Stiletto heels clicked against cement as Courtney Hutchins walked down the sidewalk. A hot, suffocating breeze blew the sweat off people in San Bernardino and moistened downtown Los Angeles. Even with an extra dab of perfume below each nostril, the air still had the smell and the aura of a sauna in which someone had spilled their curry. She turned her head slightly to the side and breathed out as often as possible, much like she would do when Marcus, lover of all things garlic, would talk to her from too close.
She looked at her watch. In the fading light, she could barely make out the dial. The meeting had run late. Her boss had yelled at her for the disastrous decision to cast Rob Reiner as an intellectual. Now, her boss had ordered her to the office to see if she could smooth things over with the studio executives.
“He’s lucky I didn’t take that phone and smash it over his head,” she muttered as though her impotent words could change anything. “Just a bunch of ignorant good ol’ boys. I make a great decision. The boss takes all the credit. He screws up. I take the fall. A woman gets no respect from these pigs unless her skirt is tight and her blouse is cut low. One of these days … one of these days, I’m going to break through their glass ceiling and show them how much better a woman can do it.” She rolled a card around in her fingers. “And he’s my ticket.”
His dark, soulful eyes, the way he dipped his head attentively when he listened, lips joined together in neither a smile nor a frown, revealed an inner yearning. An attractiveness not of appearance but of spirit. Sure, he was crazy good-looking, but that wasn’t enough anymore.
Country, like all the greats before him, had that extra something the camera looked for, that people wanted, needed, desired to touch, to be a part of. When the audience saw him on the screen, they would see themselves or, at least, everything they wished they could be. He would become a national treasure. Girls would throw themselves into puddles so he could walk over them and not get his shoes muddy. Dances would be named in his honor. A lifetime Oscar was all but guaranteed.
But most importantly, he would make the money rain. She smiled for a moment, but then stopped, remembering how mirth would etch wrinkles into her face that not even Botox could cure.
She stopped under a streetlight which had just decided to sputter to life. “I’m going to be late,” she said out loud and picked up her pace.
Other than the sound of the breeze and the low tip tap of her high heels, the world had fallen silent as though it anticipated the end of a horror movie it had already seen. She let her body glide into a trance brought on by memories of a simpler place. Where her Aunt Margaret braided her hair as she sipped tea with her mother. Where the low growl of the wolverine harmonized with the violin-chirping of crickets. Tonight wouldn’t be the first time she wondered if she had made the right decision to come out west. Her lungs let out a sigh.
She stared inside the window of a shuttered store, at the same emptiness, the same fading hope she wore pinned to her heart like a dying flower. A voice made her jump.
“Can you spare some change?” it said.
She spun around to see a man who looked to be seventy but was probably only in his thirties. Flaccid skin hung off bones as if all the meat beneath had dissolved. Tiny, dark circles lined the inside of his forearm from his wrist to his elbow. Here in front of her stood the murky underbelly of the Hollywood glamour scene. For every actor or actress that hit it big, there were ten that ended up like this man: addicted, wasted away, more dead than alive. The victims of a perverse, soulless society which preyed on the hopes and dreams of naïve, desperate youths willing to trade their bodies for a chance at riches, not appreciating the price they would pay until it was too late to turn back. The lucky ones made it big. The really lucky ones gave up and went home before they had to make the choice.
“I won’t give you any money,” she said, “but if you follow me to the diner down the block, I’ll pay for your meal.”
For a moment, she regretted the offer, not knowing if she had any cash left and wishing she had checked first. Then, she remembered she had skipped lunch and that a twenty hid somewhere beneath the clutter of half empty lipstick tubes. A wave of relief swept over her.
“I don’t want your meal. Just your change.” His voice had an undertone of anger.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she said, looking at the needle tracks on his arms.
“Dumb ….”
Courtney blocked the word out of her mind and continued down the street. She checked her watch once more.
“I’m late and it’ll take me another thirty minutes to walk there.” Her fingers dug under the tubes of lipstick and found the twenty-dollar bill. “Guess it’s a blessing in disguise. At least, I’ve got money for a cab.”
The wind continued to howl. A patch of thick, gray clouds blocked the fragile light of the crescent moon. Other than an occasional homeless person lying in the dust between the sidewalk and the two-story buildings, the streets were empty. Not even a single cab circulated down this normally busy stretch, the darkness and unbearable heat relegating people to the inside of their homes.
The tip tap of her stiletto heels resonated up and down the street, tiny beacons from an audible lighthouse in the gloominess. The leather strap rubbed the outside of her left foot until the pinky toe felt as if a boy scout was trying to earn a fire starter’s badge on it. She leaned against a light post and removed her shoes. A gentle massage didn’t put out the flames. Throwing her heels over her shoulder and letting them dangle against her back, she renewed her journey.
Her mind wandered again. Plans for another day. Visions of the life she would create, the revenge she would extract on the people who kept her from her dream because she wouldn’t allow herself to be a victim of their desires. Around her, the wind roared in agreement. Loose bottles rattled in the gutters. The shhhh shhhh of feet shuffling along the ground rose like the whisper of a killer comforting his victim before he turned out her lights forever.
She stopped. The shhhh shhhh continued. She looked behind her, but only emptiness returned her gaze. Peering into the dark, she tried to locate the source. A stray cat. The branches of leafless trees scratching the side of lifeless buildings. Anything but what her subconscious feared.
Her pulse quickened. Her legs began to move more quickly. The high heels bounced off her back. Her brown hair fluttered in the wind, like tall grass bowed by an unrelenting storm.
The shhhh shhhh accelerated at the same pace as her steps. A fast walk became a slow jog, which changed to a run. She twisted to look behind her as her feet pushed her forward. The heat stung her face whichever way she looked. Solitude greeted her in all directions. The shhhh shhhh escalated as though it came from the darkness, as though the darkness had come to life.
The scream she held inside released itself in small bursts. The heels fell from her hand and clattered to the ground. Legs churned as fast as they could, the burning of her toes forgotten in the dash to a nonexistent safety.
The sidewalk was hot to the touch. Small stones dug into the balls of her feet. She staggered and nearly fell more than once but managed to stay upright. Every few steps, she turned to see how close her attacker was, but each time, she found herself alone. Even though she heard its deep, raspy breaths, its face remained hidden by the dark.
“Get away! What do you want?” she managed to get out.
Only the wind replied.
The end of the block still seemed as far away as when she started running. Had she passed the intersection without realizing? The air itself played tricks on her mind. Adrenaline poured through her body. Fear replaced rational thought. She stepped into the street and nearly got hit by a car she hadn’t realized was there. Her hands thudded against the hood as brakes squealed in protest.
A face yelled out of a rolled down window. “Watch where you’re going. You want to get killed?”
Courtney took a minute to calm down and make sense of what was happening. A pale light coming from inside the car illuminated a portion of the man’s face. Despite the anger in his voice, his words, his presence came as a comfort to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I ….” She turned once more to look behind her. “It’s not important. I just wasn’t looking where I was going.” She paused long enough to realize she still held onto the purse. “Say. Are you on duty?”
The man pointed out the window and onto the roof of the cab. “What does it say?” he asked.
“It says, ‘On Duty.’”
“I guess I am then.” He smiled.
Courtney smiled back and opened the rear door to get in.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“Wilshire and Fairfax,” she said. “Can you take me there?”
“Can do.”
They rode in silence for a few blocks. The driver took regular peeks in his rearview mirror at Courtney.
“What are you doing our here this time of night?” he finally asked.
“Got a meeting,” she said.
“Movie business,” he said as a statement.
“Movie and t.v. How’d you know?”
“You have the look,” he said.
“The look?”
“Yeah. You know. Attractive. Determined. Intelligent. I bet all the people do exactly what you tell them.”
She scoffed. “I wish.” The taxi took a hard right and pushed her body against the door. She looked out the window at the neon signs hurtling by. “Excuse me,” she said. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“There was construction in that direction. Whole road’s shut down. We have to take a detour. Don’t worry, though. I know the quickest way.”
Courtney eased back into the seat. Even with so little room, she managed to cross her legs, the position she felt most comfortable in. The cab driver kept up the conversation.
“I was going to be in movies,” he said. “Even got myself cast in a few small parts. That’s why I came out here in the first place. To be in movies. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Small town boy moves to the big city in hopes of becoming famous. Ends up driving a cab.” He laughed at the irony. “Not that I’m complaining. I enjoy what I do. Get to meet interesting people each night.”
“A few small parts?” Courtney said. She spoke more out of reflex than anything. Much of what the driver said wasn’t registering in her mind.
“Yeah. All the same. I got typecast almost immediately. ‘Guy with gun in the shadows.’ That was my actual first credited part. Then, man with the knife. Soon, I had graduated to the person who choked the life out of the heroine. After that, the only role I was offered was the part of the evil killer. Like there’s any other type.” Another laugh.
“I suppose you got tired of doing the same thing,” Courtney said. “Wanted to branch out a bit but you couldn’t find anything else. Is that why you left the business?”
“Oh, no. I enjoyed the role, and I never left the business. I just drive a cab to pick up extra money. And to meet interesting people.”
“What movies were you in?” she asked. “Any I might have heard of?”
“I doubt it,” he said. “They were mostly independent films. Low budget. Sometimes we only had one camera, and I had to do multiple takes just to get it right. I remember one time where the actress had to sit still while I repeatedly stabbed her over and over. The director yelling cut. Do another take. The actress with the tape over her mouth, wanting it to stop. I imagine how uncomfortable she must have felt. Especially with her hands tied behind her back and the warm blood running down her sides. I’d have hated to have been her.” He shuddered. “So, were you ever in the movies? As an actress, I mean.”
“Once or twice,” she said.
“Were you the hero, or were you the one that got killed?”
Courtney didn’t like the way he said it. “Neither. I played a housewife who found out her husband led a double life. I had to cry a lot. I found it so demeaning.”
“But you were never the victim of a homicide.”
“No.” Courtney’s heart began to palpitate.
“And you never wanted to be?”
“Not really,” Courtney said. A sickening feeling began to form in her stomach. A little voice in the back of her head told to get out of there as soon as she could.
“Do me a favor,” she said. “Can you pull over here? I need to make a quick stop.”
“It’s really not safe in this part of town. Not for a girl like you.” His voice had grown cold.
“I’ll be OK,” she said, keeping an outward calm while her insides where churning. “Just stop for a minute so I can do something. I’ll be right back.”
“Hmm,” he said. “I would stop, but I don’t think Aunt Margaret would approve.”
Courtney’s eyes flew wide open when she heard her aunt’s name. The driver’s laugh turned to a cackle.
“Let me out now!” she demanded.
“Oh, I can’t do that,” he said. “Not here.”
She balled up her hands and beat against the glass partition. “Let me out!”
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “No, that wouldn’t be the best thing to do. Not for me anyway.”
Courtney began to cry.
“What’s the matter, dear?” the driver said. “It doesn’t seem you’re enjoying the ride.”
“Stop. Please, stop,” she said.
“Stop? I can’t,” he said. “This is your lucky night. Or your unlucky night. I guess it depends on your point of view.”
“Why are you doing this? What do you want?” she said. Her throat had grown dry even as the tears streamed down her face.
“What do I want? I want to give you a choice,” he said.
She wiped her face. The black of the mascara leaked onto her fingertips. “What do you mean?”
“A choice. I want to give you a choice.”
“What kind of choice?” she asked.
“Would you prefer that I stab you to death or that I choke the life out of you? Neither will be pleasant, I admit.”
Courtney started to scream. She pulled against the door handle with all her strength. It rattled in her hands. Like the child’s toy she used to play with. Like the bones of an exhumed skeleton.
“I suppose I could shoot you in the head,” he said, “but what’s the fun in that. One second, you’re alive, and the next, your soul floats off to Hades. No. I like to take my time. So that your last horrific moments on earth will prepare you for the next life. Just so you can get used to it.”
“You’re sick!” she yelled out. “You’re sick. Let me out!” Her voice changed to a sob. “Please, let me out.”
“That is not one of the choices,” he said. “I’ve already specified your options. Which one do you prefer?”
“Let me out!” Her voice rose again. Her fists banged against the window.
“I suppose I could make the choice for you. So, which should it be?”
He stared out the window in contemplation. Something caught his eye, and he turned the steering wheel sharply to the right. The cab rolled into an alley and came to a stop. Behind them in a window, a neon sign flashed ‘Cold Beer,’ the B flickering as though half alive.
“Well, we’re here,” he said. “What have you decided?”
“I want to go home,” she whimpered.
“I asked you what you decided,” he said, not nearly as politely as before.
“Please. Let me go.”
“What have you decided?” he roared.
Courtney fell back in the seat. No sound other than a soft moan came out of her mouth. The driver threw his hands up in disgust.
“I guess I’ll have to make the choice for you,” he said, his voice returning to its previous calmness. “Knife or hands? Hands or knife?” He pursed his lips as his head bobbed up and down. “I guess I could improvise.”
He got out of the car and opened the rear door. Courtney pushed herself to the other side. The man reached in and grabbed Courtney’s right foot. With her free foot, she kicked at the man, screaming, crying, fighting with every ounce of energy she had.
“Why are you fighting?” he asked. “You’re just delaying the inevitable.”
“Help!” she screamed out. “Please, help me!”
“No one hears you, Courtney. The world is too preoccupied to notice.”
The man sighed once and jerked Courtney’s leg with so much force that she flew out of the car and landed on the street, her head bouncing hard enough to make her dizzy. She turned herself over and tried to push herself to her knees. A solid blow landed on her shoulders, and she collapsed to the ground.
“You’re not going anywhere, Courtney. Now, be a good girl and accept your fate.”
She willed herself to move, but her body wouldn’t respond. The dark seemed even darker here. The normal evening sounds had disappeared. Even the winds had died off. The only noise she heard was the whistling of the man and the soft shhhh shhhh as he walked.
“Ahh. Here we go.”
Muted footsteps approached. Courtney groaned and raised herself to her elbows. She felt another blow, not as hard as the first one, knock the back of her skull. She fell to the street. The man grabbed one arm and flipped her over. He cocked his head to one side and observed her without saying a word. His eyes were soft, inquisitive, almost sympathetic. A chock of black hair fell across his reddened face. There was something so beautiful yet frightening about that face. Graceful and mesmerizing yet overflowing with fury. Like the tongues of a raging fire spinning and pirouetting in a delightful ballet as they consume everything around it.
“It’s time,” he said. An iron pipe fell on Courtney’s forehead. Never had she felt such pain. It shot down the entire length of her body, electrifying and burning her nerves. The next blow was even worse. But then she felt nothing. She remained conscious for a while as the pipe struck her head over and over, blood splattering in all directions, teeth cracking and splintering. The last thing she remembered was hearing a coyote howl in the distance.