Time oh Good Time

       Time oh Good Time

Suzanne Marsh

“Follow that car!” The white corvette leaped forward before the crazed young man managed to

jump into the taxicab. He appeared to be a high state of agitation. Sam Moskowitz had been driving taxi for twenty-five years and had never seen anyone so agitated. Sam also had never seen anyone with blue and pink hair, especially a young man. The young man banged on the window that separated them:

“Can’t you make this thing go any faster, it is imperative that I catch that corvette.”

Sam, bit his tongue:

“Sir, that corvette can outrun this old gal with two flat tires.”

“I don’t care what it can’t do I have got catch that car.”

Apparently, there was no reasoning with this character, Sam stomped on the gas pedal; driving in New York City, New York was an adventure to begin with but attempting to catch a car was insane! The taxi lurched forward managing to pass two cars before being cut off. Sam, thinking maybe it was time to retire before too much longer; twenty-five years was enough in this pressure cooker.

Sam, watched the young man in his review mirror; was that just his imagination or was the mohawk gone? Sandy brown hair in a short cut had taken the place of the mohawk. The hippie type clothes were now a navy-blue pinstripe suit. Sam was more than mildly confused. He drove as quickly as rush hour traffic in the city would permit. He thought that it was possible that the corvette might be headed toward either John F. Kennedy Internation Airport or LaGuardia Airport, then again Newark, New Jersey was not that far either. The worst that could happen would be JFK, since it was the furthest. Sam, disliked JFK because the traffic was always heavy.

The corvette was just beyond the next corner, when suddenly another car emerged and began chasing the corvette. The young man flashed his badge at Sam:

“I am with Homeland Security; I have been working this damn case for almost a year.

We, have to catch that corvette before that black Suburban does; otherwise the

girl in the corvette is dead.”

Sam, quickly made a sign of the cross; then put the pedal to the metal for roughly a mile before once again, traffic was at a standstill:

“I can still see the white corvette sir; I am afraid I cannot get any closer yet.”

The young man nodded as they watched the corvette turn left toward Rockaway; that meant whoever was in the white corvette was going to JFK. Sam, stepped on the gas pedal and the old yellow taxicab once again lurched forward for a half mile. The young man sensed that Sam, was indeed trying his best:

“I am sorry, as I told you I am a Homeland Security agent, my name is Tom Grady. The

corvette has a Russian spy for our side. She is an important witness in the murder.

of a socialite a ah, Terry Whoopdinger. We cannot let any harm come to her, her name

is Ludmilla Troysky. I was supposed to be guarding her until the trial. The murderer

is Boris Novanov, the Russian Mafia boss here in the United States. The black Suburban is

no doubt one of Boris’s.”

Sam expected to see Rod Sterling appear in the next few moments; this was better than the thriller he had watched before he came on duty; the only problem was this was real not imaginary. Sam once again lurched the taxi forward for another mile; the stop and go was horrible for the brakes; but there was no choice at this point.

The black Suburban pulled up next to the taxi: Tom pulled out his Glock 26. Sam held the taxi as steady as he was able, while Tom fired rapidly at the Suburban. Tom hit, the driver as the Suburban began to drift toward the exit. Tom, at the moment was relieved that he had headed off that disaster: now all he had to do was catch the corvette, bring Ludmilla back to the safe house; then call it a day.

Sam, knew several short cuts to JFK which might or might not be any quicker:

“Sir, do you want me to take a short cut; I can’t guarantee it will be any shorter but it

could be quicker. JFK is several miles yet in this traffic jam. Tom, thought for a moment:

“I don’t want to lose sight of the corvette; she is in protective custody. I should have given

you any information but I could not just let you risk your life and have no idea why.”

“I appreciate that Sir, I will do all that I can to ensure that you catch the corvette.”

Tom, relief spreading through his body and mind, was sure they would get to her before the Russian Mafia or her boarding a plane back to Moscow. Either way it was going to be a tense situation. He had been pursuing Boris for over a year. Ludmilla had been one of his call girls. Her sole job was to obtain information on agents. Several agents were dead because Boris found them in his employ. Then Ludmilla was arrested with a group of call girls; she begged to be sent back to Moscow. Finally, they had a good lead on Boris.

Boris thought that Ludmilla was his faithful girl; she thought otherwise and began to tell Tom, all about the deaths of the agents. How Boris had arranged their murders to look like accidents. One of those agents was Tom’s brother Nate. ‘Yes’, Tom thought, Boris was going down.

The taxi approached JFK; Sam saw a beautiful young woman emerge from the corvette. Tom, jumped out of the taxi, running as quickly as he could. He caught up with Ludmilla:

“What in the hell are you running away for? You were safe where we were.”

“Boris, knows that I turned over evidence to you. I am as good as dead here in your

country.”

“Ludmilla, if you go back to Moscow, you will be just as dead. Give us a chance to

protect you. Once you have testified you will be placed in a witness protection plan.

Your name will be changed. You will have completely new identity. There is

no way that Boris will ever find you again.”

Although she was not really convinced Ludmilla walked quietly back to the taxicab. Tom opened the passenger door in the rear for Ludmilla; he rode up in front with Sam.

Several weeks later Ludmilla testified; her identity was changed. Tom still works for

Homeland Security. Sam has since retired.