The Devil On My Shoulders

Chapter 1        “Are you sure you want me to drop you off here?” The cabbie asked for the third time. It was a shady hotel, the kind you saw in bad movies where cops would find fugitives. In reality, I knew some bad things had gone on here and what I was up to might be one of them.       I straightened my tie and reached in my jacket pocket, pulling out my wallet. “The cops did a raid here last week you know?” said the cabbie, offering another warning. I took a twenty dollar bill out. I hoped the five dollar tip I gave him would be enough for him to hurry back if things went south. After paying the cabbie I looked down and saw my badge.       I read it again, Mobile Medic, Chaplain, STAT. I work as an EMT for an ambulance company. I was on the special transport and training team; when needed I serve as chaplain. A lot of people trusted me, although I’m not so sure their trust would be justified if they knew what I did with most of my nights. I closed the wallet and put it back in my pocket.      “I know Carl,” I said to the cabbie, he had told me his name five times already. “It’s not the best place to be and you don’t think that I should be here. I assure you I can handle myself.” He had parked right in front of the room. I handed him his money before I got out and he gave me his card. “If you need out in a hurry just say you need a ride to work. If time is not important just tell me you’re ready.” I closed the door to the yellow Crown Vic and lit a cigarette. I waved Carl on and as he left I noticed eyes staring at me from every window except the one I was here to visit.      Some may have thought I was a cop or a bounty hunter in my cheap blue suit and cheaper hair cut, but most should know better. No agent of the law would step out of a taxi or come here alone. I took two drags of my cigarette and then she came from out of no where.      She called herself Sugar Bear; I know it sounds like a bad Starski and Hutch character. Being at these places and seeing these people made me realize that all those bad cop shows spilled out into real life, only not always so funny.       She was a very pretty black lady, I called her African American the first time she asked me to describe her and she grew livid. “Is my skin African, did I just get off a boat to be sold!?” She almost screamed at me with clenched fist. “Do I call you an English American and invite you in for tea?!” She smiled when she saw I was getting flustered and her voice calmed. “Adam describe me, again please.” So I told her she was a very lovely young black woman. She kissed my cheek and led me from the bar.