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ambulance is gonna stop here in New Rochelle. Christ, at this rate, we'll soon be in Connecticut." Headlights gleamed in the rain.
    ' 'I'd better let my dispatcher know what's going on," the driver said. "Listen, I'm sorry about your father and all, but buddy, this long a trip needs special arrangements. If we end up in Stamford or some damned place like that, I won't be able to get a fare to come back to the city. I'm going to have to charge you both ways."
    "I'll pay it."
    "How?" Rain tapped the roof.
    "What? I'm sorry ... I wasn't listening."
    "How are you gonna pay me? You got the cash? Rough estimate-we're talking over a hundred bucks."
    "Don't worry. You'll get paid."
    "But I do worry. I need to know if you've got the cash to- Wait a second. Looks like they figured out where they're going. "
    The sign at the turnoff heading north said SCARSDALE/ WHITE PLAINS.
    "What's all those trees to the right?"
    "Looks like a park," Pittman said.
    "Or a damned forest. Man, we're wayout in the country. I knew I shouldn'ta done this. How am I gonna find a fare back to the city ' from wayout here?"
    "We're not in the country. Look at those big houses on your left. This is some kind of expensive subdivision. There's a sign up ahead. Yeah. SAXON WOODS PARK AND GOLF CLUB. I told you we're not in the country."
    "Well, either the guys in that ambulance plan to take your father golfing or- Hold it. They're slowing down." So did the taxi driver. "They're turning off," Pittman said. "There, to the right."
    The driver kept going, passing a high stone wall and a gated driveway. As the red taillights of the ambulance and the Oldsmobile receded into the darkness, the gate-tall, made of wrought-iron bars-swung electronically back into place.
    "Funny how these days they make hospitals to look like mansions," the driver said. "What the hell's going on, buddy?"
    "I haven't the faintest idea."
    "I honestly don't know. My father's really sick. I expected ... "Say, this isn't about drugs, is it?" Pittman was too confused to answer.
    "I asked you a question."
    "It's not about drugs. You saw the ambulance leave the hospital. "
    "Sure. Right. Well, I don't plan to spend the rest of the night driving around Scarsdale. At least I think that's where we are. Ride's over, buddy. You've got two choices-head back with me or get out right now. Either way, you're paying both ways." The driver turned the taxi around.
    "Okay, let me out where they left the road," Pittman said.
    The driver switched off his headlights, stopping fifty yards from the gate. "In case it's not a good idea to advertise that you followed them."
    "I'm telling you, this isn't about drugs."
    "Yeah. Sure. You owe me a hundred and fifteen bucks." Pittman groped in his pockets. "I already gave you twenty. " "What are you talking about? That's supposed to be my tip. " "But I don't have that much cash."
    "What? I asked you earlier if-"
    "I've got a credit card."
    "That's useless to me! This cab ain't rigged to take it!" "Then I'm going to have to give you a check."
    "Give me a break! Do I look like the trusting type? The last time I took a check from a guy, it-"
    "Hey, I told you I don't have the cash. I'd give you my watch, but it isn't worth fifteen dollars."
    "A check," the driver muttered. "This fucking job."
    After Pittman wrote the check and gave it to him, the driver the address at the top of the check. "Let me see your driver's license." He wrote down Pittman's Social Security number. "If this check bounces, buddy .
    "I promise it won't."
    "Well, if it does, I'm gonna come to your apartment and break both your legs."
    "Just make sure you cash it before a week from Saturday. "What's so special about a week from Saturday?"
    "I won't be around." Pittman got out of the car, thankful that the rain had lessened to a mist, and watched the taxi pull away in the darkness. A distance down the road, the driver switched his headlights on.
    In the silence, Pittman suddenly felt isolated. Shoving his hands