Late Night Reporting

Bianca had just finished reporting a story of a explosion and fire in a small town seventy miles southeast of Dallas. Since our first meeting Bianca has been avoiding me. She is married and a mother of two young boys and had never cheated on her husband before. This was an opportunity for me to fuck her again and keep it discreet for her. The rap of her high heels echoing off the sidewalk of the deserted street lined with dark buildings. She walked down the street looking for where she’d parked. She shifted her bags to her left hand where the black leather glove would keep the handles from biting into her and looked back over her shoulder through her dark hair. Perhaps she’d walked past it or down the wrong street? But there was no red Peugeot.

She stopped. The yellowish fluorescent street light bothers her eyes. In her gray wool skirt and white blouse and black leather gloves she feels out of place. Her good heels are muddied from the pools of muddie water. A car engine starts somewhere in the distance but with the echoes in the dark it is impossible to tell where. She wasn’t even sure where to go now, so she walked till she found street corner then turned right, the pace of her footsteps picking up. No cars passed her. The place seemed utterly deserted, though she can hear an occasional bang or slam in the distance. She stopped now and looking around in confusion. She put down her bags pulling on her right glove, the one she’d taken off so she could get her car keys when she thought she knew where her car was. She had her cell phone. Would it work here? Who would she call? The police? What would she say? I’m lost and I can’t find my car?

She feels fear, and then anger. Moving down another street, she spots a flashing light, a yellow light, sweeping over the dark buildings—a wrecker or some safety vehicle. She runs to intercept it, her packages bumping against her knees. It is a big step van, the kind usually used for deliveries, painted official city blue, with a yellow dome light flashing on its roof. ” Thank God!” she breathes, waving her arm to flag it down. The van stops opposite her and she peers inside. The passenger door has been removed and replaced by an outward-facing tool cabinet. She looks over the top at the me, though my face is in the shadow.
” Listen, can you help me? I’m lost! I can’t find my car! Can you just drive me around till I find it? It’s around here somewhere.”
For a moment I said nothing and she looks at my hand on the steering wheel, the muscles in my forearm where my sleeve is rolled up, a smudge of grease on my wrist. ” Can’t,” I said. “Against the rules.”

I shift into gear and the truck starts forward. Bianca grabs hold of the doorway. ” Please!” The desperation in her voice startles her. ” No one will know. I’ll pay you. I’m really lost!” Again the silence. She ducks her head slightly, trying to see my face in the shadows. ” Okay. You’ll have to get in the back though, and stay out of sight.” ” Thanks! Yes, of course!” She ran to the back of the truck pulling the door open, stepping up into the interior pulling it closed behind her. The inside is hung with quilted moving blankets and bungee cords hung from the ceiling. There are tools boxes behind the front seat and cans of paint and other maintenance equipment. Bianca bent down walking up behind me. The engine is right in the center of the truck, making a big hump next to my seat, she leans over it, staring out the windshield as I drove. ” It’s a red Peugeot 607. A two thousand five. It shouldn’t be hard to find. I really appreciate this.”

The van rolls slowly along, and she notices street signs. I wheel the truck around several turns then kill the yellow light, turning into warehouse area and enters a deserted warehouse that is darker and more deserted. ” I really think it was up on the other side of town,” She said.