Last rides

Waiting for a cab,
originally uploaded by skyring.

I'm back in my cab, on the night shift. Glory globetrotting days are over now, at least for this year.

Some mixed blessings.

Paul, fellow Silver Service driver, has moved to the day shift. That means that I'll miss his company in the idle times. We'd climb into each other's cab at the airport or on a lonely city rank at two in the morning and just chatter away happily, swapping cabbie yarns, listening to Mark Knopfler.

There's nobody on the night shift half as entertaining. Maybe I shall concentrate on the job now.

The flip side is that I've got a new night driver. Paul.

It's been a long while since I had a really good day driver. One who was more than just driving the cab when I wasn't.

Of course, the down side of the flip side is that we'll be ships in the night from now on. When I start work at three in the arvo, I'm fresh and happy to chat. At three in the morning it's a different matter, and I'm ready for sleep. Often I'll fail to make the full twelve hours, especially when the last passenger of the shift is a bit "iffy".

I've had three of these. One night, I was second on the main rank, about two in the morning, keen for someone, anyone to walk up and get in my cab.

A chap leaned into the passenger window of the cab ahead and conversed with the driver. Obviously without satisfaction, as he gave up and came back to me. Now, while I'm always wary of the passengers other cabbies reject, sometimes I've had some positive experiences. They might not always have the money for the full fare, but they are rewarding in other ways.

This bloke didn't look too bad. The fact that he spoke through clenched teeth, making it hard to understand what he was saying, was a drawback. But he didn't look too bad, and I allowed him in.

"Where to?'

In the meantime another drunk had walked up to the cab in front, and he was pulling away.

"Where he's going."

This was a bit odd, but I figured maybe the other fellow was someone staying at the same hotel.

So we tailed the other cab until they pulled up at a private house, the passenger paid the cabbie and got out, and my passenger sat in the back seat and went to sleep.

I woke him up and asked for a destination, but I could get no sense out of him. A locality in Queensland was the most specific direction, and that was out of the question. Some of my passengers, I'll happily drive across the country with them, but not this guy.

I headed back into the city, aiming for the police station. I knew the police wouldn't be much immediate help, but my passenger didn't know that.

He "talked me into" dropping him back at the main cab rank, and I was happy to oblige. Of course he didn't pay me, but I was glad to gas up and go home without any further trouble.

Next night I got an earful from the other cabbie, who had been worried for both of us.

This was the Thursday night, what they call "Uni night" for all the university students coming in for the cheap drinks. Not my favorite night, because although students are generally fine and entertaining folk, uni night is always less predictable than other nights. Thursday night drunks might be ordinary people who have had twice as much to drink as they should, due to the half price drinks. Or they might be cheapskates who are drunk in the regular fashion.

I made my way to the head of the rank, and this chap leans in the window. Young fellow, he was.

"Can you take me around to Mooseheads, collect my friend, and take us to ANU?"

Mooseheads is a nearby bar, and ANU is the Australian National University, a ten dollar cab fare away. Now, we're not supposed to pick up or drop off outside Mooseheads, and occasionally the Gestapo rouse at us.

But if I had one passenger in the car and another ready to jump in, I figured that was good enough to flummox the nazis.

'Your mate's ready to go?" I asked.

"Standing outside," he agreed.

So we went around the block to Mooseheads. My passenger sees his friend on the pavement, we pull up, he gets out, opens the back door, and goes to get her, leaving me empty in the forbidden zone, two passenger side doors standing open. Great.

Three drunks approach. A vacant cab, ready to go - jut what they need. They climb in, and I have to shoo them out, "Sorry, I'm booked."

Then I see my passenger's friend. She's drunk to the point of needing to be supported, and arguing about leaving the party. It's a continuous entertainment outside Mooseheads after midnight, almost as much of an event as inside the bar.

Double great. An unwilling, staggering drunk throwing up on my back seat. But, I'm vacant, there's no traffic...

I hit the gas and pull out into the street, the speed of my departure snapping the doors shut to the sounds of outrage and dismay behind me.

Monday night was another interesting final fare. About two in the morning, and it was dead quiet. I’d actually given up and gassed up. Vacuumed out the car, moving my money bag from its position hanging from the indicator stalk into the centre console so I wouldn’t inadvertently vacuum up my earnings for the night.

Nice clean car, full of gas for Paul, and I headed home, taking one last swing through the main rank, just in case. No cabs waiting on this lonely night, but to my surprise a couple of middle aged gents flagged me down.

“Statesman Hotel in Curtin,” said the one who hopped into the front seat. There is the Statesman, the Embassy in Deakin and the Diplomat in Kingston, and I have to be careful not to get them confused in my mind.

He was a cabbie from Sydney, it turned out, and we chatted all the way to his hotel. “I drive the Eastern Suburbs,” he said, and I said that I was very sorry to hear it. I’d hate to be a cabbie in Sydney. No kangaroos, but rougher clients, heavier traffic and more competition.

We pulled into the hotel reception, and the fare was twenty-one dollars. “Can you make me a receipt for twenty-five? The boss is paying for this trip.” he said.

“Thanks!” I said “You’re as bad as I am - I always tip cabbies when I’m travelling.”

I put the notes in the empty beverage holder and bent down to print him up his receipt, then waved him off with a smile. I always like having a brother cabby for a passenger.

Got home and remembered that twenty-five dollars as I was tidying away my gear. Hmmm. Where did I put it? Not in my shirt pocket, not in my money bag because that was in the console, not in the side pocket...

And it wasn’t in the beverage holder. My chatty passenger must have lifted it when I wasn’t looking. Not only had he scored a free ride off me, he’d be reimbursed by “the boss”.

And last night, bloody bloody bloody. First time I've ever hit my panic button for real.

Sitting on the main rank, 0ne thirty in the morning, maybe a dozen cabs left on the road. Not much business that hour, but enough to keep me going. This bloke hops in and says "Gowrie".

That's all. Not a word out of him otherwise, no chat, no nothing. He's about my size, covered in tattoos, shaven head, shorts and t-shirt. I'm feeling very nervous. This is not my normal passenger. At one stage I glance over at him and he's looking directly at me. I return my eyes to the road, but I'm feeling grateful for the presence of my panic button, mounted in a convenient location.

If I press it, base gets an alert, the security camera and microphone go live broadcasting back to the control centre, and other taxis are steered to my location if base thinks the situation needs it.

I'm very nervous about my passenger. Every move he makes, I wonder if he's reaching for a weapon. His attitude is totally alien and I'm wondering if this is the one. By rights, I should be making excuses to stop the car in a well-lit area and get him out, but realistically, he's done nothing wrong. He doesn't even seem overly drunk.

We get to Gowrie, a suburb in the middle of Tuggeranong in Canberra's south, and he directs me into a cul de sac, just "left" and "right" in a whisper.

"I've just got to get out here," he says, getting out. I give him a look. I've heard this before. He'll be off and running.

But he gets out and walks to a nearby house, a darkened house, going into the backyard and poking about. I wait a few minutes on the off-chance he's going to come back with some money.

To my surprise, he comes back, but instead of pulling out some money, he sits down again, closes the door, and says "Chisholm", directing me a few suburbs further south, where we go through the same performance. This is just weird.

He then says, "home, now" and off we go, further south, right to the very bottom of Canberra. I'm sweating now, and when he directs me off into a side street and we go around in a circle, I jack up, stopping the car, pointing out that he's given me no final address, he obviously doesn't have a clue where he's going, he's racked up seventy odd dollars and I need some firm directions.

He directs me onwards, but by this stage, I'm ignoring him, and follow his directions to the point where they diverge from the best way to the all night police station in Tuggeranong.

He questions me when I go left instead of right, and says he needs to go to the hospital for an injection. By this stage I am completely freaked out, ready to leap out of the cab if he makes a quick move, and I've had enough of this rubbish.

We pull up outside the police station and I explain the situation again, saying that he's directed me all over Canberra, he's racked up eighty four dollars, and I'm not going any further without payment.

He slowly brings out a wallet, empty of everything except a couple of cards, and offers me a bank card, which is old and battered and rejected by the bank when the handset makes contact.

I tell him this, and there we are. I'm on the edge of my seat and his attitude seems threatening, so my finger finally pushes the panic button. Maybe I could have tried to gain the attention of the police inside, but I didn't want to leave the cab and its security cameras without a direct attack, and I was totally wound up from an hour of driving around with this guy.

There was no change in the cameras or computer, but I knew they were live and I explained the situation again for the benefit of base. They must have spread the alarm, because within a few minutes there were cabs all around me, and Dragan was looming in the window. Big beefy bald-headed Dragan! I was so glad to see him. I heard later that as soon as the message had gone out that I was in trouble, he'd gone flying down the parkway, lights on high beam, passing everything. If he got a ticket from that, I'd gladly pay it.

He fetched the police and they took us all inside, where it was all sorted out. My passenger was well known to them, and was a registered mental patient - the other card in his wallet explained this. They promised they'd get him to the hospital, and that he would pay the fare when he could. I wasn't really too fussed about the fare, just glad that it had ended happily.

I drove home, full of adrenaline, gassed the car up and passed it onto Paul, waiting patiently at three in the morning. I apologised for the delay, and then went to bed, sleep to follow.

Hard to describe my feelings in words, but it had been the most tense hour of my taxidriving career. Anger and threats wouldn't have rattled me as much. It was the tension, and the uncertainty as we drove around in the dark deserted hours, looking out of the corners of my eyes for the flash of a knife from a passenger who was really doing no more than acting weird.