Connie fixed her gaze on the car in front, gripping the wheel stiffly. She'd rolled the seat as far forward as it could go, and she looked a little squashed, but otherwise her feet wouldn't have been able to reach the pedals.

Faust found her odd. Rich people normally boasted about their wealth every chance they got, but whenever he asked questions about her life she just seemed to retreat inward, as though ashamed of her self-made success. He kind of wished more rich people were like that — maybe the world would be a better place if more of them were like Connie.

"The Scottish guy," prompted Faust. "How'd you know where you had to pick him up?"

She screwed up her face in concentration, like she was actually driving instead of idling in a car. He waved a hand in front of her face.

"Hello?"

"What, MacCain?" she asked, pursing her lips. "There's a board up in HQ with my timetable on it. Checked it when we went past. Didn't you see it?"

"But you knew before that, right? In the cafe?" He jammed the tape in the player, but the speakers in the car were like listening to music through a tin can and a wire. Even an EQ whizz like him had trouble pumping the bass up.

Connie shuffled uncomfortably and pulled her seatbelt back around her shoulder.

"I guess Gazzer must have sent me an email and I checked it when I was getting ready earlier," she said. "Yeah, that's probably what it was."

Faust shrugged. "So be it. I just thought if you'd remembered something then maybe we could find that little weirdo a little quicker."

"Nah, still drawing a blank," said Connie. The traffic opened up ahead, so in true taxi driver fashion she slammed her foot on the accelerator, then hit the brakes two seconds later. You would think their cars could only stop and go.

“Well, don’t hesitate to share any sudden, plot-induced flashbacks.”

They'd gone through half the album by the time they got to the front of the queue, and seeing as he failed to get a conversation going, they ended up sitting with the music as a buffer between them while they bobbed their heads. She rolled the window down, and rain spilled in.

Two young lads in thick raincoats walked up, their faces hidden behind hoods. Conveniently for the narrator, one was extraordinarily angular and the other could have passed for a whale.

"Oi, can you take us to the beachfront?" asked the whale while they got in, filling the car with a vague smell of dampness and cheap tobacco.

Faust sized them up, and immediately propped his sword against the glovebox so the lads could see it — he got a lazy minor antagonist vibe from them. They stared at it, and then looked at him in such a pugnacious manner that he immediately decided to watch the road instead.

"Wot," said the angular one.

Faust pretended not to hear. He’d always thought of himself as a lover, not a fighter.

Connie clicked on the meter, its dot matrix display humming into life alongside the engine, before she pushed the accelerator to the floor and propelled them forward. Rain battered the windscreen.

Despite her speed, Connie kept glimpsing into the rearview mirror. She exhaled friendliness. "Some day to go to the beach, huh, gents? What's the occasion?"

They blinked and breathed, and the fat one rolled up a cigarette on his knee.

"Yeah," said the angular one.

"Oi, mate, what is that coming out your hand?" said the fat one. "It's like... a number or something."

Faust buried his hand in his lap to hide it. He tried extra hard to subtly nudge the sword so that it would catch the glare of passing headlights. Maybe that would intimidate them into silence.

"Oi, mate, is that a sword there?" said the angular one. "It is! Why've you got a sword for?"

"Imagine having a sword," laughed the fat one. “That’s Barden City for you.”

"Swords are cool," said Connie. "What, you guys don't have swords?"

"Nah. Fucking shit weapons, innit. No range on them. Can't get through armour," said the fat one.

"Give me a spear anyday," said the angular one. "Or a hammer for smashing. Nobody used swords back in the day, that's just an over-exaggeration by Hollywood."

Faust nudged the sword back into the shadows. Wherever he went, he seemed to attract these kinds of minor villains that only existed to question his life choices and make him feel like shit. He turned up the music loud enough to drown out their complaints that the music was shit, while Connie went bright red.

They reached the beachfront, where the battery-acid waves pooled against the rocks, the taxi meter having ticked up to a cool twenty pounds. To Faust, that didn't seem worth Connie's time at all, but he supposed it all depended on the salary she got.

Connie cleared her throat, polite enough not to turn around when demanding currency. In return, the lads made a show of searching every single pocket of their multiple layers of hoodies, and the fat one eventually came up with a soggy ten pound note.

The angular one shook his head. "Sorry, I think we both forgot our wallets."

"Okay," sighed Connie. "Then you'll have to fund an additional trip to the ATM."

"No card, either," said the fat one.

"No phone, either," said the angular one.

"We're awful forgetful, aren't we?"

"Couple o' fucking idiots. But we ain't got any money, do we?"

"Nope."

"None."

Connie clicked open her seatbelt and turned around, smiling sweetly.

She said, "That makes a very awkward situation for us, doesn't it, gentlemen?"

"Very awkward, yeah," agreed the fat one. "Now!"

In unison, they yanked on the door handles, rushing so fast that their heads thunked against the glass when they failed to get them open.

"Oh, boys," tutted Connie. "That was exactly what you didn't want to do. See, before I could’ve laboured under the misapprehension that you were just the usual dregs that crawl out of Slumsfield. Now I know you're a real couple of pieces of shit."

She got a brushed aluminium aerosol from the side of the door and trained the nozzle on them.

Instinctively, the angular one reached to swat it away, but she sprayed his hand before he even got close.

"Owwwwww!" he shouted, clutching it. It broke out in a weird rash. "That ain't fair!"

"See how you like it in your eyes if you wanna to press the issue," she spat. "Now, am I going to get my money, or do I have to call my boss?"

Faust felt a little bit of an observer, so he brought his sword inches from the fat one and said, "Who's laughing now, you degenerates?"

"We ain't got no money!" wailed the fat one. "It's the truth!"

"Didn't wanna get mugged, did we?" said the angular one, crying in pain as he chomped on his hand. "Plus, you cabbies are always charging ridiculous prices! There’s a reason you don’t get no tourists in Barden, you know!"

With her free hand, Connie called Gazzer and put him on speakerphone.

"Alright, Connie?" he said. "I'm up to my arse in paperwork right now, would you mind—"

"I got a couple of gentlemen refusing to pay in the beachfront car park," she said. "Tell the Fleet."

"The Fleet?" asked the angular one. "What do you mean the Fleet?"

"Why's it capitalised?" asked the fat one.

"She means," growled Gazzer, "That I'm sending word for all two hundred cabbies under my company to drive down there to sort you cunts out. You have five minutes. If I were you, I'd empty your pockets. Now!"

Connie held her hand out, and a twenty pound note miraculously emerged from the fat one's trousers.

"Uh uh," she tutted.

He put the tenner on as well.

"This city is a shithole," said the angular one. "It desperately needs EU funding."

Connie unlocked the doors, and they sprinted out, vanishing into the wind and the rain.

"Thanks, Gazzer," she said.

His phlegmy laughter echoed down the line. "Ahahaha! Gets em every time! Stupid fuckers don't even have one brain cell between them! 'Mobilising the fleet'! Hah! Who do they think I am, the fucking Godfather?"

"How often does that happen?" asked Faust, taking deep breaths to lower his heart rate.

"Couple of times a week," shrugged Connie, shaking the aerosol. "Nothing a bit of capsaicin can't sort out."

"So, Fast, what do you reckon?" asked Gazzer. "I can set you up with a cab tomorrow and get you absolutely raking it in."

"Fast?" said Faust, grabbing the phone. "Listen here, you ingrate, it's Faust, and if I hear so much as a snigger, then I can assure you that there will be litigation!"

"Alright, sorry," he wheezed. "Hold your lawyers. I'm trying to offer you a job here, mate!"

Faust glanced at the meter, and then the clock. It didn't take a genius to figure out she'd made less than ten pounds an hour.

"Saying she's making bank is... a flat out lie," he said. "How much of a salary are you paying her to sit in that queue?"

"Hang on, man," said Connie, trying to grab the phone back, but he twisted away.

A gust of laughter escaped Gazzer's mouth. "Aha. Ha. Sorry, mate, my ears are failing me in my old age. What was the... ahahaha... question?"

"Faust," growled Connie. "Give me my phone back."

"What are you paying per hour?" asked Faust.

There was a thud, like somebody had just fallen on the floor, and a wheeze. "Ahahaha! Salary? You've got the wrong end of the stick, feller! She ain't getting nothing from me but the car and the admin! I ain't paying nobody to just sit around on their—"

Connie snatched the phone back, and hung up. She laughed, even as her face fell. And suddenly, everything fit together. No wonder she was trying to put up a front that she'd worked for all her money — she didn't deserve what she had. Probably the daughter of some baron, LARPing as a working class cabbie.

"I can explain," she said.

"You lied," said Faust. "Who are you, really?"

"I didn't lie… it was just another joke! Alright, back to work we go!"

"You... you're fake," he spat, hitching the sword into its scabbard. "Here I was thinking you were some champion of the hustle, of the grind, when really working is apparently some kind of hobby for you! You've been laughing at my struggles all along, haven't you? 'How cute', you think, as I pour out my heart! 'Tee hee, I'm a chauffeur, look at me', you giggle from your safety net!"

"Fuck off. I work for my shit, same as everybody. I'm pulling twelve hour shifts here, forgive me for having a sense of humour about it."

"But you don't have to, do you, and that makes all the difference. The penthouse? The expensive breakfasts you say you eat every morning? The Expresso Maker you were too fucking snobby to let me try? I guess happiness comes easy enough when daddy’s topping up your bank account!"

"Get out," she said. "If that's truly what you think of me, then get out."

"What else am I supposed to think?" he said. "You're a fake. Can you explain how the maths add up for you to afford your lifestyle? I wanted to trust you, Connie, but how the fuck can I when I don't even know who you are?"

She stormed out of the car, fighting her way through the pounding rain, walked over to his door, and swung it open.

"I said get out!" she shouted. "Go and talk to a therapist, you self-pitying freak!"

He snapped his fingers, then looked surprised when nothing happened. "Oh, but it looks like normal people can't just summon whatever they want! I won’t be needing one. Looks like I've found the solution to my never-ending melancholy: just be rich! It was that easy!"

"Are you done?" She sniffled, shivering in the rain. "Are you quite fucking finished?"

He stood up, closing the door behind him. "Just one last thing, and then I'll wash my hands of it. The way you're living this day, trying to avoid it, you'll never come to terms with the fact that you killed Alan MacCain. Lie to me, abuse my good faith all you want, but at least have the decency not to lie to yourself!"

He ran into the darkness, down a road he didn't know, the streetlights blurring in his eyes. Cars streamed past him, splashing him with puddles, but he kept on running. There were barely any pedestrians on the pavement, which made it all the more stunning when he crossed paths with Alan MacCain wearing a macintosh. He looked just as mild-mannered as his profile picture. The Scotsman shivered before ducking down an alleyway.

"Stupid fucking two-faced Connie," Faust muttered, waiting till he'd rounded the corner before doubling back and tailing him.