Heller then got under the wheel. He did all those things Mortie had done, with a few embellishments.
With bent fenders, raw voices and screams of anguish and terror strewn behind them, Mortie now guided Heller to a cabby bar on Eighth Avenue. It was a time of traffic lull and one had better have a sandwich.
Heller tried to order a beer and got scolded both by Mortie and the proprietor: “Trying to make the place lose its license?” So Heller had milk with his steak instead. “You got to have respect for the law, kid,” Mortie told him. “Learn to grow up to be a good, peaceful, orderly, law-abiding citizen. That’s the only way to get ahead.
“Got to get going!” said Mortie. “Time for theater traffic around Times Square.”
En route, Mortie told him, “Now you got to learn how to handle police. When a cop stops you for speeding, you stop, see. You wait until he comes up and then you whisper, ‘Run for your life. This fare is holding a gun on me.’ And the cop will beat it every time!”
Heller thanked him.
“You got to know these things, kid.” But something else had attracted Mortie’s attention. “You got any enemies, kid? Your parents looking for you or something?”
“Why?”
“Well, it’d have to be you. I never made an enemy in my life. A cab started up behind us when we left the eatery and it’s still back there.”
Mortie did a right-angle turn, went down an alley, went wrong way on a one-way street. Looked back. “Don’t see him now. I think we shook him. So we can get busy.”
They were into the theater district. It was well before the evening start of the shows but the traffic was THICK!
“Now, you see that line of cars, kid? Watch!”
Mortie came up alongside of a cab in the line. He stopped. He screamed an insult at the driver. Mortie made a motion to get out of his cab. The other driver, in a rage, leaped out of his. Mortie didn’t leave his cab. The line moved ahead. Mortie slid the cab into it, taking the place of the immobilized cab. “See, kid? Art!”
Mortie got to an intersection near a big hotel. There were several cabs and few customers. Mortie sailed in,
skidding to block the exit of the driveway, and killed his engine. Other cabbies screamed at him. He screamed back, “I’m stalled!” As he was now first in line, an elderly, well-dressed man and woman tried to get into Mortie’s cab. “Sorry,” said Mortie, “I’m going to the barn.” He drove off. “See, kid, I could have had my pick of fares. You got to know what you’re doing and think, think, think all the time.”
He raced down a line of traffic. A car looked like it was going to turn out and block him. He sideswiped it with a scream of metal. The car pulled hastily back. “Don’t try it with limousines, kid. They’re really yellow. Scared for their paint. You don’t have to sideswipe. You just gesture, like this.” He veered toward a limousine and it promptly climbed the curb.
The bright lights of theater marquees, the flashing advertising signs, the throngs and ticket lines. A lively, blazing night.
“Now, you see that car ahead there that’s stopping. I’ll show you how to take off doors.”
The street side door swung open. The old cab was there before anyone could get out. There was a rending crash and off came the door.
“It’s timing, kid. All timing. Now, you see that guy up the street waving for a fare? Over there on the wrong side for us?”
Mortie zoomed ahead to forty miles an hour, stamped on the brakes, did a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and skidded sideways to the curb. The hopeful fare started to get in. “Sorry, we’re heading for the barn,” said Mortie.
He found a one-way street. They backed down it at forty miles an hour. “You see, we’re pointed the right direction so it ain’t illegal.
“See that red light? Now we’re going to rush it. If you listen you can hear the switch in the box and you can claim it was yellow.
“Now here is a curb bounce. That’s a nice curb. If you hit it right, you can bounce back into the street and the guy that was about to pass you, thinking you was parking, gets sideswiped! Watch.”
They bounced. There was a rending scream of metal. Headlight glass tinkled to the pavement.
“All right, kid. Now let’s see you do it.”
Heller took the wheel. He started up. He went through the routine. But just as he was about to rush a red light, the sound of a heavy thud shook the cab.
“What was that?” said Mortie. Then he pointed. The side window had a star. “Jesus, that’s a bullet!”
Another thud!
“Get the hell out of here, kid! Somebody is breaking the firearms law!”
Heller was on his way!
He went down 42nd Street, headed west. He was not going very fast.
“Step on it, kid! A cab just came around the corner behind us!”
“You sure?” said Heller.
“Hell, yes! He’s gaining!”
But Heller was loafing.
He was watching in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, there was a cab behind them, gaining!
A bullet hit the rear window!
“Now we can go!” said Heller.
He fled down 42nd Street.
He passed the Sheraton Motor Inn.
I grabbed a New York map to see if he was leaving the country.
The old cab negotiated the approaches to the West Side Elevated Highway. Traffic was light. Below them over the rail, the ground level street was dim. To their left lay the North River and the passenger steamship docks. Yes, on this route he could escape to Connecticut!
Heller checked the rearview mirror. The pursuing cab was still coming.
Below the elevated highway, to their right, the De Witt Clinton Park fled by and was gone.
Heller wasn’t moving fast. The other was close behind!
A sign ahead and a split in the elevated highway: 55th Street!
Suddenly, with a yank of the wheel, Heller sent the cab into a ninety-degree right turn! He stamped on the brakes! The rail was right in front of him! The lower street was fifty feet down!
He was stopped!
The other cab was coming on.
Heller suddenly backed up!
There was room for the other cab to pass in front of his radiator. It started through the hole.
Heller sent his cab ahead!
The bumper hit the other cab’s front wheels.
The other cab was punched over toward the rail!
With a shattering crash, it went through the guard!
It catapulted into space!
Chapter 5
Even before it hit the street below, Heller shouted to Mortie, “Take over!”
There was a crash below!
Heller was out. The rail was torn into jagged pickets where the cab had disappeared.
He peered down. There were girders and supports.
He went through the hole in the rail. He swarmed down a girder. He slid down a pillar and hit the lower street.
The other cab had landed on its wheels, shot ahead and struck a stanchion.
Gas was flooding the street!
A traffic light was nearby. Heller looked at the control box.
He raced over to the cab.
The doors were buckled.
He yanked a small jimmy out of his pocket and went to work on the rear door. The metal bent around the jammed lock. He inserted the jimmy higher and pried. He got his fingers in and, with a heave, got the door open.