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Subject: {ASSM} TxM6:  Chapter 31   Dirty Letters to  Ruby Barnes  Street Sex and Popsicles
Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2003 13:10:04 -0500
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Chapter 31 of Taxi Murders
Site Update January 29, 2003

(c) 2003 Sean Farragher

New Version of Taxi Murders Posted 1.30.2003
sfarragher@nj.rr.com
Email comments appreciated.


http://www.seanfarragher.com/taximurdersbook
http://www.seanfarragher.com/hyperfiction
http://www.seanfarragher.com
http://www.seanfarragher.com/Joss



Chapter 31 Taxi Murders
Dirty Letters to Ruby Barnes
Monday, December 31, 1990
Dirty Letters to the Late Ruby Barnes
Street Sex & Popsicles

Dearest Ruby,
You are one magnificent vista and a great whore.
"The Taxi driver is a self created victim, rarely a murderer. He is also
perfectly and wildly but passionately innocent.

Just ask him why he prefer to have his cock sucked rather than a bed with
clean sheets and mind."


Monday, December 31, 1990
Weather REPORT: 19 degrees: Wind Chill - 2.

Dry, nervous air today. We arrived two days after another fake snow day
promised by that slick weather boy out of the American outback.

I know I am weird. I love to drive a cab in a snowstorm. I am good at it,
and feel the cold deeply in my bowels. I also make a pretty buck as no
other ass hole wants to drive. Winter is never regret, I say, turning the
windshield wipers higher on the plane. Finding the geometry of sex and snow
crystals as an outline to some other temperature. We are caught as we fold
them running through the inventive lattice, as her hands found my eyes, I
watched from the ledge of the snow bank as she unhitched herself from the
cab, running out in the snow, pulling her pants, down and squatting like a
beautiful dog in the snow making it yellow. Pulling up, she stood at the
window of the cab and told me she wanted me to do the same. I did like it
was a daily occurrence. She watched. "Men are so fucken lucky," she said.

Tilt of windmills casts attitude askance. Eyes shift the ages inside taut
childhood. Imagine the looks we pass back and forth when we hunt the cunt
or cock.

Men and women are all the same. That is the polite line. Fuck it. I want to
know them all. Good and bad, dirty and clean, all the abstract categories.

I want them inside my hands, and in my lips. My voyeurism is that extreme
that I want to know all who suffer pain and glee. I want the pain and the
transformation. I love being one magnificent bullshit artist.

Drivers who live in their mind (some are silent) find nothing at the end of
the call but just another snort, a drink, blowjob or verbal fight for who
was the least of them. I love taxi men, and I have been one of them now for
almost five years. Wouldn't have missed it. Hate it to my bones. Want to
fuck up every faggot and pimp. Want to fuck every slut and whore. I need to
be that ugly man and yet when I look at the sunrise, at 5 AM coming back
from Newark on the eastern spur, at the rise, that place where New York
shows off, I am there in genesis fucking some mind and coming in daily
sheets to the beat of the flood on the Jersey shore.

Dear first Lord Jersey, what a fucked up name for a state of mind gum job
political blowjobs.

Sometimes even where it stinks, the beauty is too perfect and the unease
sublime. No, I hate the politics of that home base. I hate the religious
hustlers of political hokum. I hate them for their greed and their lack of
sincerity.

Would not be better if a woman were governor, as one whore said to me,
opening her cunt showing me the string of pearls she hid. "Someday, we will
rule," she said. I laughed, of course, but thought how uneasy we all are
with the blame and responsibility of gender. They all suck no matter how
many cocks and cunts they clean with their own ideologies. Fuck 'em.

She's just another cock sucking mama with an attitude. "Get the fuck out of
my cab, I would shout at them and then I would laugh so fucken much my
sides would hurt from the invective I hurled at them for being human.

"You know what I saying, yea, I heard that Mr."

"Take an extra twenty for myself."

"Sure, so you liked the slut I picked out. No problem, any time you want a
blow job, I will find the right bitch for you. She will have a hollow
throat, and know how to rub the end and the beginning at the same instant.
Just when you blow your guts she will stream herself into your skin and
find a fallow mark for the delight that follows you home as a bargain
aftertaste."

It is easy to revert to the mask. Taxi Drivers have too many. They never
unwind from them nor do they know or have the means to protect themselves
from the off-handed slurs by business types who are for the most part dirty
inside and out. Drivers may live in layers of crud. Some are actually so
clean their car seems out of place. Some are so fucken pure they cannot get
hard with a slut on their piece. Well, that is extreme I would admit.
Actually, what is also there is the piece as in weapon turned on to their
skulls as they are about to die giving up four bucks and then the shit
coughs, the weapon jams, and I fucken ram the police car in front of the
drug store like some old flame of a movie from the 30s without any rhyme or
miserable reason.

Yes, I know, you have no idea what a driver thinks when he passes those
looks when we melt snow in our mouths, washing our faces with spit, and
polish, dark sky, and hiding under blankets when I feel my hand announce,
as Mary Gail Weldon did, when I was twelve, holding my slight cock in her
teenage hand.
My mind took off that day as my mind swallowed her literal blood when I
came, or so I would like to remember.




Friday, January 5, 1990

I do grieve for sexual children in the frozen waste as they passed into
cinders waiting for Santa Claus to rub their dirty greedy hearts. There is
no fucken Santa. Shit yes, there is. He is the poor sot who spends his last
five
paychecks for the sight of a child in an orgasm of conspicuous consumption.
Papa or Mama or some "friend" of one of them, or sister Rose or Brother Bob
fucked with their heads. I meet too many of them selling their ass on the
streets for blow. Perps like that should be snuffed. Give them "ole
Sparky." Make asses shine and brains melt. Have no fucken mercy on them or
us.



Sunday, January 7, 1990

At home, walking the streets; just for the hell of it.
I love it when they take Christmas decorations down. Doing it late this
year, must have been a bad fucken year.


Monday, January 8, 1990

Fucken birthday. Can't believe I am closer to fifty than forty.





Tuesday, January 15, 1990
Meeting Ruby Barnes:
Another frozen Day, dear prelude: (week earlier) Aren't you cold out there,
you blessed quiff, Ruby, come inside here.
Ruby was once a child whore (12 when she started), so she bragged.
She says she is 20 now, but looks 30. I have seen her before [on my way
back from regular fare drop off six night a week]. Mostly, we just talk
through the front window. One day when it was real cold, and no one was
around, I unlocked the front seat and let her sit down. She was surprised
when I refused a free BJ.

"I am only out there on weekends," she lied. Don't waste my time, she says,
insulted that I refused free sex with her.

Actually, I should say she threatened to leave but didn't. Fucken cold out
there, and I need to make it tonight. No nut for room and blow. Pimp in
jail for fucking with the Narks.

Unhappy that I hurt her feelings, I joked that she must have a thing for
Grandfather types, offering to give it up for my company. I am flattered I
told her, but said, that I do not like to have sex in the cab.
Come to my place, she wrote her address quickly. Any morning. I know what
time you guys check in.

Call first make sure I am alone. I would like the company and I will treat
you nice.
Ruby started to leave, "shit, she said, don't call on Monday or Wednesday,
I have early classes. I forgot new term.  Go to BCC," she said. "Last year
I heard you read your poems there."

"Sure, I lied. I will call."

"Fuck you," she laughed back, you lying prick, I can see you are hot and
ready for my dirty cunt.  Just don't bullshit me."

"What Love," Henry said, barely listening to her, turning up the two-way
radio.

"Quiet for a second, I think I have a call."
Ruby was gone with no good-bye. Door slam said it all, and when she reached
the corner, she screamed back, "go fuck yourself, and while you are at lose
the number."

When I looked up, I saw she was crying. I chased after her, but she got
lost in a mall, and I was sad not for losing the sex, but for hurting her.
Cabbies, late night waitresses, and hookers have the same routine, and
usually very close histories.



Tuesday, January 30, 1990
Late night, early Morning 2AM, 23 degrees F.

"Glad to see you again, Mother fucker, as she slid into my cab, wearing
nothing under a long man's coat. Got fucken beat by some PA cops.
"Wanted it for more than free. They took all my money and busted me. You
bloody well know. I sell it cheap but I hate to get ripped off."
Henry looks at Ruby again, carefully tracing the major lines of her body
covered by her fluffed up cheap fur, tight fur, close cropped box,
partially displayed as ordinary fruit, her short skirt covering nothing but
the tops of the garter strung old fashioned stockings partially ripped from
their moorings.
Sure has no tits, Henry thought.

"Look at you. Sure you are not some faggot boy in drag."

"Can't you see my cunt, asshole. You're sure looking at it, now mad."

"I know you are," Henry smiled, "I can smell ya from here. Just wanted to
poke you a bit, you don't mind of course, right," Henry continued instantly
killing the mocking tone in his voice when he realized she took him
seriously, and suddenly remembered how shitty he had treated her the last
time.  She wasn't one of the hooker wenches who traded banter like herpes.

Why do I do this, Henry thought. Why do I fucken care? Look at her sweet
ass, he thought, as he shot down the gravel road sending the gravel flying
out like shrapnel. She thinks those little girl winks work on the truck
drivers and other fucks who hide on the road waiting for a fantasy screw
with their 13 year old neighbor's daughter. Never do it, of course.
Thinking about it is another way to go, Henry smiled.

"Can you take me home. I will pay there, she said. Pimp has money."
If he is not there, what do I do then. You're a 20 trip from here. No way I
can cover up the call with the dispatcher. Too busy tonight. Look, I'd pay
you, I promise. Here, take this ring. It is real. Fucken guy gave it to me
last week. Must be worth a 100 at pawn. If I don't pay you by next week,
then you can sell it. Deal, she said, offering her small child like hand.
No nail polish and fake nails. Little girl hands that probably jerked off
ten guys tonight. Sweet mouth that smiled now sucked five to ten cocks, and
her cunt was probably sore from cocks. Later, I learned only some of it was
true. "I am mostly off the game," she said, using the English term. I work
at Staples in the city.
This bitch is funny, Henry thought. She plays her hustle for a free ride
well. Let me stop this.

"Half price for the ride tonight, Babe, Henry said.

"Same to you for ride, Hon. No, not tonight. Need to make some money from
calls. Bills paid or I am out in the street. I'm getting off the junk
slowly, she lied. Been that way for two months, was last month when I saw
you. I knew you wouldn't have believed me. These cops tonight were an old
debt now paid.  Why should I waste my ass dancing down the side roads,
picking up truck drivers with my little girl winks. Man in city wants to
set me up with rich apartment and I can go to school full time. Don't even
have to fuck him. He liked me to dress him up as a little girl and watch
him fuck his buddy."

Don't bullshit me, I saw you there last night, at your favorite spot, down
near Route #3 at Tonnelle.

"Yes, just a part timer, she says, just for the rent and books for school.
Only do blow jobs now. Half and half, cost much more.

"How old are you, Henry asked. The truth. No BS. What are you 15?"

"Maybe back home when I fucked my brother for weed, I did at 13. I am not
young," she continued.

Make myself look that way for the extras that the fucks like to pay. Call
them Daddy is one of their favorites.

"No, you have ID. You must. Let  me see. "

"None of your fucken business shit hole, let me out of this fucken cab.
Unlock it you shit."

Henry laughed. "I am taking you home, now shut the fuck up."

Half way home, she startled Henry by smiling and saying, I got proof for
22, she said.  I am 16 been doing this for two years.

Henry laughed, and they talked while Henry held her hand, touched her
cheek, and gave her twenty when he dropped her off.

"Just had sex last night, It wouldn't work."

"Why the bill," Ruby asked.

"It pleases me," Henry quickly answered with a softer voice. Next time you
are stuck call my dispatcher and tell me where to pick you up.

If I am free I will pick you up in my car, and if not in the cab."

Simple as a hand moving across her shirt, Henry felt Ruby. She leaned back
and let him, opening her blouse, letting me touch her small nipples, "how
you want it this time, Ruby asked.

This is fine, Henry answered, and he leaned over the child whore kissing
her like a sweet heart.

Ruby laughed, put her hand between his thighs but not on his cock, and they
talked. Finally, as they sat there in front of her motel, Henry "no calls
on cab radio, Henry called dispatch and told them he wanted to check in
early.
Dispatcher laughed. He knew that Henry had scored, as he would have put it.
Turning to Ruby, Henry said, "come back to Fort Lee, checking out soon,
I'll get you back here in my own car. We can spend some time at my place.
OK?

"Yes, Daddy," Ruby mocked Henry. "No charge Daddy," she continued.
They kissed like sweethearts copping a mutual feel. "Be my child, Henry
said. Ruby, having played this game before said, "sure you don's want a
local for a wake me up?"

"No." Henry answered.
Later that day, about noon, Henry drove Ruby  back to her room on 64th
street off Tonnelle.
Ruby spoke up breaking the silence as they pulled into the space beside her
room at the Motel.

"Will I see you, white boy? How much do I owe you for your time she asked
Henry, laughing at his semi serious response.

"You kidding, he played her game. Give me $50 for protection and my
services.
Ruby reached into her purse and found two $50 dollar bills, and she threw
them at him, laughing.

"I thought you were broke. What a fucken liar."

"You are simply silly, Henry. Never broke when I have my ass. Remember when
I went to the 7-11 this morning before we fucked. You were exhausted and I
needed some rubbers, so I left while you showered. You knew. I told you
before I left. What you didn't know. I blew some guy in his car for the
money. Gave him half and half and then I came back to you washed my cunt
and fucked you. See how easy it is to make money."

Ruby laughed, leaving Henry's old car, but was pissed. Rent due. Got to
find new place. Shit. Something turns up. Got to get on with my life. Like
falling down, Henry laughed. She falling down, and later, when I came,
gushing all over Angela, telling her the story of Ruby.

Bring her here for us, Angela said. Do you think she is clean? We can find
out, before. OK. I'd like that chocolate. How old, Angela asked. Who gives
a fuck, Aaron walked into the room hearing only part of the talk.

Figure sixteen. Actually, we found out later, she was almost 17 like she
said.



Thursday, February 1, 1990

Taxi drivers and Helicopter pilots begin one step out, then the whirl of
the blades, the pump of the meter, click of the door, clack of a clamor,
and then a sadder roll, and the fall from grace when it all comes banging
in through the windshield, underneath the safe, ripped away like that
darling cunt, who couldn't take 'em off fast enough, Henry wrote in his
diary.

"Rip them, he wrote, and as she said nothing, just a blank stare, sitting
in the front seat, afterwards, Ruby continued, you hurt me, pausing, but I
liked it deeper, you know.

Henry wrote the memory down with only a few embellishments.

"Didn't feel it, Henry wrote, "but it hurts now, smooth, as you know,
nothing to protect; let me see he wrote.

Turning the light on Ruby who sat in the front seat of his imagination,
Henry wrote that he lifted her dress, rope burns on her labia, a bruise on
her thigh, inside, finger prints, pushed up, I won't be able to fuck for a
week, he wrote down what he remembered that she had said.

"How will I? Blow jobs," she said. "Half and half makes my nut, you know
that. I don't make you, so you don't give a fuck, I know. Why. Why, you
ask? You think I know if you don't. Can I stop?"

Henry wrote what Ruby thought. "You want to stop the stroll. Can't? Go to
rehab. I'll take you. No. Doesn't work. Can't stop, and you know why? The
pressure builds up. You think I care about a load of come in my mouth. It's
done. Easier than working as a waitress, and cleaning tables, or whipping
some drunk's hand from my ass, or pushing away, some jerk, who kissed my
ass, or grabbed my tits, or forced me to fuck him for nothing. What the
fuck can I do but not stop. Then don't fucking complain. Why can't I? You
doing that right now.

Henry wrote down more of what Ruby said. She watched him do it, and it
seemed like magic to her.

"My words," she said, touching the yellow pad. "Hey, let me fuck you on top
of the pad, we can put cum stains on it. Make it worth more, no?

"I want you to know, what. That messing with you keeps my head on straight.
Know I can get worse, and that, I also could get better. Would you talk
with me without the blowjobs. Would you hang out, if I weren't helping you
pass the time, waiting or driving? I am not supposed to . drive me around.
I know.
All they do is scream. Get the fucked whores out of the cab. I know.
They're jealous. Stopping, she pauses, looking at Henry. Does the
dispatcher like broads, guess so. Who would want to blow a 400-pound
fucker, speaking about Hudson Street's dispatcher Eddie. Does he even have
a cock under that fat, Ruby was being cruel now as Henry wrote that he
watched the bitch undress for him.
Nothing on really. Silk dress No underpants nor bra, not even shoes as she
drove directly to him.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know," Henry tried to change the subject, he
wrote. "Well, you claim to like threesomes, want to fuck me with Laurie, or
was it Michelle. I know some like kids.

Henry wrote it down in long hand as Ruby dictated. "I know a ten year old
fucks down in the E. Village. Makes a hundred for head. Sweet kid. Does it
for her mama. Light skin black child. Saw her do this cop once. Down in the
park? Which one. Where we hang out? You mean Tompkins square, yea, behind
the pee shed. He was scared, but couldn't stop when I strolled around them.
Pulled it out of her mouth.

"Ain't gonna say a thing," I said, using my best nigger dialect. Little
girl laughed, and her Mama, pimping, ran around from her guard post. Who
the fuck are you, the girl's Mama said, same place as you, cunt, ain't no
prick cop, and fuck you too, and I laughed, leaving the girl and her
mother, as the cop came, zipped up, and got the fuck out of there. Sad fat
cop, shit, saw twenty years of beating his hump on a beat, fucken shit, and
the girl couldn't weight more than 60 pounds. Looks seven not ten. What a
sight."

Henry wrote it down in a fever like it was gospel.

"The girl leaning against the shed, hidden by the bush, and the cock
sliding in and out, and when she swallowed, neat that way, all tastes the
same. Cops usually safe. No disease. Want you to swallow, won't let you use
a rubber. I like to bite and suck hard after they come, and don't let go,
make them puke their pain back, sometimes, as they try to beat you off, and
you add, I said I swallow, didn't you fucken hear, sweets, and then the guy
puts it back, runs away, dropping an extra five or sometimes a ten.

Sometimes. Once when I just started out on the stroll, I was just 13, and
the fucken guy wanted a refund, and ripped it off, taking it back, smacking
my ass, face, whatever shit.

Henry looked up at Ruby while she talked, finally getting her to open, he
needed her to finish.

"I hate that," Ruby said and Henry wrote. "Feel raped. Fuck steals the
money. Usually guys out after a Knicks or Rangers game. That's why I don't
do group fucks, or two guys. Most leave me alone. They don't know that I
don't got a pimp who gonna beat their ass if they rip me off. Am I their
keeper? Henry thinks, darling, I can't bless you with my hands or my cock.
I cannot distribute your love by my absence. You are an instant collection
of human garbage for all mankind to dissolve first with ease then with
passion until the stench, the ache transposed the earth to rupture, and
when it died, the Spirit (Mankind) lost its reverie; I did not drink, nor
did I stand face to face within the stretch of the fiend. Manitou came into
the earth with abandon, and the ark struck the rock. The Blessing was
clean.

The Great GWB fell, at once dead, as all must die. What fantasy as I am
blown, coming into Ruby's mouth. Real first name. Not street, she said.
Last name, not yet, she said. You want me to move in, she said. You want a
pimp, I asked. No, not really, but if you can help, straighten, no, you
can't really, and suddenly reaching out, she pulls her hand to her belly,
lifting her blouse, pulling down her underpants. See the marks, and I am
pregnant. HIV, I ask. Negative last week. Who knows?"
Henry stopped writing.

Stop. You take chances too, don't you, she asked. No rubber. Can't get HIV
from a blowjob? You sure. Yes. I can. You like ten-year-old bitches don't
you. Actually, I like them nine. Want me to shave my pussy? Why not?
Itches, unless, you do it every other day, or so. You're tempted, and know
I am brilliant, right, what would it be like to live with a Coker hooker.
No, I don't do crack anymore, but you never know. I would steal you blind.
You said you live with an artist, lover, and their girl friend. Two women
and a man. Kids. Two, one is mine. Would I fit in? Don't know. You're
really thinking about it.

"You know I am 48," Henry added.

"Well I'm almost 17, she laughed. Let me call the cops and scream rape.
Henry didn't think what she said was funny.

Henry didn't write this down.

"Worried about jail big daddy. I am sixteen, and been fucking in the
streets since I was thirteen. Fucking my uncles and daddies when I was 6.
Ran away.
"From where, Henry asked?"

"North Carolina."

Henry asked, "You never told me any of this before. Why now?"
Still not writing, but the hidden tape recorder was finally turned on. "My
last name is Barnes. My Mama is half black, and my daddy is English china
white. Another drug snorting faggot. I hate him. I didn't finish the
seventh grade, got pregnant, lost it, and my step dad tried to make me
marry one of his cronies after he had four oh his drunken buddies use me
while Mama was working.
"I said fuck this, and ran away form there. Grandma lived in Astoria. Moved
in. Threw me out when she caught me fucking this neighbor boy. Tried to
send me home. Brought me to bus station. Bought my ticket."

Henry coming out of a fog, self induced , he continued, as he wrote down
Ruby's gospel changing only facts that related to him.

"Grandma watched me leave. I got off on turnpike, hitched back to the city.
He raped me in his car, but I went along at the end when he said he would
pay. Scared, done with me, he let me off in NJ, that is how I found Fort
Lee.
"Some fucking buck got me strung out on coke. No needles. I ran away when
he tried to stick me. He laughed. Why waste it, and shot himself up, and I
left.
"Found a job taking care of some sister's kids in Hackensack for room and
board, Henry recorded as he could current information."
Henry continued his story.

"Back at my place, I massaged Ruby's back, letting her drift free, and
feeling the cool black, warm of her tan skin.

"Don't worry she said. It ain't gonna rub off.

"No, Henry said, rubbing her cunt, bare.

"When did you do this," Henry asked.

"This morning," Ruby answered. "Thought you be around and I'd rope you in.
You say, I can tie you up. Not tonight. Just hold. Soft. Gentle, OK. I am
sore. My mouth hurts, my lips are bruised, my cunt aches, and my ass hurts.
Got more than 200 here. You want it, she asked. Sure. Henry said writing
her confession and now his down on a dirty yellow pad, the sheets flipped
over.
"You be my pimp, OK. White boy pimp treat me gentle. You don't have to.
Just don't .get fucked up, I know. Grass OK, I said. You really are a white
boy, and when she turned over, onto her back, spreading her legs,
provocatively, touching her cunt, spreading the lips, you can, . just do it
fast, OK, I'd like that, she said. In my cunt. Come inside. Don't use
anything, I'm clean, and pregnant, I add. No, not really, maybe tomorrow.

"You fucken liar," Henry laughed. "Want your kid, Mr.," she laughed. Only
charge for materials and labor. My work comes for free, Ruby liked to
pretend she was generous, but she was tight ass, tighter than really anyone
cared to know.
Writing again, Henry got it down. "Do it. Side by side, gently Henry
entered Ruby, hardly moving, pushing into her, slowly, he felt her fingers
on his right nipple."

"Not so fast, yes," Ruby said, "fast, please, I want you feel you inside,
wet, let go, mama sucking you, feel how smooth. You know I fucked a farm
boy when I seven. Wanted to. Be my farm boy, Hen's the name, Ruby said

"I came, Ruby said, and was surprised by how hard it hit me. Slowly
rocking, inside, stay there, I grabbed Henry's dick, and Ruby said, "don't
leave," and as she moved on her back when Henry shriveled up, holding her
knees high, on her back, "let me stay," Ruby said, "I be good, hold my
hand, and I licked nipple. Suddenly, Ruby turned on her back, legs apart,
and finally Ruby's ass turned, stayed that way for a long time, finally
reaching for her cunt, Henry smiled, opening it, feeling the wet, it's OK,
they're all ready sprouting. Had a period lately, I asked. Last week. Just
before my AIDS and you're clean."
"Very." They said.

Had no man in my cunt since then. Just blow jobs, and finger fucks. Guy,
who ripped off pants, got nothing.  lied, running away, when his guard was
down. Hurt the fuck. How can I believe you, I asked. Want your kid.

You smart man with a gentle heart. You let me keep kid, and let me go when
I move on, on my feet first, OK. No strings. No strings, I asked. How sure,
this will happen. Not perfect, nothing is, you know. Go to sleep and we
did.




My dear Ruby: Thursday, May 23, 1991

"The George Washington Bridge marked my life then with falling branches and
the time before Bloomsday came to some rapid conclusion. I distribute
unknown rancid blood to strains of mouths at resurrection. I drive a fucken
cab, you shit."


Thursday, December 23, 1991

Reported today in the Bergen Sentinel: Ruby Barnes, 18, hit and run by an
out of control car on Rt. #17 died at Hackensack Hospital late Tuesday
night.
Henry claimed her body and paid for the funeral. The cops asked him why,
and also questioned him about his whereabouts late Monday night about 11:30
PM when Ruby was struck down. Looks like a hit, they told Henry. Bet you
had something to do with it, one cop, the skinny one, punching his fingers
in Henry's chest said.

Henry usually had Monday night off, but he filled in for a driver who did
him a favor once. Good thing, these cops are looking to pin this shit on
someone.
Cops called Henry's dispatcher. Wyman told the cops that Henry was at
Kennedy Airport at the time of the hit and run, but the cops were welcomed
to look at the cab.

Wyman told Henry that the cops asked him a few questions, looked at the
cab, call log, and left.

You know I didn't have to show them a fucken thing, Wyman spat at Henry.
Almost felt like fucking you over, he told Henry. What the fuck would I do
for a driver with your ass in jail. You owe me.

Owe you, Henry shot back. You told the fucken truth. Yea, I know. Truth
costs too, you sad shit. Henry shook his head, and said simply, next time I
find who with AIDS I will bring her to you. You will never know.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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