TxM6 Taxi Murders

TxM6-- Taxi Murders

Murder 'Cross the Bridge

Taxi man Henry Whitman drove the George Washington Memorial Bridge 20 times every day. West to east and return -- the span creaked under him. He had predicted long ago that someday the bridge would fall down like "Humpty-Dumpy."

He never tired of the span during early morning hours. Sometimes the sky was an almond green to yellow to brown to orange to scarlet. "Just chemicals in air" he told any fare, and then he laughed silently, and his fist tightened on the steering wheel. How he loved sick colors. One day, about 6 AM, he told some "Suit" from some shit-burg Ville in the Midwest.

"Someday the bridge will quit. You know, fall down."

The fare laughed. "Not today. If I don't get home on time my wife will fuck with me."

"Don't worry, I'd catch you and if you did fall, go bump, I'd take care of your wife."

The man twanged. "Hell, boy, you're too big for me to catch, and besides you don't know my bitching wife."

"I like tough women, but not Pro wrestlers."

"How did you know that's what she does?

The fare couldn't see Henry's shit eating grin. Henry knew the asshole had smiled. The rube had forgotten that Henry had picked up Mr. Slick Saturday night, drunk on his ass. He was trying to fuck some girl he met at the Gables strip joint, but she wasn't having any, and he struck out.

On the way back to his motel Gary as he called himself (who knows if that was his actual name) told him about his wife, a former WDD world champion whore wrestler who could bench 250.

He didn't know that Henry knew all the ladies who worked the Gables. No way, this girl would take on this rube when she saw Henry. In fact, Henry's lady, Laurie, ran the Gables, and she didn't hire girls who worked off premises.

When the "rube' ran his mouth on Henry, he leaned over the front seat and got in Henry's face. Henry stopped smiling. Henry hated rookie taxi drivers and rubes who pushed their way into his space. Henry thought of all out-of-towners as "rubes." He had seen it in some movie, and the word stuck. Most drivers hated their customers unless they knew they were great tips or sexy women who flirted.

"Better sit back." Henry said straight up.

The man ignored Henry.

"Hey that's fucking funny. You earned an extra tip. In fact, if you take her off my hands, I would pay... Fuck it. You wouldn't want her. Yea, my wife she teaches gym in some big Chicago High School. She loves them niggers. She's coached the number one girl's basketball team in the state. She also coaches boys wrestling."

"Just sit back." Henry spoke up and said it like any Regular Army Sgt. The man shrunk back, but was obviously miffed at the driver.

Henry was more than pissed. Henry hated racists. They think because you are white you can say anything. Fuck him. Laughter ends suddenly in a taxi cab.

By the way you fuck, Henry looked the fare in the eye when he shut off the meter and pulled up to the Port Authority bus station.

"My nephew's a black man. Better be careful what the fuck you say in New York. You could wind up dead."

Henry dropped the rube and of course the fare scared shitless over paid.

Suddenly, during the turn around on the New York side at 181st and Fort Washington, Henry saw the flash as he passed. It was now almost 6:30 AM.

Body bag leaned on the curb in the gutter. Murder had waited for Henry back in Manhattan at 181st across the bridge.

Violence perpetrated by persons unknown: the body-bag had been there for at least a two hours Henry learned later from the cops. It wasn't there some rookie cop told Henry. The chief of patrol had ridden by at 4AM.

Henry called 911 from a pay phone. Some people find a buck in the street next to a bar. Henry discovers dead bodies. This was the second time he ran across death in his taxi. Some drug ho had kicked the bucket there from an OD of smack.

Just as he was going to leave the crime scene, he blew a tire.

"Fuck." Henry shouted. "Fucking bullshit cocksucking drug addict cop stealing assholes."

Detective had taken his name, and had been remarkably friendly. Henry was wary. He saw himself back in Nam. Henry cursed. When would he make money? He searched for bricks to make certain the cab didn't roll. He cursed the shit kicking garbage as he walked the perimeter protecting his ass from some crazed crank head coker or a frisky cop. He knew that when he changed the tire, he disturbed the universe.

Henry didn't do anything wrong. You can fuck up the universe just by standing in the right spot or is it the wrong spot.

The cops told Henry the woman must have been dead a week after they open the bag. One of the dicks was glad the killer had supplied a bag. That way all they had to do was zip her up and send her to the Medical examiner.

The cops told Henry while he waited for the taxi garage to bring a spare that she was white, but her skin was black tar and her hair shaved off.

When Henry got back to the garage, he checked out and went home. Laurie was studying for a college course she had just started. She was warm, but Henry was pissed at the world. Laurie told him to fuck off, and Henry took some shit and slept. He laughed to himself how that stupid rookie cop said too much. He hoped no one had heard him.

Next day Henry was called to report to the New York precinct. The cops knew that Henry had known the woman. He had filed a theft of service complaint against her when she had tried to beat him for a fair last year. Yea, he said. He knew the woman. She was one of the scabby hookers who prowled the New York side of the bridge. She tried to fuck me out of some bread.

Henry, tough as nails, couldn't drive any more that day. That meant two days were fucked by this shit.

Cop Detective in Charge, just a Cop really, had told him the remains were of the street whore "Alice." Street person Henry corrected.

"Yea, I know. Probably died from the cold," Cop said snickering.

"Cold," Henry said, "It's fucking May." Henry asked an impertinent question.

"Really, then why was her throat cut from the back?"

The cop told Henry to get the fuck out of there. "Hey, dumb ass, we might be looking for a patsy, and nice plumb white boys are perfect."

The Sgt. shook his head like a pompous ass.

"Am I innocent?" Henry gave the cop a bullshit smile. He wasn't pleased.

Later he gave yesterday's crime scene a once over and crept off the streets of Washington Heights and on to the bridge. He mocked himself and imagined his body as some omniscient sphere growing huge in the sky. He liked to exaggerate.

Henry fought depression, he once told a fare with an elaborate personal surrealism. "Our bodies die easy. Suffering leads to suffering. Nothing new."

Every day Henry sang his bullshit philosophy. Henry knew the NYC and PA police patrolled the exits and persecuting drug addicts and dealers and of course were on the take. He also knew they murdered whores and pimps who didn't play fair or even by some cooked books.

Cops attacked those who clipped the dick's profits. The drug war, like any contagion in the trenches last longer and is harder fought and more costly than Vietnam zipper faced blood suckers.

Lawyers profit. Judges keep their jobs; why do we work so hard to enforce what seems obvious and absurd. Drugs kill. Drug enforcement is useless. What else is new?

"I don't use heroin or cocaine myself, never did," Henry postured to some random fare over the front seat.

"Enforcement's useless," Henry looked back quick. "Drugs increase with each decreased attack. Laws against them don't work."

"Make product legal like cigs. Fucking A."

Anonymous fares are always brave when they sit in the back seat of the cab.

Henry shook his head and drove on speeding the cab into the funnel of the bridge out of Manhattan. He told another fare that he could smell the stink of that poor soul for a month. Henry in his own way truly grieved for her. It was worse than Nam, he told this Vet, who happened to be a fare. In Nam, the bodies were usually fresh kill unless you dug up a NVA graveyard.

Henry softened as if he had forgotten something. Henry remembered Laurie at home. He knew she loved him and she did.

Before Laurie, Henry believed nothing good lasted long enough to suck it twice. Good shit kicked you in the ass and made your dick soft.