Page 60 of Lost Souls
“Only my rat of a husband would use one slut to catch another,” opines Melisande as they watch Cleo’s car speed off after the cab. “How many bullets you got in that gun?”
“Plenty for everyone, baby – including the ferret.” Big Louie, who really is in a very good mood today, laughs. He revs the big Mercedes and joins the convoy.
***
The cab driver, who isn’t totally heartless, hates it when a passenger cries. Especially a female, although he doesfind male blubbers pretty embarrassing.
“You okay, lady?” he asks, softly. Well, softly for him.
“Yes, thank you, sir,” says Noreen, who is clearly far from alright.
She senses that the extraordinary events of the past few days, compounded by the shocking tsunami of lies, just as she was quite unexpectedly beginning to warm just a fraction to that disreputable but actually rather sad little man, have gone to her very soul. (If she only knew!)
Noreen burrows feverishly in her handbag. Nudging Stanley aside, she fishes something out.
“Would you like some Kendal Mint Cake, sir? You’ll find this hard to believe, but I’ve suddenly gone right off it.”
The cabbie takes the barely nibbled bar. “Okay. Gracias, señora. I try anything once.”
***
As Cleo’s small car rapidly approaches the cab, Arnie doesn’t really need to concentrate on where Noreen is going. The only place that she knows in LA is the airport. But with every mile they travel, the signature on his death warrant is drawing closer and closer to completion.
Cleo is just confused. As a mistress, she realises all too well that she doesn’t have exclusive rights to the desolate-looking guy beside her. A man who pays for her apartment, provides her with regular work and for whom she would reluctantly admit, despite his manifest failings, to having a certain cockeyed affection. Yet, as a warm and generous person, with a feeling for humanity and agenuine interest in what makes them tick, she would quite like to know what the holy fuck is going on.
“What is itwiththis woman, Arnie?” She turns to glance at his face. And now she laughs, without any trace of bitterness. “Oh no! Ha! Oh my! She’s got to you, ain’t she?”
“What?Nah! Noreen? Got to me. Look at her! You nuts? Nah.”
Now Cleo takes her eyes completely off the road in order to challenge her passenger and stare him out. Never a wise move on the freeway but perhaps even less prudent on this particular chase.
“Hey, this ain’t the way to LAX!” yells Arnie.
With a jolt, Cleo switches her gaze back to the car ahead and watches it veer smoothly off in a totally new and unexpected direction. She only just manages to screech her way onto the road less travelled and keep on its tail.
“I’ve always wanted to ‘follow that cab’,” she says, excitedly.
***
Behind Cleo and Arnie, the Louie-mobile makes much the same manoeuvre, with more horse-power but an equivalent degree of surprise.
“Where the hell are they going?” wonders Melisande, out loud. “You think it’s to a lawyer?”
“Don’t you worry, baby,” reassures the hitman. “Like it says on my website, we always aim to please.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
A man who touches the bottom of a soup plate with a ball of foofoo is no longer searching for soup.
(African proverb)
The sign reads:NOAH’S PARK – WHERE THE BIBLE COMES TO WILD-LIFE!
“This could be the mostest closest thing to what you looking for,” says the cabbie, a bit uncertainly, as he pulls up near the busy entrance. “You wan’ me to keep the meter runnin’, while you check it out?”
“No, thank you, sir,” says Noreen, clambering out. “I think this would appear to be just the ticket.” She notices with some gratification that the man is treating himself to a huge chunk of Kendal Mint Cake while he is parked. “Thank you very much, sir. How much do I owe you?”
The cabbie doesn’t answer. He suddenly slams open the door and dashes out of the cab, still holding the Mint Cake wrapper. “Fuggedaboudit!” he cries, looking suddenly untanned. “I gotta find me a bucket!”
