The Few That Got Away

The call

Pull into the boss' driveway. I'm slowly but surely wondering what on earth his ominous äss call could mean, "Now, Francis. Come now.". Usually I only hear that line when I'm balls deep in some random broad after I work a party that ends earlier than expected. I mean what else are we supposed to do. Two (or maybe three...) consenting adults and as their driver it's my responsibility to take care of those girls... so if one of those girls has an unmet need... I'm always down to provide my services. I mean for crying out loud my senior yearbook had my passion as 'fast cars and fast women'. I've always been your run of the mill, stereotypical ladies man.
Never mind all that- I had work to do. I walk in fully expecting the cool, calm, collected Rodger despite the urgency over the phone. The man had nerves of steel. He just got out of prison after winning his appeal for a your run-of-the-mill prostitution charges. It was a shame, his wife scooped up their two kids after he went away and he hasn't seen them since. Sure, he wasn't the most amazing *hallmark man*, but his wife knew what she was getting into. We made sure his second... his NEW wife knew what she was signing up for.
I walk into the living room of Rogers house to find him sitting on a chaise... or a love seat... I don't know furniture. The loud thump/clacking sound of metal echoed out, I then realize that Roger's thrown a gun at my chest. Maybe a 9mm I'm not sure. We usually carry 17s so anything other than your standard 17, I was clueless. I looked down and the gun had... stained my shirt? Oh shït, that's blood. Trying not to look shocked like the rookie I truly still was, "Hide it?", I ask. "Yeah, from this mornings run. Ran into two guys." Rodger talked like a haiku but he was the highest, most powerful gangster in this pack, and I was right behind him. 'Runs' are what we call our business. Not sure how or why yet but this gun killed two guys this morning. It was up to me to make this gun disappear so nobody would get caught, and nobody would be questioned. "Yes boss", I reply and then I sort of zone out into the abyss of my mind. But I know we talked about tonight's shows, what drivers had to take which girls and where- but my mind was on Becca. That young broad I met at Rodgers wedding. Even just the thought of her drove me wild with lust, the only thing I could think of is how lovely my name would sound being moaned from her mouth. Who am I? I could have any girl I wanted, and I want her? The young one? The one I have to chase? Why am I always chasing the girls and never being satisfied with the ones right in front of me? Some men would kill to be in my shoes... fück, some men HAVE killed to try and be in my shoes. Yet alas, here I am, still at the top.