Chapter Thirty-Six
Words are like bullets. If they escape, you can’t catch them again.
(African proverb)
Noreen Millburn has never hailed a cab before, in either the Old World or the New, but she knows how to raise an arm. For safety’s sake, this very first time, she decides to wave at least two arms, plus an outstretched, walking-booted leg for luck.
“Where is the fire, senora?” says the cab driver, pulling into the kerb.
For a moment Noreen wonders if her ignorance of all things worldly has caused her to flag down the wrong type of vehicle but soon realises that this is just the man being American, or whatever he is, and leaps straight in.
“Okay. Where we goin’?” asks the cabbie, starting the meter.
“The airport, please!” says Noreen, with some urgency. But it is barely a second before she changes her mind. “No, wait. I-I need someone to talk to.”
“I not a therapist.”
“Oh, no. Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean you.” She thinks on this for a little while. “Now, this may seem a rather odd request…”
The cab driver, who is originally from Nicaragua, rolls his eyes and prepares for a cemetery run. Here we go.
On the other side of the street, a man is watching through the open window of a large black Mercedes. And smiling broadly. Anyone passing might assume he was alone, until a woman’s unexpressive face bobs up from the depths and follows his gaze.
“Looks like someone ain’t too happy,” observes Big Louie, still grinning.
“Not just her,” says Melisande, pointing to the doorway of the apartment block. Arnie is rushing out into the street, with Cleo close behind.
“Noreen!” he screams, in some desperation. “Come back here, you stupid, pig-headed, judgmental broad!”
Cleo is already unlocking her car. “Cut the sweet talk, Arnie – and get in!”
“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 does find 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, senora. 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 a genuine interest in what makes them tick, she would quite like to know what the holy fuck is going on.
“What is it with this 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.”