Where entertainment and information are believed to mix rather well, this was the first and clearest of indications that the events following the R Square incident should be written down with the greatest care. Hence, after having found and interviewed more cooperative eyewitnesses, I committed myself to objectivity and facts whenever possible, in the hope I would create the least ‘brave brother’ I can be held responsible for myself: this is my ride with Taxi! / For the same reason, it is only proper to start with an event no one can or dares to deny, not even those who later benefited by rejecting all the rest: the ever inexplicable yet deadly attack on one of this city’s many coffee shops. / That Tuesday night, on his way to his regular appointment with his friends, the show’s main character was late. Fortunately K never speeded; once his taxi had turned on the roundabout at R Square, he was forced to hit the breaks so hard, the wheels blocked completely. The car was not driving fast but this sudden action would still have been sufficient to catapult any late client on the backseat forward, in the best case only causing a whiplash. K’s arms took half the blow; he banged his elbows on the steering wheel. / Through the windshield he could see how the crowd of angry young men armed with baseball bats now started to move away from him. In the eyes of the anonymous star of Taxi! it appeared as if their chaos randomly created a cloud of hands, all holding sticks, arms waving in a rush towards the corner of the next street. / It took him some time to realize where exactly they were heading for, as he sat stunned in the driver's seat. Yet, once K was sure the long dark overcoats were moving towards the exact place where he and his friends were supposed to meet, his crooked fingers quickly pulled the door handle. The stiffness of his lower body threw him easily on the asphalt; like a sandbag K fell out of his taxi. Within some crawls, he was back on his feet, but there, he already heard the huge windows explode as loud as bombs. / The bright neon lights were still on inside and K initially attempted to get closer to the riot. His four buddies - all taxi drivers like so many in this city - had already been inside awaiting his arrival. He barely managed now to catch a glimpse of them as the crowd was flooding the place. Looking for shelter, the four men had climbed the high bar stools at the service counter. The oldest among them – B was sixty-three - would experience the latest designer trend in snack bars all too well: he slid off his stool’s slippery vinyl cover. It all happened in the blink of an eye.
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