Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [33]
“We’ve only got one type of coffee,” said the waitress after he had joined Davidson at the table. “But I’ve got tons of teas. I can bring over the box if you want to choose.”
“No thanks,” said Vaughan. “Just coffee, please.”
“Anything to eat?”
“Their turkey sausage is off the hook,” replied Davidson.
Vaughan shook his head. He hated health food.
Davidson rattled off an order that sounded like it was straight from a craft services table for some Hollywood movie. Vegan this and tofu that. It was disgusting.
“Why do you eat that stuff?” asked Vaughan.
“Because I’m too stubborn to go on Lipitor.”
“I’d rather take a bullet.”
“No you wouldn’t. Trust me. It’s not fun.”
“You’ve been shot?” asked Vaughan.
“I didn’t move to the Public Vehicles Division for the action.”
“When did it happen?”
“Four years ago. I was a patrol officer. My partner and I were doing a traffic stop. Some thug pulled a gun, and my partner and I both got capped. I took it through the shoulder and my partner got a round in the leg. I shot the offender in the head and killed him.”
“So you decided to hang it up being a patrol officer?”
“No. My wife decided. No mas patrol.”
“How did you wind up at Public Vehicles?” asked Vaughan.
“Due to my heroism and valor, blah, blah, blah, the department let me have my pick. There was a slot at Public Vehicles and the rest is home-by-six-every-night history.”
Vaughan was amazed by how the man downplayed what had happened. “Is your partner still a patrol officer?”
Davidson laughed. “He is and he’s been shot two more times since then. I’m glad I got away from him. The guy’s a bullet magnet.”
Vaughan laughed. “Listen, I’m sorry again for bothering you on vacation.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you pay for breakfast and we’ll call it even.”
“I was going to offer to pay anyway.”
“In that case, I’ll think of something else.”
Wiseass, thought Vaughan. “You’ve already got something for me?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I only called you the day before yesterday.”
“I can hold on to it for a day or two if it’d make you appreciate it more.”
“No. What have you got?”
Davidson pulled a blue notebook from his jacket pocket and set it on the table. “Are you familiar with how the cab system works in Chicago? I don’t want to bore you with a bunch of stuff you already know.”
“I know the basics. You’ve got the actual cab owner who purchases a license to operate from the city office of Consumer Services. It’s also called a medallion. You can’t legally operate a cab without one. Usually, the medallions are worth more than the cabs themselves.”
“Correct.”
“Each cab is required to have a meter. The meter is turned on when a fare gets in. The meter has set rates, et cetera.”
“Exactly. Drivers then lease the cab for a short period of time from the owner. The most common lease is for a week for about six hundred bucks. Owners, whether it’s a small-time guy with a handful of cabs or a big conglomerate like Yellow, also do weekend leases for about two hundred bucks if they’ve got extra vehicles sitting around not making them any money. That’s the surface material. When it starts to get interesting is when you get beneath that.
“Like gas stations and mini-marts, cabs are a popular entry job for immigrants. In Chicago, the taxi subculture is composed of three predominant cartels: the Middle Easterners, the Pakistanis, and the East Africans.”
“What about the Russians?” asked Vaughan.
“The Russians and Eastern Europeans own a lot of cabs, but I’m talking about drivers. The Eastern Europeans are more into the limo business.”
“You know all of this from being in Public Vehicles?”
“I know it because I have initiative. Public Vehicles may be a safe place to work, but it’s frickin’ boring. After a year of wanting to put a gun in my mouth, and I’m kidding by the way, I decided to get out on the street. I got my sergeant to approve a sting operation I wanted to run on gypsy cabs at the airport. I was busting these guys left, right, and center. You should have seen it. I’d pop the glove