seymoure

Becoming the Bull’s-eye

“I've been a target my entire life. At this point, there's nothing anyone can say that will faze me. Bring it on!”

-Tori Spelling

It happened soon after we left the lake.

It only became interesting in light of the cascade of things that happened right afterward.

While returning to the hotel, our cab was climbing up one of the hills that ring Los Angeles like its brothers do around Rome. The road was winding and narrow and we were on the lip of long falls most of the time.

The first thing that came to my mind was that I was glad we were driving in full daylight, as a night passage would have really been unnerving. Then I thought that at least at night you couldn’t see just how far you were going to have to fall. Everything evens out, I suppose.

But just when we reached the highest point in our travel, it happened. It was a large truck. Not a semi, just a big delivery truck, like a UPS, that took up a lot of road.

It came barreling up the road with the kind of speed it might have reached descending the hill. He didn’t honk; he didn’t alert us in any way. As we reached the zenith of the road, he passed us. Actually, he just pulled up beside us as if there were not enough room to pass. He sat at our side, near as he could come without scraping off the side of our vehicle.

This was the point at which he honked his horn.

He wasn’t looking at us. He just honked three times and wavered at our side.

“What the hell is he doing?” Chester asked to no one in particular.

Before I could answer, we hit a short amount of straight-away and we saw a large brown Lincoln heading at us as though he had been shot out of a catapult.

“Damn!” Chester shouted and looked at his door, as if contemplating a quick exit.

I just grabbed the top of the seat ahead and set my feet into the floor, bracing for impact.

Our driver, a small bearded man of undeterminable national origin, blurted out something that I am sure wouldn’t make it onto Broadcast TV were it translated. Then he swung the cab onto the tiny shoulder of the road, inches away from taking a very short flight, and we all ceased to breathe.

The Lincoln flew beyond any possible impact point and was gone. In the dust of his passing, I saw the side of the truck as it pulled away.

There was a sign on its side that read, “Perfect Spring- the purest experience you’ll ever have in a glass”

If I hadn’t been close to having a heart attack, I know I would have said, “I really hate those guys!”

The rest of the trip was uneventful, thank God.

When our Cabbie handed me the credit card machine to swipe I put in my card, and added a $1,000 tip. His face went from tired and relieved to a large smile. He got out of the cab with us and gave me a very formal bow.

I reminded myself to call the credit card company and make sure they knew the amount was real, so there wouldn’t be any trouble.

He had gotten us out of trouble already today.

He followed me for a moment, stopped me and said, “Here is my card; you need to go anywhere, please call me.”

“There is no one I would trust more,” I said, and he bowed again. I looked at the card and could not have pronounced his name if my life depended on it. I looked up and he was grinning; then he said, “You can call me Ahmed.”

I smiled back and took his hand, “It is an honor to know you Ahmed, and thank you for my life.”

He bowed yet again and then left.

“Chester,” I asked, “you didn’t get that car’s license number, did you?”

“Are you kidding?” he said, “You’re just lucky I don’t need to change my shorts.”

Back to the Beginning

Continue on to Chapter 15