There is a price to pay for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes that penalty can be harsh or even fatal. On this chilly, fall afternoon the timing couldn’t have been worse for the unsuspecting traveler returning home to
Just after four p.m., a dozen or so cabbies milled around the string of idling taxis on the west side of the
30th Street Train
Station. Several cab drivers watched as
a large black man struggled to get his two heavy, brown suitcases through the
double doors. Once he reached the car,
the cabbie manhandled the bags into the trunk of the first cab. The big man paused to look at the number on
the side of the taxi. He turned to the
driver and smiled.
“#3153 hey that’s my lucky number. Something good's gonna happen to me today.”
The man slide into the back seat, as he was about to close the door a tall, thin man distracted him. The man bolted through the train stations doors clutching a silver, metal case.
“Hold that cab!”
The stranger with the long dark hair and foreign accent had that unmistakable look of fear in his eyes. His voice trembled when he shouted. The desperate looking man managed to get the attention of the cab driver as well as the man in the back seat. The passenger seemed startled and mildly confused. There were plenty of cabs. He didn’t understand why the stranger was in such a hurry until he noticed two angry looking gunmen in hot pursuit.