Chapter 10: Cab Wars
Artie was jarred awake by a loud banging on the apartment door, kicking off a blanket that had been placed over him.
"Artie open up, it's Zeke!" he heard the bartender calling from outside.
It suddenly hit the errand boy that he had fallen asleep in the recliner and was still clad in the same tattered clothes he had worn yesterday.
"Just a second!" he called back making his way over to the door and unlocking it.
Zeke stood before him with his opened laptop in hand and pushed his way inside, "Dude, you've gotta check this out!"
"Check what out?" Artie asked, annoyed by the way his friend had just barged in like that, "And it had better be damned good for you to be waking me up like that."
"Dude please, I already have to put up with my boss being a liar. I shouldn't have to put up with his cousin bitching like my mother on her period," Zeke called back placing his laptop on the coffee table.
"Heh, very funny," Artie grunted making his way over to take a seat next to Zeke on the foldout bed, "What's this I need to be checking out?"
Zeke fiddled around with the computer's touchpad and brought up a window on Craplist, which itself displayed a bright yellow and black logo.
"The Freeman Cab Company, huh?" Artie said glancing at the online classified ad, "Sorry but if you're trying to help convince me get a job then in this case I have to say no. I was a cabbie for a time back in Liberty and it's the worst job I ever had, almost got me killed once too. Besides, I doubt I should be anywhere near a cab after what happened when I arrived here to begin with."
Zeke rolled his eyes, "Dude, if you would actually take the time to read the ad in its entirety you see that it's not for a driving position, in fact it wasn't even posted by the company itself, but rather some guy offering twenty-thousand dollars for a one-time gig."
"Come again?" Artie asked, pushing his friend aside to inspect the ad a little more carefully.
"It's from some guy at 'Tennyson Productions.' He's looking to cast somebody for a reality television show pilot. He wants someone who has a valid driver's license, knows their way around firearms and is good looking, not trying to sound gay on the last part, but I'd say you fall under all three categories Artie, plus like the ad says, it's a paying job, one that could help keep this bar afloat and at least keep the loan sharks at bay for a little while," Zeke explained.
"Hmph, you do make a good point there. They say anything else?" Artie asked.
"Yeah, you have until 1 p.m. to get there," Zeke replied.
"What time is it right now?" Artie asked, noting the batteries on the wall clock were dead and the time was forever left at 9:45 p.m.
"It's almost 11:30 and it's over in Komojack Downs. It's not far; you should still have plenty of time to make it," Zeke said writing down the cab company's address and handing it to Artie.
"Alright, I'll look into it and thanks," Artie said rising to his feet and walking over to the bathroom.
"No problemo!" Zeke called out before exiting.
Artie stripped off his clothes and took a quick shower, now with hot water thanks to his recent jobs helping pay for some of the building's utilities. He then got out and brushed his teeth and spritzed on a quick shot of cologne, given no time to shave. Once he dried off he pulled on a pair of black jeans and a white ProLaps t-shirt, figuring this would be a place where he wouldn't have to be dressed like a fancy businessman.
"Must not be too fancy if they're going to be shooting a reality TV series at a cab company of all places," Artie thought to himself strapping on his holster and sliding in his Glock before making his way outside on a nice sunny day, as nice and sunny as things could be in an industrial shithole.
"Now, what will be my flavor of the day?" Artie asked himself as he looked around for any approaching cars, finding traffic surprisingly intermittent for this time of day.
A Sabre GT was passing by, but it was followed closely by a squad car. Not in the mood for pissing off the cops, he waited until they got out of sight and then spotted bright red Stallion pulling up. Drawing his pistol he stepped into the street and raised his gun.
"Out of the car now!" he shouted, but the driver saw the gun and freaked out, stepping on the gas and nearly running him over. The hitman leapt out of the way and hit the pavement hard.
"Goddamn it," he grunted in frustration before a light blue '98 Exsess pulled into view and was starting to slow down when its driver spotted him lying on the pavement. "Hmm, maybe this won't be so hard after all," he thought while staying where he was, pretending to be injured.
An auburn-haired woman got out and carefully approached him, "Oh my god, are you alright sir?"
"Ugh…some jackass hit me and took off running," Artie grunted in reply, trying to sound as hurt as possible.
"Hold on, I'm going to call an ambulance!" she said reaching into her coat pocket for a cell phone.
"No don't! I'll be alright!" Artie said raising his hand and then pushing himself to his feet.
"Sir don't! You shouldn't be overexerting yourself! Let me help you!" she said rushing over and grabbing him by the arm to help him up.
"Really ma'am this isn't necessary," he said as she helped him up, "I'm fine," he whispered to her and with those words, shoved her down to the pavement and bolted over to the waiting car.
"Worked like a charm," he said to himself flooring the gas pedal as the woman screamed out for help behind him. She had the radio set to The Traveler 107 world music channel, which was playing "Only Time" by Enya.
"I need something a little more fast-paced, especially if this is gonna be something involving guns," Artie said switching the radio station over to the Rewind FM retro pop station, which was currently playing "In a Big Country" by Big Country.
"Good enough for now," he said to himself, happy to find a song he hadn't heard in a while.
Komojack Downs was just north of the Harbor district and one of the territories controlled by the Hellcats and the thought of a gang again made his mind flash back to him being caught in the middle of that bloody skirmish between the Aces and the Redcoats when he first arrived.
A four-way intersection led Artie into Komojack Downs, where he again carefully scanned his surroundings when coming to the first stoplight. On both sides he noticed members of the Hellcats walking around and one rushing over to jack a bright red Oracle that had come to a stop at his left. The scene left him with his hand on the Glock's handle, hopeful there were no survivors who would have recognized him after what happened last night.
When the light turned green he quickly got the hell out of there.
The Komojack Downs district was another very blue collar area, also housing a smaller Ammu-Nation gun store, a couple fast food joints, some liquor stores, a bail bonds office, a few gas stations, a sporting goods store, a Suburban clothing store and the Haulin' Ass Towing Service. There was even a police substation located within the district, where a few officers stood around chatting amongst themselves, completely ignoring their duty to 'serve and protect,' adding a shadier vibe to the neighborhood.
It was when he took a right past the substation that he spotted a bright yellow building that had the classic black and white checkered stripe one would typically find on an older taxi model, making it stand out like a sore thumb next to all the small distribution warehouses surrounding it. A billboard on the roof told him it was the place he was looking for, the one and only Freeman Cab Co., with a cluster of bullet holes stitched across it.
"They sure know how to make their possible new employees feel welcome," Artie whispered to himself as he slowly pulled into the depot's parking lot, where several cabs had been parked haphazardly and a few employees were standing around on their lunch and cigarette breaks.
Walking inside, the reception area looked like your typical small business set up with the ratty old benches, tables covered in outdated magazines, a few vending machines, a coffee machine and the reception desk, where a middle-aged blonde-haired lady with her hair worn in a beehive hairdo and green-rimmed glasses sat with her nose buried in a 'Persons' gossip magazine, the radio within reach for any calls that would come through.
She looked up upon hearing the door open and greeted Artie with a thick East Coast accent, "Hi there and welcome to the Freeman Cab Company. May I help you with something sir?"
"Yes, I'm here regarding a classified ad from Craplist regarding the 'reality star' deal or whatever it's supposed to be," Artie replied, trying to remain as polite as possible.
"Ah yes, glad to see somebody's interested. Mr. Freeman tried putting it in the paper a few days back and his 'partner' was getting anxious after nobody answered. We have a very high turnover rate here, good help is just hard to come by these days," the receptionist explained reaching over to push a button the nearby speaker phone, "Excuse me Mr. Freeman, but we've got an applicant for that project of Mr. Tennyson's."
"Really? Well send him in then-" a creaky voice replied, only to be silenced a second later by a thick British accent.
"Ms. Koppitz, before sending him in please tell me, do you think he looks like he would fit the part I specifically asked for? Please, I don't want another boorish vagrant to come stumbling through the door. It would truly be most dreadful."
The receptionist, identified by a sign as 'Trudy,' adjusted her glasses and carefully looked the applicant over, "Well if you ask me I think he seems pretty normal. At least he smells like he took a shower this morning."
"Well it could be a start, please do send him in," the Brit replied.
"Anybody help me!" a frantic voice called over the radio, "This is Gordy and I'm being attacked by some of those Borgnine bastards-" just as the transmission was cut off by a gunshot.
"Oops, not like you needed to be hearing that," Trudy giggled nervously reaching over to switch the radio off.
"Are you sure you don't need anything else from me, like any kind of driving credentials or need me to fill out an application or something?" Artie asked looking out the front window and noticing a company cab swerving into the lot, its driver falling out of the driver's side and struggling back to his feet, an obvious sign he had been intoxicated.
"Honey, with what we've been going through lately, we need all the help we can get," Trudy replied, hints of nervousness creeping into her typically casual tone, "but you'd better be getting back there right now. This Mr. Tennyson fellow isn't somebody you like to keep waiting, says it really 'ruins his aura' or some hokey far Eastern mysticism shit like that. Anyways, Mr. Freeman's office is down at the very end of the hall, you can't miss it."
"Thanks," Artie replied with a polite nod making his way down to the hall, knocking on the door.
"Come in!" the creaky voice called out.
Artie had to struggle with the door and grunted loudly before finally getting enough room to squeeze himself inside.
The small office was a complete mess with tons of papers, empty food wrappers and emptied alcohol bottles covering the floor.
There were three other people in the confined space. At the desk was the owner, his plaque identifying him as 'Lloyd Freeman,' a gaunt, pale-faced man with thinning black hair worn in a comb over that poorly disguised his baldness. His bright green eyes were sunken and bloodshot and the bags underneath suggested he probably hadn't slept in days.
A half-consumed bottle of whiskey and half-consumed line of cocaine on a Burger Shot wrapper rested on the desk before him, along with a sawed-off shotgun resting on the shelf behind him.
"Man, something's seriously got this poor guy spooked to high heaven," the young man thought before turning his attention to the other men.
The first man in complete contrast to the owner had a full head of blond hair, healthy tan and bright blue eyes, along with a smile that seemed to glimmer under the bright lights. He wore a beige sport coat with a teal turtleneck underneath and had several pricy rings on his fingers.
Standing next to him was a young man wearing a turned around baseball cap and tan vest with a camera perched on his shoulder and a laptop computer on the shelf behind him, the camera's live feed broadcasted on it.
"Hello, I'm here about the ad posted on ," Artie spoke to the man at the desk.
The owner's ears perked up at the mention and he fumbled to clean up his mess, "Ah yes, yes! Please, do have a seat Mister?"
"Cappelli, Artie Cappelli," he replied, reaching out to shake the man's bony hand.
"Ah, then you would be the fellow here to partake in my project," the blond-haired man spoke in a thick British accent before extending his hand, "I am Solomon Horatio Ignatius Tennyson."
"Pleasure to meet you and what exactly is your role here, Mr. Tennyson?" Artie asked looking back and forth between him and the owner.
"Mr. Tennyson and I are collaborating on a reality television project, aimed at helping drum up interest in the Freeman Cab Company," Mr. Freeman spoke up before looking over to the cameraman to make sure the feed was live before continuing his pitch.
"This is a family-owned business mind you, going all the way back to my grandfather, the first cab driver in all of Rushmore City, who back then had to drive his tractor around with a trailer attached to it. Come rain, nor sleet, nor hellfire and brimstone, he did whatever he could to get the people to where they needed to be," he explained, producing a black and white photograph of a hillbilly in bib overalls on the aforementioned trailer, a cow in its trailer.
"Given our proud tradition we understandably hold up a high standard for all of our workers," Mr. Freeman explained when Trudy buzzed in from the front desk.
"Mr. Freeman, we have a situation…or situations I should say," she called out, her tone causing the proprietor's face to sink even further, "I just got a call from Percy over at the police station. He's been picked up for getting into a fight with a customer and then resisting arrest. Not only that, we've got Angus out front stumbling around drunk off his ass and Gordy just got blasted by some of those Borgnine bastards."
"Damn it!" Freeman grunted, slamming his fists down onto the desk before noticing Artie was still sitting before him and quickly composed himself, only to fail miserably.
"Okay, I won't lie to you, things have been an absolute fucking mess around here lately kid," he said anxiously rubbing his running nose, "Those bastards from Borgnine Cabs have set up shop here in Rushmore City and since day one they've made no bones at all about trying to run me outta business."
"Obviously not," Artie said taking note of the man's agitation.
"My business is taking a shit because of those sons of bitches and I get people either dumping me because they're too scared or dying on me because of those fucks and that 'manifest destiny' imperialism crap their fuckhead of an owner preaches," the man rambled as he stood up to pace, but abruptly stopped himself when he noticed the camera was still on, "Oh shit, you can edit that all out can't you?"
"Why bother Mr. Freeman? What you've just described thoroughly illustrates the drama caused by a brewing 'cab war' between the Freeman Cab Company and Borgnine Cabs, it would make an excellent backdrop for some absolutely smashing nighttime television," Tennyson chimed almost giddily.
"Look kid, this business is all I have left and I need to keep it afloat or else I'm a goner! I need this project to take off and I need someone I can actually freaking rely upon and none of the yahoos I have right now can cut the mustard, which is why I need outside help. This is where you come into play!" Freeman said pointing to him before turning to the cameraman, "Make sure the part where I call my employees 'yahoos' is edited out."
"Well I do need the money because my cousin needs help keeping his own business afloat, guess it's back to the cab driving world for me…for the time being at least," Artie said shrugging his shoulders.
Lloyd Freeman looked to the sky and clasped his hands together as if thanking the higher power he believed in and then grabbed onto Artie's shoulders shaking him excitedly.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You're doing me a great favor kid and trust me that you won't go unrewarded! You just do whatever you can to help us get as many customers as possible."
"I'll do whatever I can," Artie nodded.
"Thank you Mr. Freeman, I will be taking things over from here," Solomon said walking over to Artie and placing a hand on his shoulder, "Mr. Cappelli, keep in mind you're not going to be just driving around passengers when we are shooting this pilot."
"What do you mean?" he asked as Mr. Freeman began sniggering mischievously in the background.
"You're gonna be doing whatever you can to help this show get ratings," the ghoulish man spoke up, "I honestly don't give a fuck if you have to kill those scumbags or blow up any of their cabs if you find them getting in your way. It's not like those cocksuckers haven't done that to me enough already."
"Precisely," Solomon continued, "Violence equals drama and drama equals ratings."
"Okay, and just who are you shooting this series for?" Artie asked looking awkwardly towards the cameraman.
The corner of Solomon's mouth jutted to the side as he looked back to his unnamed cameraman and later to Mr. Freeman, "To tell you the truth, nobody just yet, that's why I need this to start out with a bang so that networks will get looking at us."
The mention of that left the crotchety owner scrambling for a straw so he could finish up the rest of his cocaine line.
Reaching on the same shelf as the laptop, Solomon grabbed an earpiece and handed it to Artie, "Here's what will happen, I will be using this earpiece to give you directions as I watch your progress from this laptop. Kevin will be riding along with you to record everything as it happens."
"And here," Freeman said reaching into his desk drawer and grabbing a set of keys, "You'll need these. We have a car waiting for you with a radio that'll keep you in touch with Trudy and also don't tell anybody else, but there's a sawed-off shotgun and some Molotovs there in case things get too hairy."
A knock at the door distracted the four men and they turned to see Trudy pushing her way in with a large box in hand, wrapped up like a Christmas present with a big red bow on it.
"Mr. Freeman, this package was just left for you on the front doorstep, there was a note with instructions saying it was to be given to you right away," the receptionist explained.
"Very well," Freeman said accepting the package and ripping it open, only to leap back in horror a second later, "What the mother fuck?"
Inside the box was the severed head of a bald African-American male with a thick beard and mustache, a note shoved into his mouth reading 'HA HA!'
"Those sons of bitches fucking killed Dwight!" the proprietor screamed, grabbing his bottle of whiskey and gulping down the rest of it in one drawn out chug.
"Quick, are you getting that on camera?" Solomon shouted to his cameraman, "Oh boy, I can tell this is going to get me on the map! Soon Vinewood will be calling my name!" the aspiring producer said rubbing his hands together and licking his lips while Artie looked towards the man in disgust.
"What the fuck are you doing still standing around here kid? Get out there and do your fucking job!" Freeman snapped before tossing his emptied bottle to the floor.
"Guess we'll be on our way then," Artie spoke to Kevin the cameraman while putting on the earpiece given to him as they made their way to the garage, where a cab waited for them.
"Alright rookie, we're getting a call from over on Hedgepeth St., so hop to it," Trudy buzzed over the radio.
Artie grabbed the transceiver and spoke into it, "That's an affirmative. I'm on it!"
"Alright Arthur, you're going to be on national television. Tell the viewers a little more about yourself, say anything you want," Solomon called out over the earpiece.
"Well there really isn't much to say about me," Artie spoke into the camera while maneuvering around some messily parked cabs and to avoid the drunk cabbie passed out on the tarmac, "I'm just a simple working man who used to drive a cab up in Liberty…until some asshole mobster from the Pavano family tried to blow my fucking head off."
"Must you be so vague in your personal descriptions?" Solomon spoke.
"Jesus, what more could you fucking want? I'm just here for the money you know," Artie retorted, not even bothering to sugarcoat things for the annoying would-be producer.
"If you fuck this up for my company just remember I'm gonna be using your balls for fishing bait," Freeman cut in.
"Yeah, sure thing," Artie grunted as he made his way over to Hedgepeth, where a smartly-dressed man in a blue suit and matching fedora waited outside a coffee shop.
"Take me to the Well Hung meat packing plant over on Wilberforce. I have urgent business to attend to," the man spoke, saying nothing more as he fastened his seatbelt.
"With pleasure sir," Artie replied with a smirk, "I think I know what kind of 'business' you have in mind," he thought to himself, remembering where he found Glenn Borker meeting up with that prostitute.
Fortunately the meat packing plant wasn't too far away and they were there within minutes, the entire ride passing in silence and ending with a $20 fare for the new cabbie.
"Piece of cake," Artie spoke to the camera as he made his way back into a more populated area, only to be waved over by a trio of Hispanic men wearing puffy jackets and plenty of blinged out jewelry.
"Hey yo', take us over to Woody's Topless Bar and Buffet in Red Light," ordered the last guy to climb in, a man wearing shades and a red and black jacket.
"Sure thing," Artie said typing the destination into the meter and proceeding towards the district, the three of them rambling on the entire time about which dancer they were hoping to score with during their stay there. Normally Artie would have chipped in his own two cents, but right now he focused solely on the job at hand.
The drive to the Red Light District had been much longer than anticipated, given the volume of traffic for this time of day and knowing his overzealous passengers would start complaining, he pulled out of his lane and ran through two red lights before finally pulling up to the club.
"Aw'right, we appreciate it ese, keep it real," the shades-wearing man said paying their fare, which came out to $37.
"Alright Arthur, you really need to step it up with these next few fares. Remember the people watching back home don't just want to watch somebody usher patrons around. Get some more colorful characters on there, converse with your passengers more, encourage them to carry out ridiculous sexual acts on each other…anything that will keep the viewers awake throughout the show!" Solomon called out.
"Yeah, sure thing," Artie said looking over to Kevin before spotting a hipster wearing headphones waving him over.
"No not him, he's too average-looking," Solomon called out, prompting Artie to drive past him, "Give your next ride to those two out in front of Madame de Sade's House of Iniquity!"
Artie looked over to see a man in a leather gimp outfit and another individual of an indeterminate gender wearing a blue gorilla costume in front of the old Victorian-style mansion turned S&M club. He honked the horn and they came running to him.
"Take us to 1276 Winchester Dr. over in Pinecone Grove on Jefferson Vale," the person in the gorilla costume spoke in an effeminate male lisp, "and hop to it silly buns, Mr. Palmieri doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Sure thing," Artie said typing their destination into the meter and beginning his drive, "So what business do you two have over at Mr. Palmieri's place?" he asked, trying to make conversation with them as Solomon instructed.
"Oh we're going to be in one of his films," the gimp replied.
"Really, is he some kind of actor or something?" Artie asked coming to a red light.
"Don't cha' know who Mr. Palmieri is?" the blue gorilla asked him.
"Um no, I'm afraid not…should I know who he is?" he asked while looking over to Kevin, who face palmed.
"Luco 'the Rod' Palmieri is the biggest porn star in all of Rushmore City!" the gimp gave a muffled shout, "And when I say he's the 'biggest' he literally is…you should see it."
"Um, is that something I really want to be seeing?" Artie asked starting to feel disgusted.
"Rent 'Bukkake Warrior 4' and watch his money shot all over Harry Peters, looks like he's taking it from an elephant he's so huge!" the gorilla man cried out excitedly, prompting Artie to suddenly feel sick to his stomach.
"Okay, I don't think a majority of your viewing audience is gonna wanna hear that," Artie whispered hoping Solomon would hear him.
"Oh my goodness, I can't wait to meet him again! Aw rats, I forgot to bring my dildo along so he could sign it for my mother!" the gimp shouted, forcing Artie to wince and nearly drive into the back of a Yosemite.
"Say you're quite a good looking fellow," the gorilla chimed in, "I'm sure Luco could use some extras!"
Again Artie found himself nearly wanting to vomit, "Uh thanks, but I'm afraid I don't swing that way!" he replied speeding up the cab and taking an abrupt right, nearly clipping a streetlight.
"But you could have so much potential!" the gimp replied, "Nobody said I could ever make it and look at me now."
"I'd rather not," Artie replied turning on the ramp to Jefferson Vale.
Eventually the cab would reach Pinecone Grove, another wealthy neighborhood dominated by mansions and high-rise condos. It wasn't long before he pulled onto Winchester Drive and pulled up in front of a two story house with several Stretch limousines parked out front.
"We're here!" the gorilla called out, "Say mister, why don't you come in with us? Luco's always serving hot coffee at this time of day."
"Thanks, but I'll pass, now please just pay up," Artie sighed.
"Ah, don't be such party poopers," the gimp said leaning towards him before the hitman grabbed the sawed-off and shoved it in his face.
"Your fare, pay up now!" Artie demanded.
Shrugging his shoulders the gimp paid $40 for the ride and as soon as that was done Artie was about to speed away, when both back doors flew open and a naked couple leapt in.
"Please sir, you need to get us over to the Montezuma Hotel in Cuba Norte pronto!" the man said, "And you need to hurry, some dipshit paparazzo is chasing after us!"
"Take them Arthur, a little sex and a possible high speed chase never hurt anyone," Solomon called out.
"Sure thing," the rookie cabbie nodded.
"Turn on some 'sex music' too," the brunette woman ordered.
"Uh, yeah whatever you say," Artie said turning the cab's radio over to the Smooth 88.9 jazz station, currently playing a piece by Maceo Parker.
"Oh shit, here they come now!" the man shouted as a black news van came charging towards them, belonging to RCNN-13.
"Worry about them later honey," the woman said laying back on the backseat.
"Oh yeah, where were we?" the redheaded man replied before mounting the woman.
"I wonder what the hell RCNN-13 would want with these two," Artie thought to himself speeding the cab up as the couple resumed their sexual escapade, Kevin filming the entire encounter.
Artie sped around a winding turn, where immediately he would find two more black news vans forming a roadblock.
"What the fuck do they want with these people?" he wondered as he was forced to drive on the grass to avoid the makeshift barricade, photographers getting out snapping pictures.
"Since when the fuck does that asshole have friends?" the man called out while turning the woman over to fuck her doggy style.
"Just worry about fucking me baby!" the woman called out in ecstasy, her tits pressing against the glass and causing a nearby skateboarder to collide with a mailbox.
Artie jammed the gas pedal to the floor and went flying off a small hill like he was in a Vinewood car chase, the persistent paparazzi chasing him onto the grass.
"Yahoo!" the man cried out as the woman was now riding him reverse cowgirl, Artie nearly pitching a tent as he watched her boobs bouncing in the rearview mirror, so distracted he nearly ran over a Well Stacked Pizza deliveryman riding on a Faggio.
Another black van came charging over the hill towards the taxi, but Artie managed to swerve around it and reached for a Molotov cocktail, "Here, light this up!" he said handing it to Kevin.
"No prob boss, Solomon might give you a bonus for this," the cameraman said pulling out a lighter and igniting the cloth before handing it back to the errand boy.
Rolling down his window Artie chucked the makeshift explosive behind him and watched in the rearview mirror as the van was caught in the blaze and crashed into a nearby tool shed.
"Hell yeah," the man shouted as he had rolled the woman onto her side and was spooning with her.
"Oh god yes! Fuck me baby! Fuck me hard! Fuck me like the stallion you are that my husband isn't!" the nameless woman shouted.
Artie was fast approaching the bridge leading back to Lincoln Island, where two more news vans formed a barricade with photographers outside snapping pictures.
"Hold on tight, this is gonna get messy!" Artie said gunning the engine.
"Uh, I think it's already about to get messy in the backseat," Kevin said as the couple was now in the middle of 69-ing.
His knuckles white in an iron grip, the hitman sped head on towards the news vans and a loud crash resounded as he plowed through the barricade.
"Man and I thought the pigs were bad," Artie laughed speeding down the bridge, the couples' moans of ecstasy becoming deafening.
"Oh my god! Oh my god! Do it baby! Do it!" the woman shouted as the cab pulled into Cuba Norte, a district dominated by small shops, bars, restaurants and hotels. It wasn't long before the taxi was pulling up to a light pink building with 'Montezuma Hotel' in a red, white and green paint scheme.
The naked couple climbed out of the backseat, the woman's chest now covered in the man's 'baby gravy.'
"Here, keep the change for a job well done!" the redheaded man said offering Artie a one-hundred dollar bill.
No sooner than the naked couple's exit, two more men were throwing themselves into the cab's backseat, both of them carrying bags full of cash and both of them wearing the trademark tan jackets of the Hellcats!
"Get us over to the sawmill in Jansport and step on it!" one of the thugs shouted, pointing a MAC-10 in Artie's face.
"Drama Arthur, compelling television…bigger payday Arthur," Solomon called out over the earpiece.
"You got it," Artie said pulling a U-turn and proceeding towards Jansport.
"Ooh, are we going to be on TV?" the other thug, a dopey-looking individual in a black beanie, asked before waving to the camera, "Hi mom!" he shouted, only to be pistol-whipped by his partner.
"You make sure our faces are blurred out if this makes it onto national television!" the gun-wielding thug shouted to Kevin.
"Okay, just please don't kill me. I really don't wanna die a virgin!" the cameraman yelped, prompting a snicker from Artie.
It wasn't too long before the hired gun was pulling into the Jansport district and came to a halt outside the sawmill.
"Okay, you guys are gonna pay up now aren't you?" Artie called out to the two robbers.
"Man fuck you bitch!" the gunman shouted and squeezed the trigger, only to be rewarded with a click.
"You see pal, you have a gun that doesn't work, but I do!" Artie said producing the sawed-off and pointing it at the two men. "Now you owe me ten dollars for this ride and you'd better pay up because I'm not a fucking charity case!"
"Pay the man Cliffy!" the gunman shouted to his partner.
"Why me?" the beanie-wearing thug protested, only to receive another harsh pistol whip, the only motivation he needed to reach into his pocket and produce the needed ten dollar bill.
"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Artie mockingly asked before taking off.
"Bravo Arthur! Bravo! You keep that up you could have the makings of an action hero…being directed and produced by yours truly of course," Solomon called out.
The next few fares would be from random people hailing him as he passed by and taking them to random locations, including a nun who wanted to be dropped off at The Little Black Book of all places, some geek dressed like a swordsman from "Magic and Monsters" who wanted to be dropped off at Grand Imperial Dragon Comics over in LaFollette, some granny who wanted to be dropped off at Colt's Ammu-Nation store to purchase an RPG launcher, a guy with a blow up doll whom he believed to be his 'wife' that wanted to be dropped off at Montebello's in Emerald Hill for their 'anniversary,' and others who wanted to be dropped off at one of the bars or adult bookstores around Camden Heights, Aunt Gracie's Corner Diner, beauty parlors, pawn shops and the whole works.
Artie was just dropping off a passenger outside a Thai restaurant in Horgate when a call came over his radio.
"Any available units report," Trudy called out over the radio, sounding like a police dispatcher, "We've just gotten a call from Otis. He's been carjacked and he's over on Scarper Ave. in front of the Higher Learning smoke shop. He needs somebody to pick him up and get him back to the depot right away. Any takers?'
According to his map he was only two blocks away, meaning he could pick him up and still be able to continue about on his routine. "I'm nearby, I can pick him up," Artie said into the receiver.
"Good showing Arthur, really display the closeness shown by Freeman employees. Show the world how you are as unified as any major army out there," Solomon chimed.
"Except I don't actually work for these guys," Artie thought making his way over to Scarper Ave. where he found Otis, an overweight dark-haired man inhaling two hotdogs at once outside the smoke shop. Artie honked his horn and without missing a beat, the carjacked cabbie made his way over to the safety of his fellow company cab.
"Man, that was some messed up shit," Otis bellowed in a high nasally tone the second he climbed into the cab. "Just get me back to the depot before some other dipshit comes along and tries stealing my sneakers, my mother got those for me for my birthday."
"No problem," Artie replied stepping on the gas, wanting to get out of there before anybody could try hailing him.
"So you're the new guy, huh?" Otis asked looking Artie up and down, "Not trying to sound gay or anything, but you look too nice to be working for Mr. Freeman."
"Not the first time I've gotten that today, but thanks…I think," Artie sardonically quipped.
"Well it's nice to meet you, but I probably shouldn't get too attached to you. With as fucked up as this city is, you might be driving this cab one day and riding in the back of a hearse the next. I used to be a security guard at a top secret government research facility where it was like that," Otis said, paling when he realized he was being videotaped, "Uh, you can edit everything out that I just said, right?"
"Well that's a charming thought, totally brightens my day," Artie chuckled bitterly as he pulled up to the cab depot.
"Well welcome aboard otherwise," Otis said climbing out, "I oughta' have you over for Bridge sometime."
Artie didn't reply and looked down to his gas meter, thinking to himself he should stop somewhere and fill up.
Not too far away there was a DP gas station and he pulled up to one of the pumps. Going through the usual routine of selecting what type of gas he wanted and to pay at the pump or inside, he went through his selections and stood around idly as he waited for the pump to start filling.
"So you been following Tennyson around for quite a while now?" he asked Kevin, who was currently in the middle of reviewing his footage.
"I just started not too long ago," the young cameraman replied, "I'm fresh outta film school and looking for my big break. Solomon's alright for the most part, but he does get a little 'out there' with some of his ideas."
"Heh, you're telling me," Artie scoffed.
"Hey, gotta start somewhere-" Kevin was speaking until his eyes widened and Artie turned to see what he was looking at.
A red cab pulled up alongside him and right away he noticed the bloodied spikes protruding from the front and then he looked at the driver and saw the mirrored shades he wore. Right away he recognized it as the same guy he saw at the E-Z Mart yesterday.
"Well, well, well, looks like you're one of those Freeman bitches, huh?" the man chuckled in cocksure fashion while adjusting his shades, "Too bad you're gonna be going outta business pretty soon," he laughed harshly.
"Heh, I've heard you Borgnine losers talk a big game, bet you couldn't back it up on your best day," Artie retorted just as the pump click dry to signal his tank was full.
"What the hell am I saying? I've only been working with these guys as part of that reality TV project, not like I have any business getting caught up in this little blood feud of theirs. Guess he can't be talking too much of a game if he's got bloody freaking spikes on his front bumper," Artie told himself staring towards the aforementioned protrusions.
"Really, well do you think a 'loser' can do this to your sorry punk ass?" the man asked pulling out a Desert Eagle.
"Oh shit!" Artie blurted as the man took aim and opened fire, striking his driver's side rearview mirror, missing him just as he rolled around to the front of the car and ducked down behind it. "Nice going jackass," he mentally scolded himself.
The Borgnine cabbie stepped out of his car and fired again, his bullet sailing over Artie's head and striking the side of the gas station. "That's right Freeman bitch, your back's against the wall and soon your brains are gonna be decorating that wall!" he laughed before firing again.
"Fuck," Artie muttered to himself as another round pinged off the cab's hood. He was pinned down and reached for his Glock, only to find it wasn't in its holster, "What the fuck?" he whispered. The sawed-off and Molotovs provided for him were inside the cab and there was no time to reach for either. He would have to find some other way to take the guy down.
"It's just a matter of time little boy! You're only delaying the inevitable!" the rival cabbie continued firing more shots upon his covered target, "If I can't blow your fuckin' head off then I'm just gonna blow your worthless cab up with you near it!"
"And risk blowing BOTH of us up? We are near gas pumps you know, you jackass!" Artie shouted back as he noticed the smoke billowing up from beneath the loosened hood. "Think Artie! Think goddamn you! You can't let this madman win!"
As if fate had intervened in his favor, the Borgnine cabbie's gun clicked dry and fumbled through his pockets for any spare clips. Due to this critical error, he was forced to reach back into his taxi for any spare ammo, creating the much needed opening for Artie to make his move.
Pushing himself back to his feet, Artie rounded the rival cab and charged head on at the man, extending his leg outward and kicking the man's door into him, sandwiching his arm.
"And you thought us 'Freeman bitches' were losers, well you're obviously a bunch of fucking idiots!" Artie spat as the man screamed in pain. He wasted no time pummeling the rival cabbie furiously for his attack, striking the man repeatedly until he was coughing up blood.
"Time to finish this," Artie muttered reaching into his cab and pulling out the sawed-off shotgun, squeezing the trigger and obliterating the rival cabbie's head in a shower of blood and bone.
"Marvelous! Just marvelous Mr. Cappelli!" Solomon called out excitedly, "The viewers are going to eat this up!"
"Are you that fucking sick?" the hitman asked.
"Arthur, please remember what I said earlier, violence equals drama, drama equals ratings! Do you honestly think the people just want to see you driving around giving people rides and helping old ladies across the street? No! They want blood and you're giving them plenty!" the producer cried out excitedly.
"Fucking bastard," Artie grumbled as he prepared to climb back into his cab, only to have another voice interrupt him.
"Uh sir…you are going to pay for your gas aren't you?" the station's clerk called out over the loudspeaker.
Shrugging in reply, Artie fired his remaining shell into the speaker before driving off.
Looking down at the digital clock, it was fast approaching the early evening hours and it would soon be time to turn in.
"Get some grub…get a shower…play some games…get some sleep," Artie was in the middle of reciting his post-work plans until another call from Trudy came in.
"Okay boys, we're getting another call and we need somebody to get there right away. We got any takers? Apparently it's some poor bastard on the run from a pissed off ex-wife and he's promising a big tip at the end. He wants whoever's picking him up to meet him behind the Lava Lounge over in Gomorrah," Trudy reported before calling out to him specifically, "Hey new kid, why don't you go and get it? Think of this as your chance to prove yourself."
Artie sighed loudly, but then remembered Solomon would likely be barking in his ear for him to take it, hoping it could lead to another 'ratings increase' as he puts it.
"Fine, I'll do it," he grunted loudly into the receiver and stomped on the gas pedal, struggling to contain his rage as he nearly ran over a shopkeeper sweeping off his sidewalk. Nearly being killed by a rival company's driver hadn't exactly done wonders for his mood and at this point he just wanted the day to be over with.
He sped over to Washington Dell weaving in and out of traffic, earning his fair share of angry honks and obscenities as he made his way over to the Gomorrah district, a very high-end district of luxury hotels, casinos and a boardwalk, where he could also spot a pirate ship in the distance.
"Whoever this punk is he had better damn well pay me a damned good tip!" Artie thought as he approached a dark purple building covered in blue, green and orange neon lights with a large lava lamp atop the building with a long line at the entrance.
He took a right and pulled into the side alley, where he spotted a balding man in a red and white windbreaker waiting for him. Pulling to a stop he honked the horn and the man slowly approached, looking around nervously before climbing into the backseat.
"Alright mister, where to?" Artie asked preparing to shift the car into reverse.
"Well, there are many places I'd like to go to sir…right after you're dead!" the passenger shouted before drawing a Desert Eagle.
"Shit!" Artie blurted out as he and Kevin ducked a shot that ripped through his seat's headrest and took out the windshield.
Lowering himself to the floor he grabbed the sawed-off and pointed it upward, firing a round of buckshot tearing holes through the taxi's roof, but missing his assailant. He fired again, this time splattering blood onto him and his cameraman as the attacker cried out in pain.
"You fucking piece of shit!" Artie roared pulling out his Glock and firing an entire clip's worth of shots into the suffering attacker, the rounds ripping through his backseat and splattering more blood all over the interior.
Gagging violently, Artie kicked his door open and leapt outside wanting to run over and vomit into the nearest trashcan, until he heard the revving of more than one engine.
"Now what?" he asked, only to grow pale upon spotting two Borgnine Cabs charging towards him from opposite directions.
"It's an ambush motherfucker!" a driver cackled before pulling out an Uzi and spraying a volley of rounds in Artie's direction.
The Freeman driver was forced to roll for cover behind his cab, more bullets pinging off its surface.
"Kevin, are you getting this recorded?" Solomon called out.
"I'm trying to boss!" the cameraman shouted back while struggling to get the camera pointed in a spot where it wouldn't be shot out from his hands.
"Don't be trying, get it goddamn it!"
"Freeman Cabs is history!" a Borgnine attacker called out.
"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Artie shouted back, peeking around his cab to see two more red taxis pulling into view and boxing him in, making sure he wouldn't be able to run anywhere.
There was no other choice but to stay and fight. The Molotov cocktails were still inside his cab and were inches away from his reach, but first he would have to create enough space for him to get inside.
Pointing his shotgun's barrel around the cab he fired blindly towards his attackers, scoring two direct hits upon the closest taxi and puncturing its front driver's side tire and shattering its windows. Quickly reloading, he fired again upon the same cab and now had smoke billowing out from beneath its hood. Reaching into his pockets several times, Artie continued firing wildly until he was certain all of his attackers were seeking shelter and then reached around to grab the Molotovs.
Another wave of gunfire pelted away at the taxi's surface as Artie once again took cover behind it. Flicking on the lighter he was provided, he lit the oily rag and waited for the fuse to burn down a ways before he tossed it over his parked vehicle.
"Oh shit, run!" one of the attackers called out.
The shatter of glass resounded, followed by the shrieks of a man caught ablaze. Peeking over his hood, Artie could see a man thrashing about wildly and his compatriots scampering away to avoid a similar fate.
Rising to his feet, the young man brought up the sawed-off shotgun and dropped a rival cabbie who attempted to flee towards one of the cars blocking the alley and then caught another attacker in the lower back as he tried taking off, severely injured and left to writhe on the ground in pain, and leading him to be set ablaze as his burning colleague tripped over him.
"Fuck this shit! I'm outta here!" the last rival cabbie called out, scampering towards the other Borgnine cab waiting at the opposite end of the alley.
"Oh no you don't fuckhead!" Artie thought readying another Molotov cocktail and pulling out his lighter. With all the might he could muster, he tossed the incendiary device towards the fleeing man. The bottle struck the cab just as the assailant was climbing in, the flames catching his clothing and quickly immolating him whole, his deafening screams echoing throughout the alley until the fire moved to the vehicle's gas tank and the car was swallowed up in a ball of reddish-orange fury.
"Now to get the hell outta here," Artie said climbing into the cab and pushing the Borgnine vehicle out of the way, speeding off down the street as more sirens sounded in the distance.
When he had managed to get a safe distance away from the scene of the failed ambush he pulled out his receiver and called the depot, "That 'big fare' you promised turned out to be a fucking ambush!" Artie hollered, not bothering to hide his rage.
Rather than hearing the voice of Trudy he was met by Lloyd Freeman himself.
"Trudy gimme that," he was heard ordering before speaking up, "What? What the hell are you talking about Cappelli?"
"It was the Borgnines, those bastards set us up! That last call turned out to be from one of their workers and four of them tried to kill me behind the Lava Lounge," Artie reported.
Frustrated grunts, followed by the smashing of several objects sounded before Freeman's enraged voice called out, "Those fucking rat bastards! This is a new low even for those pricks! Just get your ass back here to the depot at once. If those bastards want a war, then they've damned sure got themselves one!"
Solomon then chipped in his two cents, "Wow Mr. Cappelli, that was absolutely most splendid with the way you handled yourself back there. You sure were stacking those corpses as if it were Judgment Day!"
Artie growled in frustration and spoke into the receiver, "Solomon you sick fuck, or should I call you 'Shit' seeing as that's what your initials spell out? I nearly got myself fucking killed back there all because you wanted some goddamned fucking ratings! How the fuck do you even fucking sleep at night when you've got people putting their lives on the line for shit like this? Pun intended when I say 'shit!'"
Solomon simply chuckled at the outburst, "Mr. Cappelli, I have learned under the best and you don't learn how to be great by having workers in a studio in front of a blue screen fighting each other with plastic swords and makeup. I'm trying to put the 'reality' back into 'reality television.' Say what you will, but we all have our methods my good man. You have yours and I have mine, simple as that dear boy!"
"Goddamn it I'm so going to have to punch that fucker when I get back," Artie grunted to himself as he drove back to Komojack Downs in blissful silence.
All of the other Freeman employees stood around staring silently in awe as Artie drove his shot up cab into the garage, unable to believe it could still even run after all the damage it had taken from the Borgnine ambush.
Stepping out of the cab, Artie slammed the door shut behind him, only to have the front bumper clatter noisily to the concrete.
Hearing the commotion, Lloyd Freeman and Solomon came rushing into the garage and gasped aloud as they took in the damage inflicted.
"Those damned sons of bitches!" Freeman shouted grabbing a toolbox and flinging it as far across the room as he could.
"See, I told you they weren't fucking around," Artie replied as he noticed the proprietor on the verge of hyperventilating. He was about to reach for a paper bag to give the man to breathe into, but another employee was already on hand with one and yet another was there to push a swivel chair for him to collapse into.
"For twenty years I've run this company…twenty long fucking years…" Freeman trailed on before taking some deep breaths, "…and those bastards…wanna topple me like I'm some kind of…fucking dictator. What the fuck did I ever do to them…to make them hate me so much?"
"Musta' done something a long time ago Mr. F," Trudy said entering the room and offering him a fresh cup of coffee.
"You're a lotta help," Freeman sarcastically grunted as both of them looked into the cab's blood-drenched backseat, where the shot up corpse of the Borgnine cabbie still rested, flies already swarming around his rotting carcass. "Christ, even the Nazis weren't this hard on my pops when he was storming the beaches of Normandy!"
"Well whatever the case is, these guys are out for blood and I don't think they're just going to sit around and let you ignore them," Artie spoke with his arms crossed.
"Damn right they're not," Mr. Freeman said standing up and tossing his Styrofoam cup aside, "They're going to stay on me like herpes until I'm six feet under…and even then they'll wanna dig up my rotting carcass and commit all sorts of necrophilia on it…not unless I send them there first!"
The company's proprietor stood underneath an overhead light at an angle so only his most prominent features could be seen from the shadows, giving him an eerie partially obscured look that looked like it belonged in some late night horror flick, emphasizing his darkening mood.
"A war is coming and whatever those pricks throw at me, I'll be ready for them…even if I have to personally strangle every one of those fucks with my bare hands!" Lloyd Freeman declared, wiggling his fingers like a vampire lurking in the shadows would, "For now though, we have to take things one day at a time."
"Ooh, Mr. Freeman, if you could would you please be kind of enough to say that from the beginning? I don't think Kevin had the chance to record it," Solomon said shoving his cameraman in front of the creepy old man.
"Alright, I did your job for you now I believe you owe me some money," Artie said getting into the producer's face.
"Very well, I am a man of my word," Solomon said reaching into his coat pocket and producing a check in the amount of twenty-thousand dollars as promised, "The networks are going to love you and will be clamoring for more of you to grace their TV screens if you keep that up-"
"Yeah, yeah whatever," Artie said pushing his way past the wannabe producer until Freeman called out.
"Hey, wait up kid," he said offering an envelope carrying $1,500 in cold hard cash, "It's not as much as what he's giving you, but it's for a job well done. I'm glad to see at least somebody managed to take down those rat bastards at their own game. I have to applaud anybody who can survive that kind of bullshit. I'm indebted to you for this and any time you need some extra cash feel free to stop by and I'll be willing to help!"
"Alright Mr. Freeman, I thank you very much. I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta find some way to get home now," Artie spoke to find the Exsess he arrived in was now missing.
"I'll have one of the boys take you home. The ride is on me, like I said I owe you one after what you did for me," Freeman said pulling out his cell phone and dialing a number as he made his way back into the garage, ordering his mechanics to get to work making the cab good as new.
Within minutes a cab was there to take Artie back to his place.
"Take me to The Little Black Book over in Camden Heights," he said climbing into the backseat.
"You're the boss," the cabbie replied.
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Author's Note: When I decided to rewrite this chapter I tried to combine elements of the cabbie side missions from GTA and Saints Row 2, as well as the 'Escort' and 'Ho-Ing' diversions from the latter. Me making this mission based on a reality TV show was inspired by 'Fuzz' from Saints Row 2, which totally pissed me off that they didn't include it in the third game because that was the side mission which turned SR2 into 'love at first sight for me.'
Nonetheless, this is another chapter down so until then read and review as always! This is your friendly neighborhood Metal Harbinger telling you to SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/