Page 2 of My Girl
A car honks. I drive forward, focusing on the road just long enough to get us on an empty street. I drive slowly, keeping my eyes on the mirror, watching the show unfold as much as I can.
She steals his watch too, hiding it before he can come, and she moans every few seconds. Once she’s done getting what she wants, she renews with vigor.
“Give it to me,” she cries.
The boyfriend tosses his head back and comes inside of her.
The two of them scoot back to their separate seats, laughing to each other and talking in low voices.
It shouldn’t surprise me that she fucked him in the back seat of my taxi.
But it does.
She plays the good girl. Always has. And yet, it’s an act. A disguise she puts on for the world.
I should’ve known that, or suspected it at least. I simply thought she was too pure to put out. This theft can’t be financial. I’ve been working on the Strip for decades, and I know for a fact that the girl’s mother is in upper management at a luxury resort nearby. She doesn’t need the money.
These thoughts mull around in my mind, fascinating me. I head back to the girl’s luxury resort, pull up to the cab stand, and park.
“Hey,” Rae says. She leans on the front seats. “How’d you know where to take me?”
“You said the Opulence,” I say.
“Oh.” She laughs, the sound pleasing, yet stiff. “I forgot.”
“Were you a little distracted, babe?” the boyfriend teases.
She didn’t say anything. I know where she lives.
She gets out and gives the new boyfriend—or her conquest—a kiss on the cheek.
“Call me,” he says.
She smiles. “I told you. I have to study for exams. Then we’ll talk.”
She slams the door closed. Before the conquest can get out of the car and follow her inside, I start driving.
“Take me to the Wynn,” he sighs. His eyelids are heavy now that the girl is gone. He looks out the window at the bright lights. He has no idea that his watch is gone or that his wallet is lighter.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Cali,” he says.
“Nice place.”
I drive, taking the long way so that the conquest thinks we’re going to his hotel. By the time he falls asleep, we’re on the freeway, heading into the desert.
In an hour, we’re surrounded by dirt, sand, and cacti. The gravel crunches under the tires, stirring him awake.
“Where are we?” he asks.
I park the car.
Turn off the lights.
Take the knife from the glove box.
Remove the hacksaw from under my seat.
