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hormone-addled adolescents? A quick check of the rear-view mirror showed that no cars approached
from behind. When the light turned green, I feathered the accelerator.
Like I wush saying, the man continued, there s beaver, and there s beaver, and there s
Sir! Vulgar bastard! How could he reduce something so sublime to a mere, inanimate piece of meat?
W ya faggot or something? He turned, his expression angry. Our eyes met, then his face went slack,
eyes turned blood red, the echo of his beating heart growing louder and louder within my skull.
Ahead, behind, no other cars. As the cab sped forward, I grabbed the man by the back of the neck,
pulled him to my chest and chomped down on his throat without even lifting my foot from the gas pedal.
Yes, I had sworn not to take blood from passengers, but as the Americans say, there is a first time for
everything.
Hedid suffer from hypertension. Hot blood, fouled only slightly by what the man had drunk, gushed down
my throat. Fortunately, his taste was not as bad as his smell. After taking about a pint, I gently eased him
to his side of the front compartment and enjoyed the peace and quiet.
The cab remained centered within the proper white lines. I licked the blood off my lips and wiped my
mouth with a handkerchief, then dabbed the blood off my passenger s neck.
The fellow s loud snoring brought a smile to my face; he would not awaken until we reached his motel,
allowing me to peacefully listen to the radio and hopefully get dispatched another call before arriving at
the destination. Additionally, my musing could resume, my favorite smell could return to the forefront and
my favorite image could dance before my mind s eye.
Ah, Tuesday night, the one night where Nicole and I both worked, which meant we could go home
together at shift s end. I worked Tuesday through Friday, and she worked Sunday to Tuesday, allowing
the rest of the week for school work. I had dropped Saturdays to allow more time together. As for the
other nights, we could rendezvous if she managed to stay awake until my shift had concluded, or if she
felt like seeing me at the conclusion of her shift.
West nearWest Towne . Near theWest Side Depot. Crystal Corner.
I hit the bid button, lifted the microphone from its cradle, held a thumb poised over the talk button and
patiently waited for Dexter to call my number.
Eighty-four. Pause. Sixty-eight. Pause. Ninety-seven. Pause. Sixty-seven. Pause. Sixty-three.
Pinckney and Gorham to the University Inn, I answered.
Stand by sixty-three and ninety-seven. The call s at the Wash Hot. You re both dead even. I ll get back
to you both soon.
I glanced at the passenger. Still asleep. He would wake up woozy, but then again, he was already
woozy. I pressed the accelerator to the floor, crossedWisconsin Avenue under a yellow light and sped
towardState Street . Ahead, the green light grew quickly stale. A couple of drunken woman stumbled
into the intersection, but saw my cab and scurried back to the corner.
Where now, ninety-seven? the dispatcher asked. Pause.
Where now, sixty-three?
The cab flew around the curve where Gorham becomes University, my passenger jostled, but still
asleep. The light atFrances was green. I turned right ontoFrances just as the light turned yellow, then
keyed the mike and spoke.
Frances and U to the University Inn. I am clear of the light.
Sixty-three, get the Wash Hot. One Lisa on U-Ride number fifteen. Goes toFrances Court .
My acknowledgment was chipper, but I groaned inwardly. It would surely take far less time to actually
drive the three blocks to the destination than load the passenger from the Hot Wash or Wash Hot cab
slang for the Washington Hotel, a large, once venerable hotel which housed a late-night restaurant, a rock
n roll club, a bar known for fancy drinks, a gay discotheque and a gay bar frequented by men in black
leather.
I smiled sardonically as the cab came to a stop in front of the motel. All calls are good calls, but
apparently, some are better than others. I reached over and gently roused the passenger.
Where? the man said.
Your motel.
The man looked up, looked outside toward the motel s entrance and looked at me, his expression
disoriented.
That is ten fifty.
The man fumbled through his pockets, front, back, hip, breast, chest until he found his wallet. He finally
handed me a ten and a five. Keef the change and gimme a receipt, the businessman said. With
surprising aplomb, he took the receipt, opened the door and climbed out of the cab.
He was about to close the door when he reached toward the wound on his throat, rubbing it with his
fingers. Jeshus Chrisht! Wha the hell!?
I smiled sheepishly.
Ya got some pretty big fuckin mosceetoes around here.
With all the rain we have been having, I replied, they have been growing to the size of small
dogs. They have been known to fly off with young children.
The man stared incredulously at me for a moment, then shut the door and stumbled off.
I tucked the bills into my shirt pocket, watched the man enter the building, then proceeded to my next
call.
Apparently, all callsare good calls.
****
Nicole s face fascinated me. She never seemed to mind my staring at her, though she would shake her
head, this embarrassed expression on her face, but how could I not stare? Those dark, almond eyes.
Those long, shiny, raven tresses. Those long, graceful jaw bones that came together at her chin to form
her lovely angular face. All those womanly curves, unlike these other American women who looked as
though they never ate. Looking at Nicole was almost like looking at a woman from the old country, and
as good fortune had allowed, at shift s end, Kern had vacated the seat directly across from where Nicole
sat struggling with her paperwork. Apparently, she had too many charge slips for a spring night. Ah, but it
was a Tuesday night, the one night we both worked. As soon as we both completed our paperwork, we
could enjoy each other s company for the few hours before sunrise.
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