dim kid, just unsuited to school.
At two, there was a call to Mapperley Road. A working girl was finishing for the night and wanted to go to Aspley. Most of the older prostitutes lived a long way from their beat. That way, their neighbours wouldn’t know what they got up to. This woman was Nick’s age, nearly past it in sex worker terms.
‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘You’ll have to open a window,’ Nick said, apologetically. ‘It’s not my cab.’
‘Thanks, duck.’
She didn’t speak again, making her Nick’s favourite kind of customer. He knew where he was going, could relax while listening to Radio One. He’d missed hearing new music while he was inside. Late nights, Radio One played dance, Indie stuff or techno, which was pretty new to him. He’d picked up the difference between techno and drum’n’bass. If it sounded like it had been programmed by a computer, it was techno. The best record was called ‘Born Slippy’, by a band called Underworld. When that came on, Nick was inclined to turn the radio up, though the punters sometimes complained. They wanted Radio Trent or Gem AM, bland commercial pop pap. Tonight, though, when Nick put a couple of notches on the volume for something trippy by Orbital, the woman in the back said, ‘Yeah, louder.’
They got to her place and she leant forward, her tits hanging out and having the intended effect.
‘Do you want to come inside for a few minutes?’ she proposed. ‘Party?’
‘Sorry,’ Nick said. ‘I don’t pay for it.’
‘Maybe you wouldn’t have to. I’ve got some beer, a smoke. If you could just run the babysitter home first.’
‘The journey cost six quid, duck. Sorry. I’m tempted, but I’ve got a living to earn.’
Best not to offend anyone unless you had no choice. This was the new, sorted Nick ( sorted was one of the words that had taken on new meaning while he was away). He hadn’t had sex in five years, but the first time wasn’t going to be with a pro. He hadn’t fallen that far.
‘ All right. Another time. Here’s a tenner. The sitter will be out in a minute. She’s only five minutes away. You can keep the change, all right?’
‘Thanks.’
The sitter took her time. Probably fallen asleep. He nearly sounded his horn, but figured that would draw attention to the working girl’s late hours, so he got out of the car to see, locking it, because you couldn’t be too careful. The other drivers all had stories about times they’d been robbed, the tricks that had been played on them in the most unlikely places.
The girl came to the door in shorts and a vest. She looked about thirteen. The bloke with her was at least twenty, a wiry, sour-faced youth with matted hair, a ring through the nose and jeans more torn than together.
‘Sorry about the wait,’ the woman called.
‘Where are you going to, love?’ Nick asked the girl.
She told him. ‘And can you take my friend, too?’
‘I’ve only been paid to take you home.’
‘He’ll pay.’
They got in the back, sat separate as strangers. Through the rear view mirror, Nick saw the guy rolling up. The girl’s place was two minutes away. She got out and ran to the door. Her boyfriend didn’t say goodnight.
‘Where to?’ Nick asked.
‘City.’
‘Any particular bit?’
‘I’ll tell you when we get there,’ he said, putting the roll-up in his mouth.
‘Sorry,’ Nick told him. ‘You can’t smoke in here.’
‘Yeah, but someone has, han’t they? I can smell it. Tell you what, I won’t tell if you don’t,’ the guy told him, lighting up.
Sometimes a cabbie was like a teacher. Discipline had to be instantaneous and consistent, otherwise you lost control. Nick slammed on the brakes.
‘Either the fag goes out or you do. Rules.’
Nick didn’t look in the rear view but he could feel the guy staring at him with hatred, or something like. Then he heard the door open.
‘All right. It’s out.’
‘The ride into town’ll be four quid. Let’s have it
At two, there was a call to Mapperley Road. A working girl was finishing for the night and wanted to go to Aspley. Most of the older prostitutes lived a long way from their beat. That way, their neighbours wouldn’t know what they got up to. This woman was Nick’s age, nearly past it in sex worker terms.
‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘You’ll have to open a window,’ Nick said, apologetically. ‘It’s not my cab.’
‘Thanks, duck.’
She didn’t speak again, making her Nick’s favourite kind of customer. He knew where he was going, could relax while listening to Radio One. He’d missed hearing new music while he was inside. Late nights, Radio One played dance, Indie stuff or techno, which was pretty new to him. He’d picked up the difference between techno and drum’n’bass. If it sounded like it had been programmed by a computer, it was techno. The best record was called ‘Born Slippy’, by a band called Underworld. When that came on, Nick was inclined to turn the radio up, though the punters sometimes complained. They wanted Radio Trent or Gem AM, bland commercial pop pap. Tonight, though, when Nick put a couple of notches on the volume for something trippy by Orbital, the woman in the back said, ‘Yeah, louder.’
They got to her place and she leant forward, her tits hanging out and having the intended effect.
‘Do you want to come inside for a few minutes?’ she proposed. ‘Party?’
‘Sorry,’ Nick said. ‘I don’t pay for it.’
‘Maybe you wouldn’t have to. I’ve got some beer, a smoke. If you could just run the babysitter home first.’
‘The journey cost six quid, duck. Sorry. I’m tempted, but I’ve got a living to earn.’
Best not to offend anyone unless you had no choice. This was the new, sorted Nick ( sorted was one of the words that had taken on new meaning while he was away). He hadn’t had sex in five years, but the first time wasn’t going to be with a pro. He hadn’t fallen that far.
‘ All right. Another time. Here’s a tenner. The sitter will be out in a minute. She’s only five minutes away. You can keep the change, all right?’
‘Thanks.’
The sitter took her time. Probably fallen asleep. He nearly sounded his horn, but figured that would draw attention to the working girl’s late hours, so he got out of the car to see, locking it, because you couldn’t be too careful. The other drivers all had stories about times they’d been robbed, the tricks that had been played on them in the most unlikely places.
The girl came to the door in shorts and a vest. She looked about thirteen. The bloke with her was at least twenty, a wiry, sour-faced youth with matted hair, a ring through the nose and jeans more torn than together.
‘Sorry about the wait,’ the woman called.
‘Where are you going to, love?’ Nick asked the girl.
She told him. ‘And can you take my friend, too?’
‘I’ve only been paid to take you home.’
‘He’ll pay.’
They got in the back, sat separate as strangers. Through the rear view mirror, Nick saw the guy rolling up. The girl’s place was two minutes away. She got out and ran to the door. Her boyfriend didn’t say goodnight.
‘Where to?’ Nick asked.
‘City.’
‘Any particular bit?’
‘I’ll tell you when we get there,’ he said, putting the roll-up in his mouth.
‘Sorry,’ Nick told him. ‘You can’t smoke in here.’
‘Yeah, but someone has, han’t they? I can smell it. Tell you what, I won’t tell if you don’t,’ the guy told him, lighting up.
Sometimes a cabbie was like a teacher. Discipline had to be instantaneous and consistent, otherwise you lost control. Nick slammed on the brakes.
‘Either the fag goes out or you do. Rules.’
Nick didn’t look in the rear view but he could feel the guy staring at him with hatred, or something like. Then he heard the door open.
‘All right. It’s out.’
‘The ride into town’ll be four quid. Let’s have it
Similar Books
