Posted on 03/19/2004 5:26:47 PM PST by SandRat
WALT WICK is co-chairman of the Sierra Vista Herald/Bisbee Daily Review. You can reach him through Pat Wick at 458-9440, Ext. 604, or by e-mail at pat.wick@wickcommunications.com.
Twenty-five years ago when I was living in western North Dakota, I read a news story about the brutal murder of a Twin Cities' taxi driver in the Minneapolis Tribune. The story must have stamped itself on my hard drive because later that week when I was in Minneapolis I quizzed a Blue & White cabbie about the killing.
"Did you know the cab driver who was shot and killed by a passenger last week?"
"I didn't know him personally, but I knew who he was," the cabbie, an older man in his 50s, replied. "I don't work the night shift anymore just for that reason."
I thought about that for a moment and then asked:
"Have you ever been robbed?"
He took his time in answering, looking at me in his mirror before he said anything.
"Yeah. Just one time. But I was lucky. I didn't get the kind of bastard who shoots first and rifles your dead body afterwards."
"What happened, if you don't mind telling me?"
"Like I said, I was working the night shift in downtown Minneapolis just like the poor duffer last week. I was parked at a cab stand on Hennepin Avenue when this guy jumps in my cab and tells me to head for the North Side."
"The warehouse district?"
"You got it," the cabbie said. "And he didn't give me a good feeling. He was kinda nervous. Like he had to take a leak or was comin' down off a high or something. I'm not supposed to turn down a fare, you know? But there's nothing on the North Side but some old factories, warehousing and a few sleazy bars. But being stupid, I took him anyway.
"When I asked where on the North Side, he just gave me the name of the street. It didn't take long, maybe 15 minutes since it was just after midnight and the traffic wasn't much. I turned onto the street he told me, all dark and deserted except for a street light or two and a closed down factory on my right side. There was a bar about a block ahead on the other side of the street.
"'Stop here!' the guy said, and when I did he pulled a revolver and stuck it in my face. 'Hurry up and give me all you got!' he said, wiggling his gun so I looked right down the barrel when I turned my head.
"That made me madder than hell," the cabbie growled. "I was mad at myself for not kicking him out on Hennepin Avenue in the first place - and then for him sticking that filthy gun in my face. He had no damn manners at all. He acted like he had ants in his pants so I told him to calm down while I got my wallet out - all the time him waving that big pistol in my face and telling me to hurry up and get the money.
"Anyway, I dished out what money I had in my wallet, about 50 bucks, and he grabbed it and told me not to move or he'd come back and blow my head off. But that's where he made his mistake."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Like I said, he made a mistake. A big one," the cabbie emphasized. "He got out of the back seat on the right side and slammed the door, took a couple of steps along the sidewalk and then stepped into the street still waving that big gun at me. All of a sudden up ahead a car turning onto the street caught him in its headlights. The SOB looked at the other car coming and tried to hide his gun."
"What then?" I asked.
"Well, I just slammed my foot on the gas and ran him down - big gun, big smile, big ass and all."
"God!" I said. "You really ran him down?" I couldn't keep the amazement from my voice. "What happened to him?"
"Right now he's doing hard time at the state pen - in a wheelchair. He'll never walk in front of any car again!"
For a moment I was speechless. I kept seeing the brutal running down of a human being in my mind's eye. I didn't want to believe it.
"Where did you get the guts to run him down?" I finally asked. "I couldn't have done it."
"You have to remember I was madder than hell in the first place. And in the second place, my schooling took place on Guadalcanal. I went in with the Marines in '42. I sat and fought in that jungle muck with the Japs for three months until I was lucky enough to get wounded and get out.
"But when that sucker waved that big pistol in my face he was the enemy - and I was still 'a Marine'."
Reminds me of an old short story "The Deadlier Weapon" by Larry Niven.
Long before 'carjacking' was in our language he wrote a story about a carjacker who brought a knife to a brain-fight.
The car-jacker lost, and was humiliated in the process.
"Where did you get the guts to run him down?" I finally asked. "I couldn't have done it."
These are the kind of lines that make my eyes cross. I simply cannot fathom having compassion for a worthless thug who has just threatened my life with a gun in the face. In fact, it is incomprehensible to me that anybody wouldn't do exactly what this Marine did - - run the SOB over. And I'm sure that I would go get my money back from the body and then drive away laughing.
Semper fidelis,
LH
And sleep the sleep of an innocent baby that night as well.
Thanks, SandRat.
I think I enjoyed that far too much. (^:
Poor bastards they don't know the trouble they're in.
the reality is that I will have thousands of Marines who have died and fought for Good against Evil, for over two centuries, shoulder to shoulder with me.
Who says "Beedknobs-N-Broomsticks" was JUST a movie.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.