The hotel doors slide closed behind me. It's late and the thunder is at a distance. I resist the need to draw my overcoat to me to shield myself from the cold. The car is there. My driver stands as usual holding the door open for me. I know I shouldn't look down and watch my steps but I don't care. The rain soaked asphalt collides with my Burberry oxfords. I think of times long past and I offer myself a smile. I look up and then side to side because I have so many times before and I must. No choice.
Muscle memory they say.
My driver holds the car door open. She stands at attention as if impervious to the wet and cold.
I glance at her before removing my hat and entering the car.
Her skin is too perfect I think.
There is no sound but there is a flash of light.
Stepping inside it's almost too warm. The leather seats envelope me like an old friend.
The door closes with a solid thud. I can see the whiskey and ice ready in the tumbler to my right waiting for me.
Then my driver closes her door without entering and I look to see why.
There is a female figure running from the hotel towards the car.
I can see my driver in her fighting stance so I quickly grab the handle of the door I just entered.
Before I can open the door and say anything my driver has the woman on her knees and in a headlock from behind. In the dark rain she looks up at me with pleading eyes.
“Did I leave my wallet?” I asked.