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(( this is a story I wrote for my writer's craft class. Uh, there's a bit of foul language. ))

"BANG!"

I drop my coffee cup, and the hot brew spills all over my newspaper. Cursing, I toss the whole mess into my cab's waste basket. I look around to see where the shot had come from. This isn't the first time I've encountered gun fire neither. The streets of Edmonton are mean streets, and no one knows that better than me. These streets took my son away from me ten years ago...

Looking for anything unusual, I notice that there's an empty cop car parked across the street. The car being there isn't unusual. Like I said before, these are mean streets. They warrant regular police watches. What is unusual is the car's status of unoccupied. Ah well, the young'n must be off to check on that gun shot.

Just then, I see a young lad, couldn't be much more than 20 years old. He must've been crouched down behind the police car, but now he stands up, looking around. He has on a mask! Oh God! He walks around the car, smouldering gun in hand. No, oh no... Just like my son, like my Danny. Another Danny. The murderer runs across the street, ducking into an alleyway.

Without really thinking about it, I pull out into the street. I circle around the block, slowly, as though looking for clients. Calmly, acting like nothing is amiss, I call my dispatcher. I tell them everything I've seen. I can see the other side of the alley now. Running out, while stripping off an over-shirt, is the cold-blooded cop-killer. Somewhere in the alleyway he must have all ready ditched his mask and gun. This son of a b***h's a calculated one, that's for sure, but this old fool can be just as conniving.

He tosses the jacket on the ground, and looks up and down the road. As I cruise slowly, I check out his features in one of my side-mirrors, studying him carefully. They never fig'red out who shot my Danny, but this ******** not gunna get away with this; killing somebody else's Danny.

He had mocha coloured skin, and high cheek bones. Close cropped hair, and a mouth that could show a disarming smile, although right now it was frowning in concentration. His eyes're what got me though, sharp and cold, almost like there's no life in them. Just like Danny's killer's eyes that I see in my nightmares every time I sleep.

"Hey!" He yells out, his deep voice carrying well, like an actor's. Someone trained not to let their real feelings show. I discreetly mute my end of the radio. They'll hear everything I say, but we won't hear them.
I don't stop immediately, like I don't know he's there straight-away. God damned murderer's got no clue. After what happened to Danny, there's no way I could play it safe, lay low and go home just like normal. I stop hurriedly, and he climbs into my cab as I stammer an appology, "‘M'sorry mist'r, didn't see ya." He's not the only actor here. Danny, give me your strength!

"Whatever, old man, just get me to the mall. I'm in a bit of a hurry." He brushes his hand across his forehead, looking around the street for danger, not realizing his new worst enemy is behind the gas peddle.

"West Edmonton Mall, coming straight up!" I announce, loudly and clearly, making sure they all heard, "This won't take more'n ten minutes."

I speed off towards the mall, the vile criminal in the back constantly looking about. The cops must know where we're going and when we'll be there by now. As I'm watching the road ahead of me, I suddenly feel cold metal against my neck; a knife.

"I'm wise to you, old man. I been watchin'. Don't think I din't notice the plainclothes following us. You saw th'whole thing, didn't ya?"

I can't let him go! He could hurt more Danny's. Then there'd be more old men like me, fathers without sons. Not a second to spare, no second thoughts. Today, my nightmares end. I need one minute. Just one.

"Ten years ago. Ten years ago today, you listening mother ********? My son an' I were walking across th'old bridge. Some trigger happy niggah like you killed him. Killed him right on this damn bridge. Ten long years. I been lonely. I ‘magine Danny's been lonely too. So, let's go play with him now."

"What? Hey old man, don't do nothing crazy!" I smile, watching the last car drive past me, out of my way, "Old man? Old man!"

I chuckle a little, flooring the peddle, aiming right towards the safety rail. This is one killer who's not getting away. Not like the b*****d who killed Danny. Not one more murderer going free.

Be patient. We don't have too many members and many are offline.

I'll give you a basic rundown, though:



Should be "either".



surprised Holy wow. Nice city choice. I'm from Red Deer myself.



This seems a bit...hm. Sudden, I suppose? We're in the first paragraph and we already find out one of this character's major motiavations? I'd suggest fleshing this out a bit so that it doesn't seem so sudden.



So, you're working with first-person. Is using "lad" trying to show the character as quirky in his speech? If not, how many cab drivers do you think casually use "lad'?



Should be "He has a mask on." or something. "He has on a mask!" sound sort of like something put through a translator.



I'm just looking at the realism here - the cab driver witnesses a murder, pretty much, which reminds him of the death of his son. You then write that he turns onto the street without thinking. So why is he acting so calmly suddenly?



"cold-blooded cop-killer" sounds sorta wonky.



No offense to your protagonist, but how is simply disposing of evidence in an alley calculating? Even the stupidest murderer would think of that.



Tense change! Should be "He has mocha coloured skin"



This strikes me as sorta...needless.



I guess that's the closest mall...but taxi drivers need to be sure. My suggestion? Have him loudly ask "What mall?" and the kid says "West Ed" and then have that line. Simple solution.



Excellent ending!

Now, for some ending comments: I do like your story, and I even like the usage of "******", much as I hate to say it. Adds a layer. However, I'd like to point out that your character's speech patterns are highly inconsistant. He appears to have a very high vocabulary while thinking but not while talking. Plus, a few words (mocha is one), seem to be plundered from the thesaurus.

Keep writing! heart

This is different from your usual stuff Wendybird! I do like it though, it's weird though, no toush of trista in it... not used to reading stuff of yours without a touch of me... hehe... I like it though, and the guy went crazy at the end.... kinda yeah

This is quite good! I like! 3nodding