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Taxi Cab Confessions: New York City 5/21/2005 9:12:10 AM
The Hitman. Yes, I do believe he was a hit man. He was a swarthy gentleman, about five foot five, wearing dark sunglasses and sporting a lot of gold jewelry: rings, chains, bracelets, etc. He hailed me from a lonely downtown street, said he'd been out drinking. I mostly listened. Then as I drove him over the Brooklyn Bridge he blurted out, "I'm a hitman for the mob." I turned and looked into his face, and he looked mean, a wide scar from his fat cheek running down towards the corner of his thick lips. Yeah, I remember thinking to myself, you better just nod and take this in lightly.
"Interesting work?" I asked matter of factly.
"No, but it's my job."
"Don't let it get you down. Nobody really likes their Job."
"Yeah, but I got kids to put through college, and it costs."
"I can dig it," I replied.
Then their was silence between us. He said something to effect that he liked me and if I ever needed his services I could just stop by and ring his doorbell. I simply smiled and said, "I hope I never do."
"Yeah," he said. "But in this world you never know."
That was it. He said very little after that. He didn't actually confess any particular crime, but he took his sunglasses off at the end of the ride and told me I was okay. A really good guy. Then I looked into his eyes and I remember thinking that there was a certain coldness there, and that he did look like someone who could waste another human being without thinking twice... Probably go home after it and have dinner with his wife and kids.
I droppped him, and I won't say where... Then left be a back street into the fog enshrouded night. A strange ringing in my ear. Riding over the Brooklyn Bridge I felt very alone and the air was damp and cold... Like the world.
