He had mentally fired half his staff before he tapped the cab driver on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, my cell phone is malfunctioning. Could I borrow yours for a second?” The cabbie looked disapprovingly in the mirror and was slow to respond until Dan advised him that there would be a significant, profound tip in it for him if he could use the phone.
Once the functioning phone had been produced, he punched in the number and, on the first ring, reached his chief pilot. “Cliff, it’s Dan here. Get the Challenger ready. I’m fifteen minutes away.” Cliff responded in the affirmative and Dan gave the cell phone back to the cabbie. He did not know how to say “please” or “thank you.”
The cab came to a stop in front of the terminal and Dan gave the cabbie his American Express card. The cabbie slid the card through the electronic reader; a few seconds ticked by as the number was verified. The card reader emitted a sharp buzz and for the second time that day, an electronic device dissed Dan. Charge Card CanCelled was the message. The cabbie looked sharply at Dan. “It’s forty-two bucks, plus a significant, profound tip, as you may recall.”
Dan’s mood turned blacker. A full three-quarters of his personal staff was fired at that point. “I don’t know what the deal is,” he said with an uncharacteristic meekness. “That card has a $100,000 spending limit. I charter planes on it. Something’s got to be really screwed up someplace. Here, here’s my Visa.”
“Charter planes, huh? Sure, buddy. Mine does, too,” the cabbie said not realizing Dan was now homicidal with rage. He slid the Visa through the reader. Unbelievably, it too, was declined. The cabbie was looking more skeptically at Dan. He’d seen the type before. Dressed in fancy threads, with a thousand-dollar computer carrying case and wearing a million-dollar tan.
All talk, no walk.
“Okay, asshole,” said the cabbie, not realizing that people had been destroyed for saying less. “Forget the significant, profound tip. Just pay me the forty-two bucks and get the fuck out of my cab.”
“Look, you don’t know who I am,” Dan said. There’s got to be a mixup someplace. Here. Try this one. It’s a Mastercard with no limit.” He was becoming unsure of himself as he passed another piece of plastic through the opening.
“Thanks, buddy. You don’t know who I am, either, but I have a wife and four teenage kids, and I’m working eighteen hours a day to make ends meet. This one had better work.” He slid the card through the reader and passed it to Dan to punch in his four-digit code. aCCount aCCess denied was the message that came up this time. Dan began to panic and gave the cabbie three more cards to try before his supply was exhausted.
“Well, asshole, how much cash’ve you got?”
Dan ferreted through his wallet and was able to produce ten dollars, more or less. He dug another ten out of his computer case, and another three from various pockets.
“That’s it?” said the cabbie incredulously. “Twenty-three bucks? That’s fucking it?”
“I, I don’t know what to say, sir,” said Dan, not realizing it was the first time in his life that he’d called a cabbie by that name. “My pilots should be just inside there. They should have enough cash or plastic. I have no idea what’s going on here.”
“I have a fairly good idea what’s going on, asshole,” said the cabbie. “You leave me the twenty-three bucks. You leave the fancy computer case and whatever’s inside it. You leave your fancy overcoat. If you’re not back in five minutes, I leave with them.”
“Fine,” said Dan. “But I take the computer.”
“Must be because of the highly secret and vital-to-the-national-interest shit that’s on it,” said the cabbie.
Dan stormed out of the cab, at this point having mentally fired his entire staff, including his pilots. This was unspeakable. Heads were going to roll. He was a master of the universe, not one to hunt for nickels and dimes. He walked into the small but fancy terminal and saw one of his pilots on the other side of the security zone. “Cliff,” he yelled, but his pilot did not hear him. “Cliff!” Still no response. “Cliff. CLIFF!”
One of the security people came over, a guard whom Dan had seen on many occasions, as he used the private terminal at Reagan National often. A guard who knew Dan by name, and had, from time to time, said hello, but a man to whom Dan had never spoken, acknowledged, or so much as smiled at.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Alexander?” asked the guard suspiciously.
“I’ve lost my, umm, I’ve lost my wallet and can’t pay the cab fare,” Dan replied.
“Oh, can’t pay the cab fare?” said the guard, much too loudly for Dan’s comfort. Another bastard he would need to deal with, shortly. “And the name of your pilot?”
“Well, it would obviously be Cliff, now, wouldn’t it? Cliff. Cliff, umm, can’t recall his last name. I saw him right ahead there. Cliff.” That was Dan’s problem at this point. Servants, be they
