Fifty150
Call Me a Cab
- Messages
- 2,147
- Location
- The Barbary Coast
The Sheik. Sheiky Baby. She was actually his daughter. The Candy Girl. Her Daddy was The Sheik.
"Daddy is actually a real Sheik. He rules our tribe. My mother is the 5th wife. She's Dutch Afrikaan. I have her eyes, fair skin, and blonde hair. So I won't be in line to ever rise to his place, unless something happens to my 9 brothers, and their sons.
Our government was overthrown by religious zealots. We had to leave our ancestral lands. Our entire tribe, and many other tribes, fled to neighboring territories. We were offered refuge, of course, since we brought with us our goats, young girls who are sought after as brides, and our Swiss accounts. We had to buy our way into a refugee camp.
Then The Russians came. We were no match against their tanks and helicopters. Goat herders in turbans, with sticks, suddenly having to defend against an invasion. Our people simply want to survive as we had for thousands of years. On our land. Grazing our sheep, growing figs and pistachio, and selling our poppy.
This Congressman came, from your House of Representatives. My Dad told my brothers, that he must be crazy to fly around the world with buckets of chicken. But there he was, in a private plane, stocked with The Colonel's 11 herbs and spices. He met with my Dad, as well as a dozen other tribal chiefs. I don't know all of the details. As a woman, I was obviously not allowed onto the plane. My Dad did bring back KFC, for the family."
I'm listening. She's doing most of the talking. We're driving down Interstate 5, South. Riding in a mini bus, with Port Authority logos on the doors. There was an armed, uniformed Port Authority officer driving. A shotgun mounted in a quick release rack on the dashboard. The passenger compartment, where we were sitting, was upfitted with overstuffed benches, and cold beverages in chillers. This was the limousine version of a prisoner transport bus. The Crooked Commissioner usually uses it for transporting dignitaries. It makes them feel special when there's an armed escort, with lights and sirens to move traffic out of the way.
The Port Authority is operated by Port Commissioners. They oversee The Free Trade Zone. All cargo being loaded and offloaded is under their oversight. Or sometimes, what nobody sees, when everyone is turning their head the other way. All of the major ports have their own armed law enforcement.
We stop at Harris Ranch to use the facilities and refuel. It was the time of year where there was a layer of frost on everything. The bus was heated, but I could feel a chill in the air as I stepped off the bus. The cop driving us was wearing a leather motor officer jacket with a furry collar. I wrapped my leather motor jacket around Candy Girl's shoulders. I was just wearing a Pendleton and Levi's. I was shivering in my boots.
"Nine sons. I have nine brothers. I'm the only daughter. Daddy sent me here, to America, to represent his interests. Because my mother is a Western woman, and I have been raised with Western culture, Daddy felt that I was better prepared. The Senator and his wife, your Auntie, set it up for me to be their conduit. Anyone who wants to connect with them, does it through me.
Back home, all of the other Emirs now must go through Daddy, as a conduit to The West. It is known that through his daughter, me, their voices are heard on Capitol Hill. And when Congress allocates funding for my people, it goes through my father's hands, before it's doled out to the other tribes. Everything. Daddy is like the distributor. Whether it's seeds for the cabbage crop to feed the villagers, to surplus boots, food, medicine, clean water, guns, bullets, and money. Daddy gets it all, and decides how to divide it.
Daddy, through me, has become the conduit for our people here in The USA. When someone from our homeland wants to get a message to someone in a remote village without phone lines, they can come to me. If they want to send money home, they come see me. I can handle all of their care packages by dispatch of a shipping container from The Free Trade Zone. The Commissioner and I have an understanding. Which is why we are riding in his van, with one of his officers, and why I have you with me."
What? Me? I don't know what she is talking about. I have no idea where we're going, or what she is doing. She made a steak dinner, and we went for a walk around the block. Literally, around the block. As in, we turn the corner, and this mini bus with a cop is parked along the curb. Next thing I know, we are on an Interstate freeway going towards The Border.
By the way, where are we going?
"Long Beach. A distant cousin, the daughter of another Emirate, is visiting. We're going to get her from the docks. She is traveling first class. On a cruise ship. You know your way around. Help me make sure that she has a good time. "
What? Why would she come on a boat? What the heck do you need me for?
And boom! Just like that. Her hand moved up my leg.
"Daddy is actually a real Sheik. He rules our tribe. My mother is the 5th wife. She's Dutch Afrikaan. I have her eyes, fair skin, and blonde hair. So I won't be in line to ever rise to his place, unless something happens to my 9 brothers, and their sons.
Our government was overthrown by religious zealots. We had to leave our ancestral lands. Our entire tribe, and many other tribes, fled to neighboring territories. We were offered refuge, of course, since we brought with us our goats, young girls who are sought after as brides, and our Swiss accounts. We had to buy our way into a refugee camp.
Then The Russians came. We were no match against their tanks and helicopters. Goat herders in turbans, with sticks, suddenly having to defend against an invasion. Our people simply want to survive as we had for thousands of years. On our land. Grazing our sheep, growing figs and pistachio, and selling our poppy.
This Congressman came, from your House of Representatives. My Dad told my brothers, that he must be crazy to fly around the world with buckets of chicken. But there he was, in a private plane, stocked with The Colonel's 11 herbs and spices. He met with my Dad, as well as a dozen other tribal chiefs. I don't know all of the details. As a woman, I was obviously not allowed onto the plane. My Dad did bring back KFC, for the family."
I'm listening. She's doing most of the talking. We're driving down Interstate 5, South. Riding in a mini bus, with Port Authority logos on the doors. There was an armed, uniformed Port Authority officer driving. A shotgun mounted in a quick release rack on the dashboard. The passenger compartment, where we were sitting, was upfitted with overstuffed benches, and cold beverages in chillers. This was the limousine version of a prisoner transport bus. The Crooked Commissioner usually uses it for transporting dignitaries. It makes them feel special when there's an armed escort, with lights and sirens to move traffic out of the way.
The Port Authority is operated by Port Commissioners. They oversee The Free Trade Zone. All cargo being loaded and offloaded is under their oversight. Or sometimes, what nobody sees, when everyone is turning their head the other way. All of the major ports have their own armed law enforcement.
We stop at Harris Ranch to use the facilities and refuel. It was the time of year where there was a layer of frost on everything. The bus was heated, but I could feel a chill in the air as I stepped off the bus. The cop driving us was wearing a leather motor officer jacket with a furry collar. I wrapped my leather motor jacket around Candy Girl's shoulders. I was just wearing a Pendleton and Levi's. I was shivering in my boots.
"Nine sons. I have nine brothers. I'm the only daughter. Daddy sent me here, to America, to represent his interests. Because my mother is a Western woman, and I have been raised with Western culture, Daddy felt that I was better prepared. The Senator and his wife, your Auntie, set it up for me to be their conduit. Anyone who wants to connect with them, does it through me.
Back home, all of the other Emirs now must go through Daddy, as a conduit to The West. It is known that through his daughter, me, their voices are heard on Capitol Hill. And when Congress allocates funding for my people, it goes through my father's hands, before it's doled out to the other tribes. Everything. Daddy is like the distributor. Whether it's seeds for the cabbage crop to feed the villagers, to surplus boots, food, medicine, clean water, guns, bullets, and money. Daddy gets it all, and decides how to divide it.
Daddy, through me, has become the conduit for our people here in The USA. When someone from our homeland wants to get a message to someone in a remote village without phone lines, they can come to me. If they want to send money home, they come see me. I can handle all of their care packages by dispatch of a shipping container from The Free Trade Zone. The Commissioner and I have an understanding. Which is why we are riding in his van, with one of his officers, and why I have you with me."
What? Me? I don't know what she is talking about. I have no idea where we're going, or what she is doing. She made a steak dinner, and we went for a walk around the block. Literally, around the block. As in, we turn the corner, and this mini bus with a cop is parked along the curb. Next thing I know, we are on an Interstate freeway going towards The Border.
By the way, where are we going?
"Long Beach. A distant cousin, the daughter of another Emirate, is visiting. We're going to get her from the docks. She is traveling first class. On a cruise ship. You know your way around. Help me make sure that she has a good time. "
What? Why would she come on a boat? What the heck do you need me for?
And boom! Just like that. Her hand moved up my leg.