Evil Ice Cream Truck Driver

“What flavor you want, ma’am?” I ask.

“I’ll take an ice cream sandwich.”

“Those, yeah. We got some,” I say, darting my eyes either way and licking my lips on the sly.

“Doin’ this as a full-time job, dude?” the woman asks.

Heat races through my face, and my palms turn cold to the touch. Think you’re better than me? I thought.

The woman turns her head; her eyes follow. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Are you alone?”

“Look, dude, you’re a little old for me. I just want some ice cream.”

“There’s a lot of bad people out here.”

She shrugs her shoulders and walks to the other window. “What kind of ice cream truck driver are…”

“Get in the truck,” I say, grabbing a fistful of her very red hair. I cover her mouth with a chloroform dipped rag.

“Where are we going?” she asks as she wakes up, trying to unchain herself.

“You’re going to my basement.”

“You’re kidnapping’ me?”

I gave her a cocky smile and a confident wink. “I’m teachin’ you a lesson, missy.”

“Wait, what?” she shook her head. “And my name is Janet, not missy! Look,” Janet says, “I’m sorry if some girl broke your heart or you have mommy…”

“Your damn condescending attitude.”

“Mr., you don’t know me!”

“You all have ’em,” I say, pounding the steering wheel. “You’re all the same.”

Janet slams her eyes shut, shaking her head, gnawing at the zip ties on her wrists. “What the actual fuck!” Janets says.

I glance in the rearview mirror, and she stops. “It’s no use,” I say. “You ain’t gettin’ out of those zip ties.

Janet looks at the stop signs and street lights they pass, but nothing familiar hits her memory.

“What are we doing at this cabin?” Janet asks.

I back the van into the garage.

“What the fuck are you gonna do to me!”

“Come with me,” I say.

“No,” she says, kicking at my shoulder.

I manhandled her (with care).

“You’re chaining me to your basement?”

“Something like that,” I say.

“You’ll never get away with this, you bastard.”

“You’re all the same!”

“What is that supposed to me?” Janet seethed.

“You all have birthdays,” I say, opening the door.

“Happy birthday!” Janet’s friends say.

Janet turns. “I’m sorry, Mr…”

“Eric. My name is Eric. And. No worries, ma’am.

“Ma’am,” she said, blushing. “So official.”

“This was just a surprise birthday party,” I say. Janet presses her body and lips to mine, cupping my cheeks as if I were a soldier, coming home from fighting for oil.

My blood ran thin, and I do what any rational person would do, I return the kiss.

“After this, what do ya say we get outta here?” Janet says, kissing my ear.

I swallow a lump in my throat. “Um…Um… sure,” I say, licking my dry lips. “But what about your friends?”

“Like you said, they’re all the same.”

(© 2020 Andrew Cyr)

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