Facing Fate

Manuel watched the rain work in the dark. Another year older and nothing to show for it. The Uber sign burned in the corner of the windshield, and a Dominican flag hung from the mirror. A fan of losing scratchers lay on the passenger seat like dead leaves next to a birthday card. The book on the radio told him to rise at five, make his bed, and that you were only a victim if you chose to do nothing. He nodded along in agreement as he worked on his scratchers.

Half past midnight. The plane should be down. He wrote the name on a whiteboard in wide blue letters. AGNIS. Then he opened the door and stepped out under the awning. He stood there with the sign, feeling the mist of the rain on his face. It was cold, and he shuffled his feet to stay awake. The suit hung on him, it was meant for a stronger man. It was the same suit he had come to this country in. The same one he had signed his first contract in. And now it was an ill-fitting relic of the past.

Another trickle of travelers came through the doors. He looked for her. He had no idea what she looked like. Had he missed her? He reached for the phone to check her picture. A voice spoke to him from his side.

“Manuel?”

He turned to face the most ordinary woman he had ever seen. She could have been twenty, she could have been forty, or she could have been anything in between. Laced shoes. A plain business coat. Big rimmed glasses. A blue scarf over auburn hair. No jewelry of any sort. A small leather bag and an umbrella.

“Agnis?”

“Yes. Manuel?”

“Yes ma’am. Bag?”

“No. Get the door.”

He opened the rear door, and she slid in with the ease of someone used to doors opening. No please. No, thank you. Probably no tip. Feliz cumpleaños, Manuel. He went around and dropped into the seat. His heart skipped a beat, and he stabbed the radio off and avoided the mirror. Dios termine esta noche.

They drove for ten minutes. The only sounds in the cab were the tires on the wet pavement and the scrape of the wipers on glass. Passengers are all different. Some talk. Some don’t. No matter what, they all had a presence. She didn’t. Driving with her was like driving alone. She didn't take the passenger side. She sat hidden behind him. When he checked the mirror, it only showed an empty back seat. She didn't speak. She didn’t scroll on her phone. He couldn't even hear her breath. The silence closed around him until the urge to speak was too great.

"Did you have this kind of rain where you come from?"

"What business is that of yours?"

"Just passing the time."

"Passing the time?"

"Small talk."

"What were you listening to before you shut it off?"

"A book on the habits of successful people."

"And is it working? Are you successful?

"I just started."

"How long have you been driving?"

"Not long."

"That is not a length of time. How long?"

"Eight years."

"Eight years?"

"Yes."

"Only job you’ve had."

"No."

"What before? Construction? Farm work?"

He bit his cheek. Perra racista.

"Well?"

"Baseball."

"Really?"

"Sí. Really."

"What team?"

"Norfolk. I uh, had one game with the Orioles, but, uh, yeah."

"Only one?"

"Yeah, only one."

He wrenched his hands on the wheel, knowing the next question.

"What happened?"

The old pain woke in his left elbow like a wire pulled tight. The snap. The click. The slow, weak pitch. The crack of the bat on the ball. The runner who took third and then home. The meeting with the doctor. The meeting with the coach. The walk out of the locker room. The sling on his arm. The bag with all he owned on his shoulder.

"They decided I wasn’t worth the money."

She said nothing. A faint light glowed for a moment in the back seat. She sighed, and the light disappeared.

"In eight years, what was the most you took home in a night?"

The wipers filled the silence.

"Thousand."

"You’re sure?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I'll give you a thousand in cash if you log out and drive me somewhere else tonight."

The wipers beat their slow time.

"I am not supposed to."

"Does that book say successful people always do what they are supposed to?"

His hands worked the wheel.

"You have the cash."

Something small landed in his lap. He fished it up. It felt like a pack of gum. Holding it to the light, he saw it was a roll of hundreds.

"Five hundred now. The rest when we’re done."

“Vale.” He made a few swipes on the screen, and the app vanished.

They drove into a part of the city he had forgotten. No tents. No graffiti. The trash stayed in the cans. They crawled down a narrow one-way street. Cars pinched the road on either side. They stopped in front of a sleeping townhouse.

"Let me out here."

"Where you want me?"

"Stay. I won't be long."

"If someone comes down the street? Then what?"

"I won’t be long. Think of something if they do."

She went out under the umbrella and walked as if it were her own house. She pulled something from her coat pocket as she climbed the steps. She paused at the door but didn’t knock. A moment later, she stepped inside.

He checked the mirrors. The rain had washed all signs of life from the street. He looked at the house. It slept peacefully in the storm's shower. Then two quick flashes in an upstairs window. A pause. Two more. A longer pause. Then a final flash. He held his breath. The hair rose on the back of his neck.

He dropped the car into drive when the red and blue lights materialized behind him. Their color poured through the rain. Mierda. He set it back in park and tried to breathe normally. He thought to tell them he had seen a murder. Then he thought of papers he didn't have. Dios, perdoname. The officer came up step by step. Each step was a hammer on his chest. A beam of white light flooded through the driver’s side window, followed by two knocks. He lowered the window.

"Evening. Officer Sidney Greene. Someone called in bout a suspicious vehicle sitting on this block. License and registration, please."

His mouth tried to work, but no words came. Then a voice behind the officer spoke.

"Excuse me."

The officer turned. Standing under an umbrella, calm as a stone, was the woman in the blue scarf. Manuel and the officer both stared.

"Are you my ride? Is there a problem, officer? I have an early flight, and I can’t miss it."

The officer looked back at him. "Are you her ride?"

He wanted to tell her what he had just seen. He wanted to tell her what the woman had just done. He predicted what would happen if he did. Fear kept his mouth shut. He nodded and avoided the officer’s eyes.

"All right then. Sorry for the trouble, ma’am. Good luck with the flight. Weather might delay you."

"Thank you. Good night, officer."

She opened the door and slipped in. For a second, the light showed red specks on her face and her coat. Then the door shut.

“Drive.” She commanded in a voice that was low, exhausted, and satisfied.

She no longer hid behind him. She sat in the middle, stretched out, consuming the space. He couldn't see her face in the dark, but he could feel her smile. Her presence forced the air out of the car.

The wheel was slick with sweat. The suit was at his throat, choking him. He wanted out. There was nowhere to go. His eyes darted between the road and the mirror. Her hand went inside the coat. He gripped the wheel.

“Dios ayudame,” he whispered as his body clenched.

"Gum?" she asked, taking a piece for herself. "Would you like one?"

"No. Thank you."

"You don’t look good, Manuel. You look like you saw a ghost."

"I feel sick is all."

"It's the weather. In weather like this, more accidents happen than at any other time. Funny how the murders go down. Rain makes cameras useless. You would think more would take place."

His heart ran.

"Is that so?"

"What happened back there, Manuel?"

The hammering sound of rain filled the silence in the car.

"Manuel. I asked you a question."

"I did not see no thing."

"You did not see nothing."

"Yeah, nothing."

"Pull over here."

His jaw locked. The beating of his heart filled his ears. The smell of fresh blood lingered towards him from the back seat and his stomach turned.

"I said pull over. Now."

He eased the car to the curb beneath a dead light. His hands shook as he placed the car in park. Que le deparaba la noche? The street was empty. No one was out in this kind of weather. It washed everything away, dreams, hopes, witnesses, everything. She reached up and turned on the dome light.

He could see her, really see her in the light for the first time. She removed her glasses and wiped the spackled red spots from her cheeks with a handkerchief. Her mouth was in a small, dangerous smile, and her eyes never left him in the mirror. As she cleaned herself, she reminded him of a cat. Era el un raton para ella?

"What happened back there was fate. Someone tested their luck with the wrong people. And so, as luck would have it, fate led me to them."

She finished cleaning her face and returned the handkerchief to her pocket. When it reemerged, she held a coin. "Do you believe in fate, Manuel?"

He was quiet, his eyes locked to the mirror, his hands locked on the wheel. The wipers continued their long, slow strokes, filling the silence.

"No? What about luck? You must. A man who doesn’t believe in luck wouldn’t play scratchers, would they?" She rolled the coin over her knuckles as she spoke. "Do you have a lucky coin? This one is mine."

"Please?" He pleaded through clenched teeth. "I did not see nothing."

"I’m sure you didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just the instrument, not the decider." She flipped the coin, caught it, and slapped it down on the center console next to him. Her hand covered it from view. "Call it."

"Por favor, Please?" He begged again.

"Call it."

"I cannot"

"You must."

"Can you just let me go?"

"Look at it this way. If you call it wrong, you lose nothing. No one loses anything. You are already alone in a world that doesn’t even know you exist. But if you call it right, you win everything. Now call it."

"Vale. Fine. Heads."

He stared straight ahead into the darkness.

He heard her deep inhale, full of pleasure from the anticipation. Then he felt the air as she lifted her hand as though the quarter was an ember. Manuel didn’t look. He stared out the window into the dark and the falling rain. Then he closed his eyes. Ten Piedad de mi.

"Well done." She laughed. "Well done indeed. Give me your phone and keys."

He didn’t understand. He waited for the feel of a barrel to the back of his head. She shook him by the shoulder instead.

"Phone. Keys. Now. Give them to me."

He fought his pocket to get the keys out and took the phone from the dash. He handed them to her over his shoulder, not looking back. He heard her rustle in the back seat then the Opening of the passenger door before it slammed shut. He was alone.

The dome light still flooded the cab. Paralyzed with fear, he struggled to turn his head. He forced his neck to turn and face where the coin lay, Tails side up. His face twisted and contorted trying to make sense of what he saw. Heads. He had told her heads.

There were two metallic taps on his window. He closed his eyes and slowly turned to meet his fate.