The late model, but well-used, yellow cab rolled northbound up interstate 495. It was early morning, the beginning of rush hour. The six-lane freeway cut through a sea of green – grass, bushes, and trees. It was the first week in June; the temperature was pleasant and the skies were blue with just a few scattered clouds. All in all, it looked to be the beginning of a nice day.
This was Richard’s world; the place, he supposed, where his lama meant him to return. They were approaching Lawrence, Massachusetts, and it had a familiar feeling to it that seemed to draw at his psyche like a magician draws at an object of incantation. He felt like a long lost cog falling into place in a cosmic mechanism of dubious function. It had an ominous feel to it; not so much as a portent of things to come, but as shadows of things past. His lama was right. There was unfinished business here; issues he had yet to work through.
The whole trip was surreal. It was as if he used a series of transporters, like those on Star Trek, but acting much slower. He would enter artificial bubbles - automobiles, trains, airplanes - that isolated him from the rest of the universe, except for sights as seen through windows. Then there was the thrum and rattle of machinery at work, much pitching about and suddenly, a door was opened and he stepped out into a different universe, a different reality.
He looked out the side window in the back seat of the cab. Red brick smokestacks of old factories-turned-into-office-space slid past his view. The freeway was packed with people rushing to some destination or other. The cabbie, a somewhat plump, casually dressed Caucasian male in his late twenties, was able to keep up a good pace in the inside lane despite the traffic. “Are you from around here?” Richard asked the cabbie.
“You mean Lawrence? Nah, I’m from up the road here a bit – Plaistow, New Hampshire. It’s closer to where you’re headed.” The cabbie looked at him in his rear view mirror. He seemed to be a kind gentle man.
“Oh, good. You should know the area pretty well then. I’m temporarily staying in a motel in Georgetown, but I’m going to need a place I can rent. You know of anyplace nearby that’s not too expensive, but not too run down?”
“Mmmm… Maybe. How long you gonna stay?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m just coming home from being out of the country. For now, I just need a place to figure things out. Probably at least a year.”
“Well, let’s see…” The cabbie glanced again at him in the mirror, then seemed to be looking past him. “Hey, is there any reason someone should be following you?”
“None I can think of.” Richard twisted his body around, placing his right arm on the back of the seat, and looked through the rear window. Close behind them was a large black sedan. It was closing the gap between them. Its driver, no one he recognized, stared intently at Richard. A wave of dread washed over him and he reflexively patted his shirt pocket for a non-existent cell phone. He broke out in a cold sweat. Could the driver be a relative of Gary’s seeking revenge? That made no sense. How could he possibly know Richard was back in the country so soon? The guy looked Indian. Was someone from the monastery trying to contact him? For what? Did something happen to his lama? How would they know where to find him? He was being paranoid.
The cabbie signaled and moved over to the middle lane. The other car followed. “This guy’s been behind us since we left the airport. Sometimes he’s closer, sometimes he’s farther back. I slow down and change lanes; he slows down and changes lanes. I speed up and he speeds up. He’s always there.” The cab sped up and moved into the high speed lane. The sedan followed.
The cabbie saw a hole in the thick traffic to his right, deftly moved into it, then began weaving in and out, trying to put distance between them and the sedan. “Let’s see him keep up with this,” he said.
At first, the sedan fell behind. Then it sped up and moved into the breakdown lane, bypassing much of the traffic. Soon, it was behind them again. “I don’t think there’s much question,” said the cabbie. “He’s following us.”
“I wonder what he wants?” asked Richard, still watching him through the back window. “Road rage?”
“Over what? I haven’t cut him off or anything.”
“The Mob’s not after you, are they?”
“Hell, no. Get real.”
“FBI? It looks like something the government would drive.”
“For unpaid parking tickets?”
The sedan sped up and got very close behind them.
“Why’s he following so damn close? What’s he trying to do?” The cabbie was watching the rear view mirror.
In his peripheral vision, Richard saw motion in the next lane. Turning his head to look, he saw a Mini Cooper, whose driver was using a cell phone, swing right in front of them. He was so close, he nearly took out the cab’s right headlight. “Look out!” cried Richard.
“Shit!” yelled the cabbie as he slammed on the brakes
The driver of the sedan put on his brakes and swerved toward the median strip, trying to miss the cab. But he was too close and hit the cab’s left rear bumper – hard. The sedan spun into the grass, rolled several times and hit a tree. It burst into flames.
The impact swung the cab around sideways. A fast-moving car in the middle lane hit the passenger side front fender, spinning the cab back around the other way. There was a cacophony of screeching tires, breaking glass, blaring horns, and bending metal. The world was spinning, dancing, and convulsing. Richard’s body was thrown around violently, straining at the seat belt. The cab finally came to a halt.
There was a thud as the cab was hit one final time. Richard could smell steam hissing from the radiator, hot oil from the engine and the sweet odor of blood. He felt the grit of glass and dirt on the seat next to him and could feel something wet running down his forehead. Most of the glass in the windows was shattered. His neck hurt.
“Are you okay?” he asked the cabbie.
“Uhhhh…” was the reply.
He looked in front of him and saw the cabbie was sitting up. Looking in the rear view mirror, he could not see the cabbie’s face. Richard undid his seat belt and leaned forward. The plexiglass separating the front and back seats made it impossible to get a good look, but he thought he could see a fair amount of blood on the seat. The cabbie was very still and pale. Richard reached out for the door handle. It moved, but the door didn’t. He slid across the seat and was able to get out the other door.
Richard swiped at something warm and wet running down his cheek. He was surprised to see blood on his fingers. He felt his face and found a sticky sore spot on his forehead. Scalp wound, he thought. Damn things bleed a lot. He pulled out his shirt tail and tore off a strip of cloth that he folded and pressed to the wound.
Richard looked in the passenger side front door. The cabbie was still sitting up, head laid back against the headrest, eyes open. Richard pulled the door open, with some effort, bending metal. The cabbie turned his head and looked at him.
“My leg,” he said.
Richard crawled into the front seat and looked at the cabbie’s right leg. It was bent at an awkward angle and the thigh had a large bulge under his pants. There was a rapidly growing red stain where the bulge was. Damn, thought Richard. Femoral fracture. “You’re leg’s broken,” he said. “It’ll be okay, I’ll take care of you.”
The cabbie groaned and gave him an uncertain look.
“It’s alright, I’m a doctor.” At least I used to be. Setting his ad hoc bandage down to free his hands, he tore the cabbie’s pants to expose the leg. A sharp piece of white bone protruded through the skin mid-thigh. Now that the pants were gone, the blood squirted freely from the wound, pulsating with each heartbeat. Must have cut the femoral artery. Richard took off his shirt, tore off a wide strip and tied it around the cabbie’s upper thigh.
The cabbie screamed in pain.
“Sorry,” said Richard. “Gotta stop this bleeding.” Looking around, he found a screw driver in the glove box. Placing this under the cloth strip, he twisted it, making a tourniquet. The bleeding slowed and then stopped. “Anything else hurt?” he asked.
The cabbie groaned through clenched teeth. “I don’t think so, but man, that hurts like a mother.”
It’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with anything like that, thought Richard. He tore another strip from his shirt and secured the compress he made earlier to his head with a head band.
“I’m going to go check if anyone else is hurt. You okay for now?”
The cabbie nodded weakly.
I hope EMS gets here soon, thought Richard.
A hundred yards or so in the distance, Richard could see a dense black cloud of smoke billowing upwards. Below the cloud, flames licked at what used to be the black sedan. No help needed there, he thought.