Shared Ride

“Speak now,” he mouthed silently through a few yellow-stained teeth. 

The man in the driver's seat felt his heart beating through his shirt. He moved his hands to ten and two, then squeezed the wheel. A damp trail of sweat followed his hands. His eyes slid to the rearview mirror to check on his other new passenger. A navy mackintosh, sprinkled with drops of rain, slid effortlessly off the designer weatherproof material and straight onto the leather seats of the black luxury sport utility vehicle. 

“Morning, Richard?” asked the driver.

The passenger hunched over in the back seat, absorbed by his phone with headphones blocking his ears, unbothered by his driver and oblivious to the other man hiding up front.

“Yes, that’s me,” he replied without lifting his head. A notification pinged the driver’s phone, this passenger was paying extra for a silent ride.

“Speak now,” mouthed the man crouched in the front wheel well. 

The driver shook his head slightly and nodded towards the ‘silent ride’ notification on his phone. This passenger, who would clearly not be paying for his ride, waved a silver handgun and rested it at the driver’s stomach.

“Now,” he whispered.

“Ready when you are chief,” called the passenger in the back seat. He did not look up from his phone.

“I’m from Costa Rica, sir,” replied the driver. He made eye contact with Richard through the mirror. The passenger in the back pulled his headphones out.

“Come again,” Richard said.

“I’m from Costa Rica. Not a Native American, sir.”

Richard’s head tilted to the side.

“You called me chief,” said the driver.

The man holding the gun shook his head. “Really?” he mouthed.

The driver pulled the car into gear. An echoing metallic thud reverberated through the soundproof cabin as the doors locked.

“I did not mean anything by that. Just a saying. I use it for anybody when I don’t know their name,” replied the passenger in the back.

The man hiding in the front held the gun on the driver and waved a finger circularly to get the driver’s attention. 

“But I know you’re name Richard,” said the driver

“Well, it is on the app,” replied Richard.

“Richard Steiner, heading uptown to the hospital,” said the driver.

The man in the back placed his phone in his pocket. 

“How do you know my name?”

“Well, it is on the app,” replied the driver without looking up at his mirror. He felt the gun press further into the side of his stomach but did not acknowledge his captor. 

“Not my last name,” replied Richard. “What is this? Why haven’t we started driving yet? I’m getting out, I’ll order another ride.” Richard pulled at the metal door handle and struggled to flip the lock. His eyes darted frantically. “ Unlock the door!”

The man holding the gun motioned for the driver to unlock the doors. The driver looked up at the rearview mirror and smiled. He pulled the black SUV away from the ornate stone entrance of the apartment building and into morning traffic. The gun jabbed into his side hard but the driver did not flinch. He kept his eyes on the road, avoiding the yellow taxis swooping in and out of lanes around the city.

“You have no idea how hard it has been. How many mornings I’ve spent waiting outside your home. Every evening waiting outside the hospital. Watching you come and go. Never getting your ride request,” said the driver. They sat at a red light surrounded on all sides by cars.

“I sold everything to buy this nice SUV because Richard Steiner only takes luxury SUVs. Why would the CEO of the city’s biggest hospital system ever take anything besides luxury SUV rides? “

Richard’s face melted in fear.

“No worries about ruining my leather seats with your wet jacket. That will be the next owner’s problem. I’m afraid the car's value has dropped a bit since your first offer,” added the driver, now looking down at the man with the gun.

“I’m calling the police,” said Richard.

The man with the gun sprang up from his hidden position. He pointed the gun directly at Richard’s head.

“Give me your phone,” he shouted.

“You better listen to him. He’s confused and he’s getting nervous,” said the driver without taking his eyes off the road.

Richard handed the gunman his phone. 

“I have cash. Anything you guys want. Just let me out.” 

“We aren’t together,” shouted the gunman. “I tried to have him cancel your ride. I just wanted the whip. This is normally an easy score and then you popped in right after me. I just want out now.” He pointed his gun back at the driver.

“I’m supposed to believe that?” replied Richard.

“C’mon Richard. Does everybody in your world have people to do their dirty work? What do you think this is? That I want your wallet and I need a crackhead with a gun to do it?”

The gunman waved the gun between the passenger and the driver. “I’m no crackhead man.”

“So you’re just out stealing cars before dawn for fun?”

“These things go for thousands man. Drop ‘em off at the harbor and they hand you a bag of cash. Easiest money of your life. The car is already on a boat to Russia or somewhere and I’m back in the city before the police can even respond.”

“No damage has been done here guys. Just let me out and I’ll simply walk away. You can keep that phone.”

The driver slammed the brakes sending both of his passengers tumbling. Richard’s seat belt caught him and yanked him back into his seat, whipping his head as if someone just landed a massive uppercut. The man holding the gun caught himself swiftly.

“These city stoplights switch so fast,” said the driver.

The gun clicked in the driver’s ear. “Let me out. Open the door. C’mon, man. This is between you and the rich dude. My daughter is sick man, I just needed your car for the cash. Your insurance would cover it,” said the man holding the gun.

The luxury SUV sat idle at the intersection, its elegant interior blocked all of the noise from the surrounding city. Three men locked in a vacuum together at a red light waiting to merge on the West Side Highway. The driver smiled in the rearview mirror, never taking his eyes off Richard. 

“Sick people are paying for this luxury black car ride. The families of sick patients paid for that lovely apartment you have. The husbands, fathers and mothers all sweating every day while their loved ones lay dying in a hospital bed. Hoping they will get better but even if they can be saved, the people left behind must find ways to pay for treatment. If only we had more money we could have treated her sooner–”

“I do not control what your insurance covers or does not cover,” interrupted Richard.

“And what about the health of your staff?” continued the driver. “What about the custodians who clean your hospital or the security guards that patrol the hallways? What about the doctors? The nurses? The nurses.”

Richard sat up straight, ready to rebuke each of those questions as any executive paid to take bullets for a corporation would. Defending his actions with empty comments and pointing to factors outside of his control. The driver slapped him down immediately.

“My wife worked at your hospital to help people. She put herself in harm's way every day while a deadly contagion spread through this city like wildfire. What did you do to help her? To protect her?

Richard stared blankly into the eyes glaring at him through the mirror.

“You made her protect herself. You blamed supply chains and rising costs. PPE is essential to your workforce but you couldn’t spare the dollars in your budget. Years before this happened, you let the hospital’s supply run short. When they really needed it, there was nothing. Instead of buying more, you blamed the rising costs while your staff, my wife, exposed themselves and became sick.”

“Hospitals around the country struggled to find PPE for their staff. We followed suit and advised our staff on how to stay safe. Nobody was spending on unlimited PPE.”

“Yet you took a 10 million dollar bonus for your work keeping the hospital profitable. And I quote, ‘Mr. Steiner’s commitment to our hospital and its shareholders steadied the ship through a far-reaching tragedy. Through his leadership, we were able to address patient needs, stay profitable and project growth on revenue through one of the worst years in America’s healthcare industry.” 

Richard looked out his window. His skin now devoid of all color.

“My wife died because of your budget,” said the driver.

The luxury SUV drove straight past the hospital with the doors firmly locked. The driver merged onto the George Washington bridge. He turned to look at Richard directly, “Have you nothing to say?”

The man holding the gun pointed it at the passenger in the back seat. 

“Speak now,” he growled.