Gabrielle: An Erotic Thriller

By Randy T. Lane

Michael Wesson decides to drop out of college and head to New York to pursue show business. Sure, his parents are a little worried. His sister and best pal think he’s making a mistake. Still, Michael is ready to follow his dream of becoming an actor, even if he can barely afford rent and knows nothing about the city, including news of the Silk Stocking Killer.

Turns out, Michael arrives in the Big Apple in the midst of the biggest manhunt in thirty years. A psychotic murderer is hunting the rich women of the Upper West Side. The victims are found bound by silk stockings with the name “Gabrielle” written in red across their chests.

As the fresh-faced New York newbie struggles to find his way, the media can’t get enough of the horrors happening to the rich and beautiful. Why does the Silk Stocking Killer target such high-class women, and who is Gabrielle? Soon, Michael gets sucked into the investigation as he plays the role of his life, trying to stop a vicious psychopath before more women end up dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jun 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483468815

Book preview

Thirty-Five

CHAPTER ONE

It was August and I was on the campus of the University of Minnesota. It was my senior year and classes were to start in two weeks. I had to inform my best friend and confidant Steve that I was moving on. It was time to get on with my life’s work. I was withdrawing before my first class and going to New York. I was hoping to break into show business; acting and the theater, along with writing, were where my heart lay.

Steve looked at me as if I had three eyes. Michael, dude, old pal, are you out of your fucking mind? This is our senior year. Do you know how much female entertainment you’re passing on? There is more flesh on this campus than any one man could ever hope for. As your friend and confidant, I must advise you to wake the fuck up! You have your whole life to work, but only two more years to sleep in till 10:00 a.m., go to class for four hours, then, from Thursday to Saturday, walk around in a drunken stupor, trying to bag all the skirts you can. Especially a guy like you: Quiet, model-good looks; hell, you’re not even thinking about your old friend Steve. All those lonely girls you turn down, they need comfort and a shoulder to cry on. That’s where I come in, your horny wingman Steve.

Sorry, old friend, but I gotta go.

Steve wished me well. The hard part was telling my parents. My dad was a thirty-year autoworker for Ford, never considered retiring, and my mom was a bookkeeper at the same law firm for over twenty years. They taught us about fair play and respect for older people. It’s a Midwestern thing. They were so proud of me and my sister Donna, who was now a sophomore at the University of Colorado. I told my parents I was moving to New York to work in journalism. They never would have understood the acting thing. At first, like all parents, they were upset, but they wished me the best and made me promise to finish getting my degree.

My mom reminded me to make my weekly phone call and to eat healthy. You’re young, not invincible.

My dad understood the situation. You need to follow your dream job. If it doesn’t work out, at least you gave it your best shot, no regrets, and move on from there.

My sister Donna was surprised and realistic. Trying to break into journalism in New York with no degree sounds risky, Michael, but it gives me a cool place to visit and hang out.

Thanks for your vote of confidence.

No problem. Let me know when you’re settled.

Yes, a place to stay, having never been to New York, created a challenge right away. I had budgeted for three months’ expenses. I made inquiries about two apartment vacancies; not being familiar with the city, I had to make sure wherever I stayed, public transportation was going to be available. The trip from Minnesota to New York is over 1300 miles; twenty hours by car, and I figured at least twenty-four by bus. I made a reservation at a cheap hotel for one week so I could scout out an apartment. I managed to put all my worldly goods into an old army duffel bag, my one bag staying with me, along with my iPad and phone. As I boarded the bus, I questioned my sanity and would for the next twenty-five hours. I made so many bus transfers, I lost count. Finally, on August 24, the bus pulled into the Trailways hub in New York City. The driver pulled my bag from the cargo bin, I threw the duffel bag over my shoulder, and headed for the exit.

I wanted to fit in, like this was routine for me, something I did all the time. But the reality of it was my heart was racing and my hands were sweaty as hell. Okay, I’m in New York, but where? Evidently, Port Authority is a popular spot for first timers. As soon as you leave the terminal, the taxis are lined up, waiting to assist you. At least three taxi drivers yelled for me. Finally, a small young black male with a great smile approached me. He was maybe twenty-three.

Welcome to New York City. I’m at your service; clean ride with a fair price. His friendly demeanor won me over. Where are we headed today?

Going to the Charlotte Hotel.

I know right where it is, sir. Have you there in no time.

I got in and we were on our way.

"Allow me to introduce myself. Allen James is your driver today. All my friends call me Threads. Why Threads? Because when I go out on the town, I’m dressed to the max: no skimping. Silk tie, nice watch, leather shoes. The ladies appreciate a nicely dressed man. I have a slightly used black Lincoln Continental; bought it at auction for six thousand dollars. That girl has 150, 000 miles on it, mint condition, and rides like a dream. The women don’t know mileage; they know Lincoln Continental. It’s all marketing, bro. Now I could go out and buy myself a brand new two-door spec compact, which seats none comfortably.

But let me ask you, what would be more impressive to your date for the first time? Opening the door for my date in a two-door compact, or a newly waxed shiny black Lincoln Continental; ain’t no competition. I can hear my date on the phone the next day with all her girlfriends: My new man picked me up a Lincoln Continental. That’s what they call instant credibility, not ‘My date picked me up in a two-door compact.’

We both laughed. I liked Threads already.

How about you? What’s your story?

Sorry, Michael Wesson. Glad to meet you.

Let me see, Michael, fresh off the bus, nobody here to meet you, looking to stay in a very moderately priced motel and you’re taking a taxi ride … So I’m thinking either a writer, actor, artist, or you’re gay and your parents kicked you out. Am I close?

That obvious, huh?

Hey! This is New York; I see it every day.

Well, Threads, you’re right. I was starting my senior year the University of Minnesota, majoring in theater, but my parents think I’m here to break into the magazine business as a writer.

Threads chuckled. Aha, I knew it, but you know what, Michael, today is your lucky day. You picked the right taxi driver, my man.

And why is that, Threads?

Because, man, you don’t need to stay in some poor man’s Motel 6. My aunt has a boarding house. Doesn’t advertise it, decent section of the city, and only rents by word of mouth. Over the years, I’ve gotten her at least eleven tenants. It all works out great because I know people, I can size people up. I got a great judge of character, if you know what I mean. On my recommendation, I can hook you up, introduce you to my aunt. It’s way less money than that dump The Charlotte. Close to where you need to be with public transportation. And she has tenants just like you white, black, Spanish, or here to take on the Big Apple. You interested?

Absolutely. How do I thank you?

Easy; my aunt’s just like my mom, so whatever she asks you do, pay the rent on time, no partying, no loud music, etc. Trust me, she will give you the house rules. So tell me something, is Minnesota like most cities? Does it have nightclubs, bars, a lot of action? Any crime?

I shrugged. I grew up in Taylor Falls, MN. Small town; not a lot going on. It’s about forty-five miles from Minneapolis, which is considered safe for a major city. I’m sure it offers a lot of nightlife, but nothing like you’re used to. Why do you ask?

I’m curious what your thoughts on this Silk Stocking Killer.

The who?

The Silk Stocking Killer. Don’t you have news in Minnesota?

At home, I don’t watch a lot of TV. If I do, it’s usually a movie. Not a whole lot going on in the local news in Minnesota. So fill me in. What’s this guy’s story?

Well, this weirdo has been stalking New Yorkers for over eight months now, usually the nicer places in Manhattan, like the Upper West Side. All the victims were sexually assaulted, then he binds their hands with silk stockings. They always find red silk panties around their ankles, and across their chests in red lubrication, he spells ‘Gabrielle.’ I think so far, there’s been like seven victims. Growing up, my parents always said ninety percent of the people you meet are normal, five percent just want to be left alone, and the other five percent scare the fuck out of the rest of us, and this twisted fuck is on that list.

Threads pulled the taxi over and parked in front of a red duplex, 1157 Maynard Boulevard, an older building but well kept up. This is it; come on in and I’ll introduce you to my aunt. The red brick duplex had a cement stoop out front with a small flowerpot on the windowsill. We entered the hallway.

Aunt Georgie, it’s me, Threads. I brought a guest for you to meet.

I thought you were working, came the voice from upstairs. Down the stairs came a thin black woman who looked to be about seventy years of age. She was walking with the help of a cane, but she seemed very active and remarkably spry. Now tell me, Allen, why aren’t you at work?

Aunt Georgie, come on, you know me. I’m always at work. I came by to introduce you to a new friend. Aunt Georgie, I would like you to meet Michael Wesson, new to New York by way of the University of Minnesota and possibly your next tenant.

I extended my hand.

Hello, Michael, pleasure to meet you. Just call me Aunt G. Everyone here does, she said as she shook my hand. So let me get this right. You came halfway across the country from one of the coldest states, just in time to enjoy winter here. Other than that, I assume you’re pretty bright. We all laughed. So you’re looking for a place to stay?

I am, and Threads here, I mean, Allen was kind enough to offer this opportunity to meet you and possibly be your tenant.

Well, I’ll tell you, Allen James has never let me down. He’s a good judge of character. I consider all my tenants as friends first. I do have one rental available. It’s one bedroom, one bath, fridge, microwave. If you need the stove, I have one downstairs for use by the tenants at any time. And if you’re making something good, don’t forget and set an extra plate for Aunt G. I find that most young people today don’t cook, always on the go, microwave and gone. The rent is $725 per month, plus utilities. That’s a steal in this city, but I ain’t looking to get rich. I like young people being around; keeps me feeling young and revitalized.

The room was clean and tidy, just what you would expect; a window overlooking the street, small bath, everything a single guy in New York on a budget could hope for.

Michael, what do you think?

This is great. Where do I sign the lease?

Oh, there is no lease with Aunt G. Just some simple house rules. Rent is due on the first, no later than the fifth, any overnight guest stays more than two nights, and I will decide if I’m okay with that. Keep the room clean for the next tenant; it will also make your parents proud they didn’t raise a slob. You reach your room by the back fire escape, second floor door. You get two sets of keys. When you leave, I get two back. As an independent young adult, I don’t care when you come or when you go, but don’t ever have the law knocking for you, and keep the TV at a decent level. And of course my biggest rule: when you’re rich and famous, make sure you mention how you got started because of me and that’s why you bought me that new white Cadillac Seville.

I laughed. How did you know why I came to New York?

Georgie laughed. Michael, let me tell you something; I have four one-bedroom apartments. Among my tenants, I have a professional dancer—right now a waitress—a mortuary student working part-time as a toll taker, and a professional gambler working for the streets department. If you weren’t born here, you’re coming here to make a name for yourself. Now don’t get me wrong; I hope they all make it, but in the meantime, they’re getting by and paying their bills. Now take Allen—I don’t like calling him Threads, whatever that stands for—he drives a taxi, but I also know he likes the casinos and on occasion likes to slide down Atlantic City, hoping to hit it big; that’s his thing. So, Michael, what’s your thing? You an actor, a writer of some sort? You’re a good-looking young man. Maybe a model?

You’re right, Aunt G. I would like to act, maybe try my hand at writing.

Like I said, hope you find a lot of success. In the meantime, I hope you feel like this is home.

I can’t thank you enough. This is perfect.

As I was moving into the room, Allen approached me. Tell me, Michael, while you’re breaking into the show business world, how are you set for disposable income?

Actually, the first thing I have to do is find an agent to represent me and then do whatever it takes to pay the bills. Bartender, waiter.

Well, my man, if those things don’t pan out, call me and I will introduce you to the exciting world of being a hack, and I’ll be totally honest with you, we are in the midst of a recruiting drive. If I bring someone in and they stay on for six months, I get a four-hundred-dollar bonus.

Tell you what. Let me get settled and I very well may be calling you.

I finally hit the sack at 11:00 p.m., totally exhausted.

August 25, my first day in New York. The bus stop was only three blocks from the apartment. New York, even on the outskirts, is busy. People everywhere, all headed someplace. I managed to figure out the bus schedule, no easy task for an outsider. I got dropped off in Midtown Manhattan. What a sight! Street vendors hawking everything from hot dogs to hats, businessmen on their cells. The humanity was amazing and I loved it. I had done my homework before leaving and had a list of three potential agents who were accepting new clients.

My first stop, I didn’t get past the office secretary. My second stop was at the office of Alex Harmon: Just leave your card and Mr. Harmon will be in touch shortly. A card? Put that on my to-do list. So I moved on, walking the streets of New York.

The first thing you notice, everyone is in a rush. Being from the Midwest, I wanted to blend in, feel like I belonged, just try and go unnoticed. People-watching there is like no other place. In a three-block radius, I encountered everything from a sidewalk, like jewelry salesmen hawking, Hey, my good friend, buy your wife or girlfriend or both this diamond tennis bracelet for only $400.00, and to catch her eye. It comes in a Saks Fifth Avenue box. No doubt, the only thing real was the box. Panhandlers, three-card Monte, everything available for the price.

My next stop was at the office of Albert Rubinstein, an address on 34th Street off Madison, the 9th floor. I had e-mailed him before I left and asked if he would be interested in representing me. He actually replied, told me to come by and see if we were compatible. I took that to mean if I could pay. He was located in the Atlantic Office complex; nice place, nothing too ritzy. The sign on the front door said Ring bell; someone will be with you shortly. I sat on a nice green sofa. The office walls were covered with photos and magazine covers. Some of the photos I recognized the face but didn’t know the name.

As I was browsing through a People magazine, a middle-aged white man with a receding hairline, trimmed mustache, about five foot seven inches tall, medium build, came in and said, Hello, I’m Albert Rubenstein. Can I help you?

Yes, sir, Michael Wesson, former college student, hopeful actor, looking for a good agent who is willing to take on a new client with little experience but big ambition. I had emailed you earlier.

Michael, glad to meet you. Yes, I got your e-mail, and you’ve come to the right place. I handle a lot of people just starting out. You have already passed a lot of those people and don’t even know it.

And how would that be?

Michael, I receive close to 175 emails a week from all over: Iowa, Boston, Ohio, all just like you, coming to New York, and I answer them all. A few like yourself have what it takes to give it a go. Most never try, my friend, and that is worse than failure. Come into my office; let’s chat, get a feel for each other, see if we would be a good match working together as partners. Michael, in any agent-client relationship, we are partners. Any success we have will be because we worked as a team.

We went into his office, nicely decorated with wood paneling, oak desk, family photos on the wall, and an obvious New York Yankees fan.

So, Michael, where do you see yourself going in this business?

My goal, of course, is to act, but I’m open to suggestions.

Good! Good! Michael, that’s what I needed to hear, because before you can become the next Jack Nicholson, you must become the first Michael Wesson.

Not sure I follow you.

Michael, you must first establish credibility in this business. Everybody knows somebody. In order to represent you, I need to know you. Are you willing to try your hand at different aspects of this business?

Like what?

Anything that can get you in front of people. Auditions, Michael, are the key to surviving in this business. I’m presently representing, among others, Sarah McMillan. Ever hear of her?

Sorry, I haven’t.

"But I hazard to guess you know her face. Take a look at this photo. The girl behind those Zenith sunglasses is Sarah. Like you, she wants to be an actress. I sent her for an audition, the director tells her you’re not what I’m looking for, but tells Sarah to call a friend of his, a photographer who’s looking for someone with her build and height. Sarah calls the guy, takes some photos. Last month, she was working housekeeping at the Marriott; this month, she’s in Vogue. Her picture is in every mall in this country that sells Zenith sunglasses. Needless to say, she is no longer picking up dirty laundry. Opportunity, Michael, can come at any time, so I’m asking you, what are you willing to sacrifice to get where you want to be?"

Whatever it takes, anything. You name it, I’ll give it my best effort.

That’s good and I’ll tell you why, if you sign with me today, the auditions I get you may not be what you expected. Let me give you an example of what I’m talking about. Have you seen Robert Embers on TV or even heard of him?

No.

He is another one of my clients. I got him to read for Dr. Smith’s Foot Products. Robert calls and tells me that’s probably not a good fit for him. He would like to pass. I said go and read. Robert gets the part. All they do is show his foot while he’s talking; hell, for all I know, the guy who hired him might have some foot fetish. But going on two years now, Robert has a solid income, which allows him to pursue his acting career without worrying where his next meal is coming from. But don’t misunderstand me; I guarantee nothing about your success. All I can do is get your foot in the door. When the opportunity presents itself, you must seize the moment.

Mr. Rubenstein, I get it. I’m interested. I would greatly appreciate it if you would take me on. I’m ready to sign.

Great, but call me Albert, Michael. I feel we will do well in business together; you have something going for you already that is a lost art. You listen. Here is how my standard contract works. One hundred fifty dollars per month due on the first. For that, I guarantee you three placements per month. It can be anything from reading for a commercial, to going to a promo for a car dealership. If you land a large part while under contract to me, the fee is seven percent of the gross; you will find that is the going rate in the industry.

That sounds more than fair to me. So I signed that afternoon. I’d been very fortunate so far. For being new to the city, I found a clean place to live—not the Hilton but way above Motel Charlotte—and an agent. I had saved enough money to survive frugally for about six months. I could do rent for a year, but eating was important to me. I needed to find part-time work, something that offered some flexibility. I knew absolutely nothing about driving a taxi and even less about the city, but I did know Threads, so I made the call. As you can imagine, Threads was thrilled to hear of my interest; after all, he was looking at a four-hundred-dollar bonus. We made arrangements to meet with his supervisor, Charlie Whitehurst, who was also division manager for Diamond Taxi.

Charlie, age sixty-one, according to Threads, looked seventy-one, was bald, maybe five foot six inches tall, about 270 pounds, and had absolutely no sense of humor. His office was a metal desk and high-back chair. Used coffee cups littered the wastebasket.

Tell me, kid, why I should hire you and don’t give me the standard bullshit line about wanting to grow up and become a taxi driver. You can laugh, kid; that’s a joke.

Honestly, I need part-time work to pay my bills while I pursue my writing-acting career.

"Writer, huh? Hey, that’s different. Maybe someday I’ll pick up the Post and read your column about my Yankees. Damn, I miss Steinbrenner; mettlesome bastard but got things done. Writing, I like that. I have six guys here and one dyke trying to become actors. But, kid, I’ll give you a shot. Here’s my rules and there is no flexibility in them. They are few but consider them gospel. You’re on probation for sixty days. Screw up and you are out. Show up on time all the time. I know all the excuses—sick kid, missed the bus—I don’t fucking care. If you’re not here, I’m not making money. The only good reason to call in is an immediate death in the family, preferably your own. Also loss of limb, and that’s a judgment call I’ll make because you can always drive with one arm. At the end of your shift, turn in your cash, fill the tank for the next shift, leave it spotless just like you got it. Diamond Taxi is well respected; keep it that way. We have a lot of lifers here. Some guys been driving for over twenty years; they take it personally if someone forgets to fill the tank and leaves trash in their ride, so don’t. You start one week from today.

The first thing you need to do is take this paperwork down to the New York DMV. You must have a chauffeur’s license to operate a taxi in this city. The cost is eighty-five dollars to take the written test. It’s all on computer. The license is good for two years and you’ll find the lovely people at the DMV just love their work. After you pass, we will get you started. Your shift is from 6:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m., Thursday to Saturday. Welcome to the show, kid.

That gave me almost a full week to learn the basics. I’d tag along with Threads on his shift to pick up as much on-the-job training as possible. I’d routinely work certain parts of the city, but my fare could take me anywhere. I could get some calls from radio dispatch, some calls if I picked up on my own. I would be working in the strip area known as Times Square.

The city at night takes on a different atmosphere, different feel. The businessmen in their three-piece suits are back home in New Jersey with the tree-lined streets, the wife, and kids.

When the sun sets, the atmosphere changes: the nightclub action, the street musicians are out with the bongos, the neon lights offering everything from cold beer to lap dances. The seventeen-year-old girls dress like they’re twenty-three with a four-inch heels and dresses so it tight they can’t walk, so they shuffle.

Threads told me, Dude, you will love the club action, great for business.

I soon found out just what he meant. The first night I was riding with Threads, he got a call from dispatch. We picked up two men in their forties, no doubt gay, very friendly, and took them to a club called Man Down Under, a simple twenty-minute cab ride, and they left an eight-dollar tip. I needed to get my license; time and money were wasting. Like a lot of people, I had a preconceived notion about obtaining a license to drive a taxi. In all fairness, the job just didn’t look that hard.

Wednesday morning, I arrived at the DMV, or Department of Motor Vehicles, at 9:00 a.m. I was thinking, two hours tops, I should be out with a license in hand. It was surprisingly well organized. I opted to take a practice exam before the real one just to get a feel for the questions they would ask. Once seated at the computer, you have twenty minutes of practice time. They offer different quizzes determined by the type of license you’re trying to acquire: school bus driver, tractor-trailer driver, etc. I selected chauffeur. The computer comes on; if you have any questions, hit the help sign at the bottom of the screen and someone will assist you. It sounded easy enough; time to try. Practice question one: Manhattan Avenue, Lenox Avenue, and St. Louis Avenue meet at: A) Central Park North B) Central Park West C) Central Park East, or D) Frederick Douglass Boulevard. I would definitely be guessing; let’s go on to question two. You’re going from 116 Street and Broadway to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Which is the best route: A) Broadway, South 96th Street transverse through Central Park to Fifth Avenue B) Broadway, South to 72nd Street and transverse to Madison Avenue C) East on 116st Street to Fifth Avenue through 66th, or D) Broadway, South to 82nd. The first thought that came to my mind was no way I’m passing this test today. The second thought, who in the hell doesn’t use a GPS these days?

I needed more time to study, so I hit the green help sign on the computer, and in less than three minutes, an Hispanic female with short-cropped black hair, about forty, attractive, and very, very pleasant, came to my aid.

Yes, sir, how can I help?

Yes I’m fairly new to the city and trying to obtain my chauffeur’s license so I can drive a taxi. Could you tell me what is considered a passing score, and how many tries do I have to pass?

Sir, you’re allowed three chances; they must be at least two weeks apart. To have a chauffeur’s license in New York City, you must obtain a minimum score of seventy-nine percent, ten percent higher than a standard driver’s license. My name is Mia Howard and I have worked for the New York DMV for over twelve years. If you don’t mind me asking, when were you planning on taking the exam?

Well, today. Then I took the practice the exam and the questions were more difficult than I had anticipated.

And your name?

Michael Wesson, why?

Michael, if you’re interested, and you seem to be in a hurry, my brother Allen runs a tutoring service that specializes in helping people pass the exam. He is very good and has been extremely successful at it. You may want to give him a call. And then she handed me his card: Allen Howard Licensing Service, Drivers, Chauffeurs, Limousine Permits. Also Passports.

"Thank you. I’m sure I will be giving him a call." I didn’t really know what to think of it; was it legit? Or was this just how things were done in the city? I would call Mr. Howard in the morning.

The following morning, I had a brief conversation with Mr. Allen Howard; very polite, well-spoken, understood my plight, and for five hundred seventy-five dollars, he could help me obtain my license. We agreed to meet that evening at his residence, which doubled as his office. I was apprehensive and greatly relieved when a small girl around age ten answered the door. At least I wasn’t going to get robbed.

Sarah, who is at the door? came the voice from down the hall.

Mr. Howard, it’s me, Michael Wesson. We talked on the phone.

Down the hall came a dark-haired gentleman with a dark complexion, wearing a white shirt and pair of khakis. Come in, my friend.

Mr. Howard, a pleasure to meet you, I said as he extended his hand. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.

Lynn, I have company. I’ll be down in the office.

OK, came a voice from the kitchen, although I never did see his wife.

Sarah, go play. She had wrapped herself around her dad’s leg. Michael, this way.

We went downstairs to a nicely finished basement office, complete with a photographer’s setup.

Michael, have a seat. This is how it works. You have a driver’s license, correct?

Yes.

Are you presently a fulltime resident of New York?

Yes.

Okay, very simple. I have been doing this for a very long time; never had any problems because I know the system. I worked for the NYPD traffic division for over twenty years. You seem like a bright young man; you may study very hard and three months from now pass the exam. But I’m guessing you’re ready to go to work now, with no guarantee the position will still be there if you wait. Is that correct?

I’m supposed to start next week.

I can make that happen. I provide a special service to deserving people. My fee is one-time charge of five hundred seventy-five dollars. I’d take all the information on your present driver’s license and transfer you into the system as a New York resident. It will establish on your license the stamp for operating a taxi in the city of New York, good for one full calendar year. At that time, you’ll receive notice of your renewal in the mail with the amount due to maintain your license. You will be one-hundred-percent legal in the eyes of the New York DMV. If, for any reason, you’re pulled over by the police, all your information will be documented and on file. Would you like to proceed?

Absolutely.

Very good. I will need your present driver’s license.

Allen looked it over. Minnesota. Brother, that sounds cold.

It can be, trust me.

Okay, Michael, I need you to sit in the chair and face the camera. Very good. Hold it. Got it. Give me about fifteen minutes to process this and it will be done.

In less than twenty minutes, Alomar returned with my new driver’s license, complete with chauffeur stamp.

What do you think?

It’s perfect.

I take a lot of pride in my work, and like I said earlier, no need to worry about anything. You’re perfectly legal.

Thank you so much. I handed him the envelope with the money, and we shook hands and parted ways. As I took the bus back home, I realized I was getting quite an education and, just like college, you gotta pay to learn. With the paperwork and training behind me, I was finally ready to be out on my own.

If you’ve never been in a taxi, you would be surprised at how well kept Diamond Taxi was. Everything was vacuumed and waxed and often. The first thing I did was invest in the best GPS my budget would allow. I was still finding my way around.

The first couple of nights went off without a hitch. I’ll admit to being nervous as hell. It takes a little getting used to picking up total strangers. I was working my first Friday night in New York, and the city was jammed with people. My first phone call came from dispatch. Michael, pickup needed number 14 Ocean Pine Condos. I didn’t know everywhere in New York, but I was aware of some of the more exclusive neighborhoods, and this was one. This sounded promising and I was not disappointed. I picked up a very attractive female with long black hair, a great body, high heels, and a skintight leather dress. She slid in.

Thanks for being so prompt. I had to make it out before my mom got home. She’s very cool, but no way would I make it out with this outfit on.

Not a problem. Where to?

Revel Nightclub, on Third Street. Hey, you have any weed on you?

Sorry, no.

Trust me; money is not a problem. I can pay.

Sorry. I just don’t have any.

That’s cool. You’re pretty clean for a hack. This gig a temp job?

Yeah, have to pay the bills.

Do you mind if I call you Mike?

Not at all.

I saw your ID on the visor, Michael. You want to make more cash next time, give me a card with your number. I’ll call you direct and cut out the dispatcher.

Thanks, I will keep that in mind. So you’re meeting some friends at the Revel?

Yes, my girlfriend Sandy. Her parents are freaked out about this Silk Stocking nut job, so they insist on dropping her off.

Doesn’t he scare you?

Hey, fuck him; I’ll mace his ass, then poke his eyes out with my rat-toothed comb.

We were laughing.

You sound tough.

Hey, I grew up in the city. My antenna is always up. You must be aware of your surroundings, know what the fuck is going on around you. Let me demonstrate. You think I just hopped in the cab with some hacker, right?

Yes.

Wrong, Michael. When you pulled up, I snapped your tag and your chauffeur’s license with my iPhone. Sent it to my dad, a lawyer. His secretary ran everything. You checked out.

And if I hadn’t checked out?

We don’t get two blocks. Like I said, my dad’s a lawyer and some of his clients, shall we say, have a less than honorable background.

So why not have your parents drop you off?

Dad’s in Chicago, Mom’s a sales rep for a chemical firm and at a meeting till 9:00, so this is how we do it. We’re comfortable with it. I know my way around the city.

So are you and Sandy here to meet guys? Don’t answer that if I’m over the line.

No, you’re cool, I like you. Honestly, Michael, it’s like this. My friend Sandy thinks we’re here to meet guys. I’m here to try and flip Sandy, show her a different lifestyle. Have a few drinks, a little sex talk to get her hormones running, tell me what turns her on. She doesn’t even suspect I’m a lesbian. She is straight as an arrow. Trust me, Michael, just one night with me, and next week, you’ll be dropping us both at Forever Blue Jeans Nightclub. All girls, all the time.

Had me fooled. I never suspected a thing. If I’m getting too personal, tell me to be quiet and drive.

No, it’s fine. I like conversation. From now on, when I call for a ride, I’m going to request you.

Thanks. Just curious, and you don’t have to answer. Are your parents aware you’re gay?

My dad doesn’t suspect a thing. He is pretty open-minded. When the time comes to tell them, I think he’ll be fine. My mom is very liberal; it won’t be an issue. She will be more concerned about my career than my sex life.

College in the future?

Absolutely! You know how much pussy there is on campus! She was laughing.

I’ve heard stories.

I bet you have. On the serious side, I plan on being a physical therapist. I enjoy athletics; been swimming since the third grade.

That sounds like a solid career choice. Do you have a university in mind?

If I have a choice, I’m staying right here and going to NYU. I love the city, the action, but the competition to get in is extremely stiff. I work really hard for my grades.

Good for you. I can see how people get mislabeled. Without this discussion, I’m thinking you’re all party and no brains, when obviously, you’re very bright and have goals set.

Thanks.

We pulled up to the Revel.

Looks nice. How do you get served alcohol under twenty-one?

Easy; like this. She pulled a flask from her purse. Just add coke; rum already in, compliments of Mom and Dad. Listen, thanks for being such a nice guy and maybe we can ride again sometime.

Hey, you need a friendly hack, I’m your guy. Good luck tonight.

She paid the fare and tipped me ten bucks. Must be different growing up wealthy.

I got through my first week. Finding my way around with the GPS had been a lifesaver. Honestly, most of my fares had been very uneventful; most passengers were quiet or on their cells. Working six p.m. to two a.m. was a weird shift.

I got a text from my agent, Albert: You’re reading for a part in a commercial. Be at the office of Hyannis-Montgomery Modeling, Located on 54th Street, second floor. Wednesday 9am sharp. Don’t be late!

I had trouble sleeping the night before. I was up before the alarm went off. I shaved and put on a nice outfit, and was on the bus by 7:30 a.m. for a twenty-minute ride to the city. I normally don’t people-watch on the bus, but three people—two girls and one guy—were listening to KYW news radio. "As reported earlier, police on the Upper East Side believe they may have another victim of the so-called Silk Stocking Killer. Reporter Caitlin Webb is on the scene.

Caitlin, what can you tell us at this point?

Angela, police have confirmed our worst fears. At approximately 6:00 a.m. this morning, a young man returning here to the Granite House condos noticed his neighbor’s door ajar, who was also an acquaintance. After entering, he immediately called 911. At this point, police will only confirm they have a female victim approximately twenty-seven years of age. ID has not been made public yet. Our inside sources tell KYW the victim does have the same markings on her body as previous victims. Her hands were tied with nylon stockings, she had red silk bikini panties around her ankles, and across her chest ‘Gabrielle’ written in red sex lubricant. Angela, this is disturbing on so many fronts. There had been no activity for over four weeks. Police had theorized they were getting close and maybe caused whoever was doing this to cease, and now this. This is a very uneasy time to be a female here in the city we love. And it is an especially tense time for New York’s finest. The NYPD, as usual, is very tight lipped. We do know the mayor has requested and is receiving assistance from the FBI. A special task force has been created and has been working around the clock trying to develop the leads, looking for anything that will break this case. As a reminder from the mayor, keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. You, the public, are our best hope for bringing this individual to justice. This is Caitlin Webb, KYW News 1060 reporting.

The two girls hugged and sat back down in their seats. The guy turned off his radio, said something to the girls, and got off at the next stop. On such a promising day, hearing the news stunned me. This was actually happening here in New York. Up till now, I never thought much about it. Now that I was living here, it was different. I had to focus. This was a very important interview.

When I arrived, I was greeted at the receptionist desk by a very perky, polite secretary.

"Good morning, I’m Jan and welcome to Hyannis-Montgomery