The Night Shift

On a dark, narrow street in a residential district, it's rare to see anyone at two o'clock in the morning on Tuesday.Except the local tramp Harry, who wakes up at this time from the persistent whining, which rises from the lower abdomen to the solar plexus and forces him to snoop around the trash can of the local bar in search for something to eat.But even Harry was nowhere to be seen today. Only Bobby's tired, unshaven, wrinkled face, which seemed even older in the blue glare of his phone screen, could be seen through the windshield.

Bobby was sitting in a cab parked on the sidewalk, swiping through short videos on his phone, occasionally giggling when he saw something funny. But mostly, he just swiped through the videos one by one because there wasn't much else to do. This month, he was unlucky with shifts. He was often put on night shifts on weekdays when all potential clients had been sleeping in their beds to get up for work at six in the morning and get to the city center before traffic jams. They used public transport more often, so Bobby's only hope was sleepyheads, who were forced to take a taxi so they would arrive on time. They tell Bobby how unfair this life is, that they have to get up so early and that they can not stand it anymore. Therefore, occasionally, they can afford the luxury of oversleeping and taking a taxi. But it's better to 'mm-hmm' for an hour and a half than to stand idle all night.

Suddenly Bobby's attention was caught by the reflection of the headlights in the rearview mirror. He saw two men who were vigorously discussing something. One was in a car with headlights enlivening the sleepy street, and the second was saying something standing next to him. When the first began to drive, the second began to pull the rear seat door handle, but it did not give in. When the car drove past Bobby, he noticed a snake tattoo on the back of the driver's hand. The driver turned his head to the right, and Bobby caught his cold, angry gaze. Before Bobby could digest what he saw, he heard the back door of his taxi open.

"Follow that car," came a breathless, nervous voice from the backseat. Bobby turned to look at the passenger but saw a hundred dollars in front of him, squeezed between two short fingers.

"Another hundred when we get there," said a short, clean-shaven, middle-aged man in an expensive suit.

Bobby started the car and turned on the taximeter. Suppose he has already decided to sign up for a potentially dangerous business. In that case, he needs to squeeze the maximum out of this. Judging by the fact that the car had almost disappeared from sight, Bobby was sure that the passenger was ready for anything.

"I have to complete the plan, so you'll have to pay the taximeter as well," Bobby said, glancing at the passenger in the rearview mirror.

"Okay, to hell with you, I'll pay! Just drive!" the passenger said nervously.

Bobby let go of the clutch, and the car whistled a little on the pavement, then gently rumbled off the curb into the road.

"Should I follow him discreetly, or do you want him to see us?" Bobby asked, looking at his client's reflection.

"You can drive close. Let the bastard see me coming after him," the man said, leaning his hands on the backs of the two front seats and watching Bobby approach the black W140 Mercedes. Bobby saw that the driver looked in the rearview mirror. He noticed he was being followed. Bobby swallowed nervously but remembered the two hundred bucks and the potential profit from the taximeter.

The Mercedes began to slow down and swerve to the side of the road.

"Follow him," a passenger called from the back seat. Bobby obediently turned and stopped five meters from the Mercedes. He noticed how the driver began to fumble and take something from the back seat of his car. Bobby tensed, putting his right hand on the gearshift and his foot on the clutch. The driver opened the door with a sharp movement, immediately getting down on one knee, and, holding a rifle in his hands, began to shoot at Bobby's passenger. Bobby only had time to duck and shift into first gear, immediately accelerating. He felt his taxi bounce like it was on a bump, then stop with a thud. Covering his head with his hands, he buckled down on his seat, afraid to move.

"Sir, are you okay?" Bobby asked the passenger without looking back but has yet to receive an answer. When he glanced out of the corner of his eye in the rearview mirror, he saw blood splatter on the glass and the seat.

"No, no, no, this can't be true," Bobby muttered in a panic, tapping his temples nervously as if trying to force the memories of the past twenty minutes out of his head. He still did not know what happened to the driver of the Mercedes and whether his driver's door would now open to the dead.

After sitting quietly in his seat for a few minutes, listening to the silence outside, Bobby sat up slightly. Pieces of glass rained down from his back and shoulders, and his windshield looked like chewed gum. He carefully opened the door of his cab and poked his head out, staying inside. Seeing a leg pressed between the hood and a tree, he hid in the cabin out of fright. Squinting through the shattered windshield, he saw the silhouette of a man pressed against a tree, his head dangling.

"No, no, no," Bobby got out of the taxi in a panic and ran back a few meters. From a distance, he looked at one man with a shot in the head and another one dented into a tree.

While Bobby, in a state of shock, was thinking about what to do next, he saw the glare of an approaching car. Unable to think straight, he turned his head towards the headlights and stood in place. As the vehicle approached Bobby, it pulled up in front of him. A peppy young man in a denim jacket and dark ponytail looked at him through the lowered passenger window.

"Sit down," the man said, waving at Bobby.

Not wanting to get into any more trouble, Bobby politely declined, "It's not my fault. When I call the cops, and they see it, they'll know I'm not involved," Bobby began to rub his pockets, looking for his phone.

"That's the best decision you came up with?" the stranger laughed, "Not only will these be hanged on you but also a couple of other unsolved murders. Sit down, I say," he insisted.

Thinking slightly, Bobby waved his hand and got into the old gray Volvo. The driver abruptly started, leaving behind a sharp smell of burnt rubber.

They drove for several minutes along a dark, empty road. Bobby was silent, occasionally catching the driver's glance at him.

"How are you, man," the driver decided to speak.

Bobby turned his head towards him and said, "How can I be. Shocked, of course."

"You bet," said the driver, "Ryan is not so easy to handle. It's a shame you had to kill him, but that's the cost we pay, so to speak. Oh, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Colin," the driver smiled at Bobby.

Bobby looked at him with horrified eyes and asked, "What are you talking about? I didn't mean to kill anyone. I'm just a taxi driver!"

Colin looked at Bobby in disbelief and asked, "Taxi driver?"

"Yes. I was sitting on my night shift when this bald guy sat down and told me to follow some other guy and offered me 200 bucks. Well, I didn't refuse."

From Colin's expression, Bobby knew this was not the answer he wanted to hear. Swallowing the saliva accumulated in his throat, Bobby looked at the white stripe disappearing under the wheels. Colin reached for something in the back seat, one hand still steering. He abruptly tossed one of two semi-automatic pistols to Bobby and said, "Then let's improvise. I certainly can't do it on my own."

"Improvise with what?" asked frightened Bobby.

"With them," Colin pointed with his index finger at the three guys loitering around a dimly lit diner along the road. Having made an abrupt stop, Colin, opening the glass, began firing at the three men. They jumped in all directions, finding cover for themselves, and began firing at the wheelbarrow. Bobby jumped out and hid behind the trunk of the Volvo, closing his eyes and wailing. From the sounds of shots, he became frightened, closed his eyes, and covered his ears with his hands.

"Help me, idiot!" Colin called out to him, but Bobby ignored him. Then he heard a sharp scream from the driver's side, and then the sounds of gunshots subsided. Bobby saw between the wheels as large rough boots approached him. When he looked up, he saw a bald-headed bighead with a nasty wry smile slowly pointing his gun at Bobby. Bobby closed his eyes and heard a shot that filled his ears. When he opened his eyes, he watched the corpulent body of the man in front of him fall to the ground. He turned back and saw Colin lying on the floor, smiling through his mouth full of blood.

"Take it, bastard" Colin lowered his head to the floor and closed his eyes. Not knowing what to do next, Bobby began to quickly look around. Colin's car was not running. In the light of the lantern, he saw the black trunk of a Mercedes sticking out from around the corner. Bobby ran to the car and found that it was locked. Gathering his courage, he returned and began searching for the keys in the pockets of the thug Colin had shot. As he rummaged through the man's pockets, the familiar snake tattoo on the dead man's arm caught his attention. He caught his breath, but when he found the keys, he immediately forgot everything and ran to the car.

Opening the driver's door, Bobby quickly jumped into the Mercedes and pulled off. He didn't know what ordinary people do in such an unusual situation — calling the cops is working his way straight to jail. Most likely, all these people are bandits, and society will not suffer much without them.

With these thoughts, Bobby drove straight down the highway, not knowing his destination. He just wanted to go somewhere far away, stay at some motel and get a good night's sleep. Just as he began to feel safe, headlights began to shine in the rearview mirror. Bobby felt his arms and legs icing over. The car was getting closer.

"Maybe someone is just coming home late," Bobby tried to reassure himself, but the car caught up with him and drove dangerously close. Bobby tried to be casual and go at the right speed without sudden movements. However, the car behind began to lag a little and drove Bobby hard into the rear bumper. In a surprise, Bobby jerked the steering wheel, moving into the oncoming lane. He began to accelerate to break away from his pursuer, but the latter rammed him again. Each new blow was stronger until the stranger aligned with Bobby and knocked his tracks off. Bobby lost control, and the car began to roll over. After a few turns, she stopped on the roof. Bobby's eyes went dark, he tried to get out of the car, but the door jammed, and he just monotonously pulled the handle. The headlights of the pursuer's car were periodically disappearing in the shadow of the approaching man. Bobby closed his eyes.

The distant knock on the glass echoed through Bobby's mind. Why doesn't he just kill me, Bobby thought, trying to open his eyes. A sharp pain in his head did not allow him to collect his thoughts. Knock again. Bobby opened his eyes to find himself behind the wheel of his cab, parked on the sidewalk of a narrow street in a residential district. Turning his head to the left, he saw a man in a police uniform knocking on the glass of the driver's door. Bobby fidgeted in place and nervously began to open the glass.

"Can I have your driver's license, sir?" The policeman asked politely. Bobby dug into his pockets and pulled out his driver's license, handing it to the cop. The policeman looked carefully at the driver's license, then at Bobby, and said, "You're not allowed to sleep in the car, sir."

"I'm sorry," Bobby said sleepily, "Tough day."

"I see, so we'll get by with a warning this time," the cop said, handing Bobby the driver's license. Bobby nodded his head in gratitude and reached for his license. Glad it was just a dream, Bobby felt his hands icy again when he saw the snake tattoo on the back of the cop's hand. Turning his head to the right, he saw a taximeter counting the time.