Backwards Steps – James Heath

Bobby jammed his dick back in his pants, zipped up his fly and spat a huge greeny down into the urinal. He didn’t bother washing his hands, instead he wiped them down on the thighs of his jeans and made his way back through the shop and onto the garage forecourt.

His pride and joy sat parked up against the grass verge. The 2006 Ford Mondeo in blue with executive trim was his and the result of much hard work and endeavour since his arrival in England the previous year. The luminous sign fixed to the roof always gave him a sense of pride. Bobby Spetsdraw Cabs. His full name, Spetsdrawski, had proved impossible to fit on the sign so he had been forced to shorten it. He didn’t mind. The car was his and so was the business.

He opened the door with his customary wiggle of the key in the lock. This dodgy lock was better than any alarm. Nobody could hope to open the wonky door even with the key. He knew the quirks of this car better than anyone, this was no surprise given how many bloody hours he spent in it every day.

He pulled out into traffic and drove off in search of his next fare. Friday night was always a busy time and he didn’t suppose it would be too long until he spotted some late night reveller in need of a lift. He loved this time of night. The roads were quiet and the potential to have some fun and make some serious money was never too far away.

He rubbed his hands around the wheel and fidgeted in his seat. The rain started to spot his windscreen and wind buffeted the Mondeo as he changed lane.

He spotted a man on the pavement valiantly trying to light a cigarette whilst holding his umbrella and trying to control his dog as it pulled against the lead. He wouldn’t give up and the sight made Bobby laugh to himself. Those unfortunate to be outside in this weather made him feel good from the warmth of his cab. For the first time in his life he was his own boss and he felt giddy with the potential of both tonight and the rest of his life. Everything was good and he answered to no one except himself.

A fat red-faced man was flagging him down furiously from outside the Dog and Gun but Bobby decided to keep on driving. The reputation of the pub was fierce and the man looked a little too fucked up to bother with. Bobby kept on driving and smirked as he caught sight of the man in his rear view mirror launching a furious tirade at the Mondeo as he drove past him.

Almost immediately he knew he had made the right decision when he saw a girl struggling to stand in the wind. She was obviously drunk and he could see her shivering in the drizzle. Bobby automatically opened the glove box. He knew everything was in order but he liked the reassurance that it gave him.

Cable ties, a knife and the disposable plastic gloves he periodically took from the garage. Everything a man would need to have an interesting Friday night. Now the final ingredient. A foolish girl who had drunk too much, lost her friends and would be missed by no one until the morning.

Bobby flicked the indicator and pulled up to the kerb.

The girl lurched towards the Mondeo and opened the rear door, her destiny sealed.

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