Taxi Please

Taxi Please
Word Count: 323
By Scott Wilson
“Watch out for that grav car!” Sarjul yelled.
Her male companion, Tom, jumped back from the sidewalk, narrowly escaping the front bumper of the taxi. The Indian cabbie flicked a single finger at the pair, speeding around the corner and out of sight. Tom shook his head.
“I thought taxi drivers were bad back on Earth. It looks like they’ve got the monopoly everywhere.” Tom said.
Sarjul licked her tentacles, hugged Tom, then let out a howling screech. Tom heard glass shattering, followed closely by the taxi slamming into a streetlight.
“How did you do that?” Tom said.
“Kind of like a ventriloquist. I can project my voice, and fluctuate the octave to any given range.”
“But we can’t even see the cab...how did you know where to throw your...”
Sarjul pointed to the window of Starbucks Venus store, where the reflection of the crashed taxi stood our clearly. The taxi driver was rubbing his turban and looking around, cursing anyone who stopped to ask if he was all right. Each window of the cab was shattered and the bonnet of the grav car stood up to attention with a large dint running from the bumper to the windscreen, or where the windscreen previously stood.
“Won’t the police arrest you?” Tom said. “I mean, that sort of thing would get you thrown in the slammer on Earth.”
Sarjul’s foot long lips quivered, which Tom knew meant she was laughing. He travelled to Venus on the last refugee junk from Earth two months back, but thought we was getting to know the local culture quite well.
“Not at all,” Sarjul said, ripping Tom’s right arm off. “We like you immigrants as much as you seem to like taxi drivers.”
Tom thought he saw two locals feasting on the cab driver as he lost consciousness.
THE END