Read Online Dark Passage by David Goodis - Free Book Online Page A

passengers—getting where they want to go
without a lot of talk.”
    He thought that would make the driver shut
up. The driver took the taxi up to fifty and said, “I don’t know.
Some passengers don't mind talk.”
    “I do.”
    “Always?”
    “Yes, always,” Parry said. “That’s why I
don't have many friends.”
    “You know,” the driver said, “it’s funny
about friends—”
    “It’s funny the way you can't take a
hint,” Parry said.
    The driver laughed. He said, “Brother, you
never drove a cab. You got no idea how lonely it gets.”
    “What’s lonely about it? You see
people.”
    “That’s just it, brother. I see so many
people, I take them to so many places. I see them getting out and
going in to places. I pick up other people and I hear them talking
in the back seat. I'm up here all alone and I get
lonely.”
    “That’s tough,” Parry said.
    “You don’t believe me.”
    “Sure,” Parry said. “I believe you. My
heart goes out to you. All right, turn here, to the left. Stay on
this street.”
    “Where we going?”
    “If I give you that you’ll ask me why I'm
going there and what I'm going to do there. After all, a guy gets
lonely driving a taxi.”
    “That’s right, lonely,” the driver said.
“Lonely and smart.”
    Parry noticed that the driver was no
longer watching the rear-view mirror. Parry said, “Smart in what
way?”
    “People.”
    “Talking to people?”
    “And looking at people. Looking at their
faces.”
    Parry started to shake. He glanced at his
shaking hand. He measured the distance from his hand to the door
handle. He said, “What about faces?”
    “Well, it’s funny,” the driver said. “From
faces I can tell what people think. I can tell what they do.
Sometimes I can even tell who they are.”
    And now the driver again watched the
rear-view mirror.
    Parry reached over and put his hand on the
door handle. He told himself he had to do it and do it now and do
it fast. And not sit here and hope he was wrong, because he
couldn’t be wrong, because it was an equation again and it checked.
The evening papers were out long ago and the taxi driver had to
read one of those papers, had to see the picture that had to be on
the front page. The taxi driver had time to read the write-up.
Front-page stories were made to order for taxi drivers who didn't
have time to read the back pages.
    “You, for instance,” the driver
said.
    “All right, me. What about me?”
    “You’re a guy with troubles.”
    “I don’t have a trouble in the world,”
Parry said.
    “Don’t tell me, brother,” the driver said.
“I know. I know people. I'll tell you something else. Your trouble
is women.”
    Parry took his hand from the door handle.
It was all right. He had to stop this business of worrying about
things before they happened.
    He said, “Strike one. I’m happily
married.”
    “Call it two-base hit. You’re not married.
But you used to be, and it wasn't happy.”
    “Oh, I get it. You were there. You were
hiding in the closet all the time.”
    The driver said, “I’ll tell you about her.
She wasn't easy to get along with. She wanted things. The more she
got, the more she wanted. And she always got what she wanted.
That's the picture.”
    “That’s strike two.”
    “That’s the picture,” the driver said.
“She never made much noise and she was always a couple steps ahead
of you. Sometimes she wasn't even there at all. That gave her the
upper hand, because she could keep an eye on you and you didn't
know it.”
    “Strike three.”
    “Strike three my eye. You were a rubber
band on her little finger.”
    “All right, make a left-hand turn. Go
right at the next light.”
    “So finally-” The taxi made a wide, fast
turn.” So finally it was up to your neck and you couldn’t take it
any more. You were tired of boxing with her—so you slugged
her.”
    Parry was shaking again. He had his hand
going toward the door handle. He said, “You know, you ought to do
something with that. You could make money at carnivals.”
    “It’s a thought.”
    Parry put his hand on the