiding my career from my mother.
When this was all over and done I was going to have a long talk with her. She would understand. She always did.
“Talk to your parents when you feel you’re up to it,” I finally said.