“Yes, you. You’ve got that dark, mysterious look that’s big in the movies these days, but I can tell right off that you’re not in that line of work.”
“Oh? What gives it away?”
“Your clothes. Movie people dress one of two ways. They’re either dolled up, which usually implies they’re going somewhere they want to be recognized, or else they dress down in a kind of nouveau trash. You’ve seen the type. They’ll wear old sneakers that they paid two hundred dollars for and maybe some faded jeans that they bought that way. They won’t do anything with their face and hair, like brushing their hair or shaving is beneath them unless they’re doing a part.”
“And you can tell they’re not just someone with Salvation Army clothes who can’t afford to look any better?”
“Damn straight. You see, no matter how down they dress, they still have a couple of things that sets them apart.”
“And that is?” Caitlin asked. She found herself smiling, enjoying their conversation.
“Expensive jewelry, like a necklace or perhaps a twenty thousand dollar Rolex.”
“Yes, I imagine that would be a dead giveaway, but you said two things.”
He grinned. “You’re sharp. I like that. The other thing is health, like clear skin and perfect teeth. You see someone who’s down on their luck, and their skin shows it. If they’ve been down long enough you can see it in their teeth and gums, but the movie people, well, they have all their teeth straightened or capped, whitened to the point of glowing in the dark, and their skin is perfect.”
Caitlin nodded. His theory was logical enough.
The cab turned right along the waterfront. “Now take you.”
“Uh huh?”
“Yeah, like I said, you’ve got that dark, mysterious look, although since you’ve smiled some of it is gone. Something’s bothering you tonight, can’t say what it might be, but it’s serious.”
“How perceptive. What else can you tell me about myself?” Their conversation had become a game.
“My first impression is that you’re in town on business.”
“That’s good. What gave me away?” Caitlin asked. She looked out the left window as the bay appeared between rows of dockside warehouses.
“You don’t have the local accent, and you aren’t too familiar with the city, so you’re from out of town. You’re dressed more formally than most tourists, but not like you were out on the town if you know what I mean?”
Caitlin caught his gaze in the mirror and nodded.
“You also have a notebook computer in that purse.”
Surprised, Caitlin checked to see if her purse was open. It wasn’t. “Okay, that’s good, but how did you know?”
“Lady, I get five or six women a day who have a purse just like that one. Occasionally they take out their computers to do work while I’m taking them to the airport or wherever. It’s almost become a uniform for business women.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Now then, second impressions, you’re from the southwest or maybe Colorado originally. You’ve got a parent or grandparent who’s a native, Cherokee perhaps. I thought Navajo at first, but that was because your accent threw me off. You don’t have the rounded facial features of a Navajo.”
Caitlin had to sit back in her seat and stare at his reflected eyes. “I don’t get it. How could you possibly know I had Cherokee blood?”
“A combination of things. The straight black hair, the eyes, and the tan.”
“Tan? I don’t have a tan and my eyes are blue.”
“The blue wasn’t what I was talking about. It’s the way they’re set in your face, and the tan, it’s not from the sun, I knew that right away. None of your computer carrying businesswomen go in for tanning salons or even lying out on the beach. That would be as bad as smoking.”
“Really?”
“Sure thing, so the tan is hereditary. That puts you either in the Native American group or perhaps the Indian subcontinent, but I ruled them out. Their tan is a more subdued brown.”
A sign caught Caitlin’s attention. It was a cube outlined in neon with the words, The Gleaning Cube.
“I hate to break off this fascinating conversation, but I need to get out.”
Silently for once, the cabby pulled to the curb, just past and across the street from the Cube.
Caitlin looked at the meter and then pulled a bill from her purse. She held it out. The driver turned in his seat and took it.
“Thanks for an interesting ride. Tell me, what did you do before you became a cabby?”
“Me? I’ve always been a cabby. It gives me a chance to study.”
“What are you studying?”
He smiled warmly. “People.”
Caitlin got out and then waited in the cold fog until the taxi had turned the corner and disappeared from view. The night air smelled of brine and diesel fuel. She walked north along the street until she faced the bar from the opposite side of the street. It appeared to be a wharfside bar. Faded gray paint over cement block made up the facade. Large windows set to either side of the door. In one window, she could see an illuminated Heineken sign. The few cars parked in front varied from a late model Lexus to a ratty old Ford F150 pickup that would have been more at home in her native Colorado than on the San Francisco waterfront.
Caitlin checked her watch. Thirty-two minutes had passed since John’s message to meet him here. She took a deep breath and let it out. The taxi ride and the conversation with the cabby had relaxed her, but not to the point of making her feel safe.
She stepped off the curb and walked across the wide street. When she reached the front door, Caitlin stopped and turned her head quickly to each side hoping to catch anyone watching her. She saw nothing unusual. Opening the door,
