About the Author: Gerard J Wagget has been published in Mystery Weekly Magazine twice. The more recent of the two stories graced the cover of the 2020 Christmas issue. Since 1996, he has also published eleven books of soap opera trivia, among them "The Soap Opera Book of Lists" and "You Know Your Life Is a Soap Opera If ..."
Handr (pronounced hander) charged way more than UberBLACK, but you could not compare the levels of service. “If you just need to get someplace,” my lawyer told me, “call a cab. If you want to rule the streets, treat yourself to a Handr.” Some days, after an unexpected win or a demoralizing loss, he hired Handr just to ride around the city. With the rates he charged, he could afford to. Someone like me, who had to pay those rates, I had been rolling my pennies, saving up for tonight.
My driver matched the pic I’d been sent: shaved head, early thirties, unsmiling. He was even wearing the same white shirt. But he had not yet introduced himself by name, nor had Handr included one with his pic. That, it turned out, was one of the terms and conditions I had agreed to without reading. If I wanted to talk to my driver, I was to call him “Driver,” and he would call me “Sir.” I had to admit, I liked that arrangement. Lately, I hadn’t been on the receiving end of very much respect.
The car, a black Ford Explorer, reminded me of the one I used to drive. I always liked big cars, but these days I needed one. In the past two years, my weight had ballooned up and over the two hundred mark. According to my doctor, I was courting a heart attack. Tonight, I was taking that heart attack out on a date, a fancy dinner followed by many, many cocktails.
Before climbing into the Explorer, I checked the license plate. “You can’t be too careful,” I said.