Small Town Taxi (Honey Walker Adventures Book 1)

by Harriet Rogers

  “I am so glad you do this. The van that takes my big chair makes about a million stops. They load up those big wheelchairs and then they unload them. I never know when I’m going to get where I’m going,” Mary said as she fastened her seat belt, checked that the car had airbags and cautioned me to obey the speed limit.

  I spent the afternoon in Brattleboro which was known for its artsy downtown and shared the dubious distinction with Northampton of being another major stop on the drug running corridor.

  It was mid-afternoon when I got back to Cool Rides. Belle was sitting in a lawn chair in front of the garage windows, sunning herself.

  “No rides for at least a half-hour,” she said. “So you have time to share about how it’s going with Lieutenant cutesy-wootsy. Do we need to go shopping?”

  “Lucille kind of went shopping for me,” I mumbled, not sure if I wanted to explain the super-sized, extra-sensitive, non-allergenic, scented, ultra-stimulating, ribbed condoms. I wasn’t sure if I would ever use them.

  “Does she have the same taste in under-garments as she has in dresses? ’Cause if she does, you need my help more than I thought.”

  “Nope. She told me peeling away layers is good foreplay but you better have a great last layer and you better deliver when that’s gone.”

  “Shoes are the last layer. I know you have some good ones, but a new pair never hurts. There are things a woman can never have too much of, and shoes would be one of those. And undergarments, and handbags, and cute little jackets. I need to shop!”

  “Yeah, I could use a new pair of slut shoes.” I had a feeling Belle and I were on similar wavelengths in this conversation, so I dragged another chair over and sat with my face in the sun. I wanted to look healthy when I died of skin cancer.

  “And about Mr. Hot-buns.” Belle shifted so she could see my face and detect any half-truths, exaggerations or outright lies.

  Mona came out before I had a chance to say much.

  “Last ride for you. Two students to the mall and back. That’s all I got.”

  “Hey, we can go together and peruse the smutty shoe selection and the never-there underwear while we wait for the kiddies to do whatever their daddy’s dime allows. Smutty and tacky are a great combination.” Belle held her foot in the air.

  “Victoria’s Secret. I rest my case.” I looked down my shirt front and sighed.

  “He who counts likes it.” Belle grinned.

  She was right about that but, judging from recent overnights at Jon’s house, it was going to be a miracle if we got as far as using Lucille’s gift. Not for lack of effort, my love life with Jon had been more wishful thinking and fantasy about what might happen than any actual happening. As far as we had gone was pretty intense and exciting but the main event had yet to happen.

  I bought a matching teddy and thong in silver glitter anyway. We hit the shoe selection and found four-inch spike-heel closed-toe glitz bombs to match. I would have bought the open-toes but by this time a pedicure wasn’t in the budget.

  The next morning I got to work without having used any of my shopping loot.

  “You’re up.” Mona handed me a slip. “Get the battery pack out of the garage. This guy needs a ride to his dead car and wants us to get it started. Pick up in Hamp Heights.”

  “Where’s the car and what do I charge for the jump?”

  “In the lot behind the movie theater. Hit him for an extra ten.” Mona paused. “You do know how to hook up a battery pack, right?”

  “Well, um.” I had used jumper cables but never a battery pack. “Is it the same as jumper cables?”

  Belle wandered over from parking her Mini Cooper.

  “Come on, I know how to use that. When I lived in Maine, we used to bring the pack in every night in the winter. Then we’d start five cars in the morning. I also know how to hotwire.” She turned to Mona. “You got a run for me or you want me to take Ms. Helpless here to jump the car?”

  “Go ahead. But come right back. No shoe shopping, or if you do, my size is seven,” she said.

  We got to Hampshire Heights and found the address. It was the worst of the worst. The kid who came out was barely driving age. His pants were the hang low style, wife-beater tee shirt, oversized, untied shoes, baseball hat sideways, jacket open and off the shoulder. His face was in eternal scowl mode and he had a tattoo of a car on his shoulder. He was the poster boy for Gang Bangers Are Us. I hoped he had a driver’s license and then reminded myself it wasn’t my business.

  I collected twenty dollars for the ride and jump and we headed to the mega movie complex at the local mall. He and Belle chatted about living in the Heights. Belle shared a couple of war stories and had the kid laughing in five minutes.

  When we got there, he didn’t seem to remember where the car was parked. I could understand that. I spent the better part of two hours finding a car the first time I was in a mega-parking facility.

  “Just drive around for a while. I’ll find it.” He was fidgeting and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.

  We went up and down a few rows and he finally pointed at a brand-new evil looking black Corvette.

  “That’s your car!?” Belle leaned out the window, gawking.

  “What, you think just ’cause I live at the Heights I can’t have a good car?”

  “Kid, there is no way on God’s earth we are jumping that car for you. I don’t think you can get inside anyway. You got a key?”

  “I’m gonna get something. I told them I would get something.” The kid seemed to deflate now that he was confronted with the reality of grand theft auto.

  “Told who?”

  “The Car Studs. They jack cars.”

  “And you want to be in with them?”

  “Hey, man, that’s who’s there. It ain’t like I got a big choice. Jackin’ cars is safer than runnin’ drugs. A lot of guys start by selling, then they do the product and then ‘BOOM’ they’re dead. I’d rather do cars. You ever seen Gone in Sixty Seconds? I could be Nicolas Cage.”

  “Okay, I’m taking you home,” I said.

  “What!? Hey, Mama, what you doin’? I need to get goin’ here.”

  “Which you can do. Just not on my watch.”

  “I could teach him how to hot wire it. Then he gets to make up his own mind, take responsibility for himself,” Belle added helpfully.

  “Hey, yo’ sista, you know how to get me that car? Turn around. We can make this happen. I am so up for takin’ responsibility for me.”

  “Jesus, Belle!”

  “Or we could take him to the Counseling Center.”

  Belle and I had made the acquaintance of a shrink when he went to Holyoke to meet a client and came back to find all the wheels and tires removed from his car. We were the only cab company who would come get him. And we only did that because there were two of us and he paid accordingly. He worked in a private agency specializing in guiding at risk teens away from the gangs and crews.

  I was deciding whether this kid had enough potential to dump him on our favorite shrink when Belle muttered, “Or I could jack the car for him.”

  We all sat and stared at the mega-car. I had to admit if any car in the entire lot was worth the effort, it would be that one. Probably well insured too. I found myself having less sympathy for the owner of the excessively macho, expensive car than I did for the kid who was trying to keep his head above the gang structure provided by his situation.

  “Okay, okay. Counsel Center it is. You’re in luck,” I addressed the kid. And drove him to see the first psychiatrist of his short car-jacking career. There was some resistance when we got there but Belle grabbed his ear when he jumped out of the car. She could go from complete relaxation to high speed in the time it took me to open my eyes. She had him inside the Center before he could figure out what the alternatives were. She came back out in five minutes with a big smile on her face.

  “That is one fine looking shrink,” she said and plopped herself on the passenger seat. “Almost makes me want to
be neurotic. Back to home base.”

  “As if,” I laughed. Belle was one of the most stable people I knew. Despite her background, she could deal with social situations that made me cringe.

  “Wait a minute! Does this mean you would date a shrink but not a judge? What’s wrong with a judge that isn’t just as wrong with a shrink?”

  “Hey, I just said he’s hot. And a judge is a whole lot closer to the law than a shrink and you know how I feel about the law. Besides, I’m as well adjusted as they come, so I never said I wanted to screw him.”

  “Well, Adjusted is our middle name.”

  “Adjusted R Us?”

  “If I were any more stable my feet would be glued to the floor.”

  We were laughing enough to threaten my undies when we pulled into Cool Rides.

  Mona met us in the parking lot. “Lucille to the Senior Center, students to class because they missed the bus because their roomie was talking on her phone because, because. I could tell you their life history.” And she handed us each a fare slip.

  Lucille was finishing her gun cleaning project and putting it all away when I got there. There was a platter of fresh cookies and bags of cookies to take to the Senior Center. I assumed the plate was for immediate consumption so I took one for each hand. Chocolate chip-walnut-oatmeal, and chocolate-macadamia nut-cranberry. I made sure I finished them before I got in the car. I did need my hands free for driving. Maybe not as bad as texting and driving, but Lucille’s cookies defined distraction.

  “How is young Jonny?”

  Even though the houses shared an inside wall, Jon’s bedroom was buffered by the guest bedrooms so I was pretty sure Lucille couldn’t hear any noise that might send her diving for her vibrator...on the off chance such noises were ever produced.

  “Oh, he’s doing fine. He still hasn’t figured out how Mr. Scarpelli is transporting his drugs up the interstate and that’s making him crazy.

  “I thought that horrid other taxi company was involved in drug transport.”

  “Lucky Limo? The cops watched all the livery or taxi license plates for a while but they couldn’t find anything. So, it’s back to square one.”

  “Perhaps that was all in Ms. Scarpelli/Young’s chaotic imagination.”

  I dropped Lucille at the Senior Center laden with cookies, brass knuckles and all the accouterments needed for senior bridge games. She had, fortunately, left her Glock at home.

  I went back to see if Belle had returned from taking the talking heads to class and to find out if she had used the judge’s personal phone number.

  When I pulled in, the Judge was there, leaning against his car. Belle was standing nearby, apparently pretending he wasn’t there. When I opened the door, he shook his head, waved to me, got in his car and left.

  “That was interesting,” I said.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Belle clearly didn’t want to discuss it. I decided to ask her for some advice about my relationship with Jon. If that didn’t open her up, nothing would.

  “So, Jon likes silver glitz.” I started cautiously. “At least he says he does, but I’m still working on that.”

  “Huhn,” Belle grunted, knowing exactly what I was doing.

  “I’m trying to decide where to go from here.”

  Silence.

  “Okay, I give up.” I started to walk into the office.

  “I just don’t see him as friend material. He’s gonna want commitment and all that shit. I’m not cut out for that. Especially if he finds out what my past life entailed.”

  “So, tell him. If he still wants to be friends, great. It’ll keep you off jury duty anytime he’s the judge. You do remember my relationship with Jon started when he busted me.”

  “That no jury duty thing is a pretty good silver lining. And speaking about silver and Jon, what, exactly, did he do to prove how much he likes silver glitz?”

  Oh good, back on track.

  “More than you’re letting his judgeship do. The question is, why do we pick men that see commitment as a way of life? I think Jon and the judge probably agree on that. And you and I probably agree even more. No commitment, no responsibility, life is free, the way it’s meant to be.”

  “Yeah, it’s a myth that men play around more than women. And then some stupid woman said ‘men will be men’ and now we have to prove ‘women will be women’ and screw whatever we want.”

  “Wow, the judge really put you in a mood.”

  “Damn right.” Belle huffed, fluffed her hair and stalked inside.

  I followed, feeling like she was at least in a better mood than she had been when the judge left. Maybe Mona would have a few good rides.

  She did. Each of us got two rides to the airport, numerous deliveries of people to doctor’s appointments, and I finished the day with Lucille going home from the Senior Center.

  I was still early on in my relationship with Jon so, even though I had a key, I knocked as I opened the door to his house. He was already home, watching the local news on his big screen TV. I stood next to him and realized the news was about Jon. He had stopped a heroin overdose because he carried Narcan. Someone with a smart phone got lucky and filmed Jon as he administered the drug. It was a touching moment and the department would get lots of mileage out of it.

  Jon off buttoned the TV, sank down on the couch, stared at the blank screen.

  “If I hadn’t had that stuff on me, he would have died. He was only fourteen years old.”

  I sat next to him and leaned my head on his shoulder.

  “Will the department start issuing it?”

  “I’ll sure as hell strongly recommend it.”

  We sat for a few minutes. Then Jon put his arms around me. He sank into the couch and just held me. I put my arm across his body and hugged.

  He kissed the top of my head. “Until they legalize this stuff and put it under a doctor’s care, we need to find the transport. We need to fucking bust Scarpelli’s operation.”

  “I’ll keep my ears open.”

  “No! Stay away from Scarpelli. I don’t want to worry about you. He won’t go after you again. And the other transport companies know we’re keeping an eye on them. He’s using something else.” Jon held me a little tighter.

  I knew, but didn’t say, that his protective attitude would NOT affect the way I lived my life or worked my job. My ears were always open. It’s a necessary personality trait for a taxi driver.

  By ten o’clock we finished pizza, watched two mind numbing comedy shows and were both yawning. It had been a long day for both of us.

  Jon took my hand and led me to the bedroom, making it clear where I was spending the night. I put on an oversized tee shirt since I didn’t get the Vicki’s Secret vibe from Jon tonight. When we got in bed, Jon just pulled me to him, wrapped his arms around me and dozed off. Sometimes sex is a good antidote to death, sometimes not. Fortunately for Jon, the kid hadn’t died, but he was still in an off mood.

  Jon left early the next morning. He would have lots of paperwork about the near-death overdose. And I knew he would pay the kid a visit. At eight o’clock I got up and hit the shower. I was running early and the smell of fresh coffee drifted over from Lucille’s part of the house. I decided to see if she had breakfast cookies as well. That would mean oatmeal, hopefully with chocolate chips.

  I knocked and heard her sing out, “Coming.” She threw the lock and opened the door a crack. “Oh, Honey, I have cookies so do come in. But I won’t be going to the Senior Center for a while yet.” She had a smile that made me suspicious, and she was still in her bathrobe.

  Then I smelled bacon. Lucille never cooked bacon.

  I stepped inside and started toward the kitchen. I stopped so suddenly Lucille bumped into me. There was a man sipping coffee at the table. He was somewhere in his seventies, thick white hair, slim build, sparkling blue eyes...in a word, quite the hunk.

  “Honey, this is Arnie Delisle. Arnie, Honey Walker. She drives the Cool Rides taxi. Do have some cookies, dear.” S
he motioned to the plate on the counter. “Or would you rather join us for breakfast?”

  “Breakfast?” I croaked out. “I better get to work. Call us when you need us.” I retreated out the door and rushed to my taxi. “Need to get to Belle, need to get to Belle,” I muttered under my breath. For all Lucille’s talk about sex and how to accomplish it, I had never seen her the morning after and I had never met the object of the evening before. I felt like a kid who just realized my existence proves my parents had sex. Belle, whose experience was as vast as the Rocky Mountains compared to my little hills, could tell me I was overreacting. And how old was he? And what were his intentions? And, most important, should I tell Jon?

  I pulled into Cool Rides and sighed with relief when I saw Belle’s Mini Cooper. I hustled inside, took a deep breath and began to feel silly. I would mention the existence of Arnie in an offhand way and see how Belle reacted.

  “Hey,” I said to Mona. “We got anything special this morning?”

  “Not until ten o’clock. Then I got two airports, one for each of you.”

  Belle wandered back outside. Her radar must have picked up my mood and she wanted to know details.

  “Okay, spit it out,” she said when I joined her.

  “This is weird. Well, maybe I’m weird.”

  “You’re definitely weird and, right now, wired. What did the sweet Lieutenant do to you?”

  “It’s Lucille. She’s got a boyfriend!”

  “Only one?”

  “I mean, I went over this morning and he was having breakfast with her. She was cooking bacon. In her bathrobe.”

  “Bacon...sounds serious. What’s he look like?”

  “A hunk. Well, a seventy something hunk.”

  “Good for Lucille, a younger man, or maybe an older one. I’ve never established a firm age for Lucille. Anyway, a young stud. I like it.”

  “Why do I feel like I walked in on my parents? And, you’re right, I’m not sure he’s a younger man. Lucille has never revealed her age to me either.” I sighed.

  “Just make sure his intentions are dishonorable and ask if he has a supply of condoms. And, yeah, Lucy could be anywhere over sixty, maybe even fifty-five if I squint. She does keep herself well.”