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It was my father. “You’ve got the cab, and I’m supposed to pick up Melvin Miklowski at seven-thirty.”
“Use Mom’s car.”
“I can’t use her car. I have to have the cab. And anyway, she’s at Mass.”
“Have the company send another cab.”
“There are no other cabs. Everyone has morning pickups. That’s what we do. We take people to the train station. For three years, I’ve taken Melvin Miklowski to the train station precisely at seven-thirty, every Tuesday. He has a Tuesday meeting in New York, and he catches the train at eight A.M. He counts on me. He’s a regular.”
“I’m all the way across town at Rangeman.”
“Then you can pick him up. He’s downtown at 365 Front Street.”
“Okay. Fine.”
I hung up and blew out a sigh.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Ranger said.
“It was my dad.”
“Heart attack?”
“Cab pickup.”
EIGHTEEN
I GOT TO 365 Front Street with five minutes to spare. At 7:30, Melvin exited his house and quickly walked to the cab.
“I’m Frank’s daughter,” I told him. “My father couldn’t make it.”
“Do you drive a cab for a living, too?”
“No. I’m a bounty hunter.”
“Like on television.”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t at all like on television, but it was easier to go with it. Besides, people were always disappointed when I told them what I did every day.
“Are you packin’?” Melvin asked.
“No. Are you?”
“It would be cool if you were packin’. It would make a better story.”
“You could pretend,” I said. “Who would know?”
“Do you at least own a gun?”
“Yeah. I have a Smith & Wesson.”
“Have you ever shot anyone?”
“No.” That was a fib, too, but shooting someone isn’t something you brag about.
“What do I owe you?” Melvin said when I dropped him at the train station.
“I don’t know,” I told him. “I don’t know how to work the meter. You can settle with my father next week.”
