[One of my flash fiction endeavors that has no chance with SEO anyway.]
She lands. Terminal 69. She de-planes. After the usual half-mile airport trek, she finally reaches the cabstand.
45 minutes later she is walking up the steps of her new “employer”. Even with that crooked cab driver taking the long way around, she still managed to show up on time.
She changes clothes. Ultra-high miniskirt, high-heels, low-cut blouse. The usual.
She starts to leave. Oops, almost forgot the handcuffs. “Men!” she laughs to herself.
Strolling down the sidewalk in the redlight district she is. In due course, her first customer shows up. Negotiations ensue. A price is agreed upon. They begin walking to the seedy motel down the block.
“Btw,” says Donna, “my name is Donna.”
“Nice to meet you, my name is John,” says the customer.
“Well, that’s appropriate,” says Donna, “I’m on loan from Dallas.”
“On loan?” says John.
The squad car pulls up.
The cops arrested John whose real name was Winston. Winston Weldon from Los Angeles, California. He had come to Denver on business and had become bored watching the cable TV in his hotel room. He had wandered out into the night just intending to get some fresh air when he caught sight of Donna casually strolling along under the street lights. He had noticed the glint of the handcuffs tucked just so in her skirt. His mind went blank at that point. Now, he certainly wished it hadn't.
Sitting in the patrol car, contemplating his fate, he hoped he had a enough money to get out of this jam. "Darn! That new Mercedes is probably out of the question now!" He thought to himself.
Meanwhile, Donna heaved another sigh, "Men…"
"Good work, Donna!" Jack, the detective, called from the passenger window as Officer Boland pulled the patrol car into the street. Officer Boland turned on the siren just for the fun of it.
Winston's wrists were already sore. He winced in pain. He waited for rude comments from these two…5, 4, 3, 2...
That's a great idea. Why don't you develop that site!
So where were we...
Oh yeah, Winston knew these two would be addressing him shortly. Internally, he was fixing his outward demeanor. No matter what they would say he would just stay cool… cool… cool... He did not want any more trouble.
Sure enough the officer looked into his rearview mirror said, "So, what 's a jerk like you doing out on a night like this…?" Winston refused to answer. He kept inwardly calm by chanting, "cool… cool…"
The detective suddenly turned around and said, we will help you out of this mess, but you have to help us.
"Oh?" questioned Winston. "Whatever you guys want," he blurted out without thinking… again.
We need you to pick up a package overseas and bring it back to Denver.
"What kind of a package?" he asked with innocent curiosity.
"You do know what state this is?" Detective Jack asked.
"Oh, yeah... Okay I'll do it. But you gotta promise me protection and amnesty if anything happens... I don't want to end up in some foreign jail for the rest of my life! Listen guys, I've got the money…"
"No, we need this small favor. If you are willing to do it, we drop the charges."
"But, I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"Oh, sure you do… jail, or this one small favor. Its a win-win for all of us!"
Winston thought about the Mercedes he had been test driving every weekend for the last month. "Fine!" He said in great irritation.
"Wise choice. You leave immediately. They handed him his airline ticket and a wallet with fake ID. You are Bill Klein."
The next thing he knew, he was on a plane to Afghanistan. Donna was sitting next to him. He gazed at her. Now, she wore a dark, nondescript outfit. She was a bottle blond, dark roots. He started thinking about his last girlfriend. How he had hated those dark roots. They represented the phoniness of everything about her. Then he remembered it was this woman who had caused his mind go blank, who had gotten him into this apparently very hot water. Now, he hated more than dark roots. He hated all woman-kind. He looked at her reflection in the black airline window. "They didn't tell me you were tagging along," he said gloomily. In great exhaustion and misery, he fell asleep. Donna studied the itinerary.
The two carried out the mission without incident and without ever addressing one another. During the trip, Winston refused to to say one word to the woman. He hated what he was doing. He hated the police force of Denver. And he hated her. On the way back to the states, they had only one conversation. It went something like this:
Winston: "You need another line of work."
Donna: "The last thing I need is advice from the likes of you."
Winston: "Yeah, I'm nothing but a rat.
Donna: "A lab rat."
Winston had nothing to say, what so ever, to that.
After they got off the plane, they both went back to their miserable lives and lived as unhappily as ever.
Winston, however, did buy the Mercedes...
Optional Morals of the story:
1. Do not let your mind go blank, ever.
2. If you have a good job, and you can afford the car of your dreams, just buy it and be happy.
I haven't done a good lab rat rant in a long time.
(Actually, I miss your trompings through the religious forums the most!)
I do not know why I am oddly and suddenly wandering around this former thread.
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