“…I went home that night wondering if the pain I felt all
this time had not been self inflicted and always simmered just under my skin
since... The sin working its way into my bones and organs…heart and mind like
cancer melting away my core. My belief. There was only the one wrong answer
there could be no other...I fucked up…"
“Jezus-H-christ, Man, where did you fly in from?”
“What?…uh…New Zealand.”
“Who you talking to?”
“...Bartender.”
“He went around to the other side of the bar 10 minutes ago.
They’re down to the closing shift. He’s the only one on duty back there. And
Judy…that’s Judy. Hey doll!”
“I thought we were chattin’…he and I…”
“Maybe you were, and maybe he got busy closin’ up…which
would be his job.”
“Guess I just spilled my guts on the guy…like some
blithering asshole …”
“He’s heard it before, so don’t sweat it."
"Not from me. I don't usually..."
"New Zealand!? ...Friggin’ long flight!”
“The flight…right…that was rough...and some bad news before boarding…”
“You hittin’ bottom?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s bound to happen. In the air that long, with time zones
, exhaustion, jet lag, cramped, poor circulation, foul bacterial air, germs and
diseases...viruses they’re still namin’ daily. No wonder you’re beat to shit.”
“Zombies in a can…there’s that, I suppose...but...”
“You suppose?! You got another answer?"
“What? Wait. Who are you, and why am I talking to you?”
“I’m Marcel. I am a driver. Town car service – Riche
Riche – take my card. You might need me
someday.”
“Doubt that...Not on duty tonight?”
“Notice I am enjoying my third double single malt…”
“Done for the day?”
“Done.”
“How will you get home?”
“The shuttle.”
“The shuttle?”
“Yes. I live at a hotel less than a mile from here. Close to
the action.”
“You live full time in an airport hotel, and you drive?”
“Yes, but not just one hotel. Many. Sometimes in other
cities. Go work someplace new…I mean, what the hell, you know? Same company,
same connections…I just tell ‘em I need a change, and I go. They know me...what I'm like. Besides, I get requests...good for business.”
“You know these other cities well enough, do you?”
“Most, yes. You learn. What I don’t know is on GPS, and the
net, all on my ipad. It doesn’t take long. By the time I've flown to Boston, let’s say…I could
maneuver the city…and that’s no natural layout…know the hotels, restaurants,
clubs and procurers...not unlike DC…”
“Just for kicks…”
“No, not exactly. If I worked a big film festival, or the
like, I could pick up enough in a week, to keep me going for quite a spell. You know?
“Just from driving? Really?”
“Driving is the ‘Basic Service’. There’s ‘point A’ and we’re
going to ‘point B’…Basic. But then there’s also the "at-your-service, all hours,
all week" service, which comes complete with an extensive carte blanche menu.”
“Menu…for…?”
“...solely at the discretion of the Guest…or Guests.”
“Which could all be very personal, I’d imagine.”
“Personal for them, Lucrative for me, but only if I maintain
my Integrity. So therefore, I do.”
“But you could sell it. For the right sum…there always
is…what would you sell? How much would it be worth?”
“Uh-uh. Too close. We just met while you were talking to no one, in a dark corner... in the back of a bar getting empty quick. Under these circumstances, We don’t talk business. No details, no round numbers, no
initials, no hints, no kinks. None of that shit. I do NOT discuss my
clientele.”
“Hypothetically if something occurred in your vehicle that
might cause a high profile individual…or a high-value individual, let’s say…if they did something unseemly,
so fucking earth-shattering that you had to tell someone, and they were willing to pay you…what?…let’s say, if
you witnessed a murder right there in the back of your limo…some drunken
encounter, angry women, drugs, slugs…bang – pow!”
“We have a camera system. Security. Mini’s in the ‘cabin’.
When the ride is over, they are erased with the swipe of a payment card at the
conclusion of the night’s Agenda. If we don’t get paid, it’s locked in the
system. See how that works?”
“And they know this? Everyone is aware? …are they?”
“They should be. I'm not their lawyer. I didn’t write the contract. I didn’t sign
the contract. I won’t be defending them in court. I drive the fucking car.
That’s it.”
“And other stuff…What about that? Do you supply these carte
blanche services while on camera? Would you willingly incriminate yourself…”
“Hold ON! Who said anything INCRIMINATING was transpiring?
Do you think I’d allow myself to expose the wrong doing in others as well as
myself, under such scrutiny…!!!!!”
“You have had three
double scotches, haven’t you?”
“I admitted it freely, but I make perfect sense, so don’t
cast doubts…”
“So, let’s say the perfect storm rages through the back of
your limo…and YOU got it all on disc…cops get involved, you get questioned hard,
but they finally release you after waking up your now-pissed-off-boss in the
middle of the night…”
“He owes me…”
“Ok, so he owes you. Let’s say, he even posts your
bail. Hypothetically. But word
spreads fast, and by the time you are walking out of the jailhouse at the crack
of dawn, a woman in a black suit approaches you and says she’ll give
you…what?…Twenty Five Million?…in cash, at Lunch that afternoon. Just bring the
disc…”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Too High?…too Low?”
“It would have to be Dinner…a really nice dinner… and your aim is a little high. But reachable
in a PERFECT storm, I suppose. Nothing I ever want to be that close to. In
my own fucking car no less! What the hell are we talking about?!”
“Could be something there, is all I’m sayin’.”
“Easy to say from outside the vehicle...at a safe distance...
And, hey, weren’t you the guy hitting rock bottom a half hour ago? (…Okay, Bill! We’ll wrap it up! …you have a good one! Got ya' covered! You too, Judy! Love you! )
…c’mon Bud, we’re out of here.”
“I got no place to go.”
“We got a shuttle, and the Weatherman says it’s a Stormy Season in Miami...keep talkin'.”
