Blind Shrike | Page 6

even. We're up at the big house
begging the master for more cotton to pick."

"I'm sorry, said Spyder. "I don't know anything about Prop 18. I don't
vote...ever."
The driver shook his head. His black hair stuck out at odd angles, as if
he'd been sleeping on it just a few minutes earlier. "Voting's not a right,
you know. It's not a privilege. It's your duty. My daddy died in the war
so you could vote."
"Hey driver, uh," Spyder looked at the name on the man's taxi license,
"Barry. Do you want to play a game?"
"I don't think so."
"There's a $20 tip in it for you. "
"Are you a cop?"
"No."
"Fag?"
"No."
"You from the cab company?"
"No, Barry."
"What kind of game?"
"Don't rush getting me to the Haight," Spyder said. He leaned his head
against the window. It was cool on his forehead. "Take your time. Let
the meter run. As we hit each corner, you're going to tell me what you
see.
"What's on the corners you mean? Like buildings and people?"
"Exactly. Big or small. Whatever strikes your fancy."
"Give me a for instance," said Barry. "Like this corner."

"Okay," said Spyder leaning forward to peer out the windshield. "That
semi up ahead. The blonde eating a taco in front of bodega. The
mailbox painted like a Mexican flag. That blimp shaped like Garuda."
"What's a Garuda?"
"A bird-beaked messenger deity from Thailand."
"I don't see nothing like that."
"Tell me what you see."
Barry breathed deeply and craned his head on the end of his long,
doughy neck. "Some bums with shopping carts. Some hookers.
Mexican or Asian, maybe. Can't tell from here. They got on high heels
and the littlest goddam skirts. You can see all the way to Bangkok
when they bend over."
"Keep going," said Spyder.
"Just stuff?"
"Just stuff."
"A Goodwill. A closed down porn theater. Cholos drinking
forty-ouncers by a low-rider. A cop car stopping near 'em...," Barry fell
into a sing-song pattern, reciting as they drove. "A mom with her kid in
a stroller. A couple a dogs fucking. Get some, boy! Some dope dealers.
Bunch of teenyboppers cutting school. Little shits. Don't learn to read
and we end up paying their welfare so they can have babies." Barry
glanced into the rearview mirror at Spyder. "This is kind of a stupid
game, buddy. When is it your turn?"
"My turn?" Spyder lit a cigarette, his first of the morning. "Everything
you saw, I saw. But there were other things, too.
"Dazzle me."
"A winged horse. A lion turning into a golden bird, then into smoke.

An angel sharing a cigarette with a horned girl whose skin's blue and
hard, like topaz."
"Jesus fuck, man," said Barry. Spyder saw the driver's eyes widen in
the mirror. "Are you on drugs or do you need drugs?"
"There's a naked, burned man walking down the street. No, not burned.
Cooked. Glazed and cooked like a ham. There's a swarm of little sort of
bat things flying around him taking bites. He doesn't seem to mind."
"I'm letting you out at the corner, guy."
"Keep going or you don't get your tip."
Barry shook his head. "Keep it. Getting stabbed by some psycho fuck
isn't worth twenty dollars."
"Do I seem like a psycho to you, Barry?" asked Spyder.
"I dunno. Sure talk like one."
"I understand. This is weird for me, too."
"Then maybe you just want to be quiet and not talk about it anymore,"
Barry said. "Anyway, we're almost to your drop."
"Do you see that building on the corner? I can't tell what it's made of.
It's like pink quartz, but the walls are shifting like the whole thing is
liquid," said Spyder.
"It's a vacant lot, man."
"Maybe I'm just dreaming."
"If it's a dream, you can give me a fifty dollar tip instead of twenty."
Spyder smiled. "Or I could stab you in the head, suck out your eyes and
skull fuck you. I mean, if this is just a dream."

The cab screeched to a stop. "Get out."
"Let me get my money," said Spyder.
Barry turned around to face him. He had a lime green windbreaker
draped over his arm to hide the old Browning .45 automatic he was
holding. "Get the fuck out."
"Jesus, Barry. Tell me that's not your daddy's gun," said Spyder. "Pretty
Freudian, don't you think?" The cabbie's eyes narrowed. "I'm kidding,
man. I'm just having a weird day. Let me give you some money."
"Keep your hands where I can see them and get out. I'll shoot you and
tell the cops you tried to rob me. When they find all the dope in your
blood, they'll believe me."
"Sorry I scared you."
"You didn't scare me,