The Cross

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I passed through airport customs and collected my bag.

I made a beeline for the terminal exit doors and stepped outside into a cool, still, starless evening.

At least it doesn’t smell like gasoline, I thought.

I put my bag down and inhaled deeply through my nose. I found the smell of a moist sea breeze, just like in San Francisco. The three days of cabin air and airports had left my nose drier than a bucket of sand.

I looked up and closed my eyes. I took another full, deep breath and exhaled slowly. I opened my eyes and saw a lot of dolled-up stiffs walking around the airport boulevard. I looked down to check my watch. It said 3.50am. I moved it to my ear to see if it was still ticking. It was and realised I was still on West Coast time.

I looked around again and yawned. I spotted a taxi rank across from the terminal entrance. There were about ten cabs all in a line waiting for a pickup. I grabbed my bag and headed straight for the rank. The cabs were all a fire-engine red colour with cream-coloured roofs and black wheel guards. A gold sign on each front passenger door read: “De-Luxe Red Cabs – We take PRIDE in your RIDE.”

Quaint, I thought, as I lumbered up to the first red vehicle in the rank. I opened the back door, threw my bag and crumpled overcoat inside, and flopped onto the seat. As I searched for my wallet, I said, “Hey pal – Kings Cross, you know how to get there, right? Fire up this chariot and step on it? What do you say, bud?”

The driver slowly turned around. “Well, hello to you, Yank! But before we get moving, let me give you a little hint, sunshine. You ain’t going to be calling me bud or pal, you hear!” She frowned. “I am an all-Aussie girl!”

She raised two fingers to the tip of her cap and saluted in my direction. With a nod and a toss of her head, the driver clashed the cab into first gear, slipped the clutch and drove off for my destination.

I did a double take.

“Well, hello there! My apologies for the misunderstanding, Angel. I hadn’t realised you gals still drove cabs around here. The war’s over, you know?”

“Ha, ha, ha…thanks for the heads up, Yank,” she responded with a sardonic look on her face. Then, without missing a beat, she said, “I drove you septic tanks during the war. Some had tickets on themselves, others tried to get fresh but most kept it above board, ‘cause I always knew how to look after my own.”

I pushed my hat up and gave her a long, cool look. My driver wore a visored dark green cap that sat on her head, tilted to one side. She was dressed in a khaki-coloured uniform, white shirt and tie. Her hair was black and tied into a tight bun. She had white translucent skin, hazel eyes, great lips and teeth that looked like pearls dropped in a rose.

“Yeah, and I bet you can look after your own!” I whistled. “Listen, if you drove me, I would’ve remembered an attractive gal like yourself, but what’s with the septic tanks?”

“Rhyming slang. ‘Septic tank – Yank.’ You never hear that one during the war, cowboy?” she said as she changed into third gear.

“Can’t say I did, ma’am.”

“Say Yank, listen up, let’s just keep it at Sam for now, shall we. No ma’am, no pal, no anything – just Sam. But I’ll tell you what, I don’t mind being called Angel! I reckon I like that.”

I raised my hand to acknowledge and slowly checked I had everything with me.

“It looks like a ripper night tonight,” she said as she peered at the horizon. “So take a load off, Yank. It’s going be an all right ride into town. You just sit back there, take it easy and relax, mate.”

I glanced down to my wristwatch, then yawned and shook my head. I searched for a cigarette through the pockets of my jacket.

“Hey Angel, mind if I smoke?”

“Light up your durry, Yank, no problems.”

I gave her a second look and figured she meant it was okay.

“Say Sam, do you have the time on this side of the world? Oh, and what day’s it today?”

I put my wristwatch to my ear to make sure it was still working.

“Oh yeah, you’re probably still on your Yankee time, hey? I also reckon you’ve been in that suit for a week.” Sam chuckled. “It’s eight on the nose, Saturday night, October twenty-third.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I reset my wristwatch. “So tell me really, why are you still driving a cab nowadays – so long after the war?”

“Why am I driving a cab? Because I love it! I started driving cabs around 1942 while our boys were fighting in the big war. There was a shortage of able-bodied boys around town, so us gals had to pick up the slack and tackle a lot of bloke jobs. You know, like working in factories, working the farms, and even driving cabs.”

I nodded and listened.

“Incidentally, Yank, I need to inform you that you have the pleasure of knowing the best driver in this town. Anywhere you need to go – you can bank on me, twenty-four-seven. That’s no lie!”

“I bet I can, Angel – thanks, I think? Huh, twenty-four-seven?”

“You’ve to get with the program while you’re here, Yank. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Got it?”

“Oh yeah, got it.”

I sat up and leaned my elbow over the front seat. “By the way, let’s get the formal introductions in while I’m half awake. The name’s Jack – Jack Dallas. Born and bred in the city by the bay, San Francisco. I’m in insurance sales and a long way from home. I’m in town to catch up with some friends. So what’s your real name, Sam?”

“Well, Mister Dallas the Yank, everybody just calls me Sam. The name I was given was Samantha Taylor. Born and bred in the city by the harbour – Sydney, so you’re in my town now, Jack!”

I grinned at the sassy woman in the front seat.

“You sure are a lively one, ain’t you, Angel.”

Sam gave me a sideward glance.

“Heading to Kings Cross, hey Jack? The Cross does have a reputation; you know?”

“No, nothing like that, I’m just familiar with the place, that’s all. I stayed there during the war. It’s central to everything I need.”

I looked at her eyes in her rear-view mirror as she drove.

“Say Sam, can you recommend a hotel while I’m in town, not too steep on the pocket? The Cross has probably changed a lot in the past few years.”

I looked out of my window to view the city skyline in the distance.

“Sure thing. There’s a hotel named the Oxford. It’s small – homey like, and off the main strip in the Cross. Oh, and it’s easy on the pocket. You just tell ‘em I sent you, and they’ll give you mate’s rates. They’ll set you right. Believe me, Jack – straight up – on the level.”

“Mate’s rates, huh? I’ll take your word for it, Angel. Thanks.”

“Okay, the Oxford it is.”

Sam changed gear, looked side to side through her windshield, then back at her rear-view mirror.

“So Jack, when were you last in town? Where were you stationed during the war? You must’ve seen some action, right?”

“Well, I first lay eyes on this town in April of ’42. We cruised through the entrance of Sydney harbour on a ship called the Queen Elizabeth. We’d left Frisco a couple of weeks earlier. The Queen was fourteen decks high and a thousand feet long. We had ten thousand boys on board that little boat. I remember the harbour was full of vessels that day with a flotilla of troop ships, destroyers, and cruisers all about.”

Sam whistled through her teeth.

I continued. “We unloaded and took a locomotive down to Seymour in Victoria. A couple of months later, they sent us up to Rockhampton to drill and train for the jungle warfare we were to face in New Guinea.”

“You saw action in New Guinea?” Sam appeared enchanted as her eyes widened.

“Yeah. We departed Australia on January first, 1943, for the defence of Port Moresby, New Guinea.”

“I bet you can tell some stories of that time, hey.”

I shrugged my shoulders and said nothing. I continued to look out my side window as we travelled through the suburbs in silence for a while.

“So how long are you staying in our fair city, Jack?”

“Well, it depends on business.”

I looked back at her eyes reflected through the rear-vision mirror.

Sam turned her head slightly and looked at me while she drove. “You’re not an insurance guy. You don’t look like the type.” She went back to the traffic in front of her.

I grinned.

“Is that right, Samantha Taylor? So, what type do you reckon I am?”

She pulled up to a set of traffic lights and spun around to face me.

“Let me see. So you were in the big war. You were probably drafted – you wouldn’t have volunteered. You don’t look the volunteering type.”

I smirked at that.

“You’re probably thirty-six, maybe thirty-seven. You weigh around 180 pounds – no, I reckon, 175 and you’re possibly just on six foot. You’ve seen and done things you don’t want to talk about. You probably drink, obviously smoke, and are married…no, I reckon you were married, but no kids.” She paused, then continued. “Hell, I reckon you’re a cop. I can smell a cop a mile away – no matter what country they’re from. I also figure you’ve dealt with some real suspect people, right, Jack?”

“Why do you say that?” I asked as my curiosity heightened.

“I can see it in your face, but it’s mainly around your eyes.”

“It might just be the lack of sleep.” I shrugged.

“Nah, I reckon you’ve seen some bad s**t!”

She turned back to the traffic and gave me a quick glance through her rear-vision mirror.

I smirked to myself in the back seat. My head had started to lighten up.

“Allow me to respond in kind, if I may.”

“Oh yeah, please do, Yank!”

“Let me see…so you’re twenty-eight, probably closer to thirty, not married – no, never married. You can hold your own, you think on your feet and you tell it like it is. You’ve got a keen eye for detail and probably read detective stories for a hobby. I noticed the pulp fiction mags on your front seat.”

She grinned.

“People interest you but you don’t take anybody’s s**t, and you would certainly give as good as you get. You love the city and you know the streets of this town…’cause, as you said, you’ve been driving cabs for a while.”

Sam nodded her head.

“I’m guessing you weigh 120, have a 32C cup and a pair of hips that are probably not too bad on the eye.” I let out a short ha-ha.

“Okay smart-arse, so you are a cop!”

“Sorry, Sam, I’m not a cop!”

I smiled. There was something about her that made me feel comfortable. “Jack Dallas – Private Investigator. Criminal and Civil Investigations. At your service, Angel.”

“You really a private d**k, Jack, like in the movies? You must’ve been a cop.”

“No, Sam, I started off as an insurance investigator in my early years, but now I’m a fully fledged private d**k just like the movies – only better looking”

“I guess you ain’t too shabby on the eye, Jack, I’ll give you that!” she said as she winked. She let the clutch out and took off with the flow of city traffic.

“Thanks. Say, you ain’t too shabby yourself, Angel.”

We both chuckled.

I continued with my story. “I was a private d**k before the war. After the war, I went back home to the States and picked up my investigation racket again.”

She looked over her shoulder. “I knew you weren’t anything like the regular stiffs that I’ve come across in this town.” Big smile. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Mister Jack Dallas.”

I leaned forward in my seat. “Likewise, Angel.”

Her eyes were smiling as she held a pretty grin on her face.

*

After ten minutes, Sam pulled up outside the Oxford hotel with a screech – double parked and parallel to the front doors. I got out and walked up to the front passenger door. I placed my bag down on the road, leaned one elbow through the open door window and tilted up the brim of my hat.

“Well, Angel, you did good! Here…” I handed her more than enough money for the fare. “Buy yourself an orchid.”

“Thanks Jack! Oh, by the way. You need wheels – you call this number.” She handed me a card. “Anytime – night or day. They’ll get in touch with me.” Sam gave me a nod.

I smiled and asked, “Night time?” with a raised eyebrow.

“Night time’s better, Jack. I work during the day.” She grinned and gave me a seductive wink.

I whistled. “See ya around, Angel. I’ll be in touch.”

“Keep your saddle oiled and your gun greased, cowboy,” Sam said with a flashy smile as she clashed the cab into gear and took off with a screech of tyres.

I laughed to myself and thought, What a gal!

I picked up my bag and turned to face the hotel. I looked up to the sky to get my bearings. I felt a sudden shiver unsettle me for a moment but shook my head. I looked left then right, threw my overcoat over my shoulder and made my way through the front doors of the hotel called the Oxford.