The 3:45 to L.A.

The 3:45 to L.A.

by E. W. Shannon

The three-forty-five a.m. Las Vegas to Los Angeles bus looked half full when Candi boarded. Walking down the aisle, she reviewed her options for a suitable seatmate. A free seat next to an attractive man in row eleven caught her eye. He stared out the window until her pink sparkly halter top and shorts with rhinestone trim caught his eye in the reflection.

He switched his gaze to her. She carried a pink backpack and wore black Converse sneakers with pink socks. Reaching up to throw her backpack into the overhead storage made her top ride up and exposed part of her right breast. While she fixed her top, he noticed her soft curvy body. She had long red hair with long bangs, a round face with red lips, and extreme cat-eyes, giving her the look of a 1950’s pin-up girl.

“Hi, I’m Candi, mind if I sit here?” Candi asked, her voice sweet and breathy, like she took diction lessons from a phone sex operator. She held out her hand. With his dark complexion, moustache, goatee, and a close-cropped military haircut, he could have been any race except white. Under his thin tan government-issued t-shirt she could discern the outline of dog tags resting on his chest. A bag between his legs, contained a brown cardboard box with “YEEZY BOOST 350” printed on the side.

“Yeah,” he shrugged his shoulders and shook her hand.

Candi motioned to the box with her eyes. “Expensive shoes.”

He smiled slightly. “Had a little luck at the tables.”

She sat down as the bus departed. “Nice. I didn’t get your name.”

He rolled his eyes at the request. “I’m Robert. If you don’t mind, I’m going to try and get some sleep before we get to Barstow.”

She smiled and crinkled her nose. “No problem, I danced all night, so I’ll probably conk out too.”

Robert laid his head against the window; the bus made a few turns and then entered the freeway. He reached into his bag, grabbed a hat, and placed it low across his eyes to block out the lights of oncoming traffic. Soon, the rhythm of the tires against the pavement and the hum of the engine lulled him to sleep.

Candi leaned her seat back and turned over onto her side, facing Robert, and pretended to sleep. After fifteen minutes, she took her hand and placed it on Robert’s stomach, feeling his body heat through his shirt. She waited for a reaction, but none came. Using her softest touch, she made a circular pattern around his stomach, going low enough to catch some of the pubic hair just above the waistband of his underwear between her pinkie and ring fingers. She raised her hand off his stomach and placed it down the front of her pants, leaving the hairs trapped between her shorts and underwear. Near enough to raise suspicion, but far enough away to be sanitary.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and Candi got lucky. The movements of the bus had combined with Robert’s twenty-something libido to create an erection. She placed her hand on his stomach. Again, she made a circular pattern, but this time went a little lower.  She ran her fingers under the elastic of his underwear and retrieved a sizeable drop of semen from the tip of his penis. Her heart almost stopped when Robert’s hand seized her wrist.

“What are you doing?” He asked, one eye peering out from under the bill of his hat.

“Oh, sorry, I must have been dreaming.” She withdrew her hand with the precision of a surgeon, making sure to keep the prize on the tip of her ring finger.

“I already got one girl. I don’t need another one.” He shifted the bag against the wall of the bus and rolled over to his side.

Candi whispered, “Sorry,” while lifting the waistband of her shorts with her left hand and wiping the droplet on the waistband of her underwear. She took a wet wipe out of her back pocket, opened it, wiped her hands, and tucked the trash into the seat pocket in front of her. Her heart beat hard, as it always did at this stage of the operation, but eventually the movement of the bus rocked her to sleep.

At the Barstow bus stop, across the parking lot, sat a McDonald's, the structure made of old passenger train cars.

“This is my stop,” Robert said as he started to get up.

“I think I’ll get out and stretch my legs.”

The cool early morning spring air carried a scent of creosote. She crossed her arms over her protruding nipples and shivered a bit as she followed Robert into the restaurant. He ordered a cup of coffee, and, as he paid for it, he exposed many hundred-dollar bills in his wallet. Candi tried to count them as she peered around him, but only got to thirteen before he put it away. She ordered a coffee, while keeping tabs on Robert by using the closed-circuit televisions on blatant display to deter theft. He settled in a booth by the window.

Candi saw her chance. Judging from the way he eyed the parking lot; Robert was clearly waiting for somebody to pick him up. It was now or never. She sat opposite him, smiled at him, and batted her eyes. “Waiting for a ride?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a stoic flat tone watching out the window.

“Looks like you did pretty good in Vegas this weekend.”

He looked at her with suspicion. “Yeah, I did alright.”

The smile left her face and her eyes went dead, as if she flipped a switch on her humanity. “I think you should hand all that cash over to me.”

He took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

“If you don’t hand it over, I’ll ruin your life.” Her gaze and voice remained robotic.

“What, you got a gun or something?”

She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You can either give me the cash or I can yell ‘rape’ at the top of my lungs.”

“Bitch, you crazy.” He grabbed his bags and started to leave.

“Don’t leave. I have evidence.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

She then told him about his DNA residing near her vagina. “So, you see, you don’t really have a choice.”

He leaned in close, his eyes bulging with rage. “You are fucked up bitch.”

Candi calmly leaned back against the vinyl cushion to allow room for his anger and sipped her coffee.  Her voice switched and went sweet again, matching her youthful appearance. “Oh Robert, it can always get worse.” She pulled out a fake ID she had purchased in Koreatown and slid it across the table. Candi knew it a risky move. If the police were involved, it wouldn't take much to reveal it as a fake. But she had confidence in her mark.

Robert looked at it, stopping at her birth date. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he did the math. “You’re sixteen?”

“That’s what the ID says.” Candi took his sudden dewy complexion as a sign she had him right where she wanted him. She flashed an evil grin at the crumbling man. “Hand me the wallet. I’ll take the cash and hand it back.”

He shook his head as he handed over the wallet. “This is some fucked up shit.”

Candi took the money, sliding the wad of cash into her back pocket, and handed him the empty wallet. “I’m going to get up and walk out to the bus. If you try anything, remember how much of you is on my body.” She got up and left.

Robert stared out the window as Candi got on the bus to Los Angeles. He looked over at the Yeezy’s and wondered how much he could get for them on eBay. As the bus departed Barstow, Candi leaned her head against the window where Robert’s head rested earlier and called her mother. After two rings she answered.

“Candice why are you calling so early?” Her mother’s voice sounded scratchy.

Candi looked at her phone and it read five-forty-five. “Sorry Mom.”

“It’s okay. Time probably gets away from you Vegas showgirls.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” She felt the wad of cash in her pocket, wedged between her butt and the seat. “Just wanted to let you know, I found the money for my books, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Oh, honey, that’s great. Can’t wait to drive down and see you graduate from college. Where’d you get the money?”

“A guy had a really good night in the casino and gave me a twenty-four-hundred-dollar tip.”

“Wow, you must have made quite an impression on him.”

Candi dug around her bag for a tissue and blotted a tear in the corner of her left eye. “He'll remember me for a while I think.”