The Blazing Hat

The call comes from a small cafe downtown on Second Avenue. You're two blocks away and you take it. The fare is already outside waiting already, flagging you down. His suit is orange, his coat is brown, the shoes and hat are orange and brown. All apparently made to order in a no name cut and sew, perhaps to match the shoes. It makes quite an impression.

Take me to see my ladies, he says. They're over in Denny Park.

You're amused. The park is only a few blocks away and the man could have walked there sooner.

With the lights, it takes another five minutes and the fare is getting fidgety, tapping out a beat with his fingers.

Keep the meter running, he says. I'll just be a minute or two.

No problem, sir, no problem at all.

You're not exactly convinced. You'd seen a fare run out on Dan during your orientation, so you keep an eye on the blazing hat as it disappears into the park. If you were into profiling, you would have made him pay up front. Instead you give everyone respect, in the hope of receiving the same.

As the minute or two turns to five then ten, you begin to swear at yourself for being such a dupe. Finally, the blazing hat reappears, its owner holding a roll of bills.

Sorry, I kept you waiting, he says. How much do I owe you?