by C.M. Lanning
Chapter 7: Pulling Strings
As the driver finished putting the waffle on a green plate, he heard a knock at the front door. Solstice got up and walked over to the door, turning her head back around to look at the driver.
He opened it, and there stood a man in a brown uniform holding a brown styrofoam square with a specialized coffee in it.
It was a mocha frappuccino with foam and made with soy milk, Karmen’s favorite.
“Order for. . . Karmen?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
The delivery guy, a man with slick black hair and a neatly kept beard raised an eyebrow at the driver.
“I mean-”
The driver took the coffee, and the delivery man threw up his hands.
“Hey man, you know what? It ain’t my business what choices you make in your life. If you say you’re Karmen, I believe you’re Karmen. More power to ya,” the coffee delivery man said.
The driver sighed and bumped his pay bracelet against the delivery man’s. It was a simple tight black band with a small chip inside that held financial data linked to the driver’s bank account. It was mostly how he paid for everything.
In fact, it was how most people paid for things. A few older people still carried cards with magnetic strips on them to pay for items, but most businesses were starting to refuse those due to transaction costs.
The bracelet worked simply. You bumped it against another bracelet or wireless pay station, and funds were transferred instantly to cover the cost of whatever one needed to buy.
“Your receipt is in your-”
“Communication unit. Got it,” the driver said.
“Have a good day, ma’am. . . I mean. Ummm-”
The driver just closed his door growling and walked into the kitchen with Solstice trailing behind whining.
He looked at the black digital clock that sat on his coffee table in front of his black leather couch.
“I already fed you. . .. You need to go out?”
She walked over to the back sliding glass door and pawed at it. The driver slid it open quietly and let her out. She ran out into the grass and began sniffing around.
“Maybe that will keep her happy for a bit. I know she still isn’t too happy about getting kicked out of my room last night,” the driver muttered.
He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a small wooden tray, unfolding both legs and setting it on the counter.
When he was finished, the wooden tray had silverware, a green plate with a waffle on it, coffee, and a small saucer with sliced apple. He carried it all carefully into his bedroom where the real Karmen was still slumbering.
After last night, I don’t blame her, the driver said, smirking.
It was a Friday morning, but he had taken the day off to be with Karmen since she was about to leave to work a weekend shift on Europa.
It had been about two months since he’d almost died from a parasite rapidly dehydrating him, and he mostly had his strength back. She had heard Solstice howling like mad inside the home and called emergency medical personnel.
The two had been dating since, and she was staying at his townhouse more and more.
His feet met the green carpet of his bedroom, and he opened his door.
She stirred lightly, hearing the noise.
“Rise and shine, Karmen,” the driver said, softly.
She came to and rubbed her eyes, yawning.
“You. . . oh you didn’t,” she said, her eyes widening.
“I didn’t what? Get your favorite coffee delivered? Make you breakfast in bed?”
She smiled as he set the tray down in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the silverware and cutting a piece of the waffle. She added a little syrup and ate it.
“I do love a guy who can cook,” she said, melting into bliss.
He pulled up a chair by the bed, and they talked while she ate breakfast. They made plans on what to do with their last day together before she headed back to Europa.
He was about to pick up her tray and carry it back into the kitchen when he heard his earpiece buzzing over on his dresser.
“Oh no. Not today. That old man is not calling me in for anything,” the driver growled, walking over and putting the earpiece in his left ear.
“Not today, old man.”
“I know you have the day off, but I need you to just do one quick pickup please,” Chris said.
“Forget it, Chris. I got plans with my lady today,” the driver said.
“I know. . . but-”
“No.”
“The client is me,” Chris said.
The driver raised an eyebrow and said, “Come again?”
“I need a ride home. My car broke down, and I. . . kind of just lost my job,” Chris said, quietly.
The driver’s throat tightened.
How could. . . Chris lose his job? He was so good at it, the driver thought.
“I’ll be right there,” the driver said.
He looked over at Karmen, who stared back at him quizzingly.
“I’m gonna need a rain check. Chris lost his job and needs a ride home. Normally, I’d tell him to shove it, but I need to get to the bottom of this,” the driver said.
Karmen was about to object, but she remembered how close Chris and the driver were, even if they didn’t show it. The guy was more than just a boss for him.
“I understand. You go, and I’ll be here when you get back,” she said.
“Thanks,” the driver said.
He walked over, kissed Karmen, and left. His head popped back in for a second and said, “Oh, Solstice is outside. She’ll paw when she wants back in. Can you let her back into the house, please?”
Karmen flashed him a thumbs up, and he ran out the front door toward Starla.
He opened the door and started the cab before he even sat down.
“Okay, Starla. I need you to get me somewhere quick. I apologize in advance if I’m rough on you,” the driver said, shooting up into the air and heading at once for the Starlight Taxi hub on the East side of Lefont.
Weaving through the traffic of downtown, the driver came to a familiar parking garage. The bottom floor was the office for the Lefont Starlight Taxi hub, one of four hubs on the planet.
The driver parked Starla out front and walked up to the front wooden door. The concrete building was old. . . made from a time when taxi cabs rode around on wheels and only things with propellers flew.
The door flew open, and the driver walked into a reception area where a middle age black woman with braids sat behind a desk directing some taxi cab driver to his next destination.
“He back there, Pattie?”
She nodded and went back to her job working a digital switchboard directing dozens of cab drivers through the galaxy.
Walking down a small hallway, the driver passed the employee lounge on his right and kept going. He came to a wooden door with a metal plate on the outside that said: Hub Director.
Going inside, the driver saw a depressing sight. Chris’ desk was nearly empty. He usually had a few pictures of his wife on it, but all those frames were in a box he was now packing with a few pens.
“Hey boss.”
The larger man wearing a blue button-down shirt and jeans looked over at the driver and said, “Glad to see you’re not so pale anymore. You look much healthier now that you got that nasty parasite out of your system.”
“Yeah. . . which is more than I can say for you at the moment,” the driver said.
“Hey, you’re looking at a formerly successful man in his mid 50s. It ain’t pretty when you lose your job, which may happen to you since I’m gone and can’t save your ass anymore,” Chris said.
“Hey man. . . what happened?”
“Forced early retirement happened. I’m 55, and if I worked for Starlight Taxi for another five years, I’d be eligible for a full retirement package. If they force me to retire early, th
ey just cut me a one-time check, and they aren’t out all that money,” Chris said.
He pulled out a brown glass bottle of Jim Beam, apparently the last thing left in his desk. He had a small glass in his other hand.
“Isn’t it a little early for a glass of bourbon?”
“It’s a little early for retirement. Shit happens,” Chris said, pouring himself a drink.
This is destroying him on the inside if he’s resorting to bourbon before closing time, the driver thought.
“Isn’t there something you can do?”
“Nope. It’s called ‘forced’ for a reason. If I fight it, I don’t even get my one-time retirement check.”
“Maybe you can get a job somewhere else and then retire?”
“That’s not how it works. You work for a company for decades, investing time, building up for a big retirement package. You can’t just jump ship, work for five years, and then retire. It doesn’t go that way,” Chris said, taking a drink.
That old man manages 60 drivers here. He works us hard, but he gives back what he gets out of us. In the past, he’d fought for raises, against layoffs, and even for more vacation time. The guy had been like a dad to some drivers. . . namely me. Sure, not everyone liked him, but he didn’t deserve this, the driver thought.
“Damn office politics,” the driver growled.
“Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll be ready for you to take me home. Sorry my car broke down. It’s just the cherry on top of a sundae of greatness that is this day,” Chris said, finishing his drink.
“Rain check. I have to go. Before closing time, I’ll get your job back. I promise,” the driver said, leaving.
“Don’t. You’ll just get yourself fired,” Chris said.
“Go easy on that bottle, Chris,” the driver said, raising his hand and waving without turning around.
On his way out, he cut through the employee lounge and entered the locker room. He was going to need an ace in the hole if he couldn’t get Chris’ job back.
Walking over to locker 176, he opened it. Rummaging through it, he saw what he needed.
He shuddered, thinking of having to play that card, but that’s why it was called a “last resort.”
The driver walked outside and got into Starla. He was heading to the executive office of Starlight Taxi and going straight to the top. Going through middle management would be worthless. He’d stroll in and make it happen, no matter what.
After everything Chris had done for him, he’d not let him down now.
“Damn old man. I had plans with Karmen today,” the driver muttered.
Starla hummed as he sped toward San Francisco, where the executive offices were for Starlight Taxi.
The space taxi business wasn’t growing like it used to. It was inevitable that as the cost of technology fell for electron transporters, which allowed for instantaneous travel between points, the taxi business would continue to dive.
Right now the business was safe because electron transporters were expensive and only for a certain class of people. That would change in the coming decades. Using taxis to get from planet to planet would go the way of on-site recording for movies. With the advancement of technology, certain things faded away. That’s the way the world worked. It’s one of the reasons why no vehicles had wheels anymore.
Not long after he left Lefont, the driver had maneuvered Starla through the lower atmosphere and was now coming down in San Francisco.
Most of the city was hills and tight little roads winding between tall buildings that housed some of the most diverse industries on the planet.
Over Starla’s radio came an ad with the voice of David Lester, the CEO of Starlight Taxi.
“Traveling between planets is expensive, but it doesn’t have to be. For an affordable ride, call Starlight Taxi,” David said.
“Ugh. . . I hate our slogan,” the driver muttered, muting his radio. He scratched his head and put his pub hat back on.
He didn’t know what he’d say to David, but he was not leaving without results.
Passing a small farmer’s market, he drove a few more blocks and came to the building that housed the executive offices for Starlight Taxi. It was a concrete tower that went up about 20 stories. A red neon sign with the name of the company hung near the top of the building.
Parking in front of the building, the driver tapped his wrist against the silver parking meter. One thing that did not change through the years was parking meters. They looked the same as they always did. The insides now were networked and contained the necessary components to accept wireless payments, but outside, they the same as when people used to put coins in.
Going inside the lobby, the driver’s shoes met shiny tile floor.
He walked over to the elevator and got inside. A receptionist dressed neatly in a black skirt came running over, but he had already pushed the “close door” button.
The driver took the elevator to the top floor and stepped out in a hurry. There were only a few offices on the top floor, including David’s. He’d never been in this part of the building before, but he guessed David’s office was the biggest.
Men and a couple women in suits looked at the out-of-place cab driver as he passed their glass offices on the left and right. At the end of a small hallway, he opened a thick wooden door and strolled into the lobby just before David’s office without stopped. The receptionist, a man wearing a tight orange dress, eyed him and asked, “Can I help you?”
Whoa. . . that is definitely a dude, the driver thought.
“I’m here to see David,” the driver said, walking toward his door.
The receptionist moved to block the driver, but he was too slow. Although, he did move faster in his matching orange heels than the driver thought possible.
Opening a glass door into David’s office, the driver walked in with the receptionist not far behind.
“Sir! You can’t go in here!”
David, startled, looked up from his desk. It was about twenty feet away from the driver. He had been doing some sort of paperwork when the two of them stumbled in.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lester. I couldn’t stop him in time. I’ll call security,” the receptionist said.
“I drive for you, Mr. Lester, and I’d like to have a word. I’m not here to get in trouble or show off a boiling rage. I just needed to talk to you quick because it’s an emergency.”
The receptionist stopped upon hearing the driver worked for Mr. Lester.
“You’re a cab driver?”
“From Lefont,” the driver said.
“It’s okay, Tanya. I’ll handle him. You can leave us,” David said.
He got up and walked over to us. He had short red hair, black rimmed glasses, and was wearing a purple suit with a black tie.
Tanya? Really? That doesn’t quite seem butch enough for that receptionist, the driver thought, raising an eyebrow.
The guy wore more makeup than Karmen.
“Yes sir,” Tanya said, leaving and closing the door behind him.
“Quite a receptionist you have there,” the driver said.
“And you’re quite a candidate to be a cab driver. I don’t deal much with drivers, but I guess what I heard is true,” David said.
“What’s that?”
“They’ll hire just about any bum off the street to drive one of my cabs,” David said, clearly unimpressed with the driver’s appearance.
“Look, I didn’t come here to discuss dress policy with you,” the driver said.
David walked back over behind his desk and sighed.
“Of course not. You came to ask for a raise or something, I’m sure. You probably thought that as the CEO, I’d be impressed you had the stones to walk in here and ask me face to face, so, I’d just give you whatever you wanted,” David said, sitting down and going back to his paperwork.
“I’m not here for money,” the driver said, standing in front of David’s desk. There was nowhe
re for him to sit.
“Oh? Then what are you here for mr. . .,” David trailed off, waiting for the driver to give his name.
“I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to talk about your Lefont hub director Chris Thompson,” the driver said.
“You want him fired for treating you unfairly?”
“The opposite. He was forced into early retirement today. I want you to give him his job back,” the driver said.
David looked up, a little more interested.
“I’m actually familiar with Loper. He’s been a good and long-running director out there,” David said.
“Then why did you force him into early retirement?”
“I’m the CEO. Do you really think that I deal with each employee’s retirement account? I have nothing to do with people being fired.”
“But you can give him his job back,” the driver said, putting his hands on the edge of David’s desk.
“You’re right. I could, with one easy phone call.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
“Why not? You just said he’s been a good employee.”
David leaned back in his chair, clearly not threatened by having the driver so close to him. He pulled out a notepad and started writing in it.
“Do you know how much a retirement package costs?”
“No.”
“You put in at least 30 years here, and Starlight Taxi gives you a pretty great pension. Unfortunately for me and the investors, those packages get costly, and we have plenty of aging drivers that have been with us for a while. With the financial forecast looking grim for taxi companies in the coming years, do you really think we can afford all those retirement packages? The budget has to be trimmed somewhere,” David said.
David turned the notepad around and showed some mathematics to the driver, but he was clearly unimpressed.
“Look, just make an exception for him. He’s only one manager. Surely one employee won’t drain your entire budget,” the driver said.
“You’d be okay with us forcing everyone else that gets close into early retirement? You seem to like Chris a lot, but could you live with knowing just how many people were going to be forced out of their benefits that only he gets to keep?”
The driver was silent for a moment and looked outside, seeing a ship fly by the skyscraper.
“Look, sometimes we make hard choices. I don’t like our forecast, but we gotta do what we can to prepare for the slow decline of business. That means cutting retirement benefits. Chris just happens to be a casualty of that decision.”
Scowling, the driver growled, “Why don’t you just take a paycut?”
David stood up, matching the driver’s anger.
“Because I’m the fucking owner of this business. That’s why,” he said.
“Get out of your rich world for two seconds and realize that poor people like us have to exist, too. We need a paycheck to pay bills and put food on the table.”
“Hey, you think that you can run the company better? You want a desk up here on floor 19? Join us. See how long you hold on to your moral compass. I make tough decisions every day. If you think you can run this business without making sacrifices, I’ll get you a desk right next to mine. Hell, you can have my desk.”
“I’m not talking about running this company! I’m just after one man’s job. Cut all the retirement packages you want. Just give him his,” the driver said, slamming a fist into the desk.
“You think he’s the only hard worker deserving of a retirement package? Why does he get special treatment?”
“Because I strolled in here and asked. That’s why. A little old cab driver walked right up into the CEOs large office and asked,” the driver said.
“Well that’s real cute, but it isn’t how it works,” David said.
The two were at an impasse, and David held all the advantages. The driver was getting desperate, and the heartless bastard before him wasn’t giving up an inch of ground.
“Tell you what, if I had one less cab driver in Lefont to pay, that’d come close to evening out the budget, and I’d let Chris have his job back and retirement package in a few years. Do you want to sacrifice your job?”
The driver knew that wasn’t an option. He lived paycheck to paycheck, and any disruption would put him behind on bills, likely getting him thrown out of his house. He’d do anything for Chris, but he had to be smart about what sacrifices he made.
“That’s what I thought. Get out of my office,” David said, sitting down and getting back to his papers.
The driver straightened up and turned slowly. Then, thinking, he stopped.
“What if another driver lost her job?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said Chris could have his job back if you had one less cab driver to pay in Lefont? What if one of the drivers suddenly stopped getting paid?”
David started to smile. He was seeing a new side of the driver, and the driver’s heart hated what was coming next. The driver was never a real righteous or religious man, but he knew when he was making an immoral decision. His stomach started to churn knowing what ace in the hole he was getting ready to play.
“Go on,” David said, giving the driver his full attention.
“Jamie Foster. . . her work locker has narcotics in it. It’s locker number 176. That’s a fireable offense,” the driver said, looking away from David’s gaze.
He swallowed, knowing Jamie was a single mom who worked even harder than he did.
The driver clenched his fists.
“You’d be willing to let this woman get fired for Chris to keep his job?”
“Sometimes you make tough decisions,” the driver muttered, still looking outside.
Clouds were gathering, and a few drops of rain hit the glass.
“See? You thought you had a moral high ground trying to save a man’s job, but in the end, you’re willing to take away someone else’s job to give him his,” David said.
“Just. . . make the call,” the driver said, quietly.
David tapped his earpiece and said, “Get me the switchboard worker for Lefont, Tanya.”
The driver clenched his fists harder. His whole body burned. He knew this was twisted. . . but this was the only way. He felt like he was going to puke, but he stood as still as a statue.
“Hi, this is David Lester. Who am I speaking with? Pattie? Hi Pattie, how are you doing today?”
The phone conversation was pleasant, but it was about to go south fast.
“Sure, well we have rainy weather now. I’d trade you for that Lefont sunshine,” David said, laughing.
He got down to business after shooting the breeze with Pattie.
“Pattie, I need a favor. Go check locker number 176 for me and let me know if you find anything out of the ordinary,” David said.
He looked over at the driver, winking.
The line was silent for a minute or two, and Pattie came back with news of the contraband.
“That’s too bad. Pattie, please contact the authorities and inform Ms. Foster that she is to return to the office immediately. When she arrives, inform her she has been terminated for violating corporate drug policy,” David said.
He gave her a few other instructions and then hung up.
I’m sorry, Jamie. You’re a good girl. A lot of drivers knew you took a pill or two to take the edge off. Until now, I was willing to mind my own business, but I needed this. . . Chris needed this, the driver thought.
After that call, David contacted the Human Resources department and reversed Chris’ early retirement order. They sounded confused as to why the CEO cared, but in the end, he was the boss. They had to do what he told them.
“Well, there ya go. Dirty move you pulled having a co-worker fired, but like you said, we make hard decisions sometimes,” David said.
The driver turned and left sighing.
David started whistling as the driver clos
ed the door behind him. Tanya gave him a scowl as he walked toward the elevator. It was a slow descent into Hell for the driver as he finally got to ground floor and went outside.
He lost it on the parking lot and puked under a tree.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he got into Starla and started the drive back to Lefont.
All he could picture in his mind was Samantha. . . Jamie’s 5-year-old girl. She spent some time at the office. Pattie would watch her for an hour or two after daycare until Jamie finished her shift.
“Goddammit,” the driver muttered, a tear rolling down his right cheek.
I’m sorry, he thought.
As he pulled back into Lefont, he parked outside the hub and went in.
Jamie was being put into the back of a police vehicle as Samantha cried, being held by Pattie.
The driver couldn’t watch. He lost it again and ran into the bathroom to hurl.
After taking a few breaths, he made his way into Chris’ office. His bottle was half empty, and a glass of bourbon sat untouched. Chris was looking out the window with the blinds open, his shadow coming across the blue carpeted floor and stopping at a nearby bookcase.
“Corporate called a few minutes ago. . . I get to keep my job,” Chris said, without turning around.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. . . unfortunately, we’re down a driver. Jamie got busted for drugs,” Chris said quietly.
Samantha could be heard crying in the background.
The driver walked over and picked up the glass of bourbon, downing it in one gulp.
“How did you get my job back?”
The driver picked up the bottle and glass and turned to leave.
Chris raised his voice.
“How did you do it?”
The driver stopped for a moment and lowered his head. By now, Chris had turned around and was watching him, waiting for an answer.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” was all the driver said before he left.
The commute home was miserable. He’d spent the day doing something pure evil, and all he wanted to do was get back and see Karmen.
Parking Starla in the driveway, he walked up to the front door with the bottle of bourbon and glass.
“Karmen?”
On the marker board held to the fridge by magnets Karmen had left him a note saying she had to get to work, and she’d call him later tonight.
“Well there you have it,” the driver muttered.
He walked slowly over to a cabinet and pulled out a white pack of cigarettes. Solstice growled when she saw them, but the driver took his drink and smokes out the back door. Going down to the grass were three cement steps. He left Solstice inside and sat down, lighting up a cigarette and taking a big drag.
The nicotine didn’t make him feel better, but in his mind he thought it did. He poured himself a drink and sipped it slowly as the moon started to become visible.
“Sometimes we have to make hard decisions,” the driver muttered.
After another few drinks, he picked up the bottle of bourbon and screamed as he threw it into the tree in his backyard.
It smashed into the trunk, sending glass down into the grass below.
Solstice scratched on the back door, wanting to be outside with her friend, who was clearly miserable.
The driver didn’t want to be with anyone, though. He wanted to be alone. Whoever said misery loves company had not met the driver. He was distraught over his filthy deed, and he wanted nothing more than to stew in his rage. The sad thing was, he’d get his wish. He had all weekend to suffer for his recent actions. No Karmen to visit, no Chris to go on runs for, no neighbors doing weird things outside, because even Travis and Krickett were out of town.
The driver was truly and utterly on his own, divided from even Solstice by a door.
