
02 Jan The Debt Collector
âThe Debt Collectorâ
Written by Shannon Higdon Edited by N/A Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
đ§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
â° ESTIMATED READING TIME â 24 minutes
Grant could not have asked for a prettier day to drive on. He had only been driving for Uber for a couple of months now in his free time, but he enjoyed it so much it was, little by little, starting to surpass his time bartending. There was something about the freedom and mobility that drew him. âItâs like having a desk job with a constantly changing view,â he had told his mother. She still didnât like it, however, citing the fact that people in the world these days were âout of their minds.â Despite his motherâs pessimistic view of the general public at large, Grant found himself spending more and more time behind the wheel and âon the clockâ.
He signed onto the app around noon and had his first ride request less than a minutes later. A few minutes after that he was pulling his white, 2012 Pontiac G6 to the curb in front of the Mason Cemetery where his first ride waited on the sidewalk. Even in the brief period he had been driving, Grant had learned to expect the unexpected and this was definitelyâŚunexpected. It was fortunate that his car had a fair amount of head-space and leg-room because the man was exceptionally tall, maybe six foot six, and carried a fair amount of muscle on his large frame.
He was a black man with a lighter complexion but strikingly handsome to look at. Grant wasnât gay but he was smart enough to know what was considered attractive by todayâs standards and one thing was for sure: he didnât want his girlfriend meeting this guy. His first impression was that the guy must have been a model, resembling a better-looking version of Tyrese Gibson. The outfit did nothing to hurt the impression either, as the guy was dressed to the nines.
The suit, shirt and tie were solid black giving him somewhat the appearance of an undertaker but much, much classier. The suit itself had to cost more than Grantâs car.  Maybe he just went to a funeral. The man put his head down to the window.
âYou my Uber?â His voice was rich and deep, somewhere between a Morgan Freeman and a James Earl Jones.
âYea,â Grant replied, âhop in.â
âFront or back?â he asked.
âUp to you budâŚwhatever youâd prefer.â The man picked up two large black briefcases from the sidewalk, which Grant hadnât noticed, and put them side-by-side in the back seat before climbing into the front.
âSo the app says youâre going to Milton EstatesâŚis that right?â
âWellâŚâ The man paused for a moment, obviously trying to figure out the best way to phrase his proposition.  âSo hereâs the thingâŚGrant; it is Grant isnât it?â Grant nodded; his name was listed as the driver as well as a description of his car before he ever arrived. âI actually need someone to take me around to several places today; not just to Milton Estates. I will of course cover the rate and Iâm willing to give you a hundred dollar tip for the dedicated service today. How long were you planning on working his afternoon?â Grant really hadnât thought about it.
âI donât knowâŚa few hours, I guess. I didnât really have a quitting time established yet.â He was, however, relatively broke, having just paid rent and a hundred dollar boost would actually go a long way at the moment. âHow many places are we talking about?â
âAt the moment, and that might be subject to change, but at the moment I need to go to three different places. Itâs just that thereâs a fair amount of distance between them.â
âAll in town?â Grant asked. The man nodded. âI guess I can do that.â He really needed the cash. Once he got into traffic Grant officially introduced himself even though the man already knew his name; basically seeking a name to put to the other manâs face.
âMy name is LeZaza,â he responded.
âLeZaza?â Grant repeated and LeZaza nodded again, apparently a man of few words. âThatâsâŚdifferent. I donât think Iâve ever heard it before. Is it African?â The question was probably too politically incorrect for the current social environment but Grant had never been one to think through his words before they escaped his mouth. Fortunately, his passenger didnât seem offended.
âNo. Itâs actually much older than anything from Africa.â Grant didnât know how to respond so he just kind of nodded in agreement.  This was going to be an odd dude.
âSoâŚâ Grant glanced in the rearview at the cases in the back seat. âI donât want you to take this the wrong way but I kind of need to ask since weâve got multiple stops going on here. Youâre not doing anything illegal, are you? I mean, donât get me wrong, if youâre selling drugs or something, Iâm certainly not gonna say anything. HellâŚI get high man, itâs all good. I just canât be a part of anything like thatâŚyou understand?â LeZaza gave a hearty chuckle and the vision of a doubled-over Darth Vader popped into Grantâs mind.
âYou can put your mind at ease, young man.â  Young man? The guy couldnât have been more than a few years older than he was. Probably one of those âold soulsâ his girlfriend claimed to be. âIâm doing nothing outside of the law.â It wasnât that he was particularly worried about it exactly, but Grant had learned there were certain procedural questions that needed to be asked in this line of work, especially in circumstances where one person is making several stops. Drug dealers were some of the first to utilize Uberâs services.
LeZaza pointed at the radio. âMay I?â he asked.
âYeaâŚof course,â Grant replied. âWhatever station you want; I can listen to anything, pretty much.â LeZaza turned on the radio, not too loudly, and scrolled through the stations before settling on a classic rock channel Grant didnât even know existed. They continued on while Mick Jagger asked you to guess his name in âSympathy for the Devilâ and eventually arrived in the super-ritzy Milton Estates with its million-dollar homes. Although he had driven past the gate several times, Grant never imagined he would ever go inside. The front guard took one look at LeZaza in the passenger seat and opened the gate immediately as if he knew the man and exactly why he was here. There were no conversations involved.
LeZaza pointed to a beautiful home somewhere near the center of the subdivision and motioned for Grant to pull up.
âFront curb or driveway?â Grant asked and the man in the black suit only shrugged with indifference so he drove into the circular driveway and came to a stop directly in front of the main entrance. In no particular hurry, his passenger got out, retrieved one of his large, black cases from the back and proceeded into the home. He didnât knock or ring the doorbell, didnât even check to see if it was locked; just walked in with an ease he seemed to anticipate.
Grant turned off the radio while he waited. It wasnât due to any particular aversion to the classic rock but the inane ramblings of the deejay were beginning to give him a headache. He could turn it back on when his passenger returned; which happened to be about ten minutes. LeZaza came out, closed the door behind him, placed the case back in the rear and climbed back in before pulling his phone out of his inner breast pocket. Grant was jealous the moment he saw it.
Something of a technology buff, he was surprised that he had never come across a model like that before and he took a mental picture to look up online when he got a chance. After scrolling through a couple screens, his passenger turned to him with the directions to their next destination. Normally, Grant would have fed the info into his GPS but he was actually familiar with the place they were going: Highwood Academy. It was a boarding school for military cadets; growing up his parents had threatened to send him there just about every time he broke curfew. It was all the way across town as well.
They got back on the interstate and LeZaza, without asking, turned on the radio again. Van Halen was âRunning with the Devilâ and Grant felt his headache starting to return.  Maybe it was the music after all. When they reached the interstate, Grantâs lack of verbal filtering struck again as he blurted out another question that was probably inappropriate.
âSo, Mr. LeZaza,â he began.
âJust LeZaza,â the passenger interrupted to correct him.
âSorryâŚLeZaza then, what is it you do, or rather, what are we doing today?â Grant instantly regretted asking. âYou know whatâŚnever mind. Itâs none of my business.â LeZaza was calmly unfazed however and when he answered it acted as incentive for Grant to ask even more.
âIâm a debt collector.â That made senseâŚkind of.  âAnd you donât have to apologize. Curiosity is human nature.â
âSo if youâre a debt collector,â Grant verbalized his string of thought as it came. âWhy arenât you driving your own car? Wouldnât that be easier?â
âNot really,â LeZaza replied. âMy car is a little ostentatious; a one-of-a-kind actually. Very easily recognized. Iâve found that if I use a different driver with a different car every day then itâs harder for them to see me coming.â That was a little weird but it probably made sense that people would avoid paying their debts.
âOhâŚI see. So,â Grant continued while David Lee Roth crooned in the background, âI guess you work for the government then?â LeZaza smiled oddly and, while it looked like something one would see in an ad for menâs cologne or something, Grant found it a little unnerving.
âNot exactly,â was all he replied and Grant let it go for the time being. Forty minutes later, when they reached the gate of the academy the guard, much like the one from Milton Estates, merely nodded in recognition and opened the electric metal bars for them to drive through.   Grant pulled right up front where LeZaza told him he would only be a few minutes before grabbing a case and heading inside.
Grant turned off the radio again and rubbed his temples. He was starting to get a real humdinger. Probably his allergies. In the fifteen minutes he had to wait, his mind began to wander to places it probably shouldnât. âNot exactlyâ; what in the world did that mean?  What kind of debt collector was this guy? Was he carting around some kind of mobster or something? Sure there were legitimate collections jobs where people avoided you but they werenât grabbing cars so he wasnât a repo-man, and they werenât taking in any new passengers, so he wasnât a bounty-hunter.
âYou watch too much reality T.V.,â he muttered to himself as he tried not to look at the remaining case in the back seat. Even he knew that would have been beyond the bounds of proper behaviorâŚbutâŚwhat the hell was in there? Fortunately his passenger returned before the impulse became too strong. Same as before he put the case in the back, settled in and referred to his cell phone for the next address. He did have to feed that one into his GPS, however and was somewhat shocked when the directions came up.
âThis is in the lower-east side!â he exclaimed. âI canât go there.â Still stoic, LeZaza turned to him.
âWhy is that?â he asked in deep voice.
âLook at me.â It seemed obvious, but maybe this guy was somewhat new to the area. âYou see that Iâm whiteâŚright?â Grant didnât consider himself racist in the least but there were certain things that just fell under the umbrella of common sense. One didnât go into the hood unless they had a damn good reason and one didnât use the N-word no matter how tight they were with their black crew or how much they wanted to be one of them. âThey would kill me in Tremont HeightsâŚespecially if you leave me in the car alone.â
LeZaza seemed to give it some serious contemplation and was about to reply when his cell phone buzzed. He put one finger in the air, essentially putting the conversation on pause, and answered the call.
âYes sirâŚIâm heading to the thirdâŚnoâŚnot at allâŚI have an excellent driver, yesâŚtwoâŚI donât know; Iâll ask him.â He turned his attention back to Grant. âCan you take me to two more locations after this next one?â Grant wasnât even sure he wanted to go to the next one. The whole situation was starting to feel a little sketchy for reasons he couldnât quite put his finger on and he was practically on the verge of declining the offer when LeZaza pulled a golden money clip holding an indeterminable amount of cash from his coat pocket. Grant could tell that the top bill was a hundred and if they all were then the guy was easily carrying fifty grand.  Guess the answered the question as to what was being collected.
âHow about this,â LeZaza continued, sensing his sudden apprehension. âHow about, in addition to the initial one-hundred dollar tip, we add anotherâŚoh, I donât knowâŚthousand?â  One thousand? This guy was going to give him eleven hundred dollars for three more stops?  Was he insane? There was no way this could be on the up and up.
âWhat about Tremont? I mean, seriously manâŚhave you ever been there before?â LeZaza turned his attention back to his phone call, essentially tuning the driver out in the process.
âYes sir, heâll do itâŚyes sirâŚyes sirâŚI appreciate that sirâŚas always I live to serve your word.â  Live to serve your word? This was bizarre on a level Grant had never anticipated, but that being said, the weirdo was rightâŚhe needed that money. Grant put the car in gear and pulled out of the school. Thirty minutes later, he brought up the fact that his discomfort with the ghetto was more than just white-privilege paranoia. There were news stories, practically every day, of someone being shot in that neighborhood and for reasons a lot less trivial than just being a white guy.
âYou donât have to worry; Iâll keep you safe.â Grant wasnât so sure.
âThatâs easy for you to sayâŚyouâre a big, jacked-up black dude. No offense.â He didnât seem offended and Grant gathered that was something the other man didnât give into often. âWhat happens when you go inside and Iâm left all alone? How are you going to watch my back then?â LeZaza flipped on the radio as a reply. The late Michael Hutchence was singing about his inner demons and Grant just sighed.  He needed the money.
A little under an hour later they were pulling into another neighborhood that, much like Milton Estates, Grant never dreamed he would be going into; although for entirely different reasons. The address led them to a hovel of a home, maybe two rooms at most. The tiny, fenced-in yard hadnât been mowed in any number of years. Young, African-American teens milled about on the various porches and loitered in the street.
Further down, little girls could be seen playing hop-scotch and the entire environment felt free of any tension. Up until the second Grantâs G6 pulled up, that was. He could feel the heat from all the stares that fell upon him and he hoped that the sight of a large, well-dressed, black man getting out of his car would be enough to discourage any interaction.
LeZaza jumped out without a word, grabbed his case and headed inside as if he owned the place. Grant looked around nervously. The number of glares thrown in his direction became more than he could count; he had never felt so out of place in his entire life. He had also never been anywhere where he had to worry about losing his life.  Relax manâŚyouâre getting yourself worked up for no reason. He hoped it really was paranoia run amuck but when three kids in typical gansta-gear, complete with gold chains and baggy pants that came nowhere near their waists, started towards the car he wasnât so sure.
Grant tried not to make eye contact as he clocked them peripherally and, to his utmost dread, they were coming right to him. The image of his mother at his funeral saying, âI told him not to work for Uber,â flashed through his mind. What didnât occur to him in time to do anything about it without being seen, was to take off his fatherâs watch, which was a family heirloom and worth more than everything else he owned combined. Grant hated himself for being socially engineered to even think that way but when they came up to the open window it was the first thing they said.
âNice watch, white-boy,â one of them started, the aggression thinly veiled.
âMmm-hmm,â the second agreed with him, âthat shit would look tight on my wrist.â The third thug had a different opinion.
âNahâŚthatâs gonna be all me, G-mo.â  He looked directly as Grant and patted his hip, insinuated that some type of firearm was tucked in beneath the baggy tee-shirt. Grant doubted that was the case since it would have had to been held in place by the kidâs boxers, but it wasnât exactly something he wanted to call a bluff. âWhy donât you go ahead and pass that watch over here. This is what you call a âtoll-roadâ and that thereâs your toll.â
Sweat beading up on his forehead, Grant was actually frozen with indecisive fear. That watch meant the world to him; he would have rather given up his car, but was it worth the possibility of losing his life over. His father, grandfather, great-grandfather and great, great-grandfather would probably have said no, but he didnât want to be the one responsible for letting it slip out of the family.  It was supposed to go to his son, for Peteâs sake. He didnât know what to say and, fortunately, didnât have to.
âThere some kind of problem here, gentlemen?â It was LeZaza. Grant hadnât noticed him coming back out and, obviously, neither had his visitors as they all took a step back upon seeing the big guy. The hoodlums shared a look with each other as if to underpin that they had each otherâs backs, and then turned back to the car with a reinforced determination. This was their hood and they were going to take what they wanted.
âWeâre gonna get that watch, my brother, and I would stand down if I were you,â the first one spoke again. âYou a big boy and all but you donât want to fuck with our crew; Iâm tellin you right now.â LeZaza began to walk around the front of the car and the boys took a defensive position; ready to jump him with the slightest provocation. When he reached the other side he reached into his blazerâs outer pocket and pulled out a gold watch.
Obviously it couldnât be verified from the angle or the distance but Grant would have sworn that it was identical to his fatherâs watch. Of course, that couldnât be possible; his was a very rare, classic model that was difficult, if not impossible, to find anymoreâŚbut it sure looked like it. When the wanna-be gangstas saw the gold, their body language changed immediately and the situation went from being a probable robbery to a possible business deal of some type.
LeZaza led them away from the car to the other side of the street, continuing to pull various pieces of gold and jewelry out of his pockets the whole way. Within minutes the boys were covered in more watches, chains and ice than even they were safe to carry around with and LeZaza was handing them his cell phone. One at a time, in turn, they held their thumbs to the screen as if it were recording their prints, but Grant knew better; or at least thought he did.  That wasnât how cell phones workedâŚwas it?
A few minutes later, LeZaza was climbing back into his Uber and the teens were rushing away, much quicker than they had approached, hooting and hollering as they went. They, seemingly, were pleased with the way things worked out. Grant got his directions and peeled out, drawing more unintended looks from the squealing tires, but not caring in the least. The quicker they were out of that area, the better.
The next address was in a neighborhood that seemed filled with retirees and the elderly barely able to still care for themselvesâŚand cats; there were a lot of cats running around. Much as he had become accustomed to, Grant pulled right into the driveway of the well-maintained little home that looked like a ginger-bread house come to life. Wordlessly, LeZaza got out, grabbed his second case this time and headed into the home.
Grant was grateful for the reprieve and the opportunity to turn the radio off again. He couldnât remember ever finding music thatâŚirritating before. Even Charlie Danielâs classic âDevil Went Down to Georgiaâ was making him grit his teeth and he loved that song as a child. The average ten to fifteen minutes passed before his passenger came back out again but this time he wasnât alone. The windows were down, but it was still difficult to hear exactly what was going on.
An elderly, black lady was cryingâŚsobbingâŚgrabbing his hands; trying to keep him from leaving. Falling to her knees, she began to passionately beg him for something. LeZaza turned to her. He didnât seem terribly fazed by her emotional display but his demeanor was one of compassion. He put his hand on the top of her head as she was doubled over, nearly to the point of hysterics. He said something to her. Grant couldnât make it out at all but he recognized the deep timbre of LeZazaâs voice. Whatever it was seemed to calm the old woman somewhat.
She looked back up into his eyes and emphatically nodded her head up and down, the tears suddenly subsiding. LeZaza looked back at the car and held up his finger again as if to say âone more minuteâ, helped up the lady and handed her his cell phone. Similarly to Grantâs would-be robbers, the woman held her thumb to screen for a moment and then LeZaza, case in hand, followed her back inside. It ended up being a little longer than one minute but Grant was beyond the point of complaining now. Any time a disparaging thought came up he just said, eleven-hundred dollars to himself.
LeZaza returned and they were off to their last destination. Grant tried to initiate conversation before the other man realized that the radio was off again. He would have killed for an Ibuprofen.
âSo what was that all about?â A long enough period of silence passed that Grant figured he wasnât going to receive and answer when LeZaza finally spoke.
âSometimes the family of people I collect from do not react well. Sometimes they offer to pay the price in their place. There are penalties for this, of course, but itâs not something we donât allow.â Grant mulled this over.
âSo the old lady paid for the debt?â LeZaza nodded in agreement.
âYesâŚand her husband paid the penalties, but now her sonâs debt has been paid and he wonât have to worry about seeing me again. Unless he decides to make another deal with us, that is.â  This guy was spooky.  Grant couldnât tell if he liked the guy or not but, for the time being, he was happy to be on his good side.
âSo you guys are like loan-sharks then?â LeZaza, gazing out the window, didnât answer this time. Grant pressed. âWhatâs in the briefcasesâŚmoney?â The passenger finally turned to look back at him.
âWhat happened to âitâs none of my businessâ?â While he had a point, after the oddities he had witnesses so far, Grant was starting to think that it was his business. If everything was as it should be why did he get so damn nervous every time they passed a cop car? If this guy carried a bank vault and jewelry store in his coat pockets, what on Earth could be in the mega briefcases? Grant had a hard enough time keeping his mouth in check that he didnât even try to contain his thoughts.
âYeaâŚyouâre right. Itâs justâŚI donât knowâŚwith all the valuables you seem to be carrying, arenât you concerned at all? I mean, what if those kids had pulled a gun on you?â
âThey would have regretted it.â It sounded like a clichĂŠ, action-movie line but LeZaza said it with a calm conviction that belied a menacing level of self-confidence. Grant was starting to believe that there probably werenât many situations that the man couldnât handle so, for the moment, he let it go. They were on their way to the last stop all the way on the other side of town again. Realizing that more gas was going to be needed, Grant pulled the Pontiac into an Exxon and got out to pump it.
His passenger was nodding his head to the Beatles âDevil in her Heartâ while he was standing there, watching the digits tick by, when LeZaza received another call from his apparent supervisor and turned the music off. Â Grant couldnât tell what he was saying but it didnât matter because he found out the moment he got back behind the driverâs seat.
âWe have a change of plans,â LeZaza started. âStill going to be our last stop but I need to head to a different location.â Grant just shrugged; it didnât seem like a big deal at this point.
âOkay,â he said as he pulled the Garmin GPS unit off its mount in the window. âWhere we headed?â Once again, the GPS became unnecessary because he knew exactly where his passenger wanted to goâŚall too well.
âFour-hundred Mountain Crest Lane? Why do you need to go there?â LeZaza didnât seem to understand.
âI thought we already determined that,â the rider replied indifferently. âI need to collect a debt.â Grant knew he was probably being irrationally worried but he had to know.
âItâs an apartment complexâŚwhich apartment to you need to go to?â
âYou donât need to concern yourself with that. Just park in the front as weâve been doing.â Grant shook his head. They werenât going another inch until he had the information he wanted.
âLook buddy,â Grantâs tone was much harsher than was probably wise to use. âI know someone that lives in that complex and until I know that it isnât themâŚwell, youâll need to find another ride.â LeZaza pulled his phone back out and looked at the screen.
âGrant,â he began coolly, âUnless your friend is named Tracy Masters, you have nothing to worry about.â The color drained from Grantâs face when he heard the name of the girl he had been dating seriously for the last six months.  This is crazy. It made no sense at all and Grant felt frozen in his seat. The next several seconds passed like minutes while his mind desperately tried to come to terms with this new information.
âWhyâŚâ he stammered, âIâŚI donât understand.â Tracy didnât need money; she came from a wealthy family and even if she hadnât she was hands down the single most talented person Grant had ever met. She was an amazing musician who, in addition to her stunning voice, had already mastered more instruments than the fingers he had on one hand, and that was only the beginning. Tracy was an artist; painting, sculpting and creating mind-blowing abstract pieces. She wrote beautiful poetry and insightful short stories and all these things combined left Grant baffled at to what she could have possibly ever needed from the loan-shark he had been carting around all day. It felt like he had been punched in the gut. âWhyâŚwhy would she come to you?â
âI can tell youâre very close to this person and that is unfortunate,â LeZaza tried to console.  âYou should not have been put in this situation, but the fates of destiny are fickle bitches at best.â Grant was getting pissed.
âI really donât need your Confucius bullshit right now, LeZaza. Tell me what you gave her. How much does she owe you?â Grant had already decided that he wasnât taking this shady bastard to his girlfriendâs apartment but even if he didnât, the guy would still find his way to her. He needed to figure out how to put this to bedâŚhere and now; even if it cost him eleven hundred dollars.
âHow long have you been seeing Tracy Masters?â It wasnât exactly on topic but it was close enough that Grant would continue down that avenue; it would be unwise to alienate the man before some type of resolution could be reached.
Grant shook his head. âSix months or soâŚwhy?â
âIt helps me to determine your point of view.â  What does that mean?  LeZaza continued, âIf you had known Tracy five years ago, you would have known an entirely different person.â  Of course she was a different person; we all were. âAll of the wonderful things she is able to do usually come from lifetimes of practice and dedicationâŚcorrect?â  This had better be going somewhere!
âShe has natural talent.â Grantâs voice was barely a whisper but the comment brought about another round of raucous Darth Vader laughter.  He was really starting to dislike this guy.
âNo one has that much ânatural talentâ. Your girlfriendâs magnificent gifts are just thatâŚgifts.â LeZaza paused to correct himself. âNoâŚthatâs not exactly accurate. Gifts are given for free, whereas, her abilities came with a price.â  Was the crazy son-of-a-bitch trying to say what he thought he was? That somehow he or at least his organization was responsible for TracyâsâŚabilities; it was ludicrous thing to claim.
âPrice?â Grant muttered, his anger slowly shifting to anxiety then fear. âWhat is the price?â
âThatâs between she and I, Iâm afraid.â
âBut,â Grant wouldnât be dissuaded that easily, âyou said the debt could be paid by othersâŚfamily. She is practically family; I hope sheâll be my wife one day.â LeZaza put his phone back in his jacket and sighed.
âYou could cover her debtâŚyes, but there is a penalty. You cannot pay the penalty; it will have to come from someone else.â  It didnât make any sense at all. How would LeZaza know he could cover the debt; he knew nothing about him. Furthermore, the large man had to have already come to an assumption regarding his financial state given Grantâs eagerness to be of assistance when the wad of cash was offered.
âSomeone else? For the love of monkeys, can you please just tell me in plain English what the hell weâre talking about here? Iâm getting a little sick of your zen-budda, bullshit, Yoda answers. Just tell me what I need to do.â The fear was shifting back to anger; his meter in a state of constant fluctuation. LeZaza sighed again before turned his full attention towards Grant.
âVery well, Grant. I will give you the basic pitch as it regards to you. You tell me what you want. It can be just about anything in the world, minus a few minor scenarios. I will grant your wish and you will have five years to enjoy the fruits of whatever it is you would ask for. When one-thousand, eight-hundred and twenty-five days have passed, I will return for the payment of your desires: your soul.â  Was this guy for real? Grant couldnât help but to chuckle but the other man just continued on.
âWe will be willing to exchange the payment of your soul for that of Tracy Masters, however, there is the penalty of one additional soul which will, of course, also receive a five-year period of the blessings of their own choosing. If you know someone who would be willing to agree to this deal as well then we will release the contract of Tracy as well as allow her to retain her desires. Are these conditions that you can agree to?â
Grant didnât know at what point he had stepped into âThe Twilight Zoneâ, but, crazy or not, this guy was dead serious.  Maybe this was a prankâŚmaybe he was being set up? He hadnât see any television cameras but what he had seen was enough oddities to collaborate the nutâs story that Grant really didnât know if he should believe him or not. It was obviously insane but Grant had always believed in an entire world of existence beyond what regular people could see or hear on a daily basis.
Call it heaven, another dimension or the spirit-realm, Grant had a strong faith that humankind would never get the full picture until deathâŚand maybe not even then; it would have been foolish to assume otherwise. So he was Ubering either a crazy man or demonic soul-collector; neither prospect seemed terribly desirable. If LeZaza were a mad-man, what would he do to Tracy? Would what he considered to be retrieving her soul, actually result in her death?  Had he been killing people all day?
Then there was the alternative. If he had actually stepped into a moment outside the bounds of rational reality, could he really let Tracy lose her soul? Grant didnât consider himself a particularly religious man, but he did believe in the existence of the soulâŚbelieved it to the degree of having no doubt. So following that natural course he had to ask himself: would he be willing to trade his soul for hers? Grant had never pondered such a metaphysical question before and was surprised by the speed at which he received his answer:  yes. He loved Tracy more than anything. He loved her more than he loved himself and that was really the bottom line.
That being said, he had no idea who else would be willing to make such a sacrifice. Her parentâs lived in France and he wouldnât have a clue how to get in touch with them. From the stories she had told about her family, they werenât really the self-sacrificing types anyway. Grant wracked his brain but couldnât come up with a single person he would even begin to approach with this kind of request.
âWell?â LeZaza prompted after minutes of silence.
âOk,â Grant said with gloomy conviction. âIâll do it.â
âAnd for the penaltyâŚyou have someone in mind for that?â
âYea,â Grant lied, âI got someone. Weâll go there now.â
âWell,â LeZaza commented with a degree of surprise Grant had yet to hear in his voice. âThis is definitely an unexpected turn of events. A very fortunate turn Miss Masters at that.â Grant put the G6 in gear and pulled out of the gas station with absolutely no destination in mind but hoping to buy enough time to figure something outâŚanything.
âWhat is your wish then,â LeZaza asked when they got in the interstate. Grant had no idea; he hadnât even thought about that. Then, with a sudden burst of inspiration, it came to him.
âI wish that no one else has to give up their soul to settle thisâŚnoâŚwait. I wish that not only will no one else have to give up their soul, but then I wonât have to either. YeaâŚthatâs my wish.â Grant got a smug, got-cha smile on his face which the other man matched with his own sarcastic smirk.
âWell, I suppose those rare scenarios that I described arenât actually that rare after all. That, Iâm afraid, is one of the things I cannot do; that or to extend your payment period. These things are beyond my control, unfortunately. But you continue to think about it. Thereâs no hurry for your wishâŚnot as far as Iâm concerned. Just know that the clock it about to start ticking.â
He reached into his blazer and pulled out the cell phone which Grant had tried so hard to get a look at earlier but now wanted nothing to do with. Keeping his eyes on the road, Grant tried to pretend he didnât notice. It didnât matter as LeZaza held the phone before the steering wheel.
âI need for you to place your thumb in the center of the screen for approximately two or three seconds, if you donât mind.â  Like hell, Grant thought. His sanity was beginning to teeter into unknown regions.
âWhyâŚâ Grant asked, âWhatâs the purpose for that?â
âItâs your contract. Your print will act as your markâŚtheyâre one-of-a-kind, you know.â LeZaza kept the blank video screen before him.
âI thought you guys were supposed to haveâŚI donât knowâŚleather scrolls signed in blood or something like that.â LeZaza laughed again.
âOnce upon a time, perhaps, but youâre talking about ancient history. This is the age of technology, my friend, as you well know. It behooves no one to fall behind the timesâŚright? Maybe what you would like is your very own replica of the latest, most high-tech devices to exist in the world today? Iâve noticed your appreciation for my cell phone but Iâm here to tell you that its nothing compared with whatâs out there. Weâre talking anti-gravity, sonic weapons, weather manipulationâŚyou name it and itâs yours.â He shook the phone as if to draw Grantâs attention.
âBut before any of thatâŚyou need to place your thumb on the pad.â Grant realized that he had stalled about as long as he could and took one hand off the wheel to place his thumb on the pad; mind racing for some solutionâŚanything at all. Then something did come. It started as an inkling of an idea in the back of his mind and grew to the point where Grant couldnât actually think of anything else.
It scared the hell out of him but at the same time he was able to keep himself detached from the reality that he was considering the end of his mortality. The overwhelming feelings of love that he had for Tracy acted as his biggest motivating factor and any time he felt cold feet creeping up his pictured her faceâŚher neckâŚher lips; the way her skin felt under his hand.
LeZaza pulled the phone away.  Did he really just sell his soul? Was that even possible? Grant forged forward with the plan; the moment he placed his thumb on that hellish gadget he had gone too far to turn back anyway. He knew it to be true. It was going to have to be now or never.
The Pontiac was just passing the forty-third mile marker and driving onto the Carrick Bridge which, at its peak, extended somewhere around four or five hundred yards above the empty ravine below. When they reached the center of the bridge Grant slammed on the brakes, sending the briefcases crashing into the back of their seats.
With his usual calm LeZaza asked, âWhat are we doing here Grant?â Grant took three very large breaths before turning to the passenger from hell.
âAny wish?â LeZaza nodded. âOkayâŚI wish the Carrick Bridge was gone.â LeZaza smiled a sly, âI know what you just didâ, smileâŚbut only for a second; and then they were falling. The sudden tug of gravity wrenched Grant upward, crushing him against the seatbelt. He grabbed the steering wheel in a death grip and closed his eyes. He didnât want the last thing he saw in this world to be that demon next to him. Instead, he was reliving the sweetest, most gentle kiss he and Tracy ever shared when the G6 made violent contact with the ground; exploding into an enormous ball of fire.
* * * * * *
It was a beautiful day for driving. Laquisha had only been with Uber for a week but she had already met so many cool people; the whole experience being a lot more positive than her family warned it would be. Seventy-five degrees out, it was a windows down type of day and she was enjoying the warm breezes against her face as she pulled up to the cemetery. When she saw her first ride for the day her heart began to pound double-time and she became flush, hoping it wouldnât turn into the dreaded embarrassing perspiration stains.
It had to be the finest brother she had ever seen in her life. Laquisha knew she had it going on; boys were always trying to get with her, butâŚdamn. There was no way she would be in this guyâs league. He was gorgeous.
âYou my Uber?â he asked through the open window; his voice deep and smooth like dark chocolate. She could have melted into her seat then and there, and it took her brain several long seconds to find the simple words she needed.
âUh-huhâŚâ that and a head nod was all she could manage.
âFront seat or back?â Her mind threw up a split-second image of Don Cornelius of âSoul Trainâ fame. It was that kind of voice.  She found the words much quicker this time putting on her sexiest smile.
âOh babyâŚIâm gonna say front.â She patted the seat next to her and prayed he wasnât gay. The guy was huge and when he smiled back Laquisha was pretty sure she was already in love.  He put some kind of luggage in the back seat but she only saw it from the corner of her eye, unable to take her gaze off his perfectly sculpted face and body. He was a super-tight dresser as well with his P-Diddy black suit and tie, basically looking like he stepped out of a ritzy rap video.
The man pointed at the radio as they pulled into traffic and Laquisha nodded. âYou the deejay, brother.â He found a rap channel she had never seen before, which was unusual since she thought she knew them all. Immortal Techniqueâs âDance with the Devilâ blasted out and she raised a hand in the air to dance with the beat.
âWhere to baby doll,â she asked after they were already on the road, seeming to have forgotten what was listed on the app; her brains scrambled by his hotness.  The passenger pulled out a sweet cell phone and relayed the address.
âFour hundred Mountain Crest Lane. Itâs an apartment complex.â Laquisha couldnât get rid of her perm-grin.  This was going to be a fun day.
âYea handsome,â she beamed. âI know where it is. Buckle up.â
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