The blessed ride from hell

One Thursday night, at one o'clock in the morning, she decided to to visit her sister in downtown Flatbush. She called a cab, grabbed her huge p0cket book, and exited out of her mother's apartment in Brooklyn. I was heavily raining outside, and while waiting for her ride, she looked at the disgusting aspect of the brick buildings in the neighborhood and watched the drops falling down on them as if a miracle was going to happen. She wished that one day she could be out of that dull panorama and back to her beloved Cap-Haitian in Haiti.

The taxi arrived. The chauffer already had a young black man on the passenger side. As soon as she got in, he asked: "Where are you going?"

"285 East 51st street, "She answered

"It's five dollars. I need the fare before I go!"

Clinging of coins and rustling of bills filled the cubicle space as she searched for the money to pay him. The continuous rhythm of raindrops dropped against the car's roof as it proceeded to move.

She thought of her mother who often try to reason with her about going out in the middle of the night. To no avail. Stubborn to the core she was! She just arrived in the United States a couple of months ago, But still, disdainfully, her reply was always: "Yeah, yeah, yeah!"

A few minutes elapsed when she suddenly heard the driver say to the man sitting by his side, "I tell you what I'll do, I let you try my stash."

Han? She froze. She could not believe my ears.

"Shoot, let's have a contest, yours against my coke," the guy replied.

"Bring it on!"

"Are they crazy? What am I, mash potatoes?" She mumbled to herself.

Ouch! she could not stay still. She moved her legs and hit her well pedicured big toe on something under the chair in front of her. The chauffer turned around to look at her for a second with the strangest smile upon his lips in conjunction with an exhale filled with smoke, then turned back.

She could hear the crinkle of the foil paper as it was being pulled out and unfolded. The strike of a lighter erupted in the tight cubicle space as the sweet medicinal aroma of the drug swept past her nose and lingered into the chilly night air.

"God dog it!" She winced, irritated that she kept hurting her foot under this stupid chair. "What's going on here?" She swiped her right foot gently and hit something soft but firm protruding from under the seat. She took a quick look when the street's lights shed shined on it and realized it was a bag.

"God forgive me, I am going to look inside," she said to herself with a bit of contrition.

Kesh! Another strike, they are at it again! She could not believe it; those men were really doing their drugs right in front of her! She was astonished by the level of audacity it took to do that! And... But, the thought of the bag took her mind off the dangerous situation she was in, and almost without thinking slid her right shoulder down without really moving her whole body, and pulled the bag off the floor to her lap while keeping a vigilant eye on the driver.

"Give me my package back," shouted the driver.

"I didn't take it," humbly reply the passenger.

Really? Seriously guys? Scared to death, she thought of the warnings and began to see how being headstrong is very dangerous to one's health, that her mother's advice was based on experience and of course, promised herself to learn from the life's adventures of friends and family in the future.

Things took a different turn from there as an argument raged between them. Their tone of voice got so loud at times, it felt like the windows rattled. With every explosion of words, she jumped. She wanted to tell them the stop yelling but she could not. How could she? She was so frightened that she wedged in a corner of the back seat and convinced herself that they would stop soon.

Then a deep silence took over the space. She look down at the bag, afraid of unzipping it, but too far gone to turn back, she took advantage of the momentary peace and boldly forced it down her own bag while keeping the driver in her peripheral vision. She frantically tried to feel it out with her hand and touched something hard in the front pocket of what seemed to be a canvas backpack. She pulled on it and came out with a little black book. She looked at it in disbelief and opened it quickly and stared at some heavy black ink writings that read: Today's pick up total: Twenty thousands dollars and a list of names at the bottom of the page.

What? Hold on here! Is it? No way! "I have to see, I have to see this," she kept repeating in her mind as she slid the zipper just enough to see the corner of a few Hundred dollar bills set in a pack.

"Give me my package back," the driver coldly asked.

She closed both bags and firmly crossed her hands over them on her lap. In a daze!

"I told you I didn't take it!" Replied the passenger.

"You know you switched them, and if you don't give it back you're going to regret it cat!"

The last words were, "Keep it!"

For a few seconds, she figured the altercation was over because they became dead quiet for awhile. Then the car stopped, the two guys got out and went to the back of the car. Now clutching her bag, she looked through the window and saw the driver pointing a gun at the passenger. Right then and there, the only thing that mattered to her was the pistol. A voice in her head said loud and clear, "Get out now!" She wasted no time, hurried out of the car while she gasped, "Wait."

The driver stood there with an obvious detachment while she crossed the streets. As soon as she passed him, he walked over to the passenger and asked, "Are you gonna gimme my coke?"

"Come on man, how you gonna act?" Said the passenger pitifully when he realized his fate.

Suddenly next she knew, she heard crack, crack! crack! She saw bright flashes of smoke. She turned around and there wasn't a soul in Rutland St; time seemed to stand still. The only people in the world were the shouter, his victim and Ms thing carrying a bag, she was almost sure now, was filled with 20 thousands dollars cash taken from a killer's cab.

After the second shot, the victim put his hands over his face and let out a faint "ahhh" and fell with a thud on his back. His eyes went wide open like those of a fried fish, and for a few seconds he shook like a chicken that had his head cut off until he finally stopped moving.

The debonair cowboy calmly fixed his hat, took one more puff of his cigarette, and while he walked back to the taxi said without even looking at her, "Little sister, you better get out of here before the cops get here!"

The word cop brought her back to her senses. Quick, fast, and in a hurry, she rushed out of the macabre place, went to a pay phone and called her mother.