Free Taxi Driver by Richard Elman Page A

on the man’s face except to note those of the pedestrians on the busy street, the people in cars, people sitting in the plazas near fountains, or coming out of bars.
    People seemed so hard and clear, as if they all had purposes to lose themselves in, all those determined city striders they seemed stamped against the building fronts like pressed tin.
    The man high up momentarily waded in the air and moments later I thought I heard his screams as conversations of shoppers drifted back at me to the din of traffic horns from the various arcades.
    The woman in the back of my cab she said she thought “I saw something, did you see something, Driver? A man falling?”
    “It was probably just newspaper,” I said, “blown up there by the wind. Just newspaper, ma’am, that sometimes happens, you know, on days like this.”
    Well I was feeling pretty shakey, I guess, and that same afternoon in Queens there was this rally for Palantine in the parking lot of a supermarket. Everything all dressed in red, white, and blue bunting.
    Maybe five hundred people milling about. Piped country music on loudspeakers. I had gotten so I could recognize the secret service men from their distinctive metallic gray suits, their sunglasses, and big linebacker physiques, and I knew how to position myself so as to stay always out of notice. Especially when I was carrying so much hardware.
    I got there just as a whole bunch of local political types and some of the Palantine workers were being seated on the platform and I saw old Tom reading from a clipboard and there was Betsy and she was talking to another worker. Looked beautiful as ever. You better believe it.
    Well, as I say, I was trying to be inconspicuous as hell but that Tom he looked up for a moment to his left and then back down into his clipboard and then he seemed to look my way again. Watching me sort of very closely and I didn’t dare to hide. After a moment, I saw him go over to Betsy and point my way, they started whispering together. I could just imagine what they were saying. I saw Betsy shaking her head, but she was staring at me, as if she didn’t see me almost, and I was all in a sweat in this bulky, bulged-out army jacket . . . fatigue jacket, with my new brush-cut hair standing up on end like a Mohawk.
    I had cut it that way to get down to business, really take care of business, but I didn’t like being seen by Betsy looking so very unattractive, you know, so I tried to vanish into the crowd and I almost bumped right into this S.S. guy. The usual sort, a gray suit, ever-roving eyes behind sunglasses. Talkative as the sphinx.
    Better I thought to brazen it out, if I could, hardware and all.
    “Oh say, pardon me,” very boyish, “are you a secret service man?”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “Well I’ve seen a lot of suspicious-looking people around here.”
    The S.S. gives me this very chilly look for a moment and then he asks, “Who?”
    “Oh, lots. I don’t know where they all are now, there used to be one standing over there.” And I pointed over to where I’d been.
    He followed me with his look . . . actually followed the tip of my finger for a second and then he was staring at me very hard and I just had to improvise fast. “Is it hard to get to be a secret service man?”
    “Why?”
    “Well I kind of thought I might make a good one,” I said. “Because I’m very observant.”
    The S.S. was getting really interested in me now in his sly way. “Oh?” He was looking at me very, very hard and cold.
    I said, “I was in the army, you know.”
    I’d gone over the line on that one and was on his hit parade now of suspicious characters because he started asking me some questions, as it were, in his own way, of course.
    Said, “Listen Mister, if you just give me your name and address, I’ll make sure we send you the information on how to apply to the organization.”
    Thinking of what to do next. Said, “You would, uh?”
    He took out this little black pad and said,