Page 4 of Drive
Floyd snickered through his nose, a squeaky sound he often made. “Pipes, pills, andpiles.”
Pal threw up his hands. “What you doin’ dat for? Why you gotta tell him I gotpiles?”
Floyd’s laughter ran away with him. “I didn’t. You did,monami!”‘
“Piles of what?” Jacques asked,frowning.
Floyd scrunched up his eyes and hooted at the ceiling. “You don’ know what piles is,cher?”
Scowling, Pal swiped at Floyd and caught his knee with a smack. “Quit bein’coo-yon,”he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “You had piles before you was even twenty-five?”
Wiping his eyes, Floyd sobered. “Naw, I guess maybe not.” Then he frowned at Jacques. “Boo, pilesis—”
Jacques shot out his hand. “Wait. Never mind. I don’t want to know,” he said. To his relief, his phone chimed with a ride request. He clickedAcceptand quickly popped the top on his soda. “Gotta goanyway.”
Within six minutes, he pulled up in front of a rustic modern house, its walls unpainted cypress, and its inset porch spilling over with potted plants. A steady morning rain had darkened the natural wood, setting it apart from the rest of the neighborhood as much as its architecture did. The other houses on Oakview behind Fatima Church were more stately and traditional. But this one hadcharacter.
No one was waiting outside for him, which didn’t surprise Jacques since it was raining. He picked up his phone and looked at the fare info. The rider had no rating information, and the spot for the first name just listedR.M., so Jacques guessed it was a fairly new account. He tapped the clipboard icon to call his rider, and just as he did, Jacques saw movement out of the corner of hiseye.
A flash of black. Boots. Skirt.Umbrella.
And then the rear passenger door opened and glittering hazel eyes methis.
“Are you Jacques?” she asked, frowning a little, her plump lower lip vanishing between herteeth.
Jacques cleared his throat, his voice — the best thing about him — suddenly AWOL. “Uh… yeah… that’sme.”
“Sorry,” she said, wrinkling her pixie nose. “I’m not really sure how this works. I’ve never Uberedbefore.”
He watched her slide into his back seat, and he craned back to keep her in view. “The hard part’s over,” he said. Jacques glanced back at the house. A Mini Cooper sat in the open garage, but no one else emerged from the frontdoor.
“Just you?” he asked, watching her retract her umbrella and shut the passenger door. She had a weighted-down backpack on one shoulder and a long-strapped satchel over theother.
She scooted into the middle seat and shook off the straps of both bags. “Just me,” she said, and her eyes flickered to his before she looked away. “And Ihate—”
Jacques waited, but she didn’t finish. “You hatewhat?”
The girl gave a tight shake of her head and put on her seatbelt. “Never mind.” Then she muttered almost inaudibly. “Let’s get this overwith.”
So she was cute and maybe a little nervous. Both were reasons enough to keep her talking. “Let me guess,” he mused, putting the car in reverse. “You’re headed to Lourdes, so I’ll bet you hatehospitals.”
“Well, I mean… yeah, I don’t like hospitals…” She scanned the back and side windows as though she were the onedriving.
Jacques made sure the road was clear before pulling out. There wasn’t a car in sight, but his passenger looked around like they were backing onto the Autobahnblindfolded.
He put the car in drive, but he allowed himself to steal a glance at her as he wove through Twin Oaks. Most of his riders weren’t interested in small talk. They were content to keep their eyes locked to their phones and thank him quietly once they reached their destinations. Some, of course, were the extroverted, chatty type, and he was just as happy to humor them. He gave his passengers what they wanted, which was probably why he could boast a 4.9 rating onUber.
This girl might notwantto talk, but it looked like sheneededto. This became obvious when he made a left onto Johnston Street, and he heard a smothered whimper from the backseat.
“You okay?” he asked, meeting her eyes in the rearview. He could see far too much white around her irises, and her lips had all but disappeared, but she noddedanyway.
So she was cute, nervous, and a terribleliar.
“Yousure?”
This time she nodded before speaking. “Could you turn up the music,please?”
When he drove, he usually kept his music on shuffle, the volume turned low, and the balance in the front of the vehicle to keep from disturbing his passengers. And when he turned up the sound on Radiohead’s “Karma Police,” the last thing he expected to see was the easing of her face. The girl’s eyes closed softly, and her shoulders lowered afraction.
