Read Online The Wild Card by Mark Joseph - Free Book Online Page B

Street at six in the morning. Each of the five young men wore a bandage on his left triceps. The tattoos would be scabs for a day or two …
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    Bobby’s hand went to his shoulder. The ace was still there, of course, still cursed, his only tattoo, the high card in the royal flush. After two or three days the scabs fell away and the five young men full of braggadocio and teenage cool paraded their new tattoos through Mel’s drive-in and the Doggie Diner on Van Ness. Ah, man, everything was set up. They were going to be buddies for life, bound together with blood and ink, and then Shanghai Bend, the fragmentation grenade, and monstrous, barely controllable rage.
    He’d loved her. It was simple, really, and sudden, like a falling star, and in the next instant, they’d taken her away.
    He walked a few yards to the corner of Market and hailed a cab. “Airport,” he said, sliding into the back seat.
    â€œAirport it is,” the driver replied, making conversation. “Where you flying tonight?”
    â€œReno.”
    â€œI coulda guessed. No luggage.”
    The cab turned right on Sixth and headed for the freeway. The
driver was a woman about thirty, trim, dark-haired, with a hardened, citywise gleam in her eye. She glanced at the passenger in the rearview mirror and saw a good-looking man, a little older, no kid, with a pale complexion, dark eyes, and the aura of a guy with something on his mind. He was looking back at her in the mirror, and she thought, Uh oh, here it comes. Wanna fuck me? Wanna have the time of your life, baby?
    â€œIt’s like a confessional back here, you know?” Bobby said. “Dark and secure, and all I can see is the back of your head and your eyes in the mirror.”
    â€œAnd you’re a chainsaw murderer and you want to confess, right?”
    Bobby chuckled, his voice dark and hollow. “You’d be surprised.”
    â€œYou Catholic?”
    â€œRetired,” Bobby said.
    â€œWell, you’re right,” she said. “People like to get things off their chest, and they talk, especially if they never expect to see me again. They say things to a perfect stranger they wouldn’t dare say to anyone else. I’ve been drivin’ this cab for eight years, and I’ve heard sob stories, tragedies, injustice, sex and drugs and rock and roll. It’s fifteen minutes to the airport, mister. You can talk all you want.”
    Bobby leaned over the seat and asked, “How much to take me to Reno?”
    She laughed. “Airfare is maybe a hundred bucks if you walk in and buy a ticket.”
    â€œI have a ticket but I don’t want to fly. How much?”
    She stopped at a light, turned around and regarded him closely. “You serious? It’s over two hundred miles and I have to come back empty.”
    â€œIt’s exactly two hundred and twenty-eight miles. You ever go that far in your cab? It’s gotta make your night. How much?”
    The driver calculated time and distance on her watch, saying, “I’ve gone much farther than Reno, for your information, but you’re right. It would make my night. Five hundred dollars in advance.”
    â€œHow about four hundred?”
    â€œYou want to negotiate? Okay, let’s see the money, Mr. Passenger,
unless you’re wasting my time. I won’t take your credit card. For a ride outta town like this, it’s cash on the line.”
    Bobby took four hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and fanned them like tail feathers. “Four hundred, take it or leave it.”
    The light changed and the cab moved slowly down Sixth Street, the driver watching Bobby in the mirror.
    â€œYou gonna hit on me?” she asked. “You gonna give me a hard time, ask a lot stupid questions?”
    â€œNo. What is this, an interview?”
    â€œThis is my office, Mr. Passenger. If I’m gonna drive you to Reno, I want to be sure you’re gonna behave. You drunk