It's better for you than half the stuff you THINK is good for you.

“The Pros of a Matchstick”–Installment VI – 27 May 2014

Firstly, to those who observed it, I hope you had an awesome Memorial Day. I did, which is why I’m only now posting this week’s installment. Secondly, I’ve made a bit of a change to the title within the last week. It’s now “Cabbie-Killer, or The Pros of a Matchstick”.

I like it. For now.


10:15 p.m.

“I’m tellin’ you, it was the weirdest thing I’ve ever been part of, Jamieson,” Linwood told him.

Jamieson and Linwood leaned against Linwood’s cab, parked at the curb in front of Renduto’s Trattoria, a posh Italian bistro in TriBeCa. The rain had stopped again and the crowds walking on Chambers Street moved along the lit sidewalk in front of them in twos and threes, looking for an interesting place to pass a few hours. The two cabbies smoked and people-watched as Linwood told Jamieson how the old women from the N train heckled him.

“It is odd,” Jamieson told him after he finished. “But shouldn’t it be the oddities we pay attention to in this life?” He took a drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke as an attractive girl walked past them, and through the cloud. “Sorry ’bout that, sweetheart,” he called after her. The girl slowed her stride and flashed him a smile, brushing a hand through her hair before continuing up the sidewalk. “You see that?” Jamieson asked. “If I’d’a done that, she probably would’a cursed me out,” Linwood answered.

Jamieson laughed, then crushed the cigarette out underneath his foot. “I suppose it’s all in the delivery, young Linwood,” he said. “That reminds me of a joke. You wanna hear it?” Jamieson stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Of course,” Linwood said. “Lay it on me, man.”

“A dwarf carryin’ a suitcase walks up to a hooker chewin’ gum on a street corner. The suitcase is a little bit bigger than he is an’ he’s havin’ a bitch of a time wit’ it, but he makes it to the hooker an’ he drops it at her feet. The hooker asks him how’s he doin’ if he needs any help, what he’s lookin’ for, ya know. He asks her, ‘Will you do what I say wit’out question?’

‘That’s what I’m out here to do, baby,’ she answers.

‘I want you to throw me around the room in this suitcase,’ he says. The hooker thinks about it, chewin’ on the gum, an’ says, ‘Yeah, all right.’

‘I want you to fuck me like my life is endin’,’ he tells her. The hooker thinks about that an’ says, ‘Fifty bucks, plus the hotel room. You hafta wear a rubber. I’ll do anal for a hundred more.’

‘A hundred?’ he asks. ‘How ’bout fifty?’

‘Nope,’ the hooker tells him. ‘A hunsky.’ The hotel’s just across the street, so the dwarf picks up the suitcase an’ the two of ’em wait for the light to change so’s they can cross. The hooker asks him if this is his first time payin’ for sex, and the dwarf says, ‘No, I’ve been married for ten years.'”

Linwood laughed. “That’s not the punchline, idiot,” Jamieson said.

“So? It was still funny, man.”

Jamieson sighed and shook his head. “Anyway, the two of ’em are standin’ at the corner, right, an’ the hooker’s starin’ down at the suitcase, then the guy.

‘You goin’ on a trip?’ she asks him.

‘No,’ he says.

‘You get kicked outta the house’ she asks. He says no again. ‘Well, why do you want inside the suitcase so bad, then?’

‘You’ll see when we get to the room,’ he answers.

“It takes five minutes longer than it should’a, but the three of ’em make it to the front office at the hotel. The greaseball behind the counter looks the two of ’em over—the girl chompin’ her gum into putty and the dwarf wit’ his man-sized suitcase—an’ tells him it’ll be twenty-five for the room, for forty minutes. The dwarf pays, gets a room key, they go to the room.

Immediately the hooker gets naked. Her tits are perfect, she’s got an ass you can serve tea on, she’s the whole package, right? Before they get down to brass tacks she tells the guy to put the money on the nightstand. He puts down three crisp fifties, then he strips. He’s got a massive dick, big an’ floppy, almost as long as he’s tall seems like, an’ it catches the hooker by surprise. She takes the gum from her mouth an’ puts it on the nightstand next to the money, an’ she starts givin’ him a blowjob, really puts some elbow grease into it, ya know?

“Just when she gets it good an’ hard he pulls out of her mouth an’ goes to get the suitcase. He lays it on the bed an’ he opens it, an’ jus’ like he said it’s empty. The hooker she’s confused by the suitcase again, an’ she asks him, ‘Whatcha gonna do wit’ that?’

‘Before I can come I hafta get in my suitcase. It’s the only way I’m able to do it.’

“The hooker she don’t understand, but she don’t really give a shit. She sees strange shit all the time ’cause she’s a hooker. Ya know.

“Then the two of ’em start goin’ at it, I mean really goin’ at it, an’ all with the open suitcase as a third. She’s ridin’ him, he’s on top fuckin’ her, she’s actually tryin’ to fuck all signs of life outta this guy. They get close to finishin’ an’ the guy says, ‘Okay, I’m gonna get in the suitcase. I want ya to zip it shut, then bounce it on the bed while I jack off inside.’ The hooker laughs an’ says, “Alright, if that’s whatcha want.’ He gets in, she zips it up, an’ he starts jackin’ it.

‘Bounce me, bounce me,’ he says from inside. She does what he asks. ‘It’s not enough,’ she hears him say. ‘Toss me around the room a little bit.’ She heaves the heavy suitcase up off the bed an’ swings it around in a big circle, tits an’ ass bouncin’ everywhere, really workin’ up a sweat, right? And he’s screamin’ by this point, it feels so good. ‘Keep doin’ it, keep it up! Harder, harder!’ he says.

“She goes crazy, throwin’ the damn suitcase off the walls, the floor, the bed. At first she don’t notice that the sounds from inside the suitcase’ve stopped. When she does the hooker throws it down on the bed an’ unzips it, an’ finds the dwarf inside the damn thing, dick in hand, twitchin’ his little heart out, his eyes rolled back in his head, twisted backwards.

“Naturally the hooker starts to freak. She sits down on the bed to think of a next move when she hears bangin’ on the door. She throws on her clothes, collects the money and pops the gum in her mouth again, then zips the suitcase shut again an’ hides it under the bed before answerin’ the door. There’s a woman standin’ there, tall an’ blonde an’ hot, an’ mad as hell, too. ‘I’m lookin’ for my husband,’ she tells the hooker. ‘The greaseball at the counter said he came back here wit’ you and his suitcase. Where is he?’ The hooker hauls ass in response.

“The wife searches the room an’ eventually finds the suitcase under the bed. She pulls it out an’ opens it, an’ finds her husband’s twisted-up body in it. She starts cryin’, then screamin’, an’ finally gets so upset she starts slappin’ the corpse—which, it turns out, isn’t a corpse, ’cause he’s only knocked unconscious from the beatin’ the hooker gave him, an’ his wife’s beatin’ brought him to again. He sits up in the suitcase, naked an’ covered in jizz, scratchin’ his head. Then he spots his wife.

‘Hi honey,’ he says. ‘Whatcha doin’ down here?’

‘What’m I doin’ here!”‘ The wife, she flips. ‘You leave in the middle’a the night’ta come find hookers an’ God knows what else, an’ you ask me why I came down here!?’ She starts cryin’ then asks him, ‘Why? Why would you do this?’

He looks at her an’ he says, ‘She said she’d do what I said wit’out any questions, an’ that’s what she did.’

‘I try my best, baby,’ the wife says, snifflin’ a little bit.

‘She said she’s throw me around the room in my suitcase, an’ that’s what she did,’ he says.

‘I could’a done that if you’d’a jus’ asked me,’ she says, wipin’ the tears from her eyes.

He says, ‘She said she’d fuck me like my life was endin’, an’ that’s what she did.’

‘I would’a done that for you baby, for free,’ she tells her husband. ‘I coluld fuck you like the world was endin’. The universe even.’

‘Bullshit, for free,’ he says. ‘I pay the mortgage an’ all the bills, an’ you still won’t give me any anal.'” Jamieson pulled a hand from a jacket pocket with a cigarette in his fingers, and lit it with the lighter in the other.

Linwood laughed out loud, and so did a few others within earshot who had been listening to Jamieson tell the joke. “That’s some sick, slick shit man,” Linwood said. “Where the hell did you pick that up?”

“Just around,” Jamieson answered simply. “I said I like payin’ attention to oddities, an’ this was one of ’em.” He checked his watch. “We been out here for twenty minutes, Linwood,” he said. “You sure the train chick’s in there?”

“No,” Linwood answered him, “but I’m positive this is where she said she would be tonight. Just give it five more minutes then you can go, alright?”

“No can do, Linwood,” Jamieson said. He had turned to check on his cab across the street and spotted a policeman walking around it, preparing to write a parking citation. “I gotta get him to rip that fuckin’ ticket to shreds, man. I’ll catch up wit’ you later, okay?” He took off across the street, narrowly avoiding being struck by a silver sedan in his haste. Linwood watched Jamieson plead with the cop—and at once recognized the floppy ears protruding from either side of his head. Jamieson gestured in his direction, and when the crooked cop looked up Linwood looked away and crouched, using his own cab as a shield. The cop never came across the street, and after a minute he allowed Jamieson to leave, apparently without a ticket. The cop pulled away as well, and Linwood heaved a sigh of relief. He turned back to the entryway of the tiny trattoria. A minute, then five, then ten passed, all without any sign of the woman. He got in his cab and was about to drive away when he spotted her.

She wore a knee-length black sweater dress, as form-fitting as the paisley sweater; Linwood was sure there were no panties or bra bolstering the curves beneath it. She wore black high-heeled boots with no stockings, all matching perfectly the same black purse she carried from before. In stark contrast to that morning she had accentuated the features in her face by applying subtle makeup highlights around her cheeks and eyes—accents Linwood noticed from ten yards away. Her lipstick was bright red this time, the same hue as her hair, which hung in curly locks to her shoulder blades.

She came out with an Asian woman and a tall white man. The three of them stood in front of the restaurant and chatted for a bit before she hailed two cabs, first for the man, then for the woman. Then she turned to find one for herself. This was the chance Linwood had been waiting for all day long. She wasn’t going to catch him off balance this time.

“Excuse me,” Linwood called out to her. She looked around, and when she spotted him she walked up to the front passenger window and leaned in. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Peepers from the N train. Are you stalking me? And did you steal this cab?” she teased.

“It looks like you could use a cab, is all. Needa lift? I’ll take you wherever ya need to be,” he said. She started to get in the back but Linwood stopped her. “It’s not strictly in line wit’ company policy, but if you like you can ride upfront. It’ll be our little secret.” He winked at her.

The woman laughed at him. “If I agree to ride in front will you promise never to wink at me again?” Linwood laughed, but quickly nodded his head. “Yeah, alright then.” She opened the door and at once the entire cab filled with the scent of jasmine, of her perfume. She slid into the cab and shut the door, and studied Linwood’s face for a moment before a fetching grin spread across her face.

“Where do you need to go?” Linwood asked.

“I live in Chelsea, but you can drop me at Penn Station if it isn’t too much trouble,” she said as Linwood started the cab. “My name is Arlotta, by the way. If you’re going to be my chauffeur, I should at least know what you’re called.”

He smiled. “It’s Linwood, Arlotta. Linwood Rouxlard.” He put the cab in gear and made a right onto West Broadway.



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