The Buck Pass

The Buck Pass Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Car-Hating Cab Driver 

“What’s this? A lousy buck?” Dino glanced fleetingly at the dollar bill that the woman had passed him and frowned. “Anything less than a five dollar tip is just insulting, Lady. Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “If parting with your money is really that painful, you’d better keep this. I’ll take my pen back, though.”

SLAM!

The woman had gone, closing the cab door loudly behind her. Dino watched as she stepped onto the sidewalk to join the man who was so obviously her boyfriend, her long black hair flowing freely in the wind. He hated to see her (and her wallet) go, but what with those shapely legs and that curvaceous backside, he enjoyed watching her leave. It really was a shame though, he thought, shaking his head sadly. The pretty ones always seemed to be the worst cheapskates.

He peered down at the solitary dollar bill she had given him; the pen she had stolen had probably been worth more. Besides its drawings – the heart around Washington’s head, the star to the left of it, and the triangle to the right – the buck held little interest for Dino. He was a man with big dreams, and big dreams, as is so often the case, cost big money. A pitiful, one- dollar tip wasn’t going to be much help to him. Still, he thought, there was something strange about this particular dollar, something...unique. For some reason, Dino felt drawn to it, as though it were calling his name. Carefully, he folded the buck and slipped it into the front pocket of his shirt.

Having thus fulfilled his daily requirement of existentialism, Dino turned his attentions back to reality. The airport terminal was, as usual, jam-packed with exhausted, travel-weary people, all waiting anxiously in line for the privilege of a bumpy cab ride. Dino groaned. It was beginning to seem as though the day would never end. His eyes flitted longingly towards the passenger seat, where his notebook and favorite pen lay waiting for him. His fingers itched with the urge to pick them up; his mind ached with the desire to unload his thoughts. All he wanted was to get out of this damn, gas-guzzling machine, go back to the apartment that he worked so hard to pay the rent for, and spend some time on his real work. Surely, on today of all days, he was entitled to do what he wanted?

HONK!

Apparently not. The cab driver behind him was leaning angrily on his car horn, urging him to stop daydreaming and pick up a passenger. As usual, Dino’s wants would have to wait. Business before pleasure.

Flashing on the overhead light to indicate his availability, he pulled over to the curb and, within seconds, picked up a customer.

“Where you headed, Sir?”

“Central Park South,” replied the portly, pretentious-looking man in the beige trench coat.

Dino laughed. “Join the club.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind.”

***

After dropping Mr. Portly-and-Pretentious off at the New York Athletic Club, Dino drove a few feet East, towards the smallest building on the block: One Sixteen Central Park South, otherwise known as “Park House.” He leaned on the horn briefly, producing one loud, succinct blast.

Tony the doorman left his post at the front desk to investigate. Stepping through the shiny, glass doors of Park House, he headed towards the cab and rapped his knuckles against the passenger-side window.

Dino rolled it down.

“Hi, Son,” Tony said, giving Dino a huge smile. “Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks, Dad. Wanna come in for a minute?”