Inktober 2024 - 18 - Drive

It was pouring outside, and I hadn't seen any pedestrian in hours when a little lady came out of nowhere and into my cab. She startled me when she opened the door. It slammed behind her as she sprawled herself across the back seats, drenched, hugging herself. She only uttered one word:

"Drive."

I chuckled. Although I'd heard that line many times in cheesy movies, in all my years as a cabbie, I'd never had anyone say it to me for real.

"This isn't a romantic comedy, Miss; I need an address."

"How about now? Still need an address?"

There was an unexpected metallic click as she straightened up. I frowned and looked at her more closely through the rear-view mirror, only to see her still holding her right side with her left hand, but aiming the barrel of a pistol at the back of my neck with the other.

To be fair, I had never had a gun pointed at my head before. I had never had a gun pointed at me at all. I don't think I had ever even been in the presence of a firearm. It's not that I'm particularly against them – I understand they can be of use in some instances – it's just that I had thankfully never found myself in such a situation. Until now, it would seem.

Without saying a word, I swallowed, both my saliva and my smile, and started the car. There weren't many more vehicles around than there were people on foot, so that made circulation fluid. I didn't even bother starting the meter. I just kept picking a direction at random at every intersection, usually following the green light. I might have been driving in circles and I wouldn't have noticed. Every now and then, I risked a glance at my passenger, in the mirror, and she never flinched. The rain was so bad no one would have seen what was happening in here even if it hadn't been dark already. No help was coming.

"Look, I might not need an address, but I can't just drive around aimlessly forever. Do you maybe have an area in mind? Are we running away from a place in particular?"

"Marvin, is it?"

She must have read it from my ID, displayed on the back of my headrest.

"Yes. My name is Marvin."

"Well, Marvin, all I need is to keep moving until the Sun comes up, faster than I could ever walk or run. After that, you never have to see me again. You can go to the cops for all I care. Do you think you can help me with this?"

At least she wasn't adding verbal threats to the physical one she already presented. I couldn't figure out what would require a wounded woman with a gun to drive all night, but I found myself asking the stupidest thing instead:

"Don't you… own a car?"

She winced at the question.

"…I can't drive."

"Oh. Because you're hurt," I deduced.

"No, because I can't drive!"