Standing By

Cover All The Bases

(Kirstie) 

"I'm telling you, this is a five-passenger cab," the cabbie was saying. "You two. Get in the back. The way back."

"I'm trying," Kevin complained. "My legs are too long."

"Here, I'll get back there," I volunteered, crawling over the seat belt that was in the way. I'd gotten halfway in before I felt someone grab my leg. I yelped in surprise.

"You in the front," the cabbie ordered, extracting me by a foot.

"Hey!" I snapped at him, trying to yank it back, but still managed to fall out the ground.

"I was going to get in the front," Scott was saying.

"Back," the cabbie ordered as Avi and Kevin started yelling at him.

"Whataya think you're doing?" Avi demanded.

"Don't touch her like that again, OK?" Kevin ordered. "You don't do that to people."

"Oh, get in the back where you belong," he grumbled.

"Hell, I'll get in the back," Mitch volunteered, nimbly jumping in. I started to follow, being the shortest of the group, but the cabbie opened the front door and pushed me its direction. I slapped at his arms.

"One wrong move and I'll get you where it hurts," I warned him through clenched teeth. "Don't touch me again. I may be little but I can be hell to deal with if pushed." With that, I loaded myself into the front.

Mitch and Avi climbed all over each other, but finally got themselves situated in the back. Scott and Kevin sat in the second row, and the cabbie—who was actually kind of smelly—scowled at them.

"What?" Scott grunted at him as Kevin asked what it really mattered where we sat.

The cabbie ignored him. "Where we going, baby?" he directed at me.

Still trying very hard not to look at—or smell—him, I said, "Radisson on 71st. And I ain't your baby."

"Shut your mouth," Scott added helpfully as the cabbie pulled the car in gear.

He took of with such a lurch that I had to brace myself on the dash. After another hairpin turn, I buckled my seat belt.

Da-ding! went my phone. I reached down and pulled it out of my purse (and scooped up a pack of gum, a container of mints, a hairbrush, and three wadded-up receipts that had fallen out as he drove erratically). Kevin had sent a text— 'does this dude have a cabbie license?' I shrugged and typed out 'I don't see any credentials up here'. 'He's driving like a nut'.

We barreled around two parked cars and drove down a side street. Glancing around at the dumpster and graffiti, I turned back to my phone. 'He's making me nervous'. 'Me too', was his response.

"What're you doing, baby?" the creepy cabbie asked me.

"None of your business and don't talk to me," I told him evenly. I'd dearly love to smack him, but he was driving and the last thing I wanted to do was cause an accident. I pulled my legs up onto the seat and used my knees to block my face. Why had I gotten in this front seat when he was already making me nervous anyway? Stupid! I chastised myself then tried to reassure myself that I had four strong men behind me. Providing, of course, he didn't fuck them up.

Trying to avoid his gaze so hard, I missed that he was admiring my legs until he said, "Yes, baby, show off those legs."

My legs flew down so fast I nearly fell off the seat. "What?!"