10th Anniversary - James Patterson [72]
She pulled a wad of tissues out of her pocket and caught the long, high-pitched, trumpeting ahh-chooooooooo-ahh, a sneeze that just about took off the top of her head.
It looked like every damn cab in the city was taken or off duty. Cindy phoned All-City, the cab company she used regularly, and after listening to background music and ads, she was told, “Sorry, please call back later.”
Cindy sneezed again, damm it. Not only was she fighting a cold, she was also half starving and now late for dinner at Susie’s. She visualized the back room at Susie’s, that haven of warmth — and the name Quick Express leapt into her mind.
She pictured the cab company she’d visited earlier in the week when she was working on the drug-and-rape story. Since then, there had been no reports of the serial rapist, and the story had taken a dive off the front page.
That was the good news and the bad.
Good that she’d scared off that psycho by turning the brights on him with her three-part, above-the-fold story.
Bad because he’d gone underground — and that meant he might never be caught.
Meanwhile, she had a connection in the taxi business. It was just before six. With luck, the dispatcher she’d met, Al Wysocki, would still be on duty. Maybe he’d do her a favor.
Cindy pulled the number up from her phone list and pressed call. The phone rang and a voice she recognized answered, “Quick Express Taxi and Limo.”
“Al Wysocki?”
“This is Al.”
“Al, it’s Cindy Thomas from the Chronicle. I met you a few days ago while I was working on my story.”
“Yep, I remember you. Blonde.”
“That’s me, Al, and I’ve got a problem. Could you send a cab to the Chronicle? I’m soaked to my skin and I’m late for dinner.”
“No problem, Ms. Cindy. I’ll have someone there in five.”
Chapter 98
CINDY WAS DELIGHTED with herself. She described her raincoat and umbrella to Wysocki, folded her phone, put it in her pocket, and ducked back into the building, where she could see the traffic through the glass doors.
In five minutes, almost on the nose, a yellow Crown Vic pulled up and the window rolled down. She ran out to the street and immediately recognized the round face of the driver.
“Lady,” he said with a grin. “You called a cab?”
“Al, I didn’t mean you should come yourself, but thanks a ton. You’re too nice.”
Cindy closed her umbrella, reached for the door handle, and opened the back door.
“I was going off duty,” Wysocki said as Cindy settled into the backseat. “Happy to help you out. Hey. I gotta share this with someone who isn’t going to get jealous. Where are we going?”
Cindy gave Al Susie’s address, Jackson and Sansome, and leaned her umbrella against the door so the water would drip onto the mat.
“Share what?” Cindy asked, grabbing tissues from her pocket and blowing her nose.
“This is my lucky day,” Al told her, stopping at the red light on 2nd. “I won the lottery.”
“What?”
“Yeah, five hundred thousand dollars.”
“Come onnnn. You’re kidding me!”
“Seriously, I just kept playing my lucky numbers, and yahoo! — I won. I’m quitting tomorrow morning when I see the boss. This is Al Wysocki’s last fare. I got a bottle of schnapps,” he said. “Share a toast with me to my new life?”
“I don’t know how that’ll mix with Sudafed.”
“Hey, just a sip. It’ll do your cold good.”
“Okay, then. Hit me,” Cindy said. “You must be mind-boggled. Five hundred grand! So what are your plans?”
Wysocki opened the twist-off cap on the flask of high-octane spirits, poured Cindy a few ounces into a small plastic cup, and handed it to her through the partition.
“I’m going to buy a sailboat,” he said. He clinked the bottle against her plastic cup.
“To your new life,” she said.
“Thank you, Ms. Cindy. Yeah, I’ve been going to the boat shows for about eleven years. I know just the one I want.”
Cindy smiled and said “What … kind of … boat?”
“I want to get a sailing yacht. Small one, handmade, wooden hull,” Al said, looking at Cindy in the rearview mirror as the