The yellow cab made a slow, methodical turn down a darkened street.

  East Monroe, unlike the well-lit Bleaker Street, was completely awash in an inky blackness that immediately made the driver nervous. The abandoned warehouses that populated this part of town became all the spookier after dark, and right now shadows danced just outside the reach of the car’s headlights.

  Nervously, the cabbie tapped on his GPS. The well-used unit displayed a small map of his current position. In the center of the screen, he could make out the 3D image of a building highlighted with a star that read: 1138 East Monroe. According to the GPS, his destination was only 100 feet ahead on the left.

  “Hey buddy,” the cabbie rapped on the protective glass separating him from his passenger. “We’re at the address you gave me.” He allowed his passenger a second to respond before screaming. “Hey, mister. We’re here!”

  With no response forthcoming, he switched on the cab’s interior lights and shifted his body around in a way that the back seat became visible. To his surprise, the fare was no longer there.

  “Not again.” Used to picking up drunk people from local bars, the cab driver retrieved the Maglite stored under the front seat and began a hurried search for his passenger.

  “There you are.” In the floorboard of the cab, a figure no taller than four and a half feet tall lay passed out. The first words out of the cabbie’s mouth as his fare slid into his backseat were, “Where are your parents?” But a full growth of beard and the slurred speech from one too many cocktails put any doubts to rest about his fare’s age.

  “Mister!” Even through the thick plastic divider, the dwarf’s snoring was unmistakable. Whack! The cabbie hit the partition with so much force, the plastic almost cracked. But still, no response. He was about to exit the car and rouse him the old fashion way when a movement in the dark caught his attention.

  “Are we there yet?” His fare’s words were gravelly and deep.

  “Wherever here is, that’s where we are,” the cabbie hurried, anxious to get the man out of his cab. “That will be forty-five even.”

  The slightly inebriated dwarf pulled himself back onto the rear seat and stared blankly out the window for a few seconds. “Why is it so dark out there? Are you sure this is the correct address?”

  “1138 North Monroe,” the cabbie pointed to the GPS device mounted in the center console. “This is the address you gave me.” Just how wasted was this guy?

  “Looks scary out there, I’m surprised you even came this far out.”

  “You and me both, buddy.” The cabbie said, sliding the payment drawer forward and repeating the amount.

  In response, the tiny man rolled over on his side. For a moment, the driver thought he was about to fall back onto the floor. Instead, the dwarf wrestled his wallet out of his back pocket, opened it up, and fished out a few bills. Without counting, he slipped a wad of cash haphazardly into the drawer.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Keep the change.” The dwarf continued to stare into the darkness. “It’s so dark out there. I don’t suppose you would mind staying here until I get where I’m going. I could call you when I’m safely inside. You’ve got a cell phone, right?”

  The cabbie retrieved the wadded-up cash from the drawer and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “No, sir.” He blurted out. “I’m not staying here any longer. If you’re that scared, you can come back with me to the airport right now.”

  “Look at me. I’m barely over four feet tall.” Letting his feet dangle over the edge of the seat like a kid, the dwarf asked, “You would feel good about leaving me here all alone?”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t. This whole trip has been a bad idea from the beginning,” the cabbie yanked on the shifter and threw the vehicle into drive. Before he could take his foot off the brake, his passenger spoke up with a decision.

  “No. I’ve got a job to do.” The dwarf slid over toward the door. “Actually, we’re kind of in the same business. I’m also a driver.”

  Instead of tucking the wallet back into his pants, he unzipped his carry on and placed it inside.

  “I just wish I had something to make me feel a little better about getting out of your cab, like a way to protect myself.” Edging closer, a fearful look contorted his scaled-down facial features, “This place looks like it could be full of dangerous people. If something goes awry, you won’t be here to drive me home.”

  “You bet I won’t,” the cabbie peered suspiciously through the front window at the many places someone with evil on their mind could hide. “This isn’t the best part of town, even in the daylight. Whatever possessed you to come out here in the first place?”

  With that ominous question, something substantial slammed against the partition.

  Startled, the cabbie turned around to see that his intoxicated passenger had pressed an FN Five-Seven up against the plastic divider. Equipped with a suppressor, trimmed in black, and with a small laser sight attached to the underside of the barrel, the gun held no interest for the dwarf. He just stared out the window and said: “Promises I made a long time ago.”

  “Mister…” the cabbie turned ghost white. “Are you going to shoot me?”

  The dwarf just smiled. “Don’t worry,” he leaned forward so he could see the cabbie’s hack license. “I don’t shoot my friends. And we are friends… aren’t we, Andy?”

  The cab driver nodded his shaky head then turned forward. The dwarf slid the gun back into whatever dark hiding place he plucked it from, then opened the back door of Andy’s cab. Lurching forward on unsteady legs, he made his way to the passenger door where he waited for the cabbie to roll down the window.

  When he finally complied, the dwarf said, “Thanks for the lift, Andy.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when the cabbie pushed the accelerator straight to the floor. Three seconds later, the dwarf couldn’t even see the cab’s taillights anymore. “Wow, that guy was touchy.”

  Malcolm Purvis tightened his fingers around the carrying strap of his overnight bag. From what Fitz Hume had told him, the bus should be somewhere around here. The director had also said that “some things needed handling” and “you owe me one.” Fortunately, Malcolm was very good at handling things for Edgar Fitz Hume. And he did, in fact, owe him one.

  Without light to guide his steps, Malcolm strolled down the pitch-black alley without any hint of fear, which was par for the course because he often was the person who did the scaring.

  But something in the darkness did have him worried.

  Frequently, when he was activated in the middle of the night, national security was at stake. It wasn’t to drive a bus or babysit some snot-nosed scientists. To Malcolm, without more context, his presence here felt like overkill. Only the director didn’t seem willing to provide any. Or worse, he couldn’t.

  And that made Malcolm extremely nervous indeed.