Whims of the Time Traveler 78.0: May 6th, 2011
How Jimmy the Driver Became Jimmy the Rat
by Belinda Roddie
It was midnight outside the tiny Italian restaurant, and Jimmy decided to light a cigarette as he parked the fancy black Mercedes comfortably in three parking spaces. Rolling the windows down, he belched out smoke in dark gray plumes in the foggy air, the cold of San Francisco creeping into the seats and chilling his shoulders hidden beneath his jacket. At this rate, Madison wouldn't be out for another half hour, but that was to be expected.
Jimmy prided himself on his ability to puff out smoke rings, but if there was one thing that he was particularly bad at, it was driving. Therefore, it was amazing that he had a job as a driver to begin with. He failed at all the rudimentary steps of proper road etiquette: He screamed at passerby, refused to use his blinkers, and oftentimes ran lights because he claimed the system was just trying to fuck with him. On occasion he would be pulled over, but he managed to avoid getting ticketed for the most part. Mostly he achieved this by begging or crying until the officer couldn' take it anymore and let him off with an agitated warning.
Only one man in the whole city of San Francisco would let Jimmy take the wheel, and that was Simon L. Madison. Madison owned the most prominent hotels, and he was known for being particularly picky with whom he associated. So Jimmy was sufficiently startled when the well-dressed hotelier approached him at a gas station while he was eating a bag of chips and a candy bar.
"You look like a guy who I can trust with my limo,"Madison said in a voice that sounded like he had taken a few punches to the windpipe in his childhood. "Feel like taking it for a spin?"
Jimmy looked Madison up and down. He couldn't have been older than fifty, but he looked trapped in between his thirties and forties despite his nobly graying hair and groomed beard that shone like polished chrome in the sunlight. He certainly had a sense of style, too, dressed in one of the finest three piece suits that Jimmy had ever seen. He looked like he had just walked off the set of a movie that took place in the 1950s, when fashion actually started to become relevant. Jimmy liked that.
"You got it!" he said to Madison, grinning a buck-toothed grin.
From that moment on, Jimmy thought it had been his supreme charm and skill that had enticed Madison. All the while, he did everything to please him and didn't ask for too big of a paycheck, only enough to order pizza most nights and pay his cable bill at the run-down apartment he lounged in when he wasn’t working. He drove recklessly to the most dangerous parts of the city at the drop of a hat. He took Madison everywhere without a second thought. Everything he did, he did to look good despite his rather untidy looks and his equally untidy manners. Lord knows he tried his best to be a good employee for the guy, and it seemed to work because Madison appeared to take quite a liking to his newly employed driver.
Trips to this particular Italian restaurant were pretty standard, and Jimmy was used to Madison leaving the place late. Apparently he was good friends with the owner and was allowed to stay in the restaurant for as long as he wanted. "For business meetings," he always said. Jimmy knew that questioning him on it wasn't in the contract, as he called it, and he loudly and unceremoniously spat ash onto the interior carpeting as he flipped open his cheap cellphone. He may as well call Madison and let him know he was here, and he listened to the static before Madison's voice oozed on the other end.
"Head over to the back," he wheezed, and the line went dead.
Frowning and shrugging his shoulders, Jimmy whipped around the corner, nearly killing an old man and his gray-faced golden retriever, and screamed into the back alley of the restaurant. He waited silently, seeing the silhouettes of Madison and what looked like a couple of his buddies standing around talking. The two other men inaudibly excused themselves and left Madison alone. It was then that Jimmy noticed the large duffel bag at the hotelier's feet.
He averted his gaze as Madison approached the car, his sleepy blue eyes holding a slight glimmer in the streetlights. Picking away the crumbs of tonight’s sausage pizza from his scruffy neckbeard, which he tried to keep somewhat trimmed, Jimmy hoisted himself out of the car in order to open the side door for his boss. When he got close to the black duffel bag, he smelled a cross of marinara sauce and unspeakable horror.
Jimmy scrambled back into the driver's seat and adjusted his cap. He heard a husky clearing of a throat behind him.
"Jimmy, didn't I tell you never to smoke in this car?" breathed Madison, a faint tone of amusement in his voice. Jimmy’s eyes bulged and he quickly tossed the cigarette out the open window.
"Sorry. I forgot."
Madison’s laugh normally comforted him, but tonight was different. “It’s all good, buddy, just don’t forget again. Now, I need you to take me to the bay.”
"How far?"
"As far away from civilization as possible."
"You got it." Then a thought struck Jimmy's noggin, and he did something he had never done before. “Uh, not to be rude or nothin', but…mind me asking why?"
He saw Madison’s eyes narrow in the rearview mirror, the man's breaths shallow against his three-piece suit. "I didn't hire you to ask questions. Let's go."
Jimmy gulped loudly and nodded, nearly crashing into the adjacent wall as he wove his way out of the back alley. The limo drunkenly lurched into traffic, and several horns shrieked warnings as Jimmy zipped in and out of lanes. He drove until the city lights looked like fireflies in his vision, listening to the breeze and the rush of water past his window.
Stop here," Madison ordered, and Jimmy complied, the limo spinning across the asphalt. "Now, take this."
He shoved the duffel bag toward Jimmy. Jimmy's nose screamed from the stench.
"What do I do with it?"
"Dump it. What else would you do with it?"
"But don't you have other guys who could do this?"
Madison shot Jimmy what could only be described as a look of skepticism. "Let's just say I'm short-handed tonight. Take care of it. I'm going to make a call."
For the first time in a long time, Jimmy felt hesitant. He wasn’t one to judge other people, especially not Madison, but something just didn't seem right. Heaving himself out of the limo, Jimmy moved to lift the duffel bag out from between the driver's seat and the passenger's seat and nearly fell over. The thing weighed a ton, and he felt something oozing out from the gashes in the fabric, warm and sticky. He tried dragging it out, only to see red paint the seats as his eyes bulged in confusion and terror. Fiercely grabbing the handle, he attempted to pull it up and his arms squealed in protest. Finally, after giving up on ever keeping the thing away from his face, he grunted loudly as he slung the bag over his shoulder like a dead weight.
Jimmy visibly shook under his physical burden, and he walked toward the edge of the road where the bay lay waiting. It seemed deep enough for the thing to disappear into it without ever being found. Jimmy took a deep breath and let the bag drop. The smell dissipated quickly, replaced with nothing but the stink of polluted water. His shoulders heaved in a relieved sigh as he returned to the limo.
"Now what?" he asked.
Madison had just hung up his phone, stretching and cracking his knuckles. "Now, my friend…you get to play the rat."
"...What?"
"See, what you just dumped in there? That used to be a friend of mine. Big penchant for pasta. Also liked to blackmail me." Madison flashed a lopsided smile. "But now he won't eat pasta anymore, and you can pin it all on another former friend. Name's Ian Goodman, and he could use a few years."
"A few…a few years in what?"
"Wow, you really are thick, aren't you? In the slammer. Being careful not to drop the soap. The whole deal."
"You…you want me to lie to the police?"
Jimmy couldn't believe it. He did a lot of things that were maybe messy or dirty, but never something like this. His eyes darted back to the seat where the duffel bag had rested. The red hue of the cushions taunted him, and he realized just what he had stained his car with. He fought the urge to scream as Madison laughed.
"Jimmy, my good man," the hotelier sighed. "What else do you think I'm paying you for? Driving?"
The work you see here has only been slightly modified for mechanics since May 6th, 2011.
by Belinda Roddie
It was midnight outside the tiny Italian restaurant, and Jimmy decided to light a cigarette as he parked the fancy black Mercedes comfortably in three parking spaces. Rolling the windows down, he belched out smoke in dark gray plumes in the foggy air, the cold of San Francisco creeping into the seats and chilling his shoulders hidden beneath his jacket. At this rate, Madison wouldn't be out for another half hour, but that was to be expected.
Jimmy prided himself on his ability to puff out smoke rings, but if there was one thing that he was particularly bad at, it was driving. Therefore, it was amazing that he had a job as a driver to begin with. He failed at all the rudimentary steps of proper road etiquette: He screamed at passerby, refused to use his blinkers, and oftentimes ran lights because he claimed the system was just trying to fuck with him. On occasion he would be pulled over, but he managed to avoid getting ticketed for the most part. Mostly he achieved this by begging or crying until the officer couldn' take it anymore and let him off with an agitated warning.
Only one man in the whole city of San Francisco would let Jimmy take the wheel, and that was Simon L. Madison. Madison owned the most prominent hotels, and he was known for being particularly picky with whom he associated. So Jimmy was sufficiently startled when the well-dressed hotelier approached him at a gas station while he was eating a bag of chips and a candy bar.
"You look like a guy who I can trust with my limo,"Madison said in a voice that sounded like he had taken a few punches to the windpipe in his childhood. "Feel like taking it for a spin?"
Jimmy looked Madison up and down. He couldn't have been older than fifty, but he looked trapped in between his thirties and forties despite his nobly graying hair and groomed beard that shone like polished chrome in the sunlight. He certainly had a sense of style, too, dressed in one of the finest three piece suits that Jimmy had ever seen. He looked like he had just walked off the set of a movie that took place in the 1950s, when fashion actually started to become relevant. Jimmy liked that.
"You got it!" he said to Madison, grinning a buck-toothed grin.
From that moment on, Jimmy thought it had been his supreme charm and skill that had enticed Madison. All the while, he did everything to please him and didn't ask for too big of a paycheck, only enough to order pizza most nights and pay his cable bill at the run-down apartment he lounged in when he wasn’t working. He drove recklessly to the most dangerous parts of the city at the drop of a hat. He took Madison everywhere without a second thought. Everything he did, he did to look good despite his rather untidy looks and his equally untidy manners. Lord knows he tried his best to be a good employee for the guy, and it seemed to work because Madison appeared to take quite a liking to his newly employed driver.
Trips to this particular Italian restaurant were pretty standard, and Jimmy was used to Madison leaving the place late. Apparently he was good friends with the owner and was allowed to stay in the restaurant for as long as he wanted. "For business meetings," he always said. Jimmy knew that questioning him on it wasn't in the contract, as he called it, and he loudly and unceremoniously spat ash onto the interior carpeting as he flipped open his cheap cellphone. He may as well call Madison and let him know he was here, and he listened to the static before Madison's voice oozed on the other end.
"Head over to the back," he wheezed, and the line went dead.
Frowning and shrugging his shoulders, Jimmy whipped around the corner, nearly killing an old man and his gray-faced golden retriever, and screamed into the back alley of the restaurant. He waited silently, seeing the silhouettes of Madison and what looked like a couple of his buddies standing around talking. The two other men inaudibly excused themselves and left Madison alone. It was then that Jimmy noticed the large duffel bag at the hotelier's feet.
He averted his gaze as Madison approached the car, his sleepy blue eyes holding a slight glimmer in the streetlights. Picking away the crumbs of tonight’s sausage pizza from his scruffy neckbeard, which he tried to keep somewhat trimmed, Jimmy hoisted himself out of the car in order to open the side door for his boss. When he got close to the black duffel bag, he smelled a cross of marinara sauce and unspeakable horror.
Jimmy scrambled back into the driver's seat and adjusted his cap. He heard a husky clearing of a throat behind him.
"Jimmy, didn't I tell you never to smoke in this car?" breathed Madison, a faint tone of amusement in his voice. Jimmy’s eyes bulged and he quickly tossed the cigarette out the open window.
"Sorry. I forgot."
Madison’s laugh normally comforted him, but tonight was different. “It’s all good, buddy, just don’t forget again. Now, I need you to take me to the bay.”
"How far?"
"As far away from civilization as possible."
"You got it." Then a thought struck Jimmy's noggin, and he did something he had never done before. “Uh, not to be rude or nothin', but…mind me asking why?"
He saw Madison’s eyes narrow in the rearview mirror, the man's breaths shallow against his three-piece suit. "I didn't hire you to ask questions. Let's go."
Jimmy gulped loudly and nodded, nearly crashing into the adjacent wall as he wove his way out of the back alley. The limo drunkenly lurched into traffic, and several horns shrieked warnings as Jimmy zipped in and out of lanes. He drove until the city lights looked like fireflies in his vision, listening to the breeze and the rush of water past his window.
Stop here," Madison ordered, and Jimmy complied, the limo spinning across the asphalt. "Now, take this."
He shoved the duffel bag toward Jimmy. Jimmy's nose screamed from the stench.
"What do I do with it?"
"Dump it. What else would you do with it?"
"But don't you have other guys who could do this?"
Madison shot Jimmy what could only be described as a look of skepticism. "Let's just say I'm short-handed tonight. Take care of it. I'm going to make a call."
For the first time in a long time, Jimmy felt hesitant. He wasn’t one to judge other people, especially not Madison, but something just didn't seem right. Heaving himself out of the limo, Jimmy moved to lift the duffel bag out from between the driver's seat and the passenger's seat and nearly fell over. The thing weighed a ton, and he felt something oozing out from the gashes in the fabric, warm and sticky. He tried dragging it out, only to see red paint the seats as his eyes bulged in confusion and terror. Fiercely grabbing the handle, he attempted to pull it up and his arms squealed in protest. Finally, after giving up on ever keeping the thing away from his face, he grunted loudly as he slung the bag over his shoulder like a dead weight.
Jimmy visibly shook under his physical burden, and he walked toward the edge of the road where the bay lay waiting. It seemed deep enough for the thing to disappear into it without ever being found. Jimmy took a deep breath and let the bag drop. The smell dissipated quickly, replaced with nothing but the stink of polluted water. His shoulders heaved in a relieved sigh as he returned to the limo.
"Now what?" he asked.
Madison had just hung up his phone, stretching and cracking his knuckles. "Now, my friend…you get to play the rat."
"...What?"
"See, what you just dumped in there? That used to be a friend of mine. Big penchant for pasta. Also liked to blackmail me." Madison flashed a lopsided smile. "But now he won't eat pasta anymore, and you can pin it all on another former friend. Name's Ian Goodman, and he could use a few years."
"A few…a few years in what?"
"Wow, you really are thick, aren't you? In the slammer. Being careful not to drop the soap. The whole deal."
"You…you want me to lie to the police?"
Jimmy couldn't believe it. He did a lot of things that were maybe messy or dirty, but never something like this. His eyes darted back to the seat where the duffel bag had rested. The red hue of the cushions taunted him, and he realized just what he had stained his car with. He fought the urge to scream as Madison laughed.
"Jimmy, my good man," the hotelier sighed. "What else do you think I'm paying you for? Driving?"
The work you see here has only been slightly modified for mechanics since May 6th, 2011.
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