Out-Call

The car was long and black. It looked like a hearse designed by an accountant.

Art held the door open. He stared through her.

-Get in.

Becca slid onto the seat. It was cold. The door slammed shut.

Art got in the driver's seat. The partition glass slid up with a quiet hiss. Becca was alone in the back.

She leaned forward. Tapped on the glass.

-Hey. Where are we going?

Art put the car in gear.

Her neighborhood moved past the window. The corner where she bought her cigarettes. The bar where she met her first client.

Becca sat back. She crossed her legs. She imagined the cash.

-Easy money, she whispered to the empty seats.

She pulled out her compact mirror and checked her face.

Becca Sunshine stared back. Perfect skin. Dead eyes. Solid mask.

She smiled at herself. The reflection smiled back.

The car turned onto a highway. The streetlights thinned out. The buildings shrank.

Becca felt a prickle of unease. A static charge on her skin.

She looked at her phone.

No Service.

She looked at the back of Art's head. He hadn't moved.

The car slowed.

They passed a gate. Iron. High.

The car stopped.

The partition slid down.

-We're here, Art said.

Becca looked out the window. A concrete block. Modern. Cold.

It’s not a mansion, it’s a compound, she thought to herself.

She swallowed.

She forced the smile back onto her face.

-Nice place, Daddy. Very... private.

-Get out, Art said.

Becca opened the door. The air was cold.

She stepped out of the car, leaving the compact mirror on the seat.