Sergeant Sellers’s eyes regarded her with an appraisal in which there was no friendliness whatever. She might have been some building on which he was making a cash appraisal.
“That all you know?” he asked the cab driver.
“That’s all.”
“Simms, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s take a look at your licence.”
The cab driver showed him his licence. Sergeant Sellers took the number of the cab and said, “Okay, no reason to send you back out there. That’s all. You get in my car, Mrs. Cool.”
The cab driver said, “The fare’s one-eighty-five.”
“What do you mean?” Bertha Cool snorted. “It was only seventy-five cents going out there, and—”
“Waiting-time.”