After dropping off my last passenger for the night, I headed for the taxi barn. Feeling restless, I decided to drop off the cab and head across the Hudson River to Jersey. Overlooking the river was a great all-night gin joint. Owned by the mob, it catered to Latins. I’d have a few rum and cokes and ogle the incredible Puerto Rican and Cuban broads. I loved the hot, Afro-Cuban music. And I loved how those babes moved their tight asses to erotic rhythms. But most of all, I loved the smell of pungent sweat dripping from their sizzling bodies.
Cruising down 9th Avenue, I didn’t see any cars on either side of the road. Typical for 3:00 AM in Manhattan. Best time of the entire day. Peace and quiet. No people. No sounds. Nothing.
As I approached 27th Street, a black Caddie zoomed through a red light. Just missed slamming my passenger side by a couple feet.
I slammed my horn and hollered every cuss word I ever learned while fighting in Iraq.
The bastard slammed his brakes. You coulda heard the tires screeching for a mile.
He backed up in a way that only a Hollywood stunt driver coulda done. Put that damn Caddie right next to my taxi.
“What did you call me?” a woman’s voice asked from the driver’s window.
I couldn’t see her face in the dark. But the fact that it was a woman made me even madder.
I repeated the cuss words.
“You flatter me to no end,” the voice said.
“Get outta the car and I’ll show you more flattery,” I hollered, grabbing the tire iron I kept for self-defense. I opened my door to confront her. Her car was so close, I coughed up a wad of phlegm and spit toward the voice.
“Mmm. You got me right in the mouth. How delicious. Are all your body fluids so scrumptious?”
“What the hell are you talking about? Cut the bull shit and step outside. I got a nice surprise for you.” I raised the tire iron to flatten her skull the moment she stepped out. But she didn’t move. I tried to make out her face, but couldn’t.
“I think you’re cute,” the voice said. “Otherwise, you’d be dead by now. I’m going to give you something to collect your wonderful body fluid. Fill it and I’ll let you go.” An arm extended a small black cup.
Her idiotic words completely disarmed me.
“You want me to spit into a cup? For you to drink? Phew, you are one sick bastard.” Then it struck me—who said I had to fill it with spit?
“OK. I’ll fill your stupid cup.” I turned away, opened my fly, and let loose. As my bladder unloaded, I made guttural noises, as if I were coughing up half a lung and spitting it into the cup.
The best part about this was that I was being treated for gonorrhea.
Extending the cup, I told her to drink it immediately, that it was best while steaming hot.
I jumped into my cab, and slammed the gas pedal. I laughed all the way to the barn.
A week later, I went to see a priest. “Father, help me. The Devil’s after me.”
“He’s after us all,” the padre said. “He wants everybody’s soul. Remember what the Scriptures say: ‘resist the Devil and he’ll flee from you.’ Are you resisting him?”
“With all my might. But he—well it’s not a he, it’s a she. She shows up every night when my shift’s over. As I’m heading for the taxi barn, her car cuts me off and blocks my way. And every time, she just misses slamming into me. Then, she hands me a cup. Asks me to fill it with my vital juice.”
“What do you mean by vital juice?.”
“She wants me to spit into the cup.”
“Do you?”
“No. I pee into it. I’m ashamed to say this, but I caught a sexually transmitted disease. It happened one night when I was drunk. But the thing is, she drinks whatever I put into the cup. And then asks for more.”
“No need to explain further, my son. Take this bottle of holy water. Next time she stops you, pour it into the cup. One swig of that, and she’ll never block your taxi again.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She’s known as The Juicer. This is one of the worst demons listed in the Book of Exorcisms. Her power is increased by drinking men’s body fluids. Has she asked you to ejaculate into the cup?”
“No, Father.”
“Good. But unless you dispel her, she soon will. And she’ll use your seed for unspeakable, demonic rituals.
That night, when the Caddie cut me off, I poured the blessed water into the cup. I heard her gulping.
I bet her screams could be heard for miles.
Next day, I read in the paper that the cops rushed to the scene where a woman was heard screaming, as if she was being massacred. All they found was an empty Cadillac.
The following night, I made it all the way to the barn without interference. What a relief! To celebrate the removal of the unholy entity, I headed to Jersey to watch the Latina women dance their asses off.
One of them was so hot, I found myself breaking into a sweat. When I ordered a cold beer to cool down, a gorgeous coffee-and-cream broad slid into the bar stool next to me.
“Hi, Handsome,” she said. “Would you get me something to drink?”
“Sure. What’ll you have?”
“Your luscious fluid,” she said, handing me a black cup.
—
© 2009 Michael A. Kechula
Michael A. Kechula is a retired tech writer. His fiction has won first place in seven contests and placed in six others. He’s also won Editor’s Choice awards four times. His stories have been published by 124 magazines and anthologies in Australia, Canada, England, India, Scotland, and US. He’s authored a book of flash and micro-fiction stories: “A Full Deck of Zombies–61 Speculative Fiction Tales.” eBook available at www.BooksForABuck.com and www.fictionwise.com. Paperback available at www.amazon.com.
Tags: Michael A. Kechula
April 9th, 2009 at 3:17 pm
I liked this. It had a gritty, noir-ish feel. Kinda gross, but enjoyable.
April 10th, 2009 at 12:26 pm
Hi Bob,
Thanks for reading my tale and for your comments.
Mike