Minutes passed and Joey pushed himself into his seat and sucked on his soda, watching the people shuffle by, cigarettes in hand. A couple of girls in tight clothes wandered inside the pool hall and Joey thought of Sarah and wondered what she doing tonight. He pulled out his cell phone and paged through his phone list and dialed her number. As the line rang, Joey prepared himself to sound natural and quickly rehearsed some small talk.

The monotone of the privacy manager picked up, meaning that Sarah was out for the night or home with a guy over and didn’t want to be disturbed. On occasion, she’d turn it on when she made calls to places she didn’t want caller ID identifying her. Joey left a brief message, doing his best not to sound disappointed.

He tossed his phone onto the dash and settled back into his seat, more irritated than before that Kenny was late. He finished his soda and threw it into the trash.

His phone rang.

Joey picked it up and his phone read that the number was unidentified. For a moment, he was fairly excited. “Hello?”

“Joey?” a male voice asked.

“Kenny?” Joey was crestfallen.

“Yeah.”

“Hey man, where the hell are you? I’ve been sitting here forever.”

“Oh dude, I’m sorry man. I got–”

“I was gonna wait for you so we could get something to eat, but man, you’re like taking your sweet ass time, so I went and got something already. In fact, I went–”

“Oh man, that’s what I’m saying,” Kenny groaned, “I got dicked over at work again.”

Joey paused a moment and was suddenly very alert. “What?”

“Yeah dude, my fucking manager. I just got off work, just now.”

Again, Joey paused. He felt it was really important to get all of the information out correctly. “You just got off work? Just now?”

“Yeah, my manager was like, I had to stay ‘cuz I was scheduled ’til twelve thirty.”

“Kenny, are you alright?”

There was a beat of silence. “Yeah,” Kenny replied slowly.

“Nobody has a gun to your head or anything?”

“No…”

“Then why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, just tell me that you don’t want to hang out tonight. There won’t be any hard feelings.”

“What?”

“I said–”

“Hello?”

“Christ! Kenny. Can you hear me?”

“Joey?”

“Kenny. Can you hear me? Can you hear me now?”

“Joey, you’re breaking up, I can’t hear you.”

“Goooood…” Joey replied sarcastically, “Hang on.” Joey stepped out of his car.

Through the static, Kenny’s voice sounded distant for a moment. “I don’t know,” Kenny said, “I think he’s still there.”

“Who you talking to?”

“Uh, nobody. What were you saying?”

“I said if you didn’t want to hang out tonight, you should have just told me. I can take it.”

“Look man, I just wasn’t feeling too hot tonight. I must have eaten something bad.”

“Okay!” Joey exclaimed, “That’s all you had to say, man. Next time, don’t lie to me.”

“Alright dude, I’m sorry, but I gotta’ jet.”

“Alright man, you owe me. I’ll catch you later.”

“Take it easy.” Joey hung up.

With a great sigh, he piled back into his car and slowly pulled out of the parking lot, disappointed at such a wasted evening. If Sarah called, then maybe the evening could be saved, but it seemed doubtful that she would.

There were no intruders tonight, leaving the ghost to its night stroll undisturbed. The cemetery was poorly lit, but well maintained on a technical level, yet not on a sentimental one. During the day, people would come and visit their loved ones, bringing cards and flowers and other knick-knacks of affection. At night, the ghost would look these things over and try to piece together the relationship the individual dead had to the living. In the morning the groundskeepers would come and simply drive their lawnmowers right over these items, scattering their torn shreds to the breeze. It was usually pretty breezy during the day, considering the cemetery was separated from a busy freeway only by a narrow frontage street. Religious figures often had to compete with the din of honking cars during traffic when delivering prayers or eulogies. At night, it was often quiet enough to hear the crickets.

The ghost made its way through a row of plots and onto the main road that wound its way through the compound. The road was made of gravel and the ghost enjoyed listening to the sounds it remembered its feet would make when it walked on gravel when it was alive. At the top of the road, before it bent back down the hill back to the entrance, an ornate headstone caught the ghost’s eye. The headstone was slightly raised and tilted so that standing viewers could read the epitaph easier. The ghost had visited this spot and read the name before–one of the three Caucasian names clustered together surrounded by Gonzalez’s, Rodriguez’s and Garcia’s. The plot belonged to a woman who had died giving birth and the child did not survive. Her husband had waited nine hours, hoping for the best. When the news came, he exhaled a wail that sounded as if it carried away his soul with his sorrow. Months after his wife’s burial the grief stricken man would come visit her gravesite late at night, drunk out of his mind, and pass out until he was dragged away by authorities the next day. The man killed himself later that year.

The ghost slowly wandered away from the headstone, wondering why it remembered these events. Its thoughts swam around, fading in and out of contrast, until finally the ghost gave up. Nothing came into focus and only created more confusion. The ghost went back to wandering the graves and reading epitaphs. It never got bored of doing this. Tonight–like every night–all the death seemed new.

In another hour Poppi would be awake for twenty-four hours. Thankfully, his shift was almost over and it would be his last. He steered his cab towards a nearby turnabout where he could pass the time. A voice sizzled through on the CB.

“HQ to C52.”

Poppi made a pass around the turnabout.

“Headquarters to car 52. Come in please.”

Poppi glanced at the handset then looked away.

“Headquarters to–Pops, are you there?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Um, I’m sorry…I know you have a lot on your mind…oh forget it.” The voice clicked off.

“Just tell me where?”

“He’s at 6^th and Andretti,” there was a small pause, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

***Gabriel Wincott’s pulse raced when he saw the lights of the cab. He looked like a businessman, complete with briefcase, which he held over his head.”Where to?” the cabby asked.

“My boss had me stay after to finalize some paperwork.” Gabriel sputtered, “You know how it goes with paperwork and…”

The cabby glared at Gabriel through the rearview mirror.

“I’m sorry, did you ask me why I was out so late?”

“Where to?”

After fast deliberation, Gabriel replied, “Cromwell and Lane.” It was in the Docks District about fifteen minutes away and no one would be around. The cabby released Gabriel’s gaze and hit the accelerator.

***”So, where you from?” the passenger asked.Poppi was silent.

“What’s your name?” the passenger tried again.

Poppi remained silent.

The passenger leaned forward and examined Poppi’s cabdriver’s license. “Are you Russian?”

Poppi sighed. A sharp right turn shifted something heavy in the man’s briefcase, sending it tumbling.

“Yes, I’m Russian.”

“How do you like the States?” the man replied, fumbling to get the briefcase.

“I’ve been living here for twenty years.”

“Oh.”

“Do you always talk this much?”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little nervous.”

“Never been in a cab before?”

There was a small pause. “I’m sorry, my name is G–” He caught himself.

***”Garrett,” Gabriel said.A tangible silence settled inside the cab. Gabriel couldn’t control his heartbeat and he was breathing heavily now. He thought it best to stay quiet for a time. Then something caught his attention.

“Is that your family?” Gabriel pointed at the photograph on the dashboard. The cabby was silent before finally replying.

“Yeah.”

“Bet you can’t wait to get off work and see them.”

The cabby picked up the photo and placed it inside his breast pocket.

***”It’s good to have a family, isn’t it?” the passenger asked.”Yes it is,” Poppi exhaled a shaky breath.

The passenger wiped his glasses before continuing, “But my little girl is a little sick right now.”

“You should do whatever you can to take care of her.”

“That’s why I’m here. Medicine is so expensive…especially now…”

“How old is she?”

“…She’s six. How old is yours?”

“She’d be six today.”

***Gabriel’s pulse quieted down. He looked up into the rearview mirror and saw the cabby’s eyes welling up with tears.

“I’m sorry, when did she pass away?”

“Last night.”

“Last night? How can you work today?”

“How could I not?”

***Tears were blurring Poppi’s eyes as he drove through a red light, nearly hitting a passing tow truck.”Work is all I have now.” Poppi sniffled. “She was so full of life…and I lived for my little girl. She made me a better person. I gave up all my vices for her. I couldn’t be any kind of father to her if I…did the things that I did. She was my life. She really was. Now she’s gone…everything’s…different.”

***Gabriel was at a loss for words until he saw the street sign.”This is my stop,” he said.

Poppi slammed on the breaks, suddenly realizing where they were. The briefcase flew forward, hitting the back of Poppi’s seat, flipping open the latches. The single item inside the bare briefcase came tumbling out and thudded onto the cab floor. Gabriel picked up the gun. His pulse suddenly exploded in his veins and his heart was in his ears.

“I’m sorry, Poppi. I’m so sorry.”

Poppi was oblivious to everything behind him. His eyes, red from crying and lack of sleep and everything he had seen the night before, were now intently focused on something ahead of him.

The gun was pointed directly at Poppi’s head now. Gabriel’s hand began to shake erratically. His vision began to cloud at the edges. The sound of the rain and the wipers became muffled, muted tones. All Gabriel had to do was think of his little girl and the rest would be easy.

“Does she make you want to be a better person?” Poppi asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Your daughter.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“That’s a good feeling, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.” Gabriel dropped his arm and placed the gun back in the briefcase.

“Don’t worry about the fare. You’d better get out now.”

Gabriel opened the door and slid out into the rain. He stepped up to the front passenger window and knocked. The window rolled down and Gabriel leaned in.

“Are you going to be okay?” Gabriel asked. Poppi was still staring fixatedly ahead. Ahead of them was a short wooden pier and then the ocean.

Poppi nodded and revved the engine a couple of times.

Gabriel looked down understandingly.

“Before you go,” he began, “what was your daughter’s name?”

Poppi swallowed hard. “Anna.”

“That’s a coincidence. My daughter’s name is Anna, also,” Gabriel lied. Poppi slowly turned to face Gabriel. “I’ll be sure to take care of Anna, just like you asked me to.”

Poppi’s lips fought their way into a smile, which changed his face so much he looked like a different man.

“Take care, Poppi.”

At that, Poppi rolled up the window and sped towards the pier. Gabriel turned away. He heard the cab’s engine going through the gears as it picked up speed. He shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable telltale sounds of destruction.

They never came. Gabriel turned around once more, but only saw the lonely pier set against the black unknown beyond and heard nothing but the beating of the rain and the thrashing of the sea. Poppi had simply turned the corner.

The old man reached into a small brown paper bag, sitting like a child in his lap, and scooped up another handful of crumbs. He winced almost imperceptibly as his joints complained, needling his arm with pin pricks. He scattered the crumbs maladroitly and sighed. He clenched his fist over and over, masochistically trying to conquer his body. Then he sighed and gave up. The radio suddenly crackled to life. The challengers had just tied the game with a grand slam. He thought fondly back on the days when he held a baseball bat in his hand or a crowbar or a gun. Now it was all he could do to keep the crumbs from slipping through his bony, arthritic fingers. He let his hand fall limply into his lap and he watched the birds contentedly.

Something stirred in the mist and the birds scattered into the sky. A young man with a bored expression, dressed in a long black trench coat and a suit and tie, approached, but stopped short by ten feet. It was the bottom of the ninth and the challengers were up to bat.

There was a long moment of silence before the man in black spoke.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Sure, you’re Diamond Di Luca,” the old man replied.

“Do you know what I do?” the man in black asked.

“Yeah,” the old man sighed apathetically, “you’re Giancarlo’s cleaner.”

The man in black smiled mirthlessly before speaking again.

“I’d like to give you this before I go.” The man in black threw down a playing card facedown at the foot of the bench and disappeared into the mist.

With great effort, the old man reached down and picked up the card. Not surprisingly, it was the Ace of Diamonds. Somewhere behind him there was a muffled pop. An immense pressure slammed against the back of the old man’s skull that carried through to his face. Then the vision in his right eye went out. Darkness crept in from the edges quickly as he dropped the card onto the ground in a red, sloppy mess. Then there was nothing.

Somewhere sunny people were cheering. There were new champions in town.