Cash Cab
"Welcome to Cash Cab!" The driver turned around in his seat and surveyed the crew that had wedged into his cab. "I'm Benjamin Bailey, and you're in the Cash Cab. This is the game show that gets you going. Do you want to play?"
"Hey, this isn't your time slot!" objected Mike Rowe.
"Play it cool. We're undercover now. You have to go with the flow," Jason hissed into his phone. "Sure, we'll play."
"This is the show that gets you there as long as you can answer the questions. Remember, three strikes and you're out," Benjamin sing songed out. "Are you ready to play?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to have to ask you to hang up your phones, guys. Remember, you can give a shout out if you're stumped."
Grumpily, Jason closed his phone.
"Alright, let's introduce ourselves back there. Who do we have?"
"Rea."
"Will."
"Troy."
"Mike."
"Leslie," Jason smoothly lied and gave a 'duh' grimace to Mike.
"Okay, Rea, Will, Troy, Mike…." Benjamin started.
"I'm Mark," Mike said. "You heard me wrong, I said 'Mark.'" He made a thumbs up to Jason.
"Okay, Rea, Will, Troy, Mark and Leslie, these questions are worth $25 each. Here's the first question: What…."
"Hey, I should get a handicap here," Jason interrupted. "I have amnesia."
Benjamin consulted his producers over his radio net and came back with, "Sorry, no handicap for amnesiacs without a notorized doctor's note. You get booted out same as everyone else if you can't answer the questions. Now are you ready to play?"
"Well how am I suppose to know anything if I don't remember it?" Jason whined.
"Here's the question," Benjamin plowed bravely on. "What group of settlers was known for cannibalism in the 1800's?"
"Wow, that would be a really dirty job!" Mike hammed into his camera. "Even better than a black ops assassin."
"Rea, Will, Troy, Got any ideas back there?" Jason prompted.
"Does our guild cover participating on a rival game show?" the camera guy asked the sound girl. Their heads huddled together as they consulted each other.
"Ten seconds, guys," Benjamin warned.
"Okay, we decided we can stay, but we can't help," the camera man announced. "We're suppose to be invisible to the public."
"Well, that's pretty stupid," Jason threw up his hands. "If you're so invisible, how come I can see you?"
"Ohhh!" groaned Ben. "Time's up fellas. The answer was the Donar Party. Better luck next time. That's one strike. Two more and you're out, so listen carefully." Benjamin paused to change lanes.
Jason's head swiveled and he noticed a chase car changing lanes behind them. They had a surveillance camera in the front with them. And ahead, another van slowed down.
"Next question playing for $25, What American president led a group called the Rough Riders?"
"That must have been an exceptionally dirty job!" Mike crowed again.
"Mark, we have a tail," Jason said in an undertone to Mike.
"Where?"
"Six o'clock."
"That's their camera crew, you know, so they can cut to the cab stopping at a red light."
"Time's up!" Benjamin said. "The answer is Theodore Roosevelt. This may be a first for the Cash Cab. That's two strikes in a row. One more and you're out."
Jason leaned closer to Mike. "That's only what they want you to think. My Spidysense is tingling. There's a conspiracy here to compromise a covert operation and make it public knowledge. We have to act."
"Okay, here's your next question. Who assassinated President Kennedy in Dallas, Texas?"
"Ooo, I think I know this one," Jason brightened. "That would be Carlos the Jackal."
"Rrrrr-wrong!" Benjamin made a face. "That's three strikes and you're outta here."
"Wrong again, Ben." Jason's .40 Caliber Sig Sauer pressed up against the faux cabbie's head. "It was Carlos the Jackal. I know he was there! Now we're going to switch seats."
The transition was recorded by Troy, the camera man, who climbed over everyone to get into the front passenger seat.
As soon as Jason was in the driver seat and strapped in tight, he floored the cab through a red light, pushing two stationary cars aside and narrowly missing the cross traffic. The chase van followed, trying to catch up. Troy's big camera swiveled wildly catching all the action.
Jason downshifted and stomped on the brake to turn into a narrow alley.
"Hey! Get that camera outta my crotch!" Bourne yelled at Troy. "Can't you see I'm driving here! It's hard enough to multitask here without having a camera stuck in your crotch ever ten seconds!"
"I'm just doing my job."
"Well, do it from over there!" Jason yelled as he turned another corner and slammed on the break. The sound girl and crew coordinator tumbled forward into Mike and Benjamin in the middle seats.
Jason turned around to look at them. "Everybody stay where you are!" A confused eruption of voices exploded from the human pile.
"Hey, watch it with that boom! Ouch! You shoulda buckled up, you dumb…."
"Aaaank! Wrong answer!" Bourne shifted into reverse and backed, full-throttle, into the chase van emerging from the alley. The grunts and groans from the human pile increased.
"Don't make me come back there!" He turned the wheel and the Cash Cab flipped around to face the opposite direction and he punched it. Sparks flew from the sagging bumper as it dragged the pavement.
His passengers sorted themselves out and squeezed uncomfortably together in the center seats. The back seats were crushed up against their seats and the interior game-show lights buzzed and sputtered sparks.
"Look at this mess!" Benjamin cried. "You've wrecked my Cash Cab!"
"Think of the ratings, Ben," Mike consoled.
"Welcome to the Crash Cab," Bourne greeted them sardonically. "Where every wrong answer gets a new bumper. Are you ready to play?"
"I'm suppose to read the questions!" Ben objected.
"Aaaank! Wrong Answer! Buckle up!" Jason skidded sideways and slammed the cab against the lead van that had just emerged from a side street. They raced neck to neck down the avenue. The lead van forced them into the oncoming traffic and horns blared. Shots rang out and Bourne whipped out his gun and fired four shots over Troy's camera at the bad guys.
"Here's your next question. How many rounds do I have left in my .40 Caliber Sig Sauer?" He asked.
The cab swerved left around another corner leaving the van to plow forward along the avenue.
"Does it hold nine rounds or thirteen?" Mike asked Ben.
"I think it's thirteen," Benjamin responded. "Did he fire four shots or five?"
Bourne turned the cab at the next block racing toward the van that he calculated would round the next corner.
"It was four," Mike said.
"You have to ask yourself if you feel lucky today." Jason steered around a slowing vehicle. "Well, do yah, punk?"
"Okay, we're going to say nine."
"Aaank! Wrong answer!" Jason crowed and aimed the cab toward the rear bumper of the lead van. "That would be eight!" The front of the cab clipped the van on it's rear bumper, flipping it over on its side. The Cash Cab plowed down the street with the front hood buckled and smoke boiling out of the engine. The engine died with a sputtering clank and the Cash Cab rolled to a halt at Radio City Music Hall in front of a long line of kids that stretched around the block.
"Thank you for playing the Crash Cab." Jason had to kick his door open. The passenger airbag exploded behind the exiting passengers.
"Look at the damage!" Ben couldn't believe his eyes as he surveyed the scars and buckled panels on his once pristine cab.
"As you can see, demolition is not a pretty job. This is Mike Rowe with Dirty Jobs, and we'll be right back after this station break." Mike hitched his pants. "Jason, I'm going to need a change of underwear. I'm a dirty, dirty boy."