This is another story done for me by an extremely talented community writer. It is set in London. This is the prequel/set-up and it is a bit lengthy, but hope everyone enjoys:
“Not leavin’ so soon, are ya, Becky?” the young man asked. He had spiky cut platinum blonde hair, and the entire outer edge of his right ear was lined with a series of metal studs and rings. He was dressed somewhat like Billy Idol in a music video that came out the year he was four.
“Sorry, Spike,” Becky smiled, “but some of us do have to work in the morning, y’know?” The conversation took place outside a fashionable London nightclub called Don’s Inane. Most patrons finally got the pun after about their third Sex on the Beach.
“Still slavin’ away for the corporate masters, are ya, Becks?” Spike asked.
“Uh huh,” Becky admitted. “Not all of us can live the glamorous life of baggin’ groceries at the Netto!” Becky gave the young man a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bye, love!”
“You know that’s just until my band takes off,” Spike frowned at Becky’s back.
“Cab!” Becky cried, waving her hand. She was of a similar age to Spike, in her middle twenties. Her hair was cut shoulder length, and was a pretty, shiny brown color (one particularly poetic lover had likened it to polished mahogany). Her slender young body had not yet shown the wear and tear of clubbing six nights a week; her breasts were still high and firm, her stomach flat, her legs lean and toned. She wore a black leather jacket (the forty year old salesgirl at the Gap had insisted it made her look like Suzy Quatro; Becky hadn’t known who that was but had looked it up later) over a white fitted cut, buttonfront shirt. Her old blue Levis, fraying on right knee in accordance with the current style, were held up with a black leather belt. Her three inch heels clattered on the pavement as she scampered to the cab that pulled up at the curb.
“Hi,” she chirped as she opened the door and climbed in the back. “You’re a godsend, I wasn’t sure I’d get a cab at this time of the night!”
“Your chariot awaits, milady,” the driver said, tipping an imaginary hat. Becky giggled. He was cute, this one; he looked kind of like a much younger Alec Baldwin (were there any more Baldwin brothers Becky didn’t know about?) “Where goest thou?”
Becky giggled and gave the address of her flat. Cute, and with a sense of humor! Maybe it was the sloe gin talking, but Becky figured, if she weren’t so damned tired and didn’t have that presentation the next morning (actually later this morning), she’d be tempted to offer him a very special tip.
“That’s a very interesting belt buckle,” the driver said, peering at her in the rear view mirror.
“You like it?” Becky asked, framing the buckle with her fingers and arching her back to thrust it forward. “It’s supposed to be a tribal raven symbol. Pressie from a cuz in Canada.”
“Very nice,” the driver said. “Is it true that there’s really only three letters in the word ‘Canada’?”
“C, eh? N, eh? D, eh?” Becky recited the tired old joke, then giggled with a high-pitched tone. “That one’s got whiskers on it, love, but it still tickles me!”
“Does it now?” the driver asked, his eyebrows raising a little.
“Oh, yeah,” Becky said, still giggling. The cab driver watched in the rear view mirror as Becky’s giggle grew into a wide yawn; she stretched her lithe arms catlike over her head as she yawned, then relaxed against the seat back with a deep sigh.
“Oh, my, I’m all sleepy all of a sudden,” Becky mused, her head beginning to bob slightly downwards. “Must’ve had a wee bit too much at the club!”
“It could just be the hour,” the driver offered. “It’s pretty late.”
“Yeah, s’true,” Becky said, slowly easing down sideways on the seat. “This is such a comfy cab...I just curl up right here...”
Becky’s pretty face sank beneath the rear view mirror’s field of vision. The cab driver smiled contentedly to himself a few moments later, as he heard the sound of gentle snoring coming from the rear of the cab.
It had worked. It had been a big risk, and quite expensive. It had taken a long time to find a cab driver unscrupulous enough to rent Jeff his cab for a night, no questions asked. It hadn’t been easy to locate an odorless, colorless anesthetic, either. But after all these weeks of planning and preparation, Jeff finally had his prize.
“Not leavin’ so soon, are ya, Becky?” the young man asked. He had spiky cut platinum blonde hair, and the entire outer edge of his right ear was lined with a series of metal studs and rings. He was dressed somewhat like Billy Idol in a music video that came out the year he was four.
“Sorry, Spike,” Becky smiled, “but some of us do have to work in the morning, y’know?” The conversation took place outside a fashionable London nightclub called Don’s Inane. Most patrons finally got the pun after about their third Sex on the Beach.
“Still slavin’ away for the corporate masters, are ya, Becks?” Spike asked.
“Uh huh,” Becky admitted. “Not all of us can live the glamorous life of baggin’ groceries at the Netto!” Becky gave the young man a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bye, love!”
“You know that’s just until my band takes off,” Spike frowned at Becky’s back.
“Cab!” Becky cried, waving her hand. She was of a similar age to Spike, in her middle twenties. Her hair was cut shoulder length, and was a pretty, shiny brown color (one particularly poetic lover had likened it to polished mahogany). Her slender young body had not yet shown the wear and tear of clubbing six nights a week; her breasts were still high and firm, her stomach flat, her legs lean and toned. She wore a black leather jacket (the forty year old salesgirl at the Gap had insisted it made her look like Suzy Quatro; Becky hadn’t known who that was but had looked it up later) over a white fitted cut, buttonfront shirt. Her old blue Levis, fraying on right knee in accordance with the current style, were held up with a black leather belt. Her three inch heels clattered on the pavement as she scampered to the cab that pulled up at the curb.
“Hi,” she chirped as she opened the door and climbed in the back. “You’re a godsend, I wasn’t sure I’d get a cab at this time of the night!”
“Your chariot awaits, milady,” the driver said, tipping an imaginary hat. Becky giggled. He was cute, this one; he looked kind of like a much younger Alec Baldwin (were there any more Baldwin brothers Becky didn’t know about?) “Where goest thou?”
Becky giggled and gave the address of her flat. Cute, and with a sense of humor! Maybe it was the sloe gin talking, but Becky figured, if she weren’t so damned tired and didn’t have that presentation the next morning (actually later this morning), she’d be tempted to offer him a very special tip.
“That’s a very interesting belt buckle,” the driver said, peering at her in the rear view mirror.
“You like it?” Becky asked, framing the buckle with her fingers and arching her back to thrust it forward. “It’s supposed to be a tribal raven symbol. Pressie from a cuz in Canada.”
“Very nice,” the driver said. “Is it true that there’s really only three letters in the word ‘Canada’?”
“C, eh? N, eh? D, eh?” Becky recited the tired old joke, then giggled with a high-pitched tone. “That one’s got whiskers on it, love, but it still tickles me!”
“Does it now?” the driver asked, his eyebrows raising a little.
“Oh, yeah,” Becky said, still giggling. The cab driver watched in the rear view mirror as Becky’s giggle grew into a wide yawn; she stretched her lithe arms catlike over her head as she yawned, then relaxed against the seat back with a deep sigh.
“Oh, my, I’m all sleepy all of a sudden,” Becky mused, her head beginning to bob slightly downwards. “Must’ve had a wee bit too much at the club!”
“It could just be the hour,” the driver offered. “It’s pretty late.”
“Yeah, s’true,” Becky said, slowly easing down sideways on the seat. “This is such a comfy cab...I just curl up right here...”
Becky’s pretty face sank beneath the rear view mirror’s field of vision. The cab driver smiled contentedly to himself a few moments later, as he heard the sound of gentle snoring coming from the rear of the cab.
It had worked. It had been a big risk, and quite expensive. It had taken a long time to find a cab driver unscrupulous enough to rent Jeff his cab for a night, no questions asked. It hadn’t been easy to locate an odorless, colorless anesthetic, either. But after all these weeks of planning and preparation, Jeff finally had his prize.
