The theme of this story: humorous transformation. The main characters: nervous cab driver and unambitious assassin. The major event of the story: funeral.
The only thing worse than traffic in New Amsterdam was traffic in New Amsterdam....in a thunderstorm. No, scratch that....Max Tremble had found something worse than New Amsterdam traffic in a thunderstorm...his current fare. In the 25 years that he had been driving a cab for the DePalma Cab Co. he had never gotten a case of the 'standing neckhairs' like he did when he stole a glance in his rear view mirror. The gorgeous brunette in the black cocktail dress flashed him a smile every time their eyes met. While she was a definite knockout, a "fox" as they used to say when he was younger, she still gave him the heebies.
"So....uh....where....uh...where ya goin' down 34th street?" Max ventured a conversation starter. Conversation always seemed to get him better tips, so he figured, why not?
"MaHx", the woman said in some sort of foreign accent that Max couldn't quite place, "I yam go-ink to a fun-ur-al."
Max's eyes bugged just a bit as she spoke his name, but then remembered his license plastered on the back of his seat. "Ah...gotcha. Sorry ta hear 'bout that....those things are never fun...er, I mean..."
A soft chuckle erupted low from her throat as she shifted her position in the old seat. "Oh MaHx...usually, I vould ahgree wit you...but...noht in thees case."
Now Max's eyes did bug out...."Huh?"
(to be continued...)
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