The King of the City

By KEITH LAUMER
Illustrated by FINLAY
He was a sort of taxi-driver, delivering a commuter to the city. The tank traps and armored cars were the hazards of the trade!
I stood in the shadows and looked across at the rundown lot with the windblown trash packed against the wire mesh barrier fence and the yellow glare panel that said HAUG ESCORT. There was a row of city-scarred hacks parked on the cracked ramp. They hadn't suffered the indignity of a wash-job for a long time. And the two-story frame building behind them—that had once been somebody's country house—now showed no paint except the foot-high yellow letters over the office door.
Inside the office a short broad man with small eyes and yesterday's beard gnawed a cigar and looked at me.
Portal-to-portal escort cost you two thousand C's, he said. Guaranteed.
Guaranteed how? I asked.
He waved the cigar. Guaranteed you get into the city and back out again in one piece. He studied his cigar. If somebody don't plug you first, he added.
How about a one-way trip?
My boy got to come back out, ain't he?
I had spent my last brass ten-dollar piece on a cup of coffee eight hours before, but I had to get into the city. This was the only idea I had left.
You've got me wrong, I said. I'm not a customer. I want a job.