Taxi drivers in this city don't pause; they'll take off like drag racers, ripping your hand from the handle if you're too slow settling into the cab. They don't stop for anything but cash. A lot of cash. Or...could it be... As I approached the cab, it inched forward in cadence with my stride. The tinted windows showed only my reflection, concealing the driver and passengers inside. I pivoted with a dancer's sudden shift and backtracked. The window rolled down. "What the hell are you waiting for? Get in!" The back seat was empty, aside from a shoeboxed-sized parcel wrapped in mossy green paper. "It's not a bomb," said the driver as he peeled away from the curb, slamming my door shut. "The weight's evenly distributed." I tried to touch its smooth surface, but I was attached to the back of my seat with the taxi's speed. The driver knew my motions even as he looked at the road ahead. "Don't touch it! I'll need to lift the fingerprints." "Fingerprints?" He was no ordinary taxi driver. http://ficlets.com/feed/story/17378