Taxi Driver

By Mark C Brown

A taxi driver in Washington D.C. of Italian origin finds himself entangle in a plot of assassinating the President of the United State because he was too curious.
Trying to know the meaning of the code name K12, he gets involved in a prostitution ring that leads him to the army high brass of Washington D.C.
He his the one discovering the real reason behind the assassination of a well known madam in the city. With the help of the local police and the CIA, he manages to stop the conspiracy behind the killings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark C Brown
• Release date: Jul 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310430671

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TAXI DRIVER

By Mark C. Brown

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Published by:

Mark C. Brown at Smashwords

Copyright (c) 2014 by Mark C. Brown

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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All rights reserved by author. Published June 2014.

CHAPTER ONE

The roaming taxi driver was scrutinizing the streets seeking people with no private chauffeur in a hurry with no time, no car, saving the hassle of taking care of one. Yellow, red, and green. Stop and go. Then it would start all over again, spontaneously, a robotize reaction hunting for continuous hours during a busy day of a Washington DC taxi driver.

Gino was happy most days, rain or shine, but mostly on drizzly days, when he patrolled tendentiously his lucrative sector between Constitution Ave. and Independence Ave. to Union Station and the Pentagon, circling around to catch people wanting to save time.

Time is of the essence, for him and them.

Seldom was he asked to take the 395 highway or cross the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge crossing the Potomac River because, all the Official buildings were in proximity of the Capitol Hill.

The most popular destinations were either the Security Exchange Commission or the National Museum American History, just a short drop away or the Library of Congress. The merry-go-round of Washington, DC business. In general, most of his clients were professionals, well dressed and always in a hurry. He would listen inadvertently to their conversations to pick up a few words or two that weren’t part of his vocabulary in order to better himself and sometimes impress someone else of his own milieu. He would note them the way it sounded and then check them out in the dictionary, the spelling, and the meaning when he got back home. It was his way of getting an education. Something he neglected younger by force majeure but he was desperately trying to catch up impressed by the top brass of Washington, DC.

Curiosity prevailed.

He often thought of his lack of education, but it was something he never questioned about when it was the time. Son of a shoemaker, higher education was not even in the cards.

Already in his early forties, Gino Dambrosio was content of supporting his widowed mother like a good son of an Italian immigrant who fought hard just to survive in America.

A simple taxi driver was going to be.

He lived with his mother still, like lots of Italian boys having a hard time to take full responsibilities of a lone household. Taking care of his mother financially was simply a continuation of his father’s legacy. Back in the hold country, young men live well over thirty at home, even if they have a good lucrative job. Why not here in America?

At least after a grueling ten-hour shift, sometimes twelve hours, he would come home to a warm meal and some motherly caring. It was better than living alone, even if he was seeing a woman steadily. Mom’s caring was something cherished even for a full-grown man.

Marriage was not in the cards as of yet. The simple life sounded better than living with three people in the same household and the possible future grandchildren his mother was expecting from them. Grand children were something she longed for, being the time for her to be a grandmother.

Tony, Gino’s younger brother was helping with their mother’s expenses, by contributing monthly to her food bill and some paltry feminine expenses. Tony would come around every Sunday night for pasta dinner mother made for them. A tradition; an obligation. It was time well suited to speak about marriage with Pamela and grandchildren to be.

Pamela was of Italian origin as well and there was nothing more she wanted to raise a family with Gino.

When to conversation became tired, his mother would turn to marriage and babies.

‘’Whena my two boys are gonna make babies?’’ with her strong Italian accent.

And the answer was always the same.

‘’In due time Mom.’’

‘’The time is’a now. Gino, you are forty-two and Tony you are thirty-six. What you waiting for, hein?’’

‘’We know how old we are Mom,’’ Gino responded with a smirk on his face.

The two grown men would look at each other, amused, expecting that this conversation would eventually come up.

Occasionally, Tony would borrow Gino’s cab in order to make extra money. Being a baker during the day and going to drama school at night, he would at times, moonlight behind the wheel of car # 62 for extra needed dollars.

Both brothers looked and acted Italian even after being born in the US since their family origin would prevail. Both of average size, slim with European facial features, strong dark whiskers and Italian mannerism like, speaking with their fingers. They couldn’t be mistaken for not being of Italian origin.

Gino was told on occasion that he looked like Robert DeNiro, the part he played of a yellow cab driver. A comparison he liked. His face chiseled like him. When he was told of the resemblance, he would mimic DeNiro in his role in Taxi Driver and he would say; You’re talking to me? You’re talking to me? Raising his eyebrow, making people smile.

Yellow, red, and green. On the prowl for customers. One would raise his hand and it was the chase to get him before some other taxi coming from nowhere would cut him off. Be quicker to pick him up. That was the grind, the hustle all day long. The driving around was the easy part, the fighting and the quick picking up had to be learned.

While waiting at a red light he would mull what was waiting for him after work. Tonight, Pamela would come home for dinner. Veal Parmesan Ma would make for her birthday.

Gino made her promise that she wouldn’t speak of marriage and kids in front of Pamela.

It was too embarrassing for her.

Tony made a comment once that he would marry her if his older brother couldn’t make up his mind.

Gino didn’t appreciate the humor in that comment. Gave him a stern look.

Tony didn’t understand why if he was so possessive of her, why didn’t he marry her?

Pamela thought that Tony was too young for her even if they were the same age. There was a boyish behavior about him, something she couldn’t put her hands on, something immature.

Probably his long curly hair was giving him a sense of perpetual youth.

It was only innocence, she thought, him being an artist, a future actor, finding everything beautiful and that all people were basically good. Artists are said to be naïve.

Nevertheless, Pamela was in love with Gino. His masculine ways, his roughness with his dark whiskers and his unwavering self-confidence. A little rough; a little too much man. Must have been the DeNiro effect it had on him.

Pamela had also kept her old fashion ways of the old country. Her long hazel brown hair was most often tucked behind her neck, giving her a look of a ‘’paysane,’’ letting her nape naked in the open, available to be gently caressed.

Simplicity where beauty emerged.

Her charm was in her smile. Her perfect pearly white teeth with those obsidian enchanting eyes, coffee colored skin, gave her a seraphic look. Nubile curves, she showed distinct feminine desirable forms to most men.

Lying on the couch one evening waiting for dinner, he was leisurely looking in the dictionary at some words he noticed a conversation from his clients during the day.

‘’Mom, do you know the meaning of the word; prescient?’’

She gave him a withering look, admitting that an old country girl was unlikely to know the highly-educated words. She was born in the old country and had kept her ways and her strong accent was proof of her scanty origins.

‘’Prescient means having foreknowledge of something. To know in advance, like reading in a crystal ball.’’

The meaning of words, the uncommon ones, impressed him.

‘’What about arcane?’’

His mother, ignored him completely; the silence of admission.

‘’Arcane means; mysterious, secret. See Mom, we learn something every day.’’

He would put down the dictionary on his chest and dreamt of being educated, being admired by people that would look him up thinking he was eruditely perceptive.

Some other times he would doze off, dreaming of his last interlude of sexual prowess with Pamela, a feeling they experienced only occasionally since they still both lived with their parents.

They had to rent a room in a popular sector of town to spend time alone.

Sex was terrific between to two of them; blissful even. Sometimes it was playful, some other times it was passionate and some other times; Pamela cried.

The surrender was too much for her. She said it was when both of their souls touched.

On days off, the three of them would catch a soccer game at the popular National Park. He enjoyed being with his younger brother and Pamela, even if they didn’t stop bantering each other. They were good friends. Old friends; friends forever.

Some other times they would all go to mass with their mothers. That was not enjoyable, but it was their duty to see that Mom did what she thought that by praying; she was protecting her sons against evil.

Gino Dambrosio liked to spend time with the boys, his co-workers, particularly on paydays.

All drivers had to pay their cab fee to the owner weekly every Friday morning. It was the day to kid around about the funny things that had happened during the week or serious things like the condition of the cars; if they would last another year or not. Frank Soros became one of his closes friends through the years. Gino liked him because he had always something up his sleeve to become rich overnight.

He made Gino laugh because through the years, Frank must have come up with dozens of extravagant schemes that never worked. So close and yet so far.

Frank Soros always had an eye for Atlantic City, where most of his hard earned money would eventually end up, vanishing in the thin air.

‘’Gino! Why don’t you come to Atlantic City for the day tomorrow?’’ Asked Frank, something he did so many times before.

‘’Gambling is not my forte. You know that,’’ he replied hastily without even looking at him.

‘’Forte! Gee! Aren’t we using big words, all of a sudden!’’

‘’Don’t fret. I’m learning from my customers. When I hear some word that I’m not familiar with, I write it down on my notebook and look it up afterwards.’’

‘’Okay Hemingway, why don’t you come up in sin city for a day before you get married and be chained to the kitchen table?’’

‘’I’ve got responsibilities, things that keep me from throwing my money away.’’

‘’What’s the difference? A hundred bucks plus or minus. Doesn’t matter in the long run.’’ A casuistic reply.

‘’It does to me.’’

Frank was disappointed about not being able to persuade his old friend to come up and have a great day. He was tired of going there alone and coming back penniless with only shattered dreams.

Frank was well known in Atlantic City by the girls working the floor. He was a classic loser, the one that kept on dreaming of hitting a jackpot that would change his life forever. However, with the odds against all gamblers, he would postpone his dream until the next payday when things had to fall into place eventually, he thought.

The girls have been pros, always smiling at the future losers. It was an act, a masquerade. A job. They were part of the artifice, the glamour, the glitz of elusive money.

Most clients bore on their faces a mixture of hope and despair put together, Frank included.

Poor Frank. Will he ever change? Thought Gino while driving back home for lunch.

Occasionally Gino was invited to Pamela’s mother's house for a change and to compare her mother’s cooking unofficially to prove that her daughter was capable of cooking the same as her and he would be well nourished if they ever got married. Pamela’s mother was also on his heels for them to get married and have kids.

Bake lasagna was Gino’s favorite. A meal he couldn’t turn down even if it was mediocre.

‘’Excellent lasagna Mrs. Tursi. The best in the world,’’ he said with his mouth full.

‘’Nothing to it. Pamela did it almost by herself,’’ she replied, pushing her daughter’s skills and that he could have a meal as good every day if only he would marry her.

After dinner, they sat on the living room couch while her mother would retire early doing her cross puzzles while leaving the ‘’kids’’ alone.

When TV was boring, Gino would start to fool around as kids do when they are alone. It was exciting to see how far he could get while Pamela fencing him knowing her mother was just in the next room.

‘’Stop this Gino!’’ She would say while enjoying the feeling she would get from the caresses on her perky breast.

‘’What are we gonna do? TV is boring,’’ he replied while still relentlessly trying to undo her bra.

‘’We could talk, you know.’’

It was too tempting to see Pamela without a brassiere, seeing her hard nipples through her wool sweater. It was the forbidden fruit and so arousing.

‘’Fine,’’ while taking the small black book from his back pocket.

‘’Let see. Do you know the meaning of surreptitiously?’’

‘’Of course not.’’

‘’It means; clandestine, stealth like the name of the fighter jet.’’

‘’You’ll never use that word. What good will it serve you?’’ she said being an earthy person.

‘’Its knowledge. Words are nice to know. What about bicameral?’’

Pamela shrugged as a sign of ignorance.

‘’It means two legislative bodies. Like the Senate and Congress.’’

‘’Now, you are a big shot because you know those words? When are you gonna use those words? At the Friday meeting in the garage? You’re a taxi driver Gino. It won’t serve you to anything.’’

‘’It doesn’t mean I can’t learn! A taxi driver! This is what I do, not who I am.’’

‘’Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.’’

Gino was vexed by the labeling as if he couldn’t do anything else, something that required thinking.

‘’I know you are a smart man. It just seemed like your trying too hard.’’

‘’Forget it. If my dad hadn’t crooked so young, perhaps I would have gone to college and become a doctor or a lawyer or something.’’

‘’I’m very satisfied by what you do Gino and what I do. We both make decent wages for a decent living.’’

‘’Well, there are decent and there is fulfilling and satisfying work. They are different. Anyway, there is something I don’t know and that is CM12.’’

‘’CM12?’’

‘’That is something they kept referring to. I looked under arms and there is no such weapons called CM12. There are AK 47 and M16, AR 15 but no CM12.’’

‘’The mysteries of Washington, DC,’’ she replied, knowing that there are many secrets in this town.

‘’Got to go honey. Thank your mother again for me for the nice meal and you for the nice company,’’ while standing up with still a hard-on showing.

‘’You don’t have to thank me Gino,’’ as she kissed him for a longest time, grabbing his lower lip with her full mouth.

They didn’t want to let go of each other. That was the time when Gino almost burst out: we should get married, but refrained just by sighing of envy.

On a rainy day Gino was pushing the cab around, swiftly and quickly as usual. He was on Virginia Ave. going west towards Capitol Hill. One future passenger waiving him.

He pressed on the gas making sure another driver wouldn’t cut him off.

‘’Capitol Hill,’’ said the man already busy on the phone.

‘’Yes, sir,’’ replied Gino, always extra polite for bigger tips.

He was all ears to listen to the passenger but the sound of the wipers on this rainy day made it impossible to decipher exactly what was being said but the word CM12 was definitively in the conversation.

When the man got out, he looked at him to see who he was and bared in mind the mention of CM12.

He was a top brass wearing an army uniform under his raincoat. Couldn’t see a tag or medals. Couldn’t see if he was a major or a colonel or even a general, but old enough to be top rank. Just big brass.

CHAPTER TWO

Gino had made some reservations at The Bistro du Coin on Connecticut Ave. for a special occasion.

Pamela was showing her excitement in her misty eyes and her permanent smile, appreciating of her being part of the high-class people even for a short while. It was near the Capitol Hill, driving clients there many times, but never went in.

Now was the time or never.

Her excitement, excited Gino as well. He was a bit nervous, but not for the same reason. He wondered if he would have enough money to settle the bill. Looking at the menu, he was relieved that he could afford it, saved four hundred dollars for this occasion.

‘’This is nice Gino. Thank you for taking me here,’’ with a bashful smile.

‘’You’re very welcome my dear.’’ Gino’s ego polished.

He almost said that he comes here often, to impress her, but on second thought; she would notice that it was a just blunt, evident lie. Lying when you want to propose is definitely a wrong beginning.

So far so good, but he was about to make a ‘’faux pas.’’

‘’You can choose whatever you like. Don’t hold out.’’

Just after saying it, he realized he made an indirect avowal that he wasn’t a regular of these kinds of places. How ‘’gauche.’’

‘’In that case we can start with a bottle of Champagne.’’

He hadn’t checked out the wine list and when he did, he almost choked.

‘’Of course, if you want to,’’ he replied with a tight throat.

His pride got the better of him even though he wasn’t surprised by the three hundred dollars a bottle.

‘’When did you ever see me drinking Champagne? ’She asked with a simpering smile.

‘’I don’t know, most women like it a lot.’’

‘’I’m not most women Gino.’’

She had put her hair up with curls partially covering her ears, showing her nape with larges silver earrings; the ones he liked. She just looked irresistibly ravishing, he thought.

‘’I know that, Pamela. That is why we are here tonight,’’ he said with a coy smirk.

The waiter came to save the situation since he wanted to wait to