15. Crave

Rae drivesher sedan with a blonde teenage minion in the passenger seat, not noticing my truck following them. White trucks blend in around here. Mine isn't the only one on this street.

The two women drive into a neighborhood to take the teenager home.

I drive forward, taking the highway to Las Vegas. Off to my other job.

Tourists tend to prefer rideshares, but the digital trail would make things difficult for me. Luckily, taxis are still frequent in Sin City. My boss lets me come and go as I please, and he doesn't know I'm using a fake name nor did he give my "background check" a second glance. I keep the taxi's back windows tinted, and I keep the front windows at thirty-five percent density, distorting my visibility from outsiders. The tourists' cell phones ping the service towers, but once you toss their devices in the desert, the cops are as lost as sharks in a sandpit.

This next victim isn't a tourist, but everyone who lives in this town is the same. They hustle through the daily grind and earn themselves some cash to spend on cheap sex and booze. Once the right time comes, I park across the street in a strip mall parking lot, where I've got a perfect view of my next victim's favorite spot. The titty club he frequents is a shack, especially sitting next to the giant hotels and resorts on Flamingo. It must have good-looking strippers and cheap booze inside. I keep my roof light off, a taxi driver on his break.

A rideshare drops off DrummerBoy420 in front of a strip club. He checks both ways before entering the building. And like clockwork, DrummerBoy420 exits the building three hours later, drunk and satiated.

I put on my leather gloves and drive over, pulling up in front of him. He usually orders a rideshare. Tonight, I'm faster.

Are you going to make your little plaything watch this time?my mother's voice asks. You're letting her control you again, aren't you?

"I'm controlling her," I mutter.

DrummerBoy420 wrinkles his nose. I jump out of the car to open the back door for him before he can tell me no. Capturing Rae's latest conquest is another way to manipulate her into being a little killer for me.

He blinks, unable to focus on me. "Uh?—"

"Taxis are cheaper than rideshares, man," I say. "You look like you need a ride."

"I do." He bobs his head. "I don't have cash. Do you take card?—"

"Don't worry," I interrupt. "As long as you're not driving drunk, it's on me."

"Thanks, bro."

He falls into the backseat, then slides to the middle. The scent of fast food stinks up the cab. He belches, and I lock his seat belt for him.

"Thanks," he mumbles, his eyelids heavy.

Right as I push myself up from the backseat, I switch the child lock on the inside of the car door to engage it before slamming the door shut.

In the front seat, I ready the needle, then turn over my shoulder.

"Where are you headed?" I ask.

"My girlfriend's," he says. "Henderson."

"You're a local, then," I say. "Don't forget to put on your seatbelt."

His gaze drops to his lap. "You already?—"

I lurch between the front seats and stab him with a hypodermic needle. The sedative plunges into his veins. He fumbles, but he's so drunk already, he loses consciousness within seconds.

I unlock his seat belt. He flattens on the backseat. Then I find his phone, power it off, and drop it on the asphalt. My tires crunch over it. About twenty minutes later, we park the taxi next to my truck, near the industrial buildings off of Sammy Davis Jr. I transfer him to the bed of my truck.

He sleeps the entire time.

When we make it to the Galloway House, it's past the mall's hours. Rae isn't here yet, but her jasmine perfume—that overly floral, synthetic scent—floats through the house. I carry him in an oversized duffel bag through the kitchen and down to the basement.

I pull him out of the bag. I flick the next needle, then squirt it into him. There are enough sedatives to keep him dazed until we're ready.

You're getting her presents now,my mother's voice says. You're a pussy-whipped little boy.

This time, there's no anger. Instead, I grin. This isn't about giving Rae another conquest to fuck. This is about pushing her into her rightful place.

Parked outside of her apartment building, I check Rae's cameras. On the screen, she's sleeping face down. I turn off the surveillance cameras. Then I let myself inside of her apartment.

I scrawl a note and leave it on her nightstand, close enough to where she sleeps that she'll lose her mind knowing that I was here again without her knowledge.

Since she first slid into the backseat of my taxi, I've seen that lack of human connection in Rae's eyes. She doesn't see others as real people; she sees others as objects, even me. Above all else, she needs the thrill—going against society's order—to feel like she's alive. We're the same that way.

She just doesn't know what she's capable of yet.

I chuckle to myself, then head back to my house to get ready for the day. Our little game won't resume until tomorrow night. DrummerBoy420 will sleep through the day, and when the moon comes up again, Rae and I will play with him together.

"Perhaps it is a present," I say to myself.

It's not about pleasing her though; it's about pleasing myself. Playing with my little girl, seeing exactly what she does, and discovering how her mind works entertains me. She may not be able to kill him yet, but she'll like the idea.

I'll make her admit it too.