Mr. Audia
Greasy black hair. Deep-lined wrinkles in a scowl that was embedded in his very being. Hair all over. His black sheer mesh shirt displayed tufts of his oily, nasty body fur that oozed through the pores of the fabric. The shirt's frilly lace cuffs would have been effeminate on almost anyone else. He just looked meaner for them. His dark Mediterranean skin, coal black eyes, and Neanderthal features were the perfect canvas for his completely black wardrobe with accents of silver jewelry. There was a rumor that he worked with the Beatles back in the day. There are all kinds of stories in Nashville though.
It was December of 1994 at the Nashville Airport. I was picking him up at the gate. I had a sign up with his name. “That's me”, he growled in a low voice. “We'll need a cart. I got a bunch of bags.” It was all business. Not a slow southerner - not this one. No time for chit chat. Leave this one alone. Responsiveness with just the right amount of distance. Professionalism. That's all he wanted. Seemed reasonable enough. Good first run of the day.
A quick trip to the luggage carousel where he pointed out his items. “Those black leather bags. That one there. That box.” He pointed and I picked. “Okay, let's go.” We walked to the dark blue Lincoln sedan I had waiting outside. Although I opened his door, he watched me load the luggage as if to see that everything was safe. We got in and had a silent drive.
It was minutes to his house off Donelson Pike. The semi-circular driveway cut through the jungle the yard had become. 'One of these crazy dog people', I thought. Shit everywhere. Dog toys - torn and beaten to different degrees. Massive holes in the ground. The house was a show-place that fell into disrepair. Where did his money come from? Another music business weirdo. Probably had a few hits a long time ago. Who knows?
He let himself into the large wood-framed Victorian house. I followed with the first load of bags, admiring the tall ceilings and the grand curving stair case and colossal banisters. Then I looked down at the cheap off-white industrial carpeting with piles of dog shit all over. The black leather furniture was chewed up. I didn't bat an eye as I searched for places to put the bags down. The little hairy grey-black mutts ran around happily - stopping occasionally to scratch their tangled, matted hair. I managed to find a couple of places with no evidence of urine or feces. It took three trips to get everything in. “Thanks buddy” he said as he gave me a fifty. The ride was pre-paid. “Thank you sir!” It was a generous tip for such a short run. “You got a card?” “Yes sir” I said as I offered it to him. “See you around”, he said as he took it – eyeing it then me. “Yes sir” I replied – looking him as square on as my lazy eye permits. I turned and left quickly, but not in a hurry.
Although it was kind of cool out, I drove with the windows down and the fan on high until I was back on the interstate in an attempt to get the stink out of my lungs. I washed up in the men's room at the airport. I'm not squeamish, but that was nasty. I got on with my day. One of the last warmish days before winter set in. Freakishly warm for post-Christmas December. Freaky $50! Big tips and plenty of work are a warm weather thing. The good hits kept coming all day. It was mostly airport runs – people coming back from holidays. Mr. Dogshitzhaus, as I now thought of him, was my good luck charm that day. Starting good often put me on a roll. But good luck slows like everything else in the winter. That day and New Year's Eve would be the last good days for some time.
About a month later I was home and it was beginning to snow. Work had been very light. Money was scarce. Bills were piling. I was watching the local news, working out part of a song on my guitar. Apparently a music exec was murdered and they found his body near 16th Avenue in an ally. 'One less person destroying music', I mused.
The phone rang. It was James, the dispatcher. “Hey, I got something for you. It looks really good. You were requested. It's an hourly and they want you for at least four hours.” “James, are you sure? I mean with the snow.” “Look man, they requested you. This is a couple of guys from Pittsburgh, heavy hitters. They had your name. You gotta go. It's supposed to stop snowing soon anyway.” James lied like a rug if he thought it would get him what he wanted. There was probably a blizzard coming and these were probably cheapskates who wanted to act like rollers. “Okay, I'll take it.” I needed money badly. I sucked it up and got into my best suit. It sounded like it might be money guys. It could be worth doing.
James was waiting in the dispatchers office when I got to the garage. He was on the phone and put up his hand to stop me from speaking as I approached. I stared out of the back at the planes taking off and landing at the Airport. Our garage was next to the commercial runway. It was for cargo planes for the post office and companies like UPS and Fedex as well as other private and corporate jets.
A minute later I turned to James “How did these guys get my name?” “I don't know. You're doing a good job of passing out cards”, he said in his smarmy voice as he passed me the car keys, paperwork, and radio. The run sheet said “Mr. Audia” on it and the pick up point – Nashville Country Club. There was no pick up time and a lot of the usual information, such as credit card number, was left off. “James, what's up with this ticket?” “They're paying cash. It's okay.”
I checked out the back of the white Cadillac stretch limousine, making sure it was spotless inside. I put in the ice and glasses. I hadn't been to the Nashville Country Club before. It was downtown. I knew that part of downtown well - near the pseudo-Jamaican restaurant and the pseudo-Jewish deli. I parked and went in to talk to the hostess, letting her know I was picking up a client.
I looked around. Everything seemed so white. It was an upscale place. The tables had beautiful coverings. The lighting was soft and elegant. The food looked and smelled wonderful. People were dressed up to go out for dinner. Smiling faces, politely chatting and laughing. They looked like they were going to a play or the opera. Maybe there was an event that night. The swank side of Nashville I didn't see very often. Very nice indeed.
Then, like a black cloud, Mr. Dogshitzhaus came out from a back room. It looked like the same slimy black mesh shirt. Maybe he owned a closet full of them. Two guys in suits followed behind him. They were caricatures of mafia wiseguys from anywhere in the northeast. “This is a good driver” Dogshitzhaus told his friends. “Take good care of them” he said to me with his stern ugly face - his eyes cutting through me. He went back where he came from, seemingly leaving a trail of sulfur-yellow smoke – seemingly levitating on his dark power.
The goons looked like brothers. They were both meticulously dressed in dark suits with perfectly manicured mustaches. They were huge strong men – built like refrigerators - tall and thick. They had to weigh two hundred fifty pounds each and looked like they enjoyed hurting people.
Mr. Audia was the boss. He talked like a boss. There were no introductions. He just barked orders. His sidekick mumbled. It was hard to discern anything he said but you got the idea he was subservient – and yet a confidant and partner in crime. It was apparent they never made an honest dollar in their lives, but they had money to burn.
“Take me to the liquor store. I want three bottles of Dom, some Stoli, and some cranberry juice.” “Yes sir.” It was just a couple of minutes away. As I pulled into the liquor store, five one hundred dollar bills were passed to me from the guy who mumbled. I started thinking of him as “Mumbles” by this time. These guys reminded me of the Italian thugs from my home town. I found myself craving Italian food. Meatballs and pasta dancing in my head. I could almost smell the marinara sauce with scents of chianti, basil, oregano, and garlic. Different northeast restaurants appeared in my mind with each strained syllable from the angry gangster.
I made the purchases and came back to the car and handed the bottles back. There was about ninety dollars left and I offered the change. “KEEP IT!!!” Mr. Audia barked back scornfully. Apparently he didn't touch anything less than a hundred dollar bill. I took in the threatening tone and pocketed the money.
“We gotta go to the airport. We gotta pick up a flight from Pittsburgh. American Airlines.” I headed for the highway. They were talking in the back. I couldn't understand what they were saying but I wasn't trying either. I really didn't care. Then something came out of Mr. Audia and I couldn't miss it. “You could fuck her first.” “Okay boss, thanks boss” or something to that effect was 'Mumbles' garbled reply. My eyes returned from the rearview mirror to the road as I rolled down the entrance ramp onto I-40. Merging left toward the airport, I ignored the rest of the conversation.
Mr. Audia told me to park in front of the doors and the “No Parking” sign in the Arriving Flights area. A security guard approached to have us move on. Mumbles handed him some money. We walked in like we owned the place. I felt like I had entered a casino rather than an airport in the company of the wiseguys. Our timing was perfect. A medium height, skinny brunette in silver spiked heels, a purple print dress, and white fur jacket came out of the gate and started squealing and running to Mr. Audia. As she approaches he looks at me and bellows “isn't she beautiful?!?” Reflexively I replied “yes sir”.
She jumped in the air, giggling, and he caught her. “Hey baby, ready for some fun. Ha ha... Come on... I told you she was beautiful didn't I? MMMmmm... ahhh...” He dug himself into her neck savagely. She threw her head back, shaking her wavy hair as he playfully ravaged her. They took each other at the waist and we all walked toward the car. She came without luggage. Mumbles looked anxious and duty-bound, Mr. Audia laughed lasciviously, and the woman giggled and smiled a lot. As we walked, I watched Mumbles scratch his ear and look her up and down hungrily. He paused and looked a little bewildered, smiled, and continued in an almost boyish stride.
I opened the door and they piled in. Before I could get in and close my door I heard the first bottle of champagne open. “Let's have a few lines.” The cocaine was out in a flash. Snorting and drinking ensued. I was still on Airport property. They made themselves comfortable. The vodka was pouring . Clothing was starting to come off and the two large men were pawing at the giggling brunette.
“Take me where the roads are smooth, no bumps.” The privacy shield went up. I headed to Green Hills, driving cautiously – no sudden moves. This was obviously a sociopath. Better not hit a pebble! There was laughing and banging around in the back of the car. I calculated the combined weight of the two thugs to be almost five times the weight of the girl and they were going at it hard.
Winding slowly through Green Hills, the pavement was perfect - black and shiny from the wet, melted precipitation. James was right. Somehow, the snow had stopped and it warmed up in the short time I was out. Although the road was clear, the fresh dusting of snow stuck to the grass and trees and reflected the street lamps, lights from the houses, and headlamps of the limo. It was a dark, rolling, carnal carnival coated in a dusting of cocaine. Cruising through the wealthy Winter wonderland. Looking at the mansions as I heard the sounds of the threesome in the back, I could feel the thrusting as I drove. The car bounced at times. There were breaks with laughing, cracking of ice cubes, clinking of glasses, and snorting. The privacy shield wasn't private enough to keep out the party. It seemed endless.
Eventually the shield came down. They were mostly dressed. “Take me to a strip club, a GOOD strip club.” “Yes sir.” I headed for the Classic Cat. They had a few more lines and continued drinking on the way downtown. I drove slow. They liked it that way. Mr. Audia took the most care making himself presentable. Mumbles seemed to watch him as if he wouldn't know how to dress without his boos’s instruction. Giggles seemed more interested in getting a few more toots in until we rolled up on the Cat.
I opened the door. Giggles popped out of the car like an animated sexed-out rag doll. She was having quite a time. Flying into a strange town, a good supply of cocaine, and two guys at once. What a treat! She glowed in her own way. “Isn't she beautiful?” Mr Audia barks out at the guys working the strip club. They compliantly nodded as the trio went into the club. I hung out with the bouncers and told them about the drive through Green Hills. We laughed and shook our heads.
I went in and checked on my party periodically, watching the girls dance to the dark heavy metal music. Strippers walked up to me naked and started idle conversations. “You're a limo driver?” “I've done limo parties.” “It's slow tonight.” “It's been bad all month.” “Can't wait for Spring!” “Do you like my hair color? I just did it.” Was it only because I wasn't a customer? Did I look like a potential boyfriend? I smiled at the strippers and chatted, checking out tattoos and piercings at their direction.
They liked that I looked at them and spoke with ease. I wasn't threatening. I couldn't imagine being a customer but I couldn't deprive my eyes of their cute firm breasts and long legs either. It especially felt strange to see their pussies, within reach and knowing how very forbidden it was to touch. They got off on this power and flaunted it. They derived confidence from the situation. I was charmed by their over-bubbly, flirtatious personalities. Nice girls in their own way. Chatty and cute. Coy little brats.
The DJ waved me over. I got in the booth with him and he showed me a CD. ''Type O Negative' was the band name. “You gotta hear this!” He points to a track on the CD cover. “No fucking way!” I exclaim. Just then the dark track starts. It was an absolutely demonic sounding version of the fluffy pop hit 'Summer Breeze', a radio standard from my childhood. Matt and me watched the strippers writhe to the music, picking out the one in the middle as the best. We commented on those perfect tits, firm with rosebud nipples popping out. I hung with the DJ a few minutes then continued making the rounds. I alternated between talking to the bouncers, the strippers, and the DJ.
Eventually Mr. Audia looked at me and stuck up a finger indicating it was time to go. I went out and got the car ready. They were there in minutes. “I want a steak” he said as they piled into the car. I closed the door behind them and called James on the radio. “Hey man, I need a top notch steak. Who's open?” “Give me a minute.” I could hear him mumbling something to himself and he pipes up. “Uh, you know Jimmy Kelly's?” “Yeah. They're open this late?” “You got ten minutes to get 'em in.” I was there in five but they were closing. Mr. Audia, Mumbles, and Giggles walk up to the manager and I see some money come from Mr. Audia. He motions me over. “Get my driver somethin' ta eat.” This was a nice surprise. The threesome had the restaurant to themselves. I was led to the kitchen by the manager and was left hanging out with the chef and dishwasher. “You really want to try the filet. It's the best in the city” said the chef with a grin. “Sounds good.” “With mashed and green beans. Is that alright?” “Perfect.”
He cooked my order with the others. It seemed to be just a couple of minutes and I had a plate in front of me on the small bare wooden table. I ate and the cook smiled wider as he brought me half a dozen jumbo shrimp. We all loved it. A shady guy with money got in and everyone around would get a piece of it. The cook, dishwasher, and me all smiled while I ate. “Good?” the chef inquired. “It really is perfect.” He knew I didn't get a meal of this caliber very often and enjoyed watching me savor his handiwork. I finished and went out to take in the warming night air and have a cigarette as I looked at the clear sky – stars popping out. The air seemed still and like there was zero humidity. I just had my suit on but was comfortable, although it was hovering around freezing. Crazy night, crazy weather.
In no time I had them back in the car. It was nice when the night wound down this way. Shake 'em off and get back to the barn. I took the party back to their hotel and Mr. Audia gave me $500 and said thanks. The bill was for $254 and I'd get half of the fee. With that, the generous tip and the change from the liquor store, it was a great night.
I called dispatch. “James, I just dropped. I'm coming in.” I said, pulling off my necktie. “You do alright?” he asked. “You were right this time James. It was a good night. ” “I told you so! Hey, good job Luther.” “See you in ten James.” “No man, I went home. Just drop the paperwork and money in my box, okay?” “Sure man. Good night.” “Good night and thanks again Luther. I owe you one.” That was a weird thing to say. “I should be thanking him,” I thought as I blasted the hard rock station and went on.
I pulled the car in and opened up the back. It was my job to take out the glasses and any garbage. As I walked toward the back of the car I was thinking how glad I was that I didn't do the serious cleaning. I opened the door. Amazingly there was no visible evidence of the sexual activities. Unfortunately no cocaine either. They were very tidy. There was a full bottle of champagne and a full bottle of vodka. Good night's work. After chucking the trash, I poured myself a stiff vodka and cranberry in a red plastic tumbler and sipped it slowly while listening to the radio in the back of the limo. Then I poured another and drank it much faster, pulling myself together. Time to go home.
I love the highway in the darkest part of the night. The orange glow of the lights and outline of the trees was welcoming. I had a wonderful kind of tired – with a pocket full of money, a couple of bottles of booze, and the lines of the highway leading me to my bed. My trusty Nissan hummed along. The last traces of snow would be gone when I awoke.
The next day I was having my noon-time morning coffee, strumming one of my guitars – playing upbeat. It was easy to smile, knowing the night before would mean the power, gas, and cable bills would be paid. Lazy coffee drinking, thinking of bacon and eggs(I'd get up in a minute), watching the news. No leads on the murder of the music exec. I smiled and thought of Mr. Dogshitzhaus, Mr. Audia, and Mumbles. Shady characters in the music business meet all the time in Nashville. Hell, it's a town full of crooks, freaks, and weirdos. Those dots aren't connecting, are they? Well, maybe it was them, but just maybe. Right? It really didn't matter to me, but I sure could use more nights like that.
I thought of the bottle of Dom in the fridge. Sunday would be good to have it with a souffle, strawberries, and chocolate. Flowers on the table. Making love after breakfast. Those are the best Sunday mornings. Everything would be just right.