Replaceable People

 

“Skank.”  Such a wonderful word.  The Roxy is full of them tonight.  The goth with a white fetlock in its hair is a skank.  How can anything with a purple Mohawk not be a skank?  All of the gender-questioning waitrons are total skanks, too (of not, they end up stacked in the freezer, just look at the FAQ in the menu).  By definition, the drag queens resting their corns are skanks.  Even the straits in here are skanks, especially the straights.  Everybody in this whole Vaseline soaked neighborhood is a skank! 

Speaking of skanks, “Shanda,” I say as she walks in wearing her usual quick access fishnets, garter belt and miniskirt.  All in black, of course.

“Oh, Hi Reuben.”  She sits next to me without asking.

“What you up to this fine evening?”

“The usual.  Trying to avoid Johnny, the Brotherhood and the River Freak” 

“Easier said than done,” I smile.  I should know.

“Tell me about it.  Did you hear?  Johnny put Penny in the hospital!”

“Yeah, but I heard she put a knife in him.”

“Really?  Good,” Shanda says. “I hope he’s dead.”

“No such luck.  He was in here earlier with his arm in a sling.  He didn’t look happy.”

“Shit, one goddamned thing after another around here.  I’m getting real tired of this shit.  I mean how are we supposed to make any money if he beats us all black and blue.  He don’t think.  I thought I could get out of here with Georgie, that fat bastard, but noooo.  Fuck ‘em all.  All you men are alike.”

“You do and at least lying down.  Look, I may be on to something.  You remember Vicki’s CPA?  I hear he’s looking for a replacement.”

“You branching out into pimping, Reuben?”

“That is such a nasty word.  I prefer to think of myself as diversifying into human resource management.”

“Yeah, right,” Shanda scoffs.  “What do you know about the CPA?”  

“He’s got rich friends.”

“Rich and kinky,” She thinks for a moment, then “Vicky said he was a front man for the Mayor.  And that Hizzoner is one kinky bastard.”

“So I hear.  You interested or not?”

“Maybe. How much?”

“Two fifty for the CPA and five hundred for his boss.”

“Vicky was getting five hundred and a thousand.  Hizzoner likes to tie girls up.”

“Four hundred, then.  Vicky was prettier.  Besides, I have my expenses.”

“Expenses my ass.   And it is my ass, not yours, he’s going to fuck.”

“Expenses like paying off Johnny.  Or do you want me to tell him you’re looking to cheat on him?”

“Fuck you, Ruben.”

“No thank you.” I wouldn’t fuck Shanda with someone else’s dick.  “A lot of skanks in here would kill for that kind of money.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know about Hizzoner.  I wonder if his wife does.”

I grab her arm and twist it.  “That’s a one way trip down river, skank.”

She pulls away, but doesn’t get up.  “Look Reuben.  I’m just making it plain where we both stand.  I’m sure you’re getting more than a thousand.  Besides, I don’t want to end up like Vicki.”

“You can end up floating next to Vicki.” 

Shanda takes a deep breath.  “I’ll do it, but five hundred and a thousand.  Same as Vicky got.  And nobody tells nobody nothing and nobody goes swimming, OK?”

What’s lower than a skank?  “OK, you’ll get what Vicky got,” and I smile.  “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Shanda smiles and misses both the implication and quote.  “Just keep Johnny off me.”

“Look, lay low over at the Hampton tonight.  I’ll talk to Johnny.” 

***

I go out for a smoke and call the CPA.  “I’ve got the perfect girl for you, one of Vicki’s friends.  She already knows about your boss, so no blindfold needed.”

“That could be a problem,” the CPA replies.

“I don’t think so, she knows what the consequences are.  If you want me to eliminate the problem, it’ll cost more, that’s all.”

“I’ll check and let you know.”

***

I’m paying at the counter when Johnny walks in.

“Johnny, just the man I need to see.”

“What the fuck do you want, cabbie?”

“I’ve got an offer for you.  A lucrative one.”

“Like what?”

“I have some friends who need some female companionship.”

“I don’t sell no ‘female companions’.  Whores, I got.”

“Whatever.  Look, they are interested in Shanda.”

“Yeah, why her?  One worthless bitch, you ask me.”

“Dunno, no accounting for taste.  What’ll she cost me?” Reuben asked.

“Whadaya mean ‘cost me’?  You tryin to hustle my territory?”

“Relax, I’m only interested in Shanda.  My friends just want to work thru me.”

“Fuck it.  She’s nothing but trouble.  You can have for a thousand.”

I think about it a moment.  I was only planning on renting her for a while, but...  “If she’s that much trouble, they may not like her.  Look, I can give you five hundred cash right now.”   

“Fuck her.  You can’t even beat any sense into her.  Fine.  She’s your problem now.”

“Lucky me.”

“You want to buy any more ass, I’ll be over at the Grotto later.”

Fish Grotto?  The boys don’t go there for the seafood.  I guess Johnny works both sides of the street.  Or rather both the Stroll and Vaseline Alley.  Whatever.  

“Sorry, I don’t like fish.” 

“Shit. That’s where the real money is, especially in this town.”

 

2.

The CPA calls back.  “OK, we’ll see how it goes.  But if we have any problems, we’ll eliminate the whole operation.  You understand?”

“Perfectly.  I’m a no problem kinda guy.  When do you want to do this?”

“Tonight at 10.  2220 Hoyt.  I’ll check her out first.”

“No problem.  She’s fifteen for you and twenty five for your Boss”

“That’s a bit steep.”

“Inflation.  Especially since the last one ended up downriver.”

“Whatever, it’s all deductible.  She worth it?”

“If not, she can be replaced.”

***

I call Shanda, ““It’s all set for tonight.  Just the CPA.  I’ll pick you up at 9:30.  You at the Hampton?”

“Yeah, What about Johnny?”

“All taken care of.  I got you at a discount.  As far as he’s concerned you’re a waste of curb space.”

“Fuck him.  Come to think of it, I’m glad I don’t have to anymore.”

***

I swing by the Hampton a little early.  When I walk in, JR is working the desk.  “Hey, what you doing working nights?”

“Linda’s pissed. She blames me for George getting stomped by the police.  What the fuck was I supposed to do?  At least I didn’t join in.” 

“Yeah, I saw it all on Fox News.”

“So did the entire fucking country.  I get to work his shift until she hires a new night auditor.”

“Lucky you still have a job.”

“That’s what she said.  George was nothing but trouble.  He ran this shift like his private brothel.”  

“Look, you kick the skanks out and this place’d be empty!”

“Whatever.”

“Speaking of skanks, where’s Shanda tonight?

“Let’s see…313.”

Shanda opens the door looking more than a little tweaked. 

“Relax,” I tell her.  I pull a baggie of BC bud and papers out of my army jacket and wave it at her.

She grabs it, rolls up a thick one and lights up.  It helps.  She passes it to me after a minute.

“No thanks, I gotta drive.”  I think someone is going to need a clear head tonight.

“More for me,” she says.

I look around the room.  The cops would have a field day in here.  There’s all kind of paraphernalia scattered about.  She must be Tommy Chong’s best customer.  Crack pipes, bong, baggies, a syringe or two, used condoms.  Everything’s empty but the condoms.  I hope she’s not the only skank sleeping in here.  I should just pay her in chemicals.  Cut out the middle man.

Shanda curls up next to me, but she’s built like a fucking 12 year old.  A half dead, gothed out, tweeking 12 year old.  Definitely not my type.  Besides, I’m sure the CPA will want relatively fresh merchandise tonight. 

***

The CPA’s place is up off “Trendy-Third” in Northwest.  I remember Vicki said he’s the Mayor’s Campaign Finance Director.  There’s good money there.  The last campaign cost a million-five.  Well, good to have clients with deep pockets.  I’m sure all of this is going to be expensed as entertainment.

I drive around the block a few times.  The cafes, bistros and boutiques are full of the usual hipster skanks, but no signs of an police ambush.  

The CPA’s place is an old clapboard Victorian.  Lots of gingerbread moldings around the windows and a turret in the corner.  There’s a big front porch half a flight up from the street.  It might be yellow in the daytime, but I doubt I’ll be invited over to find out.

I walk Shanda up to the door.  I feel like some bizzaro teenager, taking his crack whore to meet his parents.

The CPA answers the door and looks at Shanda.  He looks at me, then back at her.  Should I ask her to pirouette?  Then he nods and hands me an envelope.  I look in it, fifteen hundred up front.  I nod.  “Call me when you’re done.”

Shanda doesn’t say anything.  She just gives me a nervous smile and walks inside.  

***

I head over to the Roxy to wait.  The latest Brotherhood scandal is on page B4 of the paper.  The decreasingly secret organization got caught extorting meth cooks.  The article says “The Brotherhood is also suspected of extortion in Portland’s growing escort and adult entertainment industries.”  Wonderful, yet another expense.

It’s about one when Shanda calls, “Not too bad.”

“Good.  Gimme ten minutes.”  I toss back my beer

The CPA shows her to the cab, like a good gentleman.  He leans in the passenger window “I think the boss will like her.  I’ll let you know when.  Probably soon.”

As we drive off, Shanda squirms when we cross the streetcar tracks.  “God, he’s hung like Barbaro.  My ass is going to be sore for a week.”

I hand back her five hundred. “This should help.”

“I guess.”

“Where to, ma’am?”  I ask in my best cabbie voice.

“Home, James,” she orders me. “I’m going to soak in the tub for that week.”

I drop her off at the Hampton, drop off the cab and head home myself.  I’m up four hundred after Johnny and paying off the cab.  Not bad for one night’s work, but more coming.  Much more.

 

3.

I take a few days off, just selling a little “this and that” from my pharmacopeia.  It’s beer money.  Good thing I don’t deplete the more lucrative end of my own inventory.

The Roxy is quiet for once when I walk in.  JR is in the corner eating.

“You still working the late shift?” I ask.

“Yeah, still on Linda’s shit list.”

“You should have erased the surveillance tapes,” I suggest.

“Next time I will.”

I sit down and order a burger and beer.

“I here you’re pimping now,” JR says between fries.

“Where did...I’m gonna slap that stupid bitch Shanda.” I say, have to myself.  JR just shrugs.  “I just have, how should I say, a friend with peculiar tastes.”

“That is one word for Shanda, peculiar.”

“Skank is another.”

“You putting together a string of girls?”

“None of your fucking business, but no.” 

JR gets the hint and changes the subject.

“So, you quitting driving?”

“I guess.  Some parts of this town are worse than Baghdad ever was.”

“You were in Iraq?”

“Two tours.”

“What did you do?”

“I was a Niner-Two Golf, Food Service Specialist.”

“A cook, in other words.”

“Yeah, but Halliburton put me out of a job, so I drove a Humvee most of the time.  Either that or manned the .50.”

“You ever shoot anyone?”

JR is full of stupid questions tonight.  I chew for a minute. “Yeah.”

“Shit.”  

We chew burgers for a while.

“What’s it like over there?” JR finally asks.

“Hotter than North Portland, but usually about the same.  Getting shot at by both sides.  Better here, I guess.  No depleted uranium.  Not yet, anyway.”

JR finishes his burger.

“I’m surprised they let you out, with stop loss and everything.”

“I left in a med-evac.  My left leg is still full of shrapnel.”

“Shit.”

“That ain’t the half of it.  Some idiot Air Fag in an A-10 hit us.  Most of that shrapnel is DU.  Between that and the DU dust in my lungs, I’m lucky to be alive.  Probably not for long, though.”

“Can’t they take it out of your leg?”

“The VA says I have to prove it’s making me sick before they’ll operate.  My gunner got hit too and he already has cancer.  They won’t operate even though there’s DU at the center of every one of his fucking tumors.”

“Jesus.”

I finish my beer and JR orders me another.  If he wants a story, I’ll tell him one.

“It had its moments,” I say when the beer arrives.  “Our convoys drove at 45 miles an hour.  The ragheads were supposed to pull over as we passed.  If not, we’d chuck water bottles at ‘em.  If you hit it right, they’d go right through their windshield.  One time, some jihadis tried to pass us.  The convoy commander told us to light ‘em up, so I opened up with the .50.  You should see what a .50 does to a Toyota.”

JR looked a little pale.  Maybe it’s the glow from the neon Jesus at the end of the bar.

It felt kinda good to talk about it.  “Kids used to line the roads early on, hoping to get candy or MREs.  Some of the guys would toss that stuff.  Some tossed water bottles that would send the kids flying on a direct hit.  I never shot any with the .50, but other guys did.  That was not a pretty sight.”

JR is definitely looking ill, now.  Jesus had nothing to do with it.  “No wonder they hate us.”

“My old Sergeant wants me to go back.  He’s hooked up as a ‘security consultant’ with Blackwater.  He says it’s even better than the old days.”

  “I gotta get over to the Hampton,” JR says as he gets up. “Welcome home, I guess.”  He grabs both checks and pays them on the way out.

So much for talking about it.  I didn’t even tell him what we did to the camp girls.

They were dead anyway, once we grabbed them.  If we didn’t kill them, their families would.  Different world, different rules.  I kept their scarves as mementos.  Some guys kept ears or noses, but that got messy.  Besides, no one complained when I brought my collection home with me. 

Talking about Iraq puts me in the mood, though.  I call Radio Cab.  Ed answers the dispatch line.

“Hey, this is Reuben.  You got anything free tonight?”

“Just 413.  They just fixed the transmission on it and needs a test ride.”

“It’ll do.  I’ll be over in fifteen.”

I make it in ten.  I hand Ed a fifty when I check in.  “Mind if we keep this off the books?”

Ed takes the fifty.  “Yeah, sure.  413 isn’t supposed to go out until morning anyway.  I hope she’s pretty.”

“They never are.  Want me to bring her by here for sloppy seconds?”

“Nah, not sure who’s more infectious, you or them.”

“I hope her, but no telling any more.” 

I drive around for a while.  The transmission is still slipping, but not too bad.  I check out the Swan Island.  It’s a cool dry night.  Not much truck traffic.  Freightliner parking lot is empty.  No cops patrolling.  The Stroll is almost empty, only a couple of real skanks.  No new faces and the old ones are looking really old.  Maybe not tonight.

I’m driving down MLK past the Convention Center when I get flagged down.  Shit, I left my light on, but she looks cute and she’s alone.  And she’s wearing a scarf.  A green scarf.   I don’t have a green one.  It’s a little too public, but fuck it.  

“Where to, miss?”  She’s pretty, and pretty drunk.  Small, brunette, big tits, just my type.

“Red Lion at the...the?”

“Quay?  Up on the river in Vancouver?”

“Yeah. that’s it.”

“No problem.”

She begins to nod off in the corner.  I hop on the interstate off the Morrison Bridge.  It’s almost three.  “I just came from up in Vancouver.  The draw bridge went up right behind me.  We could be stuck for an hour.  We’ll have to go around the long way.”

She looks annoyed but says, “Whatever,” and closes her eyes again. 

She’s making this too easy.

I take the Going Street exit to Swan Island.  There’s this little park about halfway down Swan Island, just an old boat ramp really.  It’s squeezed in between Freightliner’s parking lot and some brownfield.  I pulled the metal pylons blocking ramp earlier.  I take my snub nosed from my jacket as we pull thru the little parking lot and up onto the ramp.  I never use the gun, though.  Too noisy, too messy, too traceable.

I get out and opening her door. “We’re here.”  She open’s her eyes, looks around confused.  This is too easy.

She sees the gun and screams.  There’s nobody around to hear.

“I won’t hurt you if you keep quiet and do what I say.  Get out.”

“Here, take my money,” trying to hand me her purse.  “Please don’t hurt me.  I have a little girl at home.”  She’s shaking.  One of her shoes falls off.  She tries to pick it up.

“Leave it,” I tell her.  “Take the other one off, too.”

I wave her with the gun down towards the river.  She’s sobbing now.

The boat ramp doesn’t go all the way down to river anymore.  It stops about 10 yards from the water.  At the bottom, the concrete drops about three feet to oily sand and big riprap rocks nearer the water.  I grab her by the hair and force her down at the end of the concrete, then jump down onto the sand.  

She looks clean enough, but I don’t want any DNA to ruin this party.  I unzip and pull out my cock.  I’m hard as stone.  I open a condom and hand it to her.  “Put it on me.”

She actually says “Thank you.”

“Roll over” and she does, her legs hang down onto the sand.

I lift her skirt and pull down her panty hose.  She whimpers “No, no, no” until I gag her with the scarf.

I put the gun in my jacket pocket and I take her doggie style. I’ve never been that much for anal sex even though the condom is lubricated.  Besides, there’s too much chance it’ll tear.  She just lies there and takes it.  I hold onto her tits and give it to her hard and fast.

As I come, I lean forward put my arm around her neck.  I don’t really choke her or break her neck, but put her in a sleeper hold, cutting off the blood supply, just like they taught us in Basic.  She’s half passed out already and fades without much struggle.

I pull out and tuck myself in, leaving the condom on.  

Looking around, there’s no one up or down this side of the river or on the other side, either.  I’ll have to break a few bones to make it look like she hit the water from the Freemont Bridge.  I kneel on her right side breaking a few ribs.  She moans thru the scarf, but doesn’t come to.  I break her right elbow over my knee, then dislocate her shoulder. I roll her over and break her right ankle, too.  Ankles are tough, but I kneel on the ball of her foot until her Achilles snaps and her toes hit her shin.  

I step back and admire my handiwork.  She is more gurgling than moaning now.  Not bad.  CSI is a wonderful thing.  

Finally, I pull up her panty hose and take off her rings, watch, and jewelry.   I throw her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and tote her to the water.  The rocks are treacherous.  I stumble almost breaking my own ankle, but I don’t drop her.  I limp to the water’s edge then do drop her on the rocks.  A few extra bruises won’t hurt.  I undo the gag and pocket the scarf.  Then I push her head under the water.  She just twitches a few more times, then stops.  I pick her up, heavier now, dead weight.  I spin in a patch of sand on my good ankle and bad leg and fling her about ten feet into the channel.  From here, the bodies end up outside the city limits, sometimes Linnton, sometimes Sauvie Island. 

Crossing the riprap, I look around.  The moon is almost full so there is plenty of light.  No blood, no loose clothing.  Up the ramp, there’s no one in the Freightliner lot.  No traffic.  No cops.

I wipe down the jewelry with the scarf and drop it all in her purse. I check her ID: Malinda Hunter.  Her keychain has a brass tag that spells “Missy.”  She looked like a Missy or Muffy or something preppie.  Well, not anymore.  I wipe down the shoes and purse.  I read once that women jumpers take off their jewelry and shoes, first.  Every little detail helps.  

I replace the pylons blocking the ramp as I leave, and wipe them down, too.

There is almost no traffic on the interstate as I cross the river on the Fremont.  I pull into the far left lane of the top deck.  I slow down and drop her purse and shoes on the side of the road. 

I drive up US30 into the NW industrial area.  There’s a payphone at an empty warehouse up there.  I grab the phone with the scarf and dial 911 with a knuckle.  

“911 Emergency Response”

In my best Arabic accent I say “Saw woman on Freemont.  Think she jumped.”

“What’s your name?”

I hang up.

Just one more dead skank.

***

It’s getting early rather than late, now.  I drive around for a while, then turn on the dispatch screen and find a fare going from southwest to the airport.  He’s a businessman with an early flight to Oakland.  Then grab a few fares out in East Portland after that.  Nothing unusual.  I make back the fifty plus a good bit more.  Working off the books, I won’t have to pay for the cab.  I head back to Radio when it gets light.  

Crossing over the Freemont again, there’s a cop stopped with lights flashing, but nothing major.

Ed is still working the desk. “Was she cute?”

“Nothing happened.  They were all skanks.  Real nasty.  So, I grabbed a few fares.  Here.” I give him another twenty.  “Thanks for letting me work on the cuff.”

“No problem, anytime,” as he pockets the money.

“The transmission is still slipping a bit.  I’d have them look at it again.”

“Damn.  Well, thanks for the test drive.”

***

I head over to the Roxy for an early breakfast.  Shanda is there.

“Any word from the CPA, Reuben?”

“No, you been keeping busy?”

“I’m not working the Stroll, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yeah, I’d hate to have to beat you to get my cut, girl.”

“No worries, but I’m getting low.  If the CPA doesn’t come thru, I’ll go back to work.”

“I think I’ll be hearing from him any day now.”

***

The CPA calls me that night.

 

4.

“Be at my place at midnight” the CPA says.

“Sure, no problem.  I’ve been expecting to hear from you for a while.”

“The boss has been in Taiwan on a business trip.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that.  A sister city visit, or someshit.”

“Something.”

“So, twenty five hundred tonight, right?”

“That’s our agreement.”

“See you at midnight.”

I call Shanda.

“I just heard from the CPA.  Tonight at midnight, a threesome at his place.”

“Fine by me.  Can you buy me dinner at the Roxy?”

***

They found the floater this afternoon.  Turns out she was some MBA from Omaha.  Oops.  Fox 12 smells ratings.  They start making serious noise about Missy and the River Freak.

After feeding Shanda, I check out a cab on the books and take a few fares.  All to establish an “I’m just the cabbie” alibi.

When I take Shanda, the CPA hands me an envelope with twenty five hundred in it.  Shanda walks in and kisses him.  He smiles, but grabs her arm as she tries to head upstairs.  He leads her down to the basement as the front door closes.

***

After a few more fares, I get a drink at the Roxy.  

A couple of beers in, Athena comes in and sits next to me.

“I hear you’re pimping Shanda now,” she says.

“Really, where you’d hear that?”

“Johnny was carrying on in here the other day.  Said he got five hundred off you for her.  Saved him dumping her in the river.”

“I may have the same problem later.”

“Huh?”

“Just kidding.”  I look at Athena.  She might make a good replacement.  She has that same slim build as Shanda, but a bit older.  Shanda has that Goth corpse shit going, but Athena has an olive complexion that gives her a permanent tan.  Guess she came by her Mediterranean name “honestly”, as my dear sainted mother used to say.  I laugh.

“What you laughing at, Reuben?”

“I was just thinking of my mother, the Patron Saint of Skanks.”

“What a nasty little boy you are!”

“You have no idea.”

***

It’s getting light when I finally get the call from the CPA.  I was expecting a call from Shanda.

“Come pick her up.” is all he says.

“No problem.”

The CPA opens the door.  Shanda isn’t with him.  He leads me down the stairs to an old dirt floored basement.  Shanda is crumpled in the corner.

“You kill her?”

“No, she’s still breathing.”

She’s naked.  Bloody nose, still dripping.  Split lip.  Eye swollen shut.  Bruises around her neck.  Her wrists and ankles are raw.  She’s sitting in a puddle of drying blood.  She has a pulse, too.  I slap her on the cheek, nothing.

I stand up and turn to the CPA.  “You did a real number on her.”

“Not me,” he says.

“Whatever.  How often you want to do this?  She’s going to take a while to heal up.”

“The boss doesn’t get in this mood very often.  I’ll let you know.”  He hands me another envelope.  

I count ten more hundreds.  I look at him.

“The boss was very happy.”

“Tell him thank you.  If he wants to finish the job, or finishes by accident, it’ll cost him more. Ten thousand should cover my expenses for disposing of the problem.  Not a problem for him, mind you.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“What do you CPA’s say?  Reasonable and customary expenses?”

“You’d be surprised what I can bury in the books.”

“Why bury anything when we have such a nice river?”

“Not the river.  We’re catching too much flack on this River Freak.”

“You’d be surprised what I can bury in the forest, then.  Lots of forests around here.”

I turn back to Shanda.  “Where are her clothes?”  

“The boss kept them.”

“Can you find me a robe or something, then?”

He comes back with a red flannel blanket.

“Close enough” and I drape it around her.

I rummage around my jacket and come up with a popper.  I crack it under her nose.  She flinches and comes around.

“help me” she moans.

“Come on, girl.  It’s over.”

She can’t stand, so I carry her.  She doesn’t seem to weigh anything.  She puts her head on my shoulder and drifts out again.

***

I almost take her to the Good Sam emergency room a few blocks away, but there would be way too many questions, too many problems.  

JR is on the desk when I get her to the Hampton.

“Shit, what happened to her?” he asks.

I have her bundled up and the bleeding has stopped, but what’s showing is pretty ugly.

“Johnny caught her working the Stroll.”

“Fuck, he is one sick bastard.  Look, you can’t leave her here.”

“She’ll be fine.  She’s had worse.  She still in 313?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else is staying with her?”  

“Athena, I think, but I haven’t seen her this morning.”

Shanda’s beginning to get heavy. “Just gimme the goddamn key.”

He shrugs and puts it in my hand. 

***

I scatter the paraphernalia off the bed and put Shanda under the covers.  She’s breathing easy now, more asleep than passed out.  I leave her wrapped in the red blanket.

Athena’s in the hall as I go to leave.

She rushes to the door.  “JR said Johnny got her.” 

“I found her down by the river.”

“Jesus,” Athena says as she pulls back the covers.

“She’ll be fine.  Nothing major broken, just a little stomped.  She’s sleeping now.”

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No doctors.  Let her sleep.  Here.”  I fish some Vicodin out of my jacket. Give her a couple of these when she wakes up.  Take some yourself.”

Athena takes them and chews one like candy.  “OK, but if she doesn’t come around soon, I’m calling 911.”

“Fine, you explain to them then, and Johnny, too.”

“Fuck, first Penny and now this.  Somebody needs to stop Johnny.”

“I guess,” I say, but not me I add to myself  

* * *

Shanda did come around.  She’ll have a few new scars, that’s all.  I stop in that evening.  

“How you doing?”

“alive,” she croaks

“You get the Vicodin from Athena?”

“one, any more?”

“Here,” I fish out a couple more.  I even get her some water.  I don’t know how, but I’m beginning to care for her.  She’s still a skank, but now she’s my skank.

She takes them.  “thanks, thousand ain’...ain’t enough.”  

“Here’s twelve fifty.  I’m feeling generous.”

“still not enou...,” she croaks. “said...better dan Vicki.”

“Better for him, worse for you.  I told Athena that Johnny got you.”  

“better that way, guess” she manages.   

“Not like we can call the cops.  I’ll feed Hizzoner someone else next time.”

“more vicodin?”  She asks, then half smiles, winces and closes her good eye. 

I leave her a few on the nightstand and leave when she doesn’t open her eye again.5.

A couple of weeks later, I get a call from the CPA.  “The boss wants a new girl.”

“Good, cause Shanda hasn’t healed up yet, but I think I know the perfect replacement.”

“He really, really enjoyed himself.  He says he hasn’t that much fun since Pleiku.”  

“Fun is one word for it.”  I’ve heard some stories about Hizzoner from when he was Police Chief, but keep them to myself.  “Should I expect to be getting the next one back?”

“I think so, but sometimes he gets carried away.”

“No problem, just remember the disposal fee.”

“I’ll have it ready. I want to test drive this one, too.”

“No problem, it might be your only chance.  It’ll make it easier on my end, too.”

***

Athena is in the Roxy, the first place I look.  “Hey there, just the girl I’m looking for.”

“Hey Reuben, what can I do for you?”

“How’s Shanda doing?” I ask, kinda warming up to the subject.

“Better.  She’s up and around.”

“You think she’s up for working?”

“Maybe, but she still looks like Frankenstein.”

“Hmm, well, I have a client.  He’s willing to pay top dollar.  Five hundred top dollars, but not for Frankenstein.  You interested?”

“Sure, for that kinda money, I’d do Frankenstein.”

“He’s actually pretty cute, and his dick is the size of your arm.  Let me check with him, you gonna be here for a while?” 

“For five hundred, I can be here all night.”

The only thing worse than a skank is a cheap skank.

***

I call the CPA.  “I’ve got the perfect girl.  When do you want her?”

“Tonight, I think.  Let me call you back, Ruby.”

I hate being called Ruby, but, don’t say anything.

In about ten minutes he calls back. “OK, tonight, 11, my place.”

“No problem.”

***

I end up with 413 from Radio again and take a few fares.  The transmission is slipping again, but it’s the only cab available.  

I swing by the Roxy and pick up Athena.  As we walk up to the CPA’s door Athena says “My horoscope said I would ‘Experience a new world’ today.”

The envelope contains $2500.  I look at the CPA. He nods.  So Hizzoner is coming.

“Sounds exciting,” I say.  She has no idea.

***

I take a few more fares.  I get Ed on the radio.  “This is 413.  The tranny on this piece of shit is getting worse.  I need another unit.”

“Sorry, Ruby.  Everything else is out.  Bring it in and we’ll check the fluid.”

“I’ll be there in 15” but don’t say “Don’t call me Ruby,” over the air. 

More fluid doesn’t help.  Fuck it.  I go park it over at the Roxy.  

***

Shanda is there, looking more like Igor than Frankenstein.  “Hey Ruby.”

“Don’t call me...Fuck it.  Everybody’s calling me Ruby tonight.  Just don’t.”

“Ok, I guess.  I heard you’re pimping Athena now.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“She called me.  Please, don’t feed her to the Mayor.”

“Too late.  It was supposed to be just the CPA tonight, but Hizzoner showed up.” 

“God, not her.  She’s my friend.  She’s takes care of me.”

“You want to replace her?”

Shanda gets a hard look, “No.  Never.”

***

The CPA calls about three in the morning, earlier than they finished with Shanda. “Come get her.  Park around back”

That doesn’t sound good.

***

The CPA’s waiting in the alley.  He leads me to a set of doors covering stairs to the basement.  It reminds me of the storm cellar from the Wizard of Oz.  Inside, Athena is on a table, still tied up.  She’s not breathing.  Her natural tan is now gray.  

Fuck.  The CPA points to a bulging envelope on the table.  I take the time to count it, Athena’s in no hurry anymore.  Seventy five hundreds.  “No problem.”

The CPA hands me another red blanket and I wrap her up.  She’s getting stiff.  I lift her, just dead weight, and throw her over my shoulder.  

The CPA holds the back door and I dump her in the trunk.  As I get in, I realize the CPA never said anything.

I head up 26 to the zoo.  I think I’ll bury her in Forest Park inside the city limits.

Going up the hill, the transmission really starts to slip.  I’m doing 25 in a 50, but I think I can make it.

Flashing lights.  Fuck!  Not now, of all nights.

I pull over, put on my flashers, turn on the dome light, roll down the window and leave my hands on the wheel.

“Evening Officer”

“Evening, Reuben.”

“You know my name?”

“Yes, we do.  One of my brother officers told me to look you up.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from the Brotherhood.  How can I help you?”

“Get out of the fucking cab and open the trunk.”

“Uh, that would be a problem.  I am, how should I say, making a delivery for a senior city official.  Check with this number.” I hand him the CPA’s card.

He glances at it and pockets it.

“Just check with the Mayor,” I add.

He pulls his gun.  “You and your cab got caught on videotape picking up Missy the MBA. You’re the River Freak.”

“What?? Look, I supply the Mayor with girls.”

“You’re being replaced.”

“It’s one of his in the trunk!”

“I know.  I’m eliminating his problem.  Get out of the fucking cab, skank.”