It was 3am on Saturday, and I was checking in with my favourite cab service.
“London Cabs, how can I help,“ a voice chirped.
I recognised the voice. “Hi Tony, it’s Chris,” I grinned.
“Oh hi mate, you up for a deal? We’ve got a couple of good candidates tonight--from the same nightclub,” he chuckled.
“Yeah, send over the pictures of what you’ve got.”
“Actually Chris, one of the guys have just picked up a guy and I think he’s right up your street.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, we picked up the club’s DJ—Cameron Davies?”
“Fuck you’re kidding, he’s loaded,” I gasped.
There’s a chuckle from the other end of the phone. “So I can send his cab over to pick you up then?”
“Hell YES!”
I pulled on some sweats, and made my way to the pickup point. It wasn’t long before before a black cab rolled up and stopped. The drivers window slid open, “Chris?” the driver asked.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied as the door locks popped open. I climbed into the back of the cab and almost immediately tented my sweats. There was Cameron Davies, a twenty-three year old millionaire that had the worlds nightclubs begging for sessions, and tonight he could be mine.
The partition window inside the cab dropped. “You’re a lucky guy, Cameron usually has his own driver to pick him up but he told me he’d broken down,” snorted the driver.
I gently rubbed the back of my hand against his stubble. “He’s out right?” I asked.