4.
Tony dug the freedom of driving a taxi. The best part was scouting a score. Main roads, side streets, escape routes. All learned behind the wheel and meter of a cab. The routine worked. Why screw with the sauce? Once signed on, Tony contacted the cab companies. Most were mom n' pops. Easy going folks banging out a living. Tony requested over nights.
Cranky dispatchers barking out locations around the clock.
Twenty-four seven. Twelve-hour shifts. Radio-dispatched. A lot of downtime to learn the area. Helpful passengers to teach short-cuts. Stake out the fuzz. Locate speed traps, illegal turns, and train crossings. Access to and from the highways. A parked taxi never raises suspicion. Tony would often chill by the site, mapping routes. Over nights churned slowly. While most drivers huddled to bitch about life, or find a dark pocket to bunk, Tony would get to work. He'd radio in.
"Base." He'd call dispatch.
"Go ahead."
"I'm goin' fishin'."
"Don't get lost out there, I've got morning airport work I need you to cover."
"Check."
Fishing meant prowling for flags, as far as the dispatcher was concerned. For Scram, it meant getting it on. Tony would squeeze the deep stretch, often between the two and four vamp hours, casing the hit, and mapping escape routes. Clocking over night badge. Dark alleys where the cops like to cubby, scratched from the break.
Scram enjoyed the customers. He loved it when passengers told him what a great driver he was. Tony liked to joke with them.
"I’m the best, and this isn’t even my real job."
A stickler for lights. Details, details. Can’t tell you how many jobs get baked on account of missing tail lights. Laws may not be enforced in the city, but you better know you’re rule book when you venture out of it. That includes using your blinkers. Tony heard of a crew pinched in Jersey because the wheeler failed to signal.
The Crown Victoria. Official prowler. Built for the road. The stake, the chase. Strong pick up, suspension. Good handling, especially through hairpins. Not superb. It sports a light ass, and likes to swerve on slick pavements. Strength is in numbers. Cops come in packs. Another one of life’s downers.
The Crown Vic is also the taxi of choice. Many cab companies buy ex-squad cars, and convert them. Tony drove his share of taxi’s. He’d always doctor the getaway rides to take on these weak spots.
Like that time in Rockland County. Tony took credit for the escape. He knew better, and kept his mouth shut. It was the black ice that got them out. Black ice, four snow tires, a trunk full of cinder blocks and ready-mix. His ass refused to swerve. The tires didn’t dig in, keeping it steady, and straight. Enough time to build a lead, and keep it. If that were a dry surface, Tony Scram and cargo would have been shit house bound.