My smile was perfunctory as my thoughts drifted back to Nicole. But it was no use; my body had already begun to tingle, that unmistakable feeling that every single nerve ending was being plucked all at once by invisible fingers, all with the aplomb of a world class harpist.
As the Americans say, especially those provincials who drive tractor-trailers, I put the hammer down, watching the Capitol dome grow closer and closer, nodding politely as the man babbled incoherently about rubbing "snatches" while shoving ten-dollar bills down g-strings.
AtFirst Street , we topped a rise that afforded an unobstructed view of the Capitol. It was quite the quiet night; there was not a single car between First and the Square. Where were the drag-racing, 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.
"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,