Claim's Cabbies Corner. Repo Revenge.

[bub2006]

It can turn very quickly with runners. My dad made it in the local rag many years ago. He's a hackney carriage driver in Sutton in ashfield. A couple of scrotes grabbed his bag and tried legging it through an alley. He went after them and one stopped and slashed his face with a craft knife. He got back to the car and headed round the other side of the alley to try and head them off through the estate. He eventually caught one,well caught him with the ford Sierra cab he had at the time. When coppers turned up local scrotes was on the deck with a busted leg. Apparently he was injured when he tried running and fell off the kerb. No comments were made about the oil and tyre marks on his legs were he was ran over

[Kiltox]

I’m imagining the policeman tapping Warren on the shoulder like “excuse me” “excuse me sir” “sir, if it’s not too much trouble could you pause with the torture for a second?”

[bub2006]

I can recall with my dad,it was a craft knife and when coppers turned up my dad said he tried running after slashing my dad. He apparently congratulated him for chasing him even though he needed his face stitched up. Maybe someone realised what went on but didn't say anything. I'm going back over 20 years now though. Warren though in Liverpool area is a lot more rough in places than Sutton in ashfield.

[laserfooooooooooooo]

Fat lad is then deposited into my car and the three of us drive to his parents' house where a very angry mother has to pay the fare of £20 plus VAT (Value Added Torture) and doubtless the chunky fucker is still grounded to this day.

Fucking howling here

More please squire!

[NorfolkNWeigh]

Two tales of runners stand out for me;
The best and worst.
Early 1995 and a mate on te door of a massive local Rave Club ( The Sanctuary in Milton Keynes for anybody that remembers it) calls me to say a Brummie dealer was trying to get home and nobody would take him because he was too scary.
The obvious answer would be fuck off! But, I did a bit of door work there on big events and didn't want to look like a pussy...
Anyway, what could possibly go wrong, the worst trouble you ever got off ravers was them wanting to hug you.
My mate assured me he'd go e through the metal detector so unless he was all James Bond and got a ceramic blade or composite gun, it was all good.
We leave for Birmingham, at least I had the foresight to tell him I needed petrol ( that long ago) and ghia dnt got any money so he stumped up £30s worth up front.
We get to Birmingham and he's been chatty all the way and seems sound enough, pull up at a Tower Block and he says he just needs to go in and grab some cash- his mates left with the takings, apparently.
Anyway after 15 minutes I go looking for him, left my Granada ( F plate 2.0i Ghia) amongst the heaps of shit sitting on bricks with smashed windows etc and went in. I headed for the only flat that had lights on and music playing and banged on the door.
Any normal person would have run away when a Jamaican bloke the size of a Portaloo , wearing a leather vest with 2 machetes strapped to his chest answers the door. Any normal person.
I ask for Star or Gary, Portaloo steps aside and let's me in, thinking I'm a mate or something, as he shuts the door, that's when the penny drops that I just might be biting off more than I can chew and certainly not worth the £50 I'm owed.
Seems My mate Gary is the guvnor, he introduces to me to his friends and offers me some crack, I politely decline and wonder if he'd found his cash- he just shakes his head and says" But we're mates, you wouldn't charge me would you?"
I'm pretty sure my resolve and courage were starting to run down my leg by this point, I just nod and turn around wondering if I can blind Portaloo machete boy with a Tibbe key, whilst casually heading for the door. Once out of the flat, I ran like fuck, jumped in the Granny and screeched out of the carpark, I'd barely got 1/4 of a mile when I was pulled by a Wet Midlands Plod Maestro.
The knew where I'd been and had been watching my car, complete with MK Council taxi plate on the back wondering what I was doing. One of the coppers said "Wewere waiting for a couple of riot vans before we came in looking for you!"

Turns out my new mate was suspected of being involved with the shooting of 2 undercover Policemen in the street, a couple of months earlier. They advised me to" Fuck off and don't come back to this part of Birmingham, again"

On the bright side he'd paid for the fuel. Oh and I wasn't chopped up into little pieces.

The best was on a Saturday night and the last train from Euston to New Street stopped at Bletchley and the Stationmaster called cabs in for the passengers. These were nice little touches, you got a chit with the passengers names and destination.
You came back to the ticket office the next day and they gave you the cash, anything extra could be negotiated with the passengers. Ie dropping them off at home etc.
This particular night there'd been a Villa game in London and there were hundreds of pissed up Brummies, I grabbed 4, got my chit and left. Got on the M1 in my G reg 2.0 GLi Carlton and they were asleep within 5 minutes, after about 15 minutes there was some whispering in the back and they asked to stop for a piss , I pulled into Rothersthorpe ( as it still was then ) and parked.
All 4 of them jumped out of the car and starbursted, doing a runner!?! 60 miles from home in a cab that was paid for by British Rail . Absolute fucking Nimrods !
I closed the doors, turned around and got back to the station for another load, these ones unfortunately didn't do a runner.
Next day collected £200 from BR- noice!

[Warren t claim]

Two tales of runners stand out for me;
The best and worst.
Early 1995 and a mate on te door of a massive local Rave Club ( The Sanctuary in Milton Keynes for anybody that remembers it) calls me to say a Brummie dealer was trying to get home and nobody would take him because he was too scary.
The obvious answer would be fuck off! But, I did a bit of door work there on big events and didn't want to look like a pussy...
Anyway, what could possibly go wrong, the worst trouble you ever got off ravers was them wanting to hug you.
My mate assured me he'd go e through the metal detector so unless he was all James Bond and got a ceramic blade or composite gun, it was all good.
We leave for Birmingham, at least I had the foresight to tell him I needed petrol ( that long ago) and ghia dnt got any money so he stumped up £30s worth up front.
We get to Birmingham and he's been chatty all the way and seems sound enough, pull up at a Tower Block and he says he just needs to go in and grab some cash- his mates left with the takings, apparently.
Anyway after 15 minutes I go looking for him, left my Granada ( F plate 2.0i Ghia) amongst the heaps of shit sitting on bricks with smashed windows etc and went in. I headed for the only flat that had lights on and music playing and banged on the door.
Any normal person would have run away when a Jamaican bloke the size of a Portaloo , wearing a leather vest with 2 machetes strapped to his chest answers the door. Any normal person.
I ask for Star or Gary, Portaloo steps aside and let's me in, thinking I'm a mate or something, as he shuts the door, that's when the penny drops that I just might be biting off more than I can chew and certainly not worth the £50 I'm owed.
Seems My mate Gary is the guvnor, he introduces to me to his friends and offers me some crack, I politely decline and wonder if he'd found his cash- he just shakes his head and says" But we're mates, you wouldn't charge me would you?"
I'm pretty sure my resolve and courage were starting to run down my leg by this point, I just nod and turn around wondering if I can blind Portaloo machete boy with a Tibbe key, whilst casually heading for the door. Once out of the flat, I ran like fuck, jumped in the Granny and screeched out of the carpark, I'd barely got 1/4 of a mile when I was pulled by a Wet Midlands Plod Maestro.
The knew where I'd been and had been watching my car, complete with MK Council taxi plate on the back wondering what I was doing. One of the coppers said "Wewere waiting for a couple of riot vans before we came in looking for you!"

Turns out my new mate was suspected of being involved with the shooting of 2 undercover Policemen in the street, a couple of months earlier. They advised me to" Fuck off and don't come back to this part of Birmingham, again"

On the bright side he'd paid for the fuel. Oh and I wasn't chopped up into little pieces.

The best was on a Saturday night and the last train from Euston to New Street stopped at Bletchley and the Stationmaster called cabs in for the passengers. These were nice little touches, you got a chit with the passengers names and destination.
You came back to the ticket office the next day and they gave you the cash, anything extra could be negotiated with the passengers. Ie dropping them off at home etc.
This particular night there'd been a Villa game in London and there were hundreds of pissed up Brummies, I grabbed 4, got my chit and left. Got on the M1 in my G reg 2.0 GLi Carlton and they were asleep within 5 minutes, after about 15 minutes there was some whispering in the back and they asked to stop for a piss , I pulled into Rothersthorpe ( as it still was then ) and parked.
All 4 of them jumped out of the car and starbursted, doing a runner!?! 60 miles from home in a cab that was paid for by British Rail . Absolute fucking Nimrods !
I closed the doors, turned around and got back to the station for another load, these ones unfortunately didn't do a runner.
Next day collected £200 from BR- noice!

I don't think I can top that first tale but last week I got an account job from the local hospital, a crack head wanting to go and see her fella instead of being taken to bail hostel I was paid to take her to. Obviously I wasn't going to take her anywhere other than where was stated on my screen much to her disgust. We got a mile down the road when she said she wanted to be sick so I stop the car and she does a runner... Never mind, I got a tenner for a mile long trip.

A few months ago I picked up a couple of pissed up North Face Ninjas wanting to go to the shit end of town so obviously, I asked for cash upfront. The gave me £20 which I put in the sun visor and drove them there with about £12 on the meter. When we get to the address they both slowly get out before shouting "you've been had off knobhead" and running down an alleyway. They'll go far in this world.

A couple of years ago another two lads fancied their chances. I picked them up from a club and despite my initial suspicions they gave me a full address including the postcode that they wanted to go to which generally means they are going to pay, sadly this address was next to an alley that they bolted down, clearly a regular trick they do. Unfortunately for them I know the area and know that's a long alley only leading to one place so I drove around the corner and intercepted one of them, frogmarched him home, knocked on his front door (with his head) and extracted the fare (plus VAT) off his mum.

[Warren t claim]

In all my years I've had little trouble, very few runners and I've never been robbed. Quite an achievement considering the area I work in which I put down to a few simple rules. I always keep an empty McDonalds cup with change in instead of using a money clip. This also means I'm safe to leave it in the car if I have to nip into a shop. I keep both a tenner and a fiver in my sun visor so after a busy night I don't have to pull a wad of notes out of my pocket to break a £20. If it's obviously a booming night and someone asks if I've done OK I tell them I've only just started. I always ask a dodgy looking punter if they need the cash machine when they first get in to see if they do or say they've already got the cash, if they want an ATM I insist on going to the nearest one first rather than one near their destination. Wait and return fares at night are ALWAYS DRUG RUNS and never to drop off keys, borrow a game or pay a mate and therefore always cash up front, yes we night drivers know every late night crack and coke dealers house! If for some reason you fail to tell me it's a wait and return I let it be known that I'm grassing up that grafter and I'll tell them it's because of your non-payment! If you don't know your own postcode the money up front, please! I "might" have been involved in some criminal enterprise myself in the past and I'm still very pally with some serious local faces, in fact at any one time 10% of people on my speed dial are in prison or on tag, I let them know that and some people who wouldn't hesitate to cause trouble for another driver behave for me as we usually have mutual friends! In fact once they know that they usually insist we swap numbers as I can be trusted. My firm operates a callback system which calls the punters phone when I'm near. If it's a dodgy area I don't activate it until I'm outside the designated address just to make sure the come out of that front door, similarly if you are waiting outside the pick up house then I'll assume that you don't live there and it's money up front of no taxi.

The things you have to do just to be paid eh?

[bub2006]

I was briefly seeing a lass from Runcorn who was a Liverpudlian. There was a lot of stories of bad folk she knew. You have balls of steel my friend

[Warren t claim]

I was briefly seeing a lass from Runcorn who was a Liverpudlian. There was a lot of stories of bad folk she knew. You have balls of steel my friend

Nope, just common sense and a survival instinct.

[Warren t claim]

I'll get back to the car content on this thread soon BTW. Plenty more vehicular tales to tell.