Night Rides

Tuesday 4am.

Anne was tottering on four inch heels, fuck me pumps as her flat mate called them. They were quite a pain, literally, but always worked wonders. She held herself in a more dignified manner. Some might even say she looked like she had attitude when she wore them. But now at the end of a long night, she did not care much for her posture. She was just dying to get to her flat to kick them off.

“Coz tonight’s gonna be a good night. Coz tonight’s gonna be a good, good, night…” She was singing along to herself. She couldn’t get that Black Eyed Peas’ song out of her head. And it had been a good night, she thought. She had met the girls for drinks. Then they had all gone to one of their favourite clubs. As usual, the place was full of too many mini-skirts, heels, and pouting girls. They all seemed to be trying to outdo each other. The guys weren’t much better. Tight jeans, hair a little long, all wannabe hipsters.

She didn’t think of the rubbish truck that pulled up alongside her.
“Alright?”
She was slightly startled. She hadn’t really paid attention to the guy who had jumped out of the truck.
He walked past her, and before she had a chance to react, she was being dragged into the cab.

“Let go of me!” she shouted, kicking and scratching. She felt her manicured fingers slide across his greasy, shoulder-length hair and then scrape skin as she managed to get his cheek.
“Shut up and you won’t get hurt,” he hissed.
“Gag her mate,” he said to the other guy.
It was only then she became aware of the other figure in the truck. He looked older, maybe in his late forties. He looked burly, thinning grey hair, stubble.

There was a rosary hanging on the rear-view mirror, swinging from side to side like a pendulum and a picture of a happy looking family on the dashboard. A young man, smiling crookedly, had his arms around a pretty brunette with a small blonde girl sitting on her lap.

And then she passed out.

Thursday 6.20am.

Rita could finally allow herself a big yawn. She had been stifling yawns for the last three hours. Just as well she lived close to work. It was only a couple of blocks to the hospital where she was now working the night shift. At least her feet didn’t hurt so much now since she had bought these comfy, light clogs.

“They make me look twenty years older,” she had said to her husband when she had bought them, vainly looking at herself in the hallway mirror.
“But, God, they are good,” she added to herself.
“You look lovely whatever you wear dear,” Pete had replied, not looking up from his paper.

She did look good, she thought to herself. At forty two, no kids, her figure was still trim and firm. She wore her hair in a sharp bob and fringe, like the girl in Pulp Fiction, she liked to think. A couple of the doctors liked to flirt with her a bit. She never said anything to Pete. That would only cause problems. It was all so innocent.

As she rounded the corner, she noticed the rubbish truck. The lights were on but it was parked some distance from any collection point. They must be having a break, poor sods, she thought to herself. She was reaching into her bag for her house keys when she heard the truck door open. Everything happened so fast. She felt someone grab her from behind, throw her into the cab where she landed face down in someone’s lap. Then she had a voice say, “Well done mate! A nurse, no less, and in uniform.” And the same voice gave a dirty, throaty, laugh.

The first man gave a chuckle. “Nothing but the best, Bob. Nothing but the best!”
Then to her, he said, “So how is your bedside manner, my sweet?”
The whole time she was thinking, scream, do something. But she was paralyzed from fear. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She felt her limbs go weak, and then she heard the driver turn the key and the engine came alive.