CURRY DRIVE

Daniel and I were both quiet. There was some tangible tension between us. You couldn't see it, but you could definitely feel it. It was chilly outside and still dark, although the air was giving hints of the rising sun. It was already past four thirty and the trip was obviously a big mistake. I looked at Daniel again. The old guy was nervous. He was balancing from one foot to another and took a black box with a gold coat of arms from his pocket. It looked familiar but I couldn't recall what it was; either some sort of secret organization symbol or a trace of Daniel's link to European royalty. Then Daniel took a cigarette from the box and in an instant I knew it was Sobranie, luxury cigarettes favored by the Russian mafia. I was expecting some French brand but couldn't recall any. Oh, yes, Gauloises or that almost deadly Gitanes. I would have thought that such cigarettes would warrant enough attention for Daniel's taste, but instead he chose to smoke a foreign brand. Daniel was obviously not as patriotic as I had thought he was. Perhaps undeniable taste can win over patriotism, even for the French. Did he smoke Sobranie purely for its classy looking box?

At that instant, my thoughts wandered. I started thinking about the old Frenchman. He looked like a guy who had seen much and knew a lot about big world business and top politics. Some of the stuff Daniel said I already knew, but the rest was completely new to me and I would say unknown to the general public. I could only guess that Daniel knew much more, but he was probably not ready to share it with a cabdriver. I was curious to find out Daniel's secrets, but I was even more inclined to seek Daniel's opinion on the Events. That was something that had been puzzling me for the past three weeks. Daniel could really help me.

I finally had a decent look at Daniel. He was really short, maybe five feet four, and really slim. His face was wrinkled and showing signs of years spent in Africa. Sunspots were now dark and he had two deep wrinkles on his cheeks. They were long and unusual, slightly resembling those on Hugh Grant's face. However, some women would say that Hugh Grant is cute, but nobody could say that about Daniel. His eyes looked mean, and they didn't have color. At least I couldn't see any in the dark. They must have been very bright. His brown suit was a bit wrinkled, but it was obvious that the fabric was high quality. It suited him really well and because of his size, I suspected it was tailor-made. It was also possible that his shoes were handmade to measure, because they too had a classic shape - plain old shoes that you can't find in shops. Brown shoes that were not 'in', but could not go out of fashion either. The same was true for Daniel's haircut. His gray hair was wavy and a bit longer, but not arty style. He was by no means bald, but his hair must have seen better days. But something in this whole picture didn't match. I couldn't explain it, but Daniel didn't look like somebody who was about to go to an important meeting. He was shaved and groomed, but his 'friendship' with Chivas Regal wasn't appropriate for closing off a deal. Daniel had something really intimidating in his look. Actually Daniel had scary eyes. I was starting to get suspicious every time I looked at them. As much as I trusted Linda while she was staying with us, I was suspicious of this old guy. In addition to Daniel's evil looks, something about him just didn't add up.

I was wondering how much longer we would have to wait for a cab when a Ford Taurus with a taxi sign appeared. We both entered the car from opposite sides, still not saying a word to each other. As soon as I closed the door a mix of sweat and curry odor swamped me. A guy wearing a turban asked us with a strong Indian accent, "Where do you want me to drive?"

"Just go to the highway," Daniel said.

"State highway?" the cabbie asked, but Daniel couldn't answer. He looked at me for help.

"Interstate 95," I said.

"What direction? To Baltimore or New York." The driver wanted a specific answer.

"Can you leave this gentleman on the highway as soon as we get there and then give me a ride to New Jersey?" Daniel said coldly, although I could sense in his voice that he was artificially trying to sound calm.

"What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Daniel tried to calm me down. "Listen, I am already late for a meeting where I cannot be late. You can hitchhike to your car. I paid you for the entire trip, go home and forget the whole story."

But I was not happy. "Hey, I am customer too. I can make decisions as well. And beside, your suitcase is still in my cab." I looked at Daniel with sheer astonishment, completely shocked by his behavior.

The Indian driver interrupted, "No, no, sir. I can't drive to New Jersey. My shift is almost over and I don't tend to go anywhere outside Philadelphia. I can drive you a couple miles outside Philadelphia, but that is all."

For a brief moment our eyes met and Daniel gave me an unwilling 'OK' look and said, "All right, all right then. Drive towards Baltimore. But you will have to make a turn as our car is in the lane bound for New York City."

"How far is your car from Philadelphia?" The cabdriver was still curious to know how long the drive was.

"Not very far," I said, although I wasn't sure where exactly I had left the car. In the whole mess with the cops I didn't think about details like where the cops stopped us. Since the Events I had developed an attitude that the world stops when the police get you. Nothing matters anymore because usually after that, your life changes completely. Where you parked a car was just a simple detail not worth remembering.

"Before the bridge?" the Indian asked.

"I don't remember any bridge. Do you?" Now I needed Daniel's help."

"No, I don't recall crossing the bridge," Daniel confirmed.

"And you were coming from Baltimore on Interstate 95?"

"Yep."

"You must have crossed a bridge." The driver was persistent, like the smell of curry in the car.

"Listen, we were stopped by a highway patrol maybe after a ten-minute drive from the police station. If there is a bridge, maybe we crossed it. If we didn't, who cares? Just hurry up, I'm really getting late." Daniel was losing his patience.

"Sir, it is not my fault you are late. I will do my best. Just let me know when you see your car," the cabbie said and looked at us in the mirror, Daniel nodded.

I caught the driver's eyes in the mirror and then looked at his taxi license. His name was Rashmere Bhatti. But the photo on the license didn't match the driver that was driving us. The guy in the photo was older and skinnier, while the guy driving wasn't fat but wouldn't pass as slim either, and he was definitely much younger. The only resemblance was the turban and the beard. I was getting suspicious. I started feeling that the whole night might have been orchestrated by somebody. The Secret Service, CIA, FBI? I wasn't sure, but there were too many coincidences. Firstly, the Frenchman with his stories - why was he telling me those stories in the first place? I would feel safer now if I hadn't heard them. Then, that crazy highway patrol arrest. Somehow, everybody knew about my past. I was aware of the things I had done and what happened to me must have been in some sort of police record, but after everything that happened in the previous hour I had a feeling that I was still on the 'wanted' list. However, Daniel did seem to provoke the cops. Then the taking of the mug shots and that brief cynical interrogation; and the mysterious phone call; then a cab that appears in a distant suburb only five minutes after the call at six a.m." a cab that looks too clichéd. And an Indian driver that smells of curry with a strong accent. Although I was rather a cliché myself, like most immigrant taxi drivers, I sensed something fishy in this car. I even had proof. The driver wasn't the same person on the taxi license. I didn't know what to do or how to react. But my body knew, instinctively. I got goose bumps.

***

"Why are you doing all this, Linda?" I tried to figure out what was on her mind.

"What do you mean?"

"The whole thing you are doing, is it just for money, or revenge? What is reason?"

"You aren't getting it, are you?" Linda sounded offended.

"Obviously I can't figure out the reason. Did you expect him to leave his wife for you?"

"You are ridiculous. Please stop guessing."

"Then better tell me." I didn't want to give up.

"I never intended to play this game. I asked him for a favor, but he got this crazy idea that I would actually blackmail him."

"He just got idea?"

"Actually, I mentioned that he could do it for old times' sake and he took it the wrong way. He started threatening me. In an instant I knew that I would be in trouble and also that reminded me of the side of his personality that I hated."

"And that is?"

"Stubbornness. He was always stubborn, yet he never stopped disappointing me in that regard. I was shocked with the whole Tucker case. It made me realize the extent to which he would go to prove his principles. I always believed that sticking to your beliefs is not useful when you are in politics, but obviously I was wrong."

"Tucker case?" I didn't know what she was talking about.

"Karla Faye Tucker. Former drug addict found guilty of murder was sentenced to death. However, after more than ten years in prison she transformed herself and became a newborn Christian inspiring and helping many people around her. It was inhumane killing her and George could have saved her, but he refused to do so. I was shocked as I knew him as a dedicated Christian, but he even rejected Pope John Paul the Second's pleas for mercy. He let her die."

"I am not surprised." I always had an image of President Bush as a smiling assassin.

Linda finally told me how she felt about Bush. "He showed his inhumane side and ruthlessness again in the case of retarded Henry Lee Lucas, who was also killed as part of capital punishment. That proved to me George isn't capable of mercy."

Then her tone became ironic. "He executed a retarded man. That's great; let's kill all the idiots. Hmmm…, there is only one problem. How about leading by example Georgy? Jump off the bridge, you moron!"

I put my hand on Linda's shoulder and she calmed down.

"Since then I knew that I shouldn't do anything stupid with him. Actually, I was turned off by him completely, leading to our final breakup. Well, until I saw him three months ago."

"Was he happy to see you?"

"I don't think he was really happy to see me, even at first. However, as I was leaving after our conversation, he looked at me and then I saw a tear in his eye."

"He must have missed you."

"No, it was a different kind of tear: a tear of betrayal. It was more like a tear of a mourner, like a long farewell. I felt shivers down my spine. I felt like a dead woman walking."

"You can't be serious." It was hard to comprehend what Linda had just told me. That she could be killed for something like that. That she sensed it. On the other hand, I guessed that Bush definitely was capable of something like that.

"I am dead serious. You are forgetting that presidential extramarital affairs usually end up with millions of people killed."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"President Kennedy was covering up his and Bobby's twisted romance with Marilyn Monroe by creating a coup and starting the Vietnam war, while Clinton was distracting people from that blue dress with the Kosovo bombing, like in that movie, Wag the dog - a very high price for a blow job. Suddenly all those dead kittens from masturbation sound like a bloody good deal."

Linda ignored my puzzled face and continued. "Trust me, I can sense things like that. I knew that my last meeting with George was a complete disaster that will change my life. I knew that the only way to survive was to play hardball with him. So I changed my tactics. I think what I'm doing right now is my only way to save my life. Trust me, I am not doing this for money or for any sort of revenge. Only God knows how scared I am now. I may look strong, but I'm trying hard not to break apart. There is no money which could pay for what I feel now. I simply have to do it and money is just a bonus …If I survive.

***