So, my fare wants to go to Booze Town. Fine by me. A check of my map reveals that this is about halfway across town to the North. Pretty easy journey, though.
He’s in no hurry, and tells me to take it easy as he’s high. Whatever he’s on is obviously pretty lousy though, as he spends half the journey shouting at me for no reason. Damn, boy, you’re moving in the wrong circles if this is your idea of pillin’. Well, whatever. Away we go!
As you can see, driving around in Liberty City like a normal person is slow. I’d call it boring, but I’m quite surprised by how relaxing it is. It does help that it’s given me an excuse to properly listen to the radio stations for once, and also that other drivers are not vastly more considerate of human life than the typical GTA protagonist. Pedestrians are taking their lives in their hands pretty much every time they try to cross the street, it seems.
On the flip side, the light is green! No cross! What is wrong with you people? GET OUT OF THE ROAD, ASSHOLE.
It’s well past midnight by the time I drop off my “I’m definitely high, honest. I didn’t just spend $80 on a bag of sherbert and some oregano. Please tell me I’m cool” passenger. He drops 43 dollars on me and says a reluctant “thanks”. Pretty good money for a short trip.
Unfortunately, there’s some kind of hold-up further down the road, and traffic is completely static, even though I can see the light turning green. What the hell? And oh wonderful, my clever idea of pulling a probably illegal u-turn is invalid, because a bloody bus has pulled out behind me, blocking the other lane too. You moron!
As you can see, I can’t even cut through the middle, as some idiot has decided to sit there blocking it. Gah.
Resigned to my fate, I switch off the engine, and wait. Getting out of my car and looking doesn’t seem to help, although while I’m doing so, an ambulance arrives, and ruthlessly rams a car out of its way. While one of the paramedics gets out and tries to treat… someone, the owner of said car comes stomping up to the other, and drags him out of the ambulance. Oh damn. This could get nasty, and it’s right outside my window.
I do what a good citizen should: roll up my windows, and switch on the radio.
I see nothing. I hear nothing. I drive. Fighting paramedics? Never heard of it. You want driving? ’cause I can do that.
Eventually, the little room the ambulance made kicked of some kind of chaos theory situation that left me with enough room to pull off a u-turn and get moving around a backstreet, away from whatever was causing the traffic jam.
Despite this incident, traffic will be lighter at night, so it should be more efficient to work then. I really don’t want to be stuck in a jam like this all day. With that in mind, I head home to get some sleep. First though, I need to drop off the cab.
There we go. That’s my meal ticket right there. See you in the morning, Bess!
By the time I’ve walked home, it’s gone 7am. Scoffing a much-needed hot dog from the beautiful, noble vendor who’s still open at this obscene hour, I try to watch a little tv, but quickly lose interest, and go to bed.
It’s mid-afternoon when I wake up. Raining again, too. I grab some breakfast at the Boringname Diner (seriously, it’s called the “69th street diner”; a name so dull it makes me want to go somewhere else purely to make my routine sound more interesting. It’s like opening a place called “Shop #133” or “There is a Pub Here”. Actually wait, I kind of like that one), and start walking to the depot.
On the way, shit goes crazy.
Just down the road from the depot, I’m walking along, minding my own business, as is everyone else in sight. Then a car pulls up alongside me. It is on fire.
I embarass myself a bit by running around in a panic, caught between wanting to flee and wanting to know what the hell I’m fleeing from. The car explodes, and some poor bastard gets mown down by an assault rifle at a range of about three feet (watch the guy in the white puffer jacket who gets out of his car on the right at about 15 seconds. Jesus christ, that was brutal). I duck down and get the hell out of there. Dunno if it’s a gang thing or what, but I hide at the top some nearby stairs, and call the cops.
By the time the cops have arrived, the show’s over. A car sped off, and a fire engine and ambulance soon arrive to take care of the mess.
Damn. That guy looks pretty dead. Poor bastard didn’t even do anything, far as I could see. Guess I was wrong about this neighbourhood, huh?
Well, Roman’s expecting me, so I press on towards work. Unfortunately, it seems that whatever’s going down is still not under control after all, as a proper gunfight breaks out right outside just as I get there. A cop takes cover immediately next to me, so I take my cue to retreat. I can’t see what the cops are shooting at, but they sound outgunned.
I call the cops again – what the hell, right? They probably need all the help they can get.
Sirens blare in the distance along with sporadic gunfire. It sounds like there may only be one gunman, but quite a few cops. Once the noise dies down I risk moving closer, and there’s nothing much left but empty cop cars. No sign of any bodies, so… I guess they’re chasing someone on foot, maybe?
Well, whatever. My cab’s just a few feet away, so I duck inside and drive away, taking the low road through Broker Naval Yard to avoid whatever it is that’s going on up here. Roman’s pointed me towards a fare in Outlook, which according to my map is on the far side of the park I found yesterday. When I get there, it’s already dark, but my fare seems alright.
Gotta say, he is seriously rocking that ‘tache. His face has actually sculpted itself around it. Just try to imagine that guy without his moustache, and you’re no longer looking at a man.
He’s a quiet customer, as clearly words are simply a worthless extravagance to one sporting such facial adornment. It’s midnight when I drop him off (I told you the time passes quickly. I’d mod it out, but it’s a bit of a pain in the arse to do without screwing the game up). He gives me… twenty-eight dollars.
The hairy son of a bitch! Get the hell out of my cab, you fuzz-lipped cheapskate.
I call Roman, mocking him for not paying attention to who has his cars, at the exact moment that I’m very obviously about to distractedly steer one of his cars into a pedestrian. Oops. Narrowly missing her, my punishment is to get stuck behind what appears to be the ghost of a garbage truck.
Impatient at its laborious pace, I turn away at the first opportunity, and find myself in a garbage dump. Not the most gripping ghostly curse there, guys, but I guess you have to work with what you’re given.
My next fare is right outside Dull Street Diner, so I’ve quite a drive back. It’s about now that I notice Bess has almost no petrol. Damn it Roman, you could at least give me enough fuel to do the job, guy. Sigh. Filling her up sets me back $50. Well that’s just great. I am now officially operating at a loss.
Back at the diner, I pick up the customer, a slightly jittery lady who expresses amazement at… something. I don’t know if it’s my driving skills, my haircut, or some kind of debilitating short-term memory disorder that sees her repeatedly surprised to find herself in a cab for some reason. It’s a relief when she gets out back at East Island city, which seems to be the generic name for a large chunk of this island. She pays me just short of fifty dollars, though, so maybe I should pick up more weird people.
It’s coming up to 6am. Roman has another fare lined up over in the East. I’ll head over there, and depending on where he needs to go, might be able to squeeze a quick lunch in and maybe another fare before I call it a day.
This guy is in a bit of a hurry, so I put some pressure on the pedals for a while. He needs to go to Meadow Hills, and driving around, I can kind of see why. This is a nice neighbourhood! Kind of reminds me of a town I used to live in, although we had a theatre and Elizabethen cottages instead of a couple of ugly monuments to plate spinning.
I drop the guy off at 8am, and damn, I need to eat. This far from home it seems a waste to drive all that way, so I cruise around Meadow Hills for a while, looking for somewhere to eat. There are a couple of pizza places, but none are open. I spot a carwash, and a woman having trouble with her engine, but there’s no sign of anywhere open for business. Pity I can’t ask a passer by… although there aren’t very many of those around, either.
Bah. Oh well, I’m just burning fuel either way here, so I might as well go home. Boppin’ along to an old (‘School’ – insistent terminology Ed) hip-hop station, I find nothing to eat on the way, but hey man with a beat like this who cares, word up for sure with my homes.
With Bess dropped off, I throw a few dollars at a cab to take my fat arse home, where I practically absorb a couple of hot dogs through my skin. Okay, so that wasn’t quite a 24 hour shift, but even discounting that Die Hard business at the start, I need to be making more money than this. I’m on $77 after two days. I need to be making $50 a day, minimum. And that’s assuming I don’t have to fill up again, or get into an accident.
Troubling matters that I need to ponder. But for now, I have more imporzzzzzzzzzz