In Guides of the Neon Haze, Keeper and his cab, Old Spartan, are silent custodians of the city's lost souls. Unlike other taxis that rush to fulfill passengers' wishes, Keeper and Spartan serve a unique purpose: they take people where they need to g...
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Song: Moanin by Charles Mingus, Mingus Big Band,
The Smokey Haze
Among the lively lights of the city, neon signs blazed in an endless, unbroken expanse. They reached high above, illuminating the night with pulsating shades of pink, green, blue, and yellow. The lights mingled with the smoky haze hanging heavy in the air, creating a mesmerizing yet suffocating aura. The sounds of the city were a blend of rhythms—some pounding like a relentless bassline, others as sweet and fleeting as a bubblegum pop melody. Together, the sounds swayed under the stars, casting the city in an electric thrall.
Beneath this neon ocean and smoky veil, the streets pulsed with life. Rows of yellow cabs idled at the curb, like soldiers lined up for battle, each waiting to carry its next passenger into the labyrinth of the city's dark, winding veins. At the forefront of these cabs sat a shiny, pristine newcomer—a bright yellow beacon, ready to jump into action at the beck and call of the night's revelers. But hiding further down the row, parked away from the flashy lights, sat an old, rusty veteran cab.
This cab was a relic from another time, a time when jazz filled smoky bars and people clung to their seats with quiet respect, not boisterous abandon. The rusty yellow cab, fondly nicknamed Old Spartan by its driver, hummed with a jazz melody, soft and nostalgic. Its driver, a shadowy figure with eyes shaded by the brim of a worn-out cap, tapped his fingers in time with the beat. He blended into the darkness, almost faceless to the outside world. The cab's interior was free from the haze and stench of the city, a time capsule of sorts, preserving something intangible, something that spoke of old souls and forgotten paths.
Suddenly, the ancient, creaky door of the cab flung open. A young woman slid hastily into the back seat, her face flushed with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She ducked low, hiding from a group of noisy, flashing figures that hurried past, laughing and shrieking as they ran into the night. She seemed like a fugitive—though from what, the driver could only guess.
The driver glanced into his rearview mirror, his eyes catching hers for a brief moment before she looked away. With a voice rough and tinged with a Scottish accent, he spoke, each word dripping with the weight of years. "Please be careful with the door, lass," he said, grumbling but not unkind.
The girl, young and vibrant, had eyes the color of honey. Her hair, dyed a striking teal, was adorned with a collection of small, gleaming piercings. She smiled apologetically, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm terribly sorry... kinda in a rush to go somewhere," she stammered, as if trying to hide the nervous tremor in her words.
The driver raised an eyebrow, peering at her through the mirror. "Well, then, lass, where do you need to go in such a maddening haste?"
The girl's gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her oversized jacket. "I... I don't know where I'm supposed to go," she mumbled, her voice almost lost amidst the city's din.
The driver's grizzled face softened, if only for an instant, before he gave a sly grin. "Then it seems Old Spartan will be takin' ye to where you're needed most," he said cryptically.
With that, he shifted the cab into gear, and Old Spartan roared to life, its ancient engine rumbling like an old jazz trombone warming up. The girl instinctively gripped the edge of her seat as the cab lurched forward, shocked by the sheer volume and vigor of the rusted beast. As they dashed off, the city blurred past them, sounds of jazz mingling with distant screams and laughter as they plunged deeper into the pulsing heart of the night.
Gradually, the girl's initial tension began to ebb away. Her grip on the cracked leather softened, and she leaned back, letting her eyes wander to the window. She watched in awe as the cab weaved through the chaotic streets, effortlessly dodging the brighter, shinier yellow cabs that filled the roads. It was as though Old Spartan was dancing, its movements graceful and confident despite its aged frame.
She sighed, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and glanced back at the driver. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice softer now, a tinge of curiosity laced with lingering wariness.
The driver chuckled, his voice as gravelly as the cab's engine. "Where ye need to be, lass. Where ye can find... whatever it is yer lookin' for," he replied, his words as ambiguous as they were strangely comforting.
The girl's brow furrowed, frustration creeping into her tone. "I can't believe I'm trusting some stranger to somehow change my fate," she muttered, trying to hide the vulnerability in her voice. She attempted to sound flippant, but the uncertainty was still there, a crack in her confident facade.
Sensing her unease, the driver gave a wry grin and raised his hands briefly, as though surrendering to her skepticism. "Names have power, lass. I'm just the driver, no more, no less. Ye can call me Old Spartan's Keeper, if it pleases ye."
Rolling her eyes, the girl managed a small smile, as if humoring his eccentricity. "Fine then, Keeper," she said, drawing air quotes around the title. "Since this car's named Old Spartan, I guess I'll be Clio."
The driver raised a surprised eyebrow at the name. "Clio, the muse of history, eh?" He looked thoughtful, as though trying to remember something buried in the recesses of his mind. "A fine name for a lass who seems lost."
Clio laughed, a sound both bright and melancholic, echoing faintly in the cab. "Well, Keeper, take me to wherever 'fate' thinks I should be." She reclined back in the seat, closing her eyes as jazz wrapped around her, soothing and haunting.
The city's glow began to fade as Old Spartan veered off the main roads, taking narrow alleys and winding streets that felt like another world. When Clio opened her eyes, the lights were dimmer, the sounds more subdued, and the haze of neon was nowhere to be seen. The cab slowed, coming to a stop in front of an old, weather-beaten building that loomed silently amidst the shadows—a library, long-forgotten by the city's glittering masses.
Clio leaned forward, peering out the window at the aged structure. Confusion flickered across her face. "A library? Why are we stopping here?" she asked, her voice tinged with nervous humor. "If this is where I'm supposed to die, you should've at least chosen somewhere with a view."
The driver let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his eyes twinkling with a mysterious light. "Not today, lass. But some answers lie in the pages of the past. Go in... find what ye didn't know ye were lookin' for."
He reached into the glove compartment and tossed her a plain, nondescript business card. Clio caught it, staring at it curiously. The card bore no name, only a simple phrase: Seek what is written, for therein lies the truth.
With a final, lingering glance at the driver, Clio opened the door and stepped out. She brushed her fingers along Old Spartan's rusted metal, half-expecting the cab and its cryptic driver to vanish the moment she looked away. But as she walked toward the library's door, she couldn't resist glancing back.
The driver gave her a nod, rolling down the passenger window and offering her a small, crooked smile. "Until we meet again, Clio," he said, his voice a quiet promise amidst the jazz and smoke that swirled around them.
She smiled back, offering him a wave and a grateful nod, before disappearing through the library's doors, her figure swallowed by the shadows within.
Old Spartan roared once more, its engine coming alive like an old beast waking from slumber. The cab merged back into the night, its jazz melodies drifting off into the smoky haze, leaving nothing but a lingering sense of wonder and mystery in its wake.
