He wanted to remove his suit jacket but driblets of sweat running down the middle of his back deterred him. It unnerved him too, though he refused show it. There was no way he was going to allow himself to look like that idiot who jumped on tables and waved his arms around like a lunatic on crack.
You’d think a guy with sweat circles from here to China should have sense enough to keep his arms down.
People are stupid like that.
He adjusted the vent so that it was aimed right at his face. The relief was almost instantaneous.
The Lincoln Aviator’s air conditioner was exceptional. The legroom too. The ride as smooth as tempered glass.
In fact, over all, he liked the Aviator better than the Escalade and that surprised him. Like his father, he had always been a Cadillac man.
That said, he would have preferred to be in a BMW X7, but these days his touring vehicles had to be American. Just optics, of course. Everybody knows there’s no American made cars anymore.
Well, anyone with half a brain knows it. All the parts are manufactured in China. Or Mexico.
His right hand girl briefed him. He could hear her voice, gentle, even-toned, but he had no idea what she was saying. She put papers on the attache in his lap for him to look over because he refused to use an I-Pad.
Sometimes she got on his nerves–like right now–but he rarely raised his voice to her. She was supremely loyal. And very smart.
She was beautiful too, though she had been putting on weight lately.
Just the other day he came this close to saying something about it to her, but he stopped himself. Women are so sensitive about the weight thing. And he couldn’t afford to loose her.
She took care of everything for him–no matter how big or how small. It didn’t matter what time of day or night he called, she always answered. Quickly. No more than five–six–rings at the most.
So he just gave her the look.
Immediately she had put her head down and adjusted her blouse. Pulled down her skirt. Afterwards he noticed her eating carrot and celery sticks. Obviously she had gotten the message.
Five, maybe ten pounds more and she’d get the wink and the thumbs up.
Women, especially, liked that.
Up ahead a man standing in the turn lane abruptly started walking across the street. A cascade of brake lights gleamed through the windshield as the driver suddenly slowed the Navigator.
“Sorry about that, sir,” the driver said.
He nodded solemnly. “You have to be very careful, Ritchie,” he warned. They’ll walk right out in front of you.”
“Yes sir,” the driver said.
Normally they would be in a limo and he would have no contact with the driver, but this was his idea. Low profile. No motorcade. He wanted to see it like it really was.
Bums. Prostitutes. The homeless.
Boarded up buildings. Liquor stores. Beauty supply shops. Convenience stores…
More like smoke shops than convenience stores…Independent ones. No national chain would want to open up here.
Blocks and blocks of it.
He turned his attention back toward the driver’s broad shoulders, his muscled neck and perfectly etched hairline, cut so short it was more shadow than hair.
Ritchie was black. But not like them.
Ritchie was tall, too. Taller than him. And he didn’t like that.
He didn’t like looking up to any man. White or black.
“What’d you think, Ritchie? What needs to be done here? How can we turn this around?” he asked in his most concerned voice.
“Jobs, sir,” the driver said decisively. “Jobs, jobs and more jobs. Opportunity, sir. Job training. Good schools.”
He nodded. “Opportunity. Hmm. Yes. Opportunity’s good,” he said.
He looked at the driver in the rear view mirror. He hated the blacked out sunglasses the man wore.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Grocery stores, sir,” the driver said. “I haven’t seen a grocery store for miles.”
He nodded and turned his attention back toward his window. It was just like he expected. Jobs. Schools. He knew the guy would say that before he asked.
They always said the same thing.
Yeah, the grocery store thing caught him a little bit off guard, but the guy was right. No grocery stores.
At least there were convenience stores…Well, they were more like cigarette stores…Smoke shops. But still…
Sounds like he was touring inner Detroit except the guy crossing would have been jaywalking. They rarely use crosswalks in the Murder City…..and the grocery stores,that is a double-edge sword all of its own. Waiting for the next part…..
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The guy’s jaywalking here too, Michael. Glad you like the series, if not the subject matter.
–Pam
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uh oh,things never end well when one jaywalks.
Looking forward to your next installment…your writing is always so damn good.
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Appreciate you, Michael.
–Pam
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An enjoyable read indeed. So true to life, I can imagine it all through his eyes. Fortunately, I can’t imagine how his brain works.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Fortunate indeed, Pete. His brain function is irregular.
–Pam
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It’s a good read Pam 🙂
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Thanks, June. I value your opinion.
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You’re kind Pam 🙂
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Sept up in your fabulous prose, I felt like I was there, in the car. I’m intrigued to see where this one will lead…
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Thanks, Paul. I’m not sure where this one will lead. Time will tell.
–Pam
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I’m sorry I couldn’t manage one word without a typing. I meant to sat I was SWEOT
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I meant to say I was SWEPT up in your fabulous writing. I think I should leave it there before I make any more mistakes.
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No worries, Paul. I make typos all the time–and these days some of them aren’t even typos, just brain malfunction.
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I can see the scene so vividly in my mind – can’t wait for the next part!
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Good. I’m glad I’m getting the atmosphere across and, hopefully, the message across as well. It’s always an honor for you to read my work. God bless.
–Pam
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Oh yes – the message is definitely coming across!
On another note, I started reading Joan Didion for the first time the other day. Are you familiar with her writing? She’s amazing!
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Am not. What does she write?
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I’m reading “Slouching Towards Bethlehem: Essays”. The second is about John Wayne filming his last western; the third is about Joan Baez and the school she ran. I won’t say anything about the first, because anything I would say would spoil it for you…except that it reminded me of the kind of story you tell well.
dw
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Well, I’m intrigued; the first part did it for me. Ha! On my way to Amazon.
Thanks.
–Pam
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It’s free, I think, for prime members, on the kindle
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Well, I’m a member. Thanks, DW.
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Great story so far Pam 🙂 Looking forward to the next one 🙂 Anyway, keep up the great work as always 🙂
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Appreciate you reading and the kind words, John.
–Pam
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Yeah, I already hate him. A lot. So you’re doing a good job, Pam, lol.
Crisp, intriguing. Setting up another master of the universe type. I’m also eager for what comes next. PS: I wouldn’t eat carrots and celery for ANYONE.
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Yeah, he’s an @$$*%&!, no doubt. And yeah, she’s weak to eat carrots and celery out of intimidation. That said, I need to eat them–really bad! Ha!
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Yeah, well, who doesn’t? But not for him! LOL
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True that.
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I had this set in the early 80s until I saw the “he refused to use an I-pad”. I don’t really know new cars so the BMW X7 being up to date went over my head.
A girl with a little extra weight on is my weakness. HA I don’t know why I added that!?
Maybe to show I’m not a narcissist……………..
I love the way, if you read the key words, each one of his bad habits smoothly pop up.
I’d hate to be like that! But would you ever know if you were??
As always Pam, your writing is wonderfully creative.
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There you go, Mikey! You’re fondness for curvy women proves your not a narcissist. Hahaha!
If you were like he is, you might be aware that something’s not quite right, but you wouldn’t know the extinct of the wrongness. And you would think it’s everybody else’s fault.
Thanks for reading and commenting.
–Pam
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The ipad threw me a curve in the time period. I felt like I was there…thanks Pam…until the next.
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Thanks. I appreciate that, Max.
–Pam
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This is a great – looking forward to reading more!
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Thank you. And thanks for the follow.
–Pam
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