“Excuse me, but aren’t you a Pervert . . . I mean, a Pervect?”
The driver nodded vigorously and half turned in his seat to face me.
“There. See what I mean?”
Frankly, I didn’t. If there was logic in his statement, it escaped my comprehension. What I did see, however, was that we were still plunging forward without slacking our speed. There was a tangle of stopped vehicles ahead which the driver seemed obliyious to as he tried to make his conversational point. A collision seemed inescapable.
“Look out!” I shouted, pointing frantically at the obstructions.
Without losing eye contact, the driver’s hand lashed out and smashed down on the toy stuffed goose that was taped down in front of him. The thing let out a harsh, tremendous “HONK!!” that would have gotten it named king of the geese if they ever held an election.
“Anyway, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” The driver finished and turned his attention forward again. The traffic jam had miraculously melted away before he had finished speaking, and we sailed through the intersection unscathed.
“Relax, Skeeve,” Kalvin laughed. “This guy’s a professional.”
“A professional what?” I muttered.
“How’s that?” the driver said, starting to turn again.
“NOTHING! I . . . nothing.”
I had been unimpressed with the taxi since it had picked us up. Actually, ‘picked us up’ is much too mild a phrase and doesn’t begin to convey what had actually happened. Following Kalvin’s instructions, I had stepped to the curb and raised my hand.
“Like this?” I said, making the mistake of turning my head to ask him directly.