“No, I’m not going to that address,” Nasir said. “Not again.”

“Look,” sighed Dispatch. “He’s a good tipper, and you get a lot of business in his neighborhood so you’re always closest. Take the fare. If he bugs you, monkey with the meter a little to get time and a half.”

“It’s not the money. I’m not doing it.” Nasir cried.

“Look, I’m through arguing. You take the fare or you find another cab company to drive for. Plenty of Arabic speakers who can drive stick would do the Little Mecca loop for half what you’re pulling in.”

Nasir turned off the radio in disgust and made his way to Dr. Qaus’s apartment. The good doctor was curbside, loaded with satchels and papers.

“Good morning,” he said. Nasir glanced at his dash clock: 2:53pm. “Take me to the university cyclotron. I’ve a set of equations to test and there’s only a few hours’ window.”

“Which university?”

“I don’t have time for all your questions! Drive!”