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“Nothing good happens at that place,” she says. “We hear things late at night sometimes. Noise travels far out here in the sticks.”
“What kind of things?”
“Screams coming from his house. Chills my blood, miss. For your own good, don’t go there.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I say. “But I don’t exactly have much choice.”
“You always got a choice.” There’s a sternness behind her eyes. “Until you’re in that house.”
I eat the donut slowly. She’s looking at me funny, like she wants to say something else. “I’ll check where your driver might be,” she says, disappearing into the kitchen once again.
She comes back a couple of minutes later. “Cab is outside, ready for you,” she says. “You better get going.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Three seventy-five.”
I hand her the ten and wait for my change. Once my purse is loaded with coins, I head out to a waiting car. Nick’s Cabs is emblazoned on the side.
“You Anna?” the driver asks, throwing his cigarette into the gutter.
“You Nick?” I ask straight back.
“Got it in one. Ready to go?” He takes my suitcase from me, loading it into the trunk. “Heading to Donatello’s place?”
“Hang on, let me get my sketchbook out.” I retrieve it from the case.
“You ready?” he asks as I push the trunk shut.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Then let’s mosey on out.”
I climb into the back of the car. “Mind if I play some tunes?” he asks as we set off.
“Go ahead.”
He turns on the radio, and a rock guitar starts to blast out.Aerosmith. Not as good as Buddy Holly but better than silence.
I sit back and drown out the music, thinking about what sort of job might be waiting for me. I draw in my sketchbook, doodling a caricature of the driver in front of me.
I’m still drawing when the cab comes to a halt at the side of the road. We’re surrounded by trees. To my left, a narrow road twists away into the foliage. “You head down there,” he says, pointing past my arm.
“You’re not taking me all the way?”
“Not for a million bucks,” he replies, getting out and pulling my door open. “Wouldn’t even stop here if I had my way. Back shit goes down in his house. Real bad shit.”
“Like what?”
He frowns, as if no one ever asked him that before. “Bad shit,” he says again before getting into the cab and racing off.
“Hey,” I shout after him. “My suitcase!”
He’s already out of sight, the sound of his engine fading away. I look around me. Something about this doesn’t feel right.
I check my cellphone. No service. Of course.
“Great,” I say out loud. Every possession I have is in the case. I have my handbag with a couple of bucks inside, my cellphone, and my sketchbook. That’s it.
